Ratty stared at her for a moment, then dug in his pockets. He searched several, pulling out various bits of junk before presenting her with a small penknife and a frayed piece of scarlet ribbon. ‘What are they for?’
Tanya unfolded the blade. It was good and sharp. With one hand, she reached up and loosened her hair from its ponytail. Then, using the penknife, she cut off a dark lock from underneath.
‘What the heck are you doing?’
She used the knife once more to slice the ribbon in two, then passed it back to Ratty. She waited until he had put it away then handed him the lock of hair. ‘Hold this.’ He did as she asked. Using one piece of ribbon, she secured the lock of hair tightly at one end then wove it into a deft braid before tying the second piece of ribbon at the opposite end. She released it, leaving it dangling between Ratty’s fingers.
‘What’s this for?’ he asked.
‘You said you needed something bigger to erase my memory of you,’ she answered. ‘And you also said that hair is powerful if it’s used in magic. So now you have some of mine, a braid that can be undone.’
‘You’re allowing me to take your memory?’ Ratty asked.
Tanya rolled her eyes. ‘We both know that you’d have sent Turpin to steal something from me anyway, after today, if you didn’t want to be remembered.’
Ratty fidgeted uncomfortably, confirming her suspicions.
‘At least this way I know you’ll do it right,’ she said. ‘That I won’t remember you at all.’ She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. ‘And I’d rather that than some half-formed memory of someone who can see fairies, who might have been a friend.’
Ratty ran his thumb over the smooth lock.
‘There’s just one catch,’ she continued.
He looked at her warily. ‘And what’s that?’
‘That you don’t take my memory straight away,’ she said. ‘You keep hold of the hair until you need it. Like a sort of . . . insurance. Then, if you decide you can’t trust me, you can make me forget you straight away. But I hope by doing this that I’m showing that you
can
trust me. Because I’m trusting you.’ She nodded to her hair, gleaming in the sun. ‘I’m trusting you not to let that fall into the wrong hands. Into fairy hands.’
‘Why is it so important that I trust you?’ Ratty asked.
‘Because you’re in trouble,’ said Tanya. ‘And, if I can, I want to help you.’
‘I don’t think you can help me,’ said Ratty. ‘I’m not sure anyone can.’
‘You’ve got nothing to lose by letting me try.’
Ratty gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes bluer than the sky. Finally, he slipped the lock of hair in his pocket and gave her a small smile. ‘All right.’
Tanya smiled back and sat down on the grass. ‘First things first. This place your pa mentioned, the place he could tell a story about. Where is he talking about?’
Ratty sat next to her, but, after a sharp tug of his shirt from a jealous Turpin, he shifted away a little.
‘It’s a tradition of ours,’ he said, pulling up a piece of grass distractedly. ‘Every time we arrive in a new town, we go exploring. No matter how boring the place might seem at first, we always manage to find somewhere, somewhere really . . . unusual. In the last town, it was this abandoned house, all boarded up. It was creepy – I didn’t like it much. Before that, it was an old Roman outdoor theatre, all overgrown and forgotten. Every time we find one, Pa says, “I could tell a story about this place.” And then, that evening, he does. And they’re always the most amazing, unforgettable stories you could imagine. He has this way of making everything seem like an adventure, like we’re real explorers.’ He snapped the blade of grass between his fingers. ‘Only, since I read that letter, I’m starting to think that we didn’t find these places by chance at all.’
‘You think he knew about them already?’ said Tanya.
‘Yes. I think he planned it. Every town, every city. They were never just places we ended up in. He took me to these places for a reason.’
They were quiet as the meaning of Ratty’s words sunk in.
‘He knew that some day he might have to write you that letter,’ Tanya realised. ‘And he always made sure there was a secret place you could go to if he did.’
Ratty chewed at his nail, deep in thought. ‘Exactly. It was another one of his codes. A way he could point me to somewhere only the two of us would know about if we were in danger.’
‘Tricksy clever,’ said Turpin, her voice full of admiration.
‘Yes,’ Ratty murmured. ‘And he told the stories about each place so that it would stick in my mind, so I wouldn’t forget it.’
‘So where is the place in Spinney Wicket?’ Tanya asked, aware that he had still not answered her question.
Ratty stared across the meadow, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. Tanya followed his gaze, back along the way she had come.
‘The Wishing Tree?’ she said.
‘No. Beyond that.’
Tanya looked past the tree. Her eyes rested on the castle where she had been only a short time ago. She frowned. ‘But the castle seems too open, too public. Not at all like the other places you mentioned.’
‘Not all parts of the castle are public,’ Ratty said darkly. ‘Remember what I said about some of it being shut away?’
Despite the warmth beating down on her, Tanya felt the tiny hairs on her arms stand up. ‘Which part?’ Somehow, she knew what Ratty was about to say before the words were even out of his mouth.
‘The dungeons.’
9
Gone
‘I
F THE DUNGEONS ARE OUT OF BOUNDS, how did you and your father get in?’ Tanya asked. ‘Surely you didn’t send Turpin to steal a set of the castle keys?’
‘No,’ said Ratty. ‘Although that might have been easier. We got in through an old well. About halfway down the shaft before you hit the water there’s an entrance to a tunnel. The tunnel connects it to the dungeon.’
They had been walking for some time now, largely in silence, apart from snatches of conversation here and there as each of them gathered their thoughts. They had cut across the meadows by a faster route than before, passing the castle at a distance, and were now in sight of the bridge over Nessie Needleteeth’s spot on the river.
Ratty strode quickly and stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched in determination. He had decided to go back to the van and pack a bag while waiting for his father. With little time to think about it, Tanya had followed, and Ratty had neither invited nor discouraged her. Her mind was spinning, thoughts tumbling over each other and fighting for her attention. At the forefront was everything Ratty had told her and the danger he was in. At the back, she felt a creeping sense of dread as she realised she had already, unwittingly, broken the rule about speaking to him about fairies. She pushed the thought away. It couldn’t be helped. A punishment from the fairies was now unavoidable. She would just have to deal with whatever they dished up.
‘How do you actually
take
a memory then?’ she asked. ‘I know it’s connected to the object, but how is it done?’
‘I’m not sure exactly,’ Ratty replied. ‘It’s not something I can properly explain. I’ll just hold the object, whatever it is, and think about what it is I want the person to forget. So, for instance, I held your button and thought about everything we did and spoke about yesterday. And then I thought about it all disappearing, like it never happened.’ His eyes were still fixed in the distance, and his breath was coming in short, quick bursts. ‘Some objects are much better than others. If it can be undone somehow while I’m touching it, like your lock of hair or a match being struck, or a key unlocking a door, it will work much more easily. But I just have to use whatever I can get.’ He shrugged. ‘A button can be undone and a coin can be spent, but not while they’re loose in my hand.’
It was late afternoon by the time they reached the river’s edge. The sky had clouded over, but the air was still warm and midge-infested. Without the sun playing on the water, it didn’t sparkle in the same way it had before, and its true murky-green colour was much more obvious. Tanya eyed the missing persons poster of the young girl and found a lump rising in her throat. It was so faded and tattered, the image almost bleached out by the sun. She looked away as they stepped on to the bridge. Their footsteps were loud and hollow on the wooden planks.
‘Careful,’ Ratty said in a low voice.
‘What?’ Immediately, Tanya scanned the water for signs of danger, but all was calm.
‘Not the river.’ Ratty frowned. ‘Something’s been spilled on the bridge. It’s slippery. I just skidded a little.’
‘Oh.’ Tanya looked down and saw dark splashes on the wood. At the same time, she became aware of a strange smell. It was waxy and oily. She couldn’t remember it being here yesterday. She tugged at Oberon’s leash, noticing Turpin making exaggerated gagging noises and holding her nose. Once they were safely across, she allowed Oberon off his leash once more and he took off eagerly, nose in the long grass.
In the distance, the three horses were visible and, within minutes, Morrigan had joined them. She trotted at Ratty’s side for a while and he patted her distractedly, but did not slow his pace. ‘Nothing for you today, girl,’ he murmured. She bowed her great head as if she understood, yet still she accompanied them almost to the edge of the copse of trees before hanging back and then finally meandering back to her companions.
Perhaps it was the lack of light as they stepped beneath the trees, but no sooner had they done so than Tanya began to feel uneasy. It was gloomier today than it had been before and, while yesterday it had brought fairy-tale thoughts of gingerbread cottages to mind, today all she saw were shadows and hiding places for big, bad wolves. It was not until they were well into the copse that Tanya realised why she felt so on edge.
‘Ratty,’ she whispered, hurrying to catch up with him. ‘Does it seem very quiet to you?’
Ratty stopped suddenly and Tanya halted next to him. A second later, Oberon’s wet nose bumped the back of her leg.
‘It is quiet,’ he answered, glancing about through the trees. ‘Too quiet. I can’t hear a thing. No birds singing, nothing else moving about . . .’
‘No fairies whispering,’ Tanya added. She shivered. ‘It’s like someone has already been along this way and disturbed them.’
Ratty’s face lit up with hope. ‘Maybe it’s Pa. Maybe he’s back!’ He set off, faster now, pushing through the branches. Turpin scurried along behind him, her wing twitching and buzzing. Moments later, they reached the van and Ratty slowed, surveying the clearing.
The curtains were still drawn and the campfire was still ash. Tanya reached up and touched the washing, hanging as it had been yesterday. It was dry now, but no one had taken it inside.
‘Doesn’t mean he’s not back,’ Ratty muttered. He strode obstinately to the door, fumbling for the key around his neck. ‘He could be sleeping.’ He unlocked the door and slid it open.
Inside, the van was empty. Everything was as it had been before, neat and untouched. There was no sign that anyone had entered. Ratty hopped in, poking around on every shelf, presumably, Tanya thought, in case there was another note. It took him only seconds to find that there was nothing. He sat on one of the benches, his shoulders slumped.
‘He hasn’t been back.’
‘That doesn’t mean he’s not going to,’ Tanya said, but Ratty’s worry was plain to see and she shared it now. ‘There’s still a chance.’ She followed him into the van. ‘I’ll wait with you awhile.’ She began to pull the sliding door closed again.
‘Wait,’ Ratty said. ‘Bring Oberon inside.’ He glanced out into the greenery once more. ‘Even if it wasn’t Pa that came through the copse before us, someone did. Best not leave him out there.’ He gave Turpin a tight smile, which she returned with a doleful look. ‘Sorry, Turps. You heard Pa’s instructions. I can’t remove the charms on the doors. Can you keep watch instead?’
‘Of course she can keep watch,’ Turpin scoffed. ‘Turpin is the best at watching.’ With that, she sprang on to a low-hanging tree branch, nimble as a monkey, and vanished into the overhead canopy of leaves.
Tanya pulled the door closed. ‘What now?’ she said.
‘We wait, I suppose,’ Ratty replied. He started to get up. ‘I’ll fix us something to eat.’
‘Let me,’ said Tanya. She went into the kitchen area and began searching the cupboards. As Ratty had described, they were full of tins and not much else. She took one down and emptied it into a small saucepan on the hob. ‘I hope soup is all right?’
‘Fine,’ Ratty said, his voice flat.
She stirred the contents of the pan and pulled out what was left of a small loaf of bread. There was enough for a couple of slices each. She cut them thinly and spread them with butter, adding extra to make up for the dryness, and glanced over her shoulder at Ratty. He had taken out his father’s note and laid it flat on the table. His lips moved soundlessly as he read it yet again.
From somewhere outside the van, a strange, high-pitched sound carried through the trees, piercing the silence. Ratty looked up from the note, his gaze locking with Tanya’s. ‘What was that?’
They stared at each other, straining their ears. A light wisp of steam curled past Tanya’s face from the soup warming on the hob. It was the only movement in the silent stillness.
The sound came again, closer this time and longer. A desolate, miserable wail that chilled Tanya’s blood. Oberon’s ears went back and he gave a small, confused whine.
‘Is it an animal . . . or a person?’ Ratty whispered.
Tanya shook her head. She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that it was the most horrible thing she had ever heard. There were a few beats of silence before it came once more. This time it was clearer, unmistakable. Ratty stood up, creeping to the window. ‘There’s somebody out there,’ he said. ‘Someone crying!’
At last, Tanya found her feet. She put down the wooden spoon she’d been stirring the soup with and joined Ratty at the window. Slowly, Ratty reached out and drew one of the curtains back.
A loud thud sounded above them, forcing a scream into Tanya’s throat. Ratty jumped, too, releasing the curtain. Something had landed on the roof of the camper van.