13 Treasures

by Michelle Harrison

  Her grandmother was nowhere to be seen when she went downstairs, although a note had been left on the fridge bearing the message that her mother had telephoned earlier that morning. Tanya scrunched it up and chucked it into the trash. If her mother was trying to ease her conscience for dumping her out in the countryside, then Tanya had no intention of making it easy for her.

  She filled a bowl with cornflakes and sat down at the kitchen table. Florence had not been at all happy when Tanya had refused to come down for breakfast. She had spent several minutes banging on the bedroom door before finally giving up and stomping back downstairs.

  Halfway through her breakfast Tanya got up and switched on the radio on the windowsill, listening for the news. There was a brief mention of the stolen child, and a further description of Red. When the bulletin ended, Tanya was tense. The thought of Red in the tunnels below the house left her ill at ease, and not for the first time, she wondered if keeping quiet was a mistake she’d come to regret.

  A torrent of conflicting thoughts fought inside her. Red was unstable, desperate. Desperate people did desperate things. Dangerous things. There was nothing to guarantee she would keep her word and stay out of the house. Yet she was also the only person Tanya knew of that shared her ability, and this was a bond she could not ignore. They had both suffered at the hands of the fairies, but now it was evident that so far, what Tanya had experienced was torment. Red, it seemed, had endured something like torture.

  She turned the radio off in the middle of a weather forecast that was predicting summer storms, and was staring dismally into her soggy breakfast when Fabian slouched into the kitchen. Wordlessly he picked up the cereal box still on the side where Tanya had left it, delved inside with his hand, then withdrew it and shoved a fistful of cornflakes into his mouth.

  “You are disgusting,” snapped Tanya. “How about a bowl, some milk, and a spoon?”

  “Tastes better this way,” Fabian mumbled, between munches. As he turned to leave Tanya saw an angry bruise on his temple, glaring out against the paleness of his skin.

  “How did you get that?” she asked immediately. “What happened to your face?”

  “Nothing.” Fabian’s tone was sullen, his blue eyes lowered. “I fell.”

  “You fell?”

  “Yes. I fell, all right?”

  Tanya narrowed her eyes, but said nothing more.

  “Oh, and thanks for mending my T-shirt,” he said suddenly, and Tanya sensed his eagerness to change the subject. “The stitches are perfect. I thought you said you were terrible at sewing?”

  “I am,” she said, puzzled. “I didn’t mend it.”

  Fabian blinked, his eyes huge and owl-like behind his glasses. “Then who did? Florence says it wasn’t her, either. And it definitely wasn’t Warwick.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Tanya became aware of the hearthfay’s creepily long fingers wrapping themselves around the coal bin. The movement was followed by a simpering little sigh. She glanced at it suspiciously. It shot out of sight, and a reel of green cotton rolled a little way along the hearth before being hastily snatched back.

  Tanya turned back to Fabian and shrugged. She was wise enough to know better than to take credit for a fairy’s work—even if it left her with no answers.

  “Anyway, we need to talk,” he said.

  Tanya stared at the bruise on his temple, the hearthfay forgotten. “About what?”

  “About what we discussed last night—going back into the forest.”

  “Oh. That,” Tanya answered, unable to hide her lack of enthusiasm.

  “We have to get organized,” said Fabian. “We’ll need to take a few things with us. Warm clothing, a map, a flashlight, a compass, food and water—”

  “Food and water? I’m not planning on a picnic!”

  “Neither am I,” said Fabian. “It’s just a precaution in case we get lost again. Now, I’ve already got a thermos, a map, and a flashlight, so—”

  “Hang on a minute,” Tanya interrupted. “Why do we need a flashlight… I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you are?”

  The absence of an answer confirmed her suspicions.

  “You’re not serious? I’m not going into those woods at night!”

  “Keep your voice down!”

  “Well, I won’t go!”

  Fabian’s nostrils flared in annoyance.

  “Look, I’m not ecstatic about the idea myself. But in case you haven’t noticed, Warwick hardly let me out of his sight yesterday—it’s as if he knows we’re up to something. The only chance we’ve got is when he’s not watching. And the only time he’s not watching is when he’s asleep.” He glared at her, but there was a desperation about him. “I have to find out what happened. I have to know. If you want out then say so. Otherwise, don’t waste my time.”

  “What if we find out that your grandfather did do… do something to Morwenna Bloom?” Tanya said quietly. “Have you thought about how that’ll make you feel? It could change everything. You’ve lived with not knowing up until now. Maybe you’re better off staying that way.”

  She regretted her words instantly as she saw the look in Fabian’s eyes. They were haunted.

  “I’d probably agree with that if we hadn’t seen her… or whatever it was that looked like her in the woods,” he whispered. “But now… things have already changed. I can’t just forget. And whatever happened can’t be worse than I’ve already imagined in my head. Whatever happened can’t be worse than the not knowing.”

  Tanya bit her lip. And even though her mind was screaming the opposite, she heard herself say, “I’ll… I’ll do it. I’ll come with you.”

  The look on Fabian’s face told her heart she had done the right thing. Her head, however, remained unconvinced. “So… when?” she asked.

  Fabian looked solemn. “Tonight.”

  It was the first time Tanya had seen Fabian’s room. He was intensely private about it, and now it was clear to see why. The best way in which it could be described was a hybrid of a science laboratory and a small museum. On the desk over by the fireplace was an enormous globe of the world, along with various papers in Fabian’s scribbled handwriting. Skulls and teeth of animals covered the shelves, and there were thick books on every scientific and historic subject Tanya could think of, plus many she had never even heard of.

  There were detailed drawings, diagrams, and observations on natural forms and the like, plus the weird magnifying device Fabian had been using on Tanya’s first day at the manor. She also noted with disgust a glass of milk that was so old it was turning to cheese, and was unsure whether it was an experiment or just the result of Fabian’s general untidiness.

  In the corner of the room stood a life-size human skeleton, which probably would have looked eerie had it not been wearing Fabian’s school tie and blazer.

  “That’s not real, is it?” she asked.

  “It’s plastic.”

  “Where did you get it?” Tanya asked.

  “School,” Fabian replied. “Now, about this map—”

  “You didn’t steal it, did you?” said Tanya, swallowing a surge of laughter as she envisaged Fabian smuggling out a fully clothed skeleton under the pretense of it being a real person.

  Fabian’s nostrils were beginning to flare in the way they always did when he was annoyed about something. “It’s for a project. Now shut up for a minute and listen.” He took the map and spread it out. After flicking a dirty sock out of the way, Tanya sat at the foot of the bed.

  “This map shows the whole of Hangman’s Wood and its surrounding areas,” said Fabian, pointing to the church and Tickey End. “All the catacombs are clearly marked. This is where we entered the forest.” He tapped the clearing by the brook. “This is the first catacomb we came to, see? The big one. This smaller one here is where we saw the girl. It’s actually not that far from the first one—but we were so lost that day that we must’ve been walking in circles, so it seemed farther away.

  “We should foll
ow the same route as before—it’ll be easier with the map. I’ve got everything we need except for a compass, but Warwick has one, so I just have to think of a way—”

  “I’ve got a compass,” said Tanya, thinking of the one that the gypsy woman had given her. She felt more than a little disturbed as the thought occurred to her how coincidental it was that she now needed to use it.

  “You don’t mean that lump of junk Mad Morag gave you?” Fabian rolled his eyes. “All right. It might come in handy if I can’t get hold of Warwick’s. I’m going to hide my backpack with all this stuff in the garden in a few minutes, while no one’s around. Meet me there and bring the compass. I might be able to fix it.”

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea…”

  Fabian gave her a hard look. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  Tanya squirmed. “No… it’s just, well, I heard the weather forecast for this evening. It’s not good. There’s going to be a storm. Maybe we should leave it until another night.”

  Fabian shook his head. “No. The forecast isn’t always right anyway. Plus, if there is a storm it could be an asset to us.”

  “How?”

  “Because nobody—not even Warwick—will be expecting us to sneak off in the middle of a storm. If he’s guessed we’re planning anything, he’ll think that the storm will deter us.”

  Tanya was silent as she pondered his words. In a way, he was making sense, although this did nothing to comfort her. “We might not even find anything,” she said in a small voice. “Maybe the girl we saw wasn’t her…”

  Fabian scowled. “That girl was Morwenna Bloom. You know it as surely as I do.” He folded the map and shoved it violently in his rucksack, then stalked over to the window. On the window ledge, Tanya noticed for the first time, was a framed photograph of Warwick with his arms around a woman who was holding a small baby. For once, he looked happy.

  “Is that your mother?”

  Fabian would not look at her. “You’d better get the compass,” he said abruptly. “Meet me in the garden in five minutes.”

  Tanya left quietly, feeling foolish for mentioning his mother. The subject was obviously still raw—and always would be. She collected the compass from beneath the floorboard in her room and took it out to the back garden.

  She had to trample through a substantial amount of weeds before she found Fabian sitting on a tree stump with his head in his hands. Balanced on his knees was his brown leather book, which he was reading so intently he had not noticed that his glasses were nearly falling off the end of his nose. He jumped up when he saw her approaching and snapped the book shut.

  “Did you bring it?”

  Tanya reached into her pocket and fished out the compass, thankful that his mood seemed to have improved.

  “Here. I don’t think it’s going to be of much use, though.”

  Fabian took the compass and examined it. “Seems all right now,” he said, giving Tanya a strange look. “Maybe it was just damp that day, or something. Lucky you didn’t sell it to that dodgy fellow after all.”

  “But the needle wasn’t working,” she argued, snatching it back from him. “It—oh… that’s funny.”

  Sure enough, the tarnished hand on the old compass was pointing steadily to the bottom, back the way she had just come.

  “What did you do with that money he dropped, anyway?”

  “Nothing,” Tanya replied. In truth she had completely forgotten about the money she had pocketed that day—but she could have hugged Fabian for reminding her of it. Now she could use the money the antiques dealer had dropped to buy the items on Red’s list. She suddenly became aware that she was starting to smile to herself, and quickly pulled herself back to the task at hand before Fabian noticed her expression.

  “I’ve never seen a compass like this before,” she said. “What does the ‘H’ stand for? And where are all the other directions, North, East, South, and West?”

  Fabian grabbed it out of her hand and scrutinized it.

  “That’s odd. This ‘H,’ where the ‘N’ for north should be… if we turn this way, toward the house, the needle meets it perfectly.”

  “So?” said Tanya.

  “It’s wrong,” said Fabian. “I know for a fact that the house, from the back door to the woods, faces northeast. So facing back in the opposite direction, the compass should read southwest, but it doesn’t. It reads north.” He thrust the compass back into Tanya’s hand. “You’re right, it is useless. And as Mad Morag gave it to you it’s probably cursed anyway. I’d get rid of it.”

  “Oh, don’t be so ignorant. The things people say about her—about her being a witch—it’s probably just made up to keep kids out of the forest.”

  “I doubt it,” said Fabian at once.

  Tanya glared at him. “It’s a rumor. And you’re the last person I would have expected to believe rumors, especially with what you told me about Amos.”

  “If Amos is innocent, then he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that gypsy woman… people have been saying things about her for years.”

  “I think she was trying to help me,” said Tanya.

  Fabian ignored her. “Only last week old Rosie Beak, who owns the tea shop, told my dad that Morag got rid of her warts last winter, all three of them. Two weeks after the last one had gone, Ned Baker called Morag an old fraud because she refused to tell his fortune. And do you know what? Within days, he had three warts. Never had a wart in his life before, he said.”

  “Shut up,” said Tanya, exasperated. She lifted the compass to face the house, her face screwed up in thought as the needle swung to “H” and sat there, perfectly still.

  “She knew,” Tanya whispered.

  “Knew what?”

  “She knew I was going to need this.”

  For finally, she understood what the “H” stood for.

  Home.

  14

  It was ten minutes before midnight. Outside, a wild wind howled, and torrential rain hammered at the windows. Tanya was growing increasingly jittery. She had dressed warmly in a woolen sweater, jeans, two pairs of socks, sneakers, and an old raincoat that she had left at the manor two winters ago. By a stroke of luck, it also happened to be red. This, she hoped, combined with a rusty iron nail she had pried loose from her doorframe, would protect her from any fairy activity. It would not be enough to prevent her getting soaked, however. In the pockets she’d found a crumpled ten-pound note that she had completely forgotten about. She immediately tucked it into her purse to go toward the items Red needed.

  For the past two hours she had been asking herself exactly what she expected to find in the woods, aside from seven catacombs and an old witch who gave away magical compasses. The possibility of discovering a fifty-year-old skeleton was at the fore-front of her mind; for if Morwenna Bloom was out there, then her bones would surely be all that was left of her.

  She ran her thumb over the compass in her pocket. Since discovering its true use Fabian had remained oddly quiet, occasionally muttering about anomalies in the earth’s magnetic field. Tanya however, was feeling increasingly troubled by the old gypsy woman’s involvement and the nature of her intentions.

  The minutes slipped away until she could put it off no longer. Her heartbeat quickened as she stepped out of her room into the dim hallway. If she was caught now, her time at the manor was sure to become very unpleasant indeed. She crept down the stairs, with only the light of a small lamp on the telephone table to guide her.

  “Some-body’s-in-trou-ble!” said a sly, singsong voice from inside the grandfather clock.

  “Shut up!” Tanya whispered.

  She was to instantly regret speaking as a light snapped on from above. Someone was making their way across the second-floor landing with slow, shuffling footsteps.

  Amos.

  Instinctively, she dropped to the floor and crouched in the shadows. The old man’s slow pace continued onward toward the staircase. At the top of the stairs he seemed to
pause for the briefest of moments before hobbling on. She waited for the sound of the bathroom door closing, then hastily slipped down the rest of the stairs.

  She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. It was cold and clammy. In the kitchen, the back door was rattling from the gusty wind. Tanya looked longingly at an umbrella propped against the wall. There was no point taking it. The gales would render it useless.

  Oberon got up from his bed and padded over to her, his claws clicking softly on the tiles.

  “Come on, boy,” she said. “How about a nice walk?”

  The dog’s ears pricked up at her suggestion, and then he lowered his head, allowing her to slip his leash on.

  The back door had been left unlocked, as Fabian had planned.

  “Here goes,” she whispered to herself, and then stepped outside.

  Even though she tried to brace herself for it, the wind and rain hit her hard. The sheer force nearly knocked her off her feet. Had she not been wearing the raincoat she would have been drenched in seconds. As it was, her legs were soon soaked below the knee where the raincoat ended. Oberon, however, did not appear overly bothered by the wetness of it all. He just seemed glad for an extra walk.

  She stumbled through the garden, the utter darkness from the combination of the weather and the towering trees preventing her from seeing any farther than a few feet ahead. She slid through puddles of mud, soaking her feet completely. By the time she reached the gate she was half-drenched, cold, and miserable. Already, she knew her decision to come was a mistake.

  “What took you so long?” Fabian asked, his lips blue with cold.

  “Amos,” said Tanya, through chattering teeth. “He decided to take a little walk across the landing just as I was on my way downstairs. I had to wait in case he saw me.”