The Bone Quill (14 page)

‘There’s a
black
peryton?’ said Em.

‘These islands are a safe haven for Animare and their Guardians because of the islands’ special properties,’ answered Renard. ‘You see, before Hollow Earth became a place to trap and bind the terrible monsters from the world of our myths, it was the place that created two of the most powerful of those beasts: the white peryton and its twin, the black.’

‘Two islands, two perytons and two of us,’ said Matt apprehensively. The weight of all this information was settling uncomfortably in his head.

‘There is an interesting parallel here, yes,’ Renard agreed.

‘Did Dad know all of this, about the island and its powers and Hollow Earth?’ Matt’s heart was beating fast, his head still smarting from the book. ‘Did you tell him about it?’

‘When he turned sixteen, it was Malcolm’s time to learn,’ replied Renard. ‘Since ancient times, a Calder has lived on the island in order to protect Hollow Earth and keep it – and the powers of the island – a secret from the world. But Malcolm chose a different path. The path of power, greed and ambition. Your father is lost to us, Matt, because of the choices he made. I’m sorry.’

Without warning, a paperweight bust of the Scottish poet Robert Burns on Renard’s desk began babbling out one of his poems, his eyes bulging from his marble head, his short ponytail flapping up and down in the air.

Em looked white. Zach grabbed her hand again.

It’s going to be okay.

I feel sick. My tummy hurts.

‘The monks of Era Mina understood the world was changing,’ said Renard. ‘Science and learning were replacing magic and superstition, and they believed that such progress should be welcomed. They made it their mission to use the unique powers of the island and the abilities of their Animare brothers to trap the beasts from the dangerous, magical past by drawing them –
binding
them – into Hollow Earth using
The Book of Beasts
. But it remained unfinished, and the job half done. Hollow Earth remains a danger to anyone prepared to use the bone quill to unbind the beasts within.’

‘The monks of Era Mina sound kind of like Noah and his ark,’ Zach signed. ‘Gathering up all the beasts and monsters of the old world.’

Renard tapped the frame of the still-life on the wall. ‘I thought about this painting most of last night. I believe it is connected with Sandie’s disappearance, while Sandie’s disappearance is tied up with the history of this island and Malcolm’s quest to find and open Hollow Earth.’

‘You think Mum painted the goblet into the painting,’ Matt said with excitement. ‘Don’t you?’

‘I do,’ said Renard. ‘It was a clever choice of object. Something that only we would notice.’

‘She wanted to tell us where she’s gone!’ Matt burst out.

Em jumped up. ‘We’ve always wondered why she left without telling us anything.’

‘Exactly!’ said Matt. He picked up the mysterious old key from the table and rolled it between his fingers. He felt as if they were getting closer to unravelling the mysteries that Sandie had left behind. ‘She grabs one of the goblets from the kitchen and animates it into this still-life. Then she returns the painting to the wall, here where we’d notice it.’

Em fetched the magnifying glass to study the painting more closely. Filled with impatient energy, Matt grabbed the magnifying glass from his sister and shoved her aside. The key in his hand clattered to the floor.

‘Cut it out, both of you,’ said Simon sharply.

Zach crawled under the table and retrieved the key. But when he stood up, instead of putting the key back in its place, he held it up in front of the desk in the painting. Directly in front of the keyhole on the desk drawer.

‘N
o
way you’re animating into another painting,’ said Simon firmly, as everyone stared at the still-life on the library wall.

‘But Mum may have left us a message in that desk,’ Matt said.

‘I don’t care,’ said Simon. He had taken the key from Zach. ‘Until we’ve exhausted every possibility for what this key might mean in our reality right here,’ he thumped his hand on the table for emphasis, ‘I forbid you to go to another one.’

Matt could feel rage rising in his gut. Em glared at him.

Calm down. You’re not helping our chances.

He can’t forbid us, Em! He’s not our father and he’s not my Guardian!

If you keep losing your temper, he’ll inspirit you. And then we’ll never be able to do anything without his encouragement, so please cool it.

Matt was about to open his mouth again, when Renard suddenly spoke.

‘Sit. Both of you. Please.’

The twins sat.

‘As difficult as it is for you to understand all that’s happened here since your arrival, you must know that we only have your best interests at heart.’

Matt hated it when adults said this to him. His mum had said it the day they had fled London, and now look what had happened.

Renard went on. ‘I agree with Simon. We should be absolutely sure that we have a reason to animate, especially into this particular painting.’

‘Why?’ asked Matt, doing his best to temper his tone.

‘If we assume that this painting is by Duncan Fox – and everything would indicate this to be true: style, date etc – then the date on the picture troubles me,’ said Renard. ‘If 1848 is correct, then it was the last painting Fox completed before he discovered Hollow Earth, and made it his mission to do what he could to keep it sealed and protected. 1848 is the last time that Hollow Earth was in danger of being opened.’

The twins digested this.

‘
If
Duncan Fox painted it,’ Renard repeated. He smiled slightly, as if enjoying a private joke. Then he opened his desk drawer and took out a red clothbound journal.

‘Is that Fox’s diary?’ asked Matt.

Renard nodded. He passed the journal to Em. Matt and Zach gazed over her shoulder as she flipped through the yellowed musty pages. It was filled with words and sketches.

‘I’ve never seen that before,’ said Simon.

‘The diary was found shortly before we bound Malcolm,’ Renard said. ‘I haven’t shared it around much since then.’

‘Go back,’ said Matt, directing Em to a page with some of Fox’s drawings and pointing at the biggest one. ‘Isn’t that the Abbey?’

That’s like the picture I found this morning, Em. But this one has the tower under construction.

Maybe the painting you found was just unfinished.

No, I think one was painted after the other. I think Duncan Fox is my time-traveller. Now I
really
want to meet the dude.

‘It certainly looks like the Abbey,’ said Em, doing her best to ignore Matt’s voice in her head. Zach tilted his head for a better view and nodded his agreement.

‘The diary tells us a great deal,’ said Renard. He looked at the still-life. ‘But it makes no mention of this painting. Which strikes me as curious. I don’t think this still-life was painted by Duncan Fox at all.’

Matt frowned. ‘Then who?’

‘I think it may have been painted by your mother.’

E
veryone
began throwing questions at Renard, even Simon. The din in the room was so loud that Jeannie rushed in to see what the ruckus was about.

‘Em,’ said Simon, ‘you look pale. Are you feeling okay?’

‘Just a tummy ache,’ Em whispered. ‘But don’t tell Jeannie. She’ll make me drink a cabbage-water tonic.’

Zach picked up the key and held it up in front of the desk drawer on the still-life again. ‘Now there’s even more reason to believe this might fit that lock,’ he signed.

‘Em and I
need
to animate into that painting,’ said Matt at once.

‘They may be on to something, Renard,’ Simon murmured.

‘But where might they end up?’ Renard gestured at the painting. ‘If that picture is by Fox, you will end up in 1848. If it was painted by your mother, you may find that you only travel back two months. You travel to the time in which the image was created, do you not?’

The question made Em feel light-headed. Outside it was drizzling. The light and the rain reflecting on the great mirror installation made the trees look as if they were walking backwards on the lawn.

‘It’s too risky. I won’t allow it,’ said Renard decisively.

‘What if I went with them into the painting?’ Simon suggested. ‘We know they’re strong enough to shift me, too. Then at least I’m there, wherever we end up.’

Em felt Zach’s anger buffet her like a fan blowing against her body.

We wouldn’t be gone long, Zach.

I don’t have to like being left behind.

Grandpa’s not coming with us either.

He’s an old man.

Zach!

‘We open the drawer with the key,’ continued Simon, ‘find what Sandie has left for us – assuming the key works – and come directly back.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Matt confidently.

If Grandpa doesn’t let us go now, Em, we’ll go on our own later.

Matt! We wouldn’t do that.

I would.

Em stared at her brother.
You don’t really mean that.

Matt shrugged off her dismay. At long last he had a clue to his mum’s disappearance, and he was not letting it go.

Simon loudly cleared his throat. The twins noticed the room had quietened.

‘What were you two squabbling about in your heads?’ asked Renard.

Matt stole a glance at Em. ‘We think we can control our animation so that we don’t time-travel,’ he said.

Zach could feel Em’s anxiety tightening the muscles in his neck.

Are you okay?

Em nodded at Zach, but she wasn’t okay at all. She hated it when Matt lied, and she hated it that she was glad that he had.

‘Fine,’ said Renard reluctantly. ‘But Simon goes with you and you animate into the painting directly. Retrieve whatever clue Sandie has left and then animate back ... immediately. Understood?’

Simon
stood between the twins with his fingers hooked on the waistbands of their jeans, leaving their hands free to animate. Renard had moved the still-life from the wall to an easel in the centre of the library, around which they were all gathered.

In unison, the twins locked the image of the painting in their imaginations and closed their eyes. Matt leaned in front of Simon and began drawing the desk first. While he captured that, Em tackled the specific objects sitting on the desk, starting with the skull. She loved drawing skulls.

Wait!

Em’s eyes popped open a beat before she heard Zach’s whistle. Matt lifted his hand from the page, the paper already shimmering with lines of light. Zach grabbed the key they’d almost forgotten and slipped it quickly into his dad’s pocket.

The twins resumed their drawing, fingers flying, becoming more translucent with every stroke. Soon the three of them were made up of light and colour. With a whoosh, they shot into the centre of the still-life, sending tiny haloes of light into the air above it.