“Meet with us tomorrow, okay?” said Ian. “Four o’clock, the King’s Ransom. Dr. Marriott’s going to be there and you can ask him about the Society of Astercôte and how his uncle saw monsters like we did when he put the puzzle together.”
“That’s why Dr. Marriott buried it in a tunnel,” added Zoé. “He was afraid.”
Pippin straightened her beret. “I s’pose this Dr. Marriott will want to meet me, d’you think, seeing as I found the puzzle and all. Right, then, see you tomorrow.”
Inside the shop, Granddad was showing a parquetry table to a gentleman in a straw hat and white blazer. Waving, Zoé hurried past, running up the stairway two steps at a time and rushing into the kitchen to place the loaf of wheat bread on the counter.
Moments later the two cousins were standing in the attic doorway, munching on Eccles cakes and debating whether to go inside.
“It’s not like we’re going to put the puzzle together,” said Ian.
“No way,” said Zoé, her scalp prickling. “We took it apart to stop those creatures from coming through.”
Amid the gloom, she could see the outline of the sea chest, where they’d hidden the puzzle. The chest was authentic, with iron bindings and leather handles, stamped with the name of the owner and that of his ship: CAPTAIN EZEKIEL BLACKWOOD, THE BLACK SWAN.
“Maybe we should check to see if the puzzle’s okay,” said Ian.
Springing to the chest, they lifted the curved lid and rummaged through layers of wool coats and World War II–era blankets reeking of mothballs.
“Here it is, safe and sound,” she said, lifting out the silver box.
They sat on the floor, watching shimmery light flow out as they opened the box, filling the attic with an eerie glow. It gave Zoé the shivers, but in a good way. Tipping out the puzzle, she noticed tiny bubbles floating inside the glass, winking at her like phantom eyes.
“That light is sort of hypnotizing, isn’t it?” murmured Ian.
“Yeah,” said Zoé dreamily. But nothing scary’s going to happen, she told herself, because we’re not going to put the puzzle together. A radical thought popped into her head. “Wouldn’t it be awesome if we started up a new Society of Astercôte and all the members were kids?”
“Hey, cutting edge! How cool would that be, traveling to another world?” Ian absentmindedly began moving some of the pieces around. “We could pull Pippin in, make her a member and take her with us.”
“I guess,” said Zoé with a shrug. “She talks an awful lot, though.”
“We could ask everybody we know here,” he went on. Having spent so many summers in Tenby, they’d made friends with several kids their age. “What about Philip Fox and Derek Owen? And oh yeah, Fritha Pooke, the Jones twins and Trevor Beedle.”
“But we’re not asking his sister Catherine,” said Zoé with a shiver.
“Hey, y’know what’s strange?” Ian went on. “I haven’t seen any of those kids around this summer. Hmm, guess they’re busy with school and stuff. But I bet you anything they’d be interested in joining.”
Zoé heard a soft click! as two pieces snapped together, and, forgetting Dr. Marriott’s warning, she joined Ian in fitting the other pieces together. The odd thing was she couldn’t stop herself. It was as if the puzzle was compelling them to finish it.
Slotting in the final piece, she felt her hair bristle with static. Leaning forward, the two cousins stared into the eerie blue light, thick as a cloud of fireflies, swirling inside the glass.
From deep inside the puzzle came a high, whistling wind, bringing with it the smell of salt air. Zoé heard strange cracking sounds, as if her body were flying apart like the frame of an old house. Then the wind was pulling them through the glass, and, terrified, she grabbed Ian’s hand. The next instant the room fell away and they were being swept into the puzzle.
She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. Spilling and twisting, they plummeted, deeper and deeper, down a bottomless tunnel. She could no longer feel Ian’s hand in hers: there was nothing left to hold. He was disintegrating atom by atom.
Zoé felt lighter than air, streaming through time and space, exploding into motes of light. She realized she was coming apart, too, her body dissolving into molecules, glistening like shattered stars.
The walls of translucent glass were like cold water flowing over her. Zoé’s heart thudded as she heard screams all around, echoing back and forth, and then she realized they were her screams. She’d always imagined herself to be fearless, like Spider-Girl or Pippi Longstocking, but it was impossible not to panic.
There was no way to tell how long she’d been falling or whether she was going backward in time or forward. If her heart was beating, didn’t that mean she was alive? Alive but transformed. She pictured her atoms being crazily rearranged. What if she wasn’t Zoé Badger anymore, but a collection of tumbling particles streaming into infinity?
Warm, clammy air wafted over her and there was an overpowering scent of seaweed. Lurching and rocking, she spun in circles, capsizing in the air, turning over and over, hair blowing sideways, her T-shirt flapping.
A voice shouted beneath her—it was Ian: “We’re losing speeeed!”
Zoé felt herself slowing down, her body turning solid once again. Reflected in the glass walls, she saw her arms and legs, her entire body, still spinning. I’m still in one piece! she thought with a thrill of amazement. I’m still me!
Through a hazy light she saw a patch of green rising beneath her, telescoped by the walls of the tunnel. Perhaps it was water, or maybe a field of grass. Whatever it was, she hoped it would cushion her fall.
Landing with a hollow thump and curling into a ball, Zoé rolled over moss and ferns and flowers with sharp leaves. Her stomach was still churning as she lifted herself up on her elbows, catching her breath and looking around for Ian. Tiny shells and fronds of seaweed were stuck to her arms and legs; her knees were bleeding, but she hadn’t broken any bones.
“Ian!” she yelled, panicking when she couldn’t see him anywhere. What if he’d gotten lost on the way down? Her heart started to race. “Ian, where are you?”
“I’m here!” he shouted back, and relief flooded through her. “Are you okay?”
Peering into the mist, she watched him lurch to his feet, dwarfed by giant ferns and bushes, looking like the same Ian she’d always known.
Feeling a lump in her throat, Zoé suddenly realized how much he meant to her. Ian wasn’t just any ordinary cousin; he was her friend and confidant, the kid she double-dared to jump from high places, her technical advisor for secret codes and her accomplice in devising cool adventure games. He was the brother she’d never had. Life without Ian, she knew, would be totally drab and boring.
“I’m okay, I just skinned my knees!” She jumped up, shaking her head, watching shells fall from her hair.
“This is total madness. It’s unbelievable! Did we really get pulled into the puzzle?” Ian stared at her in baffled amazement. “That means Dr. Marriott was telling us the truth after all.”
“I knew that.” Zoé had never doubted the professor for a moment.
“We’re not on terra firma anymore!” shouted Ian, waving his arms around. “This is absolutely mind-boggling! We’re not on planet Earth, Zoé—we’ve been teleported to another dimension!”
The immensity of what had happened suddenly hit her. Zoé gaped at him in disbelief, wondering what exactly they had gotten themselves into.
“We’re in Wythernsea,” she whispered.
The landscape held a strange, almost mystical energy, a force so intense she could scarcely breathe. She felt like a traveler without a map, a watcher from another time.
“We’re like sea rovers, right?” she said, infused with a wild exhilaration. Sea rovers was another term for pirates, according to Granddad. “But instead of roving the high seas, we rove through time and space to Wythernsea.”
“Time rovers, yeah, that’s us,” said Ian, brushing leaves and shells from his
shorts. “Now … where exactly on this island are we? Hmm, that high wall over there must be the one surrounding the town. See, there’s the forest over there, on the other side.”
Zoé followed his gaze through the mist, to an immense wall of pale gold stone with looming turrets, sweeping down a hill and vanishing into a copse of trees. She recognized it as the wall in Wyndham Marriott’s painting. What was different were the thick shards of glass along the top, their jagged ends pointing skyward, interspersed with odd mechanized objects that resembled giant metal claws, turning and snapping at the air.
“Look at those weird machines,” said Ian. “Sort of steam-punk medieval, yeah? I knew they were keeping something out.”
“Enemies,” said Zoé with a shiver of alarm, aware that they were thinking the same thing: I’m sure that’s where the creatures we saw come out of the puzzle live … over there, on the other side of the wall.
Beyond the wall, tendrils of fog swirled through dense unyielding vegetation. Overarching trees spilled one over the next, strung with thick moss, forming dark tunnels, their spiked branches sharp and menacing. Inside her head Zoé filed away words like impenetrable forest, antediluvian and primeval, to write down later in her journal.
“Hey, look!” she shouted, pointing excitedly to a figure of beaten copper: a goddess in a flowing dress, brandishing a shield, stood atop one of the turrets. “It’s Arianrhod! Just like Granddad’s weathervane!”
“I can see more on the turrets down there,” said Ian. “Hmm, strange that they’re not moving. The weathervanes look sort of damaged, don’t you think? The wall’s not in great shape, either; I hope it’s strong enough to keep out whatever’s on the other side.”
“Sure it is,” said Zoé, trying to sound upbeat. “That’s one tough wall.”
On closer inspection she could see the stone had worn away in certain areas, leaving small gaps where vines snaked through from the other side.
Then she heard a burst of distant voices.
“Shhh, someone’s coming!” hissed Ian, both of them dropping to the ground.
The voices were getting nearer; marching through the trees were three men in leather boots and shirts the color of corroded tin. One was leading a silvery-white dog on a chain—at least it looked like a dog, but Zoé couldn’t be sure.
Keeping low, the two children fled, flinging aside brambles and creepers, trampling over ferns and damp squishy plants. As they plunged headlong into a thicket of gnarled branches, Zoé felt thorns tearing at her skin.
Huddled next to Ian, she held her breath, studying the men’s flinty expressions as they inspected the mechanical claws. Their tunics were made of small metal rings linked together, and they carried wooden crossbows like the ones she’d seen at the British Museum. The dog had a wolfhound’s face, white crinkly fur, a long snout and webbed paws. Zoé swallowed hard, hoping the animal wouldn’t pick up their scent.
Apparently satisfied, the men continued striding along the wall, crossbows drawn. Zoé and Ian crawled on their bellies commando-style through the thicket, emerging on the other side covered in mud and insects.
Sprinting off, they clambered up a steep path lined with trees that shut out the light. As Zoé ran over spongy moss and plants with waving fronds, flaming red petals, thick as leaves, floated down, landing in her hair. She breathed in the salty tang of the sea. Mist turned the air wet and glittery, and more than once she sensed someone watching them through the trees.
The path ended at a wide grassy square on a headland with tall, spreading trees, stone benches and a burbling fountain.
“Water!” gasped Ian.
“Who were those guys in the silver shirts?” asked Zoé as they gulped down handfuls of water. “Did you see their crossbows? Maybe they were olden-day knights.”
“Yeah, they looked totally medieval. I think they were wearing chain mail.”
Gazing down at the town below, Zoé was instantly charmed by the tiny streets lined with gardens and trees and courtyards, the half-timbered houses with sharp slate roofs and latticed windows. Here the scent of fish was stronger, mixed with the smell of low tide. There were inns and taverns and warehouses, a ruined castle and rows of white pavilions, all leaning over the waterfront. And on every roof spun a goddess weathervane.
With its blurred colors, the port struck her as an otherworldly version of Tenby, evoking the same feeling as Wyndham Marriott’s watercolor. On the piers fishermen were unloading their catch, while women with baskets hollered, “Eels for sale!” and “Mussels to buy!” She took mental notes on the crates, wooden barrels and coils of rope; the workers hammering; the market stalls where people in rough clothing milled about. Long narrow boats, painted in bright colors, bobbed up and down in the harbor.
“See their clothes?” said Ian. “Not exactly modern.”
“They look like characters out of Treasure Island.” Zoé had read Treasure Island, a birthday gift from Granddad, at least half a dozen times. “Does that mean we traveled to the past?” She was sure they’d landed in some unimaginably distant era.
“Hard to say,” he answered with a shrug. “It could be the past, but we can’t rule out the future, either. Time’s bound to be different here.”
“I feel woozy, the way I do when I swim underwater,” she said. “It’s like I’m floating through layers of time and nothing seems real.”
“A timeless watery underworld,” murmured Ian, flopping down on the springy grass.
Exhausted, Zoé collapsed on the ground beside him, staring up at the sky, thinking how spookily cool Wythernsea was, her eyes fluttering shut.
When she woke, the light had changed. She bolted upright, heart pounding. Through the falling water of the fountain, a boy in homespun clothes stood staring at her with a curious expression. As he edged nearer, she noted his reddish-orange hair, all shaggy around his face, his mud-covered feet and almond eyes, dark and pensive. His skin seemed almost luminous.
“Wake up, Ian,” she said, shaking her cousin. “There’s a kid over there!”
Ian’s eyes flew open and he sprang to his feet. “What the heck?”
Assuming an aggressive stance, Zoé glowered at the boy. “Hey,” she said in her tough-girl voice—the one she used whenever she started a new school. “I saw you sneaking around back there. Why are you following us?”
The boy nodded, his eyes bright. “Yes, I followed.” To her surprise, he didn’t seem intimidated. “You be travelers? From where do you come?”
“We’re rovers,” said Zoé. “We come from somewhere really far away.” They had traveled not only distance-wise, she realized, but also through time, and there was no way she could explain that.
“If we told you the name of our town, it wouldn’t mean anything to you,” said Ian. “We’re here from a whole other world.”
The boy’s mouth dropped open.
“This is Wythernsea, yeah?” said Zoé. “Do you live in the town?”
“Course I lives there,” said the boy, as if she’d asked a silly question. “There’s nowt else but the sea.” He inched closer, and she could see his eyes were bright with curiosity. “Can’t go to the forest, now can I? Nobody goes there. Not no more, not never.”
Zoé fixed him with her gaze. “And that’s because …?”
He gave her a strange look. “Monsters is there, that’s why. Them things with glitt’ry eyes that crawl and fly through the trees, staring out at you from their deep, dark swampy caves. Half dead and half alive, they is. They wraps you in their wings and suck the breath right out of you. No one goes to the forest. Leastways, no one with any sense.”
“What do you mean, they suck out your breath?” asked Zoé, feeling her stomach turn over.
“They fold their wings right round you and swallow your every breath. And they keeps on swallowin’ till there’s no more left.”
Zoé blinked hard, his words chilling her to the bone.
“Is that why there are those crazy machines and men with crossbows al
ong the wall?” asked Ian, his voice shaky. “Are they protecting everyone?”
“Aye.” Cupping his hands, the boy scooped up water from the fountain. “But you daren’t mess with them, oh no, not the Defenders. They’re a prickly lot, working long hours and always overtired: the stress gets to them.” With a start, Zoé noticed webs stretched between each of his long pale fingers, like a frog. “And never mess with their animals. Especially not the barkers. High-strung, they is.”
The dog I saw, thought Zoé, that must’ve been a barker.
“Those guys with crossbows, they’re Defenders?” asked Ian.
Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, the boy said, “Aye. See, parts of the wall are coming down and they’ve sent the Defenders to keep the monsters out.”
Zoé and Ian exchanged worried glances. What if the monsters managed to get through? she wondered. What would happen then?
“Name’s Gwyn,” he went on. “I’m a Messenger. Who be you?”
“I’m Zoé and this is my cousin Ian,” said Zoé.
“So … where’s your house?” asked Ian.
“I lives at the Retreat,” said the boy. “We all lives there.”
Zoé couldn’t believe her ears. “The Retreat for the Rescued, the Lost and the Shipwrecked?” she said excitedly, remembering Granddad’s tales of Wythernsea rescues, including their sea captain ancestor. “That retreat?”
She saw Gwyn’s face light up. “Aye, that’s the one,” he said, looking surprised. “I’ll take you there. Happens I knows a shortcut.”
Zoé and Ian followed Gwyn down a muddy path and over a bridge. Beneath the wooden boards flowed a river where dragonflies skimmed the water and heron-like animals waded in the shadows near the bank. They weren’t birds, exactly, because they didn’t have wings. Their necks were long and thin like small giraffes’ and they had dense, white glistening fur. Cute, thought Zoé, wishing she could take one back with her to Tenby.
“Do you know the date by any chance?” asked Ian as they turned onto a path overhung with moss-laden trees. When Gwyn didn’t respond, Ian said, “Er, the year, then. What year are we in?”
The Glass Puzzle Page 7
