13 Treasures (5 page)

A
POLICE SPOKESMAN REVEALED THAT THERE ARE MAJOR CONCERNS FOR THE SAFETY OF THE GIRL, LAST SEEN BY A SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD LOCAL BOY NEAR THE NOTORIOUS
H
ANGMAN’S
C
ATACOMBS, WHICH HAVE CLAIMED SEVERAL LIVES OVER THE YEARS AND ARE A WELL KNOWN SUICIDE SPOT
. P
OLICE QUESTIONED THE BOY, WHO WAS LATER RELEASED WITHOUT CHARGE
. O
NCE AGAIN, LOCAL RESIDENTS ARE APPEALING FOR THE HOLES TO BE FENCED OFF IN THE INTEREST OF SAFETY
.

Tanya slipped the clipping back into the pages.

The Hangman’s Catacombs lay deep in the forest behind the manor, plunging down into the earth and winding into underground tunnels that went on for miles. It was believed that the holes were natural caves, though there was some speculation that they were old chalk mines. Only in recent years had railings been constructed around each entrance to prevent people from falling into them, but still, Warwick repeatedly forbade Fabian and Tanya to go any farther than the brook that ran along the edge of the woods. Tanya had never felt any inclination to venture into the forest anyway. The teeming population of fairies sure to dwell there was deterrent enough.

Someone cleared their throat behind her.

She jumped and spun around. Her grandmother stood in the doorway.

“What are you doing in here?”

Tanya gulped noisily, knowing guilt must be written all over her face.

“I was just… the door was open, and I just wanted to look at your books.”

Florence walked into the room and pulled a book from one of the shelves.

“Some of these are very old,” she said, tracing a line in the dusty cover. “Some have been here since the house was built, just over two hundred years ago.”

Tanya fidgeted. She had been expecting to get told off.

“I found this,” she said, taking the newspaper clipping out of the book again. “It’s about a girl who disappeared fifty years ago.”

A strange look crossed her grandmother’s face, something almost like fear. But then too quickly it was gone, replaced by her usual impassive expression.

“She was my age… we went to the same school. Her father was the reverend of the little church nearby.”

“Were you friends with her?”

“Yes,” said Florence. “For a time, when we were younger.” She stopped abruptly, looking troubled. “We… drifted apart.”

“Was she found?” Tanya asked.

“No,” said Florence. “She was never seen again.” She placed the clipping on the table and blew at a cobweb. “This room could do with a good clearing out. Warwick promised me he would do it weeks ago, but he still hasn’t got around to it.”

“Perhaps I could help,” Tanya offered, thinking of the opportunities it would create to search for more information.

Florence eyed her, her expression unreadable.

“Thank you. I’m sure Warwick would appreciate your help.”

Her slate-gray eyes lingered on the charm bracelet.

“I wondered where this had disappeared to,” she said, lifting the bracelet up to the light. The tarnished charms sparkled faintly in the sun.

“Does it belong to you?” Tanya asked.

“Yes,” said Florence. “It’s an old heirloom. It’s been in the family for years.”

Tanya looked at the bracelet properly, counting the silver charms. There were thirteen of the curious little things. Each was ornate and exquisite, the more striking among them a key, a jeweled goblet, and a tiny candelabrum.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“It’s a heavy, awkward thing,” said her grandmother. “I haven’t worn it in a very long time.” A faraway look came into her eyes. “In past times, people treasured charms such as these. They wore them to ward off evil—like talismans for luck and protection.” Unexpectedly, she handed the bracelet to Tanya. “Perhaps you might like to have it? There’s some silver cleaner under the sink that’ll make it like new.”

“Oh,” said Tanya, taken aback. “Thank you.” She fastened the bracelet onto her skinny wrist, confused by her grandmother’s uncharacteristic generosity.

With a stiff nod Florence left the room, leaving the door open behind her. Reluctantly, Tanya followed. There was no sign of her grandmother. She hesitated, then quickly reentered the room and grabbed the
Myth and Magic Through the Ages
book, closing the library door softly behind her. Up on the first-floor landing a faint scuttling could be heard from inside the grandfather clock, and as she drew nearer she thought she could hear the lodgers quarreling. She paused to try and listen to what they were saying, but the voices stopped immediately, so she crept onward, past the staircase and into the kitchen.

Having barely eaten at lunch, Tanya was ravenous. After making herself a sandwich she filled a tall glass with orange juice, then sat down and ate in silence until a strange sound caught her attention. A muffled snoring was coming from the direction of the tea caddy, and she suddenly remembered the brownie living there. It was a foul-tempered little creature, breaking crocks and souring milk when it was displeased, which was often.

When she had finished her food and drained the pulpy remnants of her juice, she washed and dried her plate, careful not to make too much noise for fear of waking the brownie, then tiptoed out of the kitchen. The hallway was empty, although it seemed Fabian had been along at some point, as a number of leaves and twigs were strewn across the floor.

She climbed the staircase up to the first floor, then went into her room, checking that the corridor was clear before locking the door behind her. Normally, she did not bother to lock herself in, but on this occasion it was necessary, as she did not want anyone to see what she was about to do.

Carefully, she knelt before the fireplace and rolled back the carpet, exposing the rough, unpolished wood beneath. Using her fingernails, she pried up the loose floorboard that no one else knew about and heaved it aside to reveal a space below that was large enough to hold a shoebox—a space she had discovered when she was seven years old. It had been her secret hiding place ever since.

She checked for spiders, then lifted out the box and removed the lid. Inside were a couple of stories she had written, a few family photographs, and a bulging old diary. She clenched her jaw. The fairies evidently had yet to discover this one.

She pulled the notes out of her pocket and read through them again, before placing them at the bottom of the box. After fixing the floorboard back in position, she unfurled the carpet and tucked the book from downstairs beneath the blanket at the foot of her bed, her head full of the potential wealth of information awaiting her in the library downstairs.

It was only later, when she got up and went over to the dressing table, that she noticed the black feather on the floor, like one that would belong to a bird from the crow family. A raven, perhaps.

Tickey End was a small market town, the kind of place where people took their dogs to the grooming parlor and washed their cars dutifully every Sunday morning, and neighbors vied to see who could build up the most extensive collection of garden gnomes. It was also the kind of town where everybody knew everybody, and if you were a stranger curtains would twitch as you walked past.

It did, however, have a marvelous main street in which there were so many interesting and unusual shops it would take an entire day to look around properly. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays there was a market in the square, where traders shouted to sell their wares and customers haggled to get a good deal. Rich colors were always in abundance, from the glistening silver scales of freshly caught fish to the vibrant hues of ripe fruit, and at the right time in the morning the scent of freshly baked meat pies and apple tarts wafted deliciously through the air.

Numerous antique and curiosity shops stood in the back streets, away from the hustle and bustle of the main street. It was these kinds of shops that Tanya could quite happily spend hours in.

Tuesday morning, she woke early and walked half a mile to the dilapidated bus shelter, eager to escape the gloom of the manor, if only for a few hours. Unfortunately there was a catch. Her grandmother had allowed her to go only on the condition that Fabian accompanied her.

The journey to Tickey End took around fifteen minutes, and was a pleasant, scenic route, although the air always reeked of manure from the nearby fields. After leaving the bus they headed for the square, where the market was already teeming with a jostling crowd.

Soon after arriving, Tanya spotted a stall that was selling fabrics, silks, and ribbons in every color of the rainbow. Her fingers lingered on a tray of silk scarves, the sort girls had been tying in their hair since the beginning of summer in an ever-growing trend. The pretty Asian girl on the stall was wearing a turquoise scarf of the same design. Never one for trends or fashion, Tanya was just about to move away when she spotted one in red. Remembering the passage in the book she had found, she passed the scarf to the girl and delved into her pocket.

Fabian sniggered. “I always had you down as more of a tomboy,” he said.

Tanya ignored him. When the girl handed her the brown paper bag and her change, she immediately put the scarf on, eager to determine whether there had been any truth in the old book. They moved on through the market, Fabian pausing to admire some science fiction comics, and Tanya spending the last of her change on a huge marrow bone for Oberon to gnaw upon her return. It clunked uncomfortably against her leg in the carrier bag as she walked.

“What time is it?” she asked Fabian, after looking at her wrist automatically yet again before remembering her watch was gone. True to form, the drain-dweller had stolen it that morning from the side of the bathtub.

“Quarter to twelve,” Fabian replied. “We’ve got half an hour before the next bus.”

Tanya nodded, flexing her sore feet. After she’d walked around Tickey End for two hours, Tanya’s feet were raw in the new summer sandals her mother had bought her. She did not want to walk around for much longer. However, she was eager to get back to the manor for another reason—she had arranged to help Warwick clear out the library that afternoon.

They headed into Wishbone Walk, Tanya’s favorite street in Tickey End. All the buildings were old and uneven, and it was crammed with the quaint little shops that she so loved. There were also numerous little pubs and inns dotted along the way, which would be filled with raucous laughter later in the day.

Fabian mopped his brow, humming a little tune that he would break from every so often to share a snippet of local gossip. Despite herself, Tanya was enjoying listening to him, though she would never admit to it. Fabian was a mine of information, and had a gift for storytelling, something Tanya had noticed a long time ago. When he was relating an incident that was of interest to him, Fabian’s eyes lit up and he became animated, reminding Tanya of an overly enthusiastic schoolteacher or an actor onstage. He suddenly pointed to a pub called the Spiral Staircase.

“The garden of that pub caved in last winter. All the rain must have weakened the earth… it was the catacombs underneath, see. Lucky it didn’t happen in the summer, when people would have been sitting out there. Now a lot of the residents have had to take out a special insurance in case it happens to them. And this little inn here is really old—did I ever tell you about the secret passage that runs from underneath it all the way to the manor?”

“Only about a million times,” Tanya said with a groan. “I can’t believe you still believe in those secret passages. It’s such rubbish—”

“It’s not rubbish!” Fabian protested. “It’s true… there was a tunnel leading to the manor—it’s in the local history books. But it’s been blocked off, or caved in—none of the books agree on which. It was common with big old buildings; they had secret tunnels to escape through, in case of invasions. There was meant to be another one as well, leading to the church.”

“All those times you had me on wild goose chases, trying to find your secret passages.” Tanya snorted. “We never found a thing. Someone probably just made the whole thing up to try to make Tickey End seem interesting.”

“Well, it was fun looking for them,” said Fabian. “Even if we never found anything.”

“I suppose it passed a few rainy afternoons,” Tanya said ungraciously. “Anyway, my grandmother and your father have always said that there aren’t any tunnels—that it’s all rumors.”

“They would say that,” Fabian said darkly. “They don’t want us snooping around looking for them. And if anyone knows the secrets of the house, it’s Warwick.”

“Why do you call him and Amos by their first names?” Tanya asked. “Why don’t you call Warwick ‘Dad’?”

Fabian shrugged. “I used to, when I was little.”

“So why not now?”

“I don’t know. I just… don’t.”

“But it’s odd,” Tanya persisted. “And you know it annoys him.”

The ghost of a smile that crossed Fabian’s lips told her that this was exactly the desired effect. It vanished as he smoothly changed the subject.

“Now there’s a place that gives me the creeps,” he continued, as they walked farther along the lane. “The old children’s home.”

Tanya followed his eyes to a ramshackle building set back from the road. It was obviously derelict, its windows either broken or boarded up and its brick-work crumbling. The barbed wire fence that surrounded it made it look cold and cruel and desolate. She wondered how she had never noticed it before.