The Poisoned Crown (25 page)

Hazel, gazing at Lily and Franco with revulsion, decided she didn’t do the mixed-generation thing, and parties should be reserved for people under twenty-five, who were supposed to behave like that, while their elders should be forced to stay home and watch television and generally be saved from themselves. She nudged Nathan, pointing out that Annie was now in a clinch with a man whose green sweatshirt seemed bent on Saving the Rain Forest, but Nathan had fallen into conversation with Liberty Rayburn and didn’t appear to mind. In desperation, Hazel went to look for the loo.

She wasn’t familiar with Riverside House so although there were several bathrooms it took her some time to find one that was unoccupied. When she emerged she overheard Ursula extolling the thrill of the Room of Death and leading a gang of friends up the spiral stair in Rianna Sardou’s tower, so she followed, out of mild curiosity, but there was nothing of interest to see and she came back downstairs without waiting to hear a story the true version of which she knew well already.
The room below was obviously being used as a cross between a bedroom and temporary storage space: there was a bed with several stuffed animals in residence, and a stack of cardboard boxes, opened but not unpacked, evidently full of books. Hazel climbed onto the bed to check her face in an adjacent mirror—she was sure she had a pimple coming—and saw that behind the boxes there was a pool of water on the floor. Toddler’s accident, she thought, but no, there was too much of it for that, and the corner of a piece of paper caught her eye, sticking out from under the duvet, and when she pulled it out she saw a few words on it written in a language that was not in everyday use. The language of the Stone.

She glanced up into the mirror, and the face that looked back at her was not her own.

“Well, well,” said the reflection. “It’s been quite awhile.”

For an instant, it was beautiful, with silver-blond hair and petals falling around it like spring snow—Lilliat, the Spirit of Flowers, whom Hazel had conjured more than a year before when she wanted to becharm a boy in her class. Then it changed into the pale drowned visage of Nenufar the water spirit, its hair a streaming darkness and its eyes black, completely black, with no whites or visible pupils, like a glimpse into the ocean deeps.

“Vardé!”
Hazel cried, trying to keep her head.
“Néfia!”

The reflection slid across the mirror, flickered briefly in the water pool on the floor, and was gone.

“What was that?” Ursula said, descending the stairs. “Did you call out?”

“Whose room is this?” Hazel demanded, forgetting her usual shyness.

“Romany’s—just for now, though I wasn’t planning to leave her here. There’s a problem with damp—” Her gaze fell on the puddle. “Oh God no, not
again.
It’s got to be the plumbing, but I don’t know how—”

“Where is she?” Hazel interrupted. “Shouldn’t she be in bed?”

“Heavens no. I always let the kids stay up for parties—it’s not like there’s school tomorrow, and it would be so mean to send them to bed
when everyone’s having fun. Gawain’s given up—Jude tucked him up in the other tower about half an hour ago—but I think Romany’s still going strong. She’ll be around somewhere. Who—?”

“Where did she get this?” Hazel held out the piece of paper.

“What is it?” Ursula glanced idly at the unfamiliar words. “Is that Basque or something? I haven’t seen it before. I suppose it must have been with the stuff we found here when we moved in, books and so on. I seem to remember Romany going through some of them—she reads way above her age—”

“I think we should find her,” Hazel said. “Like, now.”

“I told you, she’s around somewhere. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Hazel snatched the piece of paper from Ursula’s slackened grip and ran back to the focus of the party. She couldn’t recollect seeing a little girl around who might have been Romany Macaire, or not for some time, but you didn’t really notice children at parties, they were just there, interchangeable small beings rushing around and getting under everyone’s feet, hazards to be stepped over or avoided. At least Romany with her chocolate skin and nubbly braids couldn’t be mixed up with the others.
She’s almost certainly all right
, Hazel thought.
I just want to see her
—
ask her
—

She found first Annie, then Nathan, showing them the piece of paper, explaining about seeing Nenufar. Annie responded instantly, shedding the ginger beard, saying: “I was afraid of something like this.” Nathan took longer, distracted by Liberty, who was clearly a little scornful of what she saw as a panic reaction to nothing of importance.

“Romany’s okay. She’s probably curled up somewhere with a book. What’s the fuss about? Mum doesn’t keep her on a leash, you know.”

But once Nathan had grasped what was happening he joined Hazel in a search that instinct told her was fruitless. They found half a dozen younger children in the other tower, playing Nintendo or lapsed into slumber. None of them had seen Romany for some while. Jude Ray-burn asked what was going on and, since it was obvious by then that Romany was actually missing, roped in his brother and sister to help. They peered into every corner, turned over every cushion, lifted up
every blanket, but Romany was nowhere about. Annie fetched Ursula, who said she was sure there was no need to get upset, and then remembered the river and sat down very quickly and had to be restrained from running down to the bank and jumping in the water immediately.

Donny Collier called the police.

The party, infected by the creeping shadow of disaster, began to disintegrate. Guests offered to help organize search parties but Annie sent most of them home, saying they would be contacted if it was necessary. In a momentary lull she called Bartlemy.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

Jude led a group of people to check the garden and the riverbank, slightly inhibited by being able to only find two flashlights, and they came across one of Romany’s mittens under a bush, but, as Annie said, that didn’t really mean anything, since she could have lost it days ago.

Hazel said: “We must
think.
Nenufar wouldn’t kill her … what would be the point? She’s using her as a way in, a way to—”

Liberty said: “Who’s Nenufar?”

A couple of police officers arrived, clearly feeling panic was premature. Children weren’t kidnapped at parties, merely mislaid. The little girl had obviously wandered off and fallen asleep somewhere, she would turn up presently none the worse for wear, Mrs. Rayburn wasn’t to worry …

“Of course I’m worried!” Ursula retorted. “What about the river?”

One of the officers said they couldn’t get divers till morning, which had Ursula screaming for spotlights and where was modern technology when you needed it.

At some point Bartlemy appeared, inserting himself into the scene with his usual unobtrusive authority. “The recluse,” Ursula said. “Not
now
,” but he persuaded her to drink an herbal tea he had brought with him, which smelled, and presumably tasted, far more interesting than ordinary herbal tea, and which calmed her down and made her drowsy.

“He’s much too fat and kindly to be a recluse,” she told Annie. “He ought to have a lean and hungry look.” And then, with a sudden resurgence of anxiety: “Maybe he’s a pedophile. Pedophiles often look kindly—to reassure the children. Oh my God …”

“He’s not a pedophile,” Annie said. “Anyway,
they’re
the ones with the lean and hungry look. I’ve seen them on TV cop shows.”

Ursula accepted this—a tribute to the side effects of the tea—and presently allowed Donny to put her to bed on the sofa, since that wasn’t the same as really going to bed, and she was still there if they needed her, ready to do something, if there was something to be done. Her eyes closed—“What
was
in that tea?” Annie asked Bartlemy—while those guests who were staying over sat around feeling awkward, since it was far too late for them to find alternative accommodation, and some of them started clearing up the party debris, and others went with Jude and Donny to search the water meadows, and got very muddy, and found nothing, and Nathan and Hazel joined Annie and Bartlemy in a discreet huddle to discuss what
they
could do, fighting a rising sense of futility, and frustration, and fear.

“Couldn’t we find her by magic?” Hazel said. “After all, she’s lost by magic, isn’t she? If we drew the circle …”

“Possibly,” said Bartlemy. “But not here, and not now. The best thing is for you all to go home and leave it to me.”

“No,” said Hazel, forcefully—Nathan, resolutely—Annie, quietly.

“What about Hoover?” Nathan suggested. “He could track Romany by smell. He’s better than any bloodhound.”

“You’d think that the police would have brought dogs,” Hazel grumbled.

“They’re sending some over,” Annie said. “I heard one of the officers on the phone.”

“Hoover’s already out looking,” said Bartlemy.

“Isn’t he supposed to sniff something of hers first?” Nathan said. “So he’s got a scent to follow.”

“As you said,” Bartlemy murmured, “he’s better than a bloodhound.”

It was about two in the morning when DCI Pobjoy walked in, just before the advent of the dogs and their handlers. Annie felt a rush of relief at seeing him, even though she knew he couldn’t make everything all right.

Hazel said disagreeably: “It’s
him.
D’you think he believes in ghosts yet?”

Bartlemy said: “I thought they might contact you for this.”

“They always call me when it’s Eade,” Pobjoy said. “This place has become my specialty. But a missing child’s a new one. What’s your involvement?”

“I called him,” Annie explained. “I was at the party when Romany disappeared.”

“D’you think she’s really missing,” Pobjoy asked, “or just hiding somewhere?”

“She’s missing,” Bartlemy said.

“Is there anyone in the village who might have taken her? A stranger—a newcomer—someone who might be concealing a secret perversion?”

“There are always strangers and newcomers,” Bartlemy said. “This isn’t the nineteenth century. People move around. But there’s nobody of that type—not that I know of. We think Romany may have stumbled across some connection with the Michael Addison affair.”

“That was my next question,” said the chief inspector. “I thought it was straining coincidence that this was his house.” He had clearly forgotten his assertion that Bartlemy was mildly insane and was prepared to rely on his judgment again.

“Actually,” Hazel said, a shade defiantly, “we believe Romany’s being controlled by the same water spirit who pretended to be Michael’s wife. Her name’s Nenufar. She’s probably still after the Grimthorn Grail.”

“This is no time for fairy tales,” Pobjoy snapped. “We have a lost child here.”

“If you don’t listen to the fairy tales,” Nathan said, “you won’t know where to look for her.”

“I think we should go,” Bartlemy intervened. “We’ll leave the detectives to their detecting. We have our own resources. Come along.”

Annie told Liberty to call if Ursula needed her and they went out,
piling into the Jowett Javelin, which was parked up the lane. “I could take you all home,” Bartlemy said.

“No,” said Nathan, and Hazel, and Annie.

They drove to Thornyhill.

T
HE BASIN
seemed to be made of brass, tarnished and green with age. Bartlemy half filled it at the tap in the kitchen sink and placed it on the table, adding a few drops from a dark bottle of what looked like oil. There was a smell similar to patchouli, only stronger and sharper, stinging the sinuses. The oil spread across the surface of the water in a widening smear.

“Great-Grandma did something like this,” Hazel said, “only she used more ingredients.”

“Unnecessary,” said Bartlemy. “The magic is very simple, if you do it right. Watch and learn.”

He spoke a few words in a soft, ordinary voice, and the ripple of oil broadened and disappeared. Presently, the basin began to glow with a dim yellow radiance: the glimmer of Aladdin’s lamp, or candlelight reflected in an ancient mirror. Nathan and Annie peered into the water but could see nothing; the surface had become cloudy and opaque. Then Hazel leaned over, and for her there were shapes in the cloud, faint faraway shapes that gradually grew nearer and clearer.

“What do you see?” Bartlemy asked.

“Hands,” Hazel said. “Holding hands—Romany and
her
—Nenufar. They’re on a boat, an old-fashioned boat with lots of sails. No … no, that was a memory, it’s different now. More like a motor launch, the kind millionaires have, all long and sleek and gleamy.”

“The white ship,” Nathan said. “I thought that had gone long ago.”

“It’s a legend she uses,” Bartlemy said. “Werefolk, like serial killers, tend to repeat the same patterns of behavior.” And to Hazel: “Is there anything more?”

“I don’t think so. Romany seems to be sleeping now, on a sort of cushioned bench at the back.”

“Aft,” Nathan murmured.

“Whatever. I can’t make out where they are—it’s all kind of misty—but I think there’s too much water for the Glyde. Anyhow, you’d never get a boat that big up the river.”

“Nonetheless, the river is where you’ll find her,” Bartlemy said. The glow faded from the basin, and he tipped its contents down the sink. Annie wondered fleetingly what went on in his drains, and whether strange life-forms were evolving there in an atmosphere of magical pollution. “As I said, Nenufar is always predictable. And clearly she
wants
to be found. That’s why she took the child—so you would come and find her.”

“Me?” Nathan said.

“Us?” said Hazel.

“Romany is only a hostage. It’s you she wants.” He nodded to Nathan.

“But we’re going, too,” Annie insisted. “Nathan can’t deal with Nenufar on his own. He’ll need your help.”

“No,” said Bartlemy. “If she even senses me in the vicinity, she may flee, or kill the child out of pure spite. With Nathan and Hazel she won’t feel threatened. Hazel’s magical skills have grown, but Nenufar doesn’t know that. She won’t be wary. They must find a way to deal with this together.”