13 Treasures

by Michelle Harrison

“I don’t know.” He threw a big rock, which made an even bigger splash. “What’s the point? Perhaps some things should just be left well enough alone.”

  “The point is to prove that Amos is innocent,” said Tanya.

  Fabian fiddled with his shoelaces. “And if he’s not?” he answered in a choked voice.

  “He is,” said Tanya, gathering her courage. “Listen, Fabian—”

  But Fabian was only half paying attention. “What made you change your mind? You seemed so set against it before.”

  “I just… want to help,” she mumbled, losing her nerve at the last moment. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  Fabian gave a wry smile, and raked a hand through his bushy hair. “Yeah, I suppose. You really think he’s innocent?”

  “I know he is,” she said. “There’s something I have to show you.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the poem, then placed it in his hand hesitantly.

  Fabian unfolded the piece of paper. Tanya watched, noting how his brow was becoming more deeply furrowed with every sentence. The time he took to read it seemed an eternity. When he had finished, his eyes were wide and his skin was very pale. When he finally spoke, his voice was shaking.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Fabian looked up at her, his eyes blazing. “Did you come and apologize just so you could make fun of me? Where did you get this?”

  “It was left on my pillow,” said Tanya. “It’s not a joke. You have to believe me.”

  “Believe you?” Fabian snarled. He leapt to his feet in fury, screwing the poem into a tiny ball. He threw it at the ground with all his might.

  Tanya hurriedly got up after grabbing the balled-up piece of paper.

  “Fabian, please! Just listen to me—”

  But Fabian was in too terrible a temper to listen. He turned on her, his face pink with rage, and she saw that his fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

  “I don’t know how you saw it. But I can assure you I don’t find this funny.”

  He began to stalk back to the house.

  “How I saw what?” She raced after him. “Fabian! Wait! What are you talking about?”

  “My book!” Fabian yelled, brandishing the battered brown journal. “You saw it! You read it! Now you can have a good laugh at my expense!”

  Tanya stopped walking. “Fabian, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The angry boy continued to storm away.

  “I’ve never read your book! I swear!”

  Fabian halted, and Tanya rushed over to him.

  “Who wrote that poem?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know,” said Tanya. “I told you, I just found it.”

  “This isn’t funny. Did you write it?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then who did?”

  “I don’t know,” Tanya repeated. She eyed the journal. “What’s in the book?”

  “You already know.”

  “I don’t know what’s in the stupid book! I haven’t got the faintest idea! All I know is that it obviously means a lot to you, and I would never snoop in it behind your back.” She gazed at him, her eyes full of hurt. “You know I wouldn’t. Or at least, I thought you knew.”

  Fabian did not answer.

  “What’s the use,” Tanya muttered, pushing past him. “I should’ve known you’d never believe in fairies.”

  “No,” Fabian hissed. “I don’t believe in fairies, like every other intelligent person on the planet. Fairies are for children, for babies. What you saw—what you read—was a mere thought in a diary. And it was written when I was upset.”

  Tanya pressed her hand over her heart.

  “I swear to you—on my life—that I didn’t read your diary!”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  “No,” Tanya shouted, as her own temper flared up. “You don’t believe me. And you don’t believe in fairies, but you believe in ghosts, according to what you said after we saw Morwenna Bloom in the woods. And you believe in witches, don’t you? You believe that the old gypsy woman in the woods has the power to curse and bewitch.”

  Fabian stared at her, his mouth open to retort, but no words came out.

  “Strange that you should find it so easy to believe in some kinds of magic, yet not in others,” Tanya continued. “Stranger still that you refuse to believe my word. I’m not lying to you, Fabian. Why do you find it so difficult to believe me? Is this how little my friendship is worth to you?”

  “It’s not a question of friendship,” Fabian said, but the anger in his voice had subsided. “It’s a question of what’s real.”

  “The hair you had to cut off with Warwick’s knife was real enough, wasn’t it?”

  “That was the gypsy woman, you even said so yourself—”

  “No, I didn’t. You were the one who suggested she was responsible. I just let you believe that because it was easier. The gypsy woman has been trying to help us.” Tanya reached into her pocket and retrieved the tiny bottle Morag had given her. “This is for you. So you’ll be able to see them.”

  Fabian let out an incredulous snort of laughter.

  “She gave you that? And you expect me to drink it?”

  “Why not? Then you’ll have proof.”

  “Proof of what? The fact that the batty old crone has knowledge of herbs and plants?” Fabian sneered. “Ever heard of hallucinogens? If I drank that I’d be seeing all sorts! Mermaids, fairies, dragons and just about everything else!”

  “Why are you so set on believing she’s out to harm us?” said Tanya.

  “Why are you so set on believing she’s out to help us?” Fabian shot back.

  “Because she already has. She gave me the compass, remember? Why would she go to the trouble of pretending to help us? If she really wanted to harm us then she would have by now.”

  “If you’re so convinced of that, then drink some,” said Fabian—but something in his voice betrayed him. He was faltering.

  “What?”

  Fabian nodded at the bottle in Tanya’s hand, but the action was jerky and nervous rather than defiant.

  “Try it. Let’s see if it works.” His voice was quavering.

  “You don’t understand,” Tanya said slowly. “It’s not for me… it’s for you. She didn’t give it to me because I don’t need it. Fabian, don’t you see what I’ve been trying to tell you? What all the strange things about me add up to?

  “The poem didn’t convince me of the fairies’ existence. Nor did Mad Morag. I was able to see them already. I’ve been able to see them for as long as I can remember. Now you can laugh at me, or call me a liar, but before you do at least listen to what I have to say, because if you don’t, Amos will die being known as the man who murdered Morwenna Bloom and got away with it. Look at this, the part where it says ‘he who sought her as his wife.’ Don’t you see? It’s referring to Amos. He was in love with her! He’s innocent!”

  Fabian didn’t walk off. He didn’t shout, or laugh, or mock her. A mixture of expressions crossed his face in a few short seconds: confusion, fear, hope, dread. Finally, when he opened his mouth to speak, his clear blue eyes met Tanya’s.

  “I’ll listen to what you have to say. But it’d better be good.”

  20

  Fabian stared at the tiny bottle in his palm, slowly rotating it. Inside, the murky fluid tipped back and forth. Tanya sat beside him, watching the swirling water of the stream and breathing in its fresh smell. She had told him everything—omitting only Red and the changeling—and he had listened without interruption. Finally, it seemed that he believed her.

  “The day after my mother died,” he said eventually. “I was sitting in this very place.” He stopped, and with a trembling finger, pointed toward a tree at the edge of the brook. “It was over there when I saw it. Warwick brought me here because it was one of my mother’s favorite places. He didn’t need to explain—I was old enough to know she was never coming back.

  “We threw white roses and a bunch of rosemary
into the water: the rosemary for remembrance and the roses because they were her favorite. I had just thrown the last flower when I noticed a creature sitting on the lowest branch of the tree. She was wearing a green dress and a hat made of woven grass. She… she looked straight at me, and then took off her hat and threw it into the water with the roses. I blinked, and she was gone. I would have put it down to my imagination if it hadn’t been for the hat, still floating down the stream. I watched until it got pulled under the water.”

  “Did you tell anyone?” Tanya asked.

  Fabian shook his head. “No, never. But I always remembered. A couple of months ago I wrote about it in here.” He tapped the cover of his brown leather book. “I never saw anything like it again. I always put it down to the shock of losing my mum.”

  “Maybe it was,” said Tanya. “Maybe grief opened up some kind of window in your mind. Or maybe it just appeared to comfort you. They can be seen by us when they choose, I think. Not all of them are bad.”

  Fabian ran his thumb over the tiny bottle, then removed the lid and sniffed its contents. “It smells even worse than it looks,” he said, offering it to Tanya. “Which is bad considering that it looks like a liquidized frog.”

  “It stinks,” she agreed. “I wouldn’t want to drink it.”

  “Me neither,” said Fabian. “So it’s just as well I don’t have to.” He held up the lid of the bottle. On the underside was a thin wand that, due to the density of the liquid, Tanya had not noticed. Fabian pushed the wand into the bottle and then retracted it slowly. A murky droplet glistened at the end.

  “Eyedrops,” said Fabian. He tilted his head back and lifted the wand. “Let’s see if they work.”

  Tanya placed a hand on his arm. “Don’t waste it.”

  “I’m not wasting it. I’m testing it.”

  “We already know it will work,” said Tanya. “Because the compass does.”

  “I don’t care,” Fabian said sulkily. “I want to try it now.”

  “Try it later,” said Tanya. “Tonight, when everyone’s gone to bed. That way, if anything happens nobody will be around to see it.”

  Fabian hesitated, then pushed the stopper back on.

  “What about the goblin tooth? Can I at least see that?”

  Tanya nodded. “It’s in my room, hidden. I can show you.”

  “Let’s go,” said Fabian, springing to his feet. “Oh, but wait—Warwick’s probably hanging around—we should go separately. You go ahead and I’ll join you in a few minutes so he doesn’t suspect we’ve been together.”

  “Good idea,” said Tanya. “Come to my room when it’s all clear.”

  Warwick was sitting reading a newspaper when Tanya arrived back at the house. He barely looked up when she came through the kitchen door.

  “Have you seen Fabian?”

  “No,” she muttered. “Sorry.”

  Warwick grunted dismissively, removing the sports section of the paper and discarding the rest. Tanya went to move past him but found herself jerking to a halt when she saw the headline on the front page of the newspaper. It was accompanied by a grainy photograph of a face she recognized: Red.

  MISSING CHILD: NEW LEADS.Tanya snatched up the paper, ignoring Warwick’s curious glance.

  THE MOTHER OF A NEWBORN CHILD SNATCHED FROM AN ESSEX MATERNITY WARD SEVEN DAYS AGO FINALLY CAME FORWARD YESTERDAY AFTERNOON. THE WOMAN, WHO CANNOT BE NAMED FOR LEGAL REASONS, HAD ABANDONED THE BOY ONLY HOURS AFTER GIVING BIRTH. AT PRESENT, HER REASONS FOR THE ABANDONMENT ARE UNKNOWN.

  THE PRIME SUSPECT IN THE ABDUCTION IS A AT THE TIME THE CHILD VANISHED. THIS MORNING, DETECTIVES REVEALED THAT THEY BELIEVE THE GIRL TO BE FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD ROWAN FOX, PICTURED AT LEFT, WHO HAS BEEN ON THE MISSING PERSON’S LIST SINCE RUNNING AWAY FROM A CHILDREN’S HOME ALMOST EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO. MUCH OF THE GIRL’S BACKGROUND CANNOT BE EXPOSED DUE TO HER AGE. INVESTIGATORS REFUSED TO COMMENT ON SPECULATION THAT FOX IS RELATED TO ANOTHER CHILD THAT DISAPPEARED WHILE AT THE HOME.

  POLICE WOULD ALSO LIKE TO SPEAK TO THE GIRL IN CONNECTION WITH TWO OTHER ABDUCTIONS, BOTH OF WHICH OCCURRED IN THE PAST TWELVE MONTHS AND BEAR CHILLING RESEMBLANCES TO THIS ONE. IN AUGUST LAST YEAR, ONE-YEAR-OLD SEBASTIAN CONNOR VANISHED FROM HIS GARDEN IN KENT WHILE HIS FOSTER FATHER’S BACK WAS TURNED. TEN DAYS LATER HE WAS FOUND UNHARMED IN A DISUSED WAREHOUSE FOLLOWING AN ANONYMOUS PHONE CALL. TWO MONTHS LATER, TODDLER LAUREN MARSH DISAPPEARED FROM A SWEET SHOP IN SUFFOLK WHILE IN THE CARE OF HER OLDER SISTER. SHE HAS NOT BEEN SEEN SINCE. POLICE ARE APPEALING FOR ANYONE WITH INFORMATION TO COME FORWARD.

  Underneath was a contact number. Tanya swallowed hard and put the paper back on the table. She felt sick with worry and confusion, no longer knowing what to believe.

  “Something wrong?” Warwick asked.

  “No,” Tanya answered abruptly, annoyed at his attention. She left the kitchen and made her way upstairs. The door was ajar when Tanya reached her room. Frowning slightly, she pushed it open. The first thing she saw was the mess.

  Every item she owned had been wrenched from the drawers and thrown across the room in a frenzied manner. The wardrobe doors were open and the contents emptied—there was now a pile of clothes, shoes, and coat hangers lying haphazardly on the floor. The bed had been stripped, and even the pillows had been ripped from their cases.

  The second thing Tanya saw was the drain-dweller.

  It was over by the fireplace, and, having rolled back the carpet, had lifted out the loose floorboard and was standing in the space where the shoebox was hidden with only its head visible. When it saw her it gave a small yelp of surprise and leapt out from between the floorboards. Tanya edged closer to the gap where the shoebox was. It lay untouched, still wrapped in the red scarf. The drain-dweller stood with its back pressed flat to the wall, not daring to move.

  Tanya knelt and lifted the shoebox, grasping it to her chest. She stared at the fairy’s crestfallen face.

  “You’re looking for something. What?”

  The drain-dweller’s eyes shifted craftily to Tanya’s wrist, where the charms on the silver bracelet danced with her movements, glittering alluringly. The creature’s pupils dilated at the sight of them. It seemed to be in some kind of trance. It had found what it was looking for. The awful stench of the drains filled Tanya’s nostrils. She began to back away.

  A loud rap on the door startled them both, and then Fabian pushed his way into the room.

  “I saw one,” he said, breathless with excitement. “In the garden! It was one of the goblins, the one with the bruises—” He broke off as he surveyed the mess. “What happened? And what the hell is that?”

  He pointed in horror at the fairy, which was still gazing at the bracelet with a look of adoration that was tinged with madness.

  Tanya stared at him, furious. “It’s the drain-dweller! I don’t believe you! You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

  “Sorry,” said Fabian, looking anything but apologetic. In fact, he looked as if he had just won the Nobel Prize. “It’s revolting!” he exclaimed, looking delirious and appalled all at once. He knelt and reached toward the suspicious drain-dweller. It lunged forward and snapped at his fingers, missing only by a fraction of an inch. Fabian jumped and retracted his hand quickly.

  “This is incredible! Amazing! This is going to revolutionize the world of science!”

  “Shut up, Fabian—” Tanya began, but her momentary distraction was all the drain-dweller needed. It threw itself upon Tanya’s wrist with incredible force and began wrenching at the bracelet frenziedly.

  “What’s it doing?” Fabian yelled in alarm.

  “Get it off me!” Tanya shrieked, batting at the creature with her free hand.

  “Grab it by the neck!”

  Tanya reached for the scrawny neck, but every time she made contact the creature wriggled and slid out of her grasp. Finally she managed to catch its head, though her grip was weak upon the slimy frog-like skin beneath her hand. As she tried to pry it away from her wrist her hand slid in front of the fairy’
s face. She felt a sharp pain, as if twenty little needles had pierced her all at once. It had sunk its teeth into her forefinger. She felt, rather than saw, the blood running down her arm and dripping from her elbow. In her shock she allowed the drain-dweller’s head to slip free from her hand.

  “You’re bleeding!” said Fabian, horrified.

  “Guard the bathroom,” Tanya cried. “Put the plugs in the sink and the bath. We can’t let it escape!”

  With a final wrench the bracelet broke at the clasp. Now satisfied, the fairy slithered from Tanya’s grip, its fist clenched around the object of its desire, and bolted for the open door.

  Tanya flew past Fabian out onto the landing. “Don’t let it get away!”

  The drain-dweller was halfway down the first flight of stairs. Immediately, Tanya could see that it was struggling. In a split second she registered that the dry, dusty carpet was hampering its escape. The creature was used to slithering and sliding through moist pipes and water. It was not equipped for life on dry ground.

  Tanya thundered down the stairs, fearing that any moment her legs were going to get tangled up in each other. She was gaining on it.

  As the creature neared the grandfather clock on the landing, it stopped suddenly and froze. For a moment Tanya thought it was about to take refuge inside the clock—but then she saw what it was staring at.

  The tip of a matted ginger tail was just visible from the side of the grandfather clock. It flicked once in agitation.

  What followed would replay itself in Tanya’s head in sickening clarity for years to come. Often she would ask herself whether Spitfire had had one last good pounce in him, whether she had vastly underestimated him, or if he had simply been lucky. In the scheme of things none of it really made a difference. The result was the same.

  The drain-dweller’s eyes widened as Spitfire sprang toward it. It did not try to run. It made no attempt to fight. Maybe it was too afraid to do either. Or maybe it just realized its fate and was accepting of it.

  The creature did not scream when the cat’s claws found their target, or even whimper as the broken, aged teeth clamped down on its windpipe for the kill. Spitfire, for his part, seemed to sense his good fortune, knowing enough not to push his luck by toying with his prey longer than necessary. There was a crisp, sharp snap, and then the drain-dweller’s body twitched before going limp.