The Drowned Tomb (The Changeling Series Book 2)

by James Fahy

  The sun was relentless, and they were soon happily exhausted. Henry told them all about surfing in the sea, how he had been banned from no less than two amusement arcades, and the disgusting truth about what you were required to do when stung by a jellyfish. Robin in turn filled him in on his progress with the Tower of Water, and Karya’s progress with the translation and her discovery that the Grimms were stalking the human world looking for the hidden Janus station.

  “Well, if any Grimms come near me or my friends…” Henry said with mock seriousness, twanging his bow. “I’ll put an arrow through their leg!”

  Later that evening, after Henry and Mr Drover had left, Woad disappeared into the woods to hunt. Karya announced she was quite possibly going to expire after eating so many pies, and had disappeared to bed, and so, happy and full, Robin lay on his bed reading.

  One of his favourite times at Erlking were these quiet nights, lying alone in his circular tower room, with the windows open to the cooling night air, surrounded by books.

  He was currently reading over Hammerhand’s ‘Netherworlde Compendium’, wondering if there might be something in here about the secret valley of the Undine.

  There were indeed several entries regarding both Undine and nymphs, with some interesting trivia. He learned for instance that nymphs were pulled by emotion as tides were pulled by the gravity of the moon. He wondered if this was why Calypso seemed so utterly disinterested at the party when everyone was relaxed and amiable, but had been so nice to him when he had been upset about Gran previously. Perhaps this explained why so many nymphs were drawn over to Eris’ cause in the war, he considered. Nothing says strong emotion like power-hungry genocidal hatred.

  There was less information on Undine. They were purer spirits, it seemed, powerful and primal water Panthea, and as for their home, although alluded to several times here and there in the book, there were no solid leads on where in the Netherworlde it might be. Vague allusions to a frozen valley, or a snowy plateau, that was all.

  Sighing and stretching, Robin clapped the heavy book shut and rolled over onto his back. As he did so, he let out a yelp. It felt as though he’d just been bitten on the hip by an insect. Sitting up, he lifted his t-shirt, wincing.

  The tiny hello-kitty keyring from the village had spent the last couple of days clipped to the belt loop of his jeans, like a lucky charm. He didn’t have any keys to clip it to after all. There was only one room in Erlking that locked, and that led to another world. He must have rolled onto it, and he saw that the sharp metal clip which threaded through the denim had somehow come loose and pricked him like a needle. A small drop of bright red blood was already welling against it.

  Getting up and muttering some curse words which he was very sure his aunt and Hestia were too far from earshot to hear, he unclipped the little plastic cat, crossing to his dresser, where he dropped it into the small silver dish where he kept his mana stone and the silver horseshoe charm at night.

  It was a silly little thing anyway, he told himself. He didn’t really know why he’d kept it.

  Soon, he was asleep, remembering vaguely as he drifted off something about an old fairy tale where someone pricked their finger and fell asleep for a hundred years. He didn’t have any lessons tomorrow with his tutor. It was a ‘study day’ which was code at Erlking for ‘no studying whatsoever’. He could quite happily sleep through the day, if not for a hundred years.

  The Scion fell asleep happy, watching dark moths flutter in and out of the window, pattering softly against the rafters above in the warm summer air, and flitting around the silver bowl, drawn by the light, or perhaps the smell of blood.

  ***

  “Mrs Clementine is dead,” Mr Drover muttered around a slice of toast. It was Monday morning, the last week of August, and he had just arrived after dropping Henry off at his extra-tuition summer school (or Maths-Hell, as Henry called it) in time to join Irene and Robin for breakfast.

  Robin’s aunt stopped spreading marmalade with her silver knife and set it down on her side plate. “And what, pray tell, is a Mrs Clementine?” she enquired.

  “Lived in the village long as I can say,” Drover shook his head, winking up in a friendly way at Hestia, who poured tea at his elbow. She didn’t return the wink, but sniffed haughtily and moved around the table to Irene, pot in hand.

  “Terrible shame,” Drover continued, “But she was no spring chicken, I’ll say that. Made me look like a babe in arms, she did. She had a good innings. Shame to go out on your own like that though, no family there.”

  “Someone died in Barrowood?” Robin asked, looking up from his juice between the gardener and his aunt. Drover nodded. “Aye. Batty old bird really. Little old dear, bit of a village fixture. Used to say hello and how do you do in the butchers, you know, just in passing. Our Henry used to steal apples out of her garden when he was younger, and she was young enough to chase him off with her stick.” He picked up his teacup and slurped noisily. “Lived on her own, right out near the bypass. They only found her ‘cause the milkman noticed this morning that she hadn’t taken her milk in for days. Terrible shame really. Dead in her bed.”

  “Is this really appropriate conversation for the breakfast table, Mr Drover?” Hestia fluttered. “All of this talk of death and these grim deliveries of news. It is most unpleasant when my lady is attempting to break her morning fast, honestly!” She put the teapot on the table with a thud.

  Mr Drover looked abashed. “Oh, I do beg pardon, Miss Ester,” he said. “Forget I’m in the company of the fairer sex sometimes I do. Too rough around the edges for my own good. You’re quite right, quite right, terrible business.”

  Irene patted Hestia’s hand absently. “Why don’t you go and put another kettle on, Hestia,” she suggested calmly. “I find there is rarely a ‘suitable’ time to speak of death. But there are indeed suitable times to eat and drink, so I see no harm in the two sharing space at my table.”

  Robin would never understand why his aunt seemed to have a soft spot for the miserable old housekeeper. But the black-haired woman clomped out of the room obediently.

  “How did she die?”

  It was Karya, who was sitting opposite Robin, reading the newspaper at the table, who had spoken.

  “I imagine her heart stopped,” Irene said. “That’s usually the case with humans. Am I right, Mr Drover?”

  Henry’s father nodded. “Well, yes, obviously her heart stopped. They always do, eventually. They think it was natural causes.”

  “Nothing suspicious at the scene?” Karya pressed, looking over at him. “Black marks? Soot? A smell of coal or sulphur?”

  Everyone stared at her.

  “No … not really,” Drover said, confused. “Not as I’ve heard anyway. Just a lot of old milk.”

  “Hmm,” Karya replied, going back to her paper with a rustle. “Please do let me know, Mr Drover, if you hear of anything unusual with regards to the death of Mrs Satsuma, about which the lovely Hestia seems so terribly upset.”

  Robin knew what Karya was thinking. She had been scanning all forms of media for signs of Grimm activity. Did she really think the Grimms were in Barrowood and had offed an old lady living alone? He wanted to get her alone so they could talk about it.

  “And why should Hestia not be upset?” Irene asked Karya lightly, pouring herself a tea with the pot the housekeeper had left.

  Karya blinked at the old woman, looking as though she had been caught off guard a little. “Well, it’s just … She’s always upset, isn’t she? Hestia, I mean. She seems to like a drama, that’s all I’ve observed. It’s hardly as though she knew the woman, is it?”

  Irene did not reply immediately. She set down her teacup and using a pair of small silver tongs, dropped two sugar cubes into her tea.

  “As a matter of fact,” she said softly, replacing the tongs with a clink. “Hestia knows everyone in this village. She takes an interest. You would do well not to assume too much about everyone here at Erlking.”

&nb
sp; Karya looked embarrassed. Robin and the others were so used to making fun of Hestia and her hysterics between themselves, she had overstepped some invisible boundary.

  “Do not forget that you, Karya, are a guest here yourself, at the invitation of my great-nephew, Robin,” Irene continued. “And we do not presume to know much of anything about you. A lady has died. It is perfectly appropriate to be sad.” She stirred her tea with a tinkling spoon.

  Robin could tell that Karya wanted the ground to swallow her up. “I apologise,” she said, a little haughtily. “I can be a little … blunt sometimes, I’m aware. I meant no offence.”

  Robin had known bricks less blunt that Karya, but his aunt seemed to accept this apology graciously.

  The old lady turned to Robin. “My ward, Mr Drover is here today as I have asked him if he will be so kind as to serve as my driver. I have made very little progress with this.” She produced from the pocket of her dress the long carved tube they had located in the grave and she set the arcane artefact it on the table, beside the jam and marmalade. “And so I have made some enquiries, and I have found a specialist in London who, shall we say, deals in unusual artefacts. I am going to see him regarding this finding. He may be able to shed some light on its meaning.” She indicated for Robin to take the cylinder, and he reached over and picked it up.

  “You’re not taking it with you?” he asked.

  She shook her silver head. “It will be safest here in Erlking while I am gone. My contact in London is a Panthea who has lived in the human world for a long time now. He is quite an expert but of somewhat dubious character.” She allowed herself a small smile. “Let us say that I trust his judgement, but I do not trust him. I have assembled a selection of lithographs to take with me instead.”

  “Lithographs?”

  Mr Drover reached into his coat pocket and brought out his mobile phone. “Took some pictures of it on my phone,” he said happily, waggling the device.

  “An ingenious contraption,” Irene allowed. “Robin, I am likely to be gone for three days. Should you need me for anything, I will be staying at a hotel in Mayfair. Hestia has the address. Your tutor of course will remain here with you, and I would suggest you look to her for any advice or guidance needed in my absence. Hestia will attend to your daily needs as usual.” She glanced at Mr Drover. “Henry, I am given to understand, is on instructions to come up to Erlking after his summer school class today. He will be staying here while his father and I are away.”

  “I’ll look after this,” Robin said, rolling the tube under his hands on the tablecloth.

  Irene looked pleased. “I cannot imagine safer hands,” she said approvingly.

  Robin, Calypso and Karya stood at the foot of the steps at Erlking’s entrance, waving off Irene and Mr Drover as the handyman’s ancient car crunched out of the gravel circle and disappeared around the bend of trees off down the hill. Once the car was out of sight, his tutor announced that as there were no lessons scheduled for today, Robin was free to entertain himself. A tiny frown appeared on her forehead, as though she were struggling to get her head around an unfamiliar concept. “The Lady Irene has advised me that in her absence, you fall under my care, Scion of the Arcania,” she said. She regarded him coolly, as though this was something of a nuisance. “I’m not altogether very certain regarding the care of pale hornless young Fae, however. Are there specific needs you have which require urgent attention?”

  Robin frowned up at the nymph. “Um, not really.”

  Calypso looked visibly relieved to have the burden of responsibility lifted from her. “Excellent. In that case, I shall retire to my rooms for the day. Should you require food or drink, I daresay you will seek the help of the housekeeper. She is far more likely to greet any such request warmly coming from you than she would from me.”

  Robin doubted that. Hestia had never, to his knowledge, greeted anything warmly.

  “Why doesn’t Hestia seem to like you, Miss Calypso?” Karya asked. Everyone had noticed that she seemed even less friendly than usual around the nymph.

  Calypso blinked her liquid eyes at the girl, unconcerned. “She is of the sort who feel my presence here is a poor influence, I believe,” she said. “She is of the opinion, I think, that nymphs are bad news. That we do not serve her sainted mistress with the same level of devotion as she.”

  The woman shrugged her flawless shoulders elegantly. “She is not entirely wrong. I have no particular allegiance to your aunt or to Erlking, Robin, but then I had no particular allegiance to Eris either. Nymphs flow where they will. I am here as a favour returned and a debt owed, nothing more.”

  “They do say water finds the easiest course,” Karya observed, a little waspishly Robin thought.

  “Rain falls where it chooses to, friend of the Scion,” the nymph said to her. Something passed between the woman and the girl that Robin didn’t quite understand. “We have both of us spent time in Eris’ court, have we not? There is no black and white in the Netherworlde, nor in the hearts of the people who live in it. I go where there is safety, while safety remains. I have found it here, as have you, for a time.”

  “No black and white, I agree, but plenty of red,” Karya replied.

  “What a grim outlook you have for one so young,” the nymph responded lightly. She turned to Robin, and he could see that she was trying to think what a responsible adult would say to him.

  “Entertain yourself, and try not to do anything which would blind or maim you. I suspect your aunt would be displeased should she return to a less functioning charge.”

  Robin promised faithfully that he had no set plans today to sever a limb and Calypso, satisfied with this, disappeared inside.

  As soon as she was gone and the front doors of Erlking closed behind her, Karya clapped her hands together. “Right, I’m off.”

  “Off where?” Robin asked.

  “To the village, of course,” the girl replied. “You heard what Henry’s father said this morning. A woman has died, she lived alone. I have to check if this is the Grimms.”

  “It’s entirely possible that she was just an old lady whose time was up, you know,” Robin replied. He was a little concerned that Karya was starting to see Grimms in every leaping shadow. It was hard to imagine the grisly organisation on such a pretty summer’s day. The warm air out in the front of Erlking was filled with tiny puffs of blowing pollen.

  “This is true,” Karya allowed. “But it’s equally possible that Grimms are repeating their earlier pattern and are somewhere nearby. If they needed a base of operations, what better than the house of an old lady who lives alone and doesn’t get many visitors.”

  “Should I come with you?” he offered. She shook her head firmly. “No, with your aunt away and floaty Miss Daydream the only steward of the household, I think it’s safer for you to remain at Erlking.”

  This annoyed Robin a little. “I’m not made of glass you know,” he said. “I’m thirteen, not seven. And I thought you said this Mr Ker guy would skin you alive if you ran into him?”

  Karya was already walking off, boots crunching determinedly in the gravel. “No, I said he’d skin you alive, Scion. He’d have a hard time skinning me alive, I assure you. You keep the cylinder safe and sound. I’ll be careful, I promise, and I’ll be back in an hour or two. I just want to check it out.”

  Robin stood on the steps, watching her wander off and gripping the carved cylinder tightly.

  “Karya, wait,” he called after her. She stopped and turned to look at him, impatiently.

  “What is it now?”

  “Your coat,” he said. The girl was wearing, as always, her bulky, oversized coat of animal skins which practically drowned her. She looked at him, puzzled.

  “You’ll draw less attention in the village if you look like a normal human,” he explained, jogging across the gravel to her. She nodded in understanding, shrugging off her outerwear. How she wasn’t constantly fainting in the summer heat was beyond Robin. Without the huge coat she looke
d odd, he thought. Hestia, on Irene’s instruction, had procured normal clothing for her when she had first come to Erlking, and she wore a blank green t-shirt and old jeans. She looked somehow smaller and a lot more vulnerable to Robin, almost like a normal girl. Until one noticed her usually steely golden gaze, that was.

  “Look after that,” she told him firmly, as she piled the coat into his arms. “It’s the only thing I have that’s mine. Really mine, I mean. Woad made it for me.” And with that she turned and left.

  Robin trudged back to the house, wondering what he was going to do with the rest of his day. Karya’s coat was heavy slung over one arm, and in his other hand he was twirling the cylinder over and over, lost in thought.

  He almost didn’t notice the small blue smear of Woad waiting for him on the steps. The faun bounded up as he approached.

  “No Henryboy, no Boss, no old lady,” the small boy grinned. “Let’s go do something fun, Pinky!”

  LUMINAQUA

  Robin, bewildered, had followed the scampering faun indoors and through Erlking’s many hallways until they reached the third floor, where, at the end of an otherwise rather unremarkable corridor, there was a blood-red door with a round silver door handle. He watched the faun struggle with it for several seconds, grunting and cursing as the door refused to budge, before speaking.

  “Woad, what on earth are you playing at?” he asked. “You know this won’t open.”