The Bone Quill

by Barrowman, John

  ‘Next time,’ said Matt, ‘let’s go somewhere that children get some respect.’

  ‘Good luck finding that place,’ signed Zach.

  ‘Next time?’ said Em, glowering at her brother as she dropped a soggy disposable nappy into her bag. ‘Unless you want to keep doing disgusting chores like this every morning, I suggest we do not have a next time for a very long time.’

  Zach and Matt glanced at each other. Em raised her hands to make them stop.

  ‘I mean it! We’re lucky that we made it back from that painting alive. If we keep breaking Animare rules like that, the Council of Guardians will come after us and bind us the second we turn sixteen for sure. Never mind what will happen if the stupid Hollow Earth Society find out about our newest talent.’

  At moments like this Em wished her mother were here. She walked down to the water’s edge and kicked at the waves angrily.

  Where are you, Mum? I miss you so much.

  Matt came down the beach to join her. Putting his hand on her shoulder, he said, ‘Mum’s okay, Em. I think we’d feel it if she wasn’t.’

  ‘I just wish we knew where she was,’ said Em mournfully.

  Zach sloshed around in a tidal pool next to them, digging up rocks and examining them for fossils. Above the shore, the traffic on the island’s only main road to Seaport was sparse, the school summer holidays over and tourist season dwindling to a dozen or so visitors with every ferry trip from Largs. Em looked beseechingly at her brother.

  ‘Let’s agree to no more time travel, Matt,’ she pleaded. ‘It scared me. I didn’t like being ... being so far from home.’

  She realized that, for the first time, she really felt like the Abbey and the island had become her home.

  ‘Besides, we need to put our energies into finding Mum, not into developing new ways to worry Grandpa, Simon or Jeannie. Agreed?’

  ‘No,’ said Matt. ‘Not agreed at all.’

  ‘Please, Matt,’ Em pleaded, her anxiety churning up the water in Zach’s tidal pool. Several unnaturally high waves in the bay started rolling into the shore. Combing his hair off his face, Matt held Em’s gaze, trying to practise what he’d learned from Simon about drawing out Em’s fears before they settled inside her imagination. That was never good for Em, and often bad for all of them. Particularly when Em’s fears animated themselves and became a danger to others.

  ‘We’re going to find Mum, especially now that Grandpa is home and able to help us,’ said Matt firmly, ‘but think about it. If Simon’s right after all, and we’re the only Animare who have ever time-travelled using a painting, then there can’t be a rule about no time travel. So, technically, we haven’t broken any rules.’

  ‘He’s got a point, Em,’ signed Zach, high-fiving Matt’s logic.

  ‘No, he hasn’t!’ shouted Em.

  She tossed her full rubbish bag over her shoulder and ran up the beach. Behind her, a huge wave crashed into the boys, drenching both of them.

  Watching from the wooden bench at the end of the Abbey’s jetty, Simon rubbed his temples, feeling the tension. It was probably a result of the growing pains of three newly minted teenagers, nothing more.

  TWENTY-NINE

  After a late lunch of soup and sandwiches, Renard called the children and Simon to the library. Em was still smarting at the fact that the boys had ganged up on her earlier, but the boys didn’t seem to notice.

  As they entered the room, Matt saluted the scarred bust in its niche.

  ‘Why do you always salute that statue?’ asked Zach, catching Matt’s gesture.

  Matt shrugged. ‘The dude looks fierce with that scar down his cheek. I’d have liked to have met him. Apparently, he’s the one who salvaged the Abbey from its medieval ruins and rebuilt it the way it is now.’

  Zach looked at the bust. ‘What’s his name?’

  Matt shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’ Simon had never said.

  At one of the tables in front of the windows, Renard had set out the items Sandie had left behind the night she disappeared: the rusty old key and the page from The Book of Beasts. He’d hung the still-life with Jeannie’s pewter goblet on the wall directly above it.

  When Zach and the twins were settled in front of him with Simon leaning against the French doors out to the garden, Renard began to speak.

  ‘After some careful thought on the still-life, and after talking with Simon about the recent evolution of your abilities, I’ve come to a decision.’

  Matt and Em looked nervously at each other.

  Do you think he’s going to send us away?

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  My dad wouldn’t let him send you away, Zach added in answer to Em’s question. And neither would I.

  ‘I’ve decided,’ continued Renard, ‘that if you are ever to understand how truly important and unique your hybrid talents are, you must learn to use your powers wisely. And to do that, I need you to understand the history of our kind.’

  Jeannie pushed open the library’s double doors with her foot, carrying a tray with a pot of coffee, three glasses of chocolate milk and slices of pound cake slathered in jam. When the cake had been devoured, Matt and Zach wiped their milk moustaches on their sleeves.

  ‘Barbarians,’ Simon laughed, looking at the boys with disapproval.

  ‘Grandpa, Simon’s taught us a lot about our history already,’ said Em, patting her mouth with her napkin. ‘We know that Calders have always lived on the islands since before even the Vikings, and that the monks of Era Mina were the first to bring together Animare and Guardians for protection.’

  Renard nodded. ‘Good. But I’d like to go back even further. Because, given what you demonstrated yesterday, the speed and emphasis of these lessons must be increased. You have to learn about the islands’ geology and your unique connection to it. And all the information you need can be found in Duncan Fox’s diary.’

  ‘Duncan Fox is the artist who painted The Demon Within!’ Em gasped. Memories of the horrible painting still haunted her. The red, skinless monster ... ‘The painting Mum copied. The picture Dad’s bound in, down in the Abbey vault.’

  ‘Ow!’ Matt cried, as Charles Dickens’s Hard Times suddenly soared off its shelf and smacked him on the back of the head.

  ‘Em,’ said Renard gently, as the entire shelf of Romantic poets started to shiver. ‘You have nothing to fear while you are here in the Abbey with us.’

  Zach reached under the table and squeezed Em’s hand, calming her fears which were making the books shake.

  As the books settled, Renard pointed at the bust of the scarred man, high up in its niche. ‘That’s Duncan Fox, up there.’

  ‘Him?’ Matt said in shock. ‘The dude with the scar? And he’s the one who painted ...’ Matt couldn’t bring himself to say it. ‘You mean, he’s family?’

  ‘His wife was a Calder like us,’ said Renard. ‘Duncan Fox owned these islands and the ruins of the Abbey in the mid-nineteenth century, and although he spent most of his early life in London while the Abbey was being rebuilt, this was later to become his beloved home.’

  THIRTY

  ‘Duncan Fox was the artist who started the original Hollow Earth Society, wasn’t he?’ asked Em. ‘The Society that swore to keep Hollow Earth and all its monsters a secret from the world?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Renard. ‘Fox started the original Hollow Earth Society because, according to his diary, he once glimpsed Hollow Earth for himself. What he saw there was so terrifying that he wanted to bury the knowledge of its existence for ever. Reduce it to a myth, and ultimately let it be forgotten altogether. Most importantly, he wanted to protect it from any Animare powerful enough to use the mystical tools needed to open Hollow Earth again.’

  In her head, Em was already imagining what these mystical tools might be. As she dwelt on this exciting question, a black hole opened in the air above the table, and an avalanche of sparkling silver wands, a gilded mirror and a shiny, gold sceptre, crusted with green gems, fell at her feet.


  The room was silent until the treasures and trinkets stopped piling up. Simon and Renard looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  ‘Sorry,’ Em said hastily, throwing herself over the animations, exploding them in a confetti burst of light.

  Em, get a grip. You’re not a kid any more.

  I said sorry!

  ‘Hollow Earth is at the centre of the island of Era Mina,’ Renard continued. ‘The only way to reach it is through the images on the walls in the island’s caves. But you cannot do that without using the sacred bone quill, a pen made from the antlers of the black peryton, to animate The Book of Beasts. Had the monks been able to finish the book, they would have closed the portal to Hollow Earth entirely, but they didn’t ... they couldn’t. And now no one knows what happened to the rest of the book, or to the bone quill.’

  ‘There’s a black peryton?’ said Em.

  ‘These islands are a safe haven for Animare and their Guardians because of the islands’ special properties,’ answered Renard. ‘You see, before Hollow Earth became a place to trap and bind the terrible monsters from the world of our myths, it was the place that created two of the most powerful of those beasts: the white peryton and its twin, the black.’

  ‘Two islands, two perytons and two of us,’ said Matt apprehensively. The weight of all this information was settling uncomfortably in his head.

  ‘There is an interesting parallel here, yes,’ Renard agreed.

  ‘Did Dad know all of this, about the island and its powers and Hollow Earth?’ Matt’s heart was beating fast, his head still smarting from the book. ‘Did you tell him about it?’

  ‘When he turned sixteen, it was Malcolm’s time to learn,’ replied Renard. ‘Since ancient times, a Calder has lived on the island in order to protect Hollow Earth and keep it – and the powers of the island – a secret from the world. But Malcolm chose a different path. The path of power, greed and ambition. Your father is lost to us, Matt, because of the choices he made. I’m sorry.’

  Without warning, a paperweight bust of the Scottish poet Robert Burns on Renard’s desk began babbling out one of his poems, his eyes bulging from his marble head, his short ponytail flapping up and down in the air.

  Em looked white. Zach grabbed her hand again.

  It’s going to be okay.

  I feel sick. My tummy hurts.

  ‘The monks of Era Mina understood the world was changing,’ said Renard. ‘Science and learning were replacing magic and superstition, and they believed that such progress should be welcomed. They made it their mission to use the unique powers of the island and the abilities of their Animare brothers to trap the beasts from the dangerous, magical past by drawing them – binding them – into Hollow Earth using The Book of Beasts. But it remained unfinished, and the job half done. Hollow Earth remains a danger to anyone prepared to use the bone quill to unbind the beasts within.’

  ‘The monks of Era Mina sound kind of like Noah and his ark,’ Zach signed. ‘Gathering up all the beasts and monsters of the old world.’

  Renard tapped the frame of the still-life on the wall. ‘I thought about this painting most of last night. I believe it is connected with Sandie’s disappearance, while Sandie’s disappearance is tied up with the history of this island and Malcolm’s quest to find and open Hollow Earth.’

  ‘You think Mum painted the goblet into the painting,’ Matt said with excitement. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I do,’ said Renard. ‘It was a clever choice of object. Something that only we would notice.’

  ‘She wanted to tell us where she’s gone!’ Matt burst out.

  Em jumped up. ‘We’ve always wondered why she left without telling us anything.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Matt. He picked up the mysterious old key from the table and rolled it between his fingers. He felt as if they were getting closer to unravelling the mysteries that Sandie had left behind. ‘She grabs one of the goblets from the kitchen and animates it into this still-life. Then she returns the painting to the wall, here where we’d notice it.’

  Em fetched the magnifying glass to study the painting more closely. Filled with impatient energy, Matt grabbed the magnifying glass from his sister and shoved her aside. The key in his hand clattered to the floor.

  ‘Cut it out, both of you,’ said Simon sharply.

  Zach crawled under the table and retrieved the key. But when he stood up, instead of putting the key back in its place, he held it up in front of the desk in the painting. Directly in front of the keyhole on the desk drawer.

  THIRTY-ONE

  ‘No way you’re animating into another painting,’ said Simon firmly, as everyone stared at the still-life on the library wall.

  ‘But Mum may have left us a message in that desk,’ Matt said.

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Simon. He had taken the key from Zach. ‘Until we’ve exhausted every possibility for what this key might mean in our reality right here,’ he thumped his hand on the table for emphasis, ‘I forbid you to go to another one.’

  Matt could feel rage rising in his gut. Em glared at him.

  Calm down. You’re not helping our chances.

  He can’t forbid us, Em! He’s not our father and he’s not my Guardian!

  If you keep losing your temper, he’ll inspirit you. And then we’ll never be able to do anything without his encouragement, so please cool it.

  Matt was about to open his mouth again, when Renard suddenly spoke.

  ‘Sit. Both of you. Please.’

  The twins sat.

  ‘As difficult as it is for you to understand all that’s happened here since your arrival, you must know that we only have your best interests at heart.’

  Matt hated it when adults said this to him. His mum had said it the day they had fled London, and now look what had happened.

  Renard went on. ‘I agree with Simon. We should be absolutely sure that we have a reason to animate, especially into this particular painting.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Matt, doing his best to temper his tone.

  ‘If we assume that this painting is by Duncan Fox – and everything would indicate this to be true: style, date etc – then the date on the picture troubles me,’ said Renard. ‘If 1848 is correct, then it was the last painting Fox completed before he discovered Hollow Earth, and made it his mission to do what he could to keep it sealed and protected. 1848 is the last time that Hollow Earth was in danger of being opened.’

  The twins digested this.

  ‘If Duncan Fox painted it,’ Renard repeated. He smiled slightly, as if enjoying a private joke. Then he opened his desk drawer and took out a red clothbound journal.

  ‘Is that Fox’s diary?’ asked Matt.

  Renard nodded. He passed the journal to Em. Matt and Zach gazed over her shoulder as she flipped through the yellowed musty pages. It was filled with words and sketches.

  ‘I’ve never seen that before,’ said Simon.

  ‘The diary was found shortly before we bound Malcolm,’ Renard said. ‘I haven’t shared it around much since then.’

  ‘Go back,’ said Matt, directing Em to a page with some of Fox’s drawings and pointing at the biggest one. ‘Isn’t that the Abbey?’

  That’s like the picture I found this morning, Em. But this one has the tower under construction.

  Maybe the painting you found was just unfinished.

  No, I think one was painted after the other. I think Duncan Fox is my time-traveller. Now I really want to meet the dude.

  ‘It certainly looks like the Abbey,’ said Em, doing her best to ignore Matt’s voice in her head. Zach tilted his head for a better view and nodded his agreement.

  ‘The diary tells us a great deal,’ said Renard. He looked at the still-life. ‘But it makes no mention of this painting. Which strikes me as curious. I don’t think this still-life was painted by Duncan Fox at all.’

  Matt frowned. ‘Then who?’

  ‘I think it may have been painted by your mother.’

  THIRTY-TWO />
  Everyone began throwing questions at Renard, even Simon. The din in the room was so loud that Jeannie rushed in to see what the ruckus was about.

  ‘Em,’ said Simon, ‘you look pale. Are you feeling okay?’

  ‘Just a tummy ache,’ Em whispered. ‘But don’t tell Jeannie. She’ll make me drink a cabbage-water tonic.’

  Zach picked up the key and held it up in front of the desk drawer on the still-life again. ‘Now there’s even more reason to believe this might fit that lock,’ he signed.

  ‘Em and I need to animate into that painting,’ said Matt at once.

  ‘They may be on to something, Renard,’ Simon murmured.

  ‘But where might they end up?’ Renard gestured at the painting. ‘If that picture is by Fox, you will end up in 1848. If it was painted by your mother, you may find that you only travel back two months. You travel to the time in which the image was created, do you not?’

  The question made Em feel light-headed. Outside it was drizzling. The light and the rain reflecting on the great mirror installation made the trees look as if they were walking backwards on the lawn.

  ‘It’s too risky. I won’t allow it,’ said Renard decisively.

  ‘What if I went with them into the painting?’ Simon suggested. ‘We know they’re strong enough to shift me, too. Then at least I’m there, wherever we end up.’

  Em felt Zach’s anger buffet her like a fan blowing against her body.

  We wouldn’t be gone long, Zach.

  I don’t have to like being left behind.

  Grandpa’s not coming with us either.

  He’s an old man.

  Zach!

  ‘We open the drawer with the key,’ continued Simon, ‘find what Sandie has left for us – assuming the key works – and come directly back.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Matt confidently.

  If Grandpa doesn’t let us go now, Em, we’ll go on our own later.

  Matt! We wouldn’t do that.

  I would.

  Em stared at her brother. You don’t really mean that.