The Thirteen Treasures Part 3

Fabian stopped sketching and looked up. 'We haven't really got time we should start making our way to the bus stop.'

'You go on ahead,' said Tanya. 'I'll meet you there. If I get lost I'll text you.' She pulled her phone out of her pocket and switched it on, waiting for the screen to light up. 'Finally . . . a signal. You can never get one back at the manor. What's your mobile number?'

Fabian rolled his eyes. 'I haven't got a mobile phone. Warwick won't let me have one. He says I'm too young. Florence won't get the internet either. I may as well be living with dinosaurs.' He turned back to his sketch. 'I'll wait here. Just be quick.'

A bell jangled above her head as Tanya pushed the door open. Inside, the shop smelled of incense. A plump woman with rosy cheeks and a kindly face was sitting behind the counter flicking through a magazine. Tanya manoeuvred herself carefully around shelves crammed full of all manner of curiosities. There were a number of jars and bottles containing dried herbs, plants and powders. She found herself staring at one labelled Dragon's Blood, before moving onwards past figurines of witches, wizards and goblin-type creatures, crystal b.a.l.l.s and trays of semi-precious stones. Then she spied a bookshelf at the rear and began to make her way towards it. Once there, she scanned the contents: a vast range of the tarot, astrology and the like, hoping to find further information on fairies. Much to her disappointment there appeared to be nothing that would be of much use to her.

Just then, the bell on the door rang as someone else entered the shop. Tanya craned her neck to see who it was, annoyed in case Fabian had come to drag her away. But it was not Fabian. Out of the corner of her eye Tanya noticed an old woman shuffling about slowly, laden with heavy shopping bags. Through the window she saw that Fabian had finished sketching and was now looking impatient, and decided to leave. However, as she turned to go round a display of highly stacked boxes she collided with the old woman, who was coming the opposite way. Her shopping bags crashed to the floor, sending peaches and apples rolling in every direction.

'Sorry,' Tanya mumbled, embarra.s.sed. She knelt to help the woman. 'Are you all right?'

The old woman stared back at her but did not reply. Tanya saw that her hands were trembling very slightly. Her skin was paper thin, lined deeply, her hair worn long and braided. The clothes she wore were old-fashioned. In several places there were holes that had been sewn up time and again. An odd expression flickered over the old lady's face. Tanya swallowed nervously, her mouth suddenly dry. Something about the woman's face was haunting, and she did not like the way she was staring at her.

'I really am sorry,' she said again, averting her eyes as she handed back a bag of the bruised fruit.

The woman rose slowly and stretched a closed hand towards Tanya.

'I think this is for you.'

Not wanting to seem rude, Tanya held out her hand. She felt a sharp tingle as the gnarled fingers brushed against her own, like a mild electric shock. The woman placed something cold, smooth and heavy in her palm. Tanya looked down.

It was a tarnished bra.s.s compa.s.s, circular in shape with a long neck chain. Most of the letters were absent, probably worn away over the years. She stared at it in confusion. Did the old lady think she had dropped it in the collision?

'This isn't mine.'

The old woman did not answer. Instead, she reached for Tanya's new scarf, the silky red fabric slipping easily through her fingers.

'A pretty colour for a pretty girl. A wise choice, too.'

Tanya felt a shiver shoot up her spine.

'What do you mean?' Her voice emerged thin and scared. 'Who are you?'

The woman ignored her questions and nodded at the compa.s.s.

'Guard it well . . . and use it wisely.' Then she turned and shuffled from the shop, leaving an unnerved Tanya behind her.

Tanya stumbled out into the sunlight, visibly shaken. Fabian strolled toward her lazily. 'You do realise that it's an hour-long wait for the next bus if we miss this one, don't you?' He glanced down at the compa.s.s in Tanya's hand and looked distinctly unimpressed.

'Surely you didn't just buy that old thing?'

'The old woman,' Tanya said, her voice quivering. 'The one in the shop. She gave it to me.'

'What old woman?' said Fabian, searching the length of the street earnestly, but the old lady was gone.

'She came out just before I did,' said Tanya, still clutching the compa.s.s stupidly.

Fabian's mouth fell open. 'You don't mean Mad Morag?'

'Mad Morag? You know her?'

'Everyone knows her,' said Fabian. He began to jog and Tanya had to sprint to keep up with him, Oberon's bone clashing against her knees.

'How do you know her?' she panted as they sped into the square and on, past the market place.

'I don't really know her. I meant I know of her. I've just heard things.'

'What things?'

'Like she lives in the woods in a caravan and hardly ever goes out. And she barely talks to anyone, except when she tells them their fortunes. And she's supposed to be a witch.'

The bus came into view, held up by a queue of people waiting to get on.

'I wouldn't pay any attention to her,' Fabian added. 'The old girl's crackers.'

But even after boarding the bus, Tanya could not help but think of the old woman. She looked down at the compa.s.s and for the first time noticed that the needle was spinning uselessly.

'It doesn't even work,' said Fabian. 'Throw it away. You don't know where it's been.'

'I say,' a voice interrupted from the seat behind. 'Do you mind if I take a look at that?'

Tanya turned to look at the scruffy middle-aged man who was leaning towards her in earnest. He was dressed strangely, in a thin tattered raincoat that was inappropriate given the weather, and a wide-brimmed hat that left his face partially in shadow.

'I collect antiques, you see,' the man continued. He whipped out an eyegla.s.s and held out his hand. Tanya handed him the compa.s.s somewhat reluctantly. A sudden feeling she could not explain, that somehow the man was familiar to her, pa.s.sed through her mind. She wondered if she had seen him on television, on an antique hunt programme perhaps. She tried to get a better look at his face, but the stranger had ducked his head as he was studying the compa.s.s and all she could see was the top of his hat. A moment later he looked up, and Tanya quickly lowered her eyes, not wanting to make it obvious she had been staring.

'How much did you pay for it?'

Tanya stared at him blankly.

'Five pounds,' she lied.

'If it was working it would be worth around fifty pounds,' said the stranger. 'But obviously the fact that it's not lowers the value.' Still clutching the compa.s.s with one hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of crisp bank notes. 'I'll give you twenty pounds for it.'

For a moment Tanya was too surprised to answer. Luckily, Fabian came to her rescue.

'Why?' he said, doing nothing to hide his suspicion.

The man's smile never wavered. 'I told you, I'm an antiques dealer.'

'No, you said you were an antiques collector,' Fabian retorted, quick as a flash.

The man's smile no longer met his eyes. It was clear he was finding Fabian tiresome. 'I'll give you thirty pounds,' he said to Tanya. 'That's a good deal, trust me.'

'I don't trust you,' Fabian said immediately. 'How do we know what the compa.s.s is worth if we've only got your word for it? For all we know you could be a rip-off merchant.'

By now the conversation was attracting curious glances and whispers from other pa.s.sengers. Tanya had barely said a word to the stranger, but the more insistent he became the more determined she was to hang on to the compa.s.s for herself.

'Thirty pounds is my final offer,' the man said stiffly, all pretences of friendliness gone. He was undoubtedly riled by Fabian's last comment.

'Hey!' The bus driver called out. 'If you don't stop hara.s.sing those kids you'll be leaving the bus at the next stop!'

The antiques dealer stood up, red-faced. 'I'll get off now.'

Tanya held out her hand for the compa.s.s and was shocked as the man slammed it into her palm. A guttural growl sounded from his throat as he stalked to the front of the bus. The driver halted abruptly, even though there was not a stop anywhere in sight, and the man got off.

'Good riddance, too,' the bus driver muttered as they pulled away, leaving the antiques dealer behind.

'I think I must have had too much sun,' Fabian said, shaking his head. 'I could've sworn . . . no, never mind.'

'No, what?' Tanya asked.

'Just as he got up, I thought I saw his watch ticking backwards,' Fabian said with a laugh. 'Stupid, I know. Anyway, he was far too pushy. The compa.s.s must be worth something after all and probably a fair bit more than he was offering.' He paused and scooped something up off the floor with a crow of delight. 'Look! Silly old fool must have dropped this when he was flashing his cash!' He presented Tanya with a crisp twenty-pound note. 'It must have come loose when he pulled that wad out of his pocket. Here, you have it. Buy yourself a new watch.'

'I can't take that,' said Tanya. 'It's stealing . . . sort of.'

Fabian rolled his eyes. 'As if. You're never going to see him again, so it's not like you can return it. Give it to charity if it makes you feel that bad. Or give it to me. I'll spend it. But I reckon it serves him right. I doubt he'll even miss it.'

Tanya slipped it in her pocket, not knowing what else to do.

By the time they reached their stop the colour had started to return to Tanya's cheeks. As they walked down the lane towards the manor she realised that for the first time, she was actually looking forward to getting back to her grandmother's house. However, when they reached it ten minutes later, there was a shock in store.

Warwick's Land Rover was parked in the courtyard, the trailer at the back stacked high with books. Tanya knew in an instant that he had begun clearing out the library without her, and it appeared that most of the job was already done. She raced inside, leaving Fabian behind. The library door was open and Warwick was standing at the writing desk with his back to the door.

'Why didn't you wait for me? I said I'd help!'

Warwick glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. 'I thought I'd get a head start.' He turned away from her again and continued to pack a large box. Tanya glanced round. Of all the books that had been in the library the day before, less than half of them remained. It was clear Warwick's 'head start' meant he must have begun clearing the room the moment she had left the house. She moved aside as he strode past her, carrying books out to the trailer.

'What are you going to do with them, anyway?' she asked, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

Warwick grunted over his shoulder, not even bothering to stop. 'Charity shop.'

Tanya surveyed the rows of remaining books. None of the t.i.tles there looked as if they would be of any use to her.

'What's going on?'

She turned and scowled. Fabian had appeared behind her.

'Your father has decided to get rid of every book in the house, that's what's going on!'

Fabian blinked. 'What for?'

Tanya did not answer. Instead she left the library and ran upstairs there was no point in staying to help now. On the way past the grandfather clock she heard the lodgers t.i.ttering and forced herself to refrain from kicking it.

Once in her room she threw herself down on the bed, gasping as something dug into the top of her leg painfully. It was only then she remembered the compa.s.s. She pulled it from her pocket and stared at it dubiously. In addition to the needle not working, Tanya saw that instead of an 'N' for north, there was an 'H' where it should have been. She frowned, wondering what it stood for. And, as she slowly pushed the compa.s.s out of sight beneath her pillow, she wondered why the strange old woman had given it to her.

6.

N WEDNESDAY MORNING TANYA was awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of somebody shouting. She peered out from beneath the bedclothes towards the window, where the badly hung curtains were allowing several rays of light through. The clock on the dressing table read six o'clock.

The shouting continued. It was Amos, Warwick's father, calling him from his room on the second floor. The old man ranted on, getting louder by the minute.

'Warwick? Where are you? I want my breakfast! It's late! You're always late, boy!'

Heavy footsteps thundered up to the second floor as Warwick went to tend to the old man. For the last few years n.o.body except he and Tanya's grandmother had had any contact with Amos at all. The old man was now a recluse; not even Fabian was allowed near him. Warwick single-handedly waited on him night and day, and if he happened to be out when his father called for him, Amos would shout incessantly until his strength was spent.

A door slammed from above and the shouting stopped. Tanya lay staring at the cracked, stained ceiling, knowing it would be useless to try to go back to sleep. Eventually she got up, then washed and dressed carefully, into a pair of jeans, sandals and a bright red T-shirt.

Breakfast was a sombre affair of few words. Tanya stirred her coffee repeatedly, gazing into her cup in a daydream, while Fabian pushed a lightly nibbled piece of toast around his plate, still sleepy-eyed and not attempting to make conversation with anyone.

'Warwick tells me you were a little upset yesterday, Tanya,' said her grandmother, taking a sip of tea. She never ate in the mornings although she insisted that everyone was present at the breakfast table, something that grated on Tanya immensely.

'I wasn't upset,' said Tanya. 'I just wanted to . . . help . . . or something.'

'I see,' said Florence, evidently not fooled for a second.

'I thought Warwick was just going to clean the room,' said Tanya. 'I didn't realise he was going to get rid of all those books.' She cast an accusing look in Warwick's direction, but he remained unperturbed.

'Actually, it was my idea to give the books away,' her grandmother replied. 'n.o.body has bothered to read them in years.'

'I would have read them!' said Tanya.

'I apologise,' said Florence, not sounding sorry in the slightest. 'If I'd known then I would have kept them.' She paused, finishing the last of her tea. 'I can't ask the shop for them back now, though. They would think it most uncharitable.'

Tanya did not trust herself to speak. Her grandmother's haughty performance was really starting to get on her nerves. She was wholeheartedly glad when breakfast was over and raced up to her room. As she made her bed, the compa.s.s that the gypsy woman had given her slid from behind her pillow and dropped to the floor with a clang. Tanya transferred it to the hiding place under the floorboard, then reached within the folds of the scarlet blanket at the foot of the bed to retrieve the book from the library. She pulled it free and hugged it to her chest, thankful she had rescued it from Warwick. Right now, all she wanted to do was get out of the house and away from everybody.

She whistled to Oberon, who was waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs. Together they left the house through the back, heading out into the wildly overgrown garden. At the very rear, just to one side of the gate, there was a neglected rockery with weeds and untamed shrubs spilling over the rocks. Today it seemed even more rundown than usual. Then Tanya noticed something. Standing on the rockery were three of the ugliest, most realistic-looking garden gnomes she had ever seen. She frowned. It was out of character for her grandmother to bother with extravagances such as garden ornaments. One of the gnomes took a step in her direction. Tanya jumped.

They were real.

Oberon yelped and hid behind her legs. Curiously, the creature did not seem to be looking at her. Instead, it was watching Oberon with a hungry look that made Tanya feel decidedly nervous.

'Are you . . . are you goblins?' she asked carefully.

The goblin or whatever it was shook itself and regarded her as if it had only just noticed her, but did not answer. Tanya realised then that it hadn't initially seen her; her red T-shirt must have acted as a camouflage until she had spoken to it, forcing it to notice her. She could have kicked herself for her own stupidity.

The creature continued to stare at her, its eyes still in its fat, toadlike face. It stood just above knee height, and judging by the size of its teeth could probably give a vicious bite. Tanya eyed the other two. One was stooped over badly, having to crane its neck at an angle just to view her properly. The third hung back. He was the smallest, and would probably have had a pleasant face had he not been covered from head to foot with ugly bruises. Some were yellow and green, obviously old, and there were newer, fresher ones of blue and purple. The black eye he was sporting was evidently one of the latter. It was he who spoke first.

'Pray do tell . . . what have we here? A mortal child who shows no fear?' he said, in a sing-song voice that was deep and strange.

'This is one born of second sight, aware of us by day and night,' said the hunchback.

Tanya took a step backwards. The strange little men were beginning to scare her. They were dressed curiously, wearing hotchpotch jackets and trousers fashioned from a combination of human cast-offs: curtains, blankets and old tea towels. In places there seemed to be holes which had been darned with leaves. Tanya's sharp eyes caught the neat, glistening st.i.tches. It looked like something very close to spider's thread. Their feet were bare; filthy and scarred.