The Midnight Swan

by Catherine Fisher

  For five whole minutes they tried to do Latin translation. But Tomos got the tenses all wrong and Seren forgot the words and even while the Crow tutted and strutted, its bright eye kept straying to where the dark Box lay shimmering in the sunlight on the table.

  Finally Seren threw down her pen. ‘This is just totally silly! No one can concentrate. Let’s get on with it!’

  The Crow managed half a second of looking cross. Then it flipped the chalk it was trying to write with across the room. ‘Kek kek,’ it said. ‘You’re quite right. Come on.’

  It flipped across to the table. Tomos slapped his notebook shut and hurried over. They gathered round the Box.

  Seren put out her hand but the Crow slapped it back. ‘NO! This could be dangerous. We have to conduct a thoroughly scientific investigation.’

  Tomos grinned but the Crow was deadly serious. It hopped all around the Box, tipping its head and eyeing every inch of the sides.

  Then it jumped back.

  ‘Scales,’ it demanded.

  Seren carried the heavy weighing scales over to the table.

  ‘Put it on.’

  She put the Box in one pan and some weights in the other, until the pans were level, and Tomos read the weight on the scale. ‘Twelve ounces.’

  ‘Heavy. Write that down.’

  Seren grabbed a pencil and scribbled it on an empty page. Then she wrote THE BOX OF THE MIDNIGHT SWAN on the top, just for a heading.

  ‘Measuring tape!’

  Tomos ran for it. The Crow took one end in its beak and stretched it out, but got it all tangled round his talons. ‘Drat!’

  ‘Let me.’ Tomos measured the Box carefully. ‘Nine inches by seven inches. And three inches deep.’

  Seren wrote that down too. ‘Why are we doing all this?’

  ‘Always study the artefacts of the enemy.’ The Crow sniffed the Box and then touched it with the very edge of a feather.

  ‘It’s not going to explode.’

  ‘You never know with Them,’ the Crow said darkly. ‘Thermometer!’

  It took a while to find one; Seren had to run down to Gwyn in the hot-house and borrow one off the wall, and then hurry back with it.

  ‘It’s probably just the same temperature as the room,’ Tomos said as they watched the red line of mercury fall and steady.

  ‘It’s a lot colder. And that,’ the Crow put on his best lecturing voice, ‘would suggest a supernatural, even sinister, component within that might…’

  Seren frowned. She was fed up of waiting. ‘But I want you to read the words!’ She reached over the Crow’s shoulder. Then she gave a great cry of surprise. ‘It’s gone! How is that possible?’

  She was amazed. There was no beautiful black swan gazing out at her from the lid. Instead the picture showed a dark lakeside, the deep water seeming to ripple on the shore, the trees shadows with stars caught in their topmost branches. Beyond, barely visible, were the turrets of an enormous castle with one lighted window in the highest tower.

  In the grass sat a hare and a tiny mouse. High in a tree perched a white owl.

  ‘It’s a completely different picture!’

  ‘Hmmm.’ The Crow pushed imaginary glasses up its beak. ‘I didn’t see anything else.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ said Tomos. ‘It’s always looked like that.’

  ‘No, it hasn’t!’

  ‘What was there before?’

  ‘A black swan. Wearing a collar.’

  The Crow blinked. It stared at her, astonished. ‘A collar? A diamond collar?’

  ‘Yes. And the words…’

  Tomos said, ‘There are no words.’

  Seren took a breath. She picked up the Box and stared. ‘Yes, there are. I don’t know why you can’t see them. Perhaps it’s magic. I’ll read out what it says.’

  The Crow nodded, doubtful. ‘As long as you’re not making this up…’

  ‘I’m not!’ So she read the words out loud.

  The Box of the Midnight Swan

  If you can open My closed lid

  Your heart’s desire Inside is hid

  ‘Now can you see why I bought it for you?’

  The Crow didn’t answer. Its beak was hanging open and its eyes were wide with sudden dismay.

  ‘No!’ it whispered. ‘No. It can’t be…’

  ‘What?’ Seren said.

  The Crow couldn’t take its eyes off the Box. It began talking very fast. ‘Right. Yes. Very well. I think we should just stop this now and go back to Latin. Maths, even. Playtime! Yes, let’s have playtime. We can get out the jigsaw puzzles and the chessboard. Table skittles…’

  ‘What on earth are you gabbling about?’ Seren said. She had never seen the Crow in such a panic. ‘It’s not dangerous. I can’t even get it to open… See…’

  She showed them how the lid refused to move. Tomos tried too. He was baffled. ‘It’s as if it’s locked,’ he muttered, irritated. He picked the Box up and turned it over. ‘Something’s stuck on the bottom.’

  Seren stared. ‘There wasn’t before…’

  ‘Well, it’s a magic Box, that’s for sure. Look.’

  He peeled something small and brown off and it slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor.

  Before Seren could move, the Crow had hopped down, he grabbed it in his beak and was staring at it.

  ‘Kek kek,’ he gasped.

  ‘What is it?’

  The Crow didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, in a rather strangled voice, ‘Nothing. Just an old photograph.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  ‘No. I…’

  But Seren had already snatched it. She and Tomos looked at it eagerly.

  It was very old, all sepia-brown and faded. It showed a man. He was thin and hook-nosed and dressed in old-fashioned dark clothes and he was standing in a garden. It looked like a rose garden because there was a rose in his fingers. A white rose with a long straight stem.

  ‘Totally uninteresting,’ the Crow gasped, turning his back on it. ‘Right, let’s have an early lunch.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Seren folded her arms. ‘Do you recognise him?’

  ‘Of course not! Never seen him before in my life.’

  Tomos looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

  She nodded. ‘We think you do! What’s going on? Tell us!’

  The Crow preened and huffed and kek kekked for a full minute. ‘Don’t order me about, child. This Box is clearly a trap set for us and…’

  ‘Maybe it is. But it’s more than that. You know about this Midnight Swan, don’t you?’

  The Crow looked down and tapped a talon.

  ‘He does, you know,’ Tomos said.

  ‘I might.’

  ‘So tell us.’

  ‘I can’t. It’s … not for children.’

  Seren snorted. ‘Tell us. Or next time your clockwork runs down I won’t even bother winding you up.’

  The Crow looked so unhappy she felt a bit of a bully. So she said, ‘Please! We’d really love to help.’

  But at that moment the lunch gong rang from below. The Crow looked heartily relieved. ‘Ah. Now. You have to go. Wrap that Box up, Seren, in that shawl. And lock the door.’

  She didn’t move. ‘You have to trust us. We can’t help you otherwise. It can’t be that terrible, can it? It might help us think how to get this Box open and find your heart’s desires. To get you back to your human shape so that you can wear slippers and eat toasted cheese again.’

  The Crow sighed. ‘You are a most obstinate and annoying little girl. But, well … you are right. I have … er … come across the Midnight Swan before. It’s not a very flattering story but I suppose I will have to tell you. Meet me after luncheon down at the summerhouse by the lake.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘You won’t lock yourself in the wardrobe?’

  ‘No. Now go, before Denzil comes looking for you.’

  Lunch was a chatty meal; Tomos and Lady Mair
were still full of the Fair and the things they had seen and done. Seren ate her cawl and then was glad to see the cool dish of lemon syllabub, her favourite thing ever. She ate it, savouring every spoonful.

  Lady Mair laughed. ‘You’re enjoying that.’

  ‘We never had puddings in the orphanage.’ Seren said it absently, and was surprised to find the remark produced an awkward silence.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Lady Mair said. ‘That is so sad.’

  Seren glanced at Tomos, He had looked down at his dish when she mentioned the orphanage. What was going on? And did Tomos know about it?

  ‘Well, I’ve started on the invitations to the ball.’ Lady Mair smoothed out a corner of the tablecloth. ‘It’s going to be the most splendid thing we’ve had here for years. I’m going to need your help later, you know, planning the children’s games and the high tea.’

  Tomos nodded.

  ‘Will we get to hear the music?’ Seren said wistfully. ‘And watch the dancing?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ Lady Mair stood up. ‘Have a good afternoon. Are you going out?’

  ‘To the lake,’ Tomos said.

  A small frown furrowed his mother’s eyes. ‘Oh. Do be careful. Perhaps Denzil…’

  ‘We’ll be fine.’ Tomos grinned. ‘Honestly.’

  When his mother was gone, he jumped up. ‘Come on, Seren! Finish that and let’s go. I’m dying to hear what story the Crow is going to make up this time.’

  Seren licked the last morsel and rattled the spoon in the dish. ‘Tomos,’ she said. ‘They’re not going to send me away, are they?’

  He stared at her, amazed. ‘Of course not! What ever made you think that? This is your home now.’

  ‘But there’s something going on.’

  Tomos laughed and ran for the door. ‘You and your imagination! I’m going to get my sun hat. See you there.’

  He ran out leaving the door open, and Lily came in and began clearing the dishes. ‘Have you finished with that, bach?’

  ‘Oh yes. Diolch, Lily.’

  Still, she sat for a moment wondering. Tomos had laughed. But it hadn’t been like his usual laugh.

  Not at all.

  Denzil was in the hall, mopping the tiles. She walked carefully round the wet bits.

  ‘You’ll have a lot of work with this Ball,’ she said.

  Denzil stopped. He looked up at her and she was surprised at how dark and grave his face was.

  ‘That’s not what worries me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Use your head, bach. Who is it that loves dancing and music? Who is that wants only to enter the Plas and fill it with Their magic?’

  Seren stared. She took a step closer. ‘The Tylwyth Teg? But…’

  ‘The Plas all lit up and music everywhere?’ Denzil frowned. ‘Oh, They’ll be crowding outside, girl. You wait and see. They’ll be so hungry to get in. That’s dangerous.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Denzil. You’ve got your iron horseshoes up and yarrow and all sorts of protection. They can’t get past that.’

  ‘No.’ He swished the mop in the bucket. ‘Not unless They are invited. And who would be doing that?’

  Seren nodded. She ran out into the brilliant sunshine. The afternoon was already hot, a scorch of butterflies. She turned a cartwheel, but it was too hot for that, so she wandered lazily over the green grass to the door in the garden wall, and through the flower beds of the sunken garden, brushing the tips of the blooms with her fingers so that the perfume of lavender and phlox and honeysuckle mingled with the drowsy buzz of bees.

  The iron gate out onto the park was hung with a row of dangling iron things, shears and old knives and a horseshoe, hot to the touch.

  Denzil was certainly taking no chances.

  She stopped and looked back.

  On the highest eaves of the house a small gathering of starlings sat in a row. Their eyes were bright and they didn’t peck and shuffle but sat silently and intent.

  They were watching her.

  Even when she waved at them, they didn’t fly away.

  4

  A difficult story is told

  Wings and feathers and cogs and wheels.

  I wish you knew how strange it feels.

  The summerhouse was a small thatched building by the lakeside, all lopsided and frail. It always looked as if it would collapse in the next high wind, but it never did.

  Seren ducked her head under the doorway and saw that Tomos was already there, and that he was on his hands and knees pulling out yellow cushions from the locker under the wooden bench, and the croquet balls and mallets as well.

  ‘We could play a game later if you like…’ Lying flat, he dragged hoops from the back of the cobwebby darkness.

  ‘I don’t mind.’ Seren sat on a cushion and stretched her legs out. ‘Is the Crow here?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  She listened to the birdsong. It was sweet and distant, from the woods. On the lake, coots and mallards were diving for deep weed and insects. The surface of the water was a shimmer of yellow iris and pondweed and the flat plates of water lilies, skimmed by dragonflies with shiny wings.

  She fanned herself with her hat. It was lovely to sit in the shade.

  ‘I’d like to live here for ever and ever.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tomos said absently. He dragged out the last croquet hoop. Something else came with it. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Look at this.’

  She leaned over. It was a very small fountain pen, all marbled green. Its nib gleamed like gold.

  ‘How did that get there?’

  Tomos shrugged. ‘It’s probably my mother’s. She often brings her sewing and writing stuff out here. Maybe she dropped it and it rolled under there. I’ll ask her. It’s really nice, anyway.’

  Seren opened her mouth to answer but there was a flutter of wings and the Crow swooped in and landed rather awkwardly on the wicker rail.

  He looked around. ‘Kek kek. This place is hardly secure. But at least we’re away from the house.’

  ‘No one’s listening, if that’s what you mean.’ Tomos put the pen in his pocket.

  ‘Don’t you be so sure,’ the Crow said darkly. ‘Anyway, I’ve put a silencing spell over it now. Just in case.’

  ‘Is that why the birds have stopped singing?’ Seren asked, noticing.

  The Crow sniffed. ‘Actually no. They’re all too busy laughing at me. I had a few small … accidents on the way here. Someone moved a wheelbarrow in my way, and that oak tree certainly wasn’t there yesterday.’

  ‘Is that why your tail feathers are all stuck out?’

  The Crow preened hastily. Then it hopped a little closer on its bent-wire talons.

  Seren pulled her knees up and hugged them. Tomos sat cross-legged on a cushion.

  They waited.

  ‘Right,’ the Crow said. ‘So. Yes. I’d better start, then.’

  It hopped a few times, restlessly. Then it took a breath, and cocked its head on one side. ‘Just remind me. Have I ever actually told you the unfortunate story of how I came to be trapped in this horrible body of a Crow…?’

  ‘Several times,’ Seren said sternly. ‘And every time it was different.’

  ‘Ah…’

  ‘First you told us you were a prince and that a witch magicked you into it because you wouldn’t give her your jewels and your horse and your crown…’

  ‘Hmmm. That’s not a bad story…’

  ‘And unless you gave up the one thing that meant most to you, you would never get back to human shape.’

  The Crow sighed. ‘It’s not exactly true.’

  ‘No.’ Seren settled herself more comfortably. ‘We know that. The second time you said you were a professor who wanted to learn to fly so you read out a spell from an old book, and it went horribly wrong.’

  The Crow squirmed. ‘Did I? I don’t remember that one…’

  Seren waved a bee away from her nose. ‘I’m not surprised. So maybe it would be best if you just told us the truth.’

 
‘The truth?’

  ‘What really happened.’

  The Crow looked nervous. It hopped from foot to foot. Then it scratched itself so hard dust flew out. ‘Goodness. I … er … well!’

  ‘You see,’ Tomos said, balancing a croquet mallet between his fingers, ‘we think you did something bad and you’re ashamed and you don’t want to tell us about it. But we won’t laugh or anything, honestly.’

  The Crow stared at him with its jewel-bright eyes. ‘What a relief!’ it said acidly. ‘Two foolish children who know absolutely nothing about anything won’t laugh at me! I’m so happy! I’m so DELIGHTED! I could…’

  ‘Stop wasting time,’ Seren said kindly. ‘You’ll feel much better when you’ve owned up, you know. That’s what people always tell me, and it’s true. Well, a bit.’