13 Curses (21 page)

Morag nodded her agreement, much to Tanya’s relief. Her secret was safe.

“Where did you find Nell?” she asked.

Morag drained the rest of her tea in a single gulp and glanced surreptitiously at the teapot. Florence
dutifully leaned over and refilled her cup. The old woman beamed.

“She was in the woods. Came knocking on my door, in a dreadful muddle.” She paused to give Oberon a pat; he had rested his large brown head on her knee and was sniffing at her many layers of clothing with interest. “I could see she was disoriented and exhausted. She could barely walk.”

A deep line had appeared in Florence’s forehead.

“Nell, you have to tell us what happened,” she insisted.

“They made me dance,” Nell said in a small squeak, then pressed her lips tightly together as if she had revealed too much.

Tanya looked down at Nell’s feet, protruding from beneath the blanket. They were dirty and grass-stained, and there were cuts and blisters all over them. Her flip-flops were barely in one piece.

Morag helped herself to a custard cream from a small dish Florence had placed on the table. At once, Oberon started to drool over her knees.

“That’s about all I could get out of her too,” Morag said through a crumbly mouthful.

“Was my father with her?” Fabian asked urgently. “Did she say anything at all about where she had been?”

“No, nothing,” said Morag. “She was alone, like I said.”

“She got lost in the woods earlier this afternoon with Warwick,” Florence explained.

“We were looking for General Carver,” Nell mumbled, staring into the fire. She was still shivering hard.

“Her parrot,” Tanya explained, seeing Morag’s baffled expression. “He flew off. That’s why Nell and Warwick were in the woods in the first place. I saw what happened. They were pulled into one of the fairy rings by some… well, some fairies—”

“Naturally,” said Morag, as though such occurrences were commonplace. “I thought as much. That would explain the dancing.” She dunked another custard cream in her tea. “Dangerous time of year for it.”

“This is just a bad dream,” Nell murmured, starting to rock. Her eyes were fixed and staring on the fire. “There’s no such thing as fairies. I’m going to wake up any minute, and when I do, the General will be here and everything will be all right and…
Oh!
What did you do that for, you little pest?”

Fabian had leaned forward and pinched her.

“Because that’s what you do when you think you’re dreaming,” said Fabian. “You pinch yourself to check if you’re awake or not. But obviously you weren’t going to do it, so I thought I’d help.”

Nell’s eyes filled with tears.

“I don’t want to stay here,” she sniffed. “I want to find General Carver, and I want to leave. He’ll be terrified out there, alone and in the dark.”

“I’m rather more concerned about Warwick,” Florence said stiffly. “I know you’ve had a terrible
shock, Nell, but we need you to cooperate. The things you saw in the woods are real, and now Warwick is in danger. We need you to tell us what happened so we can find him… just tell us what you can.”

“There were three of them,” said Nell through her tears, looking at Tanya as if to back her up.

Tanya nodded encouragingly.

“They were playing this tune… it was like nothing I’d ever heard. My body was moving of its own accord—I couldn’t control it. All I could do was dance, around and around. They kept changing the notes, shifting, moving to other circles to dance in. We were moving through the woods. I was tired, so tired. I begged them to let me stop, but they just carried on, getting faster and faster—”

“And my father,” Fabian interrupted. “What was he doing?”

“The same,” Nell continued. “Just dancing, he couldn’t stop either… but he wasn’t as tired as I was. We kept on and on; I thought it would never stop. And all the while they kept laughing and singing, and they were so strange….” She shuddered. “I only got away because my flip-flop got caught on the root of a little tree laden with red berries—it hooked me back, and broke the dance somehow.”

“Red berries,” said Morag, thoughtfully. “Sounds like it was rowan—protection against dark magic.”

“They didn’t even realize I’d fallen behind,” Nell continued, in a quavering voice. “They just carried on until I lost sight of them. Warwick was still with them.”

There was a long, brooding silence.

“But there’s still a chance,” said Fabian, desperately. “Perhaps my father isn’t far away… perhaps he managed to break the spell as well, somehow. He could be in the woods right now!”

“It’s possible,” Florence said quietly. “But unlikely. If Warwick had managed to get away, he would have found his way back by now. I’m sure of it.”

“But he might be injured,” Fabian protested. “He might not be able to make it back! We should go and look for him. If Nell got away, then he might have too!”

Florence shook her head. “Much as I want to believe that, I think the chances are slim. We’ll wait here until Raven and Gredin bring news.” She gave Tanya and Fabian a warning look. “And that’s final.”

Morag got up, folding her blanket. She reached for her shawl, still damp, and threw it around her shoulders before walking to the back door.

“I must go now,” she said. “But I will see… what I can see. An answer may present itself.”

“She means her visions, doesn’t she?” Fabian whispered to Tanya.

“Thank you, Morag,” said Florence. “But I’d hate to think of you walking through the woods in the dark on a night like this. Stay with us—we have plenty of rooms we could put you in.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Morag, with a sudden cackle. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’ll bet,” Fabian muttered under his breath, and Tanya dug him in the ribs.

Florence opened the back door and peered doubtfully into the night.

“I really don’t like the idea of you going back into the woods this late alone. In fact, I have an idea….” She stepped out into the darkness and gave a tuneful little whistle. Only the wind replied, throwing leaves back at her. She stepped out farther and whistled again, more loudly.

Nearby, a bush parted and a man of only knee height stepped out. He was wearing funny little trousers made from tea towels and a jacket of thick material that had evidently once been a curtain: it fastened down his middle with hooks and eyes.

“Brunswick!” Tanya exclaimed.

“Where?” Fabian demanded, craning his neck and squinting through his thick spectacles.

Florence put a finger to her lips and motioned to Nell, who remained in a shocked silence by the fire. To the goblin she said:

“It’s all right, Brunswick. You can show yourself.”

The goblin smiled shyly and stepped forward. Unlike the last time Tanya had seen him, he looked happy and healthy, his face free of the usual bruises that were the result of beatings from two other goblins. Then, though Tanya saw no visible change, she heard Fabian catch his breath as the goblin revealed himself.

“Brunswick lives here now, in the garden,” Florence
explained. “The other goblins don’t trouble him anymore—Warwick banished them from the grounds when we saw how they were treating him.”

“How did he manage that?” Tanya asked. Somehow she could not imagine the two hateful goblins taking orders from anyone.

“He told them that if he ever saw them again he’d lock them in iron cages and throw them into the catacombs,” her grandmother said matter-of-factly.

Fabian gave a low whistle. “That ought to do it.”

“Brunswick, would you mind taking our friend safely home through the woods?” Florence asked the goblin, gesturing to the old gypsy woman.

Brunswick beamed and offered his hand to Morag.

“Safe you’ll be if you accompany me.”

“He still speaks in rhyme sometimes,” Florence explained. “Just out of habit. He spent so long in the company of the other two goblins that he slips back into his old ways from time to time.”

Tanya remembered how Brunswick’s old companions had only spoken in (and responded to) rhyming speech. Later she had found out that this was a common punishment for fairies that had been banished from their own realm for wrongdoings.

Morag accepted Brunswick’s hand, and the strange pair set off through the garden, over the rock garden, and through the gate toward the forest.

Back in the kitchen, Florence locked the door for the second time that night and smoothed her silvery hair back into its bun. The events of the day had crept
up on her. Her face was drawn and the color of white laundry when a dark sock is accidentally thrown in.

“I’m going to check on Amos,” she said. “And after that I’m going to make some supper. We need to keep our strength up.” She left the room, and they heard the tread of her footsteps going up to the second floor, where Amos’s room was.

Tanya and Fabian stayed with Nell, who was rocking again in her chair in front of the fire. Her face was white, her eyes glassy. When Oberon nosed her hands in her lap, she did not respond.

“Do you think Florence will tell Amos that Warwick is missing?” said Fabian.

“No,” said Tanya. “It would only upset him, and that’s the last thing we need.” She was starting to get a tight ball of worry in her chest. She glanced at Nell, then at the window. Through the grimy glass she could see the trees against the moon being whipped back and forth like reeds in the wind. If Warwick was out there, alone, would he be afraid?

Five horses were tethered behind the Hedgewitch’s cottage. Between them, Red and Stitch chose the three that appeared the healthiest, saddling up one each to ride and a third to carry their belongings. Red chose a palomino mare, while Stitch quickly bonded with a sturdy stallion. The third horse was an energetic, cream-colored colt.

“It’s best we take three,” Stitch said, fastening the buckle on his saddle. “It gives us a chance to rest the horses and covers us if one should go lame.”

They freed the other two horses, knowing that there was now no one to care for them, and watched as they meandered off into the woods. Then they set off, keen to leave the awful events of the Hedgewitch’s cottage behind them. They rode in silence, walking at first. Not only was this to gauge the horses’
temperaments, but Red had told Stitch about the trap she had fallen into. Neither of them wanted to run the risk of overlooking another one.

Soon they heard the trickling of the stream and headed toward it, dismounting to fill their flasks. Stitch took out the map and spread it on the grass, chewing his lower lip as he studied it. By the time Red had bundled the water on the horses and led them to the stream to drink, he had rolled it back up and put it away, and was watching her when she mounted the palomino once more.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, unsettled.

“Are you really willing to leave Eldritch chained up in that dungeon?”

Red stared at him coldly. Raising herself in the stirrups, she removed the Hedgewitch’s key from her pocket and hurled it into the running water.

“Does that answer your question?”

Stitch stared at the bubbles on the water’s surface.

“Perfectly.”

She clicked the horse on, moving through the dappled shade of the trees. Stitch followed, drawing up alongside her.

“How did you become like this?” he asked. “You’re just a child.”

Red laughed mirthlessly. “I think my childhood ended the night my brother was taken.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened that night? With Eldritch, and that burn of yours?”

“I’m tired of talking about myself,” Red answered shortly. “I want to hear about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to hear what you know about fairies, and how you know about them. You said back in the dungeon that you know people… people with the second sight. How did you become involved with them?”

Stitch pushed an overhead branch away from his face.

“I work for one of them, the owner of Elvesden Manor.” He lowered his voice and glanced about, checking their deserted surroundings. “Florence. She has the second sight, but it wasn’t until Tanya was born that I knew anything of fairies, even though I’d been surrounded by them all my life.” He paused, as though still not quite believing this fact. “I grew up at the manor. My father was the groundskeeper before I was—he’d worked there since he was sixteen. But Morwenna Bloom’s disappearance shaped the rest of his life.”