The Starspun Web

by Sinéad O'Hart

  As she did so, her gaze fell on Miss Ackerbee’s anxious face, her dark eyes behind her spectacles worried and filled with love. Tess began to run and her housemistress did too, tucking her fire whistle into its pocket at her waist. They met in the middle with a hug so tight that Tess didn’t care if she never breathed again. Seconds later they were joined by Rebecca, who wrapped her long arms round the two of them.

  “I heard your whistle,” Tess said when they released one another. “I think I could have heard it from another world.”

  “It’s designed to wake a houseful of sleeping girls, after all,” Miss Ackerbee replied with a smile. “It needs to be loud.”

  Tess gazed into Miss Ackerbee’s tearstained face and Rebecca’s joyful one and felt Violet dancing on top of her head. This is home, she thought.

  Then she looked up and saw Thomas standing a little apart from the group.

  “Miss Ackerbee, I’d like for you to meet someone important,” Tess said, the words making her chest fill. She beckoned to Thomas, who stepped forward.

  “Thomas Martin de Sousa, ma’am,” he said, holding out his hand. Miss Ackerbee shook it. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Master de Sousa,” Miss Ackerbee said. Then she looked back at Tess, her eyes shining. “I assume we’re going to tell everyone he’s your brother? I suspect the truth would be rather alarming to most people.” She kept her voice low; the only ones to hear her were Thomas, Tess and Rebecca.

  Tess and Thomas shared a look. “How did you—” Tess started to say, but the words faded in her mouth. She just does, Tess told herself. Because she’s Miss Ackerbee.

  “There’s a spare room in the attic,” Miss Ackerbee said, twinkling at him. “It hasn’t been used in years, but I’m sure we can get it shipshape.” Moose popped over his shoulder and Miss Ackerbee blinked. A second later, her warm smile was back. “And we could always use another house mascot.”

  “And I’m certain there’s room for another bed in Tess’s dorm for Millie,” Rebecca added. “That is,” she said, turning to the blushing girl, “if you’d like it?”

  “I’m not the sort for education, ma’am,” Millie said. “My place is in service and I don’t think—”

  Miss Ackerbee turned to her. “There will always be room for bright, brave and loyal children at Ackerbee’s, Millie. You would be made most welcome.”

  Millie reddened deeper. “I don’t know what to say,” she muttered, her eyes sparkling with joy.

  “Just say you’ll come home,” Miss Ackerbee replied, looking around at them all as the clanging bell of the police van sounded behind her, making her wince. “And the sooner the better.”

  “Right. Wilf? Third setting, please,” Tess said, adjusting the angle of the light over her desk. On it lay the Star-spinner, displayed on a piece of white card that showed all the details of its workings. Tess held a sharpened pencil like a weapon and focused intently on the page before her as Wilf adjusted the device.

  “You’re sure this isn’t going to tear some sort of hole in reality?” Wilf said as the Star-spinner clicked into place. She held it carefully by its edges as though afraid it would burn her.

  Tess shrugged. “Shouldn’t,” she said. “But I guess you can never be completely certain.”

  “Tess,” Wilf said, her voice tight.

  “I’m joking, I’m joking,” Tess replied, looking up at her friend. “The starglass is shattered, so it shouldn’t do anything while you’re holding it. And as long as I’m not touching it, or thinking about other worlds, we should be fine.” She cleared her throat. “Theoretically.”

  Wilf tutted. “You’d better share all the awards you’re going to win with me,” she muttered. “I want half of everything.”

  Tess sucked in her cheeks to avoid laughing and said nothing as she started to draw. What I wouldn’t give to have that magnifier back, she thought, focusing intently on the pattern around the Star-spinner’s marker stone in this particular orientation. The detail I could get…

  “Remind me what we’re doing here, again?” Wilf said after Tess had been drawing for several minutes.

  Tess straightened her back as she sat up and used the pause as an opportunity to sharpen her pencil. “The theory is that each of these markings is a map to another reality,” she said, cranking the pencil round in its sharpener. She gestured toward the drawing with her eyes. “So every time you put the Star-spinner into this position, for instance, you’ll be brought to the same place.” She pulled the pencil out and blew on its fearsomely sharp nib, grinning.

  “And you reckon that’s why it kept bringing you back to the same world, all the time you used it?” Wilf said, trying to understand.

  Tess nodded. “I always did the same thing, so it makes sense that I turned up in the same place every time.”

  Wilf raised her eyebrows thoughtfully. “I wonder if it remembers?” she asked.

  Tess frowned. “Remembers what?”

  “The places it’s been to,” Wilf said. “The settings it’s been placed in. You know, like leaving a record behind, every time it’s used.”

  Something about these words struck Tess. “A record of the places it brought my dad,” she said, staring at the splayed Star-spinner.

  “We can retrace the steps he took when he brought you here,” Wilf finished Tess’s thought in hushed tones. She blinked and stared at the Star-spinner fearfully. “We can really do that?”

  “Theoretically,” Tess replied, grinning.

  “You like that word a bit too much,” Wilf said, returning the grin.

  Violet scratched at Tess’s hairline and automatically she looked toward the door. Violet always seemed to know when someone was coming, and these days that someone was almost always Thomas.

  A second later he burst through the door, clattering into the laboratory like an overeager puppy.

  “You won’t believe it,” he said, hurrying toward Tess with a newspaper in his hand. “Look at this!”

  “Good morning,” Tess said mildly, fixing him with a look. “Oh yes, we’re having a fine time, thanks—and how are you?”

  Thomas tsked. “Never mind about that.” He tossed the newspaper across Tess’s desk and pointed at an article on the front page. “Read this!”

  Wilf craned her neck to see as Tess took in the article Thomas was so interested in. Tess missed a breath when she saw the sketch of Mr. Cleat that accompanied it—his angry expression seemed to leap right off the page and into her heart.

  “Prison suits him,” Wilf murmured, and Tess felt like she’d been shaken out of a dream. He can’t get you, she told herself. He’s locked away and you’re safe here with Miss Ackerbee. Back home. With your family. She looked at Wilf and Thomas, their eyes kind and filled with understanding, and she smiled at them both.

  She cleared her throat and began to read aloud. “The latest twist in the Roedeer Lodge saga unfolded last night with the discovery of what appears to be the wreckage of an airship in the trees of Fairwater Park,” she began. “The shattered craft—of unknown make or origin—was found not far from the site of the as-yet-unexplained happenings of the small hours of May thirty-first last. No identifying documents were found in the craft’s cabin, but a notebook inscribed with the name Helena Molyneaux—” At this Tess stopped short and looked at Thomas, her eyes wide with shock. “Helena Molyneaux!”

  “I know,” Thomas said, nodding.

  Wilf frowned. “Who?”

  “I’ll explain in a minute,” Tess said. She bent over the newspaper once more and continued to read. “A notebook inscribed with the name Helena Molyneaux was found wedged beneath one of the seats. A search has begun to trace Miss Molyneaux, who it is hoped can shed some light on the mystery.”

  “They won’t find her,” Thomas said, his eyes glittering with something Tess couldn’t quite
name. “But what does it tell you?”

  “It must have been Mackintosh,” Tess said as the pieces slotted together in her head. “He came through, the night of the rift. I knew I’d seen something moving on the roof of your house. I couldn’t see it clearly, but I know now what it was: Mackintosh setting off in some sort of airship right before the roof collapsed.”

  “And he brought my parents’ research notes,” Thomas said. “The Oscillometer from Dad’s observatory, too.”

  Wilf cleared her throat. Tess looked at her apologetically and began to explain. “Helena Molyneaux was Thomas’s mother. She’s…”

  “Dead,” Thomas said, his mouth a tight line. “And my dad. But they didn’t exist here. So chances are this aircraft came from my world.”

  Wilf’s eyes widened as she thought. “What do you reckon Mackintosh’s doing here then? D’you think he’ll be looking for our old pal Sharpthorn?”

  “Mrs. Thistleton?” Tess’s jaw dropped at the thought. “Maybe.”

  “I really wish we hadn’t let her get away, and with that dagger, too,” Wilf said mournfully.

  “It can’t be helped,” Tess said, but in truth every time she thought about Mrs. Thistleton, it felt like someone clamping hard on her windpipe. She’d never forget the crazed fervor in Mrs. Thistleton’s face the night everything had happened—Tess knew nothing would deter her and that if Mrs. Thistleton could try again she would. She imagined worlds falling like dominoes before Mrs. Thistleton’s efforts to find the edges of the universe…

  “What we really need to do is keep the Star-spinner safe,” Thomas said. “Hidden away where she’ll never find it.”

  “No,” Tess said, meeting his eye. “We need to do more than that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Wilf said.

  “Do you think there’s more starglass out there?” Tess asked, looking from one to the other. “This world has a Tunguska site too. Right? All these connected worlds do. So it stands to reason there’s more out there.”

  “And if there is,” Thomas said, finishing Tess’s thought, “Mrs. Thistleton might go after it. Maybe she’ll even find a way to use it. And then perhaps she’ll come for us.”

  “Right,” Tess replied. “I think what we need to do is find some more starglass ourselves, and then”—she paused, licking her lips—“then we go and find my father. He made the Star-spinner to help people escape from a dying world—I’m sure of it. He’ll help us, I know he will.” He’s not what Mr. Cleat says he is.

  A sudden knock at the door made them all jump. Millie poked her head into the room. “Tess!” she called. “Miss Ackerbee wants to see you and Thomas.”

  Tess frowned at her. “Shouldn’t you be in French?”

  “Miss Ackerbee let me out of class to fetch you,” she said with a grin. Gone was Millie’s starched uniform and tightly bound hair, replaced with the slightly threadbare clothes of an Ackerbee’s girl. She’d never looked happier.

  “Come on then,” Tess said. She shoved the paper underneath her notebook and put the Star-spinner in her pocket out of habit, and they all trooped out of the room.

  “Good luck,” whispered Wilf with a squeeze of Tess’s hand when they reached Miss Ackerbee’s door. Millie threw Tess and Thomas a wink and she and Wilf vanished down the corridor.

  Tess stood up straight and raised her hand to knock—only for Rebecca to open it from the inside before she had the chance. She gave them a knowing grin. “Ah, yes. The de Sousas. Come on in, won’t you?” She stood aside to let them enter. Miss Ackerbee was sitting on her sofa, some papers spread out before her on a low table. “Hello, you two,” she said, putting down her teacup. “Will you take a seat?”

  Tess and Thomas perched on a pair of chairs, and Miss Ackerbee smiled at their worried expressions. “Don’t worry,” she assured them. “You’re not in trouble.”

  “That’s what Rebecca said last time,” Tess reminded her. “And look what happened then.”

  Miss Ackerbee laughed and bent forward to pick up a sheet of paper. “I’ve had a letter from a firm of solicitors,” she told them. “They’re responsible for the estate of the late Heriberto de Sousa, who once owned Roedeer Lodge—and who was not any relation, even a distant one, of Mr. Cleat. It seems, then, that Mr. Cleat’s acquisition of the house wasn’t quite within the law, which is one of the reasons he’s enjoying some relaxation time at His Majesty’s pleasure.” She placed the letter before them. “So I made some inquiries about the possibility of you both being named as heirs and—well, it seems they’ve agreed.”

  Thomas’s mouth dropped open. “What?” he asked before hurriedly gathering his wits and his manners. “I mean, I’m sorry. Pardon?”

  “You’re de Sousas,” Miss Ackerbee said. “And even though you’re not technically Heriberto’s sole heirs, I think the lawyers would rather say you are instead of dealing with the truth—which is of course rather harder to understand. It seems easier to assume you’re a long-lost grandniece and grandnephew of the deceased than a pair of children from different worlds who share the same name.”

  “You’re saying—you’re saying we own Roedeer Lodge?” Tess said, staring at the letter.

  “If you want it,” Miss Ackerbee said softly. “Yes.”

  Tess and Thomas looked at one another. Their identical eyes held identical expressions, and they knew that they were thinking the same thing.

  “Haven’t you always thought Ackerbee’s could do with a new building?” Thomas said, looking at Miss Ackerbee. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with the house here—”

  “Besides damp, and windows that stick, and a leaking roof,” Tess interjected in an undertone.

  Thomas nodded. “Besides that, but—well, how about we move?”

  Tess and Thomas looked at Miss Ackerbee eagerly and Rebecca sank onto the sofa. Miss Ackerbee took her hand as they gazed at the children.

  “Before you ask us—yes, we’re sure.” Tess smiled.

  “Well, I don’t know what to say,” Miss Ackerbee replied, her eyes shining.

  “Just say you’ll come,” Tess said. “It’s a real home. A family home. We can make it into a happy place again.”

  Miss Ackerbee and Rebecca shared a glance. “In that case, what other choice do we have?” Miss Ackerbee said, looking back at the children. “Thank you, Tess. Thank you, Thomas. Let’s hope the future of Roedeer Lodge is happier than its recent past has been.”

  “I think we should set the bar a bit higher than that,” Rebecca said, raising her eyebrows.

  Miss Ackerbee laughed again and turned back to the children. “Now, you two, run along and join the others. I have a telephone call to make and then—well. Then we have a lot of work to do.”

  As they got to their feet, Tess hugged Miss Ackerbee, who bent to place a kiss on the crown of her head. “You remarkable girl,” she murmured. “How proud of you I am. How proud we both are.” Tess looked up into her housemistress’s face, which was shining with love. “Go on now, before I lose my composure,” Miss Ackerbee said, wiping at her eyes. Tess looked at Rebecca, who’d come to stand beside Miss Ackerbee, her eyes soft, and they exchanged a wink and a grin.

  Tess and Thomas left the room, pulling the door softly closed, and wandered toward the courtyard in a daze. Tess ran her fingers over the Star-spinner absently as she walked. From his perch in Thomas’s top pocket, Moose sniffed at the air. Violet watched him fondly from Tess’s shoulder.

  “If we go back to Roedeer, what about Mrs. Thistleton?” Tess said as they stepped out into the sunshine. “It’s the first place she’ll come looking.”

  Thomas nodded. “I know.” Then he met her gaze. “But we both know it’s where we need to be.”

  Tess took the Star-spinner out of her pocket and touched the inert starglass window. “It’s the best place to get this working again,” she said.
“The house, I mean. In all the worlds, it’s where we’re strongest.” She looked back at Thomas.

  “Well then”—Thomas glanced away to wave at Prissy, who was beckoning them over to the corner of the courtyard—“if Mrs. Thistleton comes calling, we’ll be ready for her.”

  They shared a conspiratorial grin as Tess slid the Star-spinner back into her pocket. Then they took one another’s hands and ran into the sunshine to join their friends, their steps—as always—perfectly in tune.

  EPILOGUE

  “Mr. Mackintosh?” The landlady knocked again and then unlocked the door to the attic room with her master key. “Sir? Are you in?”

  She looked inside but the room was deserted. Mrs. Jones strode into the middle of the floor and tutted at the state of the place. She owned this house, including the room Mr. Mackintosh was renting, and she wasn’t accustomed to such uncleanliness. It was disconcerting, to say the least. The bed was unmade, the curtains were closed, and there were papers strewn on all the surfaces she could see: open notebooks, correspondence and a notice board that was pinned with scribbled-on scraps.

  “And now I’m adding to it,” she sighed, looking at the letter in her hand. It had come for Mr. Mackintosh that morning. Whatever it is you’re waiting on, she thought, I hope this is it. She knew he’d been placing notifications in all the newspapers; she’d often had to run his errands for him, which she’d decided had given her permission to look at the message he kept trying to send. It was always the same: Sharpthorn. I have come through. Mrs. Jones had no idea what it meant.

  Sighing deeply, she propped the letter in front of Mr. Mackintosh’s radio set (though what he needed one of his own for, when there was a perfectly adequate wireless in the living room, she couldn’t imagine) and turned to leave. Mrs. Jones began reciting a list of requests in her head for the next time she saw her tenant, which included telling him to open the windows and do his washing a bit more frequently. She was so preoccupied that she didn’t hear the Oscillometer—which she’d taken for a radio set—crackle to life.