Goodly and Grave in a Bad Case of Kidnap

by Justine Windsor

  When she was sure they wouldn’t spot her, Lucy left her hiding place and crept after their Lordships. The corridor split into two and the men veered left. When they were out of sight, Lucy ran in the same direction, the thick carpet muffling her steps. She followed the men down yet another passage, hiding along the way behind another cabinet, a huge vase and finally a life-sized statue of a very tall woman. The statue wore an elaborate headdress in the shape of an upside-down V and a very wide gown, which made a perfect hiding place. Lucy crouched down behind the statue and waited to see what happened next.

  Lord Grave and Sir Percy stood facing a door at the end of the passageway.

  “Shall we go in?” Lord Percy said.

  “Of course. Let me fetch the key from my great-grandmother.”

  Great-grandmother? Surely Lord Grave was far too old to have a great-grandmother? And wouldn’t Lucy have met her by now if she lived at Grave Hall? So where was she?

  A few seconds later, Lucy discovered the answer to all these questions. Lord Grave turned away from the door and headed straight towards the statue. Lucy squashed herself down as small as she could under the cover of Lord Grave’s great-grandmother’s stone skirts. She didn’t dare risk peering round the statue, so she couldn’t see what Lord Grave was doing. But she could hear. And what she heard was a giggle. A woman’s giggle.

  There was a grating noise and Lord Grave’s great-grandmother’s stone arm began to move. Lucy heard a small chink. Then Lord Grave stepped away from the statue. There was now a key in his hand, which he used to open the door to the room opposite. He and Lord Percy went inside.

  Lucy crept out from behind the statue and eyeballed it suspiciously. It looked stony and unmoving, as a statue should. But Lucy was sure it had somehow given Lord Grave the key to the door.

  She decided to find a new hiding place where she could have a better view of what was happening. She chose one of the giant vases further up the passageway and then waited to see what Lord Grave did when he came out of the room.

  “Are you satisfied that there remains no chance of escape from the Room of Curiosities?” Lord Grave said, as he and Lord Percy finally emerged some minutes later.

  “Yes. Of course. Thank you,” Lord Percy smiled rather stiffly.

  No chance of escape? Could that mean Eddie Robinson was imprisoned in what Lord Grave had called the Room of Curiosities? And were the other missing children there too?

  Lucy watched closely as Lord Grave tickled his great-grandmother under her stone chin (or chins; she had several of them). As before, the statue giggled then, Lucy saw, held out her hand. Lord Grave dropped the key to the mysterious room into her upturned palm, which she slipped into a stone bag tied at her waist before freezing into her former position.

  As soon as Lord Grave and Lord Percy were out of sight, Lucy crept out from behind the vase and over to the statue. She stared up into its lifeless eyes. Feeling rather foolish and scared all at the same time, Lucy tickled Lord Grave’s great-grandmother under her chins.

  The statue twitched into life, smiled and began to giggle. It was all rather disturbing and Lucy couldn’t help flinching away. But she pulled herself together and stretched out her hand expectantly. As she’d hoped, Lord Grave’s great-grandmother dropped the key into her palm. Now to find out what was inside the Room of Curiosities.

  She paused for a second. What would she find? Caged children? Something worse? Lucy swallowed her fear, took a deep breath and opened the door.

  When she stepped over the threshold, she found herself in a large windowless room full of marble plinths with not a stolen child in sight. Half relieved and half disappointed, she began examining the plinths more closely. A glass dome sat on each of them, and beneath each glass was a curiosity. There was a china doll under one. It had eyes that seemed to follow Lucy. Another held a small human-like figure, made out of twigs.

  Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but as she stared Lucy was sure she saw the stick figure move its limbs. She jerked back in surprise, steadying herself against the glass case behind her which, she realised, held a black metal raven with spiky feathers, its beak open in mid caw.

  Seized with inquisitiveness, Lucy decided to take a closer look. As her fingertips touched the bird’s glass dome a tingling began in her hand and ran all along her arm to her elbow. At the same time, the lamps burning on the walls blazed more brightly for a few seconds. How strange.

  Despite her growing unease, Lucy couldn’t waste the opportunity to investigate. She removed the dome before hesitantly stroking the bird’s feathers. They were cold. Then, to Lucy’s horror, the raven began to move. It whirred and shuddered and trembled before snapping its beak open and closed.

  “At last!” it said, cocking its head and staring at Lucy. Its eyes were like two fresh drops of blood. “And where exactly did you come from?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE RAVEN

  Lucy’s brain began shouting furiously at her.

  It’s alive! Talking in a man’s voice! Get away from it!

  “Oh, come now, you’re not afraid, are you?” said the raven. He hopped down from the plinth, and began stumping towards Lucy.

  Click, click, click went his claws against the pink marble floor. Lucy stepped backwards.

  “It’s not natural,” she whispered.

  “Not natural?” cawed the raven. “I’m so very glad you told me. I don’t think I ever received that particular epistle.”

  The raven’s sarcasm made Lucy bristle with annoyance. But now wasn’t the time to argue. Now was the time to get out of here. This was one unearthly event too many.

  “Going to make a run for it?” said the raven. “Don’t. Grave, Percy and the other fools are hanging around on the landing. They’ll spot you. And if they guess you’ve been in here, well … that could be fatal. For you.”

  Lucy wasn’t at all sure she should trust this peculiar bird. But if he was right, and Lord Grave and his guests were nearby, she couldn’t leave yet.

  Keeping a sensible distance from the raven, Lucy asked, “So you know Lord Grave and those other people?”

  “Oh, I know them all right. Criminals.” The bird watched Lucy carefully as he spoke.

  I knew it, Lucy thought. I knew there was something bad going on here. “What have they done exactly?”

  “Terrible things. Things that any decent, upstanding person deplores,” the raven said. His voice grew louder and more indignant with every word.

  “Shh,” Lucy said, “someone might hear you!”

  “It’s very difficult not to get angry,” the raven said. But he lowered his voice all the same. “What Grave’s done to me and other magicians like me. The way he’s used magic to—”

  “Magicians?” Lucy said. “Magic?”

  The raven must have seen the doubtful look on Lucy’s face. The look that said what is all this poppycock? He sighed and shrugged his wings squeakily. “I sense disbelief on your part. Tell me, does Grave still perform that ridiculous charade with the statue of his great-grandmother?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “So, you’ve seen a statue come to life. You’re talking to a clockwork raven. What else would you call such things? Everyday occurrences?”

  “I suppose you have a point,” Lucy said grudgingly, thinking again of her card, the strange arrival of Lord Grave’s guests and the everlasting food served at last night’s dinner party. “But what happened to you? Why were you in that glass case? Do you have a name?”

  “Alas, I cannot tell you.” The raven stretched one of his wings out dramatically.

  “Why?”

  “Alas, I cannot tell you that either.” He stretched his other wing out and drooped his head.

  “You must know!”

  “Yes.”

  “But you can’t tell me?”

  “No. You could try guessing.”

  “Guessing what?”

  The raven looked up. “Yes. And no.”

  “Yes and no what?” />
  “Do try and use your brain.”

  “What? Oh, wait. Maybe it’s like one of those guessing games. I ask you a question and you say yes or no? Is that how it works?”

  “Yes.”

  “So are you really a raven?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a human? A man? A magician?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Lord Grave magicianed you, or whatever you call it.”

  “Yes. Enchanted. At least get the terminology right.”

  “And part of the enchantment is not being able to tell anyone what’s happened to you? Or why? So you’re trapped here?”

  “Yes, trapped.” The raven spoke quietly now and hung his metal head.

  “I’m trapped here too,” Lucy replied sadly.

  “In that case perhaps we can aid each other, Lucy.” The raven cocked his head, beady eyes intense now. “You free me from this enchantment, and then I can help you escape. It must be dreadful to have been taken from your parents.”

  Lucy stared at the raven. “How do you know about that? And how do you know my name?”

  “Grave and Percy were discussing you and how they stole you. You see, they and the rest of their cronies are—”

  The raven began to cough. Then he began to choke as though he’d swallowed something and it had gone down the wrong way. It sounded like a knife being sharpened on a stone. Lucy slapped him on his metal back.

  “Thank you,” said the raven, when he’d recovered. “That’s what happens when I try to speak about Grave’s crimes.”

  “You were going to say Lord Grave and his horrible friends are stealing children, weren’t you?” Lucy said, half frightened at the thought of Lord Grave really being a child snatcher and half excited because what she’d suspected had turned out to be true.

  The raven goggled at Lucy. “Most impressive. How did you find out?”

  Lucy explained about the reports in the Penny Dreadful and the sinister conversation she’d overheard at last night’s dinner party.

  “But what do they do with the stolen children? And who is Ma’am? They kept talking about her. Is she someone very wicked?” Lucy asked. “Oh, but you can’t tell me, can you? Could I guess, then you say yes or no like before? That way you wouldn’t choke again.”

  The raven shook his head. “If you had a hundred years, a thousand years, you would never be able to guess. You are in great danger. But there may be a way out. If you free me, I can help you.”

  “Free you? How?”

  “There is bound to be something in this house that could do the job. But—”

  “You can’t tell me what kind of thing because of the enchantment?”

  The raven cocked its head again and was silent for a moment. Then he sighed and said, “Sadly, that is correct. But I am sure a clever child like you can find out.”

  “Then we can both be free? And what about the other children? Could we help them? Or is it,” Lucy shivered, then whispered, “too late?”

  “We might be able to get to them in time. Now, I think it’s finally safe for you to leave. Put me back where you found me. Trust no one. Keep your eyes open for a magical object that could help me.”

  “Don’t you mean us?”

  “Of course. Us. Then come back and we’ll talk some more.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE LIBRARY WITHOUT BOOKS

  That night, Lucy lay wide awake yet again, staring at the dark ceiling, her mind and stomach churning. In the next bed, Becky smacked her lips in her sleep, slurping wetly. Smell was curled up at Becky’s feet, snoring.

  The more Lucy turned everything over in her mind, the more certain she became that her only option was to trust the raven. What other choice was there? Even if she managed to escape Grave Hall by herself and then went to the police and told them what she knew about the missing children, they probably wouldn’t believe her. Lord Grave was a rich and powerful man and she was just an ordinary girl. And she had no actual solid proof of his dreadful deeds yet. It was up to her to save herself – again – and the other stolen children. But she could only do it with the raven’s help.

  So she decided to do what the raven had asked – look for a magical object with the power to break the enchantment he was under. But she didn’t even know what she was looking for.

  “I need to learn how magic works,” Lucy said softly to herself. If she could do that, she might be able to work out what sort of object she needed to find.

  “Ah,” said a voice.

  Lucy sat up, her heart thudding. She slipped out of bed and scrabbled around to light the candle next to her bed.

  “Who’s there?” she whispered.

  “Us. We’re over here,” the voice replied.

  It seemed to be coming from the fireplace. Perhaps one of the chimney-sweep boys was wedged up the chimney. Lucy knelt down on the floor in front of the fireplace and held up her candle.

  “Are you stuck?” she called softly, not wanting to wake Becky and Smell.

  “Stuck? Of course not.”

  Lucy nearly dropped her candle in shock. The voice wasn’t coming from up the chimney. It was coming from one of the men pictured in the tiles round the fireplace, the one smoking a long pipe. Lucy could smell the smoke puffing out of it. She held her candle higher in order to see better. In the flickering light that cast long shadows across the ceiling, she saw the pipe man stroll forward. There was a faint pop as he left his tiles. He walked swiftly across the hearth, his ceramic feet making light tapping noises on the ground, pipe smoke drifting behind him. When he reached the other side of the fireplace, he stepped into the tiles there, which showed another man sitting reading a book. The book man got to his feet. He and the pipe man turned to face Lucy.

  “We’re Turner and Paige. I’m Mr Turner,” said the man with the pipe. “And this is Mr Paige.” Mr Paige didn’t speak, but nodded shyly at Lucy. “If you need to learn about something, we’re the gentlemen to help. We’re librarians.”

  “Librarians?”

  “Yes, we take care of Lord Grave’s library.”

  Hope fluttered in Lucy’s stomach. This could be the first step towards finding the magical object she needed in order to free the raven and get his help. “Can I visit it?”

  Mr Turner puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “What do you think, Mr Paige?”

  Mr Paige nodded.

  “That’s decided then. Take my hand, miss. You can only visit the library if accompanied by us or Lord Grave.”

  Lucy reached out and took Mr Turner’s hand between her thumb and forefinger. It was cool and smooth, like the handle of a cup. She was careful not to squeeze too hard as she didn’t want to crack anything.

  At first, nothing happened.

  But then it was as though a heavy weight was squashing her head down into her neck, her neck into her stomach and her stomach into her feet. Lucy closed her eyes, certain they were about to burst out of her head and roll into the hearth like two gobstoppers.

  At that moment, the just-about-to-burst feeling faded. Lucy opened her eyes and realised with a jolt that her gaze was now on a level with Mr Turner’s. Cold began creeping up her arm and across her whole body. Lucy watched, half fascinated, half terrified, as her skin changed from its normal soft warmth, turning to something cold and hard, like the ceramic Turner and Paige were made of.

  Everything went dark for a few seconds. Then Lucy found herself standing in another hearth, this time in a room far grander than the humble bedroom she shared with Becky. It had a high domed ceiling, painted midnight blue with gold stars sprinkled across it.

  Lucy tried to step forward, but found she was unable to move. She realised that she was part of the tiles surrounding the fireplace.

  “Don’t worry, miss,” said Mr Turner, who was next to her in the tiles. “We’re not finished yet. This next part won’t hurt, but you may find it a smidge uncomfortable.”

  ‘A smidge uncomfortable’ turned out to feel like being put through the wringer L
ucy and Violet had used the day before to squeeze the water out of the wet washing. But at last, she was her normal-sized flesh-and-blood self again, and was able to move. Turner and Paige were no longer made of ceramic either; they had turned into full-size human men. The three of them stepped out of the rather crowded hearth.

  “Welcome to Lord Grave’s library.” Mr Turner bowed extravagantly.

  “Can I open a window for a minute? I feel a bit hot,” Lucy said, quickly. She didn’t feel hot at all, but she wanted to see exactly where she was in case she needed to make a quick exit.

  Mr Turner nodded. “Of course.”

  She thrust aside the blue velvet curtains and opened one of the coloured glass windows. It was night outside. But the full moon gave enough light to see the thick ivy that grew from the ground below, past the library windows and on up to the top of the house.

  “I don’t understand,” said Lucy, turning back to Turner and Paige. “We’re still in Grave Hall, aren’t we? Why did we have to go through the fireplace like that?”

  “The entrance is hidden to protect his Lordship’s valuable collection. He even changes the way in occasionally. Until recently, the entrance was the Grecian urn outside one of the guest bedrooms. We rather enjoyed being frolicking figures on there. Although we kept falling out with the Minotaur. He could be very bull-headed,” said Mr Turner.

  “But it’s silly. If someone wanted to break in, they could just get a ladder or climb the ivy and come through that window!”

  Mr Turner smiled. “There are measures in place to prevent that. Secret, of course.”

  Lucy gazed around the huge room. There were comfy-looking leather chairs and sofas scattered about. But there was only one shelf in the whole place. It was high up on the wall and held four books, one silver-coloured, one gold, one copper and one black. There was a tiny door underneath the shelf, set into the skirting board. A mouse-sized door.