The Midnight Gate

by Helen Stringer

  “Where did you get these?” asked Belladonna. They looked really expensive and she suddenly had an awful image of Steve stealing books from shops.

  “I told you—they were my Mum’s. She has loads. She was really interested in stone circles, but she left them behind when she went.”

  Belladonna nodded and opened the first book, trying to hide her look of surprise. His mother had been researching stone circles. Could it be a coincidence? Or was she just seeing meaning in the mundane?

  She turned the pages slowly—both books had beautiful, glossy, full-page photographs of stone circles from all over Britain, from massive structures like Stonehenge and Avebury, down to the smallest ring of broken boulders, but none of them looked anything like the one in Belladonna’s dreams.

  “It’s not like any of these,” she said. “It’s … I don’t know … kind of new-looking, I suppose.”

  “Maybe you’re dreaming about what one of them looked like when it was first built,” suggested Steve. “Are any of the shapes similar?”

  Belladonna went through the books again more slowly, but nothing seemed familiar.

  “No. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. According to the books, only ten percent of Britain’s stone circles are still standing. Your circle could be one of the ones that vanished.”

  “Why did they disappear?”

  “Sometimes farmers moved them because they were in the way of tractors, early Christians destroyed them or used them for building materials, and some were buried.”

  “Buried?”

  “That’s what the books say.”

  Belladonna stared at the pictures in the books. Most of the stones in the circles were huge; she couldn’t imagine trying to bury one, let alone the whole circle.

  “Are any of them near here?”

  “Just one.” Steve took one of the books and flipped to a page showing a double circle of small stones overlooking the sea. “That’s Sanctuary Stones. It’s near Helmsea, just up the coast. According to the books, most of the earliest circles were built near the sea.”

  “But there weren’t any in town?”

  “No, but like I said, ninety percent of them have vanished, so there could have been.”

  Belladonna stared at the picture of the Sanctuary Stones, perched on a moorland hill, high above the village of Helmsea. In the picture, all you could see was the top of the church steeple far below, and beyond, nothing but the gray sea and stormy clouds.

  “Does anyone know what they were used for?”

  “Not really. Most of the surviving ones are sort of positioned for sunrises and sunsets at midsummer and midwinter and things like that, so some people think they were built for pagan ceremonies, but the books say they probably had lots of different uses over time.”

  “Did you just find all this out or did your Mum tell you?” asked Belladonna, impressed by Steve’s knowledge on the subject.

  “I told you, I read the books last night.”

  “You read them? Both of them? All the way through?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But … if you can read that quickly, why don’t you ever do your homework?”

  “It’s boring.” He shrugged, then leaned forward again. “There’s another thing. Have you got the rhyme with you?”

  “Of course.” Belladonna fished her Geography exercise book out of her bag and turned to the page where she’d copied down both of the parchment’s hidden clues.

  Steve read it and nodded, pointing to the first line.

  “Yes, I thought so. It says ‘Thrice times three the cromlechs be / And thrice times three the charm.’ Well, according to the books, cromlech is another name for a standing stone.”

  “It is? Then that means…”

  “Your dreams and the parchment are connected, like I said. There are nine stones and nine … whatever they turn out to be. Lancaster! Time to change.”

  The train eased into the station as Steve packed the books away. Belladonna followed him onto the platform where they checked for the Fenchurch train on the screen in the waiting room before making their way to platform three.

  Belladonna found herself sneaking looks at Steve while they waited. For some reason it had never really occurred to her that he might actually be clever. Admittedly, he was pretty quick-witted in class whenever he was caught doing something he shouldn’t, but he almost never gave in any of his homework on time and had yet to raise a hand in answer to a single question. On the other hand, it made perfect sense—a stupid Paladin probably wouldn’t be much use at all, and neither would the kind of boy who always did what he was told.

  “Here it is!”

  The Fenchurch train clanked up to the platform. It was much smaller and quite a bit older than the first one, and even fewer passengers seemed to be climbing on board. They found another set of seats with a table near the front of the train and settled down again.

  “Are you going to get the mat out?” asked Belladonna as the train pulled away.

  “Errr … I suppose.” Steve was clearly not at all keen on the idea.

  “She really wanted to be here for the train ride. I think it might be a bit much to expect her to help us if we don’t let her materialize here.”

  “Okay,” said Steve, pulling the rolled-up mat from his bag.

  “I mean,” continued Belladonna, “how would you feel if you hadn’t been able to leave the school for nearly a hundred years?”

  “Good point. But she can sit next to you.”

  He handed the mat across the table to Belladonna, who moved to the next seat, leaving an empty one by the window. She unrolled the rug lengthwise on the vacant seat, leaving half of it extending up the back and the rest flopping over the edge. They stared at it for a moment.

  “Do we have to call her or something?” asked Belladonna.

  “Oh, don’t worry, she’ll be here.”

  There were a few more moments of silence as the train clicked by wet fields full of depressed-looking sheep staring at the passing train with the resignation of commuters who have missed the 8:45 and will be late for work again.

  “Oh, gosh! Corking!”

  Elsie’s voice rang through the carriage as clear as a bell, but she still hadn’t appeared. Belladonna looked questioningly at Steve.

  “Watch,” he said. “It’s really weird.”

  She turned back to the mat where, instead of suddenly appearing as she usually did, Elsie just sort of slowly materialized, starting with the parts of her that were actually in contact with the mat and ending with the tip of her nose.

  “It’s a bit like the Cheshire Cat, isn’t it?” said Steve.

  “I suppose it gets slower the further she is from the school.”

  “Look! Sheep! Oh, this is amazing! And fast! How fast do you think we’re going? Our trains never went this fast. Is it safe, d’you think? It doesn’t matter for me, of course, but I was thinking about you. Do trains crash very often? This really is fast. What a shame it isn’t spring yet; it would have been nice to see some lambs.”

  Steve sighed heavily, but Belladonna was enjoying Elsie’s excitement. It made her feel as if she were seeing everything for the first time and the fields and livestock that had seemed tedious a few moments earlier were suddenly fascinating, and it really was a shame that there were no lambs yet.

  The train sped north through ever wilder-looking countryside, as the number of fields ploughed for crops decreased and the population of sheep grew steadily. Elsie talked almost nonstop, pausing only to gaze, awestruck, at the occasional glimpses of the sea.

  “I used to love going to the seaside! Though, of course, Mother would only let me paddle. She didn’t think swimming was very ladylike.”

  Finally, the train slowed and a sign reading ABBEY HALT eased past the window.

  “This is us,” said Steve. “Make yourself scarce, Elsie. I need to put the rug away.”

  “This is so exciting!” said Elsie, disappearing.

  Belladonna r
olled the rug up and handed it to Steve, then they both picked up their bags and left the train.

  “She was like that all last night,” said Steve.

  “Well, she doesn’t get out much, does she? And it’s kind of fun to see someone who’s so excited about ordinary things. How fast do you think the train was going?”

  “Oh, don’t you start.”

  They made their way out of the tiny station and followed the signs to the abbey a short distance up the road. The car park was empty except for two buses and two different bunches of schoolchildren who had obviously just finished their visit and were being counted onto the buses by frazzled-looking teachers. Belladonna and Steve marched past and made their way to the front door of the visitor center.

  Belladonna was just about to open the door when Steve stopped her.

  “Look,” he said, pointing to a notice on the door, “d’you have any money?”

  Belladonna looked at the sign; the admission fee was much higher than she’d expected.

  “Not that much.”

  “Oh, rats and ferrets,” he grumbled. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to walk down the road a bit and climb over the wall.”

  Belladonna sighed, then glanced back at the two buses. “No,” she said, “I’ve got an idea. Come on.”

  She opened the door and walked in. Steve followed dubiously, but she ignored him and marched up to the ticket counter.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  The elderly woman behind the counter looked up from a book she was reading.

  “Yes?”

  “We were with the school trip, but I left my handout in the chapter house, I think. Is it all right if I go and get it?”

  The woman peered at them over the top of her glasses.

  “And why does that take two of you?”

  Belladonna stared at her blankly.

  “She’s afraid of ghosts,” said Steve, stepping forward quickly. “She thinks there are ghosts of monks lurking about.”

  “Well, that’s just silly,” said the woman kindly. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  Belladonna tried her best big-eyed gaze.

  “Oh, alright. But be quick or you’ll be left behind.”

  “Thank you!”

  They dashed through the visitor center and out into the abbey compound, running across the wet grass, past the monks’ graveyard, through the soaring nave, and into the short passage that led to the chapter house.

  “Brilliant idea, that. The school trip thing,” said Steve admiringly as he pulled the rolled-up mat from his bag.

  Belladonna smiled, though she was a little disappointed in herself for not having the answer to the follow-up.

  Steve laid the rug in the middle of the chapter house and they both stood back.

  Nothing happened.

  “Maybe we should—” began Steve.

  “Look!”

  Two faint dark shadows could be seen on the rug, slowly sharpening until Elsie’s high-button boots appeared, followed by her skirt, purse belt, blouse, and curls. The last thing to appear was her awestruck face.

  “This is stunning!” she said. “How old is it?”

  “Um … 11-something,” said Steve.

  “1127,” said Belladonna confidently.

  “Look at those windows!” Elsie was slowly turning around, gazing at the dark red stone and the elaborately carved traceries. “You’re so lucky. We never went on school trips.”

  “Right,” said Belladonna, opening her exercise book. “Should we start at the beginning and work through or go for what looks like it might be an easy one first?”

  “I vote for an easy one,” said Elsie. “We need to find out what we’re looking for.”

  “How about the third, then: But twain is all the angels keep / Though none do they mistrust.”

  Steve stared at her. “That’s your idea of an easy one?”

  “Well, I was thinking that, as it’s an abbey, there are probably some carvings of angels. You know, like those.”

  Steve and Elsie looked up and Belladonna couldn’t help but feel a little bit pleased with herself as it slowly dawned on each of them that there were the remains of two carved angels on what had probably been supports for the roof. One angel was holding the remains of a harp and the other had a book. Both of them had been carved in the act of singing—with their mouths open.

  “Brilliant!” gushed Elsie.

  “And really high,” observed Steve.

  “Not a problem for me. Can you take the rug over to the one with the harp?”

  Belladonna nodded and moved the mat over to a spot in the grass just beneath the angel. For a moment Elsie became indistinct, like a TV channel that won’t quite come in, but she was soon back, as solid as ever, and staring up at the carving.

  “So,” she said, “do we think they might be in the mouths?”

  She didn’t wait for a response but began to slowly ascend, taking care to stay directly above the scrap of carpet. Once she was level with the angel, she peered into its mouth like a disapproving dentist.

  “It’s a bit cobwebby. I can’t really see.”

  She blew into the hole to clear away the cobwebs and then reached inside.

  “No. Nothing here. Next!”

  She descended to the rug again and Steve quickly moved it to a position beneath the chorister angel.

  “Aren’t you worried that there might be spiders or something in there?” he asked as she rose slowly upward again.

  “Nope.”

  Belladonna noticed Steve give an involuntary shudder as Elsie thrust her hand into the angel’s mouth.

  “I don’t think there’s anything here either,” said Elsie.

  Belladonna’s heart sank and she began looking around the chapter house for anything else that might be described as an angel, while Elsie reached deeper into the carving.

  “Oh, hang on! There is something! It’s right at the back.… Yes, there are two! Got ’em!”

  Belladonna could hardly contain her curiosity as Elsie slowly returned to the rug and opened her hand. It was empty.

  “There’s nothing there,” said Steve, in a tone that clearly conveyed his suspicion that Elsie was playing some kind of joke.

  “Yes, there is.” Elsie looked from Steve to Belladonna. “You really can’t see it? Hold out your hand.”

  Belladonna held out her right hand, and Elsie picked up the things that no one else could see and dropped them into her palm.

  “Oh!”

  “What is it?”

  “I can feel … They’re cold … they’re … Look!”

  The things in her hand slowly became visible, catching the thin winter sun and gleaming as if they were brand-new.

  “They’re coins!” said Steve. “But why can we see them now?”

  “Maybe…” Belladonna turned them over in her hand. “Maybe because Elsie gave them to us. Only the dead true heart can find them, but perhaps if she gives them to you…”

  “Then part of the gift is the ability to see them!” Elsie grinned. “It’s like something out of an old fairy tale.”

  “My Dad says there’s a kernel of truth in nearly all old stories.”

  “Okay, but why coins?” said Steve. “And what kind of coins are they?”

  “It’s a noble, I think,” suggested Elsie. “Or a sovereign. Who is the king?”

  Belladonna turned it over carefully. On one side was a cross with a pattern of what looked like leaves or flowers growing out of each arm, and on the other was a king in a ship. Around the edges was writing, all in capitals and crowded together.

  “It’s hard to read … um … Edward. But it doesn’t say which one.”

  “It must be a noble, then. Sovereigns were created by Henry VII. And it’s too big to be a florin.”

  “How on earth do you know that?” asked Steve.

  “My father was a numismatist.”

  Steve and Belladonna stared at her blankly.

  “He collected coins
.”

  “Wait,” said Steve. “Your Dad collected prints of anamorphic art and he collected coins?”

  “Yes.”

  “I bet he collected stamps too, didn’t he?”

  “Well, yes, actually he—”

  “Ha! Your Dad was an Edwardian geek!”

  “He was not! What’s a geek?”

  “What else did he collect?”

  “Nothing. Butterflies.”

  Steve opened his mouth to say something else, but Belladonna shot him a look.

  “Could we concentrate?”

  “Oh, right, yeah,” said Steve, stifling a giggle. “Coins. We’re looking for coins.”

  “But … it doesn’t make any sense,” said Elsie, ignoring Steve. “Why hide nine coins? How can coins help with the stones?”

  “Never mind that right now,” said Belladonna. “Let’s find the rest quickly or we’ll miss our train back.”

  Steve nodded as Belladonna put the coins into her pocket and consulted the rhyme again.

  “Thrice the knight who failed the fight.”

  “I think I know this one.” Steve picked up the carpet and led the way over to the alcove where Belladonna had found him talking to Edmund de Braes.

  There, set into the thick walls of the chapter house, was an ancient table tomb on which lay the effigy of a knight in full armor, his hand on his sword and his shield by his side.

  “Is that … him?” asked Belladonna.

  “Yes, you can just make out the name, there: ‘Hic iacet Edmund de Braes.’”

  Elsie sighed as she looked at what was left of the face. “He looks sad.”

  “He is,” said Steve quietly. “That is, he was.”

  Belladonna tucked her hair behind her ears and looked at him. He and Edmund had been talking before she arrived in the chapter house, but he hadn’t told her what had been said and kept changing the subject whenever she brought it up.

  “But where are the coins?” she said finally. “There doesn’t seem to be anywhere to hide anything.”

  “You really can’t see them?” asked Elsie, genuinely surprised. “They’re right there. Right in the open.”

  Steve rolled his eyes. “Of course we can’t see them. They can only be seen by the Dead. That’s why you’re here, Miss True Heart.”

  Elsie pulled a face at him, then reached for the shield, which was emblazoned with a lion, rampant and roaring, above which was a bar supporting four rings. She took something from each of the two outer rings and one from inside the roaring mouth of the lion. Belladonna held out her hand and once more had the strange sensation of seeing nothing, yet feeling it land. The coins clinked in her palm and slowly appeared.