by Renee Duke
“But what about the next lines?” Paige challenged. “They pretty much confirm what Uncle Edmond said. That Varteni can’t be saved unless other kids are first.”
“And it sounds as though helping those other kids is only risky for the final seekers,” Dane put in. “Everyone else has been, and will be, okay. It’s only the final seekers who might have to face real danger, and since one of our five generations missed out on using the medallion, that can’t be us.”
“An excellent point,” said Grantie Etta, ignoring Granddad’s scowl. “You’re a worry-wart, Avery. You get it from your mother.”
“She had good reason to be worried, with Percy breathing down her neck. I still can’t fathom how he knew there was something unusual about the medallion. Did his mother use it?”
“No. Neither did Edward or Honoria. Edward wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t involve machinery, and while Honoria quite liked history, she was far too practical and down-to-earth for fanciful things like mysterious medallions.” She thought for a moment. “Bertie used it. He was the closest to me in age, but not close enough for us to share adventures. He took his trips with Sid Delacourt’s grandfather.”
“Are you sure Lavinia didn’t go with them?”
“Positive. She was five years older than Bertie and not the type of big sister to play games with a tiresome little brother. She could have heard the boys talking about their travels though, and found out about the medallion’s special properties that way. She did once ask me if I thought it was magic. Round about the time I was using it, actually.”
“Was that before, or after, she married Jasper?” Uncle Edmond queried.
“After. Quite a bit after. I was only eight when they married, and I didn’t start taking medallion trips until I was twelve. Sebastian Travers went on four of them with me, but his sister Aurelia only went once. She was barely seven, and found Puritan England a scary place. I suppose we took her too soon, like it said in Aurea-Rose’s rhyme. Are you thinking it was Jasper who was keen to know more about the medallion, and not Lavinia herself?”
Uncle Edmond gave a grim nod. “Even if she didn’t know about its special properties, she was probably aware of its existence, and might have made a passing reference to it during their courtship days, a reference he was waiting for.”
“Waiting for?”
“He was a Herne. In English mythology, Herne was a hunter, and one associated with this area. I’ve been thinking about this and, if Varteni has our restorer’s line working in her corner, there’s no reason to suppose her adversary doesn’t have a hunter line working in his. Did they ever try to get the medallion off you?”
“Well, Lavinia did ask to see it. I told her I wasn’t sure where it was. She got quite annoyed and said I was turning into an irresponsible scatterbrain like Aunt Rosalina. I expect she questioned her as well, but if she did, she wouldn’t have got far. Aunt Sarra would have seen to that.” She looked across at a Victorian era wall clock. “Perhaps we should have lunch now. It’s past time, and all this rumination has made me hungry. There was still a mountain of food left at the end of the party and, while some workers from a homeless shelter came round for most of it, I believe Lydia snagged a few dainties as well. If you don’t help out, she’ll have me eating vol-au-vents for a week.”
“Did she snag some cakes, too?” Jack wanted to know. Too unsettled to offer up either insights or ideas, it was the first time he’d spoken.
Grantie Etta smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure she did. Go tell her we’re ready for a selection of everything.”
Uncle Trevor’s family, minus Uncle Trevor, arrived before they finished, but Aunt Maxine assured Grantie Etta they had already eaten.
“Grandmother Emmy fed us well. We just popped in to say good-bye and bring you this package. Trevor will be by this evening. He’s with the Braxtons right now, helping them track down more of their ancestors.”
They stayed about an hour. After they’d gone, Granddad opened the package and passed Rosalina’s sketch book to Grantie Etta. He and the others then crowded round her as she went through it, Granddad and Uncle Edmond standing behind her chair, Paige leaning over the back of it, and the boys draped over either arm.
Some sketches were in colour, others in black and white, but they all definitely belonged with the story. One showed the draft version of the only picture in the book, another a garden with a gnarled old rose tree standing beside a smaller, fresh looking one. The roses on the old tree were in full bloom, those on the other still budding. There were also eagle pictures — an eagle in flight, an eagle perched on the old tree, an eagle turning into a statue, and the statue shattering and reassembling.
“Wow. I didn’t really care for Rosalina’s writing style, but she was really good at drawing,” said Paige, who was quite artistic herself.
The next picture had the small rose tree standing in a different garden, leaves falling from it like tears, while in the shadows, a robed figure lurked, a grim-faced, dark-bearded man, middle-aged, and small in stature. It was a sombre scene, with more than a hint of menace. A head and shoulders sketch of the same man was even more sinister. His thin lips were set in a firm, hard line, and his eyes were cruel and probing. Dane found the fierce intensity of them unnerving. And faintly familiar, a flicker on the edge of memory.
Paige and Jack seemed to share his discomfort.
“Well, he’s disturbing,” said Paige. “Every movie villain you’ve ever seen rolled into one.”
Another picture showed the little rose tree being uprooted by Roman soldiers and thrown onto a cart while a tall, slender youth watched from behind a pillar. The boy was in several other pictures as well. In one, he had an arm around the small rose tree, in another he was poring over a book, and, in another, making his way to a cave, carrying a sack. Inside the cave, he was depicted casting objects into what might have looked like a stream had it not been studded with stars and symbols.
The last picture was of the rose tree, alone and drooping, at the bottom of a pit.
“An impressive symbolic rendering of Varteni being held in slavery,” Uncle Edmond remarked. “Actually, they’re all quite impressive.”
“But no more enlightening than the story itself,” Grantie Etta complained. “I really thought they might do more than confirm that Varteni had a powerful enemy.”
“Like tell us what to do about him now that he seems to be coming after us as well?” Paige inquired.
“Something of that nature, yes. Oh, well, I suppose we could put an advertisement in The Times. Wanted — Modern-day sorcerer capable of reversing dastardly spells of ancient sorcerer.”
“I’m almost willing to give that a try,” said Uncle Edmond, “Doubt we’d get any takers, though. I’m afraid we’ll just have to find a way to foil his plans ourselves.”
“But what are his plans?” Paige wanted to know. “What’s he going to do next?”
It was a question for which even further debate provided no answer.
When Granddad took the children back to Jack’s house, only Mr. Marchand was there, talking to Uncle Trevor. The two men were standing in the driveway with Uncle Trevor on the point of leaving.
“The others are at the hospital visiting Gareth,” Mr. Marchand told Granddad as they got out of the car. “If you’d come ten minutes earlier, you’d have run into Bentley and Penelope. Bentley said he’d talked to her, decided she was in the wrong, and brought her round to apologize to Jack. Spiteful little witch said she was anxious to make up, and did her best to look remorseful, but I know acting when I see it. I told them we had more important things on our minds than yesterday’s little set-to, but Bentley says they’ll keep coming back until they’ve ‘settled things’, so it’s a good thing Jack won’t be here.”
“I won’t?” said Jack, puzzled.
“No. Your mother thinks you should come back to Canada with us for a while. Just until your dad’s feeling better. She wants him to have rest and quiet.”
&n
bsp; “I was going to be quiet,” Jack said in a small voice.
Mr. Marchand put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “She knows that. They’re not trying to get rid of you, buddy. It’s not just that. You see, he might have to go to a specialist up in Scotland. If he does, she’ll be going too, and Doctor Bindal told her you probably wouldn’t be allowed to accompany them. She thinks—they both think—you’d be better off in Canada with us for a bit.”
“It’ll be okay, Jack,” Paige said soothingly. “You’ll like the Okanagan. We’ll take you swimming, and riding, and do all kinds of neat things.”
“In between cloudbursts,” her father threw in.
“Yes, you were saying your house might get flooded,” Uncle Trevor said as he slid behind the wheel of his car. “Must have come as a bit of a shock after being in the midst of a heat wave.”
“What heat wave? It was pouring when we left, Trev. And the neighbour I phoned said it’s been coming down for so long, he’s thinking of building an ark.”
“Really? I was talking to Dad before you came and …” For a moment, Uncle Trevor looked confused. Then he shrugged. “Oh, well, must have got it wrong. Have a good trip back. With luck you won’t find yourself knee-deep in water when you get home. And try to cheer up, Jack. When not water-logged, Canada’s quite a nice place.”
“I’d rather be here,” said Jack.
He brooded for most of the evening, and was still looking downhearted when the children went up to bed.
“It really will be okay, Jack,” Paige told him before going off to her room. “It’s good you’re coming with us. Your mum will be able to concentrate on helping your dad get better, and you won’t have to ‘make up’ with Penelope.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to go up against her on your own,” said Dane. “She’s sure to badger you about the medallion, even if you don’t have it on you.” He paused. “If Granddad doesn’t want us to use it, I guess we should give it back to Grantie for the time being.”
Paige disagreed. With the Wolverton-Hernes on the prowl, she thought it would be safer in Canada, and looked to Jack for support.
He nodded absently.
Halfway through the night, he woke up in the throes of a nightmare. When his mother came in to calm him, he was unable to provide any details beyond being afraid and having the feeling that everything, and everyone, was spinning away from him.
That must be pretty much how he feels when he’s awake, too, thought Dane, his own sleep having been disturbed by his cousin’s distress.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day passed quickly, a mixture of hospital visits with Uncle Gareth, good-bye visits with, and from, other relatives, and some last-minute shopping for UK products (mostly edible) that Mrs. Marchand couldn’t obtain in Canada. Aunt Augusta also had to contact Jack’s school and get permission for an extended absence. English parents were subject to fines and even criminal prosecution if they took their children out of class for as much as a day without good reason, and had to have a very good reason to take them out for longer. Fortunately, the Taisleys’ reason qualified.
Uncle Gareth came home the following morning and the travellers were able to have lunch with him before Granny and Granddad came to take them to the airport in the Taisleys’ estate car. He was looking better than he had in hospital, buoyed up by the familiarity of home.
Jack, however, was leaving the familiarity of home. He had had another nightmare and was feeling extremely unhappy. Even so, he bid his parents a tearless farewell out in the driveway, his voice only slightly unsteady.
“Be a good boy,” his mother said to him with forced cheeriness. “Do what Auntie and Uncle tell you, and try not to worry about anything. Daddy’s going to be all right. We’ll ring every day, and you’ll be home before you know it.”
“Preferably with a haircut,” Uncle Gareth added. “Meant to take you for one before the party but didn’t manage to fit it in.”
“We’ll get him one in Canada,” said Mr. Marchand.
“Good. We let it get a bit longer than usual so as to look era-appropriate in your medieval documentary, but he’s now starting to resemble an Old English Sheepdog I had as a child. Harold by name, although it should have been Hair-old.”
Mr. Marchand laughed, and Jack managed a faint smile.
“With all that’s been going on, I thought he’d cry,” Dane whispered to Paige from inside the car. “I probably would, if it was me.”
“He’s British. Stiff upper lip, and all that. And if he gets too emotional, he’ll stress out Uncle Gareth. He doesn’t want to do that.”
Jack remained dry-eyed in the car as well, but was extremely quiet, even quieter than he’d been at Rosebank.
Granddad let them off at the entrance to Heathrow’s Terminal Three. Before they went in, Granny and Granddad bestowed hugs all round.
“Have a good trip,” said Granddad. “Got that that envelope I gave you somewhere safe, Alan?”
Mr. Marchand patted his laptop bag. “Side pocket. No opening it until we’re airborne, right?”
Granddad nodded and turned to the children. “Too bad we couldn’t finish those brainteasers we were working on with Grantie and Uncle Edmond. We’ll have to keep at them via Skype or the telephone. But no cheating. No venturing ahead without new information. No venturing anywhere. Agreed?”
The children all nodded.
“Promise?”
They nodded again.
The Hollingsworths’ last, and longest, hug, was for their daughter. “Look after yourself, Tania,” said Granny. “And them. It was lovely having you home.”
Once inside, Mr. Marchand went to one of the self-service kiosks to select their seats and print out boarding passes and baggage tags. After that, Mrs. Marchand and the boys went off to get some comics for the trip and Mr. Marchand and Paige joined a fast-bag drop-off queue that did not seem likely to live up to its name.
“I thought this system was supposed to speed things up,” Paige grumbled.
“In theory, yes, but rarely in practice. You could have gone with the others.”
“I wanted to ask you something when Jack wasn’t around.” She gave him a penetrating look. “Why’s he coming home with us, Dad? I’m glad he is, but I can’t figure out why. If his parents have to go up to Scotland, why aren’t they just getting Granny and Granddad look after him? Or Uncle Edmond and Auntie Norah? It doesn’t make sense to have us take him all the way to Canada unless…well, I’ve been wondering …are we on the lam?”
“On the lam?” Mr. Marchand repeated, startled.
“On the run. Absconding with Jack so his birth family can’t get him. And then, if things go against Aunt Augusta and Uncle Gareth in court, hiding him somewhere until all three of them can disappear to some place where’s there’s no extradition.”
He stared at her, momentarily nonplussed, and then shook his head. “You have a wild imagination, my darling daughter. How did you ever come up with that?”
She shrugged. “It’s what I’d do if someone was trying to take my kid. So, am I right?”
“No. Well, maybe. Sort of—except for the hiding him away until they can all head for Northern Cyprus bit. Afraid it wouldn’t be that simple. But we’re not doing anything wrong. There’s no reason we can’t take him out of the country for a while and get him away from all the tension. We have a signed letter of authorization from his legal parents—which, unless someone says otherwise, means Aunt Augusta and Uncle Gareth.”
“Is that what’s in the envelope Granddad wanted to make sure you had?”
“No. I suspect that contains a cheque with a note saying something like, ‘for unforeseen eventualities’. He probably thought if he gave it to me outright, I wouldn’t take it. And I wouldn’t have. I won’t cash it unless I have to though.”
He then changed the subject to what tourist attractions they’d missed on this trip that she might like to visit on another, which remained their topic of conversation until it was thei
r turn to push their luggage trolley up to the drop and check their bags through to Vancouver. Mrs. Marchand and the boys returned just as these were moving along the conveyor belt.
“Look who we met,” said Mrs. Marchand, gesturing toward Cousin Ophelia.
Mr. Marchand greeted her with a grimace. “Hi, Bev. Didn’t know you’d be flying today. I thought you weren’t heading for the States until later in the week.”
“Ophelia. And I wasn’t.” She nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully. “It’s actually quite strange. At that time, it seemed fairly clear to me that New England was where I should go, but while out walking the other day, I got a much stronger urge to go home.”
“To Salt Spring Island?”
“No. My original home. Kelowna. I came to change my ticket. Unfortunately, I can’t get a flight until tomorrow.”
Cousin Ophelia’s altercation with Cousin Zenobia had caused her to rise slightly in Mr. Marchand’s estimation, but not enough for him to relish the prospect of her returning home with them. “Why Kelowna?” he inquired, somewhat gruffly. “I thought you wanted to make some mystical connection with leaves. Even under usual circumstances, our trees wouldn’t be turning yet and right now they’re concentrating on not getting blown down or washed away.”
“Yes, Tania was telling me about the Okanagan’s alarming climatic disturbances. To be honest, I’d rather be going to New England, but the Threads of Destiny say otherwise. I’m not sure why yet. Perhaps the fury of the storms has something to teach me. My spirit guide is being most enigmatic.” She looked searchingly at the children, especially Jack. “You can’t always be where you want to be. Sometimes you have to be where you should be.”
“When did you first meet your spirit guide?” asked Paige, thinking it might interest her despondent cousin.
