Hollow Earth (36 page)

Hobbling on crutches, Zach walked into the kitchen first. Matt came in right behind him, his arm in a sling. Em, her hip bruised but nothing broken, helped Simon guide Vaughn across the threshold, his fractured ribs wrapped tightly, the cuts and gashes from his fall cleaned and stitched.

Jeannie stood blocking their view of the kitchen table, hands on her hips.

‘Ye all are in big trouble,’ she said. She drilled Vaughn with her stare. ‘And you! Hardly a peep in years. Why did ye not get here sooner tae help? It’s porridge for ye all for a week.’ Then she stepped aside. ‘But birthday cake first!’

A three-tiered coconut cake blazed with twenty-six candles on the table – thirteen for Em, thirteen for Matt. Pulling the twins into a cuddle the likes of which they’d never experienced in their lives, she kissed them hard. ‘Did ye think I’d let a couple of demented Animare get in the way of cake? Happy birthday, bairns.’

Em and Matt grinned at each other, as Jeannie scooped Zach into a similar chokehold of a cuddle, kissing and pecking at the top of his head like a mother hen. Vaughn could see he was next. He figured his best bet was to remind Jeannie of his ribs, and then relax and enjoy the moment, because there was just one thing on his mind – he was glad to be back.

After devouring most of the cake, they gathered around the kitchen hearth, where Jeannie served them steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ she said, heading over to the utility room and returning with a plastic carrier bag. ‘One of the Chief Constable’s men dropped this off right after I got home. They found it in the cave.’

Simon reached in and pulled out Sandie’s satchel. He looked at Em, then at Matt. ‘Which one of you wants to do the honours?’

‘Together,’ said Em.

Mum should be here. We’ve never had a birthday without her.

I know. Maybe this will help us find her.

Taking the satchel from Simon, she squeezed in between Zach and Matt on the other couch.

‘Hey, watch the arm,’ yelped Matt.

‘Oh, don’t be such a baby.’ Em set the satchel on the coffee table in front of them. She fiddled with the catch, but it wouldn’t open. ‘It’s still locked!’

Vaughn took a small gold key off his keyring. ‘The day you left London, your mum asked me to get that bag out of her safety-deposit box at the bank and bring it to her at Covent Garden. I’ve always carried a spare key for it.’

‘Do you know what’s inside?’ asked Matt.

‘No,’ Vaughn said. ‘I don’t. All I know is that your mum considered whatever was inside to be a kind of insurance policy – leverage was her exact word – against anything happening to her or to both of you. I always assumed she meant it was proof against the art-forgery ring Sir Charles Wren had involved her in. I didn’t know then that Arthur Summers was also blackmailing her. And it’s only recently that I’ve learned that the rumours about the revival of the Hollow Earth Society are true. I’m not sure how much Wren knows about that.’

With Matt and Zach leaning over her shoulder, Em opened the satchel. Reaching inside, she pulled out a rusty brass key bearing the crest of the Abbey. She passed the key to Simon, who glanced at it, shrugged and placed it on the table. Then she lifted out a thin metal case, half the size and thickness of a laptop.

An inscription etched on the front of it read:

Simon picked up the slim metal case. ‘It looks like the kind of thing museums use to transport valuable books or pages from illuminated manuscripts.’

He set the case on the coffee table in front of them, carefully breaking the seal and lifting the lid. Everyone leaned forward to look inside.

‘It’s just a page from an old book,’ said Matt, disappointed.

Under a protective shield of thin, clear Perspex was a page of vellum from an ancient illuminated manuscript. The page began:

Shimmering gold leaf illuminated each of the five capital letters. A trail of ink that had spilled from the scribe’s quill looked like tiny teardrops across the page.

Em’s expression was an odd combination of a smile and a frown. ‘It’s weird,’ she said. ‘I can see these words in my head the way I can see an animation. It’s as if they’re glowing.’

Zach sketched quickly in the air. ‘What’s the page from?’

Simon went across the hall to the library, returning with a very old leather book. Flipping through, he found the place he was looking for and set the book down in front of them. It showed a picture of the page from Sandie’s satchel.

‘
The Book of Beasts
,’ Matt read from the description. ‘One of the last bestiaries produced by the ancient order of monks at the Monastery of Era Mina, and believed to have been destroyed in the nineteenth century.’

‘What’s a bestiary?’ asked Zach.

‘A kind of alphabet book of imaginary beasts,’ said Vaughn.

‘Now what?’ asked Em, as Simon sealed the page back in its case.

‘I don’t know,’ Simon admitted.

Matt felt furious. ‘So after everything we’ve been through – even after discovering that our own mother is supposed to have bound our dad in a painting to stop him from hurting us – we’ve got no idea why this piece of paper is so important, and we’re still no closer to finding our mum?’

Vaughn wheezed a little when he spoke. He picked up the rusty brass key and dangled it thoughtfully. ‘Your mother clearly thought that page and this key were something worth keeping from you – from all of us. And knowing Sandie, whatever else she might have done for Sir Charles Wren and Arthur Summers to keep her secret about binding Malcolm in a painting, she would do anything to protect her children.’

Jeannie gathered up the mugs, nudging Simon to look at the children. Zach was almost asleep, his head resting on the arm of the couch. The twins were pale, their eyes drooping as they fought to stay awake.

‘I think,’ said Vaughn, carefully easing himself from the couch, ‘when we’ve all had some time to rest and heal, we’ll just have to put our talents to finding out everything we can about this manuscript page and key.

‘I’m convinced they have something to do with Hollow Earth, and
everything
to do with your mum’s disappearance.’

SEVENTY-FIVE

M
att and Zach were eating breakfast in the kitchen with Vaughn when Em wandered down the back stairs. Floating behind her was a version of herself dressed in white chain-mail, wielding an impressive sword.

‘My goodness,’ said Vaughn, almost spraying a mouthful of coffee across the table. ‘What is that?’

Neither Zach nor Matt looked up. They continued shovelling their breakfasts into their mouths. ‘You’ll get used to living with a girl in the house,’ Matt said between mouthfuls. ‘Their dreams are pretty weird.’

Jeannie snapped her fingers next to Em’s head, and the dream Em dissolved in a cloud of white dust. Yawning, Em sat at the table next to Vaughn. Jeannie slid a bowl in front of her. Em stared at it.

‘I thought you were kidding. Not porridge, Jeannie. It’s still my birthday!’

‘I don’t joke about keeping me informed at all times of your whereabouts,’ Jeannie said pointedly.

‘We had it, too,’ said Matt.

‘Eat up,’ Vaughn advised, scooping a spoonful of the white gruel from Em’s bowl. ‘Simon’s got plans for you this morning.’

Two hours later, the twins were standing outside Renard’s room at the hospital with Simon.

‘There’s been no change,’ said Renard’s doctor, holding the door open. ‘But that can be a good thing when you’re dealing with a traumatic brain injury like this one.’

Em set her sketchpad and markers on the bedside table. Leaning over the bed, she kissed her grandfather’s cheek. Matt pulled a chair up on the other side.

‘Remember, only soft conversation,’ said the doctor, as Simon ushered her politely out of the door. ‘Your grandfather’s brain needs peace and quiet to heal.’

As soon as the doctor was gone, Simon closed the door and hurried around the room, shutting the blinds. While Em opened her sketchpad to a clean page, Matt perched Van Gogh’s
Poppy Fields
, the painting Em had brought to the hospital on their last visit, on the bed.

‘Ready?’ asked Simon.

Em and Matt nodded in unison. They each took one of their grandfather’s hands and began to draw. Matt skilfully outlined the white-pebbled path running through the centre of the painting, the thatched cottage and the tall palm tree, before shading in the distant blue of the sea on the horizon. Em used her red, purple and black markers to create the fields of lush poppies that filled the rest of the canvas. Together, the twins imagined Van Gogh’s blistering summer day in Saint-Rémy, France.

Em looked at Matt across the hospital bed. Matt turned to say something to Simon – and then Em was standing next to him on the pebbled path, their grandfather walking towards them through the field of thick, lush poppies.

Renard embraced them both.
I’ve always loved this painting. Thank you for bringing it to my room, Em
.

Grandpa, we might not have much time. We need to ask you something about our dad.

Let’s walk towards the sea, shall we?

Hand in hand, they went towards the horizon, the poppies swishing in the summer breeze.

We need to know exactly what happened to him.

Renard sighed.
I had planned to have this conversation with you the day I took you to the vault. Your mother didn’t want me to tell you, and after what happened to you down in the vault, Em, I fear she may have been correct
.

The sun was warm on Em’s skin, yet she felt chilled.

It’s my greatest regret, my dears, that I did not see what was happening to my own son. He was seduced by visions of great wealth and power
.

The thick perfume of the poppies and the intensity of the hot sun were making Em feel sick.

Did he believe in Hollow Earth?

Yes. And so does your mother.

A green bench stood under a tall tree in front of the thatched cottage at the edge of the path. The three of them sat down.

That’s why I agreed to help her. She and I bound your father in a copy of Fox’s painting, so that he could never use your powers for his own gain
.

The twins were speechless. Em snuggled close to her grandfather.

As you know, only an Animare and a Guardian together can fully bind another person. We both knew your dad was becoming dangerous and reckless. He knew that one day your powers might become the key to opening Hollow Earth
.

The conversation was draining Renard’s powers, too. Matt looked ill.

Your mother and I bound Malcolm together. Then she fled with you both to London, telling everyone he had abandoned you there.

But why not just stay with you at the Abbey?

Your mother couldn’t bear to have you anywhere near your dad, bound or not. You see, your father is locked in a painting in the Abbey’s vault. The very one that caused you so much distress when you entered the vault that day, Em.

The twins were so startled at this extraordinary piece of information that they started to lose control of their animation. The scene around them began to bleed, as if someone had poured water on the canvas. The red of the poppies was seeping into the white pebbles of the path, a river of blue from the horizon was running past the bench. Em could hear her grandfather’s heart monitor beeping loud in her head. Through the slipping colours, she looked at Matt.

Tanan must have assumed that Mum would carry the picture with her wherever she went, to keep it out of the wrong hands.

Matt reached down and picked up a handful of dissolving pebbles from the path, rolling them nervously in his hands, trying to process what he was hearing.

Sir Charles Wren and Arthur Summers knew your mother had bound your father illegally. Binding a person requires the Council’s full knowledge and consent. Binding anyone other than an Animare is a grievous violation of Council rules – and even more so if the person in question is a Guardian.

I thought Sir Charles was head of the Council?

He is, Em. But there is money to be made from talents like your mother’s, and Sandie was blackmailed. In order to keep you both safe and to keep herself free, I fear that she has done many things that only she can and should tell you about.

The beeping was much louder, the monitors screaming in the twins’ heads. The edges of the cottage were softening now, the brown and yellow thatch oozing into the white walls.

Reaching into the poppy field, Renard scooped an armful of fading blossoms into his arms, tucking one in Matt’s T-shirt pocket, before handing the bouquet to Em. Then he hugged them both.

Happy birthday. Be brave, both of you. I will be back with you soon.

Em was no longer sitting on the bench. Matt couldn’t smell the poppies any more. All he could smell was antiseptic. The painting faded just as the doctor barged into Renard’s room, a nurse right behind her, to silence the high-pitched alarms of the monitors.