Isle of Winds (The Changeling Series Book 1)

by Fahy, James

  It was only afterwards, when everyone had gone and Mr Burrows had popped home, that Robin had five minutes alone to lock himself in the bathroom and pull himself together. He got through half a toilet roll, but was dry-eyed and waiting in the lounge when Mr Burrow returned.

  The oddness with the horseshoes was forgotten.

  * * *

  A month later, Robin found himself sitting on a train, with a large suitcase in the rack above his head containing everything he owned, and a letter in his pocket from somebody he had never heard of.

  The train rushed through some very pretty countryside. Robin had never really been out of the city much. The countryside, as far as he was concerned, was something that happened to other people. He sat in the softly rocking carriage, listening to the clackety-clack of the train and watching the hills and fields of Lancashire roll by.

  He was on his way to a village called Barrowood, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, to meet a woman called Irene who shared his surname, and was apparently his only surviving relative.

  He had never heard of her. He had never heard of Barrowood for that matter.

  Every time the train pulled into a new station, he strained to see the name. There hadn’t been one called Barrowood yet.

  He was so intent on finding the right station that when the door to the carriage was suddenly thrown open, he practically jumped out of his skin.

  He turned wide-eyed, to see who had entered. It was a small skinny girl with a tangle of long brown hair and a very pale face. She was wearing a large tatty brown coat which was much too big for her and looked like it had been pieced together from bits of other coats. She was about his age, maybe a little younger.

  Robin looked at the girl, who stood staring at him with wide and oddly triumphant eyes.

  When it became apparent that she was neither going to move or speak, he thought he had better say something.

  “Erm…” he began.

  She blinked at the noise, as though startled by the scrawny boy’s ability to make noises as well as move.

  “Erm…” he said again.

  “Is this seat taken?” she asked suddenly.

  “This seat?” Robin asked, nodding at the seat opposite him, which was clearly not.

  “Yes. That one. The empty one there,” the girl said eagerly.

  They both looked at it.

  “No. I don’t think so,” Robin said eventually. “No one’s in here but me.”

  The girl smiled and slammed the compartment door behind her. She peered through the glass for a second, then pulled down the shade.

  Robin was a bit alarmed by this. More so when the girl leaned across him to pull the tasteless orange curtain across the window and plonked herself down opposite him in the now shadowy carriage.

  He stared at her in surprise.

  “Do you have any idea how much trouble I’ve had trying to find you?” she started.

  “Find me?” Robin replied, deeply confused.

  “Well, I knew you were in Manchester, but obviously couldn’t get anywhere near you with the wards in place, could I?” she said. “Had to hang around and wait for my chance. Not a very good idea when you’ve got skrikers on your tail, I can tell you. And then there was all that nasty business with your Grandmother and Mr Strife,” she babbled. “There’s nothing he won’t sink to, that one.” She patted his hand a little, making him flinch. “Sorry about your Gran. If we’d known what he was up to, we would have done something, but there was no one to watch you. There’s only me who could tear through, and the skrikers have been keeping me on the move. They give a new meaning to the idea of hounding someone…”

  “How do you know about my Gran?” Robin interrupted. It was the only thing she had said so far that had made the slightest bit of sense. The young girl completely ignored his question.

  “Of course, once the wards were down, there was a right old rush to get at you. I’m surprised Strife wasn’t there to jump in the window the minute it happened! You got out just in time, I don’t mind telling you! Old Burro can only do so much after all. I don’t think he could hold Janus for more than a month. But then no one knew where you’d gone. Off on a train with a suitcase? Who knew? I had to track you through the redcaps.” She shuddered. “And they’re never fun to deal with… And do you have any idea how difficult it is to tear through on a moving train? From a stationary point over there to a moving point over here?” She shuddered again. “Trust me, the physics involved are horrible.”

  Robin held up his hands in a desperate bid to stop her babbling. “Wait,” he said. “Hold on a second…”

  She stopped talking and blinked at him expectantly.

  “Who are you? Did you … did you know my Gran?”

  The girl seemed genuinely surprised by this. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, staring at him. He noticed that her eyes were a startling shade of gold. He had never seen anyone with eyes that colour before. Was she wearing contact lenses?

  “Oh,” she said eventually, as realisation dawned. “You don’t know … who I am?”

  Robin shook his head carefully.

  “Your Grandmother never…” she trailed off, frowning with incredulity.

  “What do you know about my Gran?” Robin asked. “Do you … I mean, did you know her?”

  The girl shook her head absently. “Only by reputation,” she muttered, lost in thought. She looked up, golden eyes gleaming. “Well,” she said. “This certainly complicates things, doesn’t it?”

  Robin, who was of the opinion that the conversation was already complicated enough, looked back at the agitated girl helplessly. She had sunk back in the chair. Her small form almost drowned in the tatty coat. She glowered at him moodily, as though he was being difficult on purpose.

  “My name’s Robin,” he said, hoping this might help.

  “I know what your name is,” the girl replied impatiently. “It’s written all over you.” She bit her lip in a thoughtful manner. “I was kind of counting on you being up to speed…”

  “What’s your name?” Robin asked, feeling as though the two of them were speaking different languages.

  She looked at him suspiciously. “Can’t you tell?”

  “How would I tell? You haven’t got a nametag on you, have you,” he replied. She was beginning to annoy him.

  She rolled her eyes. “Ah yes, now I remember. It’s different for you lot, isn’t it? You have to be told. Sorry, I forget how it works sometimes.”

  “Us lot?”

  The girl held out her hand, very formally. “My name,” she said, “… is Karya.”

  Robin shook her hand a little awkwardly. She had a firm grip. “Okay,” he said. “Are you on the train with your parents?”

  She dropped his hand unceremoniously. “My what?”

  “Your parents?” Robin repeated. “You know, your Mum and Dad?”

  “Oh, them…” Karya made a face. “No. I’m here on my own.” She glanced at the compartment door with its covered window. “I hope,” she added warily.

  The train rumbled on for a few seconds. There was nothing but the clack-clack of the tracks and the gentle swaying of the carriage.

  “Where are you going, Robin?” Karya asked eventually, seeming to come to some decision.

  “Um … Barrowood,” Robin replied. “Do you know it?”

  “Parts of it,” she replied.

  “I’m going to meet this woman, she’s called Irene. Apparently, she’s my great aunt.”

  “Yes?” Karya pressed.

  Robin shrugged. “I think I’m going to live with her,” he said, without much enthusiasm. “It’s all been arranged with Social Services, but no one really tells me much. It’s all a bit mysterious.”

  “Irene,” Karya said in a half whisper. “Well … that’s a good move. Good old Burro. Wouldn’t have expected her to be up for it…”

  “What are you on about now?” Robin asked, frowning at her.

  “At least you’ll be safe there. She�
��” Karya noticed that Robin was staring at her in confusion and trailed off.

  “Look,” she said decisively. “I really can’t stay and explain everything to you now. There isn’t time. The longer I stay, the easier it is for the skrikers to pinpoint me. I thought things would be easier than this…”

  She fumbled in the pocket of her coat.

  “Here,” she said, drawing out a long slim wooden box and thrusting it into his hands.

  “What’s this?” Robin asked, staring at it.

  “It’ll let you find me, later, when things have calmed down a bit. Put it away for now.” She flapped her hands at him impatiently.

  There was a noise outside the train. It resolved itself into what sounded like a long, mournful howl. It was loud and close by.

  Robin stared at the curtained window. “What was that?” he said.

  “I’ve run out of time.” The girl jumped to her feet. “If I don’t go now, they’ll track me. If they find me, they’ll find you. Then we’re all in trouble.”

  “Who’ll find you?” said Robin. His hand moved toward the curtain on the window.

  “Don’t open that!” the girl shouted.

  Robin jumped. “Why not?”

  “Leave it,” she snapped.

  The howl came again, closer still.

  The girl was already at the door. “I have to go,” she said. “Keep that safe, Robin. For Tartar’s sake, put it away. And don’t go talking to strangers.”

  Robin slipped the thin wooden case into his pocket. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. “You’re a stranger.”

  Karya smirked in spite of herself, her golden eyes twinkling. “There are stranger strangers than me,” she said. “See you soon, Scion.”

  She touched the wall of the train compartment.

  There was a heavy thud at the window, and a dark shadow filled the small curtained square, blocking out the sunlight. The girl, almost lost in the deepening shadows, muttered something under her breath and seemed to tense.

  Then the door to the carriage threw itself open.

  Robin jumped and looked from Karya to the figure in the doorway.

  “Tickets please,” said the conductor. “Hey, it’s dark in here!” he exclaimed. His eyes fell on Robin suspiciously. “What are you up to, lad?”

  Robin looked back to Karya for help, only to find that she was gone. There was nobody else in the carriage with him. Robin stared dumbfounded at the patch of empty wall against which she had been stood. It seemed, for a split second, to be rippling.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you,” said the conductor. “You alright, son? You look a bit off.”

  “I’m fine,” said Robin quietly. He looked back at the conductor, wondering if he were going mad.

  “Well, if you’re feeling sick, open the window,” the man said. “It’s stuffy in here. Do you no good sitting in the dark.”

  Robin opened the curtain, filling the carriage with innocent sunlight. There was nothing outside. No howling creature, no shadows. The sunny countryside flew by, as normal as could be.

  “Just you in here is it?” said the conductor, reaching for Robin’s ticket.

  “Apparently,” Robin replied absently.

  “Eh?”

  Robin remembered himself. “Yes,” he said. “I mean, yes. Just me … Sorry.”

  The conductor clipped his ticket and gave him a funny look, as though he wasn’t sure if Robin were trying to be cheeky.

  “Where you off to then?” he asked.

  “Barrowood,” Robin replied.

  “Nice little village.” The conductor nodded as he made his way back out of the door. “Get your bags ready then,” he called as the door closed. “It’s the next stop.”

  Chapter Two –

  Mr Moros and Malcolm Drover

  The tiny train station in the village of Barrowood was utterly deserted. Robin stood on the platform with his large battered suitcase beside him. Beyond the quaint stone train station, there was nothing but rising hills covered in a thick carpet of autumnal trees. He assumed that the village lay through the station proper, but for all he could see, he might have been in the middle of nowhere.

  Robin pulled out the box the girl had given him. It had a sliding lid, like an old box of dominoes.

  Checking first to make sure no one was around, and without really knowing why, Robin slid the lid back and peered inside. It seemed empty. He tilted it a little. Something clunked and fell into view. He pulled it out and frowned at it.

  It was a flute, finely carved from a rich golden wood. Small and with only three holes for notes. Robin was sure that it wasn’t called a flute. A penny whistle maybe, or a pipe. Whatever you called it, two facts remained: He had no idea what it was for, and he had no idea how to play it.

  So for now, he called it a flute, put it back in the box and closed the lid.

  His more immediate concern was that he had no idea what to do next. He pulled the crumpled letter from his pocket. It was written in a spidery but firm hand. He read it again for at least the hundredth time:

  My Great-Nephew Robin,

  It has been brought to my attention that your current housing situation has been somewhat disrupted by the sudden and inconvenient death of your Grandmother.

  As your Grandmother made no provision whatsoever for your future in this event (from which I must assume she planned to live forever, a very unwise course indeed), it would appear that it falls to me to offer you sanctuary, so to speak.

  No doubt you shall have many questions, as we have never before met and I have as many doubts as you do about the suitability of this arrangement, but we will have to get to these matters when you come to see me.

  All has been arranged with the officials through my representatives. Papers have been signed, counter signed and exchanged (I don’t presume to understand the bureaucracy of moving a child), and all being well, it will suit me to receive you on the first of September, which is in three weeks’ time.

  I am aware that boys of your age have schoolwork of some kind to attend to at this juncture in the year. I have secured a tutor for this purpose and lessons have been delayed until after your arrival while we see what is to be done with you.

  In short, you are to come to live with me, at Erlking Hall in Barrowood. There is no argument to be brooked.

  Please find enclosed with this letter your pre-paid train ticket. Mr Burrows, with whom I have been in contact, will see you onto the train and all of those bothersome details.

  I shall expect you at eleven A.M sharp. Please be punctual, as tardiness is not a quality I appreciate, especially in a great-nephew.

  Regards,

  Ms Fellows

  The letter was as weird as it was the first ninety-nine times he had read it. Mr Burrows had assured him that Great Aunt Irene seemed a good enough woman and was merely eccentric. Robin had looked the word up on the internet. It meant, as far as he could interpret, ‘rich and senile’.

  He did not find this reassuring. He was more surprised by the rich than the senile. Gran had had more than her fair share of oddities, but they had never had enough money to rub together. If Irene Fellows was rich then she had certainly never helped Gran out of a tight spot.

  The letter, unfortunately, gave no hint as to how Robin was actually to get to Erlking Hall. He had assumed that she would meet him at the station. Adults were like that usually.

  A noise at the station doorway made him look up, snapping him out of his thoughts.

  There was a thin old man standing in the arch, leaning against the post with his arms folded casually across his dark suit. He was staring at Robin.

  Robin thought the man’s suit looked very old fashioned, like that of a Victorian undertaker. He was wearing a bowler hat. The hair underneath, however, was a most unusual shade of orange, not undertaker-ish at all.

  “Oh … hello,” Robin said, a little awkwardly. It seemed rude not to say something. People ignored each other at train stations in Manchester. It
was tradition, unless they were trying to give you a free newspaper. But there were hundreds of people there. Here, there was just Robin and the staring undertaker.

  The thin man didn’t move. Nor did he reply. He continued to stare at him with bright and eager eyes.

  “I didn’t see you there,” said Robin. “Um…”

  The man still did not respond. Robin wondered if he had heard him speak at all.

  “Are you from around here?” Robin asked, slipping the letter back into his coat pocket. “I’m not … well, that is … I’m supposed to be meeting someone here, I think. It’s absolutely freezing, isn’t it? I have to get to Erlking Hall. Do you know it?”

  The man with the orange hair ran a finger along the brim of his hat and stopped leaning against the doorpost. “Kind of, not particularly, and yes,” he said, in a crisp clear voice.

  “I’m sorry?” Robin frowned.

  The man stepped away from the door and strolled towards him in neat measured strides.

  “There’s no need to apologise,” he said. “Your questions. Firstly, I am kind of from around here. Secondly, yes, in a manner of speaking, it is freezing. I myself can personally attest to witnessing several instances of frost on bushes, grass and the like on my way here. And thirdly, yes, I am familiar with Erlking Hall, though I have never had the pleasure of visiting.” His voice was very eager.

  The tall man leaned down and quickly stuck out a hand, making Robin flinch.

  “Mr Moros,” he announced, rolling the R. “At your service, young man.”

  Robin, who was fighting the urge to back away, shook hands instead. The man’s hand was ridiculously cold, much colder than the chilly air could account for.

  “And what, I find myself wondering, for I am, I admit, an unquenchably curious fellow, is such a fine young man as yourself doing in Barrowood?”

  “Well…” Robin began, slightly disturbed that the odd man had not yet released his hand.