So this young man, despite being a humble blacksmith with no wealth or learning to his name, was well received at the palace gates, and the King ordered him to be draped in fine robes of fur and velvet to keep him warm as he began his night vigil. But instead the young man politely declined and drew a bit of old material from his bag that smelled of mildew and was embroidered all over with old spiders’ webs. The servants looked at one another and rolled their eyes.
The young man took up his watching place at the door of the bedchamber and the eldest princess brought him a cup of wine but, remembering the instructions that the old woman had whispered in his ear, the young man took care not to drink a drop. He poured the wine into his water skin when the princess wasn’t looking and then lay down on the floor and pretended to snore very loudly, as if he was fast asleep.
Very soon after that, he heard the pattering of twelve pairs of feet and the princesses’ stifled laughter. Through his half-closed eyelids, he saw them opening their wardrobes and taking out their gowns of coloured silks and fastening their finest jewels around their necks.
Then the princesses rolled up the rug from the bedroom floor and leaned it against the door. The eldest princess clapped her hands three times and, in the middle of the bare boards, a trapdoor opened. The young man, who hardly dared to breathe, saw the shapes of them in the gloom as they descended, one by one, disappearing, feet first and then shoulders and then heads, down, down beneath the floor. As soon as the youngest princess was out of sight, he leapt up and tied the musty cloak around his shoulders and lowered himself after them. His feet soon found the edges of a secret staircase that led deep into the earth and, as quietly and carefully as he could, he felt his way down it. But his feet slipped on something and he heard the youngest princess cry out.
‘Stop. Someone has taken hold of my gown!’
‘Don’t be so silly!’ the eldest sister said. ‘It’s just caught on a nail or a crack in the wall. Give it a tug.’ And the young man lifted his shoe and down they all went.
At the bottom of the staircase, the young man found himself in the middle of a wood. The birch trees shone under the bright moon, lighting his way, and he followed the princesses into a clearing. Here, where the trees thinned, the branches were covered in leaves that glittered and sparkled red against the night sky as if they were made of rubies. He couldn’t resist. He put up his hand and plucked one and, as it came off the branch, it made a loud snapping sound.
‘What was that?’ cried the youngest princess. ‘What was that noise? Someone is following us!’
But the others only laughed at her. ‘Don’t be such a scaredy-cat,’ the eldest said. ‘You’re always inventing things that aren’t there.’
The young man followed them out of the clearing and onto the banks of a wide lake where the water rippled in the moonlight. Twelve white rowing boats were drawn up in the rushes, with a prince waiting at the oars of each one. The princesses stepped eagerly, one into each boat, and the young man followed, tucking himself carefully in the stern of the last, behind the youngest princess.
‘What’s that?’ cried the youngest princess. ‘I felt something brush past my sleeve in the dark.’
But her prince only smiled. ‘Don’t be afraid, little one. It’s just the moths that gather down here by the water or perhaps a night bird looking for its nest.’ Nevertheless, he noticed that his oars felt heavier than usual as he rowed across the black water. I must be very tired tonight, he thought.
Soon the young man could make out a fine castle on the distant shore, with every window lit. The sounds of flutes and drums and guitars drifted across the still water. He watched the princesses step from the boats, each on the arm of their prince, and run across the grass. They flitted through the gates in the castle walls like twelve exotic birds. Covered by his cloak, he followed and leaned against a column in one of the grand, marble hallways and watched them whirl and dance, their hair fluttering about their faces, the ribbons on their dresses flying out, their slippers flashing faster and faster in the light from the blazing torches.
He watched until the first streaks of rose and pearl appeared in the castle windows and the youngest princess clutched at her foot and said that her shoes were quite worn through. The princes sighed then and each swept a princess up in his arms and carried her across the grass and into one of the waiting boats and rowed them back across the lake and to the other shore.
This time, the blacksmith was already waiting in the boat of the eldest princess. He was the first to clamber onto the banks and he hurried ahead of the princesses, through the clearing and up the hidden staircase in the woods. When he reached the bedchamber, he took off his magic cloak, bundled it into his bag and laid himself down on the cold floor, snoring loudly.
The next morning, imagine the princesses’ surprise when the young man drew from the pocket of his waistcoat a single leaf of glittering ruby and laid it on the youngest sister’s white coverlet.
‘If you will do me the honour of being my wife,’ he said, ‘I promise not to tell your father where you all go at night.’
The youngest princess gasped and turned to the others, her face defiant. ‘See!’ she said. ‘It wasn’t my imagination. I felt something and I heard something – and it was real after all.’ She took the young man’s hand and smiled at him.
‘You don’t have to marry him,’ the eldest princess said, as the young man twirled the leaf between his fingers. ‘Because no one would ever believe him anyway. They’d think he’d fallen down drunk and dreamed it all . . .’
But the youngest princess held on fast to the young man’s hand and looked deep into his eyes. She’d never seen a man so handsome and kind in all her young life. And so she told her father that he’d discovered their secret and that she must honour the promise and marry him. But when the King pressed the young man for the truth, he simply said that the sisters had made a rope of their twelve white coverlets and climbed down out of their high window and danced all night on the shores of the lake in the palace grounds, and the princesses nodded that, yes, this was true.
But night after night, after their youngest sister was married, the other eleven princesses would slip away to the underground kingdom and dance with their handsome princes. And they never married, even though many men were to ask for their hands.
The youngest sister grew plump and happy with her husband in the house that he built for her at the edge of the water. She herself had never really wanted more than one life and was perfectly content to stay in this one.
In the evenings, she would sit and watch the sun sink into the middle of the lake and watch the geese flying low across the water. And for her, that was more than enough . . .
And with those words, Maadar-Bozorg tucked the sheet a little tighter around Fabia’s shoulders and planted a kiss on her forehead.
‘Sleep well, child. Sweet dreams.’
*
Fabia heard a scuffling sound and then she heard Ella, whispering.
‘She’s fast asleep,’ she said and Fabia felt the softness of a blanket being laid over her, very gently. She kept her eyes closed.
‘Let’s not disturb her,’ Billy whispered.
It was only when she was sure that they had tiptoed away to their room that Fabia opened her eyes and got up from the chair and stretched herself.
Then she looked down and saw that something had fallen from her lap: the piece of blue chiffon that she’d been sewing into pleats and, caught in the middle of the fabric, a single leaf that glittered in the light from the reading lamp, ruby red.
20
To make a strong wish: At midnight on the Eve of All Hallows, or any night of the new moon, stand naked before a mirror in a room lit only with a single candle. Make your wishes in silence. Go to sleep in a bed with clean sheets and do not speak until morning.
– Miss Mary’s Book of Dreams
‘Bryony has something she needs your help with, Maadar-Bozorg. Something I thought you might kno
w about.’
Ella smiled. She was still getting used to saying that word – Maadar-Bozorg – out loud. She could hardly believe that this spry old lady, sitting right here in the shop in one of her leather armchairs, was the legendary woman of Mamma’s stories. She looked too small. Too, well, ordinary.
Bryony pulled the red cloth-covered book out of her bag and laid it carefully on the table. She smiled, shyly. ‘Yes, it’s here, in a book that Ella and I have been . . . well, I suppose you’d say researching.’ She opened Miss Mary’s book at the frontispiece and smoothed the paper carefully. ‘It’s a book of dreams and dream spells, written by a woman who lived here in Yorkshire in the seventeenth century.’
‘A witch, Maadar-Bozorg.’ Ella smiled. ‘I told Bryony that you might know something about those.’
‘Oh you did, did you, child?’ Maadar smiled. ‘You’ll get me a terrible reputation.’
‘It’s this.’ Bryony pointed, her face creased with concentration. ‘This image. We don’t understand what it might be.’
She traced the shape with her fingers. Two ovals, side by side, one enclosing a small off-centre circle, the other divided into quadrants.
‘I thought at first that it might be something to do with lunar charts,’ she said. ‘But then I found this note from the editor at the back of the book. She writes that the image was found scribbled on the back of one of Miss Mary’s papers. And there’s a single sentence in Miss Mary’s handwriting: “Asked Thomas the blacksmith if he would make me this dish, which appeared to me in a dream. He declined, saying it would bring him trouble and me also. I am greatly saddened.” So we know it’s a kind of dish. The question is, what could she have wanted it for? And why was it so important? Why was Thomas so afraid of making it for her?’
‘Let me see . . .’
Maadar-Bozorg unfolded her reading glasses and pushed them up her nose. She peered at the page. Then she put her head back and laughed, a long, low laugh.
‘What, Maadar-Bozorg? What is it?’ Ella frowned.
‘Does this help?’
Maadar-Bozorg reached into the folds of her shawl and pulled something out. It glinted on her upturned palm. It was a small oval of polished metal, with a hole slightly offset to one side.
Bryony gasped. ‘That’s just like Miss Mary’s drawing. Well, it’s a slightly different shape – this one’s a bit more pointed at the end – but essentially, it’s the same. Except that there should be another piece to it . . . She shows it as two halves. Look . . .’
‘Yes, I know.’ Maadar sighed. ‘This is the top half. It’s a kind of lid. It fits over the other half . . .’ She pointed to the drawing. ‘Look, you see. It covers the half with the markings. I had both parts once. But I lost one of them. Very careless of me. I never did tell my sisters. It had been our grandmother’s and they gave it to me, you see. They would have been furious.’
Mamma had been staring in silence at the object in Maadar’s palm. ‘Wait a moment,’ she said quietly. She half ran to the hatstand by the door, where her trench coat with the red silk lining was hanging, and put her hand in the pocket. Ella saw something glinting in her open palm.
‘Is this what you’re looking for, Maadar-Bozorg?’
Maadar took the object and turned it over, examining it carefully. She looked at Mamma, a long, hard look, her eyes narrowing. Ella felt Mamma’s embarrassment.
‘Yes,’ Maadar said eventually. ‘Yes, it certainly is.’ Then she chuckled softly to herself. ‘To think you’ve had it all these years. Where did you find it?’
Mamma’s cheeks were flushed.
‘In the garden at the village house,’ she said. ‘I was playing. You know, like I used to do. In the dirt, under the pomegranate trees. Probably where I wasn’t supposed to be. I’m sorry. I should have given it to you . . . I guessed that it was yours. But it seemed special, somehow. And secret. Like a piece of you that I could carry with me, hold in my hand when you weren’t there . . . I’ve carried it in my pocket ever since, as a kind of lucky charm. I thought it was a brooch that had lost its pin. Or perhaps a dish. Something you’d put rings or coins in. I’m so sorry, Maadar . . .’
Maadar-Bozorg smiled and pretended to wag her finger at Mamma. ‘You always were a naughty girl . . .’ She brought the two pieces together, hers and Mamma’s. The piece with the hole fitted over Mamma’s piece with a tiny chinking sound. ‘You see. Two perfect halves. Like . . . so.’
She turned to Ella. ‘Do you have a straw, my dear?’
Ella took one from the dispenser on the cafe counter.
Maadar-Bozorg tried it in the hole on the top of the dish. ‘Yes, that will work perfectly. Now, to demonstrate.’ She pulled a face. ‘And my apologies in advance. It’s not particularly ladylike . . .’
She placed the straw inside her mug of coffee and slowly, delicately, she sucked up a small mouthful. Then she moved over to the dish, slipped the straw back into the hole and blew the mouthful of coffee through it.
‘There. That should do it.’ She opened the two halves of the dish again and laid the bottom half very carefully on the table. ‘You see how the liquid has mainly settled here, in this one quadrant?’
Bryony, Fabia and Ella each leaned in closer to look.
‘So now you’d interpret the pattern of the liquid and its placement on the surface to find the answer to your question. Each quadrant has a meaning – depending on your question. And each pattern has some kind of significance. But, of course, you wouldn’t have used coffee in Miss Mary’s time. It would have been blood, ground-up animal bone, seeds, earth, depending on what you wanted to know: which crops to plant, which route to take, whether to go to war with your enemy. And usually only one particular person in the tribe or village would be able to interpret the results. That person would have tremendous power . . . Like your Miss Mary . . .’ She nodded to Bryony. ‘She would be the Diviner. Someone would have taught her, I presume. Her mother perhaps, or grandmother. These things were passed down through generations . . .’
‘And you, Maadar-Bozorg? Are you the Diviner of this dish?’ Fabia pointed to the two halves gleaming on the table.
‘Well, child, that was the idea. That was certainly what Mahdokht – my eldest sister – intended. But then, I haven’t been able to use it for the last twenty-five years. I’m sure I’ll be a little rusty now.’ She sighed. ‘And, to be honest, I don’t know what I think of all these Old Ways. Were they a good thing? I really don’t know. In the wrong hands, they could lead to all kinds of silly superstitions, prejudices, terrible things. Look at what happened to your Miss Mary . . .’
‘But in the right hands?’ Bryony nudged the edge of the dish with her finger.
‘Well, in the right hands, I suppose it’s a wonderful aid to our deepest intuitions. It’s like any of these tools - the cards, our dreams, even the Signals. They can help us to listen – really listen – to what we already know at a very basic level, to everything that our bodies are trying to tell us . . .’
‘So do you think that’s what divining is?’ Ella twisted her wedding ring around her finger. ‘It’s not some kind of special power that certain people have? It’s just . . . well, learning to trust your own instinct?’
Maadar-Bozorg’s eyes twinkled.
‘My dear, when we finally listen to our instincts, when we’re able to listen past all the chatter in our heads, past all the things that other people tell us, all the advice and information, everything we read or learn and everything that we think we should be thinking . . . right back to what we feel, deep inside our own bodies . . . that, my dear one, is the strongest magic of all.’
‘Could I?’ Bryony’s hand hovered over the dish.
‘Well, of course, my dear. It does make you want to pick it up, doesn’t it? It’s very tactile.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Bryony weighed the metal in her hand. She closed her eyes, opened the dish again. ‘And there are so man
y things I’d like to ask it.’
‘Well, go ahead, my dear.’ Maadar-Bozorg waved her hand. ‘Yes. You absolutely must. After all, you were drawn to that image for a particular reason. I think it could probably help you.’
Bryony closed her eyes again and Ella tried to make her own mind go dark. She didn’t want to intrude on what Bryony was thinking and feeling. She watched as Bryony drew coffee up the straw and blew it into the dish, then, hesitantly, prised it apart and looked at what was inside.
*
Ella sat on the end of Maadar-Bozorg’s bed in the old flat above Happily Ever After. From here, she could look out through the little window under the eaves and watch the light fading in the courtyard.
Her mind drifted back to that other fateful evening – well over a decade ago now – when the courtyard had been flooded with sunlight and she’d sat here, in this same place, half hidden behind the curtains, waiting for Mamma’s charity auction to begin. That evening, as the top of Pike’s slick head appeared in the courtyard below, her stomach had churned and her heart had pounded in her chest. Councillor Pike, as he’d been then, with his oiled hair and his cheap shoes and those eyes like little black beads. She could picture him now, picking his way over the cobbles, Jean Cushworth clinging to his arm.
Of course, Pike had been more or less finished at the council after that night. In fact, he’d been more or less finished, full stop. There’d been a handful of people who’d tried to defend him, protested that Ella must have made it all up. That strange Moreno girl with the wild hair who runs around with Billy Vickers, they’d said. But the rumours had spread quickly and half of the city, it seemed, was only too ready to believe that Pike was capable of what Ella had accused him of, and more besides. He’d made enemies everywhere, people who seized the moment to step forward and point their own fingers. In the end, he’d been lucky to slip away into the shadows without further scandal.
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