‘What about if I took you across the river?’ Tanya asked. ‘Would crossing running water break the spell?’
Don looked to Turpin, who wrinkled her nose.
‘Turpin does not think so.’ She leaned forward and gave the toad a good sniff. ‘Is a very strong magic, stronger than a glamour. Meant to last, until it is undone.’
‘There may be another way,’ said Don, but he looked somewhat troubled.
‘We’ll figure something out,’ said Tanya. ‘But for now we should get out of here. This place has a horrible feel to it and, like Don says, we could be expecting company at any moment.’ She unzipped a side pocket of her rucksack and motioned to Don. ‘Hop in.’
The toad’s blue eyes narrowed. ‘Is that meant to be funny?’
‘Oh,’ said Tanya, realising what she’d said. Clearly, Don was a little sensitive about his new appearance. She couldn’t blame him. ‘No. Sorry.’
With as much dignity as he could summon, Don shuffled to the pocket and climbed in clumsily. Tanya zipped it half closed again, allowing a space for him to see out. Then she lifted the bag on to her shoulder and nodded to Turpin. ‘Let’s go.’
They left the cell, navigating the dank tunnels once more. Tanya took the lead, with Turpin a couple of steps behind, holding her nose and muttering to herself about the smell every time they passed one of the iron wall sconces.
‘Young lady?’ Don croaked from the depths of the rucksack.
‘Its name is Tanya,’ Turpin reminded him.
‘Right. Beg your pardon – Tanya. Where is it we’re going? I forgot to ask.’
‘We’ll have to go back to my holiday cottage,’ Tanya said. ‘It’s the safest place I can think of. Besides, if I’m not there when my mother wakes up, I’ll be in trouble. Big trouble.’ Already thoughts of her mother were giving her a headache. She chewed her lip. ‘You haven’t said exactly what we need to do next to help Ratty.’
‘That’s because I haven’t figured it out yet,’ said Don. ‘Why?’
‘Because my mother could be a problem,’ said Tanya. ‘Or rather, doing things without her noticing could be a problem.’
‘No problem,’ Turpin piped up.
Tanya looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’
The fairy grinned slyly. ‘Turpin knows of ways to make problems go away. Sneaky ways up her sleeves. Oh, yes.’
‘But you won’t hurt her,’ Tanya said in alarm. ‘You must promise me . . .’
‘Of course not hurt!’ Turpin was indignant. ‘Just tricksy and clever ways.’
‘Like what?’
‘You shall see,’ was all Turpin would say.
They continued through the darkened tunnel in silence, the only sounds their footsteps and an occasional croak from the rucksack every now and then when Tanya stumbled on some uneven part of the passage. Underground draughts snaked round her ankles, making her shiver. This place, never touched by the sunlight, was so very cold. Bone-chillingly cold. It would take her ages to warm up again.
Finally, the air became stale and sluggish as the passageway narrowed. Tanya took off the rucksack and bent down, dragging it along beside her as she began to crawl. ‘We’re nearly at the well,’ she told Don. ‘Only a little way further now.’
When the torch beam picked out the outline of the trapdoor in the wall, she paused, waiting for Turpin. Wordlessly, the fairy clambered into the rucksack once more, and Tanya pushed the trapdoor open and crawled out on to it, gulping in the cool night air. Once she was safely on the iron ladder with the rucksack over her shoulder, she secured the trapdoor and began to climb.
Going up was somehow easier than going down, though perhaps, Tanya thought to herself, it had more to do with the relief she felt at escaping the dungeon. Soon she reached the top of the well, handing the torch to Turpin while she grappled with the iron grate. This part, pushing and not pulling and with only one hand to do so, was definitely not easier, especially not with Turpin’s groans about the smell ringing in her ears. Yet somehow she mustered the strength to heave the grate back on itself. It landed with a resounding clang against the stone rim.
Tentatively, she poked her head out of the well entrance. The only sign of life was a startled fox that had been scavenging in a bin. It took off as she clambered out, setting the rucksack aside as she lowered the grate back in place as quietly as she could. Her fingers touched something cold and slimy on the rim of the well.
‘Yuck,’ she said, wiping her hand on her jeans. ‘Slug.’
No sooner had she uttered the word when something thin and sticky lashed out past her arm, whipping the slug away. There was a wet chomp followed by a croaky belch, and then Don’s voice trembled from the pocket of the rucksack.
‘Oh, please tell me I didn’t just . . .’
Tanya stared at the damp spot where the slug had been. ‘I’m afraid you did,’ she said. ‘You just ate a slug.’
Turpin emerged from the rucksack, shaking her head. ‘Yikes.’
Don stared at them both, his wide eyes full of disgust. ‘Oh, this is wretched. I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t. But when you said “slug” I couldn’t help it.’ He gave a little moan. ‘What’s worse is that it was actually . . . delicious.’
Tanya’s stomach lurched. ‘I’ll let you know if I see any more.’
‘No,’ Don begged. ‘Please . . . don’t. That squelchy mouthful is going to haunt me for the rest of my days.’
‘Well, it’s not really your fault,’ said Tanya. ‘Until you’re turned back to your real self, it’s just your nature.’ She turned off the torch and put it away. ‘And you have to eat something.’
‘Wait until Ratty hears about this,’ Turpin said, her eyes glinting. She made a sloppy chomping noise. ‘Squish, squish, swallow!’
‘He won’t,’ Don said sharply. ‘Because you’re not going to tell him.’
Turpin grinned and hopped off the side of the well.
They set off through the deserted town. The clouds had cleared a little now, allowing sprays of stars to pepper the sky. When they eventually reached the little path that led to the cottage, Tanya paused, rooting in her bag for the key. Her fingers closed round it, yet she stayed still on the path, her mind awash with questions, one in particular.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Turpin murmured, looking towards the cottage longingly. She yawned. ‘Is sleepy time.’
Tanya hesitated. ‘This memory,’ she said. ‘The memory Ratty took. He said he doesn’t remember what it is.’ She studied Don carefully. ‘But, if you know where the object attached to the memory is, then you must know about the memory itself. What was it? And who is Solomon?’
Don fidgeted. ‘Somebody dangerous,’ he said, in a hushed voice. ‘A fey man. A worker of dark magic.’
A chill ran over the back of Tanya’s neck. Suddenly, the shadows surrounding the cottage had all grown a little bit darker. ‘And the memory?’
‘A spell,’ Don said. ‘One that, if remembered, could wreak havoc. That’s why it must remain hidden.’
‘What . . . what kind of spell?’
But Don shook his head. ‘I think it’s best I say nothing more, for now. The fewer people who know the truth, the less dangerous things will be.’ He glanced in Turpin’s direction, then looked away just as quickly. Tanya pretended not to notice. Instead, she approached the cottage and inserted the key into the door as quietly as she could, but all the while she was aware of a small movement on the edge of her vision. Turpin’s wing was trembling very slightly.
As they entered the cottage and crept to the bedroom, Tanya stole a look at the fairy’s face. She was wide-eyed now, all traces of sleepiness gone. Her expression was one that was haunted.
Turpin knows, too
, Tanya realised
. She knows everything Don knows about the stolen memory. And, whatever it is, she’s afraid.
16
The Rift
T
ANYA WOKE FROM A TROUBLED DREAM in which she was being smothered to find that Turpin’s foot was up her nose. After removing it, she yawned, stretched and sat up. Turpin stirred a little before snuggling back down on the pillow. Cautiously, Tanya looked around the room. There was no sign that Thingy had been up to any mischief. She got out of bed and pulled her dressing gown on over her pyjamas.
‘Good morning,’ a voice croaked.
She knelt down and peered beneath the bed. Next to a bowl of water, Don squatted on a handful of leaves she had brought in from outside.
‘Morning,’ she replied. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘No.’ The blue eyes looked a little pink around the edges. ‘I’m hungry. And you have a horrible snore.’
Tanya stood up again, insulted. ‘That’s what happens when you sleep with a fairy’s foot up your nose.’ She glanced at the clock. It was still early; she hadn’t yet heard her mother get up. ‘Stay here. I’ll go and find something for you to eat.’
She left the bedroom and went into the dining area, padding across the floor. With the curtains drawn, the room was still dark. Oberon got up from under the table, wagging his tail in greeting. Evidently, he had forgiven her for leaving him behind on her night-time walk. She began to make a fuss of him, then paused mid-stroke. There was something stuck to her bare foot. Something grainy. She frowned, slowly moving away from the table and into the kitchen. With each footstep came a light crunch. She reached out and switched the light on.
The kitchen floor was covered with cornflakes. For the briefest of moments, Tanya wondered if perhaps Oberon had pulled the box off the counter and managed to tip them out, but she quickly dismissed this idea. The cornflakes were so neatly arranged and evenly placed that this could be no accident. They covered the entire kitchen floor, except for several carefully spaced gaps. And not just any gaps; these were letters, again displaying a misspelled message: GETT OWT.
Dismayed, she crunched through the cereal to the cupboard under the sink in search of a dustpan. That was when she noticed a second message stamped into spilled sugar on the counter. This one said HOOMANS STINK.
‘I thought we’d discussed this, Thingy,’ Tanya said in a low voice. She found the dustpan and brush, first sweeping up the sugar, then setting to work on the floor. ‘I’m trying to be patient, I really am, but you’re such a troublemaker.’
There was no reply. Even so, Tanya got the feeling she was being watched and listened to. She swept everything into the bin, trying to focus on remembering Turpin’s tale of Nothing rather than allowing herself to get angry, but it was difficult. Supposing Tanya hadn’t woken early and her mother had found all this? She sighed, opening the fridge. There was a punnet of strawberries on the top shelf. She helped herself to a handful, wrapping a few in kitchen paper and putting them into the pocket of her dressing gown for Turpin. The remaining ones she left on the kitchen counter.
‘These are for you, Thingy,’ she said. ‘I hope they put you in a better mood.’
Unfortunately, there was nothing in the kitchen that was suitable for Don. Tanya remembered the slug from the night before and, grimacing, opened the front door of the cottage. She did not have to go much further than the porch to find a couple of woodlice and a slimy, pink worm. ‘Sorry,’ she told them, sweeping all three into another sheet of kitchen paper and returning inside. As she closed the door, her mother’s voice made her jump.
‘What were you doing out there?’
Tanya stuffed the twist of paper into her other pocket. ‘Just . . . seeing how warm it is outside,’ she said lamely. ‘So I can decide what to wear today.’
Her mother filled the saucepan with water and put it on the stove to boil. ‘I take it those are yours?’ she asked, pointing to the kitchen counter.
Tanya glanced at the spot where she had left the strawberries for Thingy. Several chewed green stalks displaying teeth marks were all that remained.
‘Oh . . . yes,’ she muttered, picking them up and dumping them in the bin. ‘Sorry.’
Her mother put two teabags in the pot, then peered into the sugar bowl. ‘Where’s all the sugar?’ she exclaimed. ‘That was full last night!’
Tanya cringed. There was no other option but to take the blame. ‘I spilled it. The cornflakes, too. I’m sorry,’ she repeated.
Mrs Fairchild shook her head. ‘What’s got into you?’ she said grumpily. ‘Butterfingers.’
‘Butterfingers!’ a voice hissed from under the floor.
Tanya clenched her teeth. Clearly, it would take more than cake and a few strawberries to change Thingy’s grudge-keeping ways. She slouched back to the bedroom. Turpin was awake now, sitting expectantly on the pillow, and had changed into her ordinary clothes which were now dry. Tanya removed the kitchen paper from her pocket and presented it to her, then knelt to push the other sheet beneath the bed for Don.
Turpin gave a little shriek and scrambled back. ‘Yikes!’ She glared at Tanya. ‘Turpin does not eat disgusting squelchings!’
‘Whoops.’ Tanya switched the papers over. ‘Wrong one.’ She slid the woodlice and worm under the bed. The tip of the toad’s tongue flickered at the edge of his mouth in anticipation.
‘Stop looking at me!’ he said haughtily. ‘I don’t need an audience.’
‘Right, sorry.’ She retreated and sat down on the bed, trying not to listen to the inevitable gulps and soggy chewing noises coming from under the bed. When they finally stopped, Don waddled out, looking less hungry but thoroughly shamefaced.
‘I’ve been thinking all night,’ he announced. ‘And I believe I have a plan.’
‘A plan to save Ratty?’ Turpin asked. Her fingers and chin were sticky with strawberry juice, some of which had dripped on to Tanya’s pillow. ‘Turpin likes plans.’
‘Yes,’ said Don. ‘A plan to save Henry. And possibly return me to my human state.’ He looked at Tanya. ‘But it’s going to be dangerous. And, as you’re the largest and most capable of the three of us, much of that danger will be directed towards you.’
Tanya swallowed, remembering her guardians saving her from Nessie Needleteeth. Should she really walk straight back into danger? There wasn’t much choice if Ratty was to be saved. ‘What do we have to do?’
Don took a deep breath. ‘The only thing we have to trade in return for Henry is the object linked to the missing memory.’
Tanya frowned. ‘But last night you said the spell is so dangerous that the memory can never be returned.’