The Glass Puzzle

by Christine Brodien-Jones

  “And old Stokes the assistant curator chased us down the tunnels,” said Zoé. “But he didn’t catch us, we were too fast and—”

  “I’ve no doubt you were all extremely brave—and clever as well, to have retrieved the runestone so swiftly,” said Miss Glyndower, examining the relic, turning it over in her hands. “Very well then, it is time to plan our strategy.” She motioned for the three to follow.

  “I’m a little concerned about how this is all going to work,” said Ian as Miss Glyndower led them down a corridor. “Because we need the runestone in Tenby to fight the Scravens! It doesn’t make sense to leave it here when back home—”

  “Everything will happen in its own time,” she said, her manner abrupt, “and in the proper order. In these early days, the threat is greatest against Wythernsea, as the Scravens become stronger. The runestone will weaken them, rendering them incapable of attacking us again.”

  “Any chance you guys could help us in Tenby?” asked Ian.

  Miss Glyndower gave a rueful smile. “We would dearly love to help you defeat the Scravens, but I fear it is impossible, as we Wythernfolk cannot travel beyond the boundaries of Wythernsea. None of us would survive going through the puzzle.”

  “Too bad,” said Zoé, thinking how exciting it would be if the Wythernfolk joined forces with the people of Tenby.

  As they walked along, she took mental notes on the richly polished wood and Oriental carpets, the oil lamps in glass bowls, the curtains of watered silk. There were tapestry chairs with velvet cushions and expanses of wall embedded with shells. But where were Gwyn Griffiths and all the other kids? The house struck her as oddly silent.

  “Why is the Retreat so empty?” she asked.

  “After the last attack I sent the Messengers to the cloister in town,” said Miss Glyndower, dashing Zoé’s high spirits: she wouldn’t be seeing her friends this time. “It lies atop a steep cobbled hill near the harbor: a dark granite structure with numerous chimneys and a Celtic cross. The cloister has thick walls and a deep cellar, and solid doors they can easily bolt. They’ll be much safer there.”

  “You’ve been attacked?” said Ian.

  “Since your last visit much has changed. The Scravens grow infinitely more brazen.” Miss Glyndower lifted the hem of her gown as they mounted a spiraling staircase. “Despite our precautions, more Scravens are breaching the wall each day. The Retreat has suffered two attacks, with several weathervanes destroyed.”

  “If it’s so dangerous, then why is Jasper here?” Zoé blurted out. “Why isn’t he in the cloister with the rest of the kids?”

  “Jasper is my nephew,” explained Miss Glyndower. “He was distraught at the prospect of being separated from me, so I allowed him to remain here. I am all he has left in this world, you see.”

  “Oh,” said Zoé in a meek voice.

  “A difficult journey, was it?” asked Miss Glyndower.

  “We landed on the wrong side of the wall,” said Ian, and Miss Glyndower’s golden eyes widened in alarm.

  “One of them horrid creatures came flying right at us,” said Pippin. “I thought for sure we was goners.”

  “A Defender killed it with a burning arrow and saved our lives,” added Zoé.

  “There were no end of Scravens screeching and flapping,” said Pippin with grim relish. “Escaped by a thread, we did.”

  Zoé watched Miss Glyndower’s expression darken.

  No one said a word as they climbed four flights to a narrow, circular turret with white walls and a trestle table with high-backed benches carved with seascapes. Zoé studied the rough boards nailed across a row of windows, imagining Scravens clawing their way into the Retreat. Things are going downhill here fast, she thought.

  Miss Glyndower poured water from an earthen jug and motioned for them all to sit down. “Everyone in Wythernsea is in hiding,” she said, handing them each a tumbler. “If the attacks continue much longer, we may not be able to hold out. The town walls are in a dreadful state.”

  “But you’ve got those huge mechanical claws, right? They’ll make mincemeat out of the Scravens,” said Zoé confidently. “And those Defenders are super tough.”

  “Their crossbow skills are really impressive,” said Ian.

  “They are brave men, of course, but even the Defenders have their limits,” said Miss Glyndower, and Zoé had to admit she was right, thinking how the Defenders had looked pretty battle-weary.

  “But everything’s tip-top now, isn’t it?” said Pippin cheerfully. “We found the runestone!”

  “Yeah, and we’re ready to do battle,” Zoé piped up.

  “Have you forgotten something?” Miss Glyndower’s piercing eyes flashed angrily. “What about The First? I trust you’ve brought that information with you. Yes?” Her tone was icy. “If not, you’ve wasted precious time coming here—and time is something we have very little of.”

  “The First? The Scraven leader?” Zoé rattled on, her mind racing. “We found The First.”

  “We did?” Pippin gaped at Zoé over the rim of her tumbler.

  “Sure,” said Zoé, trusting the others to back her up. “It’s Iris Tintern.”

  “Hmm,” said Ian with a ponderous frown.

  “Okay, maybe we’re not one hundred percent sure,” Zoé forged on, “but we saw a humongous eye on Iris’s forehead, didn’t we? That counts for something.”

  “They’ve all got them monstrous eyes,” said Pippin.

  “Two Scravens escaped when you put the puzzle together, yeah, Pippin?” Zoé reminded her. “That means one of them took over Iris.”

  “Zoé’s got a point,” said Ian. “Because it wasn’t until after we saw Iris Tintern that we put the puzzle together and more Scravens escaped.”

  “It was you who let the first ones out,” said Zoé, pointing her finger at Pippin. “All this started when—”

  “Stop blamin’ me for everything!” Pippin slammed her tumbler on the table. “Wasn’t my fault, never was! And what about your chum Dr. Marriott? I’ll wager he let a few of them things get out!”

  “He didn’t!” shouted Zoé. “He was too scared to put it together!”

  The sound of Miss Glyndower’s sharp, authoritative voice interrupted them: “Your impetuous natures and reluctance to follow orders may well have landed you on the wrong side of the wall, not to mention that Scravens may be getting through into your world while you’re here in Wythernsea. Now you waste my time with silly arguments! This is not a game, my children. You cannot guess the identity of The First, you must know it beyond all doubt. If you do not defeat The First, it is certain that Tenby will fall to Scravens. So … enough quarreling.”

  Looking at one another with sheepish expressions—Zoé could see Ian’s face turning bright red—the three children fell silent.

  “Listen carefully, for this is our strategy, first in Wythernsea, then in your world. The words of the runestone must be memorized, then whispered within sight of the goddess weathervanes,” instructed Miss Glyndower. “The incantation is timeless, uniting everything that has happened before and everything that is to come, evoking the ancient powers of Arianrhod. It may take minutes or hours, but the incantation must be recited until the goddesses awaken.”

  “So the goddesses will destroy the Scravens?” asked Ian.

  “They will be defeated but not destroyed,” replied Miss Glyndower. “You see, it is not in the nature of Wythernfolk to take the life of anyone or anything, not even Scravens. After all, Scravens were once human beings such as ourselves.”

  “But them Defenders are out there killing ’em with flaming arrows,” Pippin pointed out.

  “In self-defense, yes, but our true intent is to weaken the Scravens, undermining their evil, sapping their strength, rendering them harmless so they are no longer a threat. An imperfect solution, I realize.”

  “Oh,” said Zoé, feeling somewhat deflated. Then it wasn’t the end of the Scravens in Wythernsea after all.

  “Your world is a differ
ent matter,” continued Miss Glyndower. “The Scravens have invaded Tenby, and over time The First will grow stronger. We’ve no choice but to destroy them using the power of the goddess.”

  “So Arianrhod’s still alive?” asked Pippin.

  “Goddesses are eternal, and Arianrhod is indeed a celestial being,” said Miss Glyndower, hair floating like a cloud around her head. “Her spiral castle Caer Arianrhod moves back and forth between the bottom of the sea in a sunken town off the coast of Wales and her other home, the North Star.”

  Zoé grew suddenly excited. “Arianrhod’s castle is in Wythernsea?”

  “Nay, her town is near Carmarthen,” said Miss Glyndower. Seeing Zoé’s face fall, she added, “Yet Wythernsea holds a special place in her heart. Centuries ago, her castle rose up through the waves of Carmarthen Bay on its way to the North Star and was attacked by sea scorpions—treacherous, deadly creatures—and the Wythernfolk went out in their boats and drove them off.”

  What an extraordinary story, thought Zoé, wondering what a sea scorpion looked like. Not any uglier than a Scraven, she was sure.

  “So the goddess gave you the runestone,” said Pippin.

  “Yes. And she bestowed upon us our shallows.”

  Zoé felt a thrill of amazement. Their shallows were a gift from the goddess!

  “But how do we destroy the Scravens exactly?” Ian asked. “How do we memorize the incantation? Isn’t it written in some ancient tongue?”

  “It is—and therefore you must seek help. Someone must translate it for you. Your seeress friend, perhaps? Hmm, I wonder,” murmured Miss Glyndower, tapping her long fingers against the runestone. Mystical blue light flowed out, making her look more otherworldly than ever. “I fear there is a problem,” she said quietly, “one that I could not have anticipated. You see, the incantation is locked: the runes are unreadable. A spell was laid upon the stone, no doubt by the Astercôtes, and there is no way to lift the enchantment.”

  “You can’t read it?” croaked Ian. “Oh no, does that mean we’re all doomed?”

  Zoé’s throat felt suddenly dry. The runestone was their mega-weapon against Scravens and—what was it Bron had said?—it was the Scravens’ undoing!

  Miss Glyndower’s fierce expression grew more distant. “No one in Wythernsea can lift this spell.”

  “There has to be a way,” said Zoé. “We can’t just give up.”

  Miss Glyndower, looking weary, ran her hand over the surface of the stone.

  “My dad says even the most difficult math problems have solutions,” added Ian. “But it might take, er, a hundred years or so to figure them out.…” His words drifted off.

  “I know: we’ll ask Bron!” said Pippin, jumping up. “She’s an expert on runes and enchantments. If anyone can unlock it, Bron can.”

  Miss Glyndower looked doubtful, but Zoé could see she was running out of options. “Very well,” she said at last, “take the runestone to your seeress, but she must work fast. The weathervanes will not hold out much longer, and we’ve only three days until Midsummer, when the Scravens are weakest.”

  “We’ll be quick,” promised Ian. “Oh, there’s something else I was wondering about. Have you ever heard of the Thirteenth Piece?”

  Miss Glyndower blinked at him in surprise. “Indeed I have. Made of Wythernsea glass, it is laden with old enchantments. The Astercôtes took it with them when they left Wythernsea, but it was my understanding that the Thirteenth Piece had been lost.”

  “It’s not lost, exactly,” said Zoé. “A monk has it.”

  “Our friend Dr. Marriott told us that one of the missing Astercôtes bequeathed the Thirteenth Piece to his grandson, a monk on Caldey Island,” explained Ian.

  “This may well be a turning point,” said Miss Glyndower. “For as long as the puzzle remains a gateway between our worlds, your lives are in peril. The Thirteenth Piece will seal the puzzle and prevent Scravens from escaping into Tenby.”

  Zoé felt her chest tighten. “But if we do that, we can’t come back to Wythernsea!”

  “My dear girl, you have no choice,” said Miss Glyndower. “The gateway is flawed, and The First is infinitely clever. If the gateway stays open, The First will travel between worlds, stirring up chaos and terror. Sealing the puzzle is crucial to subduing the Scravens. In fact, I shall make sealing the puzzle part of our plan.”

  Zoé bit down on her lip, trying not to cry. It wasn’t fair: she’d found this mysterious and fantastic universe, and now it was going to be ripped away from her, as if it had never existed at all.

  “Make certain this Tintern woman is truly The First,” added Miss Glyndower. “To save Tenby, you must have the correct knowledge.”

  Ian leaned forward. “How will we know for sure?”

  “Once you have the Thirteenth Piece, carry it with you at all times. Should the glass dim, you’ll know you’re in the presence of a Scraven. Should it lose all color and turn black, you are in the presence of The First,” explained Miss Glyndower. “When you return to Wythernsea, be sure to arrive when the sun is high: that is when we’ll set our plan in motion. Only then will the battle truly begin—if you are willing.”

  Zoé looked Miss Glyndower squarely in the eye. “Oh, we’re ready for battle, all right,” she said, a chill running through her. “We’re harrowers and we’re Welsh.”

  “We’re brave,” said Ian resolutely, “and we’ll fight the Scravens to the death.”

  “To the death,” Pippin echoed.

  Zoé stood with Ian and Pippin beside the shuttered ticket booth in Castle Square. The early-morning wind was especially cold for late June, and it was blowing hard on the town from the north. Once or twice she saw shapes in the mist, slipping between the buildings and town walls, but they seemed more like phantoms than flesh-and-blood people.

  A notice taped outside the booth read ONLY THESE BOATS LAND ON CALDEY ISLAND. That was before someone had taken a red marker pen and written All Boats Canceled Until Further Notice in thick letters over the sign.

  “I hope Arthur Angel’s around to give us a ride,” said Pippin, squinting into the distance. Pippin had turned up at their door while they were eating breakfast with the exciting news that school had been canceled for the week, due to some kind of electrical problem caused by the high winds.

  Granddad was back at the cottage, in bed with a cold. Zoé and Ian had asked if they could go to Caldey with Mr. Angel, but after hearing reports of boats lost in the fog, Granddad said definitely not. So, although they hated being deceptive, the two cousins had decided to take matters into their own hands. Finding the Thirteenth Piece was crucial to defeating the Scravens.

  “I feel guilty about Granddad,” said Ian. “I told him we’re going off for the day so I can take pictures, but it’s not really true.”

  “Well, it’s partly true,” said Pippin. “You’ve got your camera, yeah? It’s just that you’ll be taking pictures of Caldey Island instead of Tenby.”

  Ian sighed. “I suppose.”

  “I feel really bad, too,” said Zoé sympathetically. “I hate telling fibs, and Granddad’s the greatest, we all know that, but just think how much he’d worry if he knew Scravens were trying to take over Tenby—”

  “Isn’t that Mr. Angel’s boat down there?” interrupted Pippin.

  The three raced down Penniless Cove Hill, gulls screeching overhead. At the far end of the pier, a man in a knit cap and bulky sweater was hauling crates into a bright blue boat. Zoé could just make out the words Sea Kestrel in peeling letters on the side.

  “Hey, Mr. Angel!” shouted Pippin.

  The man turned his ruddy face in their direction. “Hullo there, kids.”

  “We were wondering if you’re going to Caldey Island,” said Pippin.

  “I’m leaving this very minute, as a matter of fact,” he said, loading a crate filled with parcels into the back of the boat. “I make the run to Caldey Island twice a day—thirty minutes each way, weather permitting.”

  Zoé e
xchanged excited glances with the other two. Arthur Angel was obviously a friendly sort. She was certain he’d give them a ride.

  “What are you taking out to Caldey?” she asked. “There sure are a lot of crates and boxes.”

  “Well, there are the letters I deliver to the monks, and other things, too: tea and dishwashing soap, paraffin candles, tins of powdered Ovaltine. Live there year-round, the monks do, always in need of something.” He straightened up, rubbing his whiskers. “Not from these parts, are you?”

  “We’re here from America,” said Zoé. “But my mom and Ian’s dad were born in Tenby. We come here every summer to stay with our granddad.”

  “We’re cousins,” said Ian. “You took us out on your boat last summer. Our granddad’s John Lloyd Blackwood.”

  Mr. Angel nodded approvingly. “John Blackwood. A fine man.”

  Zoé grinned. “He’s the best.”

  “Need any extra hands on board, Mr. Angel?” asked Pippin. “We have to get to Caldey, but we haven’t any money. We’ll work to pay our fare and we won’t be any trouble.”

  “Sorry, but I can’t take the responsibility.” Mr. Angel shook out a length of coiled rope. “The voyage is too risky for young folks without someone coming with yer. Squalls, fog, unpredictable tides and now these tourist boats getting caught on the rocks: we’re a dangerous destination, according to the tabloids. It’s gotten so treacherous out there they’ve canceled all boats indefinitely. Seems I’m the only one going; the mail has to get through.”

  “I wouldn’t be scared, no matter how high the waves,” declared Zoé. “Anyway, Granddad says the tabloids print rubbish.”

  “Pirates don’t scare us, either,” said Ian. “And I’m a real whiz at tying knots.”

  Chuckling softly, Mr. Angel checked his watch. “Another day, perhaps, when things are back to normal. Time to head out, then—the monks are expecting me.” He hopped into his boat and started up the engine. “Cheerio!” he called.

  Zoé waved, her high spirits deflating as she watched the Sea Kestrel vanish into the fog.