13 Curses (25 page)

Without warning, one of the tree’s branches suddenly swooped toward them. Impulsively, Red ducked, but Gredin gave a low chuckle.

“It’s all right.”

She sat up again, feeling foolish. She realized now that the branch hadn’t come to attack, but to set a platter on the table before retreating. Looking around the inn, she waited for a few moments, and then another branch swooped out carrying another platter to a different table.

The platter held bread and some hard-looking cheese, meat, some fruit, a bowl of eggs still in their shells, a full pitcher containing a dark liquid, and three stoneware mugs. Gredin poured himself a little of the liquid, drinking cautiously and warning Red and Stitch with his eyes to wait until he gave the go-ahead. After a sip, he nodded and filled their mugs, then took a slow bite of the bread. He did not nod this time, but simply divided the portion into three and pushed it toward them.

Red sipped her drink dubiously. It tasted sweet and vaguely familiar, yet there was a slightly bitter aftertaste.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Beesmead,” Gredin answered. “It’s made from honey and a small amount of hops.”

“It’s nice,” she said, taking a gulp that almost emptied her mug. She held it in her mouth to savor the taste. Gredin noticed.

“Eat and drink as much as you like,” he said. “You’ll never go hungry here.” He took her mug and placed it back on the platter. There was a light gurgle and the mug refilled.

“How did you do that?”

Gredin reached into his cloak and removed a small drawstring pouch. He cupped it in his hands and drew the drawstrings through his fingers repeatedly.

“Ever heard of the Thirteen Treasures?” he asked, looking at first Red, then Stitch.

Red nodded and glanced at Stitch. He was brushing crumbs from his increasingly bristly chin.

“I know a little of them,” he said. “An old legend, isn’t it? To do with the fairy courts? In fact, that reminds me….” He wiped grease from his fingers and pulled the old charm bracelet out of his pocket. “I’m pretty sure this is based on them. It belonged to the first lady of Elvesden Manor. She was a changeling.” He passed the piece of jewelry to Gredin.

“I remember this,” said Gredin, his dark brow furrowing as his long, thin fingers moved over the charms like spiders’ legs. “It was the cause of the drain-dweller’s unfortunate demise.”

“Let me see.” Red held out her hand for the bracelet, and examined each of the charms in turn. She knew them by heart, having committed them to memory with the rest of the information she’d hoarded in her mind. “The Sword, the Book, the Goblet, the Cauldron… they’re all here,” she muttered. “I never paid attention to it when I saw it before.” She set it on the table, then looked at Gredin expectantly.

“So, what do the Thirteen Treasures have to do with this place?”

Gredin twisted the cord of the drawstring bag around his fingers once more.

“One of the treasures—the Platter—was enchanted so that it would never let its owner go hungry. There’s a story that once, before the division of the great court, a human man—a farmer—and his family, showed hospitality to a fairy in disguise, even though the family was poor and had little for themselves. As repayment the fairy took the man before the court and
requested that he be rewarded. The court bestowed the power of the Platter upon the farmer and his family for all their days—and for their descendants. Their farm prospered from that day forth. As well as every meal that was prepared replenishing itself until each member had eaten their fill, their crops grew well, and their livestock was healthy and plentiful.

“Many years later, when the farmer was old and had passed the care of the farm over to his son, the fairy who had visited all those years ago paid the farm another visit. This time his daughter accompanied him, and at first sight she fell in love with the farmer’s son. The farmer agreed that his son and the fairy girl could marry, and so the farmer’s son returned to the fairy realm with his new wife and set up a little inn to trade from and to live in. Bestowed with his father’s good fortune, the inn flourished with its portions of food and ale that would never fail to satisfy any appetite, and”—Gredin spread his hands wide and glanced around them—“it continues to do so today.”

“This is the inn?” Red asked, with another happy sip of the beesmead.

Gredin shrugged. “So it’s said.”

She leaned back. The story was comforting, almost like one of the fairy tales from her book. She yawned, full and suddenly drowsy.

“We should rest,” said Stitch. “We’ve still got a long way ahead of us, and we should start out early again.”

Gredin nodded, finally opening the drawstring
bag in his hand and shaking out several silver coins. Red reached for one of them.

“I’ve never seen fey money before,” she said curiously. On one side, a tree in full blossom was etched into the coin’s surface. She flipped it over to see what was on the other side. “It’s a tree again,” she said aloud. “Only this time it’s like a skeleton, without any leaves.” She replaced it and reached for another. This one was larger, and showed six familiar symbols on one side.

“What do you see?” asked Gredin.

“A platter, a heart, a candelabrum, a dagger, a staff, and a key.”

“And on the other side?”

Red turned it over.

“A book,” she said slowly. “A ring. A sword, a cup… a goblet, a mask… and a cauldron.”

“The Thirteen Treasures,” said Stitch.

Gredin nodded. “Every fairy coin represents the two faces of the court: the Seelie and the Unseelie.” He pointed to the coin with the tree. “The side that’s in bloom represents spring and summer—the Seelie Court. The other side, where the tree is barren, is autumn and winter—the Unseelie.” He arranged the coins carefully on the table.

“You’re leaving them all Seelie side up,” Red noticed.

“It’s the custom,” said Gredin. “Coins used in payment must be offered with the side up that represents the court that is currently ruling. To do otherwise is believed to be bad luck. If witnessed by a
member of either court, it could be seen as treachery or disrespect, resulting in a penalty. So we always give them the right way.” His face clouded then. “And in two days, it changes once again.”

Red suddenly went cold.

“What do you mean, ‘two days’?” she asked.

“The changeover of the court,” Gredin replied. “From the Seelie to the Unseelie. We call it Samhain, but I believe you humans know it as Halloween.”

“
What?
” Red jumped up, knocking her stool over and upsetting her beesmead. Across from them, a fey woman with a scarred face looked over.

“SIT,” Gredin hissed, his golden eyes ablaze.

Red obeyed, but fear rose within her.

“I don’t understand,” she said hoarsely. “How can it be in two days? I knew some time had passed, but I had no idea how much! How can it be almost Halloween now?”

Stitch placed his hand on her arm.

“Red,” he said gently. “Nearly three months have passed since the night you came into the fairy realm. I don’t know how long the Hedgewitch kept you in that cellar…. It may have only felt like a day, but you’ve been here a lot longer than that.”

“It wasn’t the Hedgewitch,” Red said slowly. “When I first got in I was being chased. I needed a place to hide, so I climbed into the hollow of a tree with rowan berries growing around it…. They were green when I went in. And when I awoke the next morning, they were red… ripe.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes—my hair had grown… and before I got in I cut my hands on spidertwine. But the next day the cuts had healed.”

“A time slip, then,” Gredin muttered. “It’s not uncommon when a human enters the fairy realm. The clash of one thing from one world entering the other can often result in a slip. Sometimes it can be years… decades, even.”

Red stared at her scarred hands. “You make it sound like I should be grateful.”

“You should,” said Gredin, unflinching.

“Why didn’t it happen to Stitch?” she asked, turning to him. “How could you come into the realm and meet up with me? Wouldn’t there have been another time slip?”

“No,” said Stitch. “Because I didn’t come in alone, or of my own accord. I was brought in by fairies—in which case there would be no time slip.”

Red began to tremble. “We need to get to the court before they change over! It has to be the Seelie Court that gives me an audience—it can’t be the Unseelie! It
can’t
! We have to leave, right now! We have to keep going!”

“We are making good time,” Gredin said stiffly. “The Seelie Court will see you and hear the case for your brother—I am confident of that. Tonight we rest, and tomorrow we ride hard. But before that, I want to hear about the night your brother vanished.”

Without hesitation, Red began.

Sleeping was proving difficult for Rowan, especially since she now feared for James’s safety whenever he was out of her sight. Since the trip to the library, she’d hunted out every red item of clothing in the home that might be suitable for James to wear. She stole some red flannelette trousers and a pair of red socks from other children’s wardrobes and the laundry.

She dressed him in them only when she knew he was going to be out of her sight, but the thought that he would only remain safe for as long as he stayed silent worried her a great deal. He was prone to waking and calling out for her. As a result, her own sleep was fitful; she awoke three or four times every night to check on him.

Making the items last was also a challenge. Twice she dug the little red trousers out of the laundry basket to use again, once the backs of the watchful staff were turned.

Although she hoped that what had happened to Megan was a one-off, she took no chances. Her fears were soon realized. One day, three weeks after the trip to the library, Rowan went into the nursery to check on James. Straight away she could tell something was wrong. Two worried-looking carers were hovering around one of the cribs, speaking in low voices. She stepped closer to catch what they were saying.

“… doesn’t look good. How long has he been like this?”

“Since first thing this morning.”

“I think we need to call the doctor.”

Rowan stepped aside as one of the women turned to leave the room quickly, brushing past her.

“Is something wrong?” she called to the one who remained.

“Nothing to worry about,” came the forced cheerful reply. “Why don’t you take James out for some fresh air?”

Rowan eyed James, who was sitting up in his crib, gurgling to himself. Something—perhaps curiosity, perhaps intuition—made her draw closer to the crib with the sick child.

As soon as she laid eyes on it she could see the child had been switched—like Megan. Only this time, the thing that lay there instead of the human was plainly very ill. There were dark shadows beneath its eyes and its breathing was shallow. It looked up at her, and whatever mask it wore slipped beneath her gaze: it was a fairy, no question. And the reason it had been switched was its illness, she felt sure of it. It had been switched with a healthy child.

“Best keep James away,” said the carer. She flitted over to the other cribs, checking on the children one by one. “Oh, no…” she paused beside another of the children.

Rowan’s heart lurched. Already she knew what was coming.

“It’s another one, isn’t it?” she asked. “Another one is… ill.”

“Yes. I think you’d better take James out now.”

Rowan did as she was told. She hugged James to her tightly. How many more children would be taken? And was there anything she could do to make it stop? Before she could change her mind, she hurried toward John’s door and knocked loudly.

“Come in,” he called mildly.

Once inside, she closed the door behind her.

John looked up from mounds of paperwork on his desk.

“What is it, Rowan?”

“There’s something wrong in the nursery,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. “Something’s happening to the children.”

John leaned back in his chair and gestured for her to take a seat opposite him.