Hollow Earth

by John Barrowman

  ‘Maybe,’ Em said. ‘Unless he found something inside that he doesn’t want us to see or know about.’

  Matt crunched on his burnt toast. ‘I’m pretty sure that if Simon had had the satchel,’ he said between mouthfuls, ‘he’d have been willing to share its contents with us.’

  ‘Then who’s got it?’ said Em, curling up on the couch and pulling a blanket over her legs.

  ‘What about Mara?’ signed Zach.

  The twins looked skeptically at him.

  ‘I know we don’t want to think she might be hiding things from us, but—’

  ‘Well, if you’re thinking like that,’ said Em, resting her palm on Zach’s moving hands, ‘Jeannie wasn’t with us either. It could just as easily have been her.’

  Matt flopped on to the couch next to Em just as Zach got up from his chair. ‘Why don’t we at least go and look in Mara’s room to put our minds at rest?’ he signed.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Why not? If she has got the satchel, it can only be in her bedroom or in her studio. She’s not back yet from dealing with the police and those two in the swamp.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m up for any more covert activities tonight,’ said Matt.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Em, snuggling deeper into the couch with Grace Fortescue’s diary, the book she’d been reading.

  Zach changed the subject reluctantly. He opened up his laptop, despite the loss of computer privileges, and paused just long enough to ask, ‘So what do you think’s going to happen to Tanan and Blake?’

  ‘Maybe they’ll be shipped back to London for trespassing.’ In a burst of energy, Matt bounded across the room, leaping over the back of the couch and just missing Em’s head. She whacked him with her book.

  ‘This isn’t the only seat in the room, you know.’

  ‘Maybe not, but it’s the only one where I can easily annoy you.’

  Ignoring the twins, Zach lost himself in his computer until Em’s book came flying across the room, hitting him on the shoulder. He looked up to find the twins standing at the sitting-room door, torches in their hands.

  ‘We’ve changed our minds. We’re going to search Mara’s room. Are you in?’

  FIFTY-TWO

  The boys had been in Mara’s room fewer times than Em. They’d forgotten how fancy and fussy it was.

  Draped in lush red velvet and layered with embroidered pillows, a four-poster bed dominated the room. Near the window there was a sitting area with two stiff chairs, a narrow high-backed couch and a round mahogany end table. Covering an entire wall, paintings ranging from massive to miniature sat in gilded frames, a number of them shimmering with the soft light that comes from the art of an Animare. Two full-sized wardrobes stood like sentries on either side of the door leading into Mara’s en-suite bathroom, and a roll-top desk with hundreds of pigeonholes stood centred against the far wall.

  ‘Em definitely got the better deal keeping watch down in the hall,’ said Matt. ‘This’ll take hours to search.’

  The boys started with the wardrobes, figuring that if Mara had hidden the satchel it would have to be in something deep enough to contain it. Matt took the one on the left and Zach the one on the right. They’d hardly begun to look when Zach started chuckling.

  ‘I’m glad you find this funny,’ Matt growled. ‘I’ve never seen so many pairs of jeans outside a department store.’

  ‘You know, Em could never sleep in this bedroom.’

  ‘Why?’

  Zach laughed at the thought. ‘Because she’d be animating these wardrobes into the character from Beauty and the Beast every time she fell asleep.’

  ‘Focus, Zach. Try to keep Em out of your head for at least five minutes, will you?’

  What’s going on, Matt? Have you found anything?

  Nothing yet.

  Resigned to the fact that neither of them were going to get five minutes without Em in their heads, Matt returned to his wardrobe. But neither wardrobe hid anything worse than Mara’s clothes.

  ‘We’ve been here too long,’ Zach gestured. ‘The satchel’s not here. We need to go.’

  But, as they turned to leave, Zach noticed the bed’s ornate legs and how high it sat off the floor. He pointed.

  ‘Under the bed! She wouldn’t have had much time between finding the satchel and leaving to deal with the police and Blake and Tanan in the swamp. Sliding it under the bed might have been her quickest move.’

  Lifting up the heavy brocade bedspread, Matt checked under the bed. The only thing he could see was a flat wooden box, too small to hide the satchel in. He reached for it nonetheless and dragged it out.

  In the box was a padded envelope, displaying the name and address face-up.

  Matt shoved the storage box back under the bed. ‘Why would Mara have a package addressed to us?’ he asked. He looked at the postmark and the stamp. It was from the National Gallery, and had been posted to the island the day before they arrived from London.

  Anything yet, Matt?

  Something, Em. Definitely something. We’ll meet you back in the sitting room. Stall Mara if you run into her. She’s bound to be home soon.

  While Zach checked that they had left everything as they had found it, Matt was still examining the envelope. It felt hard and heavy.

  ‘Em’ll kill us if we look inside without her,’ Zach signed.

  Em’s urgent voice penetrated Matt’s head.

  Where are you?

  About to leave Mara’s room. Why?

  Because she’s back and she seems in a strop. She’s heading straight for you.

  Uh oh.

  Matt could hear Mara’s heels click-clacking on the stairs. ‘Mara’s coming,’ he told Zach swiftly. Taking the envelope, he shoved it under his T-shirt and tucked the bottom end into the waistband of his jeans. ‘We’re going to have to do this old-school. Get under the bed.’

  Both boys darted to the far side of the monstrous bed, scrambling underneath. But as he did so, Matt accidentally jostled the storage box, pushing it back out where Mara would be able to see it. Outside the door, he could hear Mara digging her keys out of her bag.

  Do something, Em! We can’t get out of the room in time.

  I’m coming upstairs as fast as I can. I don’t want to wake Simon.

  We unlocked her door with an animation. She’ll know someone’s been in!

  From under the bed, Matt silently shifted the bedspread a few centimetres, giving himself a sliver of a space to view the room. He nudged Zach. Mara had come into the room now, and was examining her lock with a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘Mara! Can you … er … come back out here a second?’

  Ignoring Em’s voice, Mara scanned the bedroom. Now she was walking over towards the bed. They were sure to be found. One … two … three …

  Just as it looked as if it was all over, Mara kicked the storage box underneath the bed and went back out. ‘What is it, Em?’

  Shivering with nerves, Matt and Zach clambered out from under the bed and dashed behind the door, waiting for the all-clear.

  Mara’s helping me with some girl stuff. Get out of there now, ’cos this is pretty awkward.

  Making sure the padded envelope was still safely tucked under his shirt, Matt grabbed Zach’s arm and they fled.

  Ten minutes later, Mara returned to her room, well aware that the children had been up to something. She smiled to herself. It was likely they’d found the package that she’d intercepted from the post the day the twins arrived. She had to give Arthur Summers credit. His confession in the letter he’d written to the twins was the final confirmation she had needed about what had happened to Malcolm.

  Mara heard her bedroom door open as she admired her wall of paintings. She turned to greet her guest with a wry and knowing smile.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Sitting in front of the fire’s dying embers, after everyone else was in bed, Matt, Em and Zach stared at the padded envelope on the coffee table.

  ‘You discovered it, Matt.
You open it.’

  Matt tipped the package upside down, letting the contents fall on to the table: a thin wooden box and a letter.

  Matt opened the box and lifted out the page nestling inside. As he turned it over in his hands, he recognized the thick bold lines of the image.

  ‘This looks like a sketch of a painting I saw in the vault. The swirling blacks, yellows and greens are familiar.’ He handed the drawing to Em and Zach. ‘There’s an inscription on the back,’ said Em, turning it over.

  To our sons and daughters,

  May you never forget imagination is the real and the eternal.

  This is Hollow Earth.

  Duncan Fox, Edinburgh 1848

  Em frowned. Where had she heard the words Hollow Earth before?

  ‘What does it mean?’ Matt asked curiously.

  Zach opened his laptop and keyed a few strokes before turning the screen to show them a matching image of the print Em was holding. The text beneath the image said:

  Hollow Earth, the 19th century Scottish artist Duncan Fox’s most famous work, said to depict the entrance to a mythical purgatory where all the beasts and demons ever imagined are trapped.

  ‘Mum and that guy we met in Covent Garden, Matt – they were talking about Duncan Fox and Hollow Earth!’ Em exclaimed, remembering. ‘Hollow Earth is a crazy legend, but Duncan Fox believed it was real. He founded a Society to protect it.’

  ‘So where was I when this was going on?’ Matt demanded.

  ‘You’d gone off to listen to the busker with the weird instrument. I completely forgot to tell you about it,’ Em confessed. ‘That whole day was a crazy blur from start to finish.’

  ‘Duncan Fox must have been an Animare,’ Matt guessed. ‘Otherwise, why was his painting in the vault?’

  Zach thumped the table to get their attention. He pointed at the letter.

  ‘You’re right, Zach,’ said Em apologetically. ‘We need to read the letter.’

  Holding it out in front of her so the boys could also see it, she began to read.

  ‘Crimes?’ Matt said after a moment. ‘What secret about our dad?’

  ‘He makes it sound as if your mum was forced to do something illegal,’ signed Zach. ‘Who’s Arthur Summers?’

  ‘We always just called him “the yellow-haired man”.’ Matt could feel the anger rising in his throat. Their mum – a criminal? What on earth had she done to their dad? ‘Mum did some restoration work for him at the National Gallery when we were little.’

  Zach googled ‘Arthur Summers’ and ‘The National Gallery’. The first ten hits all featured the same incident.

  ‘He was murdered,’ signed Zach, shifting on to the couch between Em and Matt so they could more easily see his screen.

  ‘It says that he was killed during a robbery in the restoration lab at the gallery,’ said Em, aghast.

  ‘Em, look at the date. The murder and the robbery were on the day we left London,’ breathed Matt.

  Em read from a paragraph in the middle of the story. ‘According to sources, Summers was part of an international art-forgery ring. His murder may be the break needed to topple his worldwide organization.’

  ‘Mum was an art forger?’ said Matt, shocked at the revelation. ‘Impossible.’

  Em turned away from the screen, not wanting to read any more details of the murder. ‘Think about it. It’s not like we knew very much about how she paid for things when we lived in London. And we did live in a nice flat.’

  Unable to contain his anxiety or his adrenaline, Matt paced behind the couch with Arthur’s letter in his hand. ‘Okay, so maybe she was blackmailed. I think that’s what the yellow-haired man meant when he wrote, “You’ll realize that whatever crimes your mother committed, she had no choice.”’

  ‘Looks that way to me,’ signed Zach.

  Em struggled to formulate her words. ‘But what could Mum have done or known about … what secret about Dad … What would be so awful that she would let herself be blackmailed like that?’

  Matt banged his fist against the sitting-room wall. ‘If only we could ask Grandpa! I bet he would know.’

  ‘Matt, sit down!’ Em said. ‘You’ll wake someone for sure.’ She pulled the screen towards her again. ‘Scroll down, Zach. What else does it say about the robbery?’

  ‘It says that only one painting was stolen. That one, there.’

  When the image of the painting appeared on the screen, Em couldn’t help herself. She screamed, her heart pounding, goose bumps erupting across her skin. The boys stared at her.

  ‘Em, what is it?’ asked Matt sharply.

  ‘The creature in that painting … it’s my night terror – the one we saw in the library!’

  FIFTY-FOUR

  The next morning, Jeannie was banging around in the kitchen sorting pans that didn’t need to be sorted when the twins came downstairs. Zach was finishing his breakfast alone. Em felt his warning in her head.

  Watch out. Jeannie’s in a wicked mood.

  Jeannie scowled at the twins from across the kitchen table. ‘I suppose ye’ll be wanting breakfast now, too. D’ye see what time it is? It’s after ten. It’s not yer birthdays until tomorrow, so no special favours.’ She thrashed her tea towel against the counter for emphasis. Her accent was stronger when she was angry. ‘This isnae a restaurant, ye know. I have better things to do than hang about in the kitchen waiting for folks who don’t bother tae eat breakfast until close on lunchtime.’

  Whoa. What’s got her so riled?

  A wild guess – no one’s eaten here this morning.

  ‘We’re sorry, Jeannie,’ said Em. ‘We stayed up too late last night, um, playing computer games.’

  ‘Just because Mr R. isnae here to keep this place running on a regular schedule is no excuse for everyone else tae forget meal times.’

  Em realized the Abbey was unnaturally quiet. There was no music coming from Simon’s study. Across the grounds, Mara’s studio looked as if it was still closed up, the doors locked, shades tightly drawn.

  ‘Where is everyone?’

  Noooo. Don’t ask, Em!

  ‘I’ll tell ye where everyone is. They’ve gone off early tae that new coffee shop that’s opened in Seaport.’ Jeannie untied her pinny, balling it up and aggressively tossing it into the laundry basket. ‘As if paying an arm and a leg for a cup of coffee makes it taste better than mine. Well, let me tell ye, it does NOT.’

  She grabbed her coat from the peg in the utility room, her shopping bags from the shelf underneath. ‘Ah wouldn’t be a bit surprised tae hear that their scones don’t have an ounce of Scottish butter in them.’ Pushing open the French doors, Jeannie stomped towards the garage, ranting the entire way about the state of baked goods on the island.

  ‘Looks like we’re on our own for breakfast then,’ said Matt.

  ‘So no one ate breakfast this morning at all? Not even Simon?’ asked Em, slicing a banana into a bowl of cereal. ‘Doesn’t that seem weird to you?’

  Putting his spoon down, Zach signed, ‘I’m guessing Dad’s at the hospital, and Mara, too. The Range Rover’s gone. But it is strange that they didn’t wait to see us this morning. That’s not like Dad at all.’

  Sitting next to Em at the table, Matt opened a tub of ice cream, scooping three big dollops into a bowl.

  ‘Really? Ice cream?’ Em remarked.

  ‘It’s dairy,’ said Matt, sliding the container to Zach, who added a scoop to his almost-finished cereal.

  Em reached for the Glasgow newspaper on the plate laid where Grandpa usually sat, a habit Jeannie refused to change even though it would be a while before Renard was eating or reading the newspaper with them again.

  ‘It’s probably good all the adults are gone,’ said Em, scanning the pages for any stories about an unidentified woman being lost or found. The boys thought it morbid and a waste of time, but Em dismissed their arguments. Looking made her feel useful, and being useful was at least doing something. ‘It’ll make it easier for us to search the Ab
bey and the grounds for that painting of my night terror.’

  ‘You seriously think it’s here?’

  ‘Yes, Zach – I do. It makes complete sense. The creature’s been haunting my sleep off and on for weeks now, and it’s not my creation.’

  ‘So who’s the Animare that’s manipulating it?’ asked Zach.

  ‘There are a few things we’ve learned for sure about being an Animare,’ Em said. ‘The First Rule: we can’t – well, shouldn’t – animate in public. Second: we have to stay in control of our imaginations. Third: an Animare can be bound in a work of his or her own art, making that art enchanted in some way.’

  ‘Enchanted?’ snorted Matt. ‘You make it sound like sprites and wood nymphs are sprouting everywhere. If that creepy dwarf and the scary hooded figure in the library the other night are from a bound painting, and that same painting had something to do with a man’s murder two months ago, then there isn’t anything so enchanted about it.’

  ‘Then what would you call it?’

  ‘Jinxed,’ signed Zach.

  ‘Cursed,’ Matt returned.

  ‘Hexed.’

  ‘Blighted.’

  ‘Okay, stop!’ said Em. ‘No matter what you want to call it, if that painting is in the Abbey or on Era Mina somewhere, it’s dangerous.’

  ‘But what’s it got to do with Mum’s disappearance?’ Matt demanded.

  With the exception of a few animations they’d kept from their mum, the twins believed they’d had a fairly uneventful childhood. Now they were starting to wonder if they had been oblivious to a secret world going on around them.

  ‘Maybe we should call Violet and Anthea back at Raphael Terrace?’ Em suggested. ‘They’ve known Mum for ever. Maybe they could tell us something about what she was up to when we lived with them.’

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ Matt agreed. ‘It’s been weeks since we talked to them. I’ll get the number from Simon’s desk and call from the study.’