by Jen Storer
The taller of the pair, who had sat stooped on the shoulders of the other, had hair the colour of dirty ice. It hung down her back in thick dreadlocks. Silver ravens dangled from her ears. She was wearing what looked like an old floral pyjama top and a pair of white cricket pants. The pants were rolled up to her knees and held up with a strip of yellow dressmaker’s tape tied in a long, complex knot. Despite her ludicrous outfit and the terrified look on her face, she was, in her own curious way, remarkably pretty.
The other girl was wiry and strong looking with a mass of forest-green hair. Her jagged fringe looked to have been hacked with a pocketknife. She was dressed in a black dinner suit, clumsily altered to fit her petite form. The sleeves were cut off just below her elbows. Unlike her friend, she was not wearing elaborate earrings, although she did have raven tattoos — one on the inside of each forearm. There was a hint of a silver bangle pushed up her left arm.
Both girls wore workboots similar to the ones Reafen had worn on that first day. And, like Reafen, their feet seemed out of proportion to the rest of them.
‘Who ...? What ...? Are you okay, Angus?’ stammered Martha. ‘I’m fine,’ said Angus, jiggling the fire extinguisher. ‘But I’m waiting for our guests to explain themselves.’
He propped the fire extinguisher on his hip like a Western gunslinger. He hoped he looked threatening.
But the girls were staring at Reafen.
‘So here she is,’ said the girl with the green hair. ‘The famous Reafen.’
‘Famous, shamous.’ Reafen bustled forward and pushed Angus aside. ‘There’s no need for long-winded explaining,’ she added. ‘Just give me back my snow dome,’ she held out her hands to the girls, ‘and you can be gone and away.’
‘We have nothing that is not rightfully ours,’ snapped the girl with green hair.
‘Oh yes, you do,’ said Reafen, muscling close and eyeing them belligerently. She prodded them both with her glittering blue fingernails. ‘Come on, you two. Listen to Reafen. Do as she demands. You might be young but you know this is the law!’
Martha stared at the intruders. ‘Who are you?’ she breathed.
The girls glanced at one another.
The green-haired one gave Reafen a shove.
‘I’m Graini,’ she said, still glaring at Reafen. Graini’s teeth were crooked and bucked. She had a quirky, compelling slant to her expression.
‘And I’m Ava,’ said the one with the earrings.
‘They don’t care if you’re Hansel and Gretel,’ cried Reafen. ‘Just give over the pretty. NOW.’
Graini and Ava stood tall.
‘It is not yours, Reafen,’ said Ava quietly. ‘And we will not be giving it over.’
Reafen turned to Angus. ‘See!’ she cried. ‘The little squirm admits she has purloined my snow dome. Turn on that water weapon, young man. Protect a frightened old woman. Look at the mess they have made of my shop. Look at the freewheeling they have done!’
The girls really had made a mess but Angus was reluctant to use the fire extinguisher again. Everything about this was absurd.
‘Look,’ he said to the girls, ‘can’t you just give it back? It’s not much of a treasure. They sell them by the dozens at Crazy Phil’s
Bargain Bin.’
Graini and Ava shook their heads.
‘Why not?’ asked Martha. ‘Reafen said she would let you go.
And we won’t say anything, will we, Angus?’ Angus shook his head.
‘You boy and you girl don’t understand,’ said Ava. ‘We cannot give it back. It does not belong to Reafen.’
‘She’s an Insincere,’ said Graini with disgust. ‘Look at that make-up.’ She pointed at Reafen. ‘And those hair-curlers and that luxurious velvet lounging suit. And look at this elaborate treasure-trove emporium.’ Graini waved her hands about her. ‘She pretends to be what she is not. She is a turncoat to her people and she is a traitor.’
‘Hush, Graini,’ warned Ava. ‘Be calm.’
But it was too late. Reafen launched herself at Graini and knocked her flying.
‘Stop it!’ yelled Martha and she leaped on Graini’s back, dragging at her dinner jacket, as Graini and Reafen rolled about, screaming and slapping and cursing.
‘Enough!’ cried Ava, cradling the snow dome in her pyjama top. ‘This is not how we do things. Not ever. This is very, very, extremely bad manners.’
‘Give it back, Ava,’ said Angus. ‘Now.’
‘I can’t,’ said Ava, making a dash for the windows.
Angus aimed the fire extinguisher. ‘Stop!’ he yelled.
Ava swung around.
‘Everybody stop or I’ll squirt her so hard the snow dome will be obliterated.’
‘No!’ screamed Reafen and Graini, and they fell apart. Martha rolled to one side and collided with a rocking horse.
‘Right,’ said Angus. ‘Now that I have your attention, I want some answers. Refuse and I’ll fire.’
Angus’s threat must have been effective because right at that moment Reafen burst into tears.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
____________________________________________
Tears and lies
Reafen peeled off her false eyelashes. Tears and make-up slid down her face.
‘Don’t obliterate the snow dome,’ she whimpered. ‘Don’t obliterate Reafen’s life purpose.’ She folded into sobs.
‘This is exactly what becomes of an Insincere,’ hissed Graini.
‘An Insincere?’ said Martha.
Graini grunted. ‘It’s the name we give to those of our kind who have betrayed us and our way of life. Those who have turned their backs on all that is precious to us. We have never met Reafen but we know all about her. She is a most infamous Insincere.’
Reafen sobbed a little louder.
‘We have no sympathy for hair-curlered turncoats,’ said Graini, pushing up her sleeves.
‘Leave her alone,’ said Martha, jumping up off the floor. ‘Just you stop being mean to Reafen or my brother will squirt you right between your beady eyes.’
Graini made a rude hand gesture as Martha placed her arm around Reafen.
Angus jerked the fire extinguisher at Ava, who was still standing by the side window, stroking the snow dome. ‘Who are you and where do you come from?’ he demanded.
‘Go on, Ava,’ said Graini. ‘Tell him. Maybe he’ll help us when he knows the truth.’
‘What truth?’ said Angus.
Martha patted Reafen sympathetically, but Reafen had stopped crying and her shrewd little eyes were fixed on Ava.
‘We’re goblin girls,’ said Ava, and Reafen wailed into her handkerchief.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Angus.
‘We’re goblin girls,’ said Ava, facing Angus squarely.
‘Goblin girls,’ Angus repeated. ‘But of course. Why didn’t I see it straight away? And I suppose Reafen is a wicked goblin queen? Why, she probably ate our cat.’
He raised the fire extinguisher.
‘No!’ cried Graini, leaping forward and joining her companion by the window. ‘You must believe us. We really are goblin girls. We come here from the Old Realm. It has been a long and difficult journey but we have finally tracked down Reafen and retrieved what is ours. Soon we will be home and our people will be complete and restored and there will be great rejoicing.’
Reafen sank to the floor and bowed her head. Her hair-curlers were unravelling. Her large head swayed to and fro.
‘It’s okay, Reafen,’ soothed Martha, kneeling beside her. ‘We’ll help you. We’ll protect you from these crackpots.’
‘No, it is not all right.’ Reafen sniffed and wiped her long, crooked hand across her nose. ‘These goblin girls, they speak of true things. Things that are sad and regretful and written in the Truth Books of our people — where all the bad doings of Reafen are recorded.’
‘Astounding,’ snorted Graini. ‘Quick, Ava. Get out your notebook. It is a day for pen and ink when Reafen speaks the truth.’<
br />
Ava smiled sadly.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Angus, intrigued. ‘What bad doings? Aside from her stealing your trinket, what else have you got against Reafen?’
‘Just look at her,’ said Graini scornfully. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Her love of “glamour”. Her hoarding. I bet she eats sugar too! She has allowed herself to be seduced by the ludicrous temptations of this world. Note also the manner in which she mingles with the likes of you and your sister.’
Martha pulled a face at Graini but the goblin girl went on.
‘This behaviour, Reafen’s behaviour, is destructive and abhorrent. It is a threat to the security of the Old Realm and so to our way of life. Ava, your notebook please ...’
Angus shook his head in disbelief. ‘So, you’re goblin girls. You come from the Old Realm. And you carry notebooks?’ said Angus but his sarcasm was lost on Ava.
‘That’s exceptionally right!’ she said. ‘I carry the notebook. I am an Official Recorder and my writings will be added to the Truth Books. I am a storyteller in our world too, and when we return, everyone will want to hear the stories I have collected. Goblins love detail. The truth is in the detail. The fascination is in the detail. The magick of the words, the magick of the stories, is all in the detail.’
‘So now she thinks she’s some kind of journalist,’ muttered Angus to himself. ‘Show me,’ he said abruptly.
‘Show you what?’ asked Ava.
‘Your notebook,’ said Angus. ‘I want to see if goblins write in English. Or Norwegian. Or maybe they prefer Latin. Yes, I believe Latin would be the language of choice for goblins.’
Ava sighed and passed the snow dome to Graini. Then she reached inside her pyjama top and pulled out a leather-bound notebook. Angus rested the fire extinguisher against his legs.
The book was large — more of a journal than a notebook, with a smooth, worn cover. It was soft and malleable and held the promise of all things hidden and profound. Angus was reluctant to open it and spoil the illusion.
He opened the cover slowly, expecting to see thoughtless scribbles, shopping lists and amateurish sketches. But he was mistaken.
‘This writing ...’ he muttered as he turned the velvety pages. ‘This intricate, precise lettering ...’
‘They are the letters of our people,’ snapped Graini. ‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘It looks like runes,’ said Angus.
‘That’s right,’ said Graini. ‘You don’t think we’d use your slippery, double-sided English, do you?’
‘But this,’ said Angus, smoothing the pages, ‘this is the language of Vikings.’
‘Ha,’ scoffed Graini. ‘It is the language of goblins. It was goblins who instructed Vikings in the language of runes. Of course, the Vikings adopted a clumsy interpretation, whittled our entire beautiful alphabet down to sixteen characters. But it suited them, and in payment they taught our people about floating boats and seafaring navigation. In the early days, when we still lived in this realm, the Vikings even gave some of us free passage.’
‘Across the English Channel?’ said Martha. ‘Our father said goblins first travelled to Britain with Vikings.’
‘Then your father-relative knows his history,’ said Graini.
‘So,’ said Ava, her face softening, ‘do you believe us now?’
She looked so hopeful, Angus felt a rush of sympathy. All eyes were now on him. ‘You don’t look like goblins,’ he muttered.
Graini put her hands on her hips. ‘And just how do you know that?’ she said. ‘What are goblins supposed to look like?’
‘Well,’ said Angus slowly, for he feared he might be backing himself into a corner, ‘as I understand it, goblins are filthy, snivelling, wizened little creatures that live in dungeons and catacombs and haunted houses ...’
‘And sewers and cesspools and rotting cellars,’ added Martha quietly.
Reafen laughed. ‘See,’ she said to the intruders. ‘See what they think of you?’ She grunted as she got up.
‘The story you humans believe is for the best,’ said Ava. ‘For it is this story that keeps our world safe. No-one seeks us because they believe we are ... hideous. This is to our advantage.’
Angus felt Ava studying him, willing him to understand, and he blushed.
‘Rubbish!’ said Reafen. ‘These children know a couple of fancy-footed liars when they see them. Now hand over my pretty and skedaddle before I call the Officials. They have them in this city, you know. With sirens and manacles and magical walkie-talkie boxes.’
Reafen and the strange girls began to argue again.
‘Hold on,’ said Angus, turning to Reafen. ‘A minute ago you were blubbing all over the place, saying they were telling the truth. Now you’re saying they’re liars.’
‘What would you expect from a fickle-hearted Insincere?’ snapped Graini. ‘She has no love for truth and loyalty and family ties. She will side with whoever suits her.’
Reafen took a belligerent step forward.
‘Right,’ said Angus, tossing the notebook back to Ava and picking up the fire extinguisher, ‘I’ve had enough. There are no such things as goblins. But there are such things as family feuds. Come on, Martha. Let’s get out of here and leave these three to fight it out.’
‘But, Angus, we came to help Reafen ...’
Angus clasped his sister’s hand and led her grumbling and whining back through the shop and out the back door.
‘Weirdos,’ he huffed as they stepped out into the moonlight.
‘I like weirdos,’ said Martha sulkily. ‘And besides, I believe them. I think they really are goblin girls.’
That’d be right, thought Angus.
As they padded down the steps, they heard a car pull up.
‘It’s Maxwell!’ said Martha.
‘Quick!’ said Angus, and the pair flew down the rest of Reafen’s stairs, across the lawn and up the back steps to their own house.
Angus ditched the fire extinguisher in the laundry and they slid inside the house just as their father’s key clicked in the front door.
‘The couch,’ said Angus, and they dived into the lounge room and flung themselves down on the couch. Martha flicked off the light.
Their father shut the front door gently and crept into the house. He stood quietly in the lounge-room doorway. The kids shut their eyes and pretended to be asleep. In their rush to deceive their father, neither of them noticed that the television had turned itself back on ... and a hooded figure was ghosting on the screen.
The Prof frowned at the image and turned the television off at the wall.
He looked across to his daughter and smiled sadly. Even sleeping she looked agitated and unhappy. She was such a fiery, headstrong girl — if only her mother were here. Once again the Prof wished he knew how to reach his little girl. He wished with every fibre of his being that he could find the right words, the words to tell her how much he loved her.
He smoothed a blanket over Martha, kissed her forehead and left the room.
The kids lay still. It was best to fake it a little longer.
Martha kept her eyes shut tight and tried not to think about her father. I will not cry, she repeated to herself. I will not cry.
In the silence that followed, the figure reappeared on the TV screen.
Varla peered from beneath her dark hood, her bird-like eyes scanning the lounge room hungrily. Her gaze fell on the kids. She watched them feigning sleep. She delighted in their deception.
Her attention lingered on Angus. There was something about him, something that made Varla yearn ...
In fact, there was something intriguing about both these barnmindreårig. Varla was transfixed, almost tormented by it, but she could not quite grasp what it was. They were too far from her reach, too far from her reckoning.
Curse that goblin crone! Why had the old crock been drawn to this place, why had she befriended this pair of ugly pups?
Or perhaps, perhaps, it was the father who was of value? Varla brist
led at the thought.
Martha sat up and reached for the lamp.
Varla disappeared.
She had grown impatient with spying. Next time she would strike with conviction.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
____________________________________________
Frosty Loops and Jelly-Tarts
Neither of the kids could raise the energy to get up the next morning. At some point during the night, they had both found their way back to their beds and there they stayed until long after the sun had risen, dozing on and off until midmorning. The Prof was happy enough to let them sleep. He went for an early morning jog, put a jazz compilation on the stereo and lost himself in his ‘work’. By now he had constructed countless models of the amber snow dome, some from art wire and golden cellophane, some from modelling clay. They were a poor substitute for the real thing but he hoped they would trigger some kind of unexpected insight. They sat on the desk before him. Over the years, Helen had spoken with great enthusiasm about such artefacts; oddities that could not be labelled or put into a category or placed at any point in human history. Relics that seemed to belong to another world. He had always dismissed the idea — and now he regretted his arrogance.
He picked up one of his models and tilted it thoughtfully. What would Helen think of this? What was the thing’s purpose? What? And why did he feel such a deep sense of melancholy whenever he was around the real snow dome?
Sometime after ten, Angus finally woke. He put his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling. He ran over last night’s events in his mind. Over and over he thought about what had happened. Who were those strange girls and what did they really want? And what about Reafen? Man, she was a piece of work. One minute bawling her eyes out, the next minute as aggro as a bear. He wondered if she was safe now, or if by marching out of there, they had left her in the lurch. It was an uncomfortable thought. She was a creepy old bag but she was their neighbour. He didn’t wish her any harm.
He couldn’t help but wonder more about those girls too. They really did look unusual. Not just their stupid clothes and jewellery but their manner, the way they talked and the way they carried themselves. They seemed like they were clever too, maybe even knowledgeable. And that notebook. That handwriting. It was amazing. Angus wondered if it actually made any sense. Imagine if they really were goblin girls. Imagine if they really had come from some far-off world, some other realm.
