13 Treasures

by Michelle Harrison

  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.

  5

  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.

  “It just looks sad to me,” she said. “But buildings like that usually are. Children’s homes aren’t exactly the happiest of places.”

  Fabian shook his head. “I didn’t mean because it was a children’s home—I meant because of what went on there… the disappearances.”

  “Disappearances?”

  “Some kids vanished from there just over a year ago, babies and toddlers mainly. Never older than about two or three. There was a huge investigation and it got closed down.”

  A chill wrapped itself around Tanya’s heart as she remembered the newspaper clipping about the missing girl she had found in the library. It seemed that Tickey End had a history of its children vanishing into thin air.

  They lapsed into silence, continuing along the lane. Tanya peered into shop windows here and there, trying to take her mind off the children’s home. On the corner of the street a tiny shop was set back from the rest. Tanya recognized it as a shabby, nameless little place with blanked-out windows and peeling paintwork that had stood empty for the past year. Now, however, it was evidently under new management, for not only had it been given a fresh coat of paint but it also had a name: Pandora’s Box. Instantly intrigued, Tanya called to Fabian, who was kneeling down and sketching something in his notebook.

  “I’m just going in here.”

  Fabian stopped sketching and looked up. “We don’t really have time—we should start making our way to the bus stop.”

  “You go on ahead,” said Tanya. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Fabian rolled his eyes. “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 maneuvered 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 labeled DRAGON’S BLOOD, before moving onward past figurines of witches, wizards, and goblin-type creatures, crystal balls and trays of semiprecious stones. Then she spied a bookshelf at the rear and began to make her way toward it. Once there, she scanned the contents—a vast range of 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, laden with heavy shopping bags, shuffling about slowly.

  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 around 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, embarrassed. 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 toward 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 brass compass, 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 color 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 compass.

  “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 realize that it’s an hour-long wait for the next bus if we miss this one, don’t you?” He glanced down at the compass 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 compass 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 marketplace.

  “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 line 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 thinking of the old woman. She looked down at the compass, 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 earnestly toward her. 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 eyeglass and held out his hand. Tanya handed him the compass somewhat reluctantly. A sudden feeling she could not explain, that somehow the man was familiar to her, passed through her mind. She wondered if she had seen him on television, on an antique hunt program perhaps.

  She tried to get a better look at his face, but the stranger had ducked his head as he was studying the compass 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 compass 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 reached 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 compass is worth if we only have 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 passengers. 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 compass for herself.

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

  “Hey!” The bus driver called out. “If you don’t stop harassing 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 compass, 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.