The Puzzle Ring (17 page)

It was Halloween that weekend. Miss Underhill organised a street party in Fairknowe for all the children. There were prizes for the best costume and the best pumpkin lantern, dooking for apples, ghost stories and a walk to the witch's pool.

‘What about trick or treating?' Hannah asked, in the music room that Saturday afternoon.

‘We don't really do that here,' Scarlett said. ‘I mean, not the tricking anyway.'

‘That's so American,' Max said scornfully.

‘Here we go guising,' Scarlett explained. ‘You go from door to door, and you've got to sing or tell a joke or tap-dance or something to get the treat.'

‘Let's all go together,' Donovan said. ‘We'll sing “Loch Lomond”. That's a good one for Halloween.'

‘Oh, spare me!' Scarlett rolled her eyes.

‘Why? I mean, why is it a good one for Halloween?'
Hannah could only vaguely remember the chorus of the song, which went:

You'll take the high road
And I'll take the low road
And I'll be in Scotland afore you.
But me and my true love will never meet again
On the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond
.

‘Because it's about death,' Donovan said with his usual intensity. ‘The low road is the spirit road that the dead travel home on. It was written by a guy who'd been condemned to death for fighting against the English . . .'

‘In the time of Bonnie Prince Charlie,' Max put in.

‘. . . but his friend has been set free. So the friend gets to take the high road, you know, like the highway, but the other guy, the one that's being hanged, will take the low road, the spirit road, and he'll get to Scotland . . .'

‘
Afore you!
' Max sang, with a broad dramatic gesture, knocking his music sheets off the stand so they cascaded to the floor.

‘People always sing it wrong,' Donovan said with passion. ‘They do it all happy, but it's a sad song, a lament.'

‘I guess we could really ham it up,' Max said, on his knees to pick up the music sheets. ‘It could be fun.'

The Fäerie Knowe did a roaring trade, selling skeleton suits and witches' hats and fright masks. Hannah put her own outfit together, with a black velvet skirt and her beret and lots of her mother's powder and black eyeliner, but Scarlett turned up in the most expensive witch's outfit the shop sold. Donovan dressed just as usual, with the addition
of some black lipstick and nail polish, while Max wore his most tattered combat gear with a gory, red-splashed plastic axe stuck to his head.

‘Don't be late coming home, my chick,' Linnet said to Hannah, looking worried. ‘It's not a night to be out wandering about in the dark.'

‘But the sun sets so early! It's practically dark by four o'clock! Besides, I'll be with the others.'

‘Don't worry, Linnet, I'll go with the kids,' Roz said. She had only given her permission for Hannah to go after her daughter had begged her, and only because she was so glad Hannah was finally making a few friends. ‘I don't like the idea of them being out alone on Halloween either. All sorts of crackpots come out on Halloween.'

‘It's not the people I'm worried about,' Linnet muttered. Only Hannah—whose ears seemed preternaturally sharp these days—heard her.

The four friends had great fun roaming up and down the streets, singing ‘Loch Lomond' in the most mournful and heart-rending way, and collecting bags of lollies and chocolates, which they gave to Roz to carry.

Then, at dusk, Miss Underhill led an expedition up the hill and into the woods, everyone carrying plastic Halloween lanterns that Miss Underhill sold in the fairy shop for five pounds each.

She was dressed all in blue, with blue paint on her skin and a blue wig, and she carried a tall wooden staff and an enormous moon-shaped orange lantern. ‘I am the Cailleach Bheur, the blue-faced hag of winter,' she intoned in a deep, scary voice. ‘I was worshipped here in Scotland for centuries before the missionaries came. I carry hailstones in
my pockets to blight the crops, and with every strike of my staff I freeze the ground beneath me.'
Bam, bam!
She struck the ground with each step.

‘One touch of my staff knocks all the leaves off the trees.'
Swish, swish!
She swiped her staff through the twigs of a tree, bringing the leaves showering down. Everyone giggled. ‘The ocean's whirlpool is my wash-pool . . .'

Hannah followed the swinging moon of her lantern, her breath puffing white before her.

‘Did you know you can find out who you're going to marry tonight?' Scarlett said. ‘You've got to sit by a mirror, with a candle burning and an apple in your hand . . .'

‘Don't you know not to look in mirrors at night?' Donovan said. ‘That's how you see ghosts.'

‘That's so not true!'

‘Yes it is. Anyone knows that.'

‘I tell you what you're meant to do on Halloween,' Max said. ‘You light two candles and you sit in the dark in front of the mirror, and then you say, “Bloody Mary” nine times, louder and louder and louder . . . “Bloody Mary . . . BLOODY MARY . . .
BLOODY MARY
. . .” and then she reaches through the mirror and scratches your eyes out!'

‘Why on earth would I want to do that?' Hannah said.

‘I don't know . . . for fun?'

‘Doesn't sound like much fun.'

‘It's better than sitting around and staring into a mirror waiting for your one true love to appear,' Donovan said scornfully.

They came to the witch's pool, black as ink under the yew tree, and everyone grew silent. The trees bent and swayed in a cold wind, and only the blackthorn tree that crowned the
high hill was still irradiated with the last blood-red streaks of light.

Out of the corner of her eye Hannah saw shadows leaning over them and thought she could feel eyes watching them from the darkness. She remembered what Linnet had said.
It's an evil place now, that green hill. You mustn't go there, my chick, not on your own, and not at noon or midnight, or dawn or dusk, and definitely not on any of the thin days
.

Halloween was a thin day. Hannah pressed closer to her mother, who slung her arm about her shoulders protectively.

Miss Underhill sat on one of the yew tree's thick, contorted roots, holding the moon-lantern under her chin so it shone upwards onto her face, blue and hollowed, with strange glittering eyes. She began to tell the story of Eglantyne, who was burnt to death here, and whose ghost was thought to haunt the clearing.

But it can't
, Hannah thought.
Not if my father rescued her from the fire
.

She had been thinking a lot about her great-grandmother's story, and whether it could possibly be true. In the hag-stone vision she had seen her father and Eglantyne escape into the cave in the hill. What had happened to them then? If her father had the hag-stone with him, how had it ended up with a toad in the pond? She looked at the black water and shivered.

‘It's much too cold to be out this late, listening to this nonsense,' Roz said. She got to her feet, drawing Hannah with her and giving Miss Underhill a hostile glance. ‘Come on, let's get home.'

Hannah waved to her friends, who glanced up in surprise, and then she walked away through the night-haunted
trees. Roz walked beside her, hands shoved into her pockets.

‘You mustn't listen to those old stories,' she said gruffly. ‘There's no ghost here at Wintersloe, and no curse either.'

Hannah knew that her mother was wrong. Magic existed, both benevolent and baneful, and she was stalked by the shadow of a centuries-old tragedy. She did not say anything, though, just slipped her hand through her mother's arm and walked home with her in silence.

That night the wind moaned around the tower, rattling the bare branches of the wych elm and banging a loose shutter somewhere. Hannah lay and listened. She was sure she could hear high eerie cries, and the beat of wings and the drum of hooves.
It's only geese flying over
, she told herself.
Donovan's pink-footed geese
. . .

But her scalp was crawling and her skin was raised in goosebumps. There was a tight knot of fear in her stomach.
Audacia
, she told herself, and groped under her pillow for her hag-stone. She got out of bed and padded across to the east window, pressing her nose against the glass and looking towards Fairknowe Hill. All she could see was racing clouds and tossing branches. Hannah lifted the hag-stone to her eye.

And screamed.

Across the sky galloped a horde of strange beasts, ridden by tall beings with flashing eyes and streaming hair and whips of lightning, all speed and cruelty and darkness. And on Hannah's windowsill crouched the winged gargoyle with the horns, its wicked face turning to glare at her with eyes burning red as embers.

Hannah dragged the curtains shut and ran round the room. At every single window crouched a gargoyle come to life. Their eyes glowed red as they snarled with the most bloodcurdling sound. Hannah drew shut every curtain, then ran back to bed, her heart pounding with terror. She burrowed under the bedclothes, the hag-stone and the key clutched against her chest, and listened with all her might. She heard jeers and catcalls, and the scrape of claws against stone, and then the rattling of the windows in their frames as the gargoyles tried to get in. Hannah thought of the stars of rowan twigs she had nailed above each window and door, and hoped it was true they protected against evil. The rattling and snarling continued for a few long minutes, then she heard howls of frustration and the flap of leathery wings as the gargoyles flew off to join the Wild Hunt. Gradually the gibbering and shrieking faded away. But Hannah did not sleep until she heard the first calls of the birds' dawn chorus.

As the days grew shrunken and silvered with cold, Hannah's life fell into a natural rhythm. She breakfasted every morning with her mother and great-grandmother, helping Lady Wintersloe with the cryptic crossword, while Roz pored over the guide book and planned their day. Then Hannah and Roz drove out in the rattletrap to see Scotland. They explored ancient castles, saw baby seals playing off icy beaches, visited ancient battlegrounds and climbed snow-dusted hills, before coming home for Linnet's famous afternoon tea.

Hannah spent the rest of the time hanging out with whichever of her friends were free. Max and Scarlett rarely had the time during the week, for their afternoons were taken up with homework and music lessons, or, in Scarlett's case, karate, drama, singing and horseriding lessons. Donovan turned up most afternoons, however, the roar of his motorised bicycle destroying the peace of the silent old house. The two of them would go tramping through the woods in the chilly
dusk, looking for badgers or stags. Evenings were spent reluctantly in home schooling and, less reluctantly, reading by the fire.

Every Saturday afternoon the band would get together in the music room and practise. After Hannah said she thought Scarlett had fantastic rhythm and should take up drums, Scarlett was a little less sore about not being the lead singer any more. She began to muck around with the tambourine and the little hand-drum and found she had a real flair for it.

Otherwise, Hannah spent every free moment decoding her father's notebook, or searching the house and the old castle for some kind of double rose, tapping on walls, twisting carved roses, examining tapestries and cushions, even digging under rosebushes in the garden, all to no avail. Her father had hidden the recovered loop of the puzzle ring too well.

One afternoon she came out of the tower room, locked the door behind her and turned to head down the steep, narrow steps. Suddenly Jinx darted forward right under her feet. Hannah tripped and fell heavily. The old iron key was flung out of her hand. Jinx launched herself into the air, caught the key in her mouth and, with a lithe twist, landed halfway down the steps and was racing away.

Hannah scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her bruised knees, and raced after the bogey-cat. Jinx was quick and nimble, but Hannah was driven by fury and desperation. She flung herself on the grey cat, wrestled her to the ground and wrenched the key away. Jinx scratched her viciously, but Hannah fended her off roughly, exultant to have the key back in her hand. She shoved it deep into her pocket again
and limped down the hall to the drawing room, where Lady Wintersloe and Roz were reading companionably together, while Linnet built up the fire.