The Thirteen Treasures Part 18

The goblin edged out from his hiding place, his eyes wide. One finger was pressed to his lips, motioning for her to be silent.

'You mustn't, you mustn't!' he whispered, shaking his head fervently.

'Mustn't what?'

Brunswick scurried up to her and took her hand in his, then began tugging her through the trees, his eyes darting nervously over his shoulder.

'You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't have come!'

'Why not?' Tanya asked. 'Brunswick, you're scaring me. Tell me what you mean!'

But the goblin would not tell. Instead he continued to pull her further and further into the woods at a maddening pace. The trees around them grew closer together now, their barks gnarled and ancient. It felt wrong to be there; as though they were intruding on a place undisturbed by time. Still Brunswick tugged her onwards, even deeper into the woods. Between the greenery, Tanya caught a sudden glimpse of yellow. The goblin stopped and finally released her hand.

A beautiful old Romany caravan was almost completely consumed by the foliage. Brunswick had led her straight to the old gypsy woman.

'How did you know?' she whispered.

'You'll be safe with her,' he said. 'But I can help you no more.'

Tanya stared at him, as several realisations. .h.i.t her at once. She searched Brunswick's face for answers. Instead she found only more questions.

'Where are the other two goblins? And why . . . why aren't you speaking in rhyme?'

Brunswick shook his head again sadly and began to back away, motioning for her to approach the caravan. She paused in front of the door, her hand raised to knock. Then she hesitated and looked back for Brunswick. He was gone.

Before she had the chance to hesitate any further, the door opened.

'Come in,' said the old gypsy woman, her birdlike eyes drinking Tanya in. 'I've been expecting you.'

18.

NSIDE, THE CARAVAN SMELLED OF burning candles and herbs. There was a comfortable-looking armchair by the window and next to a table sat a small dresser displaying all manner of curious bottles made of brightly coloured gla.s.s, all with labels tied to their stoppers. A thick, velvet curtain obscured the rear portion of the caravan, which, Tanya supposed, must be where the old woman slept. Curled up at the foot of a traditional broom was a smoke-grey cat. It eyed her suspiciously.

The strangest thing in the caravan by far was a thick book of puzzles that was propped open to reveal a partially completed crossword. Tanya gaped at it, momentarily thrown. Something so completely normal seemed out of place in the home of a so-called witch.

'What were you expecting?' the old woman snapped, making Tanya jump. 'Toads and spell books? A collection of pointy hats? Eye of newt and wing of bat?'

'No,' Tanya began, embarra.s.sed. 'It's just-' She broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

'I happen to like puzzle books,' said Morag, crossly. 'I don't know why everyone finds that so amusing. And for your information, I don't keep spell books.' She lifted a bony finger and tapped the side of her head. 'They're all up here.'

Morag motioned to a seat at the table and then set a bowl of water in front of Oberon. He lapped at it gratefully.

The old woman sat down, her wizened hands clasped together.

'I thought you would come sooner.'

Tanya removed the compa.s.s from her pocket. It was a moment before she found her voice.

'I . . . I'd like to know why you gave me this,' she said, finding it hard to meet the old woman's unfaltering gaze. 'And how you knew I'd need it.'

'Of course.' Morag seemed unfazed. 'I expect you know its use by now?'

Tanya nodded.

'I saw you in a vision recently. And I saw your . . . ability.'

Tanya gaped and Morag smiled.

'Do not be surprised. I too have abilities, although not quite like your own. Some call me a fortune-teller. Some call me a witch. Most know me as "Mad Morag".' She paused and gave Tanya a hard look. 'Yes, I know what people say about me, and a little of it is true. I have a gift and sometimes I can use it to help people people like you.'

'People like me?'

'Those who believe they have n.o.body else to turn to. And those who are not too afraid to accept my help.'

'What else did you see?' Tanya asked, her fear slowly giving way to curiosity.

The old woman seemed to be considering her answer. 'I saw a child stolen from its crib, long ago. And later, I saw a boy of about your own age . . . with a grievance of a different kind. Somehow, it is connected to your ability, the fact that you have the second sight. Am I correct?'

Tanya nodded, thinking of the poem's revelation of the true manner of Morwenna's disappearance. 'It is now.'

'This boy wants your help,' Morag continued. 'But there will come a time when you will need his help more. Much more.'

Tanya frowned. The old woman seemed to be speaking in riddles.

Morag seemed to sense what she was thinking.

'I know you have many questions, but I'm afraid I am able to answer very few of them. I have a feeling that you mean to save somebody . . . and you will. But not in the way you would expect.'

Two people, Tanya thought grimly. Amos needs saving as well as Morwenna.

'May I ask what it is you are doing?' the old woman continued.

'I need to . . . to bring someone out of the fairy realm,' Tanya said. 'But I don't know how to do it.'

'I would advise against it,' said the old woman immediately. 'To attempt it is not an easy task. You will be placing yourself and the boy in grave danger. You may even become trapped in the fairy realm yourself.'

'I've no choice.'

Morag studied her and Tanya thought she saw fear in the old woman's eyes.

'I thought you would say that.' She got up from the table and hobbled over to the dresser. 'I can be of some a.s.sistance,' she said, reaching into the cabinet amongst the many objects inside. She began to remove several jars and bottles, mixing ingredients in a small bowl with a stone pestle.

Tanya felt her eyes drawn to the puzzle book once more. She simply couldn't help herself. Its normality made it seem alien.

'It's prejudice,' she murmured unthinkingly.

'Pardon?' said Morag.

'Nine down. "Pre-conceived opinion or judgement formed without facts." The answer is prejudice.'

Morag nodded towards a pencil on the table. Tanya hastily scribbled the answer into the grid. Afterwards she stared at the compa.s.s in her hands.

'Where . . . where did you get this?'

Morag did not turn around.

'It was pa.s.sed down to me by my mother. Many things are pa.s.sed down through families that cannot be explained. It has helped a number of others before you find their way in times of need, and will continue to help others after you, so I would appreciate it if you could return it when you feel it is no longer of any use.'

'How will I know when I don't need it any more?'

'You will know,' Morag replied. 'It will simply cease to work.' She closed the cabinet of the dresser, then sat back down and placed two objects on the table. One was a tiny pair of silver scissors. The other was a bottle, small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. Morag lifted the bowl of liquid she had been mixing and carefully emptied the murky, grey-green fluid into the clear gla.s.s.

'You know of certain ways to protect yourself. They will not be enough.' She lifted the scissors and presented them to her. Tanya took them and noticed a small red jewel cast in the cover sheathing the point.

'These are for you,' said Morag. 'They may look unexceptional, but they will cut through almost any material, apart from metal, wood or stone.' Then she picked up the bottle of green liquid. 'This is for the boy it will help him to see things . . . in the same way you do.'

Tanya handed the items back regretfully.

'I can't take these. I've no way of paying you for them.'

Morag's eyes narrowed. 'I did not ask for payment.'

Tanya felt her cheeks flush with embarra.s.sment.

'But next time you visit, perhaps you might bring me a puzzle book.'

Tanya nodded, biting her lips to stop herself from smiling.

'To bring a person out of the fairy realm, you must act when it is most accessible,' Morag continued briskly. 'An inbetween time is what you need.'

'In-between?'

'A magical time that is neither here nor there; neither one nor the other.'

'I don't understand.'

'The shift between seasons for example. May Day, Midsummer, Hallowe'en, and Midwinter are all very powerful times. Or the plane between sleep and waking. These are inbetween places.'

'But Midsummer has gone,' said Tanya. 'And it's months until Hallowe'en!'

'You're quite right,' said the old woman. 'We are not near to any of those times. But there is one that occurs far more frequently and is just as powerful.' She paused and looked at Tanya expectantly. 'Some know it as the witching hour.'

'Midnight,' Tanya whispered. 'In-between night and day.'

'Once you have access to the person you wish to lead out from the fairy realm you must call their name, for many will have trouble remembering who they are after a time there. After that you must offer them an item of clothing to put on if you have something that belonged to them before they were taken, then so much the better. Sew salt pouches into the lining of whatever garment you give them and into your own. Do not accept anything they might try to give you. This is especially important of food or drink, no matter how tempting it may appear. To eat fairy food can render you powerless to them. Finally, there is a very important precaution you must take. The fairy realm does not run on the same time frame as our world. Time can be sped up or slowed down and the consequences of this can be disastrous. To keep yourself protected you must cut a lock of your own hair off and keep it somewhere secure, where it cannot be meddled with. This will ensure that if the worst should befall you, then at least you will not lose any years of your life. You will remain the age you are now.'

'But what if I were to get pulled into the fairy realm, then escape and find years had pa.s.sed in this world? I would still be young, while everyone I had known would be old, or even dead!'

'That is a possibility,' Morag agreed. 'But the other possibility is far worse. Would you rather that you aged and lost years of your life, whilst those you loved had remained the same? If the world had remained the same and the fairy realm had sped up? No one would recognise you. No one would believe you. And your life would be close to its end.'

Tanya shook her head in confusion.

'No . . . I mean, I don't know . . .'

'Think carefully while you still can,' Morag said. 'There is still time to change your mind.'

Tanya stared solemnly at the compa.s.s and at the tiny bottle Morag had given her. 'Why are you helping me?' she asked hesitantly. The question had been burning on her lips since she had entered the caravan.

'Because I can,' the gypsy woman replied. 'And because I want to. Our pasts are connected through our ancestry. Together, maybe we can make right some of the wrongs of the past.' Her eyes came to rest on the charm bracelet on Tanya's wrist. They narrowed, then her gaze shifted, moving over each charm in turn before finally settling on the empty s.p.a.ce where the cauldron had been. 'Thirteen,' she murmured. 'Unlucky . . . for some.' She met Tanya's gaze with her own, old and wise. Tanya searched the craggy face for any clue that she might know something of the bracelet's tragic first owner, but there was nothing to suggest that the comment had any hidden meaning.

Instinctively, Tanya knew that it was time for her to leave. Morag shuffled past her and opened the caravan door. Tanya stepped outside into the fresh air, gripping Oberon's leash tightly. A gentle breeze lifted her hair and wrapped itself around her. A hedgehog shuffled across the gypsy's path, oblivious to its audience. The woodland seemed so at peace and so beautiful that it was almost impossible to believe that it was home to such danger.

Despite the warmth of the day, Tanya shivered.

'Go, and be safe,' said Morag, looking around suspiciously. 'Stay close to the brook.'

'Thank you-' Tanya began, but the old woman shook her head.

'There will be another time for thanks. We will meet again, I hope.'

Tanya pulled the compa.s.s out of her pocket. The time had come to put it to good use.

19.

ATER THAT EVENING, FEELING SICK with nerves, Tanya left the house and made for the garden in search of Fabian. She stood beneath the oak tree and squinted up through the branches, but there was no sign of Fabian's gangling frame and nor was there any answer when she called his name. Knowing that he could not have gone far, she ambled through the garden, kicking at a few fallen leaves on the ground. The gate was open, propped in place by a heavy stone from the rockery, and through it Tanya could see a small figure in the distance sitting by the edge of the brook. It was Fabian.

She walked towards him slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. Fabian was sitting cross-legged at the side of the stream, flinging pebbles into the water. He did not look up as she approached, or even move at all when she sat down next to him. She realised he must have seen her coming. She tugged at a tuft of gra.s.s awkwardly. Fabian remained stiff and silent, refusing to be the first to speak.

'I . . . I'm sorry,' she said eventually. 'I still want to go ahead with the plan. If you want me to, that is.'

Fabian threw another stone into the stream.

'I'm sorry too. For calling you a stupid girl. I don't really think you're stupid.'

'So, when are we going back into the woods?' Tanya asked.