by Jen Storer
‘Hello?’ said Angus. ‘Anyone there?’
The rain angled in on them, making red and gold streaks against the carnival lights.
‘It’s almost time,’ said Martha, glancing at her watch. ‘It’s almost midnight!’
Across the way, in their spot behind a large green truck, the goblin girls, cleverly disguised as a pair of hunchbacked grannies, crouched in the darkness.
‘I sincerely hope we are wrong,’ said Ava as they watched Angus and Martha disappear into the tent. ‘I hope with all my heart it is not Varla who awaits them.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
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Mirror magick
There was soft lighting inside the tent but there was no flooring, only thick couch grass. It was spongy beneath their feet and smelt cold and damp. The tent was silent except for the pattering of rain on the canvas roof.
They wove their way through row upon row of wooden theatre seats, each with a faded white number stencilled on the backrest. As they approached the curtained stage at the front, Martha took Angus’s hand.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he whispered. ‘It’s not too late. You could wait outside.’
Martha shook her head and gripped the strap across her body.
‘I wish you’d give it to me,’ said Angus. ‘I’m the oldest ...’
‘Give me a break,’ said Martha.
They approached the foot of the stage. It was low, more of a platform than a stage. But it was recessed within a richly decorated arch painted with images of classic carnival attractions: Congo the Killer Ape; Farid the Fire-eater; Lionel the Lion-faced Boy; Mietta the Little Mermaid Girl. Across the top in bold lettering were the words The Vanishing Lady. And below that, in smaller letters, Step Through the Veil. Angus and Martha faltered. They knew this phrase only too well.
They stopped in front of the arch. Hefty purple curtains with silver fringes met in the centre. As they stood there, waiting, the tent became deathly still. They could still hear the rain but it was distant, somehow muted. Their faces felt damp. A chill crept over them like winter’s fingers.
In the wings, a rope hung like a golden serpent from somewhere in the dark canopy. The lights grew dim and the rope shuddered. The curtains billowed.
Angus and Martha took a step back.
The curtains slid apart ...
There was no-one on the stage. Just a long, oval mirror.
The mirror hovered high above Angus and Martha as if suspended in space. It seemed to have no support structure at all, like a mirror in a fairytale.
‘It’s a trick,’ said Angus.
Martha bit her lip.
With a smooth, elegant motion, the mirror tilted toward the kids and lowered itself to their height. The glass gleamed and yet there was nothing reflected in it — not the kids nor the stage, not even the grassy floor. It gave Angus a sickly jolt to look into a mirror and see no reflection.
‘Crazy carnies,’ he said. ‘Everything’s a show with them.’
He stepped forward. ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded but his voice was croaky. ‘This isn’t a joke, you know.’
Suddenly Angus could see his own reflection. He narrowed his eyes, searching the mirror for his sister. But even though she was standing right beside him, he could not see her. He leaned in closer.
Inside the mirror a long, thin hand shot out from one side and grabbed his reflection’s shoulder.
Angus yelled and stumbled back.
‘Who did that?’ he said, looking about wildly and brushing himself. His skin prickled. He could still feel the hand on his shoulder.
Martha stared at him. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she cried. ‘There’s nothing there!’
She was right, of course. When he looked again, the mirror was blank.
‘Maybe we should just drop the snow dome and go?’ said Martha shakily.
‘Who’s there?’ demanded Angus again. ‘Stop messing around or we’re leaving right now. I mean it!’
Something in the glass stirred. It was as if the mirror was now a window and far off on the horizon a shape took form. A mirage perhaps. A ghostly landscape. It moved toward them silently, expanding, rolling, gathering force like a storm cloud on a swollen sea. It was the sea. A dark, restless sea. The wind whipped across its surface and through the mirror’s frame, spraying the kids with mist so icy it took their breath away.
A great bird appeared in the mirror’s sky, a hawk with broad, open wings and a leather strap dangling from its leg. It flew at them and screeched, the piercing cry of a hunter. Angus and Martha ducked.
‘It’s just like that puppet show, isn’t it?’ said Martha, her hands over her ears.
‘Exactly,’ said Angus. ‘It’s all done with lighting and projectors. We’ll be fine. I promise.’
The bird in the mirror screeched again and Martha pinched her brother’s arm with fright. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
Angus was beginning to think this would never end. Where was their father? Who was holding him and why all this carryon? Angus had hoped that once they got here, they could speak to their father, make sure he was okay, then hand over the snow dome and everyone would be square.
But things were not that simple. Now it seemed they were being toyed with. He wondered where the goblin girls were hiding. Could they see what was going on?
‘What’s the time?’ he said.
Martha glanced at her watch. ‘Midnight,’ she squeaked.
The seascape fell away. The bird opened its beak as if to screech again and the kids covered their ears. But this time, the bird was mute. With a swift, angry motion, it flew closer to the mirror’s surface, swooped at them and disappeared. There was another icy blast and the kids cowered.
As the wind died down and the frost settled on their cheeks, they raised their heads.
A woman appeared in the mirror. ‘Which of you has the narrare?’
She was tall and spoke precisely with a deep, steady voice. She was dressed in a full-length scarlet coat with the collar turned up. A plush, brilliant-white ushanka, a type of fur hat, covered her hair. Her image was blurred. It shimmered like a reflection on water.
‘I have the narrare,’ said Martha timidly.
‘Give it to me.’ The woman extended her hand but it did not break through the surface of the mirror.
Martha faltered and glanced at Angus for direction.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Angus. ‘Where are you really? Where are you hiding?’
He looked about the stage, up into the darkness behind the floating mirror, to the back of the tent — perhaps there was a projector somewhere? This was a stupid trick and he was fed up.
‘If you want to see your father again,’ said the woman in the mirror, ‘give me the narrare.’
‘I want to see him now!’ cried Martha. ‘Tell her, Angus. Make her listen.’
‘It’s okay, Martha.’ Angus was struggling to sound calm. ‘Look ...’ he began, still trying to make out where the woman was hiding.
‘Give me the narrare.’ She spoke with immense authority.
‘We came here to make a fair exchange,’ said Angus. ‘And now you’re treating us like idiots. We want to speak to our father. Turn on the lights and talk to us properly, or we’re getting out of here.’
Snowflakes ghosted about the woman’s head and shoulders. Her image wavered and for a moment it looked as if she might vanish.
‘Angus, please,’ said Martha, ‘can’t you do something?’
The temperature plummeted and the canvas walls began to swell and settle, swell and settle, as if the tent itself was breathing. As they stood there shivering, another figure appeared in the mirror.
‘It’s him!’ cried Martha.
The Prof held up his hand. His reflection was dim but they could see that he looked haggard and pained.
‘Stay back,’ he said. His voice was tired, barely audible. ‘Please. Stay where you are.’
‘Maxwel
l?’ said Martha, staring at the reflection. Angus held her back.
‘Do you have it?’ their father asked desperately.
Angus nodded.
The Prof sighed. ‘Give it to me, son.’
Angus nodded at Martha and she slowly lifted the case over her head.
‘Dad,’ said Angus, ‘this is crazy. Where are you? How can you see us?’
‘I can’t see you, Angus. Only your shadows.’
‘But where are you?’ Angus insisted.
There was some kind of scuffle. Their father staggered then started speaking quickly, urgently, as if trying to tell them something important — but they could not hear him.
Martha held out the leather case — and the woman in the scarlet coat plunged her arm through the mirror and grabbed the long strap. Martha screamed as the woman wrenched on the strap.
‘No!’ Angus threw himself at his sister and gripped her arm. He looked up at the woman in the mirror. ‘Let her go!’ he screamed.
Ava and Graini shot out of the shadows and sprinted toward the kids, leaping across seats, stumbling over each other in their panic to reach them.
‘Maxwell!’ cried Martha, wrestling against the woman. ‘Maxwell, come back!’
‘Let it go!’ screamed Angus. ‘Let go of the case, Martha!’
Martha’s right arm disappeared into the mirror.
‘Martha!’ cried Angus, and he thrust his fist at the mirror. He cried out in pain. The surface held and it was like punching ice.
The goblin girls launched themselves at the kids. Graini grabbed Martha’s legs and clung on tight.
‘Do not let her go, Angus Jack!’ she yelled as they fought to pull Martha back. It was as if the mirror had Martha in its clutches, as if it were drawing her forward with some eager, invisible force.
The woman’s face emerged through the mirror’s surface. She shook her head, flicking ice needles from her cheeks and forehead.
She looked about. ‘You’ve brought goblins with you?’ she roared, and she thrust her other arm through the mirror and seized Martha by the hair. Martha screamed in pain.
‘Pull the witch into this world!’ yelled Graini. ‘It’s our only hope!’
Graini, Ava and Angus latched on to the woman’s arms and heaved with all their might. In a gale of snow, ice pellets and exploding glass, the woman erupted through the mirror and collapsed onto the ground. Everyone stumbled and fell backward.
In an unbridled rage the woman lunged at them — and screeched. She twisted and writhed as first her head and then her body transformed into a massive sea eagle. With an earsplitting shriek, the eagle snatched up Martha and Graini and took to the air.
‘Angus, help!’ cried Martha as she struggled against the eagle’s talons. She threw down the leather case and Angus caught it.
‘Martha!’
With three swoops of its mighty wings, the eagle flew out the tent door.
‘After them!’ cried Angus, scrambling to his feet.
‘The tent,’ cried Ava. ‘Look!’
Angus took Ava’s hand and pulled her up. They bolted out of the tent as all around them the walls, the ceiling, the seats, even the shattered mirror and the ticket booth began to lift and corkscrew upward. There was a loud whirring noise as Angus and Ava dived out the door — and fell more than a metre to the ground.
Above them, the tent and all its paraphernalia contracted into a red-and-white sphere. It looked like a misshapen soccer ball. The ball shot up into the darkness — and with a bounce and a crackle of bright violet plasma it was gone.
‘Martha!’ yelled Angus.
He scanned the night sky. He remembered that goblin girls could see in the dark.
‘Can you see anything?’ he said to Ava as she too looked about frantically. ‘Can you see the eagle?’
Ava shook her head sadly. ‘Nothing,’ she whispered. ‘Nothing at all.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
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Regrets and resolutions
As Angus and Ava sat in a huddle on the ground, wet and shocked and desolate, the Donut Lady came blustering toward them. Barney was directly behind her, nursing his injuries, hunching his shoulders against the rain. Barney’s tired eyes gaped with terror. He had heard of tents like these, rogue tents that seemed to sprout from the ground itself then disappear without a trace. All the old carnival folk feared them but few had ever seen one.
Angus and Ava looked again to the sky. But there was only darkness. Not even a lonely star.
‘A goblin girl?’ said the Donut Lady as they drew nearer. ‘It has been many years ...’
‘You’ve got to help us!’ said Angus.
‘Come,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘Get up.’
No-one spoke as they followed the Donut Lady back through the last of the merrymakers and vendors. The carnival was over. It was raining lightly. There was a cold wind.
When they arrived at the Caravan of Delight, the Donut Lady ushered Angus and Ava indoors. Barney followed — somewhat reluctantly.
The Donut Lady flicked on the light. Reafen was seated on the floral couch, wearing a long purple evening gown and a fur coat. Her head was bowed. She was snoring softly.
‘Reafen!’ said the Donut Lady, and Reafen’s head shot up.
Ava rushed at Reafen, clasping her shoulders and shaking her. Angus quickly hid the leather case behind an armchair.
‘Varla has been!’ cried Ava. ‘Varla has been and she has taken Graini and Martha Jack!’
Reafen sat perfectly still, numb and expressionless.
‘Varla?’ said the Donut Lady. ‘She has come through? But how? When? Surely this is not possible. Tell me all, goblin girl!’
Ava quickly went over the evening’s terrible events. Angus was silent, too gutted to find the words to elaborate.
The Donut Lady listened intently to the awful story, nodding and harrumphing and stroking her chin. ‘So, what you are telling me is that you pulled her through?’ she said eventually.
Angus and Ava nodded. ‘With the help of dear Graini,’ Ava added sadly.
‘Then this is good,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘This is not what Varla intended, not part of her plan. Her sudden entry will have weakened her and had who knows what other side-effects. This is to our advantage.’
Reafen pushed Ava aside and stood before the Donut Lady, fixing her with a piercing gaze. The Donut Lady towered over her but Reafen showed no fear.
‘Give me sugar,’ said Reafen. ‘Give me donuts, Dolly Drops, fairy floss, Peachy Pepp, Fizzyade, Gummi Gags, Choc-Bubbles, Raspberry Ripples, Bubble Drops, Gooey Giggles, Humble Bugs, Jelly-Tarts, Fizzy-Froff. Give me SUGAR!’ she bellowed — and the Donut Lady slapped her.
Reafen reeled back.
‘Sit!’ commanded the Donut Lady, and Reafen fell back onto the couch. ‘You will get nothing until you speak properly. Nothing until you give us the truth,’ said the Donut Lady. ‘Am I making myself transparent?’
Ava leaned against Angus, trembling. For once he was only vaguely aware of her touch.
Slowly Reafen reached up and pulled off the blonde wig she was wearing. She removed the gypsy hoops from her ears, the gold and silver bangles from her wrists and the diamond rings from her fingers. She peeled off her false fingernails, snapped the string of fat, pink pearls at her throat and let them tinkle across the floor.
‘It is the Narrare of Mevras,’ said Reafen hoarsely.
The Donut Lady gasped. ‘Mevras?’ she repeated. ‘It beggars belief ...’
‘Who’s Mevras?’ asked Angus but he may as well have been talking to the wall.
‘I stole it,’ said Reafen. ‘I stole the pretty, the most magickal pretty, to protect the Old Realm. I knew that Varla was seeking it. And I knew that once she got her greedy mitts on it, there would be no stopping her. Think about it! Once she had the knowledge of Mevras at her fingertips, she would have enough power, enough magick, to control the Old Realm — and this world as well, should
she choose. Oh, if that were to happen, if we were revealed to the New World, we goblins would become like our dear Viking friends. Extinct!’
She regarded each of them in turn, saw that they were transfixed, then carried on, speaking rapidly, as if she could no longer bear the burden of her story.
‘I brought the narrare here to this realm, to the New World, for this was the only place Varla would never suspect. Here, in this place of greed and frictions and confusions,’ Reafen looked up and waved the blonde wig about her, ‘in this place that brings madness and death to my kind, the narrare was safe from her evil graspings.’
‘Rogues and peasants!’ exclaimed the Donut Lady, and she flopped down on the couch beside Reafen. ‘I would never have thought it. Never dreamed in my wildest nightmares.’
Ava stared at Reafen. ‘It is just as Graini and I supposed,’ she said, passing the old goblin a glass of water, ‘when we set out on our search.’
Reafen took a sip of water, grimaced as if it were poison, then went on, plucking at the wig as she spoke.
‘Too many had begun to cross over. Too many from the New World were finding passage to our realm, had come through the veil and joined us in the mist. At first it was only fishermen, silly fools who were lost ... or lured by the mermaids. Then seafaring explorers came. Then, over time, humans invented airships and flying machines, and pilots blundered through too — although most of them were dead when we found them. Magicians came. Shamans and time travellers — once even a toymaker! Then scientists — many of them sincere and trustworthy and in awe. Then this idiot Lynch came, lingering, lingering ... poking his nose in. I would have put him in chains. SNAP!’ Reafen clapped her hands.
‘Lynch was not so bad at first ...’ said Ava but her voice wavered. ‘In the early days he protected the secrets of the Old Realm and in return he was given a little knowledge. Just a little. He offered Graini and me shelter in this city. And then — then he turned on us ... He desired the narrare so badly he betrayed us. He would even harm us ...’