text:
## Dedication

_For David with love_

## Epigraph

_'Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.'_

L.M. MONTGOMERY, _THE STORY GIRL_

_Narrare: from the Latin word meaning
to narrate, recount, tell_

## Contents

  1. Dedication
  2. Epigraph
  3. The casting
  4. Chapter One: A shadow. A warning.
  5. Chapter Two: I spy
  6. Chapter Three: Bevare!
  7. Chapter Four: Deadlocked
  8. Chapter Five: A sign of madness
  9. Chapter Six: The boat
  10. Chapter Seven: Family friction
  11. Chapter Eight: Favourite desirables
  12. Chapter Nine: Snow dome whimsy
  13. Chapter Ten: Seeking shelter
  14. Chapter Eleven: An uneasy deal
  15. Chapter Twelve: Mirror, mirror
  16. Chapter Thirteen: Step through the veil
  17. Chapter Fourteen: The intruder
  18. Chapter Fifteen: Threats and accusations
  19. Chapter Sixteen: Tears and lies
  20. Chapter Seventeen: Frosty Loops and Jelly-Tarts
  21. Chapter Eighteen: Protecting the pretty
  22. Chapter Nineteen: The hawk
  23. Chapter Twenty: Theories and proof
  24. Chapter Twenty-One: The lost voice
  25. Chapter Twenty-Two: A frantic search
  26. Chapter Twenty-Three: Goblins and gnomes
  27. Chapter Twenty-Four: Evil eyes everywhere
  28. Chapter Twenty-Five: Stealing from friends
  29. Chapter Twenty-Six: The chase
  30. Chapter Twenty-Seven: Nowhere to hide
  31. Chapter Twenty-Eight: Logically speaking
  32. Chapter Twenty-Nine: Rat boy
  33. Chapter Thirty: Disaster
  34. Chapter Thirty-One: The Singing Stones
  35. Chapter Thirty-Two: One green curl
  36. Chapter Thirty-Three: Heading out
  37. Chapter Thirty-Four: Smugglers' Hearth
  38. Chapter Thirty-Five: The rogue tent
  39. Chapter Thirty-Six: Mirror magick
  40. Chapter Thirty-Seven: Regrets and resolutions
  41. Chapter Thirty-Eight: En garde
  42. Chapter Thirty-Nine: Dawn's visitor
  43. Chapter Forty: Death by sea
  44. Chapter Forty-One: The Donut Lady talks
  45. Chapter Forty-Two: Coloured puffballs
  46. Chapter Forty-Three: Setting out
  47. Chapter Forty-Four: Nurse Barney
  48. Chapter Forty-Five: Approaching Berkeley's Shanty
  49. Chapter Forty-Six: Monkey business
  50. Chapter Forty-Seven: The beast
  51. Chapter Forty-Eight: Mevras speaks
  52. Chapter Forty-Nine: Cornered
  53. Chapter Fifty: Stranded
  54. Chapter Fifty-One: Moment by moment
  55. Acknowledgements
  56. About the Author
  57. About the Illustrator
  58. Also by Jen Storer
  59. Copyright

# Guide

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## The casting

____________________________________________

The old woman squatted, hunched and forlorn, on the dusty floorboards. She bit into a Honey Crumble. Around her was a shamble of antique furniture and collectibles, trinkets and curios, 'pretties' she had gathered over the years — goods and chattels she had traded and hoarded, repaired, stroked, loved and despised depending on her mood. Today her mood was dark, darker than it had ever been since leaving her homeland many years before. She bit into the Honey Crumble and munched thoughtfully, took a handful of Raspberry Tingles and shoved them in her mouth too. She slid her sticky hand into the pocket of her dressing gown and felt for the runes, the Wishing Stones. They tumbled playfully through her crooked fingers, daring her, tempting her, egging her on. The early morning sun shone through a hole in the curtains and circled the woman like a spotlight — like magick. Fingers trembling, the woman took out the Wishing Stones one by one. They twinkled gleefully, flared in the dusty sunlight. The woman swallowed hard as if steeling herself, then with an audacious rush cast the stones across the floor. She closed her eyes, made her wish — then promptly passed out.

At that moment, coincidence or serendipity, fate or chance, whatever you care to call it, sprang into action. Across the city, in a quaint beachside suburb, a chain of unlikely but intrinsically linked events took place. The events unfolded with breathtaking speed, although from an everyday point of view they may have appeared quite ordinary. On a whim, Professor Maxwell Jack and his children, Angus and Martha, moved from one side of the city to the other. Their destination? A dilapidated timber cottage on a steep, one-way street lined with other crooked cottages — all of them on timber stilts. Directly next door to the Jacks' new home, a shopkeeper, a stout, aggressive boor of a man who owned a rundown 'mixed business', was crushed when a stand of creamed corn and out-of-date tuna fell on him. The man survived but he would never work again — at least, not in retail. The man was wheeled away to a disreputable rehabilitation centre and his shop (which was also his home) was stripped bare, the windows boarded up and a half-hearted _For Sale_ sign hammered across the street frontage. Who would want such a dreary shop? Who indeed.

Meanwhile, through the veil that separates our world from the Old Realm, Varla stood abruptly and clutched her throat. Varla felt the magick, the magick of the Wishing Stones. It swamped her belly, her heart, her very being. It rose inside her, burning her gullet with hot bile. Varla gagged and shrugged off her sealskin cape, flinging it to the floor. She shut her eyes, leaned her back against the icy walls of her skrying tower, and plunged into the furthermost corners of her mind. She followed the trace of magick, the delicate, silky trail, and saw the old woman on the floor, the runes strewn about her. Varla saw the shopkeeper trapped and bellowing under the display rack. For a split second she even saw Angus and his little sister Martha arguing over where to place a garden gnome in the front yard of their new house. Pah! Children of the New World. They were beneath her contempt. Time and space collapsed, and from her bird's-eye perspective Varla saw precisely where the old woman was and where she was headed. Finally that wretched woman, that cunning old thief, Varla's improbable and infuriating nemesis, had succumbed. She had given in to her greed, her guilt, her loneliness — whatever it was, Varla did not care. She only knew that the ugly old hag had finally cast the Wishing Stones, just as Varla had guessed she would. Varla felt the thrill of the chase come upon her, the sweet taste of revenge — and with that the magick faded and the vision disappeared. Varla opened her eyes and smiled. It was enough. She knew exactly what she had to do.

## CHAPTER ONE

____________________________________________

## A shadow. A warning.

Angus flopped down at the kitchen table. It had been a long night. For one thing there was noise from next door. Banging, bumping, hammering, dragging, and that disgusting piano music to add to the racket. Plus, this rotten house was a tinderbox. They'd been roasting under its rusty roof for weeks and they still didn't have ceiling fans. As for an air conditioner, yeah right ... Angus had slaved away diligently under these appalling conditions. But the school year was over now. There was no going back. If he failed Year Eight, it would be his stupid father's fault. Even Einstein couldn't have studied in this sauna.

Martha burst into the kitchen. 'You've got to come outside,' she cried.

Angus ignored her and opened his _New Scientist_.

'I went out the front to check on Gurdy the garden gnome, and you wouldn't believe what I saw next door,' she said excitedly.

Angus propped his magazine against the teapot and turned the pages slowly.

'Come on,' urged Martha. 'It'll be worth it, I promise.'

'Forget it,' said Angus.

'Angus Jack, you are such a jerk,' said Martha. 'It's not my fault we moved to this cruddy place. You can't take it out on me.'

'Can't I?' Angus took a bite of toast and sank down behind his magazine.

'Pleeease,' said Martha. 'Please, please, please.'

Martha might have been ten but she had the finely honed nagging skills of a three-year-old. Unrelenting, merciless. Angus knew when resistance was futile.

He took a gulp of juice as he got up. 'This better be good,' he muttered. 'Whoever's moved in over there kept me awake half the night.'

In the hallway they crossed paths with Jarly. The cat's fur bristled when he saw them and he shot up onto the hall table. Photo frames went tumbling. The cat growled softly.

'He's been acting weird all morning.' Martha approached him with caution.

'You know what he's like,' said Angus. 'He hates moving house as much as we do.'

'No, it's more than that. This is serious.'

'Well, you're the Cat Whisperer,' said Angus, turning to go. 'Deal with it.'

'No, wait,' said Martha. 'Pleeease, Angus.'

She tried to pick up the cat but he pushed himself against the wall, making himself heavy and awkward. 'It's a sign, Angus,' she said. 'When cats act mental.'

'I seeeee,' said Angus doubtfully.

'A sign that there's _trouble afoot_ ,' said Martha.

Angus scoffed. 'You don't think it's a sign that your cat's feeble brain is deranged and heat-affected? Or that having moved into this new ... dump, it is dazed and confused?'

'You've got no imagination,' said Martha.

'Hello? What is science without imagination?' said Angus. 'Answer me that.'

'Yes, yes.' Martha was still trying to heave the cat off the table. His claws were tangled in a doily. 'But you're always going on about the facts. _Examine the facts, Martha. The facts never lie, Martha_. Blah, blah. Can't you ever just, you know, go with the flow?'

The cat squirmed in Martha's arms — then he looked in the hall mirror and yowled as if he had been bitten.

'What _is_ your problem?' said Martha as Jarly leaped out of her arms and shot off down the passage.

'Look, if you've got something to show me, show me now,' said Angus. 'Otherwise, I've got better things to do ... like eat breakfast.'

Martha tossed the doily and headed out the front door. 'You're gonna spin out when you see this,' she called over her shoulder. 'Trust me.'

As he traipsed down the hall, Angus checked his reflection in the mirror: fair skin, fair, reddish hair, a few too many freckles. He wondered if he would ever be handsome ... He thought of his mother and his heart lurched. If she were here now, if she were still alive, he knew exactly what she'd say: 'You look just like your father, sweetie. My _pin-up boys_ ...' Yeah right, thought Angus, peering closely at his face. Was that another zit sprouting on his chin? I s'pose I could be a pin-up boy for _Geek Weekly_ , he thought.

A shadow rose up behind his reflection and Angus jumped. The shadow flickered and Angus spun around.

The hall was empty. There was no-one else there. Of course.

'Idiot cat,' he said as he sauntered out.

In the days to come, Angus would wonder why he had failed to question that shadow in the mirror. After all, wasn't he the smart one, the one with the enquiring mind?

## CHAPTER TWO

____________________________________________

## I spy

So what do you think?' Martha cracked open a can of cola. They were standing under a jacaranda tree across the road from their new home. From here they had a clear view of 13 Anchor Street, the shop next door to their place.

Angus leaned against the tree.

During the night the shop had undergone a dramatic transformation — which explained the racket that had kept him awake half the night. The planks that had covered the bay window had been removed and carted away. The oak door had been painted fire-truck red and its brass knocker had been polished. Like so many buildings around here, it seemed the shop was being restored.

'Fascinating,' said Angus. 'Thanks for dragging me out, Martha.' He turned to walk away.

Martha grabbed his sleeve. 'Look!' she said as an old woman emerged from number thirteen.

She stood on the footpath, looking back at the shop, shading her eyes from the belting sun with a long, bony hand.

Martha looked at Angus and nodded smugly. 'What did I tell you?' she said. 'Is she a spin-out or what?'

Angus stared at the woman despite himself.

'At least we don't have to worry about the Prof running away with _her_ ,' said Martha.

The new neighbour was not much taller than Martha, and slightly hunched. But the way she was dressed! Now, Angus wasn't exactly up with women's fashion but this old bird was definitely wearing an evening gown. It was lurid red like squashed pomegranates and, judging by the way it was bunched up at her ankles, it was miles too long. The top bit was layered with heavy black lace and studded with large red beads that twinkled in the sun. A lolly-pink feather boa trailed from her throat. Her hair was blue-black, piled in glossy loops like curled licorice straps.

'She's so exotic,' breathed Martha. 'Maybe she's an actress?'

'She could host _The Saturday Night Freak Show_ ,' said Angus. 'No, wait. She probably used to star in those B-grade horror movies. You know, the ones from the 1950s. I can see her now, creeping around the dressing rooms in some haunted opera house, knife poised above her head ...'

Martha pursed her lips — Angus was being sarcastic again.

The old woman disappeared inside the shop, only to return with a wooden ladder and a tin of paint.

'Now what?' said Angus.

The woman leaned the ladder against the frame of the shop window, hitched up her gown and scooted up the ladder with all the ease of a mountain goat. She was wearing elastic-sided workboots.

'Her feet are humungous,' said Martha with delight.

Angus snorted. Martha always noticed other people's feet, probably because her own beetle-crushers were huge.

'She's one of the weirdest people I've ever seen,' said Martha. 'Even weirder than that Donut Lady.'

Martha insisted that the Donut Lady, who had a blue-and-yellow caravan permanently parked at the beach, was weird. But Angus didn't agree. Just because the Donut Lady lived alone in an aluminium annexe and served sugary treats from a dented caravan called the Caravan of Delight did not mean she was weird. Even the fact that she had a hairy chin and a thick, aggressive sort of accent didn't make her weird. It just meant she was unusual. These were the facts. But try telling Martha that.

The old woman withdrew a long, tapered paintbrush from inside her gown, dangled the paint tin from a hook on the ladder and began to paint directly onto the windowpane.

'Hand me that cola, Martha,' said Angus. 'This could take a while.'

For the next ten minutes the pair watched, and occasionally yawned, as the aged glamourpuss eked out two large, gold letters — F and R. They were wonky but they glittered in a most peculiar fashion. Clearly the old woman was painting a sign. But the process was agonising.

Angus crushed the cola can. 'I'm going for a swim,' he said.

Martha stretched gratefully as she followed him back across the road. 'By the time we get back she might have finished the first word,' she said.

Up on the ladder, the old woman watched the kids from the corner of her eye. A smile twitched on her lips. She liked being near these children. These _barnmindreårig_. Especially the boy, with his colouring, his swagger and his scruffy looks. He reminded her so much of home, of the good old days — which was just what her sore heart needed. Ah yes, the stones were gracious. I'm here now, she thought. Too late for second thoughts and pussyfooting. Too late for doubts and fearfuls. What's done is done. Besides, no harm has come by us. No harm whatsoever.

She flicked the feather boa over her shoulder and turned back to her painting. It always paid to keep busy.

## CHAPTER THREE

____________________________________________

## Bevare!

Four years, that's how long they had been living in Australia. Four years ago they left England to start a brand-new life. But their new life had turned into a sad joke; they couldn't seem to settle anywhere and so far they had moved house nearly every six months. Holiday rentals, apartments, townhouses, for a while even a converted church. And now this place. Of all the places this one was definitely the most random. The only good thing about it was the beach. It was right at the end of the street. And Anchor Street was so steep all Angus and Martha had to do was sit on their bikes, push off and freewheel down the slope. By the time they reached the bottom of the hill they had enough speed to swoop across the bike bridge and over the grass to the beach's retaining wall. Angus felt a tingle of pride. They had mastered this manoeuvre within two days of arriving. Their father had no idea. Did he even care? Had he even sniffed the sea air since they'd arrived? Of course not.

So much for his grand sell. He'd worked so hard to convince his kids that this would be the best move yet. That this move, more sudden, more out of the blue than all the others, would be 'just the ticket'. He had talked this place up with all the vigour of a tropical-island travel agent. Things were going to be different in this house. A beach to explore. Surfing lessons. Ice-cream cones and gelati. Pancakes for breakfast. Nights spent eating pizza and watching DVDs together. There was even a carnival. Yeah, yeah, yeah. In reality, he had dumped them here and gone straight back to work.

This morning the kids reached the beach in record time. Angus would rather have gone on his own but his little sister was lonely. That much he understood. He'd cut her some slack. For now.

They dumped their bikes and jumped over the retaining wall to the sand below. The smell of fried donuts drifted by on the breeze. Up to the left, on a grassy hill, the Donut Lady poked her head out of her caravan window.

'Martha, Angus!' she bellowed. 'Come. I make extra for you.'

'Sweet.' Martha kicked off her sandals and dropped her stripy tote bag. 'She's in a good mood. We might get some freebies.'

Angus was busy spreading out his beach towel. Which side should face up? The line-dancing frogs? Or the tap-dancing octopus? He tossed the towel at the retaining wall. Both sides were mortifying.

Martha was already scrambling up the hill to the Caravan of Delight and Angus ran after her. He did not want Martha to ruin their chances of a free treat. The Donut Lady was Russian and she was easily offended — she didn't always get English sayings. Unfortunately Martha, who was prone to yabbering, offended her a lot.

Angus was hungry. And the smell of hot donuts made it worse. He hurried. But by the time he reached the caravan, the Donut Lady was leaning out of the servery window, plucking at her hairy chin, whispering intently to Martha.

'Great,' groaned Angus, 'they're bonding.'

He approached with caution.

The Donut Lady and Martha stopped talking and looked up.

'Morning,' said Angus. It sounded lame — polite and British, like something his dad would say. Angus felt his face flare.

The Donut Lady clucked her tongue at him as she handed Martha two bags of piping-hot donuts. Angus fumbled in his pockets for some coins.

'No, no, no.' The Donut Lady waved her sturdy, sun-damaged hands. 'Just go,' she snapped. 'And remember what I say,' she added, frowning deeply. 'Beware!' In her thick Russian accent it sounded like 'Bevare!'

## CHAPTER FOUR

____________________________________________

## Deadlocked

They sat in the shade of the retaining wall, poured themselves some cordial from the water-cooler and tore open the first bag of donuts. They were sweet, crisp and incredibly fluffy inside. So what if her caravan was old and dented and vaguely grubby? The Donut Lady was queen of this beach.

'Okay, Martha,' said Angus as he bit into a donut, 'spill.'

'You're not allowed to laugh,' said Martha, shaking the watercooler. The ice rattled lazily.

'What do you mean?'

'You're not allowed to laugh and you're not allowed to bang on about the facts.'

'Martha,' said Angus, 'the ocean is calling. If you don't tell me what I have to _bevare_ of, I'm outta here.'

'Fine,' said Martha.

'Fine,' said Angus, licking his fingers — his sister would crack any moment.

'The Donut Lady got robbed!' she blurted.

'Robbed?' Angus was genuinely shocked. Everyone knew the Donut Lady kept a bunch of Cossack swords in her annexe. It was common knowledge even to newcomers like Angus and Martha. It would take a very brave or very stupid thief to tackle her and those deadly 'dice and slicers'.

'When? How? What did they take?' asked Angus. 'Money? Jewellery? Her antique video player?'

'Cinnamon sugar,' said Martha.

'I know.' Angus looked down at his shirt. 'It's all over me too.'

'No,' said Martha. 'They broke in last night and stole cinnamon sugar. Ten kilos, plus four litres of donut mixture. The Donut Lady had made it for this morning. She likes to catch the dawn joggers and —'

'Hold on,' said Angus. 'You mean to tell me the thief stole cinnamon sugar and donut batter?'

'That's right,' said Martha.

'That's ludicrous.'

'Her cat's missing too,' said Martha. 'You remember Vladimir? He's a Russian blue with a torn ear. She said he'd been acting bonkers all day yesterday. Leaping about the annexe, knocking her chessboard flying, sharpening his claws on the walls. Then this morning when she unlocked the annexe he just took off. She hasn't seen him since.'

The fate of Vladimir didn't concern Angus. But he was intrigued by the robbery. 'Where was the Donut Lady when the robbery took place?'

'Nowhere,' said Martha, sipping her drink.

'Pardon?'

'That's the whole point. She didn't go anywhere last night. She was supposed to have a date but it got cancelled. She stayed in all night and watched Bruce Willis videos.'

'The Donut Lady had a date?' said Angus incredulously. 'That's beside the point,' cried Martha. 'The point is she was in the annexe the whole time and she didn't see a thing. And Angus, the only way into the Caravan of Delight is through the annexe.'

'The servery window?'

'Deadlocked.'

'Then the thief must have crept in while the Donut Lady was asleep,' said Angus. 'It's the only explanation.'

'The annexe was deadlocked too,' said Martha, flicking her dark hair out of her eyes. Her fingernails were bitten and ragged. 'And besides,' she went on, 'Vladimir would have gone berserk if someone tried to get in.'

'Curious.' Angus sounded like a character in a Sherlock Holmes novel.

'Angus,' breathed Martha, as if the entire beach were listening, 'the Donut Lady is a special kind of person. You must be able to see that.'

'Totally unique,' said Angus insincerely.

'She's sure this is a sign,' said Martha. 'She's seen this kind of unexplained pheno-me-thingy back in her home country. She said it always comes before some kind of ...' Martha paused.

'Some kind of what?' Angus looked sceptical.

' _Calamity_ ,' said Martha, wiping her cordial moustache. She was wide-eyed. Even her freckles glowed with excitement.

Angus tried to keep a straight face. He stuffed another donut in his mouth. 'Come on,' he said, jumping up. 'Last one in is a mouldy kipper.'

## CHAPTER FIVE

____________________________________________

## A sign of madness

How did she manage that?' said Martha.

It was late afternoon and the kids were sitting on their bikes across the road from number thirteen. The empty water-cooler dangled from Martha's handlebars. The sun was low. It burned their backs through their damp T-shirts. Melted zinc cream smeared their faces like war paint. They had spent the entire day at the beach.

'She couldn't have painted that herself,' said Martha, examining the lettering. 'She was painting like a two-year-old when we left this morning.'

'Dribbling on the glass,' said Angus.

The letters shimmered. They almost looked three-dimensional.

'One thing's for sure,' said Angus, 'she doesn't have her metaphors right.'

'Huh?'

'The globe has only four corners,' said Angus, pushing off. 'Metaphorically speaking.'

Martha shrugged and pushed off after her brother, grunting with the effort. 'I can't wait for it to open,' she said as her bike wobbled up the steep footpath. 'I bet it's full of treasures.'

Angus didn't bother answering. Full of treasures, was it? Full of old rubbish more like it. A globe with five corners. Dodgy opening hours. _Curious Curiosities_. More like _Worthless Junk_.

Wasn't it obvious? The new neighbour was batty. As mad as a March hare. And that was no metaphor.

## CHAPTER SIX

____________________________________________

## The boat

That night, both kids were restless. Angus tossed and turned and woke repeatedly. He could smell the sea again. Not the crisp, playful waters of the local beach but a wild, salty sea he had never seen before, never visited in his life, yet somehow yearned for. He hated waking up with this feeling. He sat up in bed and grabbed his sketchpad to distract himself. Normally he only ever drew architecture: buildings, bridges, even pyramids. Definitely nothing frivolous or fantastical. But tonight he drew sea eagles. He'd been dreaming of sea eagles for days. As usual he had checked the facts, done his research. To his immense relief, he hadn't made them up or imagined them. _Sea eagles — big, beautiful and many breeds extinct_. Some of those birds had a wingspan of more than two metres. It was a fact that impressed Angus no end ... He drew by candlelight — mostly because it would tick off his father if he knew. Their father was paranoid about safety. Which was ironic, considering how much he neglected them.

In her own bedroom, Martha lay between the 'poppy blossom' sheets that had once belonged to her mother, and tossed and turned. She could not get the shop Frozen in Time out of her mind. She pictured herself in there on her first visit, sifting through the junk, uncovering breathtaking treasures. If only she had a friend to share the adventure with. She had longed for a friend — a true friend, someone who really cared, who shared her own phantasmagorical imagination — for months. But at the new school she was just the weird new kid and now it was over for the summer. As for this new neighbourhood, the only thing it had going for it was the beach. Maxwell! Their father only ever thought about himself. He'd made yet another brainless choice by dragging them here. She hadn't met one single kid her age, girl or boy. The suburb was full of cosy couples with designer babies and designer dogs, or daft weirdos like her father and that woman next door. As for her old school friends, they all lived on the other side of the city, so what was the good of that? They went away for the holidays too, camping and boating and tripping around to places like Fiji and Bali. They went on _family_ holidays — whatever they were. Martha punched her pillow. There was no way she was going to cry. No way in the wide, wide world. Martha Jack never cried. She prided herself on it.

In his study Maxwell Jack sat at his desk with his work scattered before him. He looked at the mess around the room. Boxes and cartons of research papers, textbooks, stationery. His career as a history professor was intense and it always kept him busy. But he'd have to unpack soon, even if he had to take a day off to do it. He'd come this far, he couldn't give in to the numbness that was already seeping back into his bones. This move, this was the one that would do the trick. This move would change everything, it was exactly what they needed, he was certain of it ... And yet the familiar temptation to shut down, turn off, lose himself in work and other distractions was hard to resist. Other distractions. He cringed at the thought. His work colleagues had insisted he start dating. Even his secretary, dear old frumpy Gerda, had sent him on a blind date! They all insisted he 'get out there', that he had to start to live again. In a way he supposed they were right. He had to try, or at least pretend to be 'normal'. Even if it was just for the sake of his kids. Four years was a long time. A long time to grieve. He was a handsome man, everyone said it. Women were drawn to his dishevelled looks and remote manner. But so what? No-one would ever replace Helen.

He rested his elbows on the desk and covered his face with his hands — it was a sad irony that Maxwell Jack's grief gave him an irresistible air of mystery.

Once again his thoughts turned to the UK. He still daydreamed about throwing in this 'lifestyle change' and moving back. But Helen had died in England's bone-cold North Sea and he wanted to be as far away from there as possible. Besides, he assumed the Australian sunshine was good for kids. Especially sad kids. And Helen had loved it here when they'd come for a holiday: the beaches, the sunshine, the friendly people. Since taking the gamble and coming to this country, this city, he'd moved his little family seven times. He tried to reason it out. It was a settling-in period, surely? Searching for the perfect place was worth the effort. They couldn't go running back to ol' Blighty just because they felt a bit ... displaced. They were building a future, not living in the past. They had to stick this out, 'make a go of it' as the Aussies would say.

The Prof rubbed his brow as if to clear his thoughts, and turned back to what he was doing. He should have been editing a research paper. But instead he was sketching a large snow dome he'd spotted in the junk shop next door. The snow dome was unique, an astonishing relic. His interest in archaeology had always been little more than a hobby. But since his wife's death it had become his passion; the one driving force that got him out of bed in the morning — somehow it made him feel closer to her.

The Prof had looked at the snow dome several times already. Unbeknown to his children, he had persuaded the old woman into letting him look around the shop before it was officially open. Actually, she hadn't needed much persuading at all. In fact, she seemed almost eager to have him visit, proud to show him her 'elaborates'. As for the snow dome, what was its true purpose? Where had it come from? The crone was happy for him to look at it but she wouldn't let him hold it. She was obviously dotty and acted vague and airy when he tried to question her closely. He suspected she knew way more than she was letting on and that made him even more curious. Cunning old fox. As for his own research, so far he had drawn a blank. He had never seen anything like it ... _Never_. Its very existence plagued his imagination.

He thought about the old woman, the 'proud proprietor' as she had introduced herself. He'd never seen anyone like her either. At least, not outside the walls of amateur theatre halls. She was an oddball, that was for sure — and she seemed to have some kind of sugar addiction. He'd seen her several times furtively stuffing her face with fairy floss when she thought no-one was looking. Australians, hey, who would have thought? Behind him, the tall cheval mirror suddenly swung to and fro, as if pushed by an invisible hand. The professor's head shot up — and the mirror fell still.

Meanwhile, as the Jack family struggled to settle on that clammy night, another drama was unfolding in a secluded cave, beyond the rock pools and safe swimming divisions of the beach.

'I can't see a thing,' said Barney, scratching his head. 'Just a clapped-out old skiff.'

'Look harder,' urged the Donut Lady. 'Squint your eyes, Barney. See what is really before you.'

Barney screwed up his nose and squinted. He focused on the skiff and allowed his eyes to blur. He concentrated.

He let out a whistle. 'Lord love a duck.' Barney wiped his hand across his mouth. 'I mean to say, blimey! I've never seen nothin' like it. Never!'

'Ah, Barney,' the Donut Lady hitched up her hippy pants, 'you must have seen such things as this. I see your tattoos. These anchors on your arms. These bluebirds at your neck. You have travelled many nautical miles, for sure. And believe me, I have watched your little puppet show. I know where you get these ideas.'

The Donut Lady tapped the side of her nose and Barney flashed a cunning smile. His front teeth were missing.

'You don't let me get away with much, do you?' he said, sliding his arm around the Donut Lady's waist.

She pushed him away. 'The old ones like you and me, we have been around.' She shrugged. 'We see things. We know things. This is how it is.'

Maybe she should not have brought Barney here. She could already see the greed twinkling in his eyes. But she had to share this with someone and so she'd taken a chance. She only hoped Barney would not betray her. But just in case, she would keep an eye on him for the next few days.

She twisted her long grey hair into a topknot and stabbed a hairpin through it. She needed to think.

The night was growing dark under a moon shrouded in clouds. The incoming tide lapped at their ankles. Soon the cave would not be safe. They would have to hurry.

The Donut Lady held her torch high and sloshed around the boat. She stroked the tall serpent figurehead at the prow. It had intelligent almond-shaped eyes and flared nostrils, sooty and scorched as if from breathing real fire. The boat's timber was aged and smooth and icy to touch. Yet it was rich and dark too, not in the slightest bit weathered as one might expect.

'Serpents of the Sea,' said Barney.

'Yes,' said the Donut Lady. 'This is what they called the Viking vessels.'

'But this ain't a Viking vessel,' said Barney. 'I mean to say, it's clinker built just like the Viking style. But that cabin's too fancy. And the whole caboodle's too small. Too small by miles.'

Barney ran his hand over the boat's carvings and a shiver ran up his spine. He could sell this, oh yeah, he could sell this quick as lightning on the black market. He could even bust it up and sell it in bits; label them as 'Pirate Relics', 'Shipwreck Mementoes'. Or what about 'Splinters from the Ark'? He could see it now. He'd clean up!

He wanted to slap himself. The old girl had trusted him and now here he was planning to pull a swifty. How could he? How could he be such a _bounder_? Guilt made him squirm. And this boat made him sweat.

The Donut Lady shone her torch on the stern. It too had elaborate carvings.

'What is it?' The Donut Lady sighed as she trailed her hand along the side of the boat.

'Probably some rich arty-farty built it for his kids,' said Barney casually.

'And put a spell on it?' said the Donut Lady. 'An ancient concealment spell?'

Barney shrugged.

'No,' said the Donut Lady, 'there is no arty-farty here, Barney. This vessel, she is not from around here. Not ever. Her timber ... Her _wood ..._ ' The Donut Lady laid her hands on the smooth hull. 'It speaks to me, Barney. It speaks to me of ice and creeping fog. Of grief and terror and ... lost memories.' She drew back her hands quickly. 'It speaks to me of ancient _magick_!'

By now the water was up to their knees. The Donut Lady's hippy pants were soaked and clung to her fleshy legs. Barney tried not to notice.

He ran his fingers along the rope that secured the boat to an iron ring further up the cave wall. He clambered up the rocks for a closer look.

'Perfect anchor bend,' he muttered, peering at the knot. Easy enough to undo if you knew your stuff.

He gave the iron ring a tug. It was firmly embedded in the rock and probably had been for centuries.

'This vessel's not goin' far,' he said loudly. 'Not tonight, anyway.'

'Good,' said the Donut Lady. 'Then you should come down now, Barney, and we shall have discussions. There are things I do not like.'

Barney spread his arms and leaped from the rocks, landing with a SPLOSH in front of the Donut Lady.

'Barney!' she scolded. 'You are not so young as to be doing this jumping.'

Barney grinned. He felt like a schoolboy when he was around the Donut Lady.

The Donut Lady ushered her boyfriend out of the cave and he followed her along the beach and away. With one last backward glance, they disappeared over the rocks.

Alone in its dark hiding place, the boat could sense the enchantment was lifting. Soon it would be visible to more than just a couple of fringe dwellers. As it bobbed up and down with the tide, a shudder of dread ran through its joinery. The serpent figurehead closed its eyes and bowed its weary head — and the little boat waited. It had no choice.

## CHAPTER SEVEN

____________________________________________

## Family friction

The next morning Jarly still hadn't returned and Martha was gloomy. Angus pointed out that the cat's Fishy Bickies had all been scoffed during the night but Martha would not be reassured. She was so glum, Angus almost felt sorry for her. Then again Jarly was a lousy cat — twitchy and as moody as sin. Angus was secretly glad to see the back of him. He made himself a milkshake. The milkshake-maker sputtered and frothed as he loaded it with ice-cream.

'Angus,' said Martha, over the noise, 'did you smell anything strange last night?'

Angus flicked off the machine, added chocolate topping, then flicked it on again. 'It's that creeper on the side fence,' he said. 'It's gross.'

There was a pause while he struggled to disconnect the stainless-steel cup.

'No, it wasn't the night jasmine,' said Martha. 'It was something else.'

'Car fumes? Seaweed? Troll poo?' said Angus, wiping his hands on his shorts.

'Ha ha,' said Martha. 'Actually, I thought I could smell hot donuts. In the middle of the night. It was really weird.'

Angus craned his neck to see if there was any movement at number thirteen. A pair of speckled pigeons cooed on the windowsill.

He turned from the window. 'You must have stuffed yourself too much yesterday,' he said, 'and —' He froze.

'What?' Martha pulled up a chair. 'What is it?'

'I smelt them too,' said Angus, taking a gulp of his milkshake. 'I remember now. I woke up in the middle of the night and I thought I heard someone singing. Sort of opera singing. Only worse. And that same awful piano music I heard the other night. Then the curtains kind of fluttered and I could have sworn I smelt hot donuts. I'd forgotten all about it till now.'

Martha stared at him. 'Angus, you don't think that old woman next door had anything to do with the robbery, do you?'

Their father walked in. He was wearing his good shirt. And a tie. And his hair was combed. He placed his laptop on the table.

'Angus. Martha-bug. What a nice surprise.'

Martha screwed up her nose at the mention of her nickname. Angus wondered why it was surprising to find your kids at the breakfast table.

The Prof put the kettle on and looked about for the instant coffee. Angus watched him from the corner of his eye. Their father looked awkward, like a stranger in his own kitchen. Serves him right, thought Angus. He acts like a stranger, let him feel like one too. I'm not helping him.

'All set for tonight?' asked the Prof eventually.

Martha and Angus looked at him blankly.

'You do remember?' he said. 'I'll be home late.'

The kids shrugged. So what if he'd be home late? Again.

The Prof popped the lid on the coffee jar. 'I mentioned this before, didn't I?'

'Probably not,' said Angus.

'Oh,' said the Prof. 'Well, never mind ... Martha,' he added, 'eat your crusts. They're supposed to be good for kids. I think ...'

Martha pulled a face beneath her long, curly fringe.

'You see,' said the Prof, 'I posted some of my, how would you say, _less conservative_ ideas on the internet. You know, my thoughts about Norse mythology and so on. And what do you know I struck up a friendship with an archaeologist from Norway. She's fascinated by my thoughts.'

'She?' said Martha. 'What do you mean _she_?'

The Prof smiled vaguely. 'She's in town and we're going out. Tonight. For dinner. Are you sure I didn't mention this?'

'You mean to say you're dumping us because some woman on the internet _likes your ideas_?'

'Don't be like that, Martha. She's fascinating. We have a lot in common. Work-wise, of course,' he added hurriedly.

'What could you have in common?' cried Martha. 'You teach the history of economics, Maxwell. You are _not_ an archaeologist. You should stick to what you know.'

Martha took up a butter knife and scraped so hard she tore a hole in her toast.

But the Prof was not to be put off. 'How about this?' he said. 'Some of her colleagues found a longboat last summer. They think it's the genuine article. A real Viking vessel.'

'Is that right?' said Angus curtly, and both kids glared at their father. Viking history had been their mother's speciality — and her passion.

'Yes.' He sipped his coffee. 'They've got it quarantined somewhere in Norway. Near Verdens Ende, to be precise.'

'Verdens Ende?' said Angus. ' _World's End_. Mum's favourite place on earth.'

'Probably because of her Viking blood,' said the Prof cheerily.

'Yeah right,' Angus scoffed. 'As if Mum was really descended from Vikings.'

The Prof looked aghast. 'Don't be so cynical, Angus. Your mother had plenty of compelling evidence about her ancestry. She had a number of hunches too, powerful inklings neither of us could ignore.'

'Inklings?' said Angus. 'Great. We could build a convincing family tree based around inklings. _Not_.'

The Prof sat down. He leaned across to Martha. 'They say goblins first left France and crossed the English Channel on Viking ships, Martha. Fancy that, hey? Seafaring goblins. Heading off to see the world. Eager eyes all set on Britain!'

'Get real, Maxwell,' snapped Martha. 'I'm not a little kid anymore. I don't believe that kind of rubbish. Goblins, trolls, gnomes, witches, harpies. All those stories are a load of old crud.'

'Oh?' said the Prof, taken aback. 'Sure. Yes. Of course. How silly of me.' By now he was used to Martha calling him 'Maxwell'. Obviously it was some sort of rebellion and he'd chosen to let it be. She'd grow out of it. But her open hostility, her determination to leave childhood behind, it never ceased to knock him off centre. Especially since the older he became, the more he discovered about the world's oddities, and the more inclined he was to believe the outlandish. At least in part.

'So, who's looking after us this time?' Martha shot him a cold look. 'It better not be Gerda. She's a fruit bat. And she smells like Glen 20.'

'A young woman's coming from the university,' said the Prof.

Angus groaned. 'What, some airhead student?'

'She has a master's degree in mathematics,' said the Prof.

Martha rolled her eyes. 'She'll know all about kids then, won't she?'

There was a silence.

'Look, Dad,' said Angus, 'I'm fourteen. Don't you think I'm old enough to take care of us?'

'Fourteen,' said the Prof. ' _Fourteen?_ '

'Don't tell me,' said Angus. 'You forgot I had another birthday.'

'So this is your fourteenth summer,' said the Prof quietly.

The kids glanced at one another. They knew what was coming next. Angus wished he'd kept his big mouth shut.

'Well, technically, you're right, I suppose.' He spoke cheerily, trying to jolly his father and lead him off track. 'But it should be my fifteenth summer.'

The Prof did not respond. It was hard to distract him when he got stuck on this story.

'I've never been happy about losing a summer,' said Angus. 'When we left the UK and —'

The Prof cut him off. 'Do you know what happened during my fourteenth summer?' His voice was heavy with nostalgia.

Angus and Martha nodded reluctantly.

'I met your mother,' said the Prof. 'I met Helen and my life was never the same again ...'

There, it was said. For a moment the little group sat in silence. Angus practically slumped under the weight of his father's melancholy. Martha bit her lip and wriggled uncomfortably in her chair. She hated this soppy stuff more than anything. Hated how it made her feel weak and hopeless ... and really angry.

Finally Angus piped up. 'So, about this babysitter. We're home alone all day as it is. What difference does a few more hours make? Leave off with the babysitter. Seriously, how late will you be? A few lousy hours?'

Martha jumped in. 'Angus is right,' she said. 'How long can a dinner date last? It's not as if you'll be gone all night — will you, Maxwell?'

'No, no, of course not,' said their father, blushing. He actually blushed! Martha could hardly believe her eyes.

'All right, you win,' said the Prof. 'I'll cancel the babysitter.'

Angus gave his sister a subtle wink.

'Right then,' said the Prof, getting up. 'Have a good day. There's money in the tea caddy and frozen pies in the freezer. Get out there and explore, won't you? Really get to know the new neighbourhood. Make some friends. Hang loose ...'

'Hang loose?' said Martha. 'Are you for real, Maxwell?'

A car tooted its horn outside.

'That'll be my ride,' said their father, grabbing his laptop and knocking his coffee cup. 'Car pooling today,' he added, steadying the cup.

The Prof tapped his son's shoulder. 'You know where to find the fire extinguisher, don't you? The first-aid kit? Emergency numbers? My number?'

Angus gave a shallow nod.

'Look after your sister,' said his father quietly.

Angus sighed impatiently.

'Goodbye, Martha-bug,' said the Prof as he patted the top of Martha's head.

'I'm not your stupid _bug_ ,' said Martha through gritted teeth.

The front door slammed and the kids gave each other a high-five — although deep down the day ahead suddenly seemed long. Both of them feared that this new woman, this _fascinating colleague_ , might be the one. The one who would move in and totally mess up their already messed-up lives.

Martha jumped up. 'Let's go check out number thirteen.'

'Nah,' said Angus.

'The shop might be open,' said Martha. 'And you promised ...'

'When?' said Angus. 'Why would I promise to visit that dump?'

'Oh, suit yourself,' said Martha crossly, and she threw her bag over her shoulder and left.

Angus grabbed a bowl of Frosty Loops and headed to his room. But on his way down the hallway he glanced back. Yep, the fire extinguisher was there. His father must have unpacked it and leaned it against the wall. Strange though it seemed, Angus had always been fond of fire extinguishers. They were handy inventions. Kind of reassuring.

He ate his cereal at his desk while he fiddled with his latest drawing (he'd given up on sea eagles and gone back to drawing a skyscraper) and listened to music on his iPod. But when half an hour had gone by he began to wonder — shouldn't Martha be back by now? She's probably sulking on the front steps, he thought, or pouring out her heart to Gurdy. She loved that gnome — probably because it had belonged to their mother.

Then he had another thought. Maybe, just maybe, that creepy shop next door was actually open for business.

Angus pulled out his earbuds and abandoned his drawing.

## CHAPTER EIGHT

____________________________________________

## Favourite desirables

It smelt like rose petals and vinegar in Frozen in Time. The air was close and sticky, without so much as a pedestal fan to cool things down. The lighting was dingy too. Shops were usually so brightly lit, they left Angus bedazzled. But not this one. There was the occasional creepy bedside lamp with a silk shade and beaded trim but aside from that the only light came from the front window. This meant the further you ventured into Frozen in Time, the more shadowy and unpredictable your surroundings became.

The main counter was down the back. Angus could just make out the old woman as she moved to and fro, humming loudly and trilling to herself, periodically 'dinging' the register bell as if it were some quaint toy.

A vintage gramophone played the same morbid piano pieces he'd heard a few nights earlier, when their neighbour had started her renovations. Now that he heard her at close range, he realised it was she who had been singing too. Yeuk.

Angus felt he should plan his exploration. But the shop was so ramshackle, it was more a case of threading your way through the junk and examining what you stumbled across. In fact, there was so much junk you actually had to step over things to make any progress.

There were books — hardbacks, paperbacks, linen bound and leather bound, many of them stacked on the floor. There were old cardboard suitcases with rusted clasps and curls of string dangling from their bakelite handles, boxes of vinyl records in peeling covers, broken chairs, battered hatboxes plastered with travel stickers. After only a few minutes Angus had already entered several aisles only to encounter a dead end. At one point he found himself in a cul-de-sac surrounded by long, musty overcoats that mocked him like ghosts from a Victorian fairytale. There was furniture too. Red-and-white vinyl couches and armchairs with horsehair stuffing; a row of aged dressing tables, all with their mirrors missing. Faded oil paintings leaned against bookcases jammed with dusty pottery, floral crockery and china knick-knacks: dancing poodles, little mules wearing sombreros, brightly coloured ceramic piggy banks. The entire ugly mess made Angus feel kind of squeamish. He moved like Jungle Jim through several racks of crocheted rugs, only to be confronted by a skeleton in a pith helmet. Angus jumped. The skeleton grinned. Angus gave it an impatient shove.

'Martha, where the heck are you?' he hissed, squeezing between two haughty mannequins, each wearing a sun frock and a pillbox hat. 'Martha?'

'Looking to see someone, dear?' creaked a thin voice.

Angus spun around.

The old woman was right behind him.

Once again she was dressed in evening clothes. Only this time she'd chosen a swirly green number with downy purple feathers at the throat and cuffs. She barely came up to Angus's chest. He looked down on her and felt superior and gawky all at the same time.

'Your sister-sibling is down there.' She raised a hand cluttered with gold rings and diamonds.

'Yeah. Good. Thanks,' sputtered Angus as he hopped over a Gladstone bag, stumbled on a set of building blocks and tripped his way to Martha.

She was down the back, near the counter.

'Come on,' he said when he reached her. 'It's boiling in here ... And it stinks.'

'But you've only just dropped anchor!' cried the old woman.

Angus jumped. She was right behind him again.

Martha smiled at the woman and moved toward a long glass display cabinet to the right of the cash register.

'These are so pretty,' sighed Martha, squatting down and peering into the cabinet.

'Oh yes,' creaked the old woman, sidling up beside Martha. 'They are my favourites. They're the only pretties in this shop that are not for sold.'

'I can see why,' breathed Martha.

Not for sold? What was this idiot conversation? Angus knelt beside Martha and peered into the cabinet. It was full of snow domes. Big, small, glass, plastic, ornate and plain.

'Since when do you like snow domes?' he said, but Martha simply stared into the cabinet.

'I'd pay anything for one of these,' she sighed.

Behind them, the old woman chuckled. 'Would you like to hold one between your hands?' She drew out a golden key. It was on a long chain around her neck.

'Oh yes, please,' said Martha in a twee, girlie sort of way.

The old woman shuffled to the other side of the cabinet and looked through the glass at Angus and Martha as if they were selecting a special cake or pastry. Her head looked slightly pear-shaped at this angle. Her green eye shadow was creased and smudged, her false eyelashes as spiky as nylon bristles. Her eyes were deep-set and close together — Angus smirked. She looked like the old Cabbage Patch Doll Martha once bought at a jumble sale back in England.

The woman pointed to several snow domes lined up on a glass shelf. The cabinet had its own strip-lighting recessed in the counter top. 'This one? That one?'

Martha shook her head. 'They're all beautiful. But the one I'd love to hold is the big yellowy one with the silver base.'

'Ah,' breathed the old woman, and she reached in and took out the chosen snow dome. She placed it lovingly on the counter.

'This is also my favourite desirable,' she said, winking at Martha. 'I like to keep it nearly to me.'

Martha examined the snow dome.

From what Angus could see, its only unique features were its size (it was nearly as big as a football) and the silver serpent coiled up at its base. He would've gone for the one with the Colosseum inside. Or better still, the Tower of London — it even had ravens in it.

This one was boring. The glass was practically opaque and strangely enough, it was amber, the colour of an old beer bottle. But the weirdest thing was that there was nothing in it. No cityscape, no statues, no plastic palm trees. As far as snow domes went, Angus thought it was pathetic — although maybe it was worth a bit. He could see that it was weighty, and the serpent, which was biting its own tail, looked to be made of solid silver. There was no plaque to identify the snow dome, no label nor inscription.

Martha stared into it as if it were a crystal ball full of secrets. The old woman scrutinised her across the cabinet.

'Go on, dear,' she whispered. 'Give it some shaking. Snow domes is meant to be shaked.'

Martha picked up the snow dome. As her fingers curled around it, she drew a sharp breath.

Angus rolled his eyes. 'It's hardly the Holy Grail,' he said crossly.

Martha gave the snow dome a gentle shake and all the lights in the shops flickered.

Angus glanced at the old woman. She looked rapt, gleeful.

Martha gave the snow dome another shake and this time a furious storm, a howling blizzard of snow and ice, erupted inside the dome. It was so realistic that for a moment even Angus was startled.

'Your father-relative was taken with this pretty too,' said the old woman at last.

'Our father?' said Angus. 'What do you mean?'

'He has visited several times,' said the old woman. 'We have chatted about this and that and many other things. He has an interest.'

'Um, well, yeah,' said Angus. 'I suppose so.' For some reason his heart was racing. He felt cheated. What was his father doing coming in here, spending time with this weird crone, looking at all this junk? Surely there was nothing of historic value in this rubbish tip. He glanced at Martha. She hadn't heard a word of this conversation.

'Let's put it back now, shall we?' said the woman to Martha. 'Back safe and bound in Reafen's special viewing box.'

Safe and _bound_? thought Angus. Did she really say that?

'Oh yes. Of course.' Martha drew breath as if waking from a dream. 'Put it back, please.'

The lights in the shop were now so dim they could barely see the junk, let alone the way out.

'Come on, Martha.' Angus felt angry and uneasy. 'We need to get out of here.'

The old woman locked the cabinet and draped the key back around her neck.

'Come again soon, won't you, children?' she called as Angus took Martha by the elbow and hurried her back out through the junk.

'Of course we will,' said Martha over her shoulder, but Angus pushed her along.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a huge snow-white otter. It was preserved in an upright, snarling pose in a dusty display case in the centre of the shop. It even had blood on its old yellow teeth. Its claws were bared as if set to deliver a killing stroke. Angus hesitated. A giant otter, just like the one before him, flashed across his mind's eye, proud and agile and vicious. It was like a memory, but how could it be? He could even smell it; it reeked of fish and seawater and ... warm blood. His heart thumped and he hurried on. Frozen in Time was giving him cabin fever and his mind was playing tricks on him. He felt hemmed in, under siege from all the overcoats and mannequins and gaudy baubles.

They stumbled through the red door, out into the sunlight and pulled up short under the awning.

'Stop bullying me, Angus!' cried Martha, shoving her brother's hand away. 'I can walk by myself, you know.'

'Oh. Right. Sorry,' said Angus, squinting up at the bay window.

The gold lettering danced and he rubbed his eyes.

'Sorry, Martha,' he said again. 'But this place is totally grim. It made me feel sick and ... jumpy.'

Martha stepped aside as a man approached. He had thick chestnut hair slicked across his head with hair oil. Was his hair fake? It was hard to tell. But it was obviously dyed. He was tall and thin but his shoulders were broad. He had a black moustache, waxed and twirled at the tips. He wore a white shirt with garish gold cufflinks and carried a showy walking cane.

He strode up to the red door and stood for a moment with his hands on his hips, scowling at the sign and peering through the main window.

'Rough old shop, hey?' said Angus.

The man spun around as if he'd only just noticed them. 'What?' He glared at them.

'The shop,' said Angus uncertainly. 'It's a bit ... dodgy.'

'You two should be in school,' snapped the man.

'It's the holidays,' said Martha.

'Yeeesh. That's precisely the trouble with today's youth,' said the man, turning back to the shop and looking it over. 'Too much time on your hands. Running wild all over the place. Delinquents. All of you.'

Martha's jaw dropped. 'Delinquents?' she cried. 'Get real!'

He spun around again. He had a bony nose. And long, yellow teeth. 'Why aren't you at home? Where are your parents? Don't you have chores? I suppose you carry spray paint?' he said. 'Drugs? Weapons? Are you ... pickpockets? Hmmm?'

'You ...' began Martha. 'You —'

But Angus interrupted. 'You need to get a life,' he said to the man. 'Come on, Martha,' he added quietly. 'Let's get out of here.'

But Martha was ready for a spat.

'You can't talk to people like that.' She eyed the man angrily. 'How dare you? How dare you be so rude? If I had spray paint, which I never would, but if I did, I'd spray it all over your ugly face!'

The man ignored her and turned back to the shop.

'Curse it,' he growled, pushing against the door with his shoulder. He gave the door a swift kick. 'I can't get in.'

'Lucky for the owner,' said Angus under his breath, 'with customers like you hanging around. She must have seen you coming.'

'I hope you didn't steal anything,' said the man, rounding on Martha. 'What's in that bag? Quickly. Show me.'

'Oh!' Martha was speechless. She clutched her bag to her chest.

The man licked his dry lips.

'Back off.' Angus confronted him. 'Back off, right now. Come on, Martha,' he added. 'We're out of here.'

Martha huffed at the man, then spun on her heel. 'Pinhead!' she shouted over her shoulder as she followed her brother along the footpath. 'Nutcase!'

But the man was immune to her insults as he ran his hands over the shop window, the boards, the railings. He leaned his ear against the door.

'Frozen in Time,' he muttered fervently. 'Curious Curiosities. Buy now, pay later. The Happiest Place in the World. The Greatest Show on Earth. Yeeesh ...'

## CHAPTER NINE

____________________________________________

## Snow dome whimsy

The kids went out to the back verandah. It was after midday. They had been in Frozen in Time a lot longer than they imagined. Angus leaned over the lattice railing and watched a large stick insect walk earnestly around the edge of the birdbath. At the bottom of the garden a fight had broken out in the mango tree as rosellas and butcherbirds battled over territory.

Martha dropped into a deckchair and put her feet up on the railing. She had made herself a cheese and chilli toastie and was busy tearing it to pieces. Angus wondered why girls always played with their food. He spat watermelon seeds over the railing.

'How was that guy outside the shop?' said Angus, shaking his head. 'What a creep. Where did he get off, saying stuff like that to total strangers? Making out all kids are criminals ...'

His sister nodded thoughtfully.

'The old woman must have been quick to lock up,' said Angus, frowning. 'One minute we were in there, the next minute the place was in total shutdown. Weird.'

Martha still said nothing. She'd been quiet, almost withdrawn, since they returned from the shop.

'Martha,' said Angus, trying not to watch as she twisted melted cheese around her finger, 'you were acting kind of freaky in that shop today.'

Martha nibbled at her food. The plate tilted, threatening to slide off her chest.

'When you held that snow dome,' said Angus, 'you went all ... spacey.'

Martha stretched and the plate slid further. 'I don't know. It was just that it was so pretty. Sort of ... beautiful but sad.'

'What?' said Angus, surprised. 'What do you mean "beautiful but sad"?'

'Oh, I don't know,' said Martha. Then she stopped. 'One thing was really strange though.' She frowned. 'When I picked it up,' she said in a low voice, 'when I first held the snow dome, it was absolutely freezing, Angus. As if I was holding a block of ice. It was the strangest sensation. It was so cold, I thought I'd get frostbite.'

'Right,' said Angus.

'And there was something else too.'

'Yeah?'

'I thought I could hear voices. Whisperings, you know?'

Angus stared at his sister. Her imagination had gone troppo. This was exactly the sort of nonsense he worked hard to avoid. 'Stick to the facts,' he said casually.

'I knew you wouldn't believe me!' cried Martha, and the plate crashed to the floor.

'No, no,' said Angus quickly. He was stunned — his sister almost looked like she was about to cry. 'I mean, I thought you were joking, that's all.'

'This was no joke,' said Martha passionately.

'Maybe the snow dome got cold from sitting in that cabinet,' said Angus.

'Yeah right. So you're the science nut and you think it got frozen from sitting in a glass cabinet under hot lights. Correct?'

'Well ... no,' said Angus. 'But logically, how could an ornament give you frostbite?'

'And what about the voices? You think I imagined those too?' Martha slumped back in the chair.

'I don't know,' said Angus hesitantly. 'Maybe there was a radio in one of those dark corners. Some crackly old thing talking away to itself ...'

'There was no radio,' said Martha darkly.

Angus sighed. After a moment he said, 'The old woman reckons the Prof was interested in that snow dome. Apparently he's been in there plenty of times. Before the shop was even open.'

'The Prof?' said Martha with surprise. 'What would it mean to him? What business would it be of his?'

'Well, he's pretty wrapped up in archaeology these days. You know, since Mum died.'

Martha considered this for a moment.

'Maxwell should stop playing games,' she said resentfully. 'He's no archaeologist. He's clueless ... He was probably looking for lost treasure. Some crusty old antique to impress his new girlfriend.'

Angus nodded. He could see no reason to argue, and besides, he didn't have the energy. Frozen in Time wasn't a shop — it was a dangerous hovel. It had sent his imagination into overdrive and made him feel gross. The sooner he put it out of his mind, got the whole episode out of his system, the better.

As for the man with the gold cufflinks and yellow teeth, well, this suburb was full of nutters. He was just one of many.

## CHAPTER TEN

____________________________________________

## Seeking shelter

Just before dawn, the glass display case in Frozen in Time that housed the huge, snow-white otter began to crack. At first it was a hairline split, so fine, so quiet, it was barely noticeable. Within minutes, the crack had gathered momentum, travelling across the surface of the glass like lines on a road map. Soon the glass began to screech and crackle.

From her makeshift bed in the back room, Reafen heard the noise and ran into the shop, her nylon nightgown tangled about her ankles. The noise was terrible now, unnatural and perverse. She covered her ears and cringed as the sound boomed and groaned like an iceberg splitting in two.

She crept further into the shop, her nightgown bristling with static electricity, just as the display case exploded and the otter sprang forth, hissing and spitting. It dashed blindly about the shop, hurling itself at furniture, lamps and shelving, sending knick-knacks, bric-a-brac and mannequins flying.

Reafen screamed. The otter flicked its head in her direction and flung itself forward, leaping and bounding over books and clothing racks. Reafen scrambled for a weapon — a spotted umbrella, a walking cane, a black-iron fire poker. Yes! Iron was what she needed.

She raised the poker. The otter launched itself at her throat, teeth bared, claws flashing.

'NO!' screamed Reafen. ' _Jeg tillater ikke at det!_ I will not allow it!'

Razor-sharp claws slid down her arm and tore her skin as Reafen belted the beast with all her might.

There was the stench of burning fur, and the bewitched otter catapulted across the room. It hit the wall with a sickening thud and fell to the floor, rigid.

Reafen dropped her weapon and staggered to the main counter, clutching her bleeding arm to her chest. Trembling all over, she sat down heavily and took out the snow dome. She peered into it. Behind the amber glass, the tiny snowflakes swirled, dark and furious. At its base, the serpent's scales rippled.

'No, no, no,' groaned Reafen. 'What a foolish old woman I am. This is all my fault.' In her pocket the Wishing Stones shuddered. 'Varla has found me ...' she whispered shakily. 'She has _seen_ me ...'

Reafen sniffed the air. The shop reeked of scorched fur. She could literally see the putrid vapours hovering in every corner of her glorious establishment.

Reafen stared at the shattered display case. Varla had used the otter to look more closely, to enter Reafen's world more fully. Varla had stared through the otter's cold glass eyes, she had bent her Wild Magick to this appalling task, and for a brief moment she had sent her spirit forth and entered the dead otter's body.

How successful had the witch been? Had Varla seen the pretty? It was impossible to know.

Reafen wiped her damp brow. For the time being Varla had been banished, perhaps even injured. But she would be back — there was no doubt about that.

'Filthy witch,' muttered Reafen. 'Filthy, spying, tyrannous hag.'

Reafen winced, and reached for a cotton neckerchief under the counter. She wound the neckerchief around the gash on her forearm, then threw the lid off a shoebox. She would mop up the blood and tend to her injuries later — first she had to eat.

She sifted through her chocolate stash: Coco Mocha Chew-Chews, Cherry Twirls, Caramello Ripple bars. She would eat, then she would bury the otter ... along with a handful of rusty nails and a couple of iron trivets. Just to be sure. Just to be certain no witchcraft ever possessed the wretched beast again.

Later that same morning, Angus found the Prof standing by the sink, sipping coffee.

'Hello,' said the Prof brightly. 'You're up early.'

Angus shrugged. He was hardly going to say, 'I've been listening out for you half the night ...'

'Looks like another hot one,' said the Prof, pushing up the window.

'So how was the big date?' Angus leaned against the doorframe. 'I mean, you look pretty pleased with yourself.'

'I wouldn't put it that way,' said the Prof with an uncertain chuckle.

'But it was good?' asked Angus.

'Not bad,' said the Prof. 'Did you manage okay without me?'

Angus almost laughed. Was his father kidding? They'd been managing without him for four years.

'So, she was nice then?' Angus couldn't help himself. He had to know about this new love interest.

'Yes, she was nice,' said the Prof. 'Very friendly.'

'And?'

'And, well, the history of economics bores her rigid,' said the Prof with a laugh. 'But she shares my interest in Norse mythology. Vikings in particular.'

Angus felt a rush of jealousy. His mother had written entire books about Vikings. She even made a documentary. Had this new woman done anything that good?

'And you're going to see her again?' Angus pushed on.

'Probably,' said the Prof, going back to his coffee.

'When?'

'Oh, you know. Sometime soon.'

This was cagey behaviour even for the Prof.

'Look,' his father said, tossing his coffee down the sink, 'I was hoping to work from home today but something's come up. I've got an early meeting at the university. You can manage here, I trust?'

Angus shrugged.

'Good,' said the Prof. 'I've put a load of washing on. Hang it out, will you? I'd better be off. Tell Martha I'll call her this afternoon.'

Liar, thought Angus as the Prof brushed past him, reeking of aftershave. You're not going in to work. You're having breakfast with Miss Nice and Friendly. She gets pancakes and maple syrup. We get Frosty Loops and burned toast. Angus hated her already. He resolved not to tell Martha anything of this conversation. Not even that their father had said he would call. She would only end up disappointed.

Over the next few days, the Prof was rarely home. Suddenly all his work had to be done at the university rather than upstairs in his study. Funny about that, thought Angus. Especially since it was semester break and the uni was practically dead. Even Martha had her suspicions but they avoided the subject as much as they could. And in the meantime, they took advantage of their freedom.

Martha was busting to have another look in Frozen in Time but Angus was determined to put her off for as long as he could. Every time she mentioned it, he just said the place needed to be bulldozed and he wasn't going near it. As luck would have it, the weather was perfect and Martha soon stopped pestering him — there was too much other stuff happening to risk missing out. Buskers, street performers, even the carnival was open during the day. It had extended its borders too, as more and more carnival folk arrived in town. They pitched tents and set up rides along the full length of the boardwalk. Angus felt a bit dorky hanging out with his little sister but there was no way he could shake her off. Plus he was worried. He didn't want her going back to Frozen in Time. He couldn't explain why, but that place got his hackles up. He couldn't stand the thought of Martha going in there on her own.

For days on end they bodysurfed, rode dodgem cars, watched acrobats balance on each other's heads and living statues tip their hats for money. They rode on the Paratrooper and the Tilt-a-Whirl, and Angus won an entire collection of 'highly flammable' stuffed animals from the shooting gallery. They gorged themselves on fish and chips, dim sims, Spearmint Chews and corn chips. They skipped the hot donuts though. There was a constant queue outside the Caravan of Delight and Angus and Martha were always in a hurry to get to the next entertainment. They still felt like strangers in their new neighbourhood, as self-conscious as tourists, but even so, things were looking up. Slightly.

However, four days after their visit to Frozen in Time, something unsettling occurred.

Early in the morning, as Angus was grabbing his beach towel from the front verandah railings, he noticed a strange man across the street. The man was standing under the jacaranda tree. He seemed to be watching Frozen in Time. In fact, he _was_ watching Frozen in Time.

Angus tried to get a better look, wondering if the horrible bloke with the yellow teeth and funny chestnut hair was back again.

No, this was someone else. This new man was taller than that other creep. He was lean too, although how lean it was difficult to tell as he was wearing a long, stone-coloured trench coat — an odd choice on such a steamy morning. He also wore a Panama hat pulled so low that his face was obscured.

The stranger glanced in Angus's direction then quickly made his way in a halting, unsteady manner back down the hill toward the end of the street.

'Angus,' Martha called from inside, ' _Animation Fixation_ 's on.'

_Animation Fixation?_ Hmm. Maybe it was worth a look. Angus forgot the mystery man and hurried inside. Another advantage of having an absent parent — they could watch television any time of the day. Even in the morning.

Following _Animation Fixation_ (which was seriously pathetic) and the not-so-hilarious adventures of _Inspector Dougall, Dog Detective_ , they had the option to watch _Gentle Ben_ , which they soon discovered was an antiquated series from the United States about a large unfortunate bear who was beholden to a family of well-meaning idiots. Or they could watch a blonde woman in tropical prints interview a selection of aged swimming champions, self-appointed film critics and swivel-mop salesmen. Or they could watch two hours of learning to read with befuddled toddlers and desperate actors.

In the end they went to the beach.

The rest of the morning passed quickly. A puppet show had been set up in a large canvas tent near the Caravan of Delight. The Donut Lady 'pulled some wool' (which is to say, she pulled some strings) and presented Angus and Martha with front-row tickets. She was so keen for them to attend the silly show that they couldn't bring themselves to say no. So, just for a joke, they lined up with the sweaty crowd, handed over their rumpled tickets and sidled in.

It turned out to be really freaky, and before long, Angus and Martha were riveted. The story was about two boys and a wolfhound who travelled the world in an old wooden wardrobe, which, when tipped on its side, was actually a magical boat. There were life-size puppets and the lighting was so eerie that some of the little kids started to cry and had to be taken out. There were also sinister sound effects provided by a skinny teenager on a Hammond organ. Angus and Martha enjoyed every moment, and when they finally stepped outside, they were shocked to find that the day had turned inky black. The wind blew in mighty gusts and the puppet tent billowed, its canvas sidings snapping, its ropes straining. Only a few disorientated hippies were left on the beach; everyone else was bowing into the wind, shoving and bumping and struggling with boogie boards and beach tents, grumbling and yelling at each other as they clambered into people movers and station wagons. Some hopped on mopeds and motor scooters. Others scrambled aboard the tourist bus.

'Get home, Angus and Martha!' The Donut Lady waved at them urgently through the caravan servery. 'The clouds is about to split. Run!' She slammed down the aluminium awning.

'Come on!' yelled Angus as the wind hurled his cap across the grass. 'Let's go!'

'What about our bikes?' Martha clutched her beloved bag as if it might blow away too.

'Leave 'em,' spat Angus as a blast of sand hit him in the face. 'We're faster without them.'

The pair ran for home, grit and sand and street litter whipping their legs, their beach towels billowing behind them like colourful capes.

They were just outside number thirteen when a bolt of lightning rent the sky like a metal zipper and rain, too heavy to separate into drops, tipped down upon them.

'In here,' cried Martha, and they ducked for cover in the entrance to Frozen in Time.

They were still catching their breath and wiping the rain from their eyes when the bell tinkled and the red door opened — just a fraction.

The old woman peered through the crack. Her blue-black hair was no longer curled and glossy but hung in a coarse, tangled mass around her face and shoulders. She was wearing a heavy tartan dressing gown and enormous square sunglasses with thick white frames and rose-coloured lenses. Her fingernails were caked with dry mud. A soiled bandage was woven around her thumb and disappeared in a haphazard spiral-turn up the sleeve of her dressing gown.

'I'm not for opening,' she said fiercely.

Martha and Angus faltered.

'We've noticed,' said Martha.

'Then why do you linger like silly little sugar ants?' said the old woman, raising her voice over the thrum of the rain. 'Why do you clutter my grand and welcoming doorway?'

'Um ...' began Martha and she glanced at Angus. He knew exactly what his sister was thinking — what was wrong with the old bat? Why was she suddenly so stroppy?

The old woman tipped her sunglasses and glared at the kids over the rim. She had a sickly gleam in her eyes. 'Well?' she said impatiently.

'Hello?' said Angus, bundling his towel under his arm. 'There's a storm. We're taking shelter.'

'Well, don't be long,' grunted the old woman. 'You're making my shop look ... _unforgiving_.'

She slammed the door so hard the little bell above the doorframe jumped out of its bracket.

## CHAPTER ELEVEN

____________________________________________

## An uneasy deal

The storm raged on and off for the rest of the afternoon. Martha holed up in her room and made a fancy beaded scarf. Angus got out his sketchpad and sat on the front verandah, just out of reach of the rain. As he drew, he thought about the giant otter in the shop next door. Man, it had freaked him out. Was it real or some kind of elaborate fake that was deliberately made to look old and macabre? Did otters even grow to that size? Surely not. He'd seen them at the zoo and on the telly but he'd never taken that much notice. In any case, he'd never heard of white otters. At least, not pure white like this one, and he had definitely _never_ seen one. No way.

Angus looked up from his drawing. The rain had stopped but the sky was dark and low and the wind was temperamental. It was even hotter now, and clammy. Steam rose from the asphalt. Water gushed down the gutters, gurgling into drains choked with leaves and shredded jacaranda blooms. Everything smelt ... _green_.

Angus looked out across the street.

The mysterious stranger was back.

Angus slid off his chair and ducked behind the potted fig at the top of the steps. He looked out between the leaves.

The stranger was in the same position as that morning. Once more he was waiting. Watching.

He was dressed in the same trench coat too, only this time he carried a red umbrella. The umbrella was open, even though the rain had stopped.

Several minutes passed as the man stood perfectly still, only moving to raise the umbrella and peer out from under it. He was still wearing the Panama hat.

Martha came out, devouring a chicken leg.

'What's up?' She frowned when she saw her brother hunched behind the fig.

Angus gestured for her to join him. 'I'm watching him,' he whispered.

Martha gasped. 'Who is he?' she asked, peeking through the leaves.

'Not sure, but he was there this morning too.'

'He's watching the shop!' exclaimed Martha.

'Possibly,' said Angus.

'Is it that creep from the other day?' asked Martha suddenly. 'The "why aren't you in school" pinhead?'

'No, I don't think so,' said Angus. 'This is someone else.'

'I'm getting the binoculars,' said Martha, and she tossed the chicken leg into the garden and dashed back inside.

When she finally came back, Angus was on his chair with his sketchpad on his knee.

'He's gone,' he said casually.

'No way!' said Martha, swinging down the front steps.

'He just shut his umbrella, pulled down his hat and left,' said Angus. 'He sort of shuffled and wobbled then took off down the hill.'

Martha jumped over the gate and looked down the street. A few drops of rain splashed her binoculars. A lone bird wheeled above the treetops and thunder rumbled in the distance. She ducked across the road.

She swung the binoculars this way and that, then looked back at their house. It was like seeing it through the eyes of a stranger. Martha cringed. The house was a mess. The roof was the colour of outback dirt and a secret garden was sprouting in the guttering. The verandah sloped sideways too, as if the whole house was slowly sinking south. She moved the binoculars to the front garden and hesitated. Something was missing.

She fiddled with the binoculars, focused them on their verandah and then gazed down the front path.

She ran back across the road and up the steps to her brother. 'Gurdy's gone,' she cried.

'Yeah, I know,' said Angus.

'But when? How? Why?'

'Who knows?' said Angus. 'I only noticed this morning. But he could have been gone for days.'

'Oh! We should never have put him out the front, Angus. I knew it was dangerous!'

'Yeah. I s'pose.'

'Maybe someone sent him on holiday,' said Martha hopefully. 'People do that to garden gnomes, you know. We might get a postcard ... from Paris or somewhere.'

'I doubt it,' said Angus. 'He's probably been grabbed by vandals and thrown off the pier.'

'That's horrible!' cried Martha.

'Yeah, well, life's horrible,' said Angus. 'And this neighbourhood sucks.'

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. Customers came and went from Frozen in Time while the kids discussed the disappearance of Gurdy the garden gnome. Martha was not going to give him up easily. She came up with all sorts of silly theories — Gurdy was somewhere next door in Frozen in Time, the Prof had taken him to work and forgotten to tell them, the gnome was with Jarly the cat and their disappearances were linked ... But deep down Angus was sure Gurdy had been stolen as part of some stupid prank — he'd probably been picked up by local hoods, the kind of boneheads who did wheelies and burnouts late at night on the esplanade.

In the dead of night, Angus woke with that old familiar feeling again, only this time it was worse. He felt empty inside, completely alone. He didn't think it was to do with his mother. This was something else. He had carried this feeling since he was a little kid. Since before his mother died. It was as if he was craving something. Something he'd never had, yet always missed ...

He lay quietly and listened to the night. The occasional car sped down the street. Far off, a police siren wailed. He could hear the sea too. The shore break sounded heavy and mournful.

He rolled over. As he drifted back to sleep, he was only partly aware of the music. It floated through his clouded mind. It was a willow flute. Breathy, unearthly. He could not recall ever having heard such music and yet ... he knew this sound so well. He had always known it. He wanted to go to the window. He wanted to search for the source of the music. But he was overcome with sleep — he could not will himself to rise. In his dreams, he saw ice and swirling mists, his breath lingered before him in damp plumes, crisp, white snow crunched beneath his feet. There was a boat. A long, wooden boat. Angus reached out to touch it — and slid into darkness.

'I feel cruddy this morning,' said Martha, reaching for the Frosty Loops.

'Martha, you need to stop using that word,' said Angus, slinging bowls and spoons onto the table. 'It's becoming a habit. Cruddy this. Cruddy that. You need to extend your vocabulary, otherwise people will never take you seriously.'

'Crud,' muttered Martha.

Angus sighed and turned to put the toast on. He felt out of sorts himself this morning but he couldn't pinpoint why. Had he slept last night? Well, obviously he had. He couldn't remember a thing after he turned out the light ...

He took the bread out of the packet and dropped it into the toaster. He couldn't wait to get out of this boiling hothouse, couldn't wait to get to the beach. The sea always made him feel better. The sea almost made him feel ... whole.

The kids rescued their bikes from where they had dumped them the previous day, and stood looking out over the beach. It was quieter than usual. A few joggers pounded along the boardwalk. Half a dozen black-dot surfers bobbed on the horizon. Things would pick up when people realised the storm had passed.

The carnival was gearing up for the day. A few 'carnies' in sleeveless flannelette shirts and military shorts sat on the edge of the retaining wall, dangling their tattooed legs, smoking cigarettes and sipping coffee from polystyrene cups. The old bloke who ran the puppet show was hosing down a merry-go-round. Angus wondered why anyone would get a tattoo of bluebirds on their neck ...

'Martha, Angus,' called a familiar voice. 'You like some treats?'

'Excellent,' said Angus. 'Second breakfast.'

The pair laid their bikes under a pine tree and scrambled up the hill.

'It was a big storm, yes?' said the Donut Lady as she poured batter into a sizzling vat.

'We got drenched,' said Martha, 'and we were only in it for two seconds.'

'So you make it home in time?' said the Donut Lady.

'Kind of,' said Angus. 'We hung out in front of Frozen in Time for a while.'

'Frozen in Time?' The Donut Lady wiped her gooey fingers. 'You take shelter at Reafen's?'

'Is that her name?' said Martha.

'Hey, yeah.' Angus turned to Martha. 'Remember? When you were looking at the snow dome, she said, "Reafen's special viewing box."'

'You have been in the shop?' The Donut Lady scowled at them.

'Oh yes,' said Martha. 'We were in there for hours. There was heaps to look at and Reafen was ... nice. Sort of.'

The Donut Lady was becoming red-faced. Angus gave Martha another nudge, willing her to shut up, at least until they got their donuts.

'You spend hours in Reafen's shop? Are you fools? Are you numbskulls? This is no place for children.' The Donut Lady shook her head.

'It's just a junk shop,' said Angus.

'Trust me, boy.' The Donut Lady leaned over the servery and poked him with her spatula. 'I know the ones like her. You must bevare of this type.'

'But why?' Martha's eyes were wide.

'Ahh,' sighed the Donut Lady, shaking her head sadly. 'Here, eat,' she said, handing them each a bag of hot donuts. 'Your father. He is well?'

The kids hesitated.

'Sure,' said Angus.

The Donut Lady eyed him suspiciously.

'How do you know our father?' said Angus.

'He jogs, he buys drinks, we talk.' The Donut Lady shrugged her strong shoulders. 'He is handsome, yes? Educated too ...'

'He's a professor,' said Angus.

'Of economic history,' added Martha. 'Blah.'

'He is nosey,' said the Donut Lady. 'He likes to poke around in the past, in the world's paraphernalia.'

'He never used to,' said Angus. 'He never used to care about that stuff. Only graphs and theories and statistics.'

'But these days the past is all he ever thinks about,' said Martha. 'The past and his selfish self.'

The Donut Lady frowned as she mulled this over.

Angus made to leave — they'd already said too much and the last thing he wanted was an interrogation about their father. Their father was _their_ business, no-one else's. Why did Martha always have to blab about such personal matters?

'Has Vladimir come back?' asked Martha, breaking a donut and blowing at the steam.

'Ah, Vlad,' sighed the Donut Lady. 'He prowl along the boardwalk all night. He sit on the bollards and cry at the moon. But he never come when I call. He will not come since the robbery. It is a sad thing when even a cat will not listen to an old woman.'

The Donut Lady dabbed her eyes on the corner of her apron.

'He'll come back,' said Angus. 'Our cat always does.'

A jogger in red satin shorts and a white basketball singlet joined them. He looked down his nose at Angus. Angus stepped aside. You might be tall and pumped like Iron Man, he thought, but you smell like a ferret.

'Off you go, children,' said the Donut Lady as she went about serving the jogger. 'And remember what I tell you.'

'We will,' cried Martha as they ran down the hill. 'Thank you, Donut Lady!'

One day they would ask her what her real name was.

Over the next couple of days, the weather was murky and the beach was a lonely, grey place strewn with seaweed and cuttlefish bones. The Prof was working even longer hours and had started leaving the house before the kids even got up.

Martha and Angus moped about at home. Their only entertainment was the tall, mysterious stranger who appeared across the road at the same time each morning and afternoon. Is this what our lives have come to? Angus wondered. Stuck in a festering shack, no friends, a runaway father, and nothing to fill their time except spying on other losers. Martha, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind. She insisted Angus draw a bunch of 'identikit' sketches while she made notes about the stranger's appearance — descriptions of his coat, his hat and the odd way he walked. Martha even searched for clues under the jacaranda tree but all she found was an empty wrapper labelled _Gim: Dried Seaweed_.

People kept coming and going from Frozen in Time but Martha had backed off. Angus wasn't sure if she was wary of the old woman's temper or alarmed by the Donut Lady's warnings. Either way, it suited him just fine. He knew he couldn't stop Martha if she made up her mind to visit again but he hated the thought of going back there — it wasn't a shop, it was a death trap, a depressing fire hazard and the owner was a demented crone who obviously couldn't be trusted.

By the third morning of their 'Mysterious Stranger Stakeout', Martha had grown impatient.

'I've had it with this,' she said, flicking a leaf on the potted fig. 'Let's follow him.'

'We can't do that,' said Angus, still crouched behind the plant.

'Why not?' Martha lowered her voice. 'He might be planning to rob the shop.'

'That dump? Why would you bother? It's full of junk.'

'What about the man we met on that first day? He was desperate to get inside. Hammering on the door. Sticking his nose against the window. Muttering and pacing.'

'My point exactly ...' said Angus. 'He was clearly insane. The place is a magnet for nutters.'

Martha thought for a moment. 'Maybe he's going to kidnap the old lady,' she said enthusiastically.

Angus got up. He had no further interest in playing detectives. 'Martha,' he said, 'you've lost the plot.'

'I'm bored,' she huffed. 'Bored, bored, bored.'

'So?' Angus watched as the stranger lowered his hat and headed off down the hill. 'What if he really is dangerous? What if he's a crim?'

'Who cares?' said Martha, jumping up. 'We're smart. We're fast. We can keep our distance.'

Angus headed back inside. His sister was determined. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable.

'Tomorrow morning,' he said. 'If he's there again, we follow him. If not, we forget the whole thing.'

'Excellent!' said Martha. 'You won't regret it, Angus. This'll be so cool, like a real adventure ...' She stretched out over the railings but the stranger had already disappeared.

'I've got a feeling about this,' she called after her brother.

'That's helpful,' said Angus as he disappeared down the hallway.

The truth was he had a feeling too.

Only it wasn't a good one.

## CHAPTER TWELVE

____________________________________________

## Mirror, mirror

Wake up, Angus.' Martha shook her brother's shoulder. When he groaned and barely moved, she dug in her fingers until he yelped.

'Hey!' he said, springing up. 'Watch it!'

'Shh!' said Martha. 'Quick. Follow me ...'

Angus could tell by her face that she was serious. He slid out of bed and followed her silently down the hall to her room. The sun was up but it was still early.

Martha pushed the door gently. She pointed to her dressing table. 'Go over there. Look in the mirror,' she said.

The dressing table was in the far corner. Angus angled past the bed and the jumble of clothes and books and stuffed toys on the floor. Man, his sister's room was a mess.

He looked in the mirror, expecting to see a huntsman spider crawling up it. Or a giant cockroach that needed squashing.

'What the ...?' He could only just see himself through the shadow. Somehow it seemed to float inside the mirror. It lurched and Angus stepped back.

Martha crept up beside him. 'What is it?' she said.

Angus shook his head. The shadow had no particular shape.

'Open the curtains,' he said. 'Let in some light.'

Martha tore open the curtains and the shape faded. The next second it was back. This time it was more defined. Was it a head, a face? Suddenly the mirror rattled and Martha screamed.

The dressing table shook. It shook so hard, things began to fall off. First a hairbrush. Then seashells, sunblock, pens and pencils, hairbands and nail polish.

'Is it an earthquake?' Martha looked about fearfully. But they both knew it wasn't. Nothing else in the room was moving.

The drawers rattled, their metal handles shuddering and clinking. Martha's music box tumbled over the edge. 'Oh!' She reached out to catch it but Angus pulled her back.

'No,' he said. 'Keep back.'

The mirror began to crack.

Angus pushed Martha to the floor and dived over her as the mirror exploded. Shards of glass shot around the room. Angus felt his ear burn. He pressed his hand over it and felt the blood, warm and sticky.

The room became quiet again. Angus looked up slowly. The rattling had stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

'What on earth?' Their father stood in the doorway. 'What are you doing?' he said, looking at them hunched on the floor. 'Are you two fighting again? I thought you'd grown out of that nonsense.'

'The mirror,' said Martha. 'It exploded!'

The Prof strode into the room. 'This is ridiculous,' he said. 'Get up off the floor this minute. What is _wrong_ with you two?'

'But we didn't do anything,' said Martha, getting to her feet.

Angus sat on the edge of the bed, avoiding the broken glass and dabbing his ear with a wad of tissues.

'I'm fed up with the pair of you,' said the Prof. 'I work day in, day out to keep this family afloat and this is how you repay me? Clean up this mess. Angus, put a plaster on that ear. You're lucky it's not worse. Fighting like a pair of brutes. It's shameful.'

The Prof looked around at the rest of the room. 'This room is a pigsty, Martha. I did not raise you this way.'

'It's only a pigsty because you don't care!' yelled Martha.

The Prof stared at her.

'You're a rotten father and you're never here and I hate this house and I hate this room and I hate you most of all!' Martha's fists were clenched, her face white with fury.

Angus stood up and put his arm around his sister.

'She doesn't really mean it,' said Angus dutifully when he saw his father's stunned expression.

'I do so mean it,' said Martha hotly.

'Well, yes, I see.' The Prof shifted uncomfortably. 'Thank you for your honesty, Martha.' He nodded as if he were addressing a pair of students, surveyed the mess one more time, then left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Martha threw the glass-spattered quilt aside and flung herself on the bed. She hurled a pillow at the wall.

Angus knelt on the floor and began picking up the shattered glass.

For the next half-hour, the kids lay low in Martha's room, half-heartedly tidying up but mostly just whispering about what had happened. Martha pulled a sheet off her bed and threw it over the dressing table. She couldn't bear to look at it. Their father did not look in on them or speak to them again and it was a relief when they finally heard him leave the house.

'You probably shouldn't have yelled at him like that,' said Angus.

'Why not?' said Martha angrily. 'He deserved it. It's like he doesn't even see us anymore, Angus. We're invisible. Professor Jack and his invisible kids ...'

Angus touched his sore ear and winced.

Martha picked up her music box from amongst the jumble and opened it. The tiny ballerina turned smoothly, Brahms's Lullaby tinkled clearly — and a fraction too fast, as always.

'Thank goodness,' Martha sighed as she looked at it lovingly.

'I'll get the dustpan,' said Angus.

'I'm coming with you,' said Martha. She didn't want to be alone in the room.

'Angus,' she said as they walked down the hallway, 'you don't think this house is _haunted_ , do you?'

'Don't be ridiculous,' said Angus. 'There has to be a logical explanation for what just happened.'

'But what about Jarly? He still hasn't come back, and what about the Donut Lady and the robbery and the guy in the coat? Maybe he's watching _our_ house, not the shop next door. Maybe he's some kind of ... ghost buster.'

'Woah!' said Angus. 'Slow down, Nancy Drew. Let's just handle this calmly, okay?'

'Okay,' said Martha reluctantly.

'We need some breakfast,' said Angus. 'I'll make you a milkshake.'

'But what about the broken mirror?'

'It can wait,' said Angus.

As he raided the fridge, pulling out bits and pieces for breakfast, Angus thought about what Martha had said. Her ghost theory was typically nutty, but there were more than a few things that bothered him about the events that had happened recently.

He thought about the shadow he'd seen in the hall mirror previously. He thought about the shop next door and the way Martha went all weird when she held that creepy snow dome. He thought about the white otter and his ... _irrational_ reaction to it.

'Martha,' he said as the toast popped and he flicked off the milkshake-maker, 'you know when we were in Frozen in Time ...'

'Yes,' said Martha expectantly.

'Did you see any mirrors?'

'Huh?'

'Mirrors. Think back. Did you see any? Any at all?'

Martha's brow crumpled. 'I don't think so,' she said. 'I saw a heap of old dressing tables and a couple of sideboard thingies. But you know what, they all had their mirrors missing.'

Angus joined his sister at the table.

Martha grabbed his arm. 'What are you thinking, Angus? Tell me!'

Angus shook his head. 'I don't know what to think. Maybe it's all just a freaky coincidence. Maybe we're seeing things that aren't there because we're bored and, you know, fed up.'

Martha crossed her arms. 'We're not imagining things,' she said emphatically. 'No way.'

'Do you still want to follow the man in the long coat?' Angus spoke through a mouthful of toast and Vegemite.

'Do I ever,' said Martha.

Later that morning, after they had swept up the mirror glass and done a slapdash tidy of Martha's bedroom, the pair decided to hide in the hibiscus bushes across the road. Martha insisted it was the best place to wait for the stranger and Angus was happy enough to play along. After all, his sister had had a rough morning.

'Have you got any food?' asked Martha as they settled into their hiding place.

'What do you think I am?' said Angus. 'A milk bar?'

'I know you've got something,' said Martha.

Angus pulled out a bag of corn chips. 'Don't scoff them all at once,' he whispered but he didn't know why he was whispering. It was ten past ten and there was no sign of the stranger.

Martha popped the bag. She nodded at Frozen in Time. 'Shopsh open,' she said through a mouthful.

Angus stood up carefully so as not to be seen and raised the binoculars — just as the old woman stepped outside. Today she was wearing a brown zip-up slack suit with enormous white lapels and deep white cuffs with gold buttons. Her hair was tizzed up again and she had a floaty leopard-print scarf tied in a bow at her throat. A stack of orange and white plastic bangles clonked at her wrists.

'Quick, she's going back inside,' said Martha, grabbing for the binoculars. 'Let me have a look.' She squinted through the lenses. 'Oh, I don't like that outfit at all. Brown is definitely not her colour.'

Angus rolled his eyes.

Another ten minutes passed. Customers came and went from Frozen in Time while the kids sat amidst the bushes and discussed the exploding mirror.

'Maybe it was an earth tremor,' said Angus. 'Small, localised ... unpredictable.'

'Yeah,' said Martha, 'they happen under dressing tables all over the world every day. _Not_.'

She checked her watch. It was one of her most prized possessions — a purple surf watch she had won in a soccer club raffle two years ago and never taken off.

'Ten-thirty,' she said glumly.

'He's not coming,' said Angus.

'You can give up but I'm not,' said Martha.

'I'll go home and get us some water,' said Angus, stuffing the corn chips bag in his pocket.

'He's here!' cried Martha, jumping up.

'Get down,' said Angus.

From this angle, they could see the mystery man clearly. His large lace-up shoes were split and scuffed and the Panama hat was grimy.

The man began digging through his coat pockets. He tottered as if trying to keep his balance, then pulled out some kind of snack bar.

'Maybe he's drunk,' said Martha.

The kids took turns with the binoculars. They couldn't see the man's face but they could tell that he was tearing the wrapper with his teeth. The wrapper fluttered to his feet but instead of eating the snack bar, he poked it inside his coat at about chest height.

Angus and Martha glanced at each other.

A few more minutes passed as the pair watched the stranger stare at the shop.

When he started to turn around, Martha jumped up. 'He's going! Come on!'

'No, wait,' said Angus. 'We need to put some distance between us.'

They peeped through the bushes as the stranger headed down the street.

'Now!' said Angus.

They were scrambling out of the bushes when a man roared up in a four-wheel drive. The window slid down and music boomed out. _Doof, doof, doof_.

'Hey!' he bellowed. 'Get out of my hibiscus!'

The stranger in the coat glanced over his shoulder, spotted Angus and Martha, then hurried off down the street.

'You kids better not be up to anything,' said the man in the car.

'Just looking for our cat.' Angus tried to act casual.

The man grunted, his window slid up and the music faded to a dull throb.

'Rats!' said Martha. 'That creep's just blown our cover.'

They stumbled onto the street, brushing leaves and hibiscus petals from their hair. They were just in time to see the stranger's hat in the distance.

'After him!' cried Angus.

## CHAPTER THIRTEEN

____________________________________________

## Step through the veil

They followed the stranger to the bottom of the hill, where he stopped for a moment and looked about. Martha and Angus ducked behind a postbox.

'What's he doing?' Martha was crouched behind her brother. It was difficult to see.

'Looking at the main road ... I think he's going to cross.'

But the stranger did not cross the road. Instead he turned left and headed toward the city.

Angus and Martha stayed close behind, slipping in and out of driveways, bobbing behind chairs and tables outside cafes, ice-cream parlours and fish-and-chip shops.

One block. Two blocks. At the corner of the third block, he turned left again. It was another hilly street lined with workers' cottages, small businesses and cavernous warehouses that had been converted into apartments and funky restaurants.

They passed Miss Darling's Deportment Studio and came to a pub on the corner. It was open and a few patrons sat at tables on the footpath. The stranger dipped his head and veered into Bag Knot Lane.

The kids followed him down the bluestone lane. Past loaded skips. Past discarded boxes and packing crates. Past overflowing garbage cans with seagulls squabbling and pecking at slops. The stench of wet cabbage and rotten potatoes hung on the hot morning air.

They reached a tall red-brick building and the stranger slowed down. The kids hid behind a dumpster.

'It's the back of the old hat factory,' said Angus, gazing up at the walls. 'I read about this place when I was researching the suburb.'

Martha rolled her eyes. Sometimes her brother was such an egghead.

The factory was several storeys high, with rows and rows of narrow timber-framed windows, all of them barred, except for what looked like toilet windows on the top floor.

A corroded metal staircase, at one time a fire escape, zigzagged the full height of the building, dipping and dangling, barely attached in many places. Graffiti scarred the lower walls. _I am, therefore I don't have to think_ , said one witty slogan.

'That's profound,' said Angus, and Martha tugged him aside.

'Step through the veil,' she whispered.

'What?'

'That's what it says,' said Martha, pointing. 'Over there. Where the stranger has stopped.'

They watched as the stranger swung open a wrought-iron grille at the base of the hat factory wall. Suddenly he appeared to shrink, his long coat swamped him — and he slid like a beetle into the basement of the building.

Martha and Angus rushed from their hiding place.

By the time they reached the building, the grille was back in place and the stranger had gone.

'Hello?' called Martha, squatting down and sticking her nose through the elaborate grille. 'Anyone there?'

Angus sat on the cobblestones and leaned against the wall. 'He's not coming out,' he said.

'Maybe not,' said Martha. 'But look, Angus — Gurdy's in there!'

'What? You're kidding.' Angus peered through the grille. It was dark. At first he could see nothing. But as his eyes adjusted, Angus spotted the squat, stocky form of Gurdy standing alone and abandoned in the cheerless basement. Angus could only see Gurdy from the back, but it was definitely their gnome. He would recognise Gurdy's faded red jacket and chipped yellow beanie anywhere.

Angus planted his feet firmly and threaded his fingers through the coils of the grille.

'On three,' he said. 'One. Two. _Th-r-ee_.'

The pair heaved with all their might but the grille stayed firmly in place.

'It weighs a tonne.' Angus ran his fingers over its outer edges. 'And it's cemented in.'

'Then how did the man open it?' asked Martha.

'There must be a knack.' Angus sat back on his haunches and tried to think.

'You've got our gnome, you rotten thief!' yelled Martha through the grille. Her voice sounded feeble and childlike in the concrete vacuum.

'Shush!' Angus glanced about. He had the awful feeling they were being watched. 'We have to be smart,' he whispered. 'We don't know who we're dealing with.'

Martha scraped a handful of gravel from between the cobblestones and pitched it through the grille. It pattered like gritty rain on the cement floor.

'Dogsbody!' she yelled into the void. 'Rotten thief! I know you're in there. I know you can hear me.'

'Martha,' cried Angus, pulling her away. 'What did I just say?'

A loud clang resounded from above and the pair looked up. The fire escape was shuddering. They could hear running footsteps.

'Someone's watching,' said Angus. 'Let's get out of here!'

Angus bought souvlakis for lunch and they sat on a bench seat down near the foreshore to eat them. They shared a bucket of hot chips.

Martha picked out pieces of charred onion and tossed them to a seagull.

'Bad move,' said Angus as more and more gulls appeared from out of nowhere.

'Where do they come from?' said Martha. 'Seriously. First there's one, then snap, there's five hundred.'

The wind blew fresh with the scent of pine trees. Out on the horizon they could see a navy tanker. From where they sat it looked like a Lego boat.

'How cool that we know where Gurdy is,' said Martha.

'At least we know he's not fish food,' said Angus. 'Now all we have to do is figure out how to get him back.'

'Shouldn't we ring the police?'

'Maybe. But I reckon Gurdy would be bottom of their list.'

'What about creepy coat-man?' said Martha. 'Why is he hanging around in the hat factory?'

'Search me,' said Angus. 'The place is condemned.'

'Maybe he's a developer,' said Martha.

'A developer who steals garden gnomes, spies on old ladies and slips like a cockroach into abandoned buildings,' said Angus.

'And snoops along fire escapes,' added Martha.

Angus kicked at the gulls. They hopped about boldly and ignored him.

'I don't want to go home tonight,' said Martha. 'I don't want to see Maxwell.'

'I know.'

'I hope he's late,' said Martha. 'I hope I'm in bed when he gets home. Then I can pretend I'm asleep.'

'Yeah.'

'I really do hate him.' Martha's shoulders were hunched, her face grim. 'I mean it.'

Angus sighed.

They finished their lunch in silence.

'Okay,' the Prof waved the menu at them, 'choose whatever you like, but I'm definitely having tiramisu for dessert.'

Angus and Martha looked at each other. Martha shrugged. The last person they had expected to see was their father. It was barely five o'clock in the afternoon.

'It's not that hard, is it?' The Prof opened the takeaway menu and smoothed it out. 'Pick a pizza, any pizza.'

The kids leaned against the kitchen table.

'How long is it since we've had a pizza night?' said the Prof. 'No. Don't answer that. Tonight we make up for it. Pizza and your choice of DVD. A movie marathon, if you like. I've got ten here. But if none of them suit, well, we'll go pick up more.'

He dropped a bag of DVDs on the table.

'And if you stick your heads in the lounge room,' he added, 'you'll notice I've set up the surround sound. There is now a speaker hanging in every corner of the ceiling. Who said I wasn't efficient?'

Martha flicked through the DVDs. The Prof hovered anxiously.

'See anything you like?' he asked.

'Angus can choose,' said Martha. 'I have to put food out for Jarly. In case he comes back. In case he's still out there ...' She glared accusingly at the Prof as if it was his fault the cat had run off. Martha took the bag of cat food and left quietly.

'So the cat's still missing,' said the Prof when she had gone.

'Guess so,' said Angus.

'A pizza night's good though, isn't it?' The Prof gazed at the DVD pile. 'It will help, don't you think?'

'Will you be here all night?' said Angus.

'Of course!' said the Prof. 'Now tell me, what pizza would you like? By the way, is Martha still a vegetarian?'

The pizza night went well, all things considered, and Martha began to thaw. Occasionally she even laughed at her father's jokes. And as for his part, well, he let her watch a teenage vampire film so Angus knew the Prof was feeling desperate. It will do him good, thought Angus. He needs to lift his game.

Angus thought about when his mother had died. Martha was only six at the time. It was impossible to make her understand. Even harder to be honest with her. For a time she stopped speaking and withdrew from everyone. But now, four years on, she was making up for it. Now she was angry and fickle and full of resentment — more like a teenager than a ten-year-old. Angus wondered if the pain would ever go away. People were wrong. Time wasn't helping. Things were different, that was all, they weren't better. Not at all.

Just before 11 pm, as Martha was dozing on the couch and Angus was setting up the next DVD, the Prof's phone rang. Martha sprang awake and shot Angus a look that said, _here we go_.

The Prof took the call out in the hall. When he came back into the lounge room, he looked uncomfortable. He fiddled with the phone as he spoke. 'My new friend, the one I told you about — her hire car has broken down on the freeway. Help is on its way, but, well, she doesn't know the city and she's feeling a bit ... vulnerable. You don't mind, do you?'

'Don't mind what?' Martha was playing dumb.

'If I go and help her out,' said the Prof. 'It's the right thing to do.'

Martha crossed her arms. 'I thought this was _our_ night,' she said pointedly.

'Can't she manage on her own?' said Angus. 'Why should our night be stuffed up because her stupid car broke down?'

'I can't leave her stranded on a freeway in a foreign country. And there's no time to call a babysitter for you two.'

'Babysitter?' said Martha. 'How many times do we have to tell you? We're not little kids anymore.'

'I've got my mobile,' said the Prof, ignoring his daughter's snide remark and tapping his shirt pocket. 'I'll be one hour, tops. It's past your bedtime, anyway,' he added.

Martha spread a rug over her legs. 'I'm watching another DVD,' she said. 'It's a movie marathon, remember? Mar-a-thon ...'

The Prof gave an exasperated sigh and hurried out. 'I'll be back before you know it,' he called.

The front door slammed.

It was after midnight and the Prof still had not come home. Both kids had nodded off on the couch. The last DVD had finished and the menu was running on a loop when they both heard the eerie music. They sat up in unison. It wasn't the DVD. It seemed to be coming from next door.

'What _is_ that?' said Martha as she grabbed the remote and flicked off the TV.

Angus scrambled off the couch, and his sister threw off her rug and followed him into the kitchen. They stood by the window and looked across at number thirteen.

Reafen's house was built on top of a deep slope. The shop was at street level while the back of the building was at least four metres off the ground and rested on tall timber posts which supported a wide verandah. Reafen was there now, swaying in a long hammock. This was not so unusual. Many people slept outside on these hot nights. However, down on the ground directly below Reafen's verandah stood the mysterious stranger. He was playing a willow flute.

'Oh my God!' cried Martha, and Angus put a finger to his lips.

'Shhh!'

Martha cringed. 'Do you think he's serenading Reafen?' she said quietly.

Angus pulled an 'as if' face.

'Let's get closer,' said Martha, turning to go.

'Are you insane?' Angus grabbed her sleeve.

'We can hide in the plumbago hedge,' said Martha eagerly.

Angus groaned. He seemed to spend his entire life hiding in bushes.

The melody rose and fell. It was all too weird. Angus could not resist — he had to get a closer look.

'All right,' he said. 'The hedge. If you promise to go no closer.'

Martha gave him a withering look.

'Follow me. Do exactly as I say,' said Angus.

Martha giggled. 'It's like the _Phantom of the Opera_ ,' she said as they hurried out.

'Hold on a second,' said Angus, and he ran back inside and grabbed the fire extinguisher.

## CHAPTER FOURTEEN

____________________________________________

## The intruder

From their spot in the hedge, the pair had a clear view. 'Ouch,' said Martha, picking a twig from her sock.

'We should have worn shoes.'

'Shh,' said Angus.

Unaware of their presence, the stranger continued to play his haunting melody, and within a short time, Angus and Martha felt gloomy and despondent. The music had no beginning and no end, as if the notes existed only on the air, to be captured and released in one perpetual, swirling melody.

'It's the saddest music I've ever heard,' said Martha with a tremor in her voice.

'It makes me think of Mum,' said Angus. He did not add that somehow, on some level, the music was more familiar to him than anything on his iPod. That was downright creepy.

Martha stared into the night. 'Angus,' she whispered, 'sometimes I can't remember her. Sometimes she seems so far away, like she never even existed ... I try to force her into my mind but I can't see her properly. It's like she's fading. And I get scared. What if I do forget her, Angus? If I forget Mum, I won't know who I am anymore.'

Angus moved to take his sister's hand but thought better of it. He didn't want her to think he was being sentimental.

'They argued a lot,' said Martha sadly. 'Mum and the Prof.'

'Yeah,' said Angus. 'But so what? So do we.'

Martha smiled bleakly. 'Do you think they loved each other?' she asked carefully. The next question caught in her throat. 'Do you think they loved ... us?'

'Absolutely,' said Angus. 'I mean, _totally_.'

Reafen was still swaying in the hammock. It was made of woven twine and decorated with wooden beads. She had a pink pillow under her head. Before long, they could hear her sobbing.

'Maybe we should go over,' said Martha.

Angus shrugged. 'It's not really our business.'

Finally the music stopped, and in the stillness that followed, Reafen's sobs were replaced by deep, grinding snores.

'Oh!' said Martha. 'The poor old thing has cried herself to sleep!'

Angus shifted position. He watched closely as the stranger slid the willow flute inside his coat, adjusted his Panama hat and moved toward the house.

'He's going up the back steps,' said Angus.

'No!' gasped Martha. 'You don't suppose he's going to elope with her, do you? Or maybe ... maybe he's going to kidnap her. Or ... or ... stab her!'

Martha clung to Angus as the stranger climbed the stairs quickly and glided across the verandah like the silhouette of a cartoon villain. He leaned over the sleeping form of Reafen, and both kids held their breath.

Slowly, stealthily, the stranger drew the chain with the golden key from around Reafen's neck.

'He's robbing her,' said Angus.

Martha was frozen to the spot.

The thief dropped the chain in his coat pocket, but before he could make off with it, Reafen sprang up.

'Thief! Robber! Cotton-coated sleep-interrupter!' she bellowed. The hammock swung wildly as she struggled to climb out.

The stranger grabbed one end of the hammock and spun it so fast that Reafen was instantly cocooned like a fat, lumpy grub. Her startled cries and senseless insults were muffled by the tangle of twine and wooden beads encasing her.

The stranger lurched toward the back door of the shop and disappeared inside.

'Come on.' Angus jumped up. 'We've got to help her!'

The pair scrambled out of the hedge and sprinted across Reafen's backyard, their footsteps silent on the damp grass. Angus was in the lead as they bounded up the back steps, the fire extinguisher tucked under his arm.

'You see to Reafen,' he said when they reached the landing. 'I'll see to the intruder.'

'Be careful!' said Martha anxiously.

Angus hurried past the mummified figure of Reafen, still struggling and cursing in the hammock. For a second he was awestruck by the speed with which she had been trapped. It was almost unnatural. Mountains of rubbish were strewn about her: gold and purple chocolate wrappers; crumpled cellophane bags of half-eaten fairy floss — pink, green and rainbow-striped; dozens of empty cola cans. He picked his way through the rubbish to the back door, his damp socks sticking to his feet.

The door was shut.

Angus leaned his ear against it.

Nothing.

He pushed.

The door creaked open.

Once again the smell of rose petals and vinegar hung in the air. All the curtains were open and the moon shone through the side windows, casting a gloomy pallor over everything. Angus looked about. There was not the slightest movement, nor was there any shape that resembled the intruder.

He approached the main counter and ran his hand along Reafen's 'special viewing box'. It was wide open. He scanned the shelves. He could not see the amber snow dome. He edged further into the shop, deeper into the airless jumble. He moved in a straight line, climbing over whatever was in the way. This would bring him to the front door — and hopefully a quick escape. Now he was in there, he was having second thoughts. Since when have I been a hero? he asked himself as he peered about in the darkness. What if this coat guy has a knife? What if he has a gun?

Angus slid aside coats and moth-eaten wedding dresses and peeked through the racks. Before long, he was forced to cross paths with the mannequins, the surly ones in their sun frocks and pillbox hats. They were propped up on pedestals, tall and proud, their stiff skirts so wide they pushed up against each other.

Angus angled between the skirts and glanced up at the mannequins, his cheeks burning. The mannequins loomed over him. Did one of them roll its eyes? His heart thumped. He gripped the fire extinguisher tightly.

He threaded his way between bookcases and hat stands. He slunk past a wall of porcelain dolls. The moonlight shone on their blood-red lips, their eyes stared straight through him. I've got to get out of here, he thought as panic rose in his chest.

As he neared the front of the shop, he sensed movement.

He swung around — and a polar bear lunged at him, its huge, yellow teeth only inches from his nose. Angus yelped, and tumbled over a footstool. The bearskin fell across him.

Angus lay sprawled out on an oriental rug, his hands stinging with carpet burn. He raised his head slowly and began to crawl out from under the bearskin — just as a world globe shot across the room. Angus ducked. The globe hit a large display case packed with jewellery. As if in slow motion, the case cracked — then crumbled.

Angus leaped to his feet and a tall beige figure swept by, shoving him aside as it made for the front door.

'Hey!' Angus stumbled after the figure, tripped on a picnic hamper and fell again.

The stranger tugged at the front door.

Angus got up and the stranger hurled a teapot at him.

Within seconds, Angus was under fire. All sorts of objects came flying his way, ashtrays, teacups, vases, even Barbie dolls and building blocks. He managed to dodge them all, but when a hardback dictionary clipped his sore ear, he knew he'd had enough. Angus pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher, pressed down the lever and charged. 'Yarrgh!'

The stranger squealed. It was the most alarming, high-pitched scream. To Angus's surprise, it almost sounded like a girl.

The stranger huddled against the red door, his hands in front of his face. 'Stop!' he spluttered as his hat flew off. 'We surrender. Please! No more firing at us. It hurts!'

Angus lowered the fire extinguisher, his heart kicking in his chest, as slowly, reluctantly, the stranger removed his dripping trench coat — and revealed that he was not one but two.

The top figure jumped from the shoulders of the bottom figure and there, in a shadowy puddle by the door, stood two shivering individuals.

The mysterious stranger was not a man.

He was not even two men.

'Who are you?' said Angus.

## CHAPTER FIFTEEN

____________________________________________

## Threats and accusations

I'll tell you who they are,' came a voice from the back of the shop. 'They are a pair of nasty sneakthiefs who have come to topsy-turvy this trading post and steal an old woman's pretties. Now hand over my snow dome, you law-breakers, before my loyal friends here put you in ropes and padlocks.'

Reafen flicked on the light. Martha was behind her.

Angus gasped — now he could see the intruders clearly.

They both stood about chest height to Angus, with deeply tanned, clear skin, round, open faces and gently pointed ears. Both were female and both looked to be quite young. In fact, they only looked about his age.

The taller of the pair, who had sat stooped on the shoulders of the other, had hair the colour of dirty ice. It hung down her back in thick dreadlocks. Silver ravens dangled from her ears. She was wearing what looked like an old floral pyjama top and a pair of white cricket pants. The pants were rolled up to her knees and held up with a strip of yellow dressmaker's tape tied in a long, complex knot. Despite her ludicrous outfit and the terrified look on her face, she was, in her own curious way, remarkably pretty.

The other girl was wiry and strong looking with a mass of forest-green hair. Her jagged fringe looked to have been hacked with a pocketknife. She was dressed in a black dinner suit, clumsily altered to fit her petite form. The sleeves were cut off just below her elbows. Unlike her friend, she was not wearing elaborate earrings, although she did have raven tattoos — one on the inside of each forearm. There was a hint of a silver bangle pushed up her left arm.

Both girls wore workboots similar to the ones Reafen had worn on that first day. And, like Reafen, their feet seemed out of proportion to the rest of them.

'Who ...? What ...? Are you okay, Angus?' stammered Martha. 'I'm fine,' said Angus, jiggling the fire extinguisher. 'But I'm waiting for our guests to explain themselves.'

He propped the fire extinguisher on his hip like a Western gunslinger. He hoped he looked threatening.

But the girls were staring at Reafen.

'So here she is,' said the girl with the green hair. 'The famous Reafen.'

'Famous, shamous.' Reafen bustled forward and pushed Angus aside. 'There's no need for long-winded explaining,' she added. 'Just give me back my snow dome,' she held out her hands to the girls, 'and you can be gone and away.'

'We have nothing that is not rightfully ours,' snapped the girl with green hair.

'Oh yes, you do,' said Reafen, muscling close and eyeing them belligerently. She prodded them both with her glittering blue fingernails. 'Come on, you two. Listen to Reafen. Do as she demands. You might be young but you know this is the law!'

Martha stared at the intruders. 'Who are you?' she breathed.

The girls glanced at one another.

The green-haired one gave Reafen a shove.

'I'm Graini,' she said, still glaring at Reafen. Graini's teeth were crooked and bucked. She had a quirky, compelling slant to her expression.

'And I'm Ava,' said the one with the earrings.

'They don't care if you're Hansel and Gretel,' cried Reafen. 'Just give over the pretty. NOW.'

Graini and Ava stood tall.

'It is not yours, Reafen,' said Ava quietly. 'And we will not be giving it over.'

Reafen turned to Angus. 'See!' she cried. 'The little squirm admits she has purloined my snow dome. Turn on that water weapon, young man. Protect a frightened old woman. Look at the mess they have made of my shop. Look at the freewheeling they have done!'

The girls really had made a mess but Angus was reluctant to use the fire extinguisher again. Everything about this was absurd.

'Look,' he said to the girls, 'can't you just give it back? It's not much of a treasure. They sell them by the dozens at Crazy Phil's

Bargain Bin.'

Graini and Ava shook their heads.

'Why not?' asked Martha. 'Reafen said she would let you go.

And we won't say anything, will we, Angus?' Angus shook his head.

'You boy and you girl don't understand,' said Ava. 'We cannot give it back. It does not belong to Reafen.'

'She's an _Insincere_ ,' said Graini with disgust. 'Look at that make-up.' She pointed at Reafen. 'And those hair-curlers and that luxurious velvet lounging suit. And look at this elaborate treasure-trove emporium.' Graini waved her hands about her. 'She pretends to be what she is not. She is a turncoat to her people and she is a traitor.'

'Hush, Graini,' warned Ava. 'Be calm.'

But it was too late. Reafen launched herself at Graini and knocked her flying.

'Stop it!' yelled Martha and she leaped on Graini's back, dragging at her dinner jacket, as Graini and Reafen rolled about, screaming and slapping and cursing.

'Enough!' cried Ava, cradling the snow dome in her pyjama top. 'This is not how we do things. Not ever. This is very, very, extremely bad manners.'

'Give it back, Ava,' said Angus. 'Now.'

'I can't,' said Ava, making a dash for the windows.

Angus aimed the fire extinguisher. 'Stop!' he yelled.

Ava swung around.

'Everybody stop or I'll squirt her so hard the snow dome will be obliterated.'

'No!' screamed Reafen and Graini, and they fell apart. Martha rolled to one side and collided with a rocking horse.

'Right,' said Angus. 'Now that I have your attention, I want some answers. Refuse and I'll fire.'

Angus's threat must have been effective because right at that moment Reafen burst into tears.

## CHAPTER SIXTEEN

____________________________________________

## Tears and lies

Reafen peeled off her false eyelashes. Tears and make-up slid down her face.

'Don't obliterate the snow dome,' she whimpered. 'Don't obliterate Reafen's life purpose.' She folded into sobs.

'This is exactly what becomes of an Insincere,' hissed Graini.

'An Insincere?' said Martha.

Graini grunted. 'It's the name we give to those of our kind who have betrayed us and our way of life. Those who have turned their backs on all that is precious to us. We have never met Reafen but we know all about her. She is a most _infamous_ Insincere.'

Reafen sobbed a little louder.

'We have no sympathy for hair-curlered turncoats,' said Graini, pushing up her sleeves.

'Leave her alone,' said Martha, jumping up off the floor. 'Just you stop being mean to Reafen or my brother will squirt you right between your beady eyes.'

Graini made a rude hand gesture as Martha placed her arm around Reafen.

Angus jerked the fire extinguisher at Ava, who was still standing by the side window, stroking the snow dome. 'Who are you and where do you come from?' he demanded.

'Go on, Ava,' said Graini. 'Tell him. Maybe he'll help us when he knows the truth.'

'What truth?' said Angus.

Martha patted Reafen sympathetically, but Reafen had stopped crying and her shrewd little eyes were fixed on Ava.

'We're goblin girls,' said Ava, and Reafen wailed into her handkerchief.

'I beg your pardon?' said Angus.

'We're goblin girls,' said Ava, facing Angus squarely.

'Goblin girls,' Angus repeated. 'But of course. Why didn't I see it straight away? And I suppose Reafen is a wicked goblin queen? Why, she probably ate our cat.'

He raised the fire extinguisher.

'No!' cried Graini, leaping forward and joining her companion by the window. 'You must believe us. We really are goblin girls. We come here from the Old Realm. It has been a long and difficult journey but we have finally tracked down Reafen and retrieved what is ours. Soon we will be home and our people will be complete and restored and there will be great rejoicing.'

Reafen sank to the floor and bowed her head. Her hair-curlers were unravelling. Her large head swayed to and fro.

'It's okay, Reafen,' soothed Martha, kneeling beside her. 'We'll help you. We'll protect you from these crackpots.'

'No, it is not all right.' Reafen sniffed and wiped her long, crooked hand across her nose. 'These goblin girls, they speak of true things. Things that are sad and regretful and written in the Truth Books of our people — where all the bad doings of Reafen are recorded.'

'Astounding,' snorted Graini. 'Quick, Ava. Get out your notebook. It is a day for pen and ink when Reafen speaks the truth.'

Ava smiled sadly.

'Wait a minute,' said Angus, intrigued. 'What bad doings? Aside from her stealing your trinket, what else have you got against Reafen?'

'Just look at her,' said Graini scornfully. 'Isn't it obvious? Her love of "glamour". Her hoarding. I bet she eats sugar too! She has allowed herself to be seduced by the ludicrous temptations of this world. Note also the manner in which she mingles with the likes of you and your sister.'

Martha pulled a face at Graini but the goblin girl went on.

'This behaviour, Reafen's behaviour, is destructive and abhorrent. It is a threat to the security of the Old Realm and so to our way of life. Ava, your notebook please ...'

Angus shook his head in disbelief. 'So, you're goblin girls. You come from the Old Realm. _And_ you carry notebooks?' said Angus but his sarcasm was lost on Ava.

'That's exceptionally right!' she said. 'I carry the notebook. I am an Official Recorder and my writings will be added to the Truth Books. I am a storyteller in our world too, and when we return, everyone will want to hear the stories I have collected. Goblins love detail. The truth is in the detail. The fascination is in the detail. The magick of the words, the magick of the stories, is all in the detail.'

'So now she thinks she's some kind of journalist,' muttered Angus to himself. 'Show me,' he said abruptly.

'Show you what?' asked Ava.

'Your notebook,' said Angus. 'I want to see if goblins write in English. Or Norwegian. Or maybe they prefer Latin. Yes, I believe Latin would be the language of choice for goblins.'

Ava sighed and passed the snow dome to Graini. Then she reached inside her pyjama top and pulled out a leather-bound notebook. Angus rested the fire extinguisher against his legs.

The book was large — more of a journal than a notebook, with a smooth, worn cover. It was soft and malleable and held the promise of all things hidden and profound. Angus was reluctant to open it and spoil the illusion.

He opened the cover slowly, expecting to see thoughtless scribbles, shopping lists and amateurish sketches. But he was mistaken.

'This writing ...' he muttered as he turned the velvety pages. 'This intricate, precise lettering ...'

'They are the letters of our people,' snapped Graini. 'What's wrong with them?'

'It looks like runes,' said Angus.

'That's right,' said Graini. 'You don't think we'd use your slippery, double-sided English, do you?'

'But this,' said Angus, smoothing the pages, 'this is the language of Vikings.'

'Ha,' scoffed Graini. 'It is the language of goblins. It was goblins who instructed Vikings in the language of runes. Of course, the Vikings adopted a clumsy interpretation, whittled our entire beautiful alphabet down to sixteen characters. But it suited them, and in payment they taught our people about floating boats and seafaring navigation. In the early days, when we still lived in this realm, the Vikings even gave some of us free passage.'

'Across the English Channel?' said Martha. 'Our father said goblins first travelled to Britain with Vikings.'

'Then your father-relative knows his history,' said Graini.

'So,' said Ava, her face softening, 'do you believe us now?'

She looked so hopeful, Angus felt a rush of sympathy. All eyes were now on him. 'You don't look like goblins,' he muttered.

Graini put her hands on her hips. 'And just how do you know that?' she said. 'What are goblins supposed to look like?'

'Well,' said Angus slowly, for he feared he might be backing himself into a corner, 'as I understand it, goblins are filthy, snivelling, wizened little creatures that live in dungeons and catacombs and haunted houses ...'

'And sewers and cesspools and rotting cellars,' added Martha quietly.

Reafen laughed. 'See,' she said to the intruders. 'See what they think of you?' She grunted as she got up.

'The story you humans believe is for the best,' said Ava. 'For it is this story that keeps our world safe. No-one seeks us because they believe we are ... hideous. This is to our advantage.'

Angus felt Ava studying him, willing him to understand, and he blushed.

'Rubbish!' said Reafen. 'These children know a couple of fancy-footed liars when they see them. Now hand over my pretty and skedaddle before I call the Officials. They have them in this city, you know. With sirens and manacles and magical walkie-talkie boxes.'

Reafen and the strange girls began to argue again.

'Hold on,' said Angus, turning to Reafen. 'A minute ago you were blubbing all over the place, saying they were telling the truth. Now you're saying they're liars.'

'What would you expect from a fickle-hearted Insincere?' snapped Graini. 'She has no love for truth and loyalty and family ties. She will side with whoever suits her.'

Reafen took a belligerent step forward.

'Right,' said Angus, tossing the notebook back to Ava and picking up the fire extinguisher, 'I've had enough. There are no such things as goblins. But there are such things as family feuds. Come on, Martha. Let's get out of here and leave these three to fight it out.'

'But, Angus, we came to help Reafen ...'

Angus clasped his sister's hand and led her grumbling and whining back through the shop and out the back door.

'Weirdos,' he huffed as they stepped out into the moonlight.

'I like weirdos,' said Martha sulkily. 'And besides, I believe them. I think they really are goblin girls.'

That'd be right, thought Angus.

As they padded down the steps, they heard a car pull up.

'It's Maxwell!' said Martha.

'Quick!' said Angus, and the pair flew down the rest of Reafen's stairs, across the lawn and up the back steps to their own house.

Angus ditched the fire extinguisher in the laundry and they slid inside the house just as their father's key clicked in the front door.

'The couch,' said Angus, and they dived into the lounge room and flung themselves down on the couch. Martha flicked off the light.

Their father shut the front door gently and crept into the house. He stood quietly in the lounge-room doorway. The kids shut their eyes and pretended to be asleep. In their rush to deceive their father, neither of them noticed that the television had turned itself back on ... and a hooded figure was ghosting on the screen.

The Prof frowned at the image and turned the television off at the wall.

He looked across to his daughter and smiled sadly. Even sleeping she looked agitated and unhappy. She was such a fiery, headstrong girl — if only her mother were here. Once again the Prof wished he knew how to reach his little girl. He wished with every fibre of his being that he could find the right words, the words to tell her how much he loved her.

He smoothed a blanket over Martha, kissed her forehead and left the room.

The kids lay still. It was best to fake it a little longer.

Martha kept her eyes shut tight and tried not to think about her father. I will not cry, she repeated to herself. I will _not_ cry.

In the silence that followed, the figure reappeared on the TV screen.

Varla peered from beneath her dark hood, her bird-like eyes scanning the lounge room hungrily. Her gaze fell on the kids. She watched them feigning sleep. She delighted in their deception.

Her attention lingered on Angus. There was something about him, something that made Varla _yearn_ ...

In fact, there was something intriguing about both these _barnmindreårig_. Varla was transfixed, almost tormented by it, but she could not quite grasp what it was. They were too far from her reach, too far from her reckoning.

Curse that goblin crone! Why had the old crock been drawn to this place, why had she befriended this pair of ugly pups?

Or perhaps, _perhaps_ , it was the father who was of value? Varla bristled at the thought.

Martha sat up and reached for the lamp.

Varla disappeared.

She had grown impatient with spying. Next time she would strike with conviction.

## CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

____________________________________________

## Frosty Loops and Jelly-Tarts

Neither of the kids could raise the energy to get up the next morning. At some point during the night, they had both found their way back to their beds and there they stayed until long after the sun had risen, dozing on and off until midmorning. The Prof was happy enough to let them sleep. He went for an early morning jog, put a jazz compilation on the stereo and lost himself in his 'work'. By now he had constructed countless models of the amber snow dome, some from art wire and golden cellophane, some from modelling clay. They were a poor substitute for the real thing but he hoped they would trigger some kind of unexpected insight. They sat on the desk before him. Over the years, Helen had spoken with great enthusiasm about such artefacts; oddities that could not be labelled or put into a category or placed at any point in human history. Relics that seemed to belong to another world. He had always dismissed the idea — and now he regretted his arrogance.

He picked up one of his models and tilted it thoughtfully. What would Helen think of this? What was the thing's purpose? _What?_ And why did he feel such a deep sense of melancholy whenever he was around the real snow dome?

Sometime after ten, Angus finally woke. He put his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling. He ran over last night's events in his mind. Over and over he thought about what had happened. Who were those strange girls and what did they really want? And what about Reafen? Man, she was a piece of work. One minute bawling her eyes out, the next minute as aggro as a bear. He wondered if she was safe now, or if by marching out of there, they had left her in the lurch. It was an uncomfortable thought. She was a creepy old bag but she was their neighbour. He didn't wish her any harm.

He couldn't help but wonder more about those girls too. They really did look unusual. Not just their stupid clothes and jewellery but their manner, the way they talked and the way they carried themselves. They seemed like they were clever too, maybe even knowledgeable. And that notebook. That handwriting. It was amazing. Angus wondered if it actually made any sense. Imagine if they really were goblin girls. Imagine if they really had come from some far-off world, some other realm.

Imagine that.

Angus dismissed it. It was ludicrous.

I've got to stop eating Frosty Loops, he thought as he threw back the sheet and got out of bed. The sugar's rotting my brain.

But then he felt like a Milo.

In the kitchen he placed a mug in the microwave and flicked it on. Upstairs he could hear muffled jazz coming from the study. The Prof was obviously lost in the zone. At least he's home for once, thought Angus sullenly. A stab of regret caught him off guard. He wished that, just once, he could stroll up to that studio, flop down on a chair and talk to his father. It didn't have to be anything serious. Maybe they could even laugh about something. Anything. How strange that you could live with someone and yet miss them at the same time — as if they were miles and miles away. Sometimes actually seeing or hearing his father in the house made Angus feel lonelier than ever.

The mug journeyed around and around. Angus went and stood by the window. Number thirteen was still and silent. The shop was shut, for sure. His thoughts began to race. Where were those girls now? Had they gone back to the abandoned hat factory or were they still next door? If they'd gone, would they come back again soon? Angus felt his pulse quicken at the thought. He leaned over the sink, opened the window and took a deep breath. Had he and Martha really stumbled into a family feud last night, or something else entirely? He wondered about the snow dome too. Who had it now and what was so special about it? He almost groaned with confusion.

The microwave beeped and Angus jumped. He sat the mug of Milo on a saucer and left the kitchen. He was glad Martha was still asleep. He was glad she was off his back. He needed time to think properly.

Across the way in number thirteen, Reafen sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her bedside cabinet.

'My, oh, my. Goodness gracious me,' she moaned. 'My, oh, my. Goodness gracious me.'

Whatever was she to do now? It had been a terrible night, a night of the most distressing and appalling kind, and the full impact was only just hitting her. She had plastered herself in make-up and curled her hair lovingly. She had patted and brushed and fed the pretty felines who had made this place their home. But nothing seemed to work. She could not think straight at all. And as for her arm, it was not healing, it was not responding to the ancient healing arts. The wound gaped and had begun to fester. Her poor, thin arm — it throbbed, it burned, it ached.

She tore open a box of Jelly-Tarts and tossed the packaging over her shoulder. Cherry-glazed, her favourite. Roughly, with shaking hands, she stacked the Jelly-Tarts one on top of the other and drenched the pile with maple syrup. Then she licked her lips and devoured the sweeties in quick succession. Midway through, she looked up and sniffed the air. Was that Milo she could smell? She shuddered — it was Milo and _milk._

She chewed angrily, cherry-glazed clumps sticking to her lipstick. How could anyone be so wasteful? Everyone knew that Milo was much more effective eaten dry, straight from the can.

## CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

____________________________________________

## Protecting the pretty

Angus heard the pounding in his dreams. He must have dozed off in front of the TV. He sat up in the armchair and almost sent his Milo flying. Except for the chatter of cartoons, the house was quiet. Even the music upstairs had stopped. Angus assumed the Prof had slunk off to work — or to see his new girlfriend — without saying a word. Typical, thought Angus bitterly.

'Open this door immediately!' The voice was familiar. It came from outside. Angus headed down the hall. Martha's door was shut. She was still sleeping or reading or whatever.

Angus wandered out to the back verandah and looked across to number thirteen. It was the Donut Lady! She was hammering on the back door of Reafen's shop.

The Donut Lady caught sight of Angus and summoned him with a jerk of her flabby arm. What could he do? She was a very commanding woman.

He lurched down the back steps, reeling like a vampire in the midday sun. He pushed through the plumbago hedge then literally hotfooted it up number thirteen's steep steps. His bare feet stung on the blistering timber and he leaped over the last few steps, landing with a grateful thump in the shade of Reafen's verandah.

The shredded hammock was dangling from one hook. The chocolate wrappers and lolly papers were now scattered across the verandah or gathered in mounds against the lattice railing. A crow pecked at a bag of fairy floss — the contents now a shrivelled pink rock. There were cat bowls too, empty except for one large ceramic water bowl in the shape of a fish. Maybe Jarly's here? thought Angus, then dismissed the idea right away.

The Donut Lady looked him up and down and frowned. He poked his hair self-consciously. It was brittle with sea salt, plastered to his scalp with sand and sweat. His nose was peeling too. And he was still wearing the same Doctor Who T-shirt he'd worn all week ... and slept in every night. The Donut Lady eyed his thin, shapeless legs. For an awful moment, Angus felt like a dork.

The Donut Lady nodded at the shop. 'Do you see this woman recently?' she said, resuming her hammering. 'Do you see this Reafen?' she said above the din.

'I saw her last night,' said Angus.

'Ah, good,' said the Donut Lady. 'I tried the rooms below but no answer. She must take cover up here in her ugly _shop_.'

While the Donut Lady continued to hammer, Angus stepped quietly around her and opened the door. It wasn't locked.

The Donut Lady pursed her lips.

Angus popped his head through the doorway. It was dark inside. Airless.

'Reafen?' he ventured. 'You have a visitor.'

'A visitor, am I?' The Donut Lady was fuming. 'Reafen stole my cinnamon sugar and my batter, I am certain of this. As if one like her could possibly make good donuts!' The Donut Lady shook her head with disdain. 'And now, to top it off,' she added fiercely, 'she has stolen my Barney.'

The Donut Lady muscled past Angus and into the shop. 'I will take it from here,' she said, disappearing into the darkness.

There was a thud and a loud twang and Angus hurried in. He glanced about. The Donut Lady lay spread-eagled over a broken guitar. She glared at him when he offered to help, and struggled to her feet, muttering and cursing, plucking splintered rosewood from her pants.

Angus wrenched the drapes apart and hot, dusty light streamed in.

The Donut Lady rubbed her elbows. 'Such a disgusting housekeeper.' She surveyed the shemozzle. 'I am almost breaking my neck on her rubbish.'

But Angus was not surprised. The shop was just as it had been when they left last night. Souvenirs, books, ornaments, silk flowers and plastic dolls were tossed about willy-nilly. China was smashed. On impulse, he scanned the room for the white otter. The remains of its display case were still there but the strange beast had gone. Angus felt a prickle of dread.

'Wait a minute,' said the Donut Lady, picking up a broken vase. 'This is not just bad housekeeping. This is ... _trouble_. Reafen?' she called. 'You are here?'

A rich burp rose from amongst the shambles.

'Aha!' The Donut Lady charged off toward the sound, her rubber thongs clacking with all the authority of high heels.

Angus seized the opportunity and ducked over to the 'viewing box'. He ran his eyes along the glass shelving. All the snow domes were in place. All except the one he was looking for — the one they were fighting over last night. Did that mean those freak-girls had actually made off with it? He left the cabinet and picked his way through the shop, following the sound of voices.

Reafen was on the floor, slumped against a steamer trunk. She was stuffed into a frilly sun frock that bunched about her knees in great flounces of pink gingham and rickrack petticoats. A pillbox hat was propped on her head like a teacup on a basketball. She wore hefty workboots and her leathery face was smeared with make-up. Her hair was curled and teased into a frantic bouffant. Close by, a mannequin leaned against a stack of hatboxes. The mannequin was stiff with indignity, naked except for her long white gloves — Reafen had almost stripped her bare. Angus averted his gaze.

Reafen clutched a large bottle of Peachy Pepp. She looked up at Angus with a bleary smile. It was the first time Angus had noticed her teeth. They were bucked and crooked like those of that girl called Graini. They made Reafen look defiant. And kind of endearing.

Reafen shook the Peachy Pepp and it fizzed and frothed. She slurped at it noisily.

'Have you come to return my pretty?' she croaked, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.

Angus shook his head.

Reafen let the bottle drop to her lap and burped wetly.

The Donut Lady knelt down, her knees cracking like kindling. She tried to take the bottle but Reafen resisted.

'No,' she whined. 'Don't confiscate my fizzy-whizzy.'

'Is she drunk?' asked Angus.

'She is drunk ... and she is not drunk,' said the Donut Lady. 'She is best to describe it, _overloaded_.'

'I see,' said Angus. 'I think.'

'Reafen!' The Donut Lady tapped Reafen's cheeks. 'Reafen, you wicked woman. My Barney has disappeared. Kapoof! What do you know about this?'

The Donut Lady shook Reafen gently. Reafen blinked through glassy eyes at Angus.

'My pretty?' She struggled to focus her blurry eyes. 'Come on, boy. Hand it over. If you do, beautiful Reafen will show you some _magick_.'

'Bish bosh,' said the Donut Lady testily. 'We will get nowhere with her until she is sleeping this off.' She turned to Angus. 'What is this "pretty"? What is this she wants?'

'I'm not sure,' lied Angus, still wary of who he could trust. 'Who's Barney?' he added casually.

'Barney is my good friend.' The Donut Lady smiled to herself. 'And when his carnival visits, Barney is also my lover.'

Angus felt his face flare. Did she have to be so frank?

'Barney cannot always be trusted.' The Donut Lady hitched up her hippy pants. They were brilliant purple. 'I showed him something special. Something magickal. And when I go back later, this special something, it is gone. And so is Barney.'

'Something magickal?' Angus tried to remain composed. Surely she wasn't referring to the snow dome? 'What do you mean?'

The Donut Lady considered Angus, her chin rumpling thoughtfully. 'Ah, boy,' she said finally, 'there are things in this world you do not yet see.'

'Well, yes,' agreed Angus carefully, 'I admit I have a lot to learn. But I'm fourteen, you know. I'm not entirely ignorant. But of course, I respect your privacy. I wouldn't dream of intruding on your ... secrets.'

Reverse psychology. It was a skill he had perfected. It always worked on his sister.

Reafen took another slurp of Peachy Pepp.

'It was a boat,' said the Donut Lady.

'A boat?' said Angus.

Reafen tried to get up and slid back down. She waved a flaccid hand above her head. 'Come here, boy.' Her voice was thick and wheedling. 'Be a kindly neighbour. Seat yourself beside me.'

Angus knelt down reluctantly. He feared this interruption would prevent the Donut Lady from sharing any more of her secrets.

Reafen studied his face. Then to Angus's surprise, she reached out and touched his peeling nose.

'Ah,' she sighed, 'you queer little pasty ones. Not the best design for the wondrous hardships of this world.'

Her finger was sticky and cold, and for a moment Angus felt a deep melancholy sweep through him. It was just how he felt when he heard the willow flute. He had an almost irresistible urge to rest his head on Reafen's shoulder, as if they were somehow _family_. Reafen let her hand drop, the moment passed, and Angus felt like an idiot. What on earth had come over him?

Reafen tapped the Donut Lady's knee to get her attention. 'They're here,' she whispered. 'They have found Reafen at last. They have ramshackled her emporium and ...' Reafen drew a long, soggy breath, 'they have broken Reafen's heart.'

The pillbox hat fell off her head and Reafen began to sob.

'Who is here?' The Donut Lady shook Reafen gently. 'Who is here and what is all this weeping?'

'I have been the brightest of wandering stars,' Reafen said with a sniff. 'For years I have tripped from trading post to trading post. I have been a vigilant entrepreneur of the utmost kind. I have protected the pretty too, and kept it from villainy. But now ...'

She raised the Peachy Pepp to her lips but Angus intercepted. He eased the bottle from her gently.

'I don't think this is doing her much good,' he muttered.

'No,' agreed the Donut Lady. 'This drink, it is not even good for humans.'

## CHAPTER NINETEEN

____________________________________________

## The hawk

While his son was next door dealing with Reafen and the Donut Lady, the Prof sat in his study, oblivious. And rather than get on with his lecture notes ... he drew sketches. More sketches. By now his walls were covered with them.

In many ways Angus took after his father — both shared the admirable ability to draw accurately, beautifully, straight from memory.

The amber snow dome. The Prof had been drawing this ornament, this _thing_ , for days. What exactly was it? What was its purpose and where did it come from? The questions never changed. All his research had been futile. Not even the hint of an answer.

The old woman next door, oh, she was a crafty old devil. She lured him in with it, paraded it before him, but would she sell it? Not on your life. There was no way he could persuade her to part with it. She would not even discuss a price.

It was a stunning artefact though. Not just a collectible or a fancy antique. It was a museum piece. It reminded him of ... well, it reminded him of the relics his wife used to search for; treasures from an unrecorded time in history. Treasures with no obvious link to human innovation, human invention.

He contemplated his latest sketch, adding details here and there, shade and tone, playing with the light, enhancing the delicate scales on the silver serpent.

Behind him, the cheval mirror began to sway quietly. Back and forth. Back and forth. A breeze drifted across the room, ruffling the Prof's papers. He felt a chill and shivered.

A hooded head appeared in the mirror — just a head, no torso, no limbs. Varla's disembodied head.

Varla drew closer to the surface of the mirror and the mist from her breath beaded on the glass. She caught a glimpse of the sketch and gasped. She looked around the room at the multitude of other sketches taped to the walls — all of them the same.

Ignoring the danger (for this was perilous, unpredictable magick), she pushed her face further into the room. The surface of the mirror stretched and pulled taut across her features as curiosity got the better of her. She watched, enthralled, as the Prof pored over his latest creation. Greed flooded her. She was flushed with renewed hunger. She had come to the right place after all. She would wait no longer. She jerked her head back. 'Bring him through,' Varla whispered hoarsely. 'Round him up and bring him through.'

Suddenly a bird screeched, loud and piercing, and the Prof fell back in his chair. He spun around as a large hawk with a leather strap dangling from its leg butted and thrust and burst out of the mirror like a missile through a wall of silver membrane. It swooped at the Prof's head, clawing and pecking and shrieking.

The Prof sprang to his feet, tipping the chair in his rush to get up. 'What on earth?' He punched at the bird, hurled books and papers as it flapped and scratched and raked at his face.

The bird drove the Prof around the room, into walls and corners, chairs and cabinets.

A brutal wind howled around them. It seemed to be coming from a hole in the mirror. The hole left by the bird.

Shelving rattled as books and journals tumbled to the floor. Cardboard packing cases tipped on their sides, spewing their contents across the room.

Half blinded by the wind and cowering beneath the bird's slashing fury, the Prof finally tripped and fell against the mirror.

The glass exploded and the Prof, his arms still curled over his face and head, fell through the frame — and was gone.

In the stillness that followed, the bird, Varla's unfortunate pet and envoy (who was ill-prepared for such a transition), dropped to the floor, gave a pitiful screech and died.

## CHAPTER TWENTY

____________________________________________

## Theories and proof

Angus stood up. He stared at Reafen, still crumpled on the floor. 'Look,' he said, 'what's going on here?'

The Donut Lady also rose to her feet. 'Reafen is a goblin,' she said bluntly.

Angus did not exclaim. Nor did he argue. For, of course, on some level he already knew that Reafen was a goblin. He just didn't _want_ to know it. It was too weird.

'You do not argue?' The Donut Lady eyed him playfully. 'Perhaps you see more than I thought ...'

'Oh, I'm surprised,' said Angus, turning back to Reafen. She was squashing the hat onto her head, trying to force it to fit. 'I just don't know how I can believe it. You say it's a fact. But where's the proof?'

'You believe in Vikings?' said the Donut Lady.

Angus nodded.

'You believe in dinosaurs, woolly mammoths, Richard the Lionheart, Joan of Arc, the Tollund Man?'

'Sure,' said Angus, 'in one form or another. But there's proof. Fossils, documents, bones, artefacts ...'

'Have you seen this proof with your own eyes?' The Donut Lady had that look again. Was she toying with him?

'My father's an academic,' said Angus impatiently. 'And I've been to museums, read books, got straight As in history and science, written essays for school.'

'But have you uncovered this proof for yourself? Or have you relied on the explanations, the _theories_ , of others?'

Angus was silent.

'This is odd,' said the Donut Lady. 'You believe when you have not seen for yourself. You even write about these things you have not seen. And yet when the proof sits before you in a sun frock and workboots, you do not believe.'

They stood for a time and considered Reafen.

Angus looked around — at the world globe, the broken teapot, the upended coat racks.

The Donut Lady followed his gaze. 'What do you know about this mess?'

'Nothing,' said Angus.

The Donut Lady tut-tutted. 'Your father,' she said, plonking her bottom on the steamer trunk, 'is he well?'

'Of course,' said Angus quickly.

'It worries me,' said the Donut Lady. 'Such a nice man. Such a thoughtful man. It worries me that he is poking about in here. I would not like to see him get tangled in Reafen's affairs ...'

'The Prof can look after himself,' said Angus.

'May I ask you a question?' said the Donut Lady.

'I suppose,' said Angus suspiciously. Where was this leading?

'Your father, did he move you all here, to this street, to this house next door, did he move you here ... on a whim? Was it a surprise, a rash decision, an unexpected circle of events?'

Angus was floored. That was exactly what this move had been like. 'We, um, it was sudden,' he sputtered. 'Actually, it was totally random.'

'I thought as much.' The Donut Lady squeezed his arm. 'Be careful,' she said. 'If you need help, I am in my caravan. I am always _in my caravan_.'

Suddenly Angus thought of Martha, sleeping like Snow White, alone in their house with the back door wide open.

'Look, I'm sorry your boyfriend's missing,' he said quickly. 'And I'm sorry Reafen's in this state. But I have to go.'

He ran through the shop, tripping over junk as he made for the front door.

Reafen groaned. 'The faaather,' she slurred loudly after him, 'tell him to visit me.'

'Sure,' said Angus, jiggling the doorknob. 'No problem.'

The red door fell open and Angus burst outside.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

____________________________________________

## The lost voice

Angus skidded into the house. It was deathly quiet. He ran to his sister's room and pounded on the door. No reply.

He threw the door open. The room was empty.

Angus ran from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen and back into the hallway. He had an idea — and a twinge of hope. Maybe, just maybe, his father had not slunk off to work without saying goodbye. Maybe he and Martha were upstairs in the study ... chatting. Okay, it was a long shot but ...

Angus thumped up the narrow staircase and flung the door open.

He stopped dead. Papers and books were strewn across the floor. Drawings and sketches had fallen off the walls as if a tornado had ripped through the room. The Prof's chair was upended. The curtains lay in a tangle on the floor. Bookcases had been tipped over.

Angus stepped into the room. 'Dad?' he said quietly.

Something crunched underfoot. Angus looked down. Shattered glass littered the floor. The cheval mirror, the one his mother had given the Prof years ago, was in ruins.

Angus crept across the rubble and stood before the mirror. Not a trace of glass remained intact. Even the mahogany frame was splintered and broken.

His heart pounded. On the floor in front of the mirror lay a huge dead bird.

Angus knelt cautiously. There was fresh blood on its beak and talons. A strip of leather hung from its leg as if it were some kind of pet ... or captive hunter. Perhaps it was still alive? Angus picked up a sliver of wood and prodded the bird gently. To his horror, its body collapsed. In an instant all that remained of the creature were its feathers, its talons and its eyeless skull.

Angus sprang to his feet and bolted down the stairs. As he reached the bottom, he heard a voice calling him.

'Angus. Angus, are you there?'

It was his father's voice. Thank God!

Angus ran into the lounge room. It was empty like the rest of the house. He looked around, his heart thumping.

'Angus?' said the voice. 'Can you hear me?'

Angus spun around. 'Where are you?' he said. 'I can't see you! What's going on?'

'There's no time to explain,' said his father, and Angus felt a lurch of fear. The voice, his father's voice, seemed to be coming from the surround-sound system. First one small speaker, high up near the ceiling, then another. His father's voice was bouncing around the four corners of the room.

'Dad,' said Angus angrily, 'you're freaking me out.'

'I'm sorry. I'll explain later.'

'But this is a joke, right?' Angus felt ridiculous talking to thin air.

'Angus,' said the voice urgently, 'don't argue. Please! That old woman next door ...'

'You mean Reafen?'

'She has something ...' said the Prof. 'Something valuable.'

There was a high-pitched whistle in one of the speakers.

'Dad?' said Angus cautiously.

'It looks like a snow dome. It has a silver serpent —'

'At the base,' said Angus. 'I've seen it.'

There was a pause. 'Angus, I need you to get it for me.'

'But it's not for sale,' said Angus.

'You don't understand. You'll have to _steal_ it.'

'What? Why? I can't do that,' said Angus.

'Angus,' said the Prof, 'there's no time. She ... It ... She will kill me, Angus. Do you understand?'

Angus felt his legs turn to water.

'There's a carnival in town,' said the Prof.

'I know,' said Angus. 'We've been there.'

'Get the snow dome,' said the Prof. 'Take it to the carnival tonight. Be at the Vanishing Lady's tent at midnight. Make sure you're not followed.'

Angus felt his stomach clench. 'I'll call the police,' he said.

'No!' cried the Prof. 'They can't help us. Please, Angus. For once, just do as I say.'

'But how?' asked Angus, his mind spinning.

'Find a way!' said the Prof.

Angus stared up at the speakers.

'I'll be in touch again soon,' said the Prof quickly, his voice fading.

'But how? Where are you? Dad?'

There was another piercing whistle, so shrill it made Angus double over.

When he straightened up, the room was silent.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

____________________________________________

## A frantic search

Angus ran out to the front verandah. First things first, he thought, trying to calm himself. He had to find his sister. Then he'd worry about the snow dome.

Martha's bike was gone but her beach towel was still on the railing. Okay. So she hadn't gone for a swim.

He thought about the girls. Those _goblin girls_. Martha had been fascinated with them. He gazed at the front yard, his eyes drawn to the circle of dead grass where Gurdy used to stand. No. Surely she hadn't gone to reclaim the gnome?

Angus pulled on his cap, grabbed his bike and headed for the old hat factory.

He sped down the footpath and along the boulevard. Past shops, cafes and terrace houses. Past shoppers, commuters and dreamy holidaymakers, until he came to Bag Knot Lane. By now there was a lunchtime crowd at the pub. Men and women spilled onto the footpath talking business, drinking beer from icy glasses. Several whistled as Angus swung his bike into the lane and whizzed by.

The cobblestones rattled the old bike and the front wheel threatened to buckle. Angus wondered if the bike would hold out. But he did not slow down.

At the hat factory, he spotted Martha's bike. He tossed his own bike to the ground and ran to the grille at the base of the building. _Step through the veil_. He knelt down and peered into the darkness.

Martha was in there! She was sitting on some kind of over-stuffed hessian sack about the size of a single-bed mattress, the contents of her tote bag spread around her.

Angus was about to yell at her when he noticed that she was not alone. Ava, the goblin girl with the silver dreadlocks and elaborate earrings, was sitting beside her. They were deep in conversation over a hairbrush.

Angus tugged on the grille. It would not budge.

Ava turned the hairbrush this way and that. The basement glowed with soft candlelight. Martha took the brush from Ava and raised it to her own hair.

'Let me show you how,' said Martha. She caught sight of Angus. 'Hello,' she said brightly. 'You finally woke up.'

Ava looked up and stared at Angus peering through the grille. 'Please,' she said, 'no more squirting us.'

'He won't squirt you,' said Martha. 'I promise. He doesn't have anything on him, do you, Angus? No weapons at all. Not even a stick.'

Now the other goblin girl, the sour one called Graini with the forest-green hair, emerged from the shadows.

Angus pulled at the grille, sweat gathering under his cap, his scalp itching. He shifted his cap and replanted his feet. He had to get Martha out of there!

'If we let you in, boy,' said Graini, scowling at Angus, 'do you sincerely swear that you will not take action against us?' Her hands were on her hips.

'Martha,' hissed Angus, 'what in God's name do you think you're doing?'

'I'm talking to the goblin girls,' said Martha. 'They've never seen a plastic hairbrush. Or a surf watch. Can you believe it?'

Ava held out her arm. She was wearing Martha's purple surf watch.

'Get that thing off!' gasped Graini.

'Graini,' said Ava gently, 'it's perfectly safe and reasonable. It is a _timepiece_. It has practical purposes and a very superficial history.'

Ava held the watch to her cheek and closed her eyes. 'Made by machines,' she said dreamily. 'Had a short water trip from Asia, spent some time in a box made from petroleum products and then more time behind a brightly lit, polished window. Then it came to Martha Jack — one owner, kind and truth-speaking.'

'Well, I don't trust it and I want you to take it off,' snapped Graini.

Ava sighed and stood up. She removed the surf watch and handed it back to Martha. Martha was still nestled in the sack, happily brushing her hair.

'Let my sister go,' said Angus darkly.

'She came of her own free will,' said Graini.

'Would you like to join us, Angus Jack?' asked Ava.

'No, I would not,' said Angus, and he gave the grille another tug. 'Now open this stupid thing and let my sister out.'

'Open it yourself,' said Graini.

'Graini,' scolded Ava, 'it is not polite to tease.' She jumped onto a stepladder below the grille. 'Come on, Angus Jack. Come in and talk with us awhile.'

Ava pushed against the grille and to Angus's astonishment it swung outward, like a cat flap — he had to pull back to avoid being hit in the face.

'Feet first is best,' said Ava. 'You will find the top of the stepping ladder directly below. Be sure you are not witnessed,' she added urgently.

Angus looked down the lane. The hotel patrons were drinking, laughing, absorbed in their own small worlds. Close by he thought he glimpsed a shadow, tall and broad. Did someone duck behind that dumpster?

Angus shaded his eyes and squinted. Was he being followed? Surely not. As if anyone cared what a kid like him was doing. He was feeling strung-out, that's all. And Ava's comment had pushed him over the edge.

Certain there was no-one there but seagulls, Angus got down on his stomach and lowered himself feet first through the wrought-iron grille.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

____________________________________________

## Goblins and gnomes

Angus tried to look cool as he sauntered across the basement floor and stood before his sister. The grille had closed behind him.

Ava sat on the stepladder, her legs crossed, her dangling feet tapping to some internal melody of her own. Graini had disappeared somewhere in the dark recesses.

'Martha,' said Angus quietly, 'we have to go. _Now_.'

Martha stopped brushing her hair. It floated about her head like charged nylon. 'But we've only just dropped anchor,' she cried.

Ava laughed. 'That sounds like something Reafen would say.'

'Reafen did say it,' said Angus tersely, and he squatted down and nudged Martha's arm.

'Come on,' he urged, 'pack up your stuff. The Prof really needs us at home.'

'Huh? Very funny, Angus,' said Martha. 'Besides, I like it here. It's not often you get to hang out with goblin girls.'

'We have to go,' said Angus, trying to make Martha see the urgency in his eyes. 'Seriously.'

'And there're no hard feelings,' said Martha blithely. 'Ava is happy to give us back Gurdy as long as we take better care of him.'

Angus had forgotten all about Gurdy. He noticed him now, on a wooden workbench.

'Why _did_ you take our gnome?' he asked Ava.

'Perhaps I should not have removed him into my care,' said Ava carefully, and she stepped down off the ladder and came to sit beside Angus. 'But it does press my heart to see such neglect. The gnomes are a wise and knowledgeable race. They are of the Kuwald, a noble and ancient race of dwarves. We think highly of gnomes in my homeland. It saddened me to see this figurine so abandoned and pitiful. I had planned to take him home with us — provided Graini would allow it.'

' _De hominibus parvissimis_ ,' said Graini, emerging from the shadows.

Ava nodded. 'The smallest of men,' she said. 'They should be amused to see a statue such as this. It would delight them to know they are still thought of, still remembered, in the New World. Of course, I would not mention the neglect,' she added softly.

'You can have him!' blurted Martha. 'Please. Take him. I'm so sorry we didn't look after him.'

Graini came further into the room. Angus could not see where she had been, the light only extended so far. He craned to see. Was there a door back there? Yes, it opened onto a passageway.

He caught his breath. Graini was holding the snow dome!

'That's Reafen's,' said Angus. 'You robbed us and you robbed her.'

'You cared nothing for the gnome,' scoffed Graini. 'As for the "snow dome", as you call it, we have only retrieved what is ours. Reafen should be thankful we didn't tie her in ropes and bindings and drag her back to the Old Realm with us.'

' _Ropes and bindings_.' Angus turned to Martha. 'Do you really want to hang out with this pair?'

'It's just a joke,' said Martha. 'It's not serious.'

'No, not serious at all,' said Ava quickly. 'Now, no more joking outbursts, Graini. We have the _narrare_ ; that is the purpose of our weary search. As for Reafen, she lost all that was precious to her years ago: her home, her people, her pride. And for what? No further punishment is necessary, surely?'

'Narrare?' said Angus.

'You call it a snow dome,' said Graini, placing the dome on the workbench. 'But you are incorrect. It is a narrare and it belongs to our people.'

Graini took up a leather case with a long strap. The case was brown with emerald felt lining. It reminded Angus of a binocular case. The leather was aged but well oiled. Graini gently slid the snow dome into the case and snapped it shut. It had two clasps, silver ravens with outstretched wings. She passed the case to her companion. Ava lowered the strap over her head and arranged it across her body.

'The sooner we get out of here the better,' muttered Graini.

'When _are_ you going?' Angus tried not to stare at the snow dome. His mind was racing. He had to get this thing, this narrare, before these girls disappeared to wherever it was they came from.

'We set sail at dawn,' said Ava.

'Tomorrow?' Angus could not conceal his surprise. This was worse than he thought. He glanced at the case again. How was he supposed to get the snow dome while it was attached to a goblin girl?

Graini followed his gaze. 'Your father-relative is interested in such artefacts,' she said.

'Possibly,' said Angus. 'He's a history professor. It's his job to be interested.'

'The narrare would not serve him well,' said Ava. 'It would only bring him grief and confusions.'

'Whatever.' Angus had no desire to discuss his father a second longer than was necessary. Just the mention of him made Angus queasy with fear.

'Pack up your stuff, Martha,' he said sharply.

'Can't we stay just a little longer?' whined his sister.

They heard a scraping noise on the footpath outside and all four looked up — just as the light from the grille faded.

'Hey!' cried Angus, and he got up and ran across the room.

Ava followed him up the stepladder and peered over his shoulder.

'The grille,' he said, pushing and pulling. 'Look! It's been blocked. Someone's pushed a great whopping dumpster in front of it.'

'No,' said Ava. 'This cannot be ...'

Somewhere deep inside the building they heard a door slam.

'Are there others in here?' Angus looked about wildly. 'Well?' he demanded.

Graini shook her head. 'There is only us.' She spoke softly, warily, as if she wasn't quite sure.

'There is no other point of entry,' said Ava. 'This building is sealed to all outsiders.'

'And yet,' said Graini, cocking her head and listening intently. 'Do you hear, Ava?'

Ava gasped and nodded fearfully. 'Footsteps,' she whispered. 'On the floor above.'

'We must get out,' said Graini.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

____________________________________________

## Evil eyes everywhere

Back at Frozen in Time, the Donut Lady got busy. She fetched a dustpan, a broom, a feather duster, a vacuum cleaner. She even searched for a rake, such was the mess in Reafen's shop. While the Donut Lady cleaned, Reafen sat on the floor snoring and muttering, occasionally looking about for her Peachy Pepp.

'Reafen,' said the Donut Lady after a while. 'Reafen! Open your eyes ... and listen to me.'

'Huh?'

'What did you have in here?' The Donut Lady stood before the remains of the display case, the one that had encased the bewitched otter.

Reafen raised her throbbing head.

'What was in here?' the Donut Lady repeated. 'Why is it shattered like this? Were you robbed ... or is there something darker going on that should worry me?'

'Oh!' wailed Reafen, placing her hands over her eyes like a frightened child. 'I tried to clean it up. I cannot look. I cannot speak of it. The words, the words, they would kill me, I am sure.'

The Donut Lady sighed with exasperation.

'Argh!' Reafen screamed, and the Donut Lady got such a shock the feather duster spun out of her hand.

'Get it away from me!' cried Reafen. 'Get it away!' She was pointing at the mannequin.

The Donut Lady rushed to the old goblin woman's side and knelt down.

'Its eyes, its evil eyes,' said Reafen, still pointing. 'The eyes of a bird, a snake, a wolf. Eyes everywhere. Eyes, eyes, eyes, always looking.'

The Donut Lady threw a blanket over the mannequin's head. 'There, there.' She patted Reafen's back officiously. 'There, there.'

Reafen leaned against her. The Donut Lady wrinkled her nose. Reafen ponged of cheap perfume and fish oil.

'I am a foolish old woman,' Reafen whimpered. 'So very, very foolish.' She fell back asleep.

What had really happened here? What secrets was this frightened elder keeping?

The Donut Lady got up slowly, thoughtfully. She had seen many things in her life. She had an eye for the peculiar and a nose for the outlandish.

As she swept and polished and stuffed broken knick-knacks into a garbage bag, she knew instinctively that the quiet times were over. Her simple life down by the beach had taken an unconventional turn.

Gosh, it was exhilarating.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

____________________________________________

## Stealing from friends

Come,' said Graini, peeping out into the hallway and gesturing to the others. 'Danger seeks us, there can be no doubt.'

'Together we will find a way out,' said Ava, leaping off the ladder. 'Come along, Angus, Martha.'

Angus grabbed Martha's bag and began tossing her things back into it ... including the garden gnome.

'Please,' said Ava. 'Hurry or we will be cornered. Trapped!'

'We better do as they say,' said Martha, taking her bag from Angus.

'No,' snapped Angus. 'We'll find our own way out.'

'There is no door and no window that a human boy or girl could open on their own,' said Ava, looking at him pleadingly. 'We are too sorry for words but this is how we made it our safe haven.'

'Not so safe now, is it?' said Angus meanly.

'You must trust us. You must follow,' said Ava desperately.

' _Now_ ,' said Graini, and she turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Angus thought for a moment. This might be his last chance to get hold of the snow dome — the last time he would be so close to it. With a sickening feeling, he realised it might also be his last chance to save his father's life. It all seemed so preposterous — like some relentless nightmare. But the Prof wouldn't make up something like this. He had meant every word when he'd said, 'Get the snow dome ... Find a way!'

As Ava hurried out the door, Angus grabbed Martha's hand and pulled her close.

'Do not leave my side,' he said under his breath. 'The Prof is in serious trouble.'

Martha frowned doubtfully.

'Some weirdo freak has kidnapped him!' Angus almost spat the words.

Martha looked alarmed. 'What?' she squeaked.

'We have to get that snow dome,' said Angus. 'I'm not kidding. We have to get it, okay?'

'But why? How? What's happening? Maxwell's okay, isn't he?'

'I can't explain,' said Angus quickly, 'but it's serious, Martha. Really serious. You have to do as I say. Okay?'

Martha nodded. 'Okay. I promise.'

Perhaps she really did understand.

It was a small mercy.

The corridor was dimly lit by the occasional light that flickered and faltered high up on the walls.

'I didn't think there was any power in this building,' said Angus.

'This is a very powerful building,' said Graini. 'How can it be that you don't see this?'

Angus and Martha exchanged glances.

Graini was in the lead with Ava directly behind her. Ava looked over her shoulder often, urging the kids on. Angus glanced about for an exit. He tried several narrow, wooden doors as they hurried along but they all led into offices. The place was a maze of tiny offices, even down here below street level. The place stank too, of rising damp, ancient dust and cat pee. Martha stifled a sneeze.

Graini stopped suddenly and held up her hand. 'Listen.'

The kids strained to hear.

'Nothing,' said Angus. 'Not a thing. Are you sure there's someone after us — after _you_? I think you're overreacting.'

Ava pointed at the ceiling. 'The intruder draws nearer, Angus Jack,' she said in hushed tones. 'And trust us, there is evil intent. I feel these footsteps. Oh!' she added quickly. 'They are headed for that staircase.'

She pointed back down the corridor behind them. Angus could see the fear in her eyes. His scalp prickled.

'Follow,' said Graini, and she shot off down the corridor toward another stairwell at the opposite end.

They raced after her.

'Hold it right there!' a voice bellowed.

They spun around.

'It's him,' cried Martha. 'That nutcase we saw at Frozen in Time. The one with the yellow teeth.'

'Stop right there,' said the man as he strode toward them, 'and we'll do a deal. What do you say? Yeeesh?'

He looked half starved and demented in this light, like a tormented sideshow freak. His hair hung about his eyes. There was some kind of creature hunched on his shoulder ...

'Run!' shouted Angus.

There was a chilling screech and a vicious little monkey in a red-and-gold jacket bounded down the corridor toward them.

The kids raced up the stairs with the monkey close behind. It grabbed at Martha's ankles. She screamed and swung her bag at it, clipping its head, sending it tumbling backward.

'In here!' cried Graini. 'It is our only hope.'

They clambered into an archaic birdcage lift near the top of the stairs.

Graini wrenched the doors together just as the monkey reached them. It screeched and gibbered, grabbing at them through the gaps in the brass lattice.

Graini dragged on the operating lever. 'It does not cooperate!' she cried.

The top of the man's head came into view as he mounted the stairs.

'Stop, I tell you! That narrare, it's mine. It belongs to me!' He swung his walking cane with a flourish, pointed it at them and took aim.

A ball of purple light shot at them, missing the lift and punching a hole in the wall beside it.

Angus pushed Graini aside and hauled on the lever.

The lift rocked and groaned; noises swirled around them, creaking, whirring, clanking. Great turbulent booms echoed up and down the dark shaft.

'What's happening?' shouted Martha over the din.

'It is coming to life,' cried Ava excitedly. 'The contraption is waking up. Keep trying, Angus Jack!'

Angus strained to engage the lever. There was another purple blast. Above them, the lift's large, dangling light bulb, dull with age and coated in dust, shook and jiggled, threatening to drop on them any moment.

Ava crouched against the back wall, one hand gripping the railing above her head, the other clutching to her chest the leather case containing the snow dome. Martha swatted and kicked at the monkey's grasping fingers.

'Hurry, Angus Jack,' cried Ava as Graini crawled across to her. 'This man is called Lynch. He is known to us. He is a terrible tyrant who will stop at nothing ... He even dabbles in the Wild Magick!'

All four screamed as Lynch descended on them and shook the cage.

'Give me the narrare!' he bellowed.

There was a hefty CRUNCH from above, the monkey jerked its arms free from the latticework door and the lift shot upward.

Floors sped by in a blur of shadows and dust as the birdcage lift clattered and shook its way up through the building, stopping and starting, juddering and stalling and lurching. The noise was colossal.

Angus and Martha clung to the brass handrails and fell to their knees, swaying like sailors on a stormy sea.

Angus peered up at the ceiling. Through the fretwork canopy he could see that the lift's cables were secure and still intact.

'It's okay, Martha!' he yelled. 'It's going to be okay.'

Martha bowed her head and hung on.

Then, with the screech of metal on metal, the lift jarred to a halt.

A moment's silence passed, then a buzzer sounded.

The doors drew themselves apart, the lift carriage tilted, and with one great hefty jolt tipped out its occupants.

'Ooh,' Martha groaned as she held her stomach. 'I nearly spewed.'

Angus jumped to his feet and looked around. 'Get up, Martha,' he said urgently. 'Hurry.'

Martha scrambled to her feet.

The goblin girls were not as quick to recover. They lay against each other in a tangle on the floor. Graini rubbed her head.

'What just happened?' Angus stood over them. 'That lift, it went ... berserk.'

'It is only my educated guess,' said Graini, sitting up slowly, 'but I believe the narrare interfered with the lift's inner logic. The narrare contains enormous energy. It can bring about sudden ... entanglements.'

'Pardon?' said Angus. 'What energy? What do you mean?'

Graini studied Angus for a moment. 'It is dangerous for you to know more,' she said finally.

Ava lifted the leather strap over her head, sat the case on her lap and gently opened it. She peered inside. 'It is safe,' she said groggily. 'The narrare has survived.'

Angus spotted his chance.

'I'm really, _really_ sorry,' he said, looking at Ava apologetically.

'Hmm?' She frowned vaguely. He wished there was time to get to know her. It was weird, but being around this girl, this goblin girl, made him feel almost ... happy. She looked so trusting too, sitting there on the floor. If only he could stay to help her out ...

But Ava was brave and he was sure she had other strengths. Right now his father needed him more.

Angus dived on the case and scooped it up. 'Now,' he said to Martha. 'Run!'

## CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

____________________________________________

## The chase

The toilets,' said Angus. 'I remember. There were windows without bars. We can escape through there!'

Angus and Martha flew down the hall and around several corners.

At last they came to a door marked _Ladies_. Angus hesitated — could he really go in there? It was like being back at primary school.

'In!' said Martha.

They shot into the toilets. The taps still worked and the paper-towel dispenser was full. Martha clogged the base of the main door with wet paper. It wouldn't hold for long but at least it would give them a head start.

Angus dashed into a cubicle, leaped onto the toilet seat and rattled the sash window above.

'Cool!' he said as the window shot up.

He leaned out and his stomach lurched — they were countless storeys up, high above the cobblestone lane. The fire escape was directly to their left. Between it and the window was a narrow cement ledge. It was their only chance.

'You go first,' said Angus as he draped the leather case across his body. 'I'll cover for you.'

Martha nodded and Angus stood back as she hopped up onto the toilet cistern and wriggled out of the window. It was a tight squeeze. Her top tore on an old nail sticking out of the windowsill.

'Oh, crud,' she grunted.

'You're doing great,' urged Angus, glancing back over his shoulder. He could hear footsteps. 'Just don't look down. Keep your eyes on the fire escape.'

With her back against the building and one hand still holding Angus's, Martha edged her way, step by tiny step, along the ledge toward the fire escape.

'Perfect,' said Angus as he released his sister's hand.

He could hear voices now. Lynch and the goblin girls were yelling in the corridor. The monkey was screeching too. They were obviously doing battle but Lynch would soon figure out who had the narrare and come after them. They would be discovered any moment.

Fingers trembling, Martha grabbed the iron railing on the fire escape. The whole thing shook wildly.

She looked back at Angus, her face crumpling.

'It'll be okay,' said Angus. 'I promise. Remember, someone was on it just the other day. It can't be too bad.'

With that, Martha repositioned her hands and hauled herself up and over the railing, dropping lightly onto the landing.

'I did it!' she cried.

There was no time for applause. Angus was already squeezing through the window. But it was much tighter for him.

'Breathe in,' said Martha, holding her breath. 'And ... _wriggle_.'

Angus grunted and twisted, the timber frame squeezing his ribs until he was sure they would crack. His T-shirt snagged and he heard it rip.

'I have you now!' shouted Lynch, bursting into the toilets. 'Stop where you are.'

With a final heave, Angus sucked in his belly — and fell out of the window.

He landed on his hands and knees on the ledge. He looked down and his vision swam. He rose shakily and flattened himself against the building, his heart hammering.

'Hurry!' cried Martha, stretching out her hand to her brother.

Angus shuffled along the ledge, his back scraping against the hot bricks.

There was a flash of purple light beside him and a chunk of ledge crumbled.

The monkey appeared at the window. It made a grab for him.

'Get out there!' Lynch shouted at the monkey. 'Chase them, you cretin. Bring me that narrare!'

But for some reason the monkey would not move. It would go no further. It simply sat on the windowsill, screeching and gibbering and baring its teeth. Lynch's gaudy cufflinks flashed as he belted the monkey with the back of his hand. The monkey turned and sank its teeth into its master's wrist. Lynch howled in pain.

'Jump!' screamed Martha.

Angus lunged at the railing and tumbled onto the landing. 'Go, go, go!' he cried.

Without so much as a backward glance, the pair clambered down the steps, down, down, down, for what seemed like countless zigzag flights.

Shaking and breathless, they hit the ground running, leaped on their bikes and sped off down the lane.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

____________________________________________

## Nowhere to hide

It wasn't until they were out of Bag Knot Lane and coasting along the boulevard that the kids finally spoke.

'We got it!' hooted Angus, punching the air. 'We got the snow dome!'

Martha was stony-faced as she peddled along beside him. 'It's all wrong. We cheated them, Angus. We tricked the goblin girls. And we left them with that horrible man. I even feel sorry for Graini.'

Angus instantly felt deflated. And now, as the adrenalin subsided, guilt began to close in. 'We didn't have a choice,' he said. 'Snatching the snow dome and making a run for it, that was the only chance we have of saving the Prof's life.'

'He's probably making it up. Or exaggerating,' said Martha. 'He probably just wants it for some dusty old collection ...'

They slowed down as they crossed the footpath and joined the bike trail. Beyond them, the sea twinkled in the afternoon sun. Gulls squawked, winging high above them. The city traffic sped by.

'But you weren't there,' said Angus. 'You didn't see what I saw, Martha. After you'd gone this morning. After you nicked off without telling me. It was terrible.'

'Why? What happened?' As if the chase had not been enough, Martha now looked newly frightened.

Angus told her everything, about the chaos in the study, the books and furniture and drawings all over the floor and, worst of all, the Prof's voice in the speakers. It sounded even worse as he described it to her, even more crazy. But then again, they had just spent their time robbing a pair of goblin girls ...

Martha thought hard as they rode along.

'Trust him to get in trouble,' she said at last. 'Trust him to go digging around in things that are none of his business. It's like I've always said, Angus — the Prof always pays attention to the wrong things. He's hopeless.'

Angus sighed. 'Look, I think you're missing the point. This is really serious, Martha. Deadly serious.'

They reached the beach and Martha was silent as they dropped their bikes against a tree. Then she said, 'I want to carry the snow dome.'

'Why?' asked Angus.

'I just do, okay!'

There was no point arguing. Angus lifted the case over his head and passed it to his sister.

'Come on,' he said, pointing to a picnic rotunda. 'Let's hide in there ... and try to figure things out.'

The Donut Lady's caravan was along to their right. Making certain no-one spotted them, they made their way down the hill to the rotunda.

Martha thought quickly as they hurried along. She knew as well as Angus it would be pointless calling the police. They would never believe them. And besides, the Prof had been clear — no outside involvement.

'So where will we wait?' she asked. She leaned against the coin barbeque at the centre of the rotunda and chewed her nails pensively. 'Till midnight, I mean. We can't go home. The goblin girls are sure to come after us. That's the first place they'll look.' She lowered her head, suddenly feeling conspicuous. 'They're probably heading there right now,' she said quietly.

'I suppose we'll just have to hang around down here,' said Angus. 'On the boardwalk. There's a market tonight. And the carnival. We can lose ourselves in the crowd.'

'Great,' said Martha flatly.

Angus sat on the bench seat that ran around the edge of the rotunda. A few pigeons fluttered in the beams above. The barbeque was greasy, littered with charred scraps. An empty bread packet and a sauce bottle with a gooey lid sat on the tiled benchtop. It didn't look at all appetising but Angus's stomach rumbled.

'I'm starving,' he said, resting his head against the splintery wall.

'Me too,' said Martha, coming to sit beside him. 'Have you got any money?'

'Nope.'

Martha groaned. She looked at her watch. 'How will we last? It's hours till midnight, and even after that we still might not be able to go home. Not with them waiting for us. I'm not scared of the goblin girls,' she said quietly. 'Not even that nasty Graini. She's just a squinty-eyed bully with hair like Oscar the Grouch. But Lynch. He's some kind of monster!'

Angus shook his head wearily. 'Ava said he uses Wild Magick. Did you hear that?'

Martha nodded.

'Wild Magick,' said Angus again. 'I wonder what that is ...'

'Angus,' said Martha, crossing her arms across her body and hugging herself tightly, 'I hope he didn't hurt them. I hope he didn't ... kill the goblin girls.'

There. It was said.

This was exactly what Angus had been thinking. Exactly what he had been trying to deny. The goblin girls. Even though he was wary of them, even though they stood in the way of everything important to him, he still felt like a traitor. He remembered the way Ava had looked up at him back in the hat factory and he felt sick with remorse. She had been so sweet. And he had been a jerk.

He shut his eyes.

They were homeless, penniless, and their father was God knows where with a death threat hanging over him. How could this be true? How could this be happening?

'Maybe the Donut Lady could help?' suggested Martha suddenly.

'Are you serious? We can't involve her,' said Angus.

'At least she could give us some donuts,' said Martha.

'No.' Angus was firm about this. 'We have to do this alone. We can't put anyone else at risk. We have to get smart, Martha, okay?'

Martha nodded sadly. 'Okay,' she said in a small voice.

Angus leaned back.

Martha drew her legs up under her chin. 'Angus,' she said, 'do you think ... Do you think Maxwell will be okay?'

'I hope so,' said Angus.

'I don't hate him,' said Martha. 'Honestly. I don't know why I said that. I'm so, so sorry ...'

'It doesn't matter,' said Angus.

'It's just that, well, he's never there, and even when he is there ... he's not there. And it makes me furious, Angus. Furious.'

Angus nodded. What could he say? There were no words for what they felt. No words to describe their loneliness, their anger, the way they felt ... betrayed.

A familiar voice broke the silence. 'What is this?'

'Donut Lady!' Martha slid the leather case behind her back.

'This is an odd place for you to be,' said the Donut Lady, stepping into the rotunda. 'Do you have picnic? Do you sizzle sausages on your own?'

'We've been on a bike ride,' said Angus quickly. 'We were just having a break. Before we go for a swim ...'

The Donut Lady squished herself in between the two kids. She smelt of fried batter and coconut oil.

'Are you swimming in your clothes today?' She looked them up and down.

The kids smiled dumbly.

'You bring binoculars?' The Donut Lady craned to see behind Martha's back.

Martha placed a protective hand on the case.

'They're just cheap old field glasses our dad used to take on holidays,' said Angus. 'They're pretty lame.'

'I was going to look for dolphins,' said Martha.

'So. Show me.' The Donut Lady extended a hand.

Martha looked to Angus for an answer. He shrugged helplessly.

Slowly Martha brought the case around to her front. But before she could unbuckle the raven-shaped clasps, the Donut Lady gasped.

'What have you got? I feel its cold presence even through the leather. Oh, you are in trouble,' she cried. 'Such trouble. You foolish children!'

Angus and Martha jumped.

'Come,' said the Donut Lady, slapping her knees and rising. 'I will feed you and in return you will tell me many things.'

Angus stayed seated. 'Sorry,' he said. 'Maybe tomorrow?'

The Donut Lady rounded on Angus. 'You will come with me and you will tell me the truth,' she said, poking her finger into his chest. 'Now!'

'You don't get it, do you?' said Angus angrily, and he flicked her hand away. 'We've got more important things to worry about. We haven't got time for your stupid questions!'

The Donut Lady raised her hands to the heavens. Then she bent down and glared at Angus. 'I know what is in that case,' she said, 'for I have seen much more of the world, the hidden world, than you two put together. I know the kind of danger that circles you now. Do you, young man, do you know?'

Martha looked at Angus, her eyes ringed with fear and fatigue. 'Please, Angus,' she begged, 'we need help. We can't do this on our own.'

Angus tried to think. If they just held out. If they were patient, maybe they could hold on to the original plan — hide out there, keep low until midnight, then somehow get this thing, this cursed snow dome, to the carnival. But then again, their chances of staying hidden were less than slim. And Martha looked shook up and exhausted. And the Donut Lady, who was she really? What was her real story? She was a know-it-all, that was for sure. Well, maybe that was what they needed right now — a mysterious know-it-all with useful advice ... and delicious hot food.

Angus sighed. They were tired and hungry and the longer they sat there arguing, the greater the risk of being found by Lynch or the goblin girls.

He got up. 'Lead the way,' he said gruffly. 'But remember, we don't have all day.'

Glancing from the pine trees to the rubbish bins, from the shower blocks to the billboards, they left the rotunda and followed the Donut Lady back up the hill.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

____________________________________________

## Logically speaking

The Donut Lady held open the caravan's annexe door. Angus and Martha hesitated. They felt as if they were entering a forbidden temple. Or some place worse — like a teacher's bedroom.

'You go first,' said Angus, giving Martha a nudge. 'You're a girl.'

'That doesn't make sense!' cried Martha.

'Hurry, now,' said the Donut Lady, jostling them. 'You are wasting time.'

The kids squeezed through the door together. Martha stopped short. 'It's so cute!' she cried.

Angus looked about. Perhaps he wouldn't have described the inside of the annexe as 'cute' but it definitely wasn't what he had expected.

It was full of overstuffed armchairs and colourful cushions. China geese flew across one wall. There were sepia photographs: large family groupings, earnest and gloomy. Even the toddlers looked formidable.

There was a sideboard cluttered with china, bookcases stuffed with novels. Against one wall stood a battered guitar case. It was hard to imagine the Donut Lady playing guitar — but then again, she was full of surprises.

There was a small television and an old video player adorned with a doily. A selection of videos filled a timber bookcase. Angus ran his eye along the titles. They were all action films.

A ladder led up into a curtained loft.

Angus checked around the room again.

'You are looking for swords,' said the Donut Lady slyly.

'Pardon?' said Angus.

'My sword collection. It is a useful rumour for a defenceless old woman.'

Angus pretended not to hear.

'Sit,' said the Donut Lady.

The kids sat.

'Wait,' said the Donut Lady.

The kids waited. Angus checked the time as the Donut Lady disappeared into the Caravan of Delight.

In a matter of minutes she returned.

'Eat,' she said, handing them fresh white buns stuffed with hotdogs and smothered in tomato sauce and grated cheese. There were cans of lemonade and hot donuts as well. 'You are both too skinny.' The Donut Lady sniffed.

The kids took the food gratefully. 'Thanks,' they muttered between mouthfuls.

The Donut Lady eyed them closely as she sipped on a bottle of iced tea.

When the kids had finished the hotdogs and started on the donuts, she pointed to the leather case beside Martha. 'Where did you get this?' she asked.

Martha wiped the cinnamon from her chin. 'We stole it,' she said softly.

The Donut Lady gasped.

'It's not what you think,' said Angus. 'We didn't really steal it. Well, actually, we did. But we had no choice. It's for our father. He's in serious trouble.'

'Ahh.' The Donut Lady shook her head. 'This is what I suspected. Your father, he has spent too much time with Reafen.'

'It's not Reafen's fault,' said Martha. 'It's the Prof's fault. He went and got himself kidnapped.' She scrunched her serviette angrily.

'Kidnapped?' The Donut Lady raised her eyebrows.

Angus tried to explain but it was tricky, as he didn't understand half of what had happened himself.

'We didn't steal the snow dome from Reafen,' he said finally. 'We took it from Ava and Graini.'

'Ava and Graini?' The Donut Lady frowned.

'Goblin girls,' said Angus.

The Donut Lady's jaw dropped. 'So,' she said, 'at last they have come. Now I think I understand.'

'What do you understand?' Angus wriggled forward in the armchair. 'We'd love to know.'

Martha nodded eagerly.

'It was the boat,' said the Donut Lady, and Angus felt his pulse flutter. 'The boat with the serpent. The boat I showed to my Barney.'

'What boat?' Martha could barely disguise her excitement.

'A magickal boat. I was sure it came from the Old Realm,' said the Donut Lady. 'It was hidden in a cove not far from here. I showed it to my Barney and then, not much later, my Barney disappeared.'

'What happened to him?' breathed Martha.

'I do not know,' said the Donut Lady glumly. 'He is an idiot. But I miss him.'

Martha had some idea of how that felt.

'First my cat, now my boyfriend,' sighed the Donut Lady.

Angus shifted uncomfortably.

Martha picked up the leather case. 'Did you want to look at the snow dome?' she said kindly. She did not like to see the Donut Lady sad.

'What? Oh. Yes,' said the Donut Lady. 'I would very much like that. Thank you, dear,' she added gently.

The Donut Lady looked on eagerly as Martha clicked open the clasps.

'It has been many years since I have held a narrare,' said the Donut Lady in hushed tones.

'Narrare?' said Angus. 'That's what the goblin girls called it.'

The lights in the annexe flickered as Martha eased the snow dome out of its case. Suddenly the television sprang to life. Psychedelic static crackled across the screen. An afternoon soap opera boomed out. The Donut Lady hurled a TV guide at the screen but the TV kept yelling. She got up and tipped it flat on its face. That worked.

'Saints pickle us,' said the Donut Lady with her hand on her heart.

'You mean, saints _preserve_ us,' said Martha, and Angus elbowed her.

Martha passed the snow dome. The Donut Lady held it carefully and raised it to eye level.

'This is like no other I have seen,' she said, almost to herself. 'It is ... _remarkable_.' She turned the snow dome this way and that. The amber glass was almost opaque in the dull light of the annexe. 'And you say Reafen had this in her shop?'

'In a display cabinet,' said Martha.

'Then Reafen is even madder than I thought,' said the Donut Lady.

'Finally,' said Angus. 'Someone's making sense.'

'Do I dare to shake it?' said the Donut Lady.

'Reafen asked me to,' said Martha. 'She told me, "Snow domes is meant to be shaked."'

The Donut Lady gave a snort of derision. 'Reafen, she is an old devil.' She turned to Martha. 'Did you shake it?'

Martha nodded. 'Yes. Just gently. It made me feel sad,' she whispered. 'And I saw my mother. Not for real. But in my mind. As clearly as if I had only just left her. Like we'd only been talking a few minutes earlier.'

What? thought Angus. Martha hadn't told him this. All she had said was that holding the snow dome almost gave her frostbite. And that she thought it was — what were the words? _Beautiful but sad_. Yeah. That was it. He stared at his sister.

'I was on a boat,' she continued. 'On the River Thames. It was a pretty little houseboat that sold second-hand books. Mum and I were having scones with jam and cream. I was four years old. I wore a green corduroy coat and carried an umbrella with mouse ears. Mum and I were laughing. Mum sat me on her knee and said, "Are you having a happy childhood, my darling?"' Martha looked sadly at the snow dome. 'And that's where the memory ended,' she whispered.

Sadness welled up inside Angus. That was just the kind of kooky thing his mother often used to say. She had always been full of nonsense, full of mischief. They had forgotten that side of her ... Why had they forgotten? Why had they let these details slide?

The Donut Lady stroked Martha's hand tenderly. 'So beautiful,' she said, her eyes glistening.

'I didn't make it up,' said Martha to her brother.

'I know,' said Angus.

'The narrare,' said the Donut Lady, 'it holds many memories.'

'You mean like a keepsake?' said Angus. 'Or a souvenir?'

'Hey, yeah,' said Martha. 'Like the teaspoon I got from our trip to that lighthouse. Remember that trip, Angus? Every time I look at that spoon I remember those disgusting cupcakes we ate in the cafe. They tasted like glitter glue.'

'Nonsense,' said the Donut Lady, back to her old self. 'The narrare is not a teaspoon. It does not speak of holidays and cupcakes and silliness.'

Martha pulled a face.

The Donut Lady held the narrare to the light again. 'Shake this,' she said, 'and it will bring forward your most heartfelt memories, your deepest, most bittersweet memories. It lures them forward. As a magnet attracts metal, so the narrare attracts memories ...'

All three stared into the amber dome.

'It's swirling,' breathed Martha.

'These are dark swirlings,' said the Donut Lady. 'The narrare senses a shift. Perhaps a shift in all our fortunes.'

'I still don't understand,' said Angus. 'If it's not a souvenir and it's not some old lady's ornament, why do you say it holds memories?'

The Donut Lady placed the narrare on the coffee table. 'It holds the memories of the goblins,' she said. 'Each tiny snowflake stores memories of their customs, their music, their stories, their comings and goings. Their knowledge of the earth — its mountains, its land, its subterranean treasures. To own the narrare is to own the power. In the Old Realm they are guarded with great reverence.'

Angus bit his lip thoughtfully. Suddenly things were becoming clearer.

'So if you used the narrare, you would have access to all these memories and then, if you were wicked enough, you could exploit that knowledge,' he said. 'You could use the knowledge for personal gain and wealth, to make you rich and powerful.'

The Donut Lady nodded. 'Not just rich and powerful in the Old Realm but beyond and into this world as well. We are, after all, one world, Angus Jack.'

'But how does it work?' Martha was still staring into the dome. 'If it stores memories, how do you get to see them? Do you just shake it like I did?'

'No,' said the Donut Lady. 'There is more to it than that. What you experienced, Martha, was simply one aspect, one side-effect, of its power — its magnetic power to lure memories forward, to connect with the mind of whoever shakes it.'

'So how do you see the memories it actually stores?' asked Angus. 'How do you see the memories of the goblins?'

'There are few who know this,' said the Donut Lady. 'This is specialised knowledge. Privileged knowledge.'

Angus scoffed. 'Well, that's helpful.'

'Very helpful,' said the Donut Lady. 'For isn't it clear that in the bad hands, the corrupt and greedy hands, in _human_ hands, a narrare would bring us all terrible trouble? Drawing on the knowledge of the narrares, the earth would be cracked open and looted like a treasure chest. Dreadful happenings would follow. Abuse, tyranny, even war!'

Suddenly Angus could see all too clearly how his father might have got in trouble over this thing — this _narrare_.

'But, really,' insisted Martha, 'how does it work? You know, don't you? I can tell.'

The Donut Lady thought for a moment.

'Tell us,' pleaded Angus. 'Please.'

'One must take it to a cavern in the Old Realm. These are ice caverns, extremely cold. All narrares sit on ice stalagmites in ice caverns. There are many, many narrares, many, many stalagmites When a narrare is to be read, it is taken to a ... how you say it ... anteroom. The narrare is placed on a singular stalagmite that is positioned to catch the cold light of the full moon.'

Martha was mesmerised.

'Go on,' urged Angus.

'When the moonlight shines on the narrare, questions may be asked of those who have passed over and left their trace. There is no judgement. The narrare will freely give its secrets to whoever has the skill and the knowledge to use it. Bathed in the light of the moon, it will project its memories onto the black-ice walls of the anteroom.'

'Man, oh, man,' breathed Martha.

'Remember,' said the Donut Lady, 'each memory is a delicate, complex snowflake — conditions must be perfect to ensure the snowflake and thus the memories shine out intact.'

A strange silence fell upon them. Perhaps it was awe. For a moment Angus forgot to check the time.

'There are some who would go to twenty lengths to steal a narrare,' said the Donut Lady finally.

'You mean, any length,' said Martha. 'They would go to _any length_.'

The Donut Lady scowled.

'And are there others?' Angus asked quickly. 'Aside from this one?'

The Donut Lady nodded. 'Of course,' she said. 'As I said, in the Old Realm there are countless narrares. Some are simply collective narrares and hold the memories of all and sundry. Others, I believe, are more specialised.'

'But why has Reafen got this particular one?' Angus would not let up. They had come this far, he had to know everything. 'Why is she even here?'

'I can only guess for this,' said the Donut Lady with a shrug. 'Reafen is in many ways a mystery. But she cannot be trusted. Of this I am certain.' She stood up. 'Now, I must go to this hat factory.'

'Why?' said Angus.

'I wish to confront this Lynch.'

'If you go there, he might blow you up!' said Martha.

'Bosh,' said the Donut Lady. 'I am not afraid of such bullies. They are my _hobby_. These goblin girls. They are there too?'

'Well, they were there,' said Angus. 'But they mustn't know where we are.'

'Because you have stolen their narrare?' said the Donut Lady. 'Because you are thieves?'

'If we don't hand it over tonight, someone's going to kill the Prof!' cried Martha.

'Who?' demanded the Donut Lady. 'Who is going to do such things?'

'We don't know,' said Angus. 'All we know is they want the snow dome, the narrare, or else ...'

'Did your father leave a note? Did he telephone this bad news?' They could tell the Donut Lady was thinking quickly again.

Angus shook his head. 'This will sound crazy but Dad was speaking through the surround-sound system in our lounge room. Like he was in a radio station or something ...'

The Donut Lady frowned. 'No,' she said. 'Your father, he is not in a station. Your father is no longer in this world.'

'What do you mean?' cried Angus.

'Is he ... dead?' Martha leaned forward, her face pale with fear.

'Not at all,' said the Donut Lady. 'But my feelings tell me he is stuck. I believe he is tangled in the veil — the veil between our world and the Old Realm. How he got there, this is a mystery. But if your father has dabbled in the dealings of goblins, even if he has only stumbled into an Old Realm feud, then it is logical for him to be trapped in this space. Rare. But logical.'

Angus put his head in his hands.

This was not his kind of logic.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

____________________________________________

## Rat boy

There was a knock on the annexe door and all three jumped. The Donut Lady stared at the door but she did not move. Martha scooped the narrare off the coffee table and slid it back into its case.

The knocking was sharp, insistent.

'Don't answer it,' said Angus. 'Please. Pretend we're not here.'

'It's them,' said Martha, looking about frantically for a place to hide. 'It's Lynch ... or the goblin girls. I just know it!'

The Donut Lady put a finger to her lips.

'I know you're in there,' called a boy's voice. 'I seen youse before.'

'Up to the loft.' The Donut Lady nodded at the ladder. 'Quickly.'

Martha slung the leather case across her body and she and Angus scooted up the ladder. On their hands and knees in the loft, they had a clear view of the room below. Silently they watched as the Donut Lady lifted the security chain and turned the deadlock.

A boy burst in, breathless with excitement. 'Dad's back,' he cried. 'He's back an' he's askin' for you.'

'My Barney's back!' cried the Donut Lady.

Martha gasped when she saw the boy. 'That's —' she began but Angus slipped his hand across her mouth.

She pushed his hand away. 'Sorry,' she mouthed.

It was the boy from the puppet show, the skinny teenager who played the Hammond organ. He had mousey hair cropped short with a single, scraggy rat's tail dangling down his neck. The rat's tail had coloured beads threaded on the end. Martha thought there was something very rodenty about him. Angus made a toothy face. He'd guessed what she was thinking.

'He's all banged up,' said the boy, glancing about the room. The Donut Lady was hunting for her shoes. 'An' he can't remember where he's been. All he knows is that he woke up in the lane. You know, the one behind the hat factory.'

'Tell him I will be there in one minute,' said the Donut Lady, dragging her good sandals from under a chair. 'Tell him I am on my way.'

The boy spotted the mess on the coffee table. The empty cans, hotdog wrappers and donut bags.

'Where're those kids?' he said, looking up.

Angus and Martha jerked back their heads.

'I seen two kids come in here,' said the boy. 'A scrawny geek with reddish hair and some snooty girl with binoculars round her neck. Weird lookin'.'

'Stop it with your rude questions,' snapped the Donut Lady, twisting open a tube of lipstick. 'Now go,' she mumbled as she painted her lips. 'Quickly.'

The boy shrugged. 'I'll give him your message then wait for you outside,' he gabbled. 'He's keepin' his door locked. Scared witless, he is.' The boy took off.

The kids peered down the ladder as the Donut Lady recapped her lipstick, took up a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. The day was growing cooler, the sea breeze had turned blustery and mean. They could hear the caravan's canvas blinds fluttering.

'Wait here in the big chairs,' she said, looking up at them. 'I should not be long. An hour maybe. Lock the door,' she added as she left.

Angus and Martha looked at one another.

'We can't stay here,' said Angus.

'I know,' said Martha.

'Dad said come alone.'

'I know.'

From the porthole window in the loft they watched the Donut Lady hurrying across the hill and through the pine trees to the carnival. They saw the boy jump down from the merry-go-round where he'd been waiting and grab her hand, talking excitedly.

When the Donut Lady and her skinny companion had disappeared from view, the kids bounded down the ladder, gathered up the last of the donuts and turned to leave.

There was another knock on the door.

## CHAPTER THIRTY

____________________________________________

## Disaster

Oh, crud,' said Martha.

Angus shushed her and they bobbed behind an armchair.

There was another knock, quiet, tentative ... dishonest. It sent a shiver up their spines. This wasn't the Donut Lady come back with more instructions and it certainly wasn't that skinny kid from the carnival. This was someone who was hoping the place would be empty.

They crouched closer to the floor. Martha held the leather case to her chest. 'We didn't lock the door,' she said fearfully.

The knocking stopped and for a long moment quiet settled on the annexe.

The kids listened closely but all they could make out were the sounds of the beach as the fun wound down — the squeal of toddlers being herded by their parents, distant laughter caught on the wind, the ding of bicycle bells. Further off, on the esplanade, the hum of city traffic was gathering momentum as the afternoon faded.

'Come on,' said Angus quietly, 'we've got to get out of here before anyone else sees us.' He stood up. Martha rose slowly beside him.

Suddenly the door handle turned.

The pair dropped to the floor again as the door opened just a crack, as if by the lightest touch. They heard the hinges squeak, then footsteps, soft and hesitant.

Angus and Martha held their breath as whoever it was crept around the room. They heard the bottom rung on the ladder creak and at the same time the chink of china being inspected on the sideboard. There were two intruders.

Angus and Martha shuffled sideways around the chair and away from the footsteps.

The door was in full view and it was still ajar. Outside they could see grey sky — and freedom. This was their chance of a clean getaway. All they needed to do was get through that door, then hurtle down the hill and over the retaining wall. No-one would dare chase them on the beach. It was too public.

_Creak, creak, creak._

Someone was creeping up the ladder toward the loft. The kids could not make out where the other intruder was.

The tip of a workboot appeared around the side of the chair and Angus looked up. Graini's head appeared above them. She leaned over the back of the armchair, her green hair shoved up under a sunhat.

'Run!' cried Angus, and the kids burst out from behind the chair and made a beeline for the door.

Graini gasped with fright and lunged at Martha.

'Get away from me!' cried Martha, swatting Graini's hands as the goblin girl grabbed at her top, trying to catch her.

Angus threw the door wide open and bolted, just as Graini clasped the strap on the leather case and wrenched it hard.

Martha jolted, lost her footing and fell backward. Her head hit the floor with a sickening thud, and she lay still.

Ava skidded down the ladder. She rushed to Martha and knelt beside her. 'Oh, Graini,' she said with horror. 'What have we done?'

## CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

____________________________________________

## The Singing Stones

Angus was halfway down the hill when he realised his sister wasn't with him. He spun around and sprinted back to the annexe door. When he saw her lying motionless on the floor, his heart turned to lead.

'Martha,' he cried, and he ran inside and threw himself down beside her. 'Martha?' He pushed her dark curls back from her eyes. 'Can you hear me?' His voice was small, snagged with fear.

Martha did not move. Angus picked up her hand and held it gently. Beside him, Ava stroked Martha's hair.

'This was never our intention,' said Ava. 'We would never hurt your sister-sibling. Never. She is kind and truth-speaking and she has been our teacher. We have shared moments and knowledge and laughter.'

Graini was standing over them but she had taken off the sunhat and tossed the beach towel that had been around her shoulders. Angus felt a rush of anger. These lousy goblin girls were cursed. They had brought nothing but drama and trouble, maybe even evil. He was fed up. He wanted to lash out, put his fist through the wall, smash something.

Graini winced and clutched her head in her hands. 'Oooh,' she groaned.

'No, no, no,' said Ava with a frightened gasp.

'What is it?' said Angus.

'Poor dearest Graini feels Martha's pain,' said Ava as Graini lay down on the floor and curled up beside Martha. Graini was silent, her face closed and miserable.

'This is how it happens,' said Ava in a timid voice. 'We hurt an Innocent and we feel the hurt also. We are reckless and unthinking and our stupidity leaps back at us. It is part of the testing ...' She looked at Angus imploringly.

'I ...' he began. 'I'm ...' He was speechless.

'We are peaceful, Angus Jack. Do you understand? Peaceful. The goblins of the Old Realm are aligned to the light. But here in this world, here in the New World, there is so much busyness, so many goods and chattels and _frictions_. It is hard for us to hold our balance. Even your food is our enemy. The sugar! Oh, the sugar, it is a great temptation to us, and it is also a great, all-consuming poison. One nibble and we risk addiction and _madness_.'

For a split second Angus thought of Reafen, her crazy ways and sugar scoffing. But _this_ , this was too much. Ava was yabbering, he was sure of it, talking about tests and frictions and light. She was nuts. They were both dangerous, devious and nuts. They had come here to get revenge. That's what this was all about. Revenge.

'I wish you'd just get lost!' he yelled. 'I wish you'd get out of our lives!'

Ava sat up and glowered at him. 'You stole from us!' she said angrily. 'We trusted you. _I_ trusted you!'

Shame hit him like a hot slap. It was all so confusing. He was relieved to see the goblin girls, to know they were okay, but he was angry and suspicious at the same time. And now Martha was hurt!

He breathed deeply. 'We have to get a doctor,' he said. 'An ambulance.' He looked about. 'There must be a phone in here somewhere.'

He rested Martha's hand across her chest. 'Do _not_ leave her,' he said as he got up. 'Please, Ava,' he added.

He made one final quick inspection of the room, then bounded up the ladder to the loft. The Donut Lady was a defenceless old woman — surely she'd have a phone on her bedside table. If not, he'd have to run to the carnival, see if someone there would lend him a phone. Or maybe he'd go to the beach. Perhaps one of the lifeguards could help. Were they even there at this time of day? His mind was racing.

The Donut Lady's bedroom was stacked with battered suitcases and wooden trunks, and there was an old-fashioned dressing table with the mirror turned to the wall. Her bed was festooned with a mosquito net. The quilt was purple patchwork with a symbol at the centre. It looked like the stickers Angus had seen on the back window of hippy vans. It was a mandala, the symbol used to create a sacred space. The mandala was dotted with sequins, stitched with thick emerald thread.

Angus checked everywhere, even under the bed, but there was no telephone. If he wanted help, he was going to have to leave Martha. He hurried back down the ladder, struggling to keep his panic in check.

He stopped dead.

'What do you think you're doing?' he cried.

'Be still,' said Ava, looking up, her eyes full of concern. 'Do not be angry, Angus Jack. This is our remedy for invisible hurts to the head. This is what we are taught in our home. It uses the gentle energies. The singing vibrations that are trapped in the stones.'

Angus crept closer. 'This is crazy ...' he said as he dropped to his knees.

Ava had taken out a leather pouch and was drawing stones from it, placing them in a circle around Martha's head. First, small clear pebbles, perfectly round and smooth, about the size of a five-cent coin. Then cloudy pink stones in an outer circle. From where Angus sat, it almost looked like a halo. With a flick of her wrist, Ava set each of the stones spinning. Angus caught his breath as the stones rose and began to spin just above the floor. They turned slowly at first, then with so much speed they emitted a curious high-pitched sound. Angus had once heard someone play the theremin. The sound was like that, a lone soprano, eerie and otherworldly.

'I have to go and get help,' he breathed, and yet he could not bring himself to move — what was more, the colour was returning to Martha's cheeks.

Ava leaned closer and they both waited. But still Martha did not open her eyes.

'I don't understand,' said Ava as one by one the stones stopped spinning and dropped to the floor. 'Why does your sister-sibling not wake up? Why does she not respond to the Singing Stones?'

Ava looked frightened as she glanced from Martha to Graini and back again.

Angus felt his jaw clench with anger. This was like some sick joke. He was wasting time. He was a fool to trust these goblin girls and their ridiculous Singing Stones. He felt trapped. Afraid to leave. And afraid to stay.

Graini groaned. 'Ava,' she said, 'take this. This is what she needs.' Without opening her eyes, Graini slid the silver bracelet from around her arm.

Ava gasped. 'Are you sure?' she said.

'I have been foolish,' said Graini, her eyes still closed. 'Please, Ava. The girl is an Innocent — one who has no evil intent toward us; who does not wish us harm. One who would be our friend in any other circumstance.'

Ava carefully took the bracelet. Embedded in it was a row of emerald stones. One moment the stones were as bright and gaudy as cheap lime cordial, the next as dark and unfathomable as the night sky. Angus had never seen anything like them. The stones caught a ray of light from the window and shimmered as Ava slid the bracelet over Martha's hand.

This time the Singing Stones rose of their own accord, spinning and flashing, humming their mysterious melody. A web of soft green light, like a woven force field, arced in a dome over the four of them.

Angus looked about in awe. For a moment he forgot to be afraid.

Martha's eyelids fluttered.

'She's waking up,' he said, reaching out.

'No,' said Ava. 'Do not touch her, Angus Jack. Not yet.'

'Is she going to be all right?' said Angus. 'Please. I can't stand seeing her like this ...'

Martha drew a long, slow breath and Ava smiled.

'Graini's bracelet is powerful,' said Ava as the green light faded and the Singing Stones pattered to the floor. 'Your sister-sibling is now responding.'

Martha opened her eyes. She stared at Angus, his face strained and pinched with dread. 'Man, you look cruddy,' she said.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

____________________________________________

## One green curl

Angus was speechless as Martha raised herself up onto her elbows.

'Don't look so worried,' she said, nudging him. 'I'm all right, you know. You can even give me a hug if you want.'

Angus curled his arms around his sister in a clunky embrace.

Martha looked across his shoulder and spotted the goblin girls. 'Hey,' she said, wriggling free. 'What are they doing here? What's going on, Angus?'

Graini was lying still and silent as Ava stroked her knotty hair.

'Graini,' Ava said, 'it is time you woke up. It is time you were with us again.'

'I don't really know what's going on,' said Angus. 'Graini's been acting weird ever since you got knocked out.'

'I got knocked out?' gasped Martha. 'Cool.'

'It wasn't cool!' said Angus. 'I was freaked out. You looked like you were ... Well, trust me, it didn't look good.'

Martha scrambled up onto her haunches.

'Are you sure you're okay?' said Angus. 'No headache? Bruises?'

'I'm fine,' said Martha with a loose shrug. 'Truly. But what's wrong with Miss Snitchy Pants?' Martha jerked her head at Graini.

'Graini has shared with you the power of her Water Stones,' said Ava. 'Do you see the bracelet, Martha Jack?'

Martha looked down at her wrist. 'Wow.' She ran her fingers over the bracelet. 'It's beautiful.'

'The bracelet was a Birth Gift to Graini,' said Ava. 'There are none like it in this realm. The silver is the rarest, the purest, from our realm. This bracelet's power has restored you, Martha Jack, but as for Graini ...' She turned back sadly to her companion.

'Here,' said Martha, tugging at the bracelet. 'She can have it back. I feel fine, honestly. And I don't want her to be sick ...'

Martha kept tugging at the bracelet but it would not come off. It refused to slide over her hand.

'It is only for Graini to remove the Water Stone bracelet,' said Ava. 'If she recovers,' she added quietly. 'And if you consent to its removal.'

'Of course I consent,' cried Martha, still tugging at the bracelet. 'Angus. Can't you do something?'

'Maybe we could saw it off,' he suggested.

'It is silver from the Old Realm,' said Ava. 'Nothing in this world can saw through it.'

'What about hot soapy water?' said Angus. 'You know, to make it slip off.'

Ava sighed. 'It was not known to either of us how this would affect Graini. She has never parted with it before. The bracelet has grown with Graini. It is a part of her, almost like her heart or ... her soul.'

Martha ran her fingers through her hair.

'Hey,' said Angus, and he touched a curl of Martha's hair. 'What's this?'

'What?' asked Martha with a frown.

'It's green!' said Angus.

Martha grabbed the strand of hair and tried to stretch it out so she could see it. She looked down her nose. She could just see the tip of a forest-green curl.

Ava smiled sadly. 'Martha and Graini now have mingled energies.'

Martha felt the rest of her hair. 'It's not all turning green, is it?' she said tensely. 'I mean, Graini's hair is nice and everything but, well, I wouldn't want it on my head.'

'It is just a symbol, Martha Jack,' said Ava. 'A gesture to your bond. You are not turning into Graini.'

'That's a relief,' muttered Angus, and he gave his sister a wink.

'Goblins are very sensitive to the possessions of others,' Ava went on. 'You have seen Reafen. You have seen how she is ... not well in her mind. She has lost all balance. She is weighed down and garbled by the possessions of others — the energy patterns, the memories from the chattels and knick-knacks she hoards. Everything holds energy, do you see? It is all vibrating. Attracting and repelling. Particles and waves always dancing and complementing and interacting.'

Angus considered this for a moment. It sounded like some kind of offbeat physics lesson. And yet Ava was right. Reafen _was_ garbled and mired in the cast-offs of others. Maybe other people's stuff really did have an effect on you.

'I've got an idea,' he said. 'Give me your surf watch, Martha.'

Martha was about to argue when her face softened. 'Oh yeah,' she exclaimed, and quickly unbuckled her watch. 'But I'll do it.'

Martha gently lifted Graini's arm. It was limp and cool to the touch. She looped the watch around Graini's wrist and carefully did up the buckle. Then she laid the goblin girl's arm back across her chest and the trio waited.

'I hope it helps,' said Martha as they sat watching Graini. 'I'm sorry I was so mean about her. She's snitchy and bossy but then again ... so am I.'

Ava looked frightened and lost, and her eyes glistened with tears.

She's got pretty eyes, thought Angus. Kind of ... blue. Sort of ... nice.

He wondered if he should try to console her. But when he imagined touching her or holding her hand, he felt awkward and stupid.

Graini's eyes sprang open and she looked around.

'Graini!' cried Ava.

'Oh, crud,' said Graini, lifting her wrist and scowling at the watch. 'What's this cruddy old thing?'

The others frowned — then exploded with laughter.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

____________________________________________

## Heading out

They sat on the floor, a ragged little circle of four.

They were silent as Ava gathered up the Singing Stones and dropped them one by one into the leather pouch. Graini examined the purple surf watch.

'Do you want to swap?' Martha held out her arm. She had been tugging at the silver bracelet but it still would not come off.

'Do you mind?' said Graini.

'No way,' said Martha. 'Of course, your bangle's beautiful and special but, well, it doesn't really go with my outfit, does it?'

Graini looked vaguely perplexed.

'Whereas the surf watch,' Martha prattled on, 'is brilliant. It's waterproof, you know, and it's a very good brand. Trendy. Expensive. I was positive you'd want to keep it.'

'I don't surf,' said Graini simply, and she took off the watch and handed it back.

'Thanks,' said Martha, stroking it gratefully. Then she held out her arm. 'You'll have to get it off.' She jiggled the bracelet. 'It won't budge for me.'

'Of course it won't,' said Graini. 'It's not yours.'

Graini placed her hands around the bracelet and Martha felt it warm up. A few seconds later her arm became weak and floppy as if she had been laughing. The bracelet slid off and Graini grinned, cheeky and buck-toothed. Ava beamed as Graini pushed the bracelet up her arm and out of sight under her sleeve.

'So what now?' Angus was getting up. 'Are you going to let us go quietly, or are we going to have to fight you?'

'Angus Jack,' sighed Ava, 'we think that you should explain to us why you have gone to such grave lengths. Why you have stolen our narrare.'

Graini stood up too. 'No, Ava,' she said. 'We don't need explanations. Just give us what is ours and we'll be gone,' she said to the kids. 'Nothing more needs to be said.'

'But we can't give it back,' said Martha. 'We didn't take it for ourselves. It's for somebody else. Somebody stupid but ... important.'

Graini shook her head. 'What did I tell you, Ava? These children are someone else's pickpockets. Someone else's sneakthieves. They are in the employ of a greater mind. Stupid, gullible human children.'

'That's so mean,' cried Martha, springing to her feet. 'You take that back, right now. You don't know anything about Angus and me. And when I get home, I'm going to cut this green curl right off!'

Martha tugged at her hair and Graini gave a haughty sniff.

'All right, all right,' said Angus. 'Calm down.'

'Yes,' said Ava. 'This is what has caused all our problems. All this yelling and accusing and casting of blame.'

'Obviously we need to talk,' said Angus. 'But not here. The Donut Lady will be back any minute and Martha and I can't afford any more delays. All I can say is that we're in serious trouble ...' Angus lowered his voice. 'We would never have touched your clunky old _narrare_ if it wasn't for our father.'

The goblin girls balked.

'Your father-relative?' Ava frowned.

The kids nodded.

'He is in danger?' said Ava.

The kids nodded again.

'There is a cave,' said Graini briskly. 'It is the perfect place for serious discussions.'

'Yes,' said Ava, 'we could take you there now. We would not be disturbed there.'

'And you're sure this isn't a trick?' Angus was thinking of the birdcage lift and the gloomy factory and Lynch.

'You know you can trust us, Angus Jack,' said Ava, resting her hand on his arm. 'For we understand you now. We understand that you and your sister are in dire straits. We have shared much. We respect each other. Don't we, Angus? Martha? _Graini?_ '

Graini muttered something under her breath but by now it was clear to all four that they were going to have to find a way to work together.

As they prepared to leave, the goblin girls put on their sunhats and draped their lairy beach towels around their shoulders.

Angus regarded them critically. 'You realise you look ridiculous? Especially now the weather's turned. You look like a pair of stranded pensioners.'

'Yeah.' Martha giggled. 'Did the day bus leave you behind?'

'Better we look like this than ourselves,' said Ava, tucking her dreadlocks up under her hat and donning a pair of sunglasses.

'But that's my point,' said Angus casually. 'You two actually look ... cool. You don't need disguises. Whoever told you that was a fool. You're no different from the rest of us. You just need to be yourselves.'

Ava glowed with happiness and Angus realised what he'd just said. It was kind of ... flattering. Well, he had meant it. Even Graini was funky.

Ava smiled at him shyly and his heart raced. He turned away hastily and took a large woollen cardigan from the back of an armchair.

'Wear this, Martha,' he said. 'It's cold out there.'

'But —' began Martha.

'The Donut Lady won't mind,' said Angus. 'It's just a loan.'

Martha took the cardigan. It drooped below her knees and could easily wrap around her body twice. But she was grateful for the warmth.

'What about you, Angus?' she asked as she bundled the cardigan around herself. 'You'll freeze in that T-shirt. Especially once it gets dark.'

'Humans,' scoffed Graini. 'Always hot or cold or sick or grizzling. Here,' she said, and she flicked a hoodie from a hook behind the door and tossed it to Angus. It was purple with floral appliqué down the front.

'I can't wear that,' said Angus. 'I'd look like an idiot.'

'For goodness sake,' said Martha, and she snatched the hoodie and turned it inside out. 'There,' she said. 'Now it's just a plain old ... nothing.'

'It's still purple,' grumbled Angus but he tied it around his waist anyway.

Graini smirked.

Angus loaded the pockets of the hoodie with leftover donuts. There was a slab of hazelnut chocolate wrapped in foil and a bunch of sultana grapes on the sideboard. He took those too, and made a mental note: _IOU Donut Lady_.

Graini opened the door and all four peeped outside.

It was grey and windy and the beach was deserted. The tide was going out: murky grey water slipping over glassy sand. They could hear the sounds of the carnival and the night market.

'The cave is that way.' Graini pointed along the beach toward Breakwater Point. 'Follow me ... And don't stop for anyone.'

## CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

____________________________________________

## Smugglers' Hearth

They hurried along the beach, keeping close to the base of the retaining wall and out of view of the boardwalk. They passed the swimming area and the safety flags, then followed the shoreline right along to the surf beach where Breakwater Point jutted out into the ocean. There was no surf, just a choppy mishmash of ragged white caps. The sky hung heavy. The wind was coming from the south now and the temperature was plummeting.

Angus put on the Donut Lady's jumper and pulled up the hood — so what if it was purple?

'We need to climb over those rocks,' said Graini, gripping her hat as the wind whipped around them.

Angus and Martha nodded. They were familiar with this trail, even though they had only taken it once or twice — and never in weather like this.

Angus looked at the sky. 'I'm not sure if this is the best idea. Martha and I have to be back at the carnival by midnight. Maybe we could hide out somewhere else. Somewhere closer by.'

'Where?' said Graini.

'Yeah,' said Martha. 'Where?'

'There are others looking for us even as we speak,' added Ava.

'All right, all right,' said Angus, 'but it's not going to be easy to get back. Not once night falls. And we have to be back by midnight. We absolutely have to, okay?'

Graini pushed on ahead.

'The moon is full tonight,' said Ava helpfully.

'Fat lot of good that will do,' said Angus. 'Look at those clouds.'

'We forget you can't see in the dark,' said Ava. 'Our apologies, Angus Jack.'

'Look,' said Graini, shouting over the wind, 'we're entirely skilled. If you really do have to be back by midnight, we'll guide you.'

'You better,' grumbled Angus. 'What time is it, Martha?'

Martha flashed her watch at him: 7.30 pm.

They scrambled over damp, porous boulders encrusted with seaweed, and sloshed through rock pools that soaked their runners, leaving their feet cold and squelchy. Before long, the main beach was well behind them. Overhead the sound of the traffic was a detached, hollow drone. It was hard to believe that just above the cliffs an entire city was still going about its business. Here on the rocks it was just them and the wind and the churning sea.

Finally they reached the other side of Breakwater Point and one by one jumped down onto the sand. The cove was small, secluded and well sheltered.

'It's so lovely here,' sighed Martha, looking around. 'It feels hidden and sneaky. Like a real-life secret hideaway. And look — you can almost see the shack.'

Angus sheltered his eyes. Further out to sea, about a kilometre or so from shore, he could just make out Berkeley's Shanty. The tumbledown fishing shack sat, or rather hunched, on a tiny forgotten tidal island, condemned to a miserable life of wind, water and slow decay.

'I'm going there one day,' said Martha wistfully. 'You never know what you might find in a place like that. Old diaries, pirate loot, treasure chests ...'

'Pigeon poo and starving rats,' said Angus. 'A fun day out, Martha.'

Graini set off up the cliff face. 'Come on,' she snapped. 'No dillydallying. And no more talk of _rodents_. I despise them. In all my travels I have discovered that nowhere on earth is free of them. Nowhere. It astounds me enormously.'

Martha giggled. Despite everything, she did love these girls. They were clever and witty and cool, just like the kind of friends she had been wishing for.

It was a steep climb but reasonably easy. There was the hint of a goat track and it wasn't long before they reached the cave.

'Smugglers' Hearth,' said Angus as they stood at the entrance.

'The Prof banned us from ever coming here,' said Martha, and Angus shrugged. Rules like that might have made sense before, when they were ordinary kids, but now ...

'In we go,' said Ava chirpily, and, stooping their heads, Angus and Martha followed the goblin girls into the cave and out of sight.

The wind blustered over the rocks, whistled in crevices and flattened the sea grass. But inside, the cave had a stillness that was almost weighty. It smelt welcoming too, a mixture of kelp, camp-fire smoke and damp sand. Empty wine bottles, discarded tobacco pouches and cigarette butts littered the floor. A spray painting of a skeleton in a Hawaiian shirt riding a skateboard ran the full length of one wall, like a scene from a comic strip. A faded poster advertising surfboards was taped to another wall. There was even an old car seat. Obviously there were others who liked to escape to this place. Hopefully they would not be visiting tonight.

There was the remains of a fire. It was charred but still well stacked. The cave had a natural chimney, a large fissure directly above.

Ava and Graini threw off their sunhats and scratched at their heads.

'Such a relief,' said Ava, shaking out her dreadlocks. 'Hats are the most ugly inventions. I would never choose to wear one if I didn't have to.'

Angus flicked off his hood.

Graini knelt by the fire and took two white stones from her knapsack. With a series of rapid 'click clacks', she banged them together and made a flame. The firewood was dry. It flared eagerly. Ava added pine cones and an extra log.

Once the fire was underway, the goblin girls spread their beach towels around it and sat down.

Martha sat on the car seat, wrapped snugly in the Donut Lady's cardigan. Angus sat on the ground beside her, warming his hands by the fire. The cave floor was gritty and cold. He drew his knees to his chest and shifted uncomfortably.

Martha rubbed her head.

'Are you okay?' whispered Angus.

'I'm fine,' said Martha. 'I haven't even got a bump. Nothing.'

'The Singing Stones are most efficient healing tools,' said Ava.

'And you are our most efficient healer,' said Graini quietly. 'Thank you, Ava.'

'Yeah, thanks, Ava,' said Martha.

Even in the shadows of the cave, Angus could see Ava's cheeks flush.

'Anyone want a donut?' He drew the bag out of his pocket. 'They're cold but they're still good.'

Martha took two but the goblin girls shook their heads.

'We cannot eat such comestibles,' said Ava. 'We cannot assimilate these foodstuffs. Sugar would addict us and drive us mad — like Reafen.'

'Hey, yeah. I bet that's why she stole the Donut Lady's batter and stuff,' said Angus. 'Reafen wanted to be sure she had a hot, sugary donut hit any time, day or night.'

They all laughed but with little merriment.

'We have some delicious gim,' said Ava eagerly. 'And dried snow chrysanthemums. We would be happy to share.'

'Gim?' said Martha. 'Chrysanthemums?'

'Seaweed,' said Angus. 'And flowers.'

'No thanks,' squeaked Martha.

They sat quietly for a time, eating their snacks, listening to the wind circle the cave. Below they could hear the sea breaking over the rocks. Angus checked the time. Again.

'We're glad you got away,' said Martha finally. 'We're glad Lynch didn't hurt you ...'

'You left us for dead,' said Graini.

'Sorry,' said Martha guiltily.

'Yeah,' said Angus. 'Sorry.'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'So,' said Graini, 'have you dealt with Lynch before?'

'Huh?' said Angus. 'No way. We saw him once, that's all.'

'At Reafen's shop,' said Martha. 'He was so rude! And he couldn't get into the shop.'

'He couldn't get in, even though we had only just come out,' said Angus. 'It was weird.'

'Not weird,' said Graini. 'Reafen would have put a charm on the shop. To block the likes of Lynch.'

'Really?' said Martha.

'Some of the old magick is still useful,' said Graini. 'Especially in this world. Take our boat for instance.'

Ava laughed. 'Someone did try desperately to steal it,' she said, shaking her head as if this were a great joke.

'Some fellow from the carnival,' said Graini.

'Barney,' said Angus and Martha together.

'He is your friend?' said Ava with surprise.

'Nah,' said Angus. 'We've seen him around, that's all.'

'When he tried to climb on board, our boat fought back,' said Graini.

'Pardon?' said Angus. 'What do you mean it fought back?'

'Yeah,' breathed Martha. 'What kind of a boat have you got?'

'A small, enchanted vessel,' said Graini matter-of-factly. 'Built centuries ago. Blessed by a Viking magician.'

'We're very fond of our boat,' said Ava. 'Would you care to see a sketch?'

The kids leaned forward as Ava slid her notebook from inside her jacket. She flicked through the pages, turned the notebook sideways and passed it to Angus.

'There it is,' she said, tapping the page. 'Graini is a gifted artist, don't you agree?'

Martha looked over her brother's shoulder at the sketch. 'That's awesome,' she breathed.

'Yes,' said Graini. 'It is an awe-inspiring vessel and that Barney person tried to steal it. When our boat would not allow him on board, he became angry. He tried to take a slice of our boat's timber.'

'He hacked at it with a tomahawk,' said Ava with a grimace.

'So our boat bit him,' said Graini. 'And hurled him aside ... And that's how his arm got broken,' she added. 'You do not want to get bitten by one of our boats. They have an exceptional grip.'

Ava giggled. 'But _still_ he fought on,' she said, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. 'He was most determined. He ran at our boat and tried to chop off its head!'

'So there was no other option,' said Graini. 'Our boat blasted him with flames from its mouth. Whoosh!' She waved her arms around her head. 'This would-be thief, this double-dealing, axe-wielding boat-basher got his greedy mitts scorched and the snivelling coward passed out on the beach.'

'We discovered him soon after,' said Ava. 'We knew he wasn't just some lonesome New World tramp. We could see he had done battle with our boat — his wounds were consistent. Graini caught the thought-images too. She and our boat have a psychic connection, you know. She sees fleeting visions and senses if our boat is troubled. And our boat _was_ distressed. We led it to a new secret mooring. Then we carried him, _Barney_ , through the silent streets to our hide-out at the hat factory.'

'Ava aided him with the Singing Stones,' said Graini. 'And I dressed his wounds and set his broken arm.'

'Does every goblin have a set of special stones?' said Martha. 'Singing Stones. Water Stones. It seems like it.'

'We do,' said Ava. 'They are our Birth Gifts. We goblins are blessed to understand the earth's hidden treasures. We are honoured to guard these treasures with reverence and ... use them sparingly and with discretion.'

'She means they use them carefully and with respect,' explained Angus when he saw his sister's confused expression.

'I know what she means,' snapped Martha.

'But back to Barney,' said Ava hurriedly, not wishing to see another argument. 'We left him there to rest and recuperate, then we plonked him down where we knew he would be quickly discovered.'

'He had more than learned his lesson,' said Graini. 'The matter was done with.'

All four fell silent. Martha picked up a piece of driftwood and poked at the fire. A stack of blackened pine cones toppled down the logs and collapsed in a shower of sparks.

'You know what?' said Angus. 'I think it's time you gave us some other answers.'

'Angus,' warned Martha, 'don't be so pushy.'

'Pushy?' said Angus. 'That's rich coming from you, Martha.'

He turned his attention back to the goblin girls. 'Why are you two chasing the narrare? Why did you come to our world? Were you chosen to do this task?'

'Graini and I, we came here because ...' said Ava and she glanced at Graini for reassurance.

Graini nodded. 'Tell them.'

'We came here only because we hoped to prove ourselves — to show that we are strong and able and of the elite Guardian Class.' She looked at Angus imploringly, almost willing him to understand, perhaps to even sympathise.

'Go on,' he said gently.

'It is called a Rite of Passage, Angus Jack,' said Ava. 'Do you know of these things?'

Angus nodded. So did his sister — although Angus could see the confusion in her eyes. Clearly she was too proud to admit the truth.

'Just so we're all on the same page,' he said, pretending to be muddled, 'a Rite of Passage is like a challenge or an ordeal that marks the transition from one stage of life to another. It's kind of like a test that a teenager might have to pass in order to become an adult.'

'You understand precisely.' Graini crossed her arms, satisfied with this explanation.

Martha avoided her brother's gaze, but there was the hint of a smile at the edge of her lips. She appreciated his kindness.

'In the Old Realm traditions,' Ava continued, 'the more daring and dangerous and unbelievably treacherous the Rite of Passage, the more glory. To seek and find the legendary stolen narrare became our passion. Even as children we talked about it constantly.'

'We defied our families, our friends, our elders, in order to take this journey,' said Graini. 'Before us, no-one had been brave or committed enough. To top it off, our folk had grown more and more careless. Narrares were being bought and traded. It was terrible to witness. But Ava and I are of the new generation. And we were determined, do you see? Determined to prove ourselves and to take back what is rightfully ours — for the loss of our narrares, the scattering of our narrares, is a terrible calamity. It means the loss of our stories. And without our stories, our legends, our memories, who are we?'

'We are no-one,' said Ava sadly.

Angus could not help but smile. These goblin girls were actually quite cool. They were so brave, so full of grit, that you had to like them. He glanced at his sister. She was glowing with admiration. If anyone understood rebellion, it was Martha.

'So, why did _you_ take our narrare?' asked Ava finally.

'Yes,' said Graini. 'Confess to us this moment, please.'

'What use is it to you?' said Ava. 'You are not robbers or thieves or plunderers. And we don't believe that you are selfish and seeking self-importance.'

Angus stared across the fire at Ava. How he regretted putting her at risk. What a traitor he was, leaving her behind in that rotten hat factory. He wished there had been another choice. But at the time there seemed no other way.

'I believe you are both kind and truth-speaking,' Ava continued quietly. 'I believe you are gentle, peace-loving humans.' She thought for a moment. 'I believe that you aren't even greedy.'

'Greedy?' said Angus with surprise.

'There is a problem,' said Ava earnestly, 'with humans and greed. Do you know of it, Angus Jack?'

Angus sighed. 'Yes, I know of it.'

'The narrare is for our father,' said Martha plainly.

'Someone's holding him hostage,' said Angus. 'Apparently Dad knows all about the narrare. Reafen showed it to him heaps of times and Dad must have got all ... obsessed.'

'Reafen,' snorted Graini.

'This morning Dad's study was ransacked,' said Angus. 'There were drawings and models of snow domes, I mean, narrares, tossed all over the place. The room was trashed — and he was gone. The next thing, I get this message saying he's trapped and they, I mean, _she_ , will kill him if we don't get the narrare ...'

'She will kill him,' said Graini with alarm. 'Who is _she_?'

Angus shrugged. 'All we know is that we have to be at the Vanishing Lady's tent at midnight ...'

'So it is not Lynch who holds your father hostage,' said Graini thoughtfully.

'We've never even seen the tent,' added Martha. 'But that's where we have to hand over the narrare. Then this nutcase will let the Prof go.'

'And you believe this?' Graini looked more than a tad incredulous.

'We don't have a choice,' said Angus gloomily.

'We have risked everything to find the narrare,' said Graini. 'We are fighting to protect it, to keep it from the wrong hands, and now you want to give it over. Just like that.' She snapped her fingers.

'He's our father!' said Angus. 'What do you expect us to do?'

Ava moved closer to the fire. 'The Vanishing Lady ...' she pondered. 'Why does this sound familiar?'

'Tell me,' said Graini, 'how precisely does this Vanishing Lady vanish? What is her mode of magick?'

Angus shook his head. 'No idea,' he said. 'I expect it's just some lame carnie trick.'

'She's probably got a fancy trapdoor,' said Martha. 'I think that's how they mostly do it.'

Angus nodded. 'It's all smoke and mirrors.'

'Mirrors?' cried Ava and Graini, and the kids jumped. 'Mirrors,' repeated Angus slowly as something dreadful dawned on him. 'No ...' He groaned and bowed his head. 'I just remembered, the cheval mirror in Dad's study, it was shattered, wrecked. I'd forgotten until now. So much has been going on, and the study was like a war zone, everything else was wrecked too. But the mirror — it was even worse than yours, Martha. Even the frame was split in two.'

Martha's jaw dropped.

'Tell us everything,' said Graini. 'Every tiny detail you can snaffle from your brain.'

It was pointless holding back. Angus relayed all he could remember while the goblin girls listened earnestly. He watched the time closely too, aware that it was passing quickly.

Graini stood up. 'Oh, this is no good,' she said. 'No good at all. Mirrors, Ava. Do you hear this? _Mirrors_. This cannot be a coincidence.' She paced in front of the skeleton graffiti.

'Sit down, Graini,' said Ava. 'You're making me feel dishevelled.'

But Graini would not sit down. She stood in the mouth of the cave, an arc of bleak, windy sky behind her. 'If this Vanishing Lady is Varla,' she said gravely, 'what will we do?'

'Varla?' said Angus. 'Who's that?'

The goblin girls seemed reluctant to reply, reluctant to go further.

'Who is this Varla?' said Angus again. 'You have to tell us!'

'She is an enchantress from the Old Realm,' said Ava, dropping her voice.

'You mean she's some kind of witch?' said Angus.

Ava nodded. 'A witch. Yes.'

'Many love her,' said Graini darkly. 'But many more fear her. For Varla is a tyrant. A cruel, self-seeking fiend. And ...'

'And what?' Angus stared.

'She deals in the Wild Magick,' breathed Graini as a shadow fell across her face.

'The Wild Magick?' said Martha.

Ava hugged herself fearfully. 'Necromancy — the raising of the dead. Mind and spirit possession. Shape-shifting. All sorts of deadly trickery and gruesome sacrifices and killings. Please, Angus Jack, Martha Jack,' said Ava, glancing about as if the walls had ears, 'don't make us say more. Just know this, your problems are escalating. You must engage our help. You must!'

Graini left her spot by the entrance and joined them, squatting by the fire, frowning at the kids through the smoky haze.

'We're coming with you,' she said. 'To this tent. To this Vanishing Lady.'

'No way!' Martha shook her head. 'We have to go alone.'

'We can't risk it,' agreed Angus. 'You'd draw too much attention ... Actually, I think we should get going now, Martha.'

'You must not face this Vanishing Lady alone,' said Graini. 'Do you hear me? It is not possible. If indeed this is Varla, you will need all our help. All our valour and insight.'

Angus and Martha faltered.

Ava reached out shyly and touched Angus's hand. 'You must trust us, Angus Jack,' she said softly. 'It is time we helped one another, for your problem is now also our problem, and we are all of us in imminent danger.'

Angus studied her face, the determined little chin and broad cheekbones. The curve of her dark lashes and the silvery dreadlock that fell across her left eye. Ava smiled and his heart thumped. He hoped he wasn't going red ... and with that his cheeks flared.

'All right,' he said. 'Time's running out. But do you absolutely promise to stay hidden? No-one can see you with us. Do you understand? Not even some random kid on a merry-go-round.'

'Naturally,' said Graini. 'We will be hidden at all times, even from you. We are masters of disguise.'

'Yes,' said Angus doubtfully. 'Absolute masters ...'

## CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

____________________________________________

## The rogue tent

At the dreary end of the boardwalk, beyond the shooting galleries and inflatable slides, the laughing clowns and the haunted house, they found a red-and-white striped tent. It was Victorian in design, perfectly round with a red pennant adorning a central mast and carved wooden masks with grotesque expressions hanging from the edge of the roof.

The rain had settled in. It pooled behind the masks, trickling like tap water down the sides of the tent.

'Could this really be it?' said Martha. 'The tent we're looking for?' She drew closer to her brother. They were standing under the awning of a disused kebab van.

'Must be,' said Angus, looking about. A tall, rain-washed sign at the entrance to the tent suddenly came to life: _Beware the Vanishing Lady_. The sign was surrounded by flickering light bulbs, red, purple, green; one or two sparked and crackled.

'I don't like the look of it,' said Martha, lowering her voice. 'It's creepy. And how come we've never noticed it before? It's like it just popped up from out of nowhere.'

'It's just another tent,' said Angus, covering his eyes from the rain. He looked up at the sagging pennant. He could not make out the emblem on the pennant; it was too wet and bedraggled. 'Why should we notice one more tent in all this? Besides, I'm always at the shooting gallery and you spend half your life on the Paratrooper.'

They stared at the tent a moment longer, neither of them feeling satisfied with Angus's explanation, both of them wondering how they could have overlooked something so fancy — and why, for that matter, it was tucked away on the deserted fringes of the carnival.

'Come on,' said Angus finally.

They pulled their damp clothing around them, bowed their heads against the rain and quickly picked their way across the mud and puddles to the big stripy tent. There was a ticket booth out the front but there was no-one in it, just a brass cash register, a reel of dusty paper tickets and a bar stool.

'Hello?' said Angus. 'Anyone there?'

The rain angled in on them, making red and gold streaks against the carnival lights.

'It's almost time,' said Martha, glancing at her watch. 'It's almost midnight!'

Across the way, in their spot behind a large green truck, the goblin girls, cleverly disguised as a pair of hunchbacked grannies, crouched in the darkness.

'I sincerely hope we are wrong,' said Ava as they watched Angus and Martha disappear into the tent. 'I hope with all my heart it is not Varla who awaits them.'

## CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

____________________________________________

## Mirror magick

There was soft lighting inside the tent but there was no flooring, only thick couch grass. It was spongy beneath their feet and smelt cold and damp. The tent was silent except for the pattering of rain on the canvas roof.

They wove their way through row upon row of wooden theatre seats, each with a faded white number stencilled on the backrest. As they approached the curtained stage at the front, Martha took Angus's hand.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' he whispered. 'It's not too late. You could wait outside.'

Martha shook her head and gripped the strap across her body.

'I wish you'd give it to me,' said Angus. 'I'm the oldest ...'

'Give me a break,' said Martha.

They approached the foot of the stage. It was low, more of a platform than a stage. But it was recessed within a richly decorated arch painted with images of classic carnival attractions: Congo the Killer Ape; Farid the Fire-eater; Lionel the Lion-faced Boy; Mietta the Little Mermaid Girl. Across the top in bold lettering were the words _The Vanishing Lady_. And below that, in smaller letters, _Step Through the Veil_. Angus and Martha faltered. They knew this phrase only too well.

They stopped in front of the arch. Hefty purple curtains with silver fringes met in the centre. As they stood there, waiting, the tent became deathly still. They could still hear the rain but it was distant, somehow muted. Their faces felt damp. A chill crept over them like winter's fingers.

In the wings, a rope hung like a golden serpent from somewhere in the dark canopy. The lights grew dim and the rope shuddered. The curtains billowed.

Angus and Martha took a step back.

The curtains slid apart ...

There was no-one on the stage. Just a long, oval mirror.

The mirror hovered high above Angus and Martha as if suspended in space. It seemed to have no support structure at all, like a mirror in a fairytale.

'It's a trick,' said Angus.

Martha bit her lip.

With a smooth, elegant motion, the mirror tilted toward the kids and lowered itself to their height. The glass gleamed and yet there was nothing reflected in it — not the kids nor the stage, not even the grassy floor. It gave Angus a sickly jolt to look into a mirror and see no reflection.

'Crazy carnies,' he said. 'Everything's a show with them.'

He stepped forward. 'Who's there?' he demanded but his voice was croaky. 'This isn't a joke, you know.'

Suddenly Angus could see his own reflection. He narrowed his eyes, searching the mirror for his sister. But even though she was standing right beside him, he could not see her. He leaned in closer.

Inside the mirror a long, thin hand shot out from one side and grabbed his reflection's shoulder.

Angus yelled and stumbled back.

'Who did that?' he said, looking about wildly and brushing himself. His skin prickled. He could still feel the hand on his shoulder.

Martha stared at him. 'What's wrong with you?' she cried. 'There's nothing there!'

She was right, of course. When he looked again, the mirror was blank.

'Maybe we should just drop the snow dome and go?' said Martha shakily.

'Who's there?' demanded Angus again. 'Stop messing around or we're leaving right now. I mean it!'

Something in the glass stirred. It was as if the mirror was now a window and far off on the horizon a shape took form. A mirage perhaps. A ghostly landscape. It moved toward them silently, expanding, rolling, gathering force like a storm cloud on a swollen sea. It _was_ the sea. A dark, restless sea. The wind whipped across its surface and through the mirror's frame, spraying the kids with mist so icy it took their breath away.

A great bird appeared in the mirror's sky, a hawk with broad, open wings and a leather strap dangling from its leg. It flew at them and screeched, the piercing cry of a hunter. Angus and Martha ducked.

'It's just like that puppet show, isn't it?' said Martha, her hands over her ears.

'Exactly,' said Angus. 'It's all done with lighting and projectors. We'll be fine. I promise.'

The bird in the mirror screeched again and Martha pinched her brother's arm with fright. 'Sorry,' she whispered.

Angus was beginning to think this would never end. Where was their father? Who was holding him and why all this carryon? Angus had hoped that once they got here, they could speak to their father, make sure he was okay, then hand over the snow dome and everyone would be square.

But things were not that simple. Now it seemed they were being toyed with. He wondered where the goblin girls were hiding. Could they see what was going on?

'What's the time?' he said.

Martha glanced at her watch. 'Midnight,' she squeaked.

The seascape fell away. The bird opened its beak as if to screech again and the kids covered their ears. But this time, the bird was mute. With a swift, angry motion, it flew closer to the mirror's surface, swooped at them and disappeared. There was another icy blast and the kids cowered.

As the wind died down and the frost settled on their cheeks, they raised their heads.

A woman appeared in the mirror. 'Which of you has the narrare?'

She was tall and spoke precisely with a deep, steady voice. She was dressed in a full-length scarlet coat with the collar turned up. A plush, brilliant-white ushanka, a type of fur hat, covered her hair. Her image was blurred. It shimmered like a reflection on water.

'I have the narrare,' said Martha timidly.

'Give it to me.' The woman extended her hand but it did not break through the surface of the mirror.

Martha faltered and glanced at Angus for direction.

'This is ridiculous,' said Angus. 'Where are you really? Where are you hiding?'

He looked about the stage, up into the darkness behind the floating mirror, to the back of the tent — perhaps there was a projector somewhere? This was a stupid trick and he was fed up.

'If you want to see your father again,' said the woman in the mirror, 'give me the narrare.'

'I want to see him now!' cried Martha. 'Tell her, Angus. Make her listen.'

'It's okay, Martha.' Angus was struggling to sound calm. 'Look ...' he began, still trying to make out where the woman was hiding.

'Give me the narrare.' She spoke with immense authority.

'We came here to make a fair exchange,' said Angus. 'And now you're treating us like idiots. We want to speak to our father. Turn on the lights and talk to us properly, or we're getting out of here.'

Snowflakes ghosted about the woman's head and shoulders. Her image wavered and for a moment it looked as if she might vanish.

'Angus, please,' said Martha, 'can't you do something?'

The temperature plummeted and the canvas walls began to swell and settle, swell and settle, as if the tent itself was breathing. As they stood there shivering, another figure appeared in the mirror.

'It's him!' cried Martha.

The Prof held up his hand. His reflection was dim but they could see that he looked haggard and pained.

'Stay back,' he said. His voice was tired, barely audible. 'Please. Stay where you are.'

'Maxwell?' said Martha, staring at the reflection. Angus held her back.

'Do you have it?' their father asked desperately.

Angus nodded.

The Prof sighed. 'Give it to me, son.'

Angus nodded at Martha and she slowly lifted the case over her head.

'Dad,' said Angus, 'this is crazy. Where are you? How can you see us?'

'I can't see you, Angus. Only your shadows.'

'But where are you?' Angus insisted.

There was some kind of scuffle. Their father staggered then started speaking quickly, urgently, as if trying to tell them something important — but they could not hear him.

Martha held out the leather case — and the woman in the scarlet coat plunged her arm through the mirror and grabbed the long strap. Martha screamed as the woman wrenched on the strap.

'No!' Angus threw himself at his sister and gripped her arm. He looked up at the woman in the mirror. 'Let her go!' he screamed.

Ava and Graini shot out of the shadows and sprinted toward the kids, leaping across seats, stumbling over each other in their panic to reach them.

'Maxwell!' cried Martha, wrestling against the woman. 'Maxwell, come back!'

'Let it go!' screamed Angus. 'Let go of the case, Martha!'

Martha's right arm disappeared into the mirror.

'Martha!' cried Angus, and he thrust his fist at the mirror. He cried out in pain. The surface held and it was like punching ice.

The goblin girls launched themselves at the kids. Graini grabbed Martha's legs and clung on tight.

'Do not let her go, Angus Jack!' she yelled as they fought to pull Martha back. It was as if the mirror had Martha in its clutches, as if it were drawing her forward with some eager, invisible force.

The woman's face emerged through the mirror's surface. She shook her head, flicking ice needles from her cheeks and forehead.

She looked about. 'You've brought goblins with you?' she roared, and she thrust her other arm through the mirror and seized Martha by the hair. Martha screamed in pain.

'Pull the witch into this world!' yelled Graini. 'It's our only hope!'

Graini, Ava and Angus latched on to the woman's arms and heaved with all their might. In a gale of snow, ice pellets and exploding glass, the woman erupted through the mirror and collapsed onto the ground. Everyone stumbled and fell backward.

In an unbridled rage the woman lunged at them — and screeched. She twisted and writhed as first her head and then her body transformed into a massive sea eagle. With an earsplitting shriek, the eagle snatched up Martha and Graini and took to the air.

'Angus, help!' cried Martha as she struggled against the eagle's talons. She threw down the leather case and Angus caught it.

'Martha!'

With three swoops of its mighty wings, the eagle flew out the tent door.

'After them!' cried Angus, scrambling to his feet.

'The tent,' cried Ava. 'Look!'

Angus took Ava's hand and pulled her up. They bolted out of the tent as all around them the walls, the ceiling, the seats, even the shattered mirror and the ticket booth began to lift and corkscrew upward. There was a loud whirring noise as Angus and Ava dived out the door — and fell more than a metre to the ground.

Above them, the tent and all its paraphernalia contracted into a red-and-white sphere. It looked like a misshapen soccer ball. The ball shot up into the darkness — and with a bounce and a crackle of bright violet plasma it was gone.

'Martha!' yelled Angus.

He scanned the night sky. He remembered that goblin girls could see in the dark.

'Can you see anything?' he said to Ava as she too looked about frantically. 'Can you see the eagle?'

Ava shook her head sadly. 'Nothing,' she whispered. 'Nothing at all.'

## CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

____________________________________________

## Regrets and resolutions

As Angus and Ava sat in a huddle on the ground, wet and shocked and desolate, the Donut Lady came blustering toward them. Barney was directly behind her, nursing his injuries, hunching his shoulders against the rain. Barney's tired eyes gaped with terror. He had heard of tents like these, rogue tents that seemed to sprout from the ground itself then disappear without a trace. All the old carnival folk feared them but few had ever seen one.

Angus and Ava looked again to the sky. But there was only darkness. Not even a lonely star.

'A goblin girl?' said the Donut Lady as they drew nearer. 'It has been many years ...'

'You've got to help us!' said Angus.

'Come,' said the Donut Lady. 'Get up.'

No-one spoke as they followed the Donut Lady back through the last of the merrymakers and vendors. The carnival was over. It was raining lightly. There was a cold wind.

When they arrived at the Caravan of Delight, the Donut Lady ushered Angus and Ava indoors. Barney followed — somewhat reluctantly.

The Donut Lady flicked on the light. Reafen was seated on the floral couch, wearing a long purple evening gown and a fur coat. Her head was bowed. She was snoring softly.

'Reafen!' said the Donut Lady, and Reafen's head shot up.

Ava rushed at Reafen, clasping her shoulders and shaking her. Angus quickly hid the leather case behind an armchair.

'Varla has been!' cried Ava. 'Varla has been and she has taken Graini and Martha Jack!'

Reafen sat perfectly still, numb and expressionless.

'Varla?' said the Donut Lady. 'She has come through? But how? When? Surely this is not possible. Tell me all, goblin girl!'

Ava quickly went over the evening's terrible events. Angus was silent, too gutted to find the words to elaborate.

The Donut Lady listened intently to the awful story, nodding and harrumphing and stroking her chin. 'So, what you are telling me is that you pulled her through?' she said eventually.

Angus and Ava nodded. 'With the help of dear Graini,' Ava added sadly.

'Then this is good,' said the Donut Lady. 'This is not what Varla intended, not part of her plan. Her sudden entry will have weakened her and had who knows what other side-effects. This is to our advantage.'

Reafen pushed Ava aside and stood before the Donut Lady, fixing her with a piercing gaze. The Donut Lady towered over her but Reafen showed no fear.

'Give me sugar,' said Reafen. 'Give me donuts, Dolly Drops, fairy floss, Peachy Pepp, Fizzyade, Gummi Gags, Choc-Bubbles, Raspberry Ripples, Bubble Drops, Gooey Giggles, Humble Bugs, Jelly-Tarts, Fizzy-Froff. Give me SUGAR!' she bellowed — and the Donut Lady slapped her.

Reafen reeled back.

'Sit!' commanded the Donut Lady, and Reafen fell back onto the couch. 'You will get nothing until you speak properly. Nothing until you give us the truth,' said the Donut Lady. 'Am I making myself transparent?'

Ava leaned against Angus, trembling. For once he was only vaguely aware of her touch.

Slowly Reafen reached up and pulled off the blonde wig she was wearing. She removed the gypsy hoops from her ears, the gold and silver bangles from her wrists and the diamond rings from her fingers. She peeled off her false fingernails, snapped the string of fat, pink pearls at her throat and let them tinkle across the floor.

'It is the Narrare of Mevras,' said Reafen hoarsely.

The Donut Lady gasped. 'Mevras?' she repeated. 'It beggars belief ...'

'Who's Mevras?' asked Angus but he may as well have been talking to the wall.

'I stole it,' said Reafen. 'I stole the pretty, the most magickal pretty, to protect the Old Realm. I knew that Varla was seeking it. And I knew that once she got her greedy mitts on it, there would be no stopping her. Think about it! Once she had the knowledge of Mevras at her fingertips, she would have enough power, enough magick, to control the Old Realm — and this world as well, should she choose. Oh, if that were to happen, if we were revealed to the New World, we goblins would become like our dear Viking friends. Extinct!'

She regarded each of them in turn, saw that they were transfixed, then carried on, speaking rapidly, as if she could no longer bear the burden of her story.

'I brought the narrare here to this realm, to the New World, for this was the only place Varla would never suspect. Here, in this place of greed and frictions and confusions,' Reafen looked up and waved the blonde wig about her, 'in this place that brings madness and death to my kind, the narrare was safe from her evil graspings.'

'Rogues and peasants!' exclaimed the Donut Lady, and she flopped down on the couch beside Reafen. 'I would never have thought it. Never dreamed in my wildest nightmares.'

Ava stared at Reafen. 'It is just as Graini and I supposed,' she said, passing the old goblin a glass of water, 'when we set out on our search.'

Reafen took a sip of water, grimaced as if it were poison, then went on, plucking at the wig as she spoke.

'Too many had begun to cross over. Too many from the New World were finding passage to our realm, had come through the veil and joined us in the mist. At first it was only fishermen, silly fools who were lost ... or _lured_ by the mermaids. Then seafaring explorers came. Then, over time, humans invented airships and flying machines, and pilots blundered through too — although most of them were dead when we found them. Magicians came. Shamans and time travellers — once even a toymaker! Then scientists — many of them sincere and trustworthy and in awe. Then this idiot Lynch came, lingering, lingering ... poking his nose in. I would have put him in chains. SNAP!' Reafen clapped her hands.

'Lynch was not so bad at first ...' said Ava but her voice wavered. 'In the early days he protected the secrets of the Old Realm and in return he was given a little knowledge. Just a little. He offered Graini and me shelter in this city. And then — then he turned on us ... He desired the narrare so badly he betrayed us. He would even harm us ...'

'Precisely. Meddlers and thieves, all of them!' said Reafen. 'Too easily seduced. Too easily intoxicated by the riches of the Old Realm. I kept a close eye on them all. But mostly I watched what Varla was up to. At first she was a lost and lonely wanderer, a Vanishing Lady from a New World carnival who had stumbled into our realm. She was happy just to be alive, to work alongside our farmers and healers. We offered her safe return to this world but in those early days she refused. Pretended she was too weak. Then she begins to dabble in the sacred magicks and stick her nose where it does not belong. Her life grows long — unnaturally long for a flimsy human. She grows stronger, taller, more powerful, more ... _insatiable_. Next she is a shaman, a sorceress. She fiddled and delved so much in the Old Realm magicks that her human form was almost lost to her. In such a state she could no longer pass back through the veil even if she wanted to.'

The Donut Lady nodded knowingly. 'Yes. This has been my thoughts exactly.'

Reafen went on. 'Many times I found her viewing the narrares, watching and learning the secrets of the goblin folk. She had even begun to gather them to her, to trade her magick in return for more and more narrares, for more and more _power_. Taking our narrares for herself. Imagine!'

The others cringed. Reafen was getting so worked up. Angus remembered what Ava had said about the loss of narrares. How sacred they were, how important they were to the goblins and to their sense of place and history. By persuading them to hand over their narrares, Varla must have been corrupting goblin society at its very core. His head was spinning. He had only just come to accept that goblins were real — and now all this. It was almost too much to bear.

'Varla charmed and seduced many,' said Reafen. 'Many were happy to do her bidding. But I knew what she was up to; I was the only one who could see the witch for what she was. Eventually, of course, the narrares led her to the Wild Magick — and all its evil darkness.'

Angus snapped. 'Look, who cares about the stupid narrares!' he cried. 'My sister's gone. My father's gone. We need to save them!'

The Donut Lady slapped her knees and rose quickly. 'You are right. Reafen, I assume you have the Wishing Stones. I assume this is how this latest chain of events began?'

'Wishing Stones?' said Ava with a sharp breath.

Reafen hung her head. 'I was lonely,' she whined. 'In need of familiar comforts and kin. In need of someone to notice. To take interest. I craved the company of anyone with ties and tangles to the Old Realm. So I cast the stones and I wished ... I wished to be near someone, anyone, who had a strong _connection_ to our kind ...'

As she trailed off, Angus felt the eyes of the old goblin boring into him. She's batty, he thought. Completely cuckoo. As if our family is connected to her kind.

'That is all,' Reafen went on. 'Simple, simple. I was lonely and lost. Lost in the worst possible way.'

'Yes,' said the Donut Lady. 'And bamboozled by sugar too, no doubt. What an idiotic risk you took! Casting Wishing Stones. Making thoughtless, selfish wishes, interfering with fate, meddling in the destiny of all and sundry. Get out the stones, Reafen. It is time they spoke to us.'

Reafen reached inside her fur coat and hesitated.

'Give them to me,' said the Donut Lady, holding out her hand.

'Wishing Stones!' said Ava once more, her face shining with surprise. 'Such dangerous rarities! I never imagined that Reafen would possess such a remarkable Birth Gift.' Ava thought a moment longer. 'But I now know why Graini and I felt compelled to come to this city. Why our endless New World searches and ramblings sent us here, to this very place. For we are part of the wished-for connection too!'

The Donut Lady jerked her hand at Reafen. The small stones rolled about on Reafen's palm, flipping and spinning as if anticipating the exchange. Angus could not help but stare.

Slowly Reafen tipped the stones into the Donut Lady's outstretched hand. The Donut Lady slapped her hands together and clasped the stones tightly — but it was no use. No matter how hard she struggled to contain them, one by one the stones slipped or tumbled or bounced through her fingers.

'Look how they slide through my grip,' she cried. 'Look how they taunt me.'

'You have no magickal blood,' said Reafen smugly. 'You have no control of such pretties.'

Ava held a hand over her mouth. To Angus, it looked as if she might laugh. How could she at a time like this? Anger and impatience flared inside him.

'Help me catch them, goblin girl,' cried the Donut Lady, and Ava dropped to her knees.

'I will try,' said Ava, 'but they will not approve of me either ...'

There were seven stones in all. They were similar in size and shape to Ava's Singing Stones, only these stones were blue, as blue as a summer sky, and each was inscribed with a silver rune mark.

As the Donut Lady and Ava groped about on the floor, trying to catch the skittish stones, Reafen spoke. 'I would have given them to the father,' she said. 'Sooner or later, I would have given them over to him. For they were drawn to him and they are truthfully his. That much is obvious.'

'I would not be so sure,' puffed the Donut Lady as she dabbed her face and rose to her feet. 'The connection may not be to the father. It may not be to Maxwell Jack.'

For some reason, at the mention of these words, Angus felt his stomach flip.

The Donut Lady had managed to catch the agitated stones and was now struggling to hold on to them. 'Angus Jack, come and stand before me,' she said.

'Look,' said Angus angrily, 'we need to get going. We need to start searching. We have to find Martha!'

'Come here,' repeated the Donut Lady. 'First we must know something. It will aid our cause,' she added gently.

Angus shook his head and marched up to the Donut Lady. 'You're wasting my time,' he said, glaring at her bitterly.

'Hold out your hand,' said the Donut Lady.

Resentfully Angus did as he was asked.

Ava drew closer and smiled at him reassuringly.

The Donut Lady poured the restless stones into his hand.

They lay still. The vibrating, the jumping, the jittering — it all ceased the moment the Wishing Stones fell into his hand.

'Oh!' groaned Reafen.

The Donut Lady smiled mischievously. 'So,' she said. 'Angus Jack, there is more to you than meets the eyeballs.'

## CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

____________________________________________

## En garde

Angus stared at the Wishing Stones. He rolled them about in his hand. They almost looked like toys. Like something you would buy in a drawstring bag from Benjamin Pollock's Toyshop in London.

He picked up one in his other hand and a thrill shot through him.

'I don't understand,' he said softly.

'It is just as I suspected,' said the Donut Lady, eyeing him with satisfaction. 'It is not the father, it is the firstborn.'

'You,' said Reafen, 'you _boy_ , you are descended from Mevras himself.'

'Who's Mevras?' said Angus again.

'Yawning Wolf, Greyfeld, The Hooded One,' said Reafen impatiently.

'Mevras, the great Viking magician,' said the Donut Lady. 'The greatest who ever roamed this earth. There was a time when Vikings moved freely between this world and the Old Realm, exchanging information, sharing knowledge, protecting the goblin folk. But when the Great Sadness came and he could see that the age of the Vikings was drawing to a close, Mevras made a narrare. Soon after, he passed into the mists of time and left his remarkable narrare in the safekeeping of the goblins. You are descended from Mevras, Angus Jack.'

'My mother,' said Angus almost to himself. 'She always said she was descended from Vikings.'

'Ah! Then it is settled,' said the Donut Lady firmly. 'The connection is on your mother's side.'

Angus stared at them, a crazy goblin elder, a pretty goblin girl and a seriously weird Donut Lady. His life, all that he knew, all that he believed, the facts and the science that he had diligently placed his trust in, had been turned on its head. Suddenly anything seemed possible, anything at all.

'Are you saying I'm ... magickal?' he said.

Reafen threw up her arms and cackled madly. Even the Donut Lady smirked.

'You are a descendant. A flimsy, New World boy-relative,' said Reafen. 'You are not all of a sudden, KAPOW, a great and illustrious magician!'

'Oh yeah, right,' said Angus, his cheeks burning with humiliation. I'm such an idiot, he thought. Such a stupid dork ...

'Still, you do see, don't you?' said the Donut Lady matter-of-factly. 'Should you ever wish to pursue the magickal arts, well, let us just say, you would be very well placed ...'

'With the help and instruction and glorious expertise of one such as me,' added Reafen, pulling the blonde wig back on.

She coughed into her sleeve, a pained, hacking cough. She shuffled closer to Angus and without looking directly at him said, 'The Wishing Stones belong to you now, boy.' Her voice wavered. 'It is the rightful inheritance. I cannot keep them safe any longer. I, Reafen, Defender of the Old Realm, cannot be trusted. It is done. It is proven ...' She sniffed deeply and sadly.

' _Self-appointed_ Defender of the Old Realm,' whispered Ava to Angus. 'It's all in her mind. All her own little fantasy. Even Graini and I know that. Back home she was just an everyday Wise Woman who lived on her own in the woods.'

Poor old bag, thought Angus, suddenly feeling sympathetic. Poor old, loopy Reafen.

'You keep the stones, Reafen,' he said. 'What am I going to do with a bunch of blue stones?' He glanced at the Donut Lady for confirmation.

'No, no, no! They are yours, Angus Jack, you must take them,' she said firmly. 'For once Reafen speaks in a straight line.'

Reafen nodded. 'No arguments,' she croaked. 'No questions. Their time with Reafen is over.'

'Okay,' said Angus doubtfully. He closed his hand around the Wishing Stones. They felt so familiar! Images flashed through his mind, one after another. Emotions — joy, excitement, dread — rippled through his body.

'All my life I've seen things,' he said. 'Glimpsed things — visions that felt real, that felt like memories, but couldn't have been.'

He stopped for a moment as the realisation sank in more deeply. He thought of the snow-white otter in Reafen's shop, how it had seemed so familiar to him; the willow flute music that had felt like a lullaby from his childhood; the night he'd dreamed of ice and swirling mists and a long, wooden boat — a Viking boat, he now realised ...

'I thought I was imagining it all,' he said. 'I thought my imagination was dangerous ... that if I paid it too much attention, it would spin out of control and send me mad. It scared me. I hated it.'

The Donut Lady cleared her throat pointedly.

Angus tipped the stones from hand to hand. He could literally feel their energy. It was uncanny.

'And now I'm remembering so much,' he said. 'Faces, people, _strange_ people, strange animals. Wooden boats, mist and muddy rain. I can hear music — I swear I can hear it! I can smell the open sea too ...' He shut his eyes. 'Look at the ice,' he cried. 'The ice!'

His eyes sprang open — the Wishing Stones glowed softly and nestled into his palm.

'It is all rushing to you now,' said the Donut Lady. 'The Wishing Stones are stirring what is ancient and forgotten in your blood.'

Angus gasped. 'I'll use them to get Martha back!' he said excitedly. 'How do I do it? How do I use them? Quick, tell me!'

'No!' cried Ava and the Donut Lady together.

'Come on! Just this once, just one time,' insisted Angus.

'No matter who we are, no matter how clever or how magickal our relatives, we cannot see the large picture,' said the Donut Lady. 'We have no knowledge of the world's grand design. We can never know what will happen as a result of our wishes.'

'Who cares about the grand design?' said Angus. 'I want my sister back. My father ...'

'Do you not see what has happened since Reafen cast the stones?' said the Donut Lady.

'One tiny, simple, comforting wish,' said Reafen weakly. 'One little ... dabble.'

'Yes, and look at the catastrophe your little dabble has caused,' said the Donut Lady, her voice rising. 'Look at the events. Varla is here. Varla has come through the veil!'

Reafen fell back, shattered. 'The Wishing Stones were my most elaborate Birth Gift. Handed down to me from my father's father's father for safekeeping and deep contemplation. They are full of the magick, the magick we shared and traded with the Viking chieftains and kings. They were my heirlooms to treasure, not to play with like phony toys. I have failed everyone!'

The Donut Lady clucked her tongue dismissively. She had no time for Reafen's self-pity.

'You might wish for good.' The Donut Lady turned to Angus. 'But can you predict what will quickly follow your tampering? The Wishing Stones are charming, they are in fact astonishing, but they are irresponsible. Ruthless. The Wishing Stones are detached from all and any outcome of their making. They are dangerous, Angus Jack, do you see? They are for you to protect, not exploit.'

'Exploit? I've already lost my mother!' blurted Angus.

His heart twisted in his chest. Right now he missed his mother so much he almost had to gasp for air.

Ava placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. 'It is a bittersweet day for me too,' she said. 'I have lost my Graini. But I have also discovered that you and yours were once beloved of the Old Realm.' Her blue eyes glistened with tears. 'I was never wrong to trust you, Angus Jack,' she said. 'Never wrong to ... admire you. The Wishing Stones brought us together. Perhaps all hope is not lost.'

Angus felt a rush of shame. He had given no thought to Ava's loss, Ava's pain. He was not alone in this disaster; Ava had lost someone dear to her too. She was just as miserable and confused.

His heart pounded. He longed to put his arms around Ava and hold her close. But he also wanted to escape. To run from these people, this city, this life, to run and run and never return.

There was a clap of thunder. The annexe shook so hard an ornament fell off the sideboard.

'Come,' said the Donut Lady. 'The night deteriorates. We will do no good searching tonight. We must rest now.'

'Rest?' said Angus. 'My sister's out there. I can't rest!'

'But you must,' said the Donut Lady. 'The storm is getting worse, and all our efforts will be lost. I will escort you home for now. You need to sleep. You need strength.'

Angus threw the door open. Thunder clapped and lightning stabbed the sky. With a sinking heart, he knew it was pointless to search tonight. As impossible as it seemed, he would have to wait. He shut the door on the wind. Weariness and despair swamped him.

'Barney will watch over my caravan and see to Reafen,' said the Donut Lady, striding across the room to the bookcase. 'They will be good for each other.'

Barney stepped forward from the shadows and nodded solemnly.

'And I will watch over you,' said the Donut Lady, glancing at Angus.

She threw a dry shawl around her shoulders and picked up her guitar case. Angus groaned. Surely she wasn't planning a singalong while they waited for the storm to pass?

The Donut Lady placed the case on the floor, fiddled with the combination locks and the lid creaked open. She pulled back a swathe of red velvet.

'Swords!' spluttered Angus. He could barely believe his eyes — and yet it suddenly seemed so obvious. The swords, those famous swords from all the rumours, had been here all along. But they didn't look like Cossack swords ...

Ava peered into the case. 'They're Viking swords,' she breathed. 'Three swords, all short. All _exceptional_.'

The Donut Lady beamed.

'May I?' asked Ava.

The Donut Lady nodded and Ava lifted one of the swords from its hardwood support. 'Double-edged blades, pattern welded — beautiful, intricate, menacing,' she said with reverence.

Ava bowed solemnly then assumed the _en garde_ position. She slashed the air with cool, precise strokes.

Angus stared in disbelief. 'I thought the goblins of the Old Realm were peaceful,' he said, trying to disguise his dismay at Ava's skill.

'Oh but we are,' said Ava with a theatrical flourish. 'But we are not alone in the Old Realm. It is necessary that we protect ourselves.'

'We must go on our search prepared,' said the Donut Lady briskly as she took the sword from Ava. It looked small in the hands of the Donut Lady. Small but deadly. She laid it back beside its companions and spread the velvet covering over them. 'This night I would not leave my caravan without them.'

'You're bringing swords,' said Angus, shaking his head. ' _Swords_ ...'

'You do not know Varla,' said the Donut Lady, and she snapped the lid shut.

'Obviously not,' said Angus, although, truth be told, he was glad they had a weapon or two. He had seen enough to know that this was a cruel, outlandish enemy they were up against — an outlandish enemy they would be _hunting_.

He wondered if the goblin girls had weapons back at the hat factory. Amongst their baggage. The baggage they had brought with them from the Old Realm. On their enchanted boat ...

His rubbed his forehead; his skull throbbed with stress and fatigue ...

'Peachy Pepp, fairy floss, Fizzy Whips ...' mumbled Reafen.

Everyone turned toward the couch.

Reafen's curly blonde head drooped over her chest.

She was sound asleep.

The Donut Lady walked over to the couch but instead of giving Reafen a good shake as Angus expected, she took the old goblin by the shoulders and eased her back into a lying position. She slid a pillow under Reafen's head and draped a crocheted blanket over her chest and legs, gently tucking the excess around the goblin's large feet. Reafen snored heartily.

'It is all too much for the wicked old devil,' said the Donut Lady but there was only kindness in her voice. 'And this wound on her arm, there is something unnatural about it. Something wicked festers there.'

Reafen's arms lay outside the blanket. Only now did Angus notice the bandage was still on her forearm. It was stained with bloody seepage — the wound was obviously infected. And Reafen's face was pale and drawn despite the thick make-up, her deep-set eyes ringed with mauve shadows.

As Reafen lay snoring and muttering on the couch, it occurred to Angus that the old goblin woman was, in fact, gravely ill.

Ava knelt beside Reafen and felt her forehead. She peeled back an edge of the bandage and peeked at the wound. 'This is beyond my Singing Stones,' she said forlornly.

'My Barney will watch over her,' said the Donut Lady, tossing them each an umbrella. 'He will let us know if there is any change for the worse.'

Barney sidled across the room, giving Ava an apprehensive glance. These past days he'd seen enough magick and mystery to last him a lifetime. His left arm was in plaster. His burned hands were bandaged.

'Watch over Reafen,' said the Donut Lady. 'Give her water, ice, milk, bread. No chocolate, no sugar, no sweeties, no matter how much she pleads.'

Barney nodded gravely.

'And, should she wake, give her that tonic on the sideboard every fifteen minutes,' added the Donut Lady.

Barney nodded again. 'Sorry,' he said, glancing at Ava and the Donut Lady. 'Sorry for what I did, to the boat and all. I lost me marbles there for a time. Sorry ...'

'Make up for it now,' said the Donut Lady. 'Be kind, be attentive. Be the Barney I have always loved.'

'And if she wants to go home?' said Barney, glancing at Reafen. 'If she wants to go back to her shop?'

'You will escort her,' said the Donut Lady.

Barney nodded. 'I'll carry her meself,' he said. 'I'll find a way, even like this.' He held up his bandaged hands.

'Good man!' said the Donut Lady.

Barney pulled off his beanie and stood on tiptoe. The Donut Lady kissed him passionately.

_Urgh!_ Angus shot a look at Ava but she just smiled shyly.

'It is time,' said the Donut Lady, roughly releasing her boyfriend. 'Let's be gone.'

Angus draped the narrare case across his body, Ava took his hand and together they walked out into the stormy night. The Donut Lady adjusted her shawl and followed — blowing Barney another kiss as she passed him by.

'That kid's got your clothes on,' said Barney under his breath. 'He looks a right ninny.'

Fortunately Angus was outside and was spared this snide remark. He had completely forgotten the purple hoodie, which, all things considered, was probably for the best.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

____________________________________________

## Dawn's visitor

The Donut Lady kicked off her shoes and placed her guitar case against the wall. She surveyed the lounge room.

'These are the speakers?' she said, looking up at the ceiling.

'Yes,' said Angus. 'The Prof spoke through all four of them, it bounced around and echoed. I thought it was some kind of joke ... at first.'

The Donut Lady said nothing but Angus could almost see her mind ticking over. All three of them stared at the ceiling. Ava's face was expressionless. Four little black boxes, thought Angus. Does Ava have any idea what we're talking about? Do _we_ have any idea what we're talking about?

'Hello? Dad?' he said hopefully. He knew he looked pathetic but he was beyond caring.

'Ava and I will sleep here for the rest of the night. We will be perfectly comfortable with a couch each, thank you very much,' said the Donut Lady.

Angus knew she was dismissing him. And he knew it was pointless standing here, hoping, waiting, for his father to somehow materialise.

He glanced at the clock. It was just after 3 am.

'We will rise at six-thirty,' said the Donut Lady. 'I will see to it.' She flicked the guitar case open. 'Keep it close,' she said as she handed Angus a gleaming weapon. 'It will help you sleep soundly. Go now.'

Almost delirious with exhaustion, Angus staggered to his bedroom, fell onto the bed and was unconscious within seconds. On the floor beside him, the sword glowed softly. In the dark room, lying unceremoniously across a pile of dirty clothes, the blade had a luminosity that was downright creepy.

In the lounge room, Ava collapsed onto one of the couches and drew a blanket up under her chin. This was Martha's blanket, Ava could sense it; the energy was defiant and ... unhappy. Her eyes stinging with tears, Ava quickly fell into a deep sleep.

The Donut Lady flicked through the family's DVDs. What a woeful collection. _The Lion King_ , _Finding Nemo_ , _101 Dalmatians_. And what was this rubbish, _The Brave Little Toaster_? What utter bish bosh. She muttered Russian expletives as she flicked through the childish selection. She wondered about Maxwell Jack. Exactly how old did he think his children were?

Finally she came across a film that looked promising — _The Matrix_. Yes, for sure, this looked intriguing. She loaded the DVD into the player, put up her feet and pressed 'play'. There was much to think about, much to unravel. Action films always helped her think. And they were a quick, effective way to pick up handy tips.

What was left of that fretful night seemed interminable. The Donut Lady woke many times, convinced someone was casing the house, trying to break in. But each time it proved a false alarm. There were cat fights too. The murderous wailing and growling was at times almost human. It made her hair stand on end, and she thought sadly of dear sweet Vlad, her missing Russian blue. At one point she even heard someone running across the roof, but in the end she convinced herself it was a dream ... or a very large possum.

Sometime around 6 am the Donut Lady woke with a thumping heart. This time there was definitely someone outside, near the front of the house — there was no doubt at all.

She sat up and listened. The morning air was still after the previous night's storm. In the distance the city seemed subdued, the traffic thin and yet to gather pace.

The Donut Lady turned her head. There it was again. Only this time it was closer. Footsteps. Someone creeping up the front verandah stairs. This was no possum. And it certainly was not a cat.

Ava must have heard it too. She sat bolt upright and rolled off her couch in one smooth movement. She stood perfectly still, her gaze flicking from side to side as she found her bearings.

The Donut Lady raised a finger to her lips, warning Ava to stay silent. As if choreographed, they bent in unison. Each silently drew a sword from beneath their sleeping place.

'Go to his room.' The Donut Lady spoke in little more than a whisper. 'Stand guard at his door.'

Ava nodded and, gripping her sword tightly, she slipped out into the hall. If this visitor were Varla, whatever form she was in, be it human or otherwise, she would sniff out Angus first, especially if she had discovered his heritage. Especially if she knew he had the blood of Mevras. The thought sent a chill down the goblin girl's spine.

The Donut Lady crept toward the front door. She reached for the handle and turned it smoothly. On the other side of the door, she could hear someone breathing — someone or something _panting_.

The Donut Lady raised her sword and pulled the door open.

## CHAPTER FORTY

____________________________________________

## Death by sea

Oh!' The Donut Lady dropped to her knees. At the sound of her cry, Ava came running.

'Graini!' Ava dropped her sword and threw herself across her friend. Graini lay in a heap on the welcome mat. The Donut Lady was hunched over her.

'No,' said Ava as she lifted Graini's head — it lolled helplessly. 'No, no, no.'

'It is all right,' said the Donut Lady. 'She is alive — frozen and drenched to the bone but alive.'

Graini's breath was laboured and raspy, her eyes sunken. She clung to Ava weakly.

'What happened?' asked Ava, tears spilling onto her cheeks. 'Graini? Can you hear me?'

'Move aside now, Ava,' said the Donut Lady, glancing about warily. 'Quickly. It is not safe out here.'

Wiping her tears, Ava rose reluctantly and held the door ajar as the Donut Lady scooped up Graini and quickly carried her inside.

Angus stood in the centre of the lounge room, looking dazed and befuddled. The voices had woken him.

'Graini?' he gasped as the Donut Lady strode into the room. 'Is Martha here too?'

When he could not see his sister, he bolted to the front door and flung it wide. The morning sun assaulted him — his tired, scratchy eyes stung and poured with water. The scent of damp frangipani was cloying and sickly. Across the road, their burly neighbour — the one who had caught them in the hibiscus bushes — stood by his four-wheel drive and studied Angus quizzically. Angus slammed the door and ran back into the lounge room.

'Martha?' he said again hopefully. 'She's here too, right?'

Ava shook her head sadly. 'Graini has come alone.'

Ava arranged the cushions as the Donut Lady set Graini down on the couch, bundling blankets and knee rugs around her. The early morning was warm, almost sultry, but Graini was chilled to the bone. Her lips were white and bloodless, even the tips of her fingers were drained of colour. Seaweed and other tidal muck were tangled in her hair.

'Water,' Graini managed to whisper thickly, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.

Ava turned to Angus. 'Please, Angus. I cannot leave her side — I cannot leave her for one moment.'

The Donut Lady stood by the front window, peeking out between the curtains. Angus hurried into the kitchen. He knew he should be grateful to see Graini, at least a little happy on Ava's behalf, but all he could think of was Martha. He flicked on the tap. Graini was alive but what about his little sister? What had happened to her? Nausea swept through him and he gulped down the water himself before washing the glass and refilling it for Graini. As he returned to the lounge room, he had to fight the urge to launch himself at Graini, to shake her, to plead with her to tell him what had happened.

Slumped against the cushions, Graini sipped the water gratefully. She was too weak to hold the glass herself.

'Oh, Graini,' said Ava, 'I cannot believe my eyes. I cannot believe you are here ...'

Graini began to shiver. Her teeth chattered violently.

'I will make my special hot remedy,' said the Donut Lady. 'You have ginger in the kitchen? Spices?'

Angus shrugged doubtfully. 'Try the pantry,' he said. 'But they're probably all past their use-by date.'

'I will find something,' declared the Donut Lady as she left the room. 'Even if I must search the garden.'

'Graini,' said Angus once again, 'I'm sorry but I have to know. What happened? Do you know where Martha is?'

'I ... she ... we ...' stammered the goblin girl and she reached for the water. Ava gave her another sip and Graini spluttered and coughed.

'It's urgent,' insisted Angus. 'Time's running out ...'

Graini closed her eyes and murmured — a string of incomprehensible words, another language perhaps.

'She is trying,' said Ava. 'She is trying with extreme dedication.'

Ava squeezed Graini's hand. Graini seemed to have slipped into sleep. She could not be roused.

Angus paced the room. This was unbearable. This waiting. This wondering. He needed to act, to do something. In the background he could hear the Donut Lady rattling about in the kitchen. He even heard her stomping about on the back verandah, where there were a few overgrown herbs and orchids.

Ava was taking out her Singing Stones just as the Donut Lady returned.

The Donut Lady wagged a finger disapprovingly. 'Leave be your magick stones,' she said firmly. 'Give her this, it will be quicker. And besides, your stones cannot feed her.'

The brew smelt sweet and comforting. Ava held the steaming mug under Graini's nose, hoping she would smell it in her troubled dreams.

The goblin girl opened her eyes slowly and pushed her knotted hair back from her eyes. With Ava's help, she sipped the drink cautiously. She sipped again. Then she gulped it down hungrily.

'Many good things I have added to the milk,' said the Donut Lady proudly. 'Cinnamon, turmeric, honey ... And other things you might not believe.'

Ava flicked a puzzled glance at the Donut Lady but said nothing — Graini was responding, that was all that mattered.

When the mug was drained, Graini rested back on the cushions and spoke. The others had to lean close in order to catch her words.

'We flew out over the sea. Each of us held in the claws, the talons, of the giant bird that was ... Varla.'

Ava groaned with despair.

'Varla wheeled about aimlessly, baffled and bamboozled, it did seem. She spread her enormous wings wide and hovered in the storm clouds. We hung there, suspended, blinded by the rain, for an endless, aching time. And then ...' Graini drew a rough breath, 'Varla spoke to me.'

'Yes?' said the Donut Lady.

'What did she say?' said Angus desperately. 'Tell us!'

'She said, "Die, goblin. You are of no use to me."'

Ava swallowed her tears and hugged Graini close.

'She opened her claws,' said Graini softly. 'And as I plummeted, she flew into the darkness beyond. I could see her no longer.'

Horror welled up inside Angus and he grabbed Graini's arm. 'Did she drop Martha too?' he asked, his voice ragged with fear. 'Did she drop Martha into the sea too?'

Graini shook her head. 'No. Varla left me to die. But she held on to Martha. I heard Martha scream as I fell but Martha did not fall alongside me.'

It was a small blessing but a blessing nonetheless. Martha had not been dumped in the ocean and left for dead. She could still be alive. But where had Varla taken her and what was she planning? Angus was about to press for more details when Ava spoke.

'How did you survive, Graini? How did you return to us?' Ava directed her gaze at Angus. 'Varla was most vile and sincere when she cursed our Graini to die. Goblins hate deep water, Angus Jack. We are very poor swimmers, despite our most valiant efforts. It is a notorious crack in our biological make-up ... It is our blessing to have boats who understand this,' she added meekly. 'Boats who do not resent our shortcomings.'

'So how _did_ you survive?' said Angus.

'There was a large, yellow floating device,' said Graini. 'A strange New World apparatus with the words _Weather Buoy_ inscribed along one side. I clung to this device. I held on with all my might, even though I was not sure of the weather buoy's purpose and I was wary of its capabilities.'

Angus heard the Donut Lady stifle a chuckle.

'When I finally managed to clear my mind of the pain and the terror,' said Graini, 'when I rose beyond the _hafvilla_ , the bewilderment, I used my mind to alert Nydo.'

'Nydo?' said Angus.

'Our dearly beloved boat,' said Ava.

'Nydo found me and brought me to shore. From there I had to find my own way. From there I had to stagger, unobserved, to this door. I could go no further ...'

Graini closed her eyes. Ava stroked her friend's hair thoughtfully.

'She is exhausted,' said the Donut Lady. 'She has said enough. Leave her to sleep for now.'

The Donut Lady picked up her sword. 'Ava, stay here, keep watch over Graini, observe the doors and windows. Angus,' she said, 'fetch your sword. Then show me the room where your father disappeared. There is much I need to observe. We must begin our search fully informed, fully prepared.'

## CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

____________________________________________

## The Donut Lady talks

Angus felt his heart thump as they mounted the stairs to the Prof's study, but it was not exertion that made his heart beat so hard, it was dread. Angus had not been back to the room since the Prof had disappeared. He had not looked at the destruction with a clear eye. Now, as they reached the door, he feared what they might find on the other side. Would things be worse? Would there be greater terrors to confront, darker ... magick? Angus hesitated.

'I will go first,' said the Donut Lady.

Angus shook his head. He was on the brink of panic but he still had his pride. This was his home, his loss, his problem.

The door was slightly ajar. Feeling like a clumsy novice, Angus held the sword before him and hoped for the best. He pushed the door with his foot. It slowly creaked open.

A warm breeze blew across the room to greet them. Everything was still in chaos. The window was wide open and last night's storm had added to the mayhem.

Angus stepped cautiously into the room and crunched across the broken glass. The Donut Lady made a beeline for the cheval mirror, or what was left of it. She reached up and ran her hand around the curve at the top of the frame. It gaped in the centre, the wood jagged and split.

'Rent in two,' she muttered.

On the far side of the room, Angus pulled the window shut.

'An enormous force was at play here,' said the Donut Lady, her hands still resting on the mirror frame. 'Enormous. Driven by greed and rage, the quest for revenge ...'

Angus turned from the window and faced the Donut Lady. 'Who are you?' he said abruptly.

The Donut Lady looked surprised, even though she had known such questions would eventually come. 'I'm your friend,' she said rather flippantly.

'No, seriously,' said Angus. ' _Who are you?_ '

The Donut Lady sighed. She valued her privacy above all else but, well, sometimes one had to stick one's nose in other people's business and get involved. It was the necessary way.

'My father and my father's father, and further back than all of that, all of them were Russian traders,' she said. 'My father, he travelled to many places, on land and by sea.'

'Go on,' said Angus, crossing his arms. He felt she owed him a decent explanation. He had placed his trust in her many times, now it was her turn.

'When I was old enough but not so old as Martha, I joined my father on his travels. Oh, those were wondrous times! We went through the veil many, _many_ times,' said the Donut Lady. 'We grew to love those in the Old Realm, to accept our roles as diplomats and guardians. But over the years it became more difficult for us to move back and forth ... Eventually we had to choose. We had to decide where we should see out our remaining days — in the Old Realm or here in the New World. I stand before you today because of that choice.'

'Exactly how old are you?' said Angus.

The Donut Lady shrugged. 'I do not have this answer,' she said. 'I lost many years coming and going. The gravitational field in the Old Realm, it slows the passage of time, you see. I am much older than you would reckon,' she added slyly. 'Old enough to understand the value of living a simple life ...'

'I don't suppose you'll tell me your real name,' said Angus as he bent to pick up a rain-soaked journal.

'My name is my own,' said the Donut Lady. 'I prefer to keep it that way. I am happy to be whoever you think I am.'

'So, with all your knowledge, all your experience, you're happy to be an ordinary donut lady? Happy to lead a small, insignificant life? It doesn't make sense.'

'There are no ordinary lives,' said the Donut Lady, scrutinising the room with her keen eyes. 'Quiet perhaps, but not ordinary — and never insignificant. Surely you understand this.'

Angus shrugged. He didn't understand at all.

'Simply the fact that we are alive,' said the Donut Lady, peeking into a box of research papers, 'the fact that we are here struggling to make sense of this complex world, struggling to survive when all odds are against us — just this alone makes each of us special.'

'I don't know about that,' said Angus.

'We are all little heroes, Angus. Each and every one of us,' said the Donut Lady firmly. 'When you realise this, nothing you do will ever seem ordinary again. Life, all life, it is _ineffable_.'

Angus rubbed his forehead wearily. He would have to think on this — it seemed the Donut Lady was something of a philosopher. Well, good for her. For now he was both trapped in the moment and consumed by a future he scarcely dared to think about. A future without his sister. Without his father. A future as desolate and chaotic as this awful room.

He picked up a few books, righted a series of photo frames that had been knocked over. There was a photograph of his mother. It was taken back in England. Back when their lives were ordinary. Insignificant. He stared at the photograph for a moment and exhaustion swept through him.

'What are we actually looking for?' he asked impatiently.

'I need a shard of glass,' said the Donut Lady, lowering herself onto her knees and sifting through the rubble. 'A shard of the broken mirror. The largest we can find.'

Angus scanned the room quickly. It was good to have something to occupy his mind.

'Here,' he said in no time at all. He eased a muddy shard from beneath an upended pot plant. He was surprised the Prof even had a plant in his study. Surely plants needed looking after? The thought was spontaneous but it was mean-spirited and it made Angus feel guilty.

He rubbed off the mud with his T-shirt. The shard was shaped like a large crescent moon. At its centre, it was wide enough for him to see clearly his own reflection. He looked ghostly. He looked ... grey.

'Precisely what I need,' said the Donut Lady eagerly. 'Now come, sit beside me on the floor. Bring the shard, that's right. Be prepared now. I am not certain what we will see. I am not certain how ... unpleasant.'

Angus knelt beside her.

The Donut Lady took up her sword and, with a mighty thrust, stabbed it into the carpet so that, when she released it, the sword stood perfectly upright.

'I apologise for this carpet,' she said.

Angus shrugged. He could hardly care less. 'What are you doing?' he asked under his breath.

'Hand me this shard,' said the Donut Lady.

Angus did so.

The Donut Lady laid the broken mirror at right angles to the sword, the tip of the shard jutting up against the blade. She leaned forward and peered into the mirror. Angus followed suit. They could see the blade clearly reflected, see its intricate markings, its razor-sharp edge. In the background they could see their own distorted faces. But that was all.

The Donut Lady twisted the sword slightly, this way, that way. The blade glowed softly ...

Angus continued to search in the mirror for something — any clue that might help him find his father. His sister.

'Nothing,' said the Donut Lady, pursing her lips thoughtfully.

'Do you even know what you're doing?' Angus felt a rush of impatience again. 'Shouldn't we just get out there, get out on the beach, the cliffs, even the carnival, and just start searching?'

'Hand me the Wishing Stones,' said the Donut Lady quickly.

'But you said —'

'We are not making a wish,' said the Donut Lady. 'We will simply draw on their knowledge.'

Angus reached into his pocket. He felt the Wishing Stones shuffle about and retract, sinking further into the corner of his pocket as if they did not want to be disturbed.

'Three will suffice,' said the Donut Lady. 'Too much of their power would not do us well.'

Angus took out three stones. He tried to hand them over but they jumped and flipped and spun like enchanted beans.

'You will have to handle them,' said the Donut Lady briskly. 'Clearly they are yours and yours alone.'

With a jolt of recognition, Angus knew exactly what to do. It was almost as if the stones were guiding his hand. With great care, he placed them at three strategic points on the shard: top, bottom, centre. With a flick of his wrist, he set them spinning.

The Donut Lady smiled to herself as she watched him work.

'Where'd they go?' said Angus with surprise. The stones seemed to have vanished into thin air — one second they were spinning on the shard, the next they were gone.

'They are still here,' said the Donut Lady. 'They spin so quickly it is difficult to see.'

She was right, of course. On a certain angle, Angus could just make out the blur of the stones as they spun. He listened for a moment. But unlike Ava's Singing Stones, these runes were silent.

The Donut Lady turned the sword again and again. The shard sparked and all that was reflected in it flared.

Angus caught his breath as the image in the mirror expanded and became three-dimensional. Within seconds, it was deep enough to fall into. The Wishing Stones had risen into the air and now hovered directly above their bowed heads.

'What _is_ that?' Angus shaded his eyes and stared into the shard.

The Donut Lady smiled proudly. 'That, Angus Jack,' she whispered, 'that is — _the veil_.'

Angus lowered his hand and stared in awe.

The veil was intensely beautiful — it looked like a huge, dew-kissed cobweb, a crosshatching of the finest silver thread. But its beauty was ethereal and almost impossible to comprehend. Angus could sense that it was utterly pure. It was like nothing he had ever seen.

'The veil,' said the Donut Lady again. 'It is everywhere and always. It is a cosmic conundrum. It defies all reason as we know it ... It allows for a parallel existence.'

Angus thought back to what the Donut Lady had said earlier about his father being tangled in the veil, and his heart plummeted.

'The Prof is caught in _that_?' he said incredulously.

The Donut Lady nodded. 'It is my theory and also my strongest feeling. Do you care to watch as I continue my search? I do not know what treachery I will find.'

Angus nodded, his heart hammering with fear.

The Donut Lady continued to twist the sword, driving it deeper and deeper into the floor of the Prof's study.

'If I am correct,' said the Donut Lady, 'the magick will have left a trace as your father was wrenched into the mirror. If I can find that trace and follow its threads ...'

She turned the sword again.

Fine purple threads began to appear, trembling and wavering, reaching up and out through the silver mesh. The Donut Lady tilted the sword and their view of the threads expanded.

'There he is!' said Angus. 'Oh!'

To their immense horror, the Prof was hanging in the veil, suspended like prey in a spiderweb. His arms and legs were flung out widely. His head hung low, his face hidden.

'Dad,' said Angus. 'Dad, can you hear me?'

There was no movement. No sign of life. 'Dad,' called Angus again.

But still there was no movement.

'Oh!' cried the Donut Lady and her voice broke. 'We are too late.' She reached out a comforting hand to Angus.

Angus met her tearful gaze but he could not, would not, give up so easily. He pushed her hand away. 'Professor Maxwell Jack!' he shouted. Still there was no response. Angus shouted again, his words infused with urgency.

The Prof flinched. With enormous effort, he raised his head.

'He's alive!' said Angus.

The Prof looked about hazily. His face was bloodied and scratched. It was obvious he could not see them. And it was not clear what he could hear. But he had sensed something. And for one split second he seemed to look directly at his son.

'Dad. It's me, Angus.'

'My son!' said the Prof weakly. 'My ... boy.'

His father's shoulders slumped and his head dropped to his chest.

'Oh, this is evil magick,' said the Donut Lady. 'Repellent magick. Varla will pay dearly for this. We cannot let this continue!'

The Donut Lady rose to her feet, her face fierce and determined. Before Angus could object, she wrenched the sword from its standing place in the floor.

'Come,' she said. 'It is time we got on with it ... Your father will not last one more day like this.'

But Angus was glued to the spot, too horrified, too distraught to move. His limbs were numb with shock.

The Donut Lady hesitated, then, moving close, she curled her arm around him. She squeezed his shoulders. 'Come now,' she said softly. 'I will do all in my power. Together we will sort this out. You have my word ... All is not lost, young man. Not by the longest shot.'

'He looked terrible,' said Angus unsteadily. 'Really _terrible_.'

'But he is alive,' said the Donut Lady. 'Alive!'

She shook his shoulders again, then released him just as someone came pounding up the stairs, yelling at the top of their voice.

'Angus. Angus Jack, come quickly!'

'Ava?' Angus scooped up the Wishing Stones and raced out of the room. 'Ava, what's happened?'

## CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

____________________________________________

## Coloured puffballs

Ava grabbed Angus by the hand as he hurtled toward her. She turned and ran back down the stairs, pulling him along in her wake.

'What is it, Ava?' He stomped clumsily after her. 'What's wrong?'

They raced into the lounge room. Graini was where they had left her. Her eyes were shut but the colour had returned to her face. She held a half-eaten apple between her hands.

Angus looked about quickly but everything else seemed to be in order. He had been afraid that something even more horrendous had happened. That Graini had died ... or some freak, Lynch perhaps, was trying to get into the house.

Ava led him to the couch and gestured for him to sit beside Graini.

Graini sensed his presence and opened her eyes. She smiled. Angus smiled too. When had Graini's cheeky, buck-toothed grin become so familiar?

'I have news of your sister-sibling,' said Graini hoarsely.

'What?' cried Angus. 'Did you remember something? Tell me!'

'I remember nothing more,' said Graini. 'But your sister-sibling, she speaks to me just now ... She sends words and images and they explode like dandelion puffballs, bright and colourful, in my head.' Graini smiled again. 'She is alive, Angus Jack. She is alive. And she is reaching out to you.'

'But what ...? How ...?' Angus was lost for words.

'It is the mingled energies,' said Ava joyfully. 'Do you recall Martha's green curl? Do you recall the sharing of the Water Stone bracelet? They have a connection, Angus, and your sister-sibling is drawing on that connection. Martha Jack is indeed brave and ingenious. I am most impressed but not at all surprised.'

'Where is she, Graini?' pleaded Angus. 'Tell me what she said. Quickly!'

'Berkeley's Shanty,' said Graini. 'Does this name have meaning for you?'

The Donut Lady came blustering in, brandishing her sword.

Angus looked up at her. 'I know exactly where they are,' he said. 'Exactly.'

## CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

____________________________________________

## Setting out

The Donut Lady loaded up her guitar case. 'You didn't think we would walk through the streets carrying swords, did you?' she said to Angus.

'I was just wondering,' said Angus, pulling on his runners, 'if we really need them? I mean, they're _swords_. I don't even know how to use one. I feel like an idiot every time I hold one.'

'So,' said the Donut Lady as she shut the case, 'you would prefer to battle Varla with what? A teaspoon? A saucepan? Your witty banter?'

'We'll help you,' said Graini, and she grimaced as she wriggled to the edge of the couch. 'We are accomplished with all sorts of weapons.'

'Oh!' cried Ava as Graini stood up shakily and promptly crumpled to the floor.

'You will be going nowhere, goblin girl,' said the Donut Lady. 'And Ava, you are to stay here too and watch over your friend.'

Ava turned to Angus. 'It is my sad fate that I will not share this part of the adventure with you, Angus Jack.'

'That's, um, okay,' said Angus haltingly. 'Not a problem ... I'd rather you were here. I'd rather you were ... safe.'

Ava's face glowed with pleasure.

'What about the narrare?' grunted Graini as Ava eased her back onto the couch.

'We'll be taking it with us,' said Angus.

The others stared at him. Even the Donut Lady looked doubtful.

'We have to take it,' he said. 'We have to have something to negotiate with.'

'But we have risked everything to find it,' said Graini. 'Everything. It is our people's most prized treasure.'

'And it must never get into Varla's possession,' added the Donut Lady. 'Crazy old Reafen was right, you know. With the secrets of the Narrare of Mevras at her fingertips, Varla would be not only brutal and insatiable. She would be ... _indestructible_.'

There was an uneasy pause.

'This is my sister we're talking about,' said Angus. 'My father. We have to take the narrare with us. We have no choice.'

Graini slumped back against the cushions.

'I swear,' said Angus, turning to Ava, 'I'll only use it as a trick. I won't let Varla near it. I'll think of something. I promise.'

Ava nodded. 'You are gentle and courageous, Angus Jack,' she said, 'and I trust with all my heart that you will be true to your word.'

'Lock the doors after we are gone,' said the Donut Lady. She grabbed a packet of biscuits and some fruit from the kitchen and stuffed them into her pockets. 'And push that ugly television onto its face. Trust no-one. No-one! Do you hear me?'

'Yes,' said Ava. 'Yes, of course.'

Ava leaned toward Angus. 'Please come back safely,' she said, and she kissed him on the cheek.

Angus could still feel the kiss as they left the house and hurried down the street.

## CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

____________________________________________

## Nurse Barney

Back at the Caravan of Delight, it had been a long night. Reafen had been restless and confused, a difficult patient in every sense of the word. But Barney had persevered. He was determined to win back the Donut Lady's respect and he was full of remorse for his selfish and wicked behaviour toward the enchanted boat. He still was not quite sure what had come over him but he had been around magick like this several times in his life and it always knocked him off kilter. 'I'm not the sharpest sausage at the barbeque,' Barney often said to himself, and he meant it. He wondered if that was what made him vulnerable ...

As the night passed, Barney did exactly what the Donut Lady had ordered. He gave Reafen only milk, water and bread, and he regularly administered the Donut Lady's strange but delicious-smelling tonic. Thankfully Reafen was more than happy to sip the tonic, and with each dose she rested more easily and a little more colour tinted her pallid cheeks.

Barney spent the night sleeping fitfully in an armchair, worrying about his beloved and those poor bloomin' kids. Where were they now and what would become of them all? If it hadn't been for his broken arm and burned hands, Barney would have insisted on joining the search. Yes, indeed ...

At dawn, Reafen woke abruptly and sat up. 'Did you hear that?' she said.

'Hmm. What?' Barney shifted awkwardly and rubbed his backside.

'Wake up,' hissed Reafen.

Barney sprang to life. He threw aside the knee rug and crept to the door.

_Scratch. Scratch._

'Oh!' gasped Reafen. 'Open the door, young fellow. Open it at once.'

'I don't know ...' said Barney fearfully.

Reafen grunted as she tried to get off the couch.

'Orright, orright,' said Barney. 'Stay there. I'll do it ...'

He slipped aside the security chain and clicked the deadlock. He opened the door a fraction, his heart in his throat ...

'My little lovelies!' cried Reafen as two cats shot in through the door. 'Oh, Vlad. Oh, Jarly.' Reafen laughed as the cats leaped up onto her lap. 'Do you bring me news? How was your adventure?'

The cats purred and rubbed their faces along Reafen's chin.

'I do love such glorious felines,' Reafen cooed. 'We have none in the Old Realm, you know. But we know of them and we have many in our stories and songs. See how they adore me! They look into my eyes and they know my heart is true. This is how we speak to one another.'

Barney flopped back in his chair, his hand on his heart. Cats! He'd nearly had a heart attack over a pair of mangy _cats_.

'Where have you been?' Reafen looked into their adoring faces. 'What have you discovered? Anything of interest to poor, sad Reafen?'

The big cat, Vlad, had something in his mouth. He dropped it in Reafen's lap. It was a gold cufflink.

'Ha ha,' laughed Reafen. 'Just what I had hoped for.'

'I don't understand,' said Barney, frowning at the cufflink.

'This fancy button,' said Reafen, holding it up, 'this sparkling, golden glitterbob belongs to Lynch.'

Barney's eyes bulged.

'For weeks I have kept that evil weasel from my premises with blocking enchantments. And yesterday afternoon,' she lowered her voice, 'I even took the liberty of placing one on the house next door ...'

Barney looked blank.

'The children's house,' said Reafen.

Barney still looked puzzled.

'I placed a blocking enchantment on the children's house. Number eleven, Anchor Street,' said Reafen. Goodness, did this fellow have a brain? And what were those awful drawings on his neck? They looked like prissy little bluebirds.

'Oh. Right,' said Barney, nodding. 'Well done!' he added.

'Perhaps it was rude and pushy and presumptuous of me to do such a thing. The old magick is not always appreciated. People these days, people in this world, they prefer other magick to ward off intruders ... _technology_ , I think they call it. Alarm bells and screeching buzzers and water whooshing from the ceilings ...' Reafen shook her head at the very thought.

'But what's this got to do with the cats?' asked Barney.

'I told the felines to bring me a sign. "If Lynch fails tonight, bring me a sign," I told them.' She threw the cufflink in the air and laughed. 'He did not get to them,' she said. 'Lynch did not harm them. I, Reafen, Defender of the Old Realm, am enormously pleased!'

Barney laughed. But just as quickly his smile dropped. 'He's still out there though, ain't he?' he said. 'Still out there waitin' for his chance. And as for that witch ...'

Reafen sighed and cuddled the cats to her face. They purred contentedly.

'An old woman can only do so much from her sickbed,' she said sadly.

'Too right,' said Barney. 'And a fine job you've done too, Miss Reafen. Come on now, buck up.'

Reafen looked vaguely heartened.

'I'll put the kettle on,' said Barney. And then he sneezed. He was allergic to cats.

## CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

____________________________________________

## Approaching Berkeley's Shanty

Angus and the Donut Lady shared fresh apricots and ginger nut biscuits as they made their way down Anchor Street toward the beach. They did not stop by the Caravan of Delight, although both of them wondered how Reafen was doing. Was she well or had she taken a turn for the worse?

The wound on her arm is definitely noxious, thought the Donut Lady, definitely beyond the skills of decent, civilised medicine ... Although perhaps the tonic would help. The recipe was as old as the mountains and always effective.

They walked on single-mindedly, over the beach's retaining wall and along the shoreline toward Breakwater Point. There were several joggers on the beach, a few of them regular customers at the Caravan of Delight. They eyed the Donut Lady suspiciously. What was she doing hurrying along the beach with a guitar case flung across her back and an anxious kid scoffing biscuits at her side? They were, by all standards, an odd pair. But then again, the carnival had been in town for weeks. Lately there were all sorts of odd bods and misfits hanging around, going about their business.

The unlikely pair barely spoke as they made their way across the rock pools, although both of them could see that the tide had turned. It was coming in quickly; there was little time to spare. They would have to hurry if they were to make it across the causeway to Berkeley's Shanty before the sea rose and drowned all possibility of a clear passage. Once the water reached a certain level, there would be no access for at least another twelve hours.

Twelve hours, thought Angus. Would Martha even be there that long? And what of the Prof? Angus pictured him suspended in the veil, barely conscious.

The shore breeze was gusty and smelt vaguely of rotting crustaceans.

'How will we get him out?' said Angus, raising his voice as they began their climb across the boulders. The Donut Lady was remarkably agile, he noticed.

'Who?' she said.

'The Prof,' said Angus, hoisting himself up. 'How will we get him out of the veil? Even if we manage to get Martha back, what about Dad?'

The Donut Lady clomped across the soggy sand, found a foothold in the next boulder, readjusted the guitar case and pulled herself up. 'I have thought on this deeply,' she said with a grunt. 'And my answer is ... I do not know.'

Angus shook his head despairingly but continued climbing.

'This is why we must get to Varla quickly,' said the Donut Lady. 'We must persuade her, bribe her, make her see reason. Either that or we must deal with her by some other means ...'

What other means? Angus wondered. He did not like the sound of that at all but chose to remain silent.

He thought about the swords, resting quietly in the old guitar case. He wondered at their strange properties. The way the large one glowed. The way it acted like a mirror. An enchanted mirror. Hanging across his body, the leather case holding the narrare felt hefty and uncomfortable. Angus ached with tiredness. But the sea breeze pummelled his face and the occasional blast of sea spray made his sluggish senses tingle.

Finally they jumped off the last of the rocks and down into the secluded cove — the cove Martha loved so much. Above them, along the cliff face, the goat track led up to Smugglers' Hearth. Straight ahead, though not yet clearly visible, lay the scrubby island.

The morning was warming up. Thankfully the Donut Lady had brought water. They stopped for a drink then pushed on, keeping close to the sandstone cliff face, trying to stay out of sight as much as possible. But these cliffs, this natural cover, would not last.

Before long, the view of the island was clearer. It was still a glimpse on the horizon but Angus felt dizzy with excitement — and dread. Martha was just over there. Martha was almost within reach. He had a sudden, sickening thought, something that had not occurred to him in his desperation to get moving, to actually get out of the house and do something.

'Varla will see us coming,' said Angus, stopping in his tracks. 'Just beyond these cliffs, there's nowhere to hide. She'll see us wading across the causeway.'

'Yes,' said the Donut Lady slowly. She too came to a stop.

'She's expecting me, isn't she?' said Angus.

'This is true,' said the Donut Lady. 'I have no doubt.'

'But she's not expecting you,' he said.

'No,' said the Donut Lady suspiciously. 'I do not suppose she is.'

Angus thought quickly. What chance did they have against this Varla? She had left Graini to die, she was holding his father hostage and now she had his sister in her clutches. Varla lived in a different world. And she played by different rules. Life was obviously cheap to her. It was a currency, something to be exchanged in return for knowledge, treasure and, most of all, power.

'I have to go alone,' he said abruptly.

'But you cannot!' said the Donut Lady, turning to him in dismay.

'I'm going alone,' said Angus and before she could reach out and haul him back, he set off. 'I'll distract her,' he said quickly over his shoulder, 'try to cajole her, try whatever I can, and in the meantime, while she's occupied with me, you can come across unobserved. Ten minutes alone with her, that's all I need. Besides, you can't go barging in with that guitar case on your back. She'll know in an instant that you've got weapons and then what? She'll go straight into attack mode.'

The Donut Lady charged after him. 'You are prepared to confront Varla unaccompanied and unarmed?' she said incredulously.

'Of course,' said Angus without glancing at his companion. He feared his face would give him away, feared that she would see how scared he was. 'It's our only hope.'

'It is a bad plan,' said the Donut Lady, hitching up her hippy pants.

'Precisely,' said Angus. 'But it's the only one we've got.'

He slowed his pace. They were about to leave the cover of the cliffs and step out into the open. The sun was steadily climbing. Above them, gulls wheeled and squawked. The morning sun glittered on the blue sea.

The flat, wide causeway stretched out directly in front of them. The frothy water swished across the sand, surging rhythmically.

Angus bent to take off his runners. 'Ten minutes,' he said. 'That's all I ask.'

The Donut Lady found a large rock and sat down glumly. 'I will remain out of sight,' she said, resting the guitar case beside her. 'Of that you can be certain.'

Angus hung his runners around his neck. The water that lapped across his feet was icy cold but he barely noticed.

He glanced back at the Donut Lady. 'Thanks,' he said. 'You know. For everything.'

The Donut Lady nodded.

Angus set off.

Deep in his pocket the Wishing Stones trembled.

The water ran deeper out in the middle of the causeway. It was almost knee-high and moving swiftly. Angus felt exposed and vulnerable. He wished he could somehow make himself smaller, less conspicuous. He kept the leather case with the narrare tucked behind his back and ploughed on. The causeway was also much wider once you were actually in it, once you were trying to cross it. With every step, the security of the familiar shoreline behind him dissipated. Once or twice he glanced over his shoulder. But he could see no sign of the Donut Lady. She had kept to her word.

The shack came into sharper focus. The walls and roof were made of splintered timber shingles, grey with weather and age and guano. Disused crab pots and discarded fishing nets were embedded in the scruffy sand dunes around the shack; fishing gear that had been there so long it seemed to have taken root, become part of the landscape.

Angus surveyed the shack reluctantly. He was almost scared that if he looked too closely, too blatantly, the shack itself might spring to life. What few windows there were had all been boarded up long ago. Except for the one facing the water — the one facing him. He imagined Varla's eyes upon him now. He could almost feel her watching him, sense her peering out from behind that filthy window, her cold breath fogging the glass. Why would she have cold breath? he asked himself. Scientifically that makes no sense at all. He tried to calm himself with reason. Tried to distract himself with logic. But fear had its fingers wrapped around his heart. It was the kind of fear that could not be sidetracked.

He thought back to their time in the Vanishing Lady's tent, that chilling, freaky, _bewitched_ tent. There had been something reptilian about Varla, something that lacked all warmth. As he waded nearer to the island, he wondered what form she might have taken by now. 'She has been weakened by her entry into the human world,' the Donut Lady had said. 'It was never her intention to come here in the flesh. But her greed made her impatient and foolish.'

Angus remembered staring in horror as Varla had burst through the floating mirror and into the carnival tent. She had definitely not intended to transform, to _shape-shift_. It was as much a shock to her as it had been to them. He'd seen the disbelief on her face. The rage and disgust as she lurched and writhed and those razor-sharp talons burst forth from her hands.

Did she have control over her form now? Or was this her weakness, her Achilles heel? His mind raced with possibilities.

As he left the causeway and walked up onto the tiny island, he forgot his tiredness. He could smell the salty wind swishing through the spinifex, hear gannets chittering overhead and nearby the soft peeping of a lonely storm-petrel as it hovered just above the water. He even glimpsed the white flash of its underwing.

All his senses sprang to life and were heightened. He slunk across the dirty beach, littered with washed-up kelp and dead jellyfish. At the rear of the shack, he quickly pulled on his runners and angled gingerly through an immense tangle of silver-green snowbushes and rampant blue devil — the ugly bracts had spikes as long and sharp as sewing needles.

There was no step at the back door, just a wooden crate. Breathing very fast, he stepped up silently and stood by the door.

On the other side, he could hear Martha.

She was singing.

## CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

____________________________________________

## Monkey business

Back on the mainland, Lynch oozed out from behind a cluster of rocks and brushed himself off. He had been following the boy since dawn. Lynch had watched Angus head out across the causeway, looking grim and determined, the beautiful, _priceless_ narrare slung across his pathetic body. How disgusting to see something so sacred in the hands of a delinquent. But the delinquent, the _boy_ , would lead Lynch to Varla. Varla! His darling, his dear one, his paramour. Lynch could almost sing at the thought.

Of course, he had planned to kill the boy and reclaim the narrare last night. He had fought valiantly to get into that house. But the way was barred. He'd even sent Regal, his monkey, up onto the roof. But the house had resisted the monkey too. This was old magick, finely honed, and it made Lynch wild with jealousy. Surely, when he finally brought the prize to Varla and she saw how devoted he was, she would teach him more, share even more of the ancient secrets. More of the magick. Perhaps even a taste of the Wild Magick. Together they could rule! His fingers, clammy with anticipation, clenched his walking cane.

The monkey sat on Lynch's shoulder now, staring out after Angus, extending its head and baring its teeth without a sound. Its eyes shone with dread and its small hands, slashed and punctured with cat bites, trembled. Anyone with a shred of compassion could see that the monkey's fighting days were over.

Lynch glanced back over his shoulder. That wretched food vendor, that ghastly Russian he had always despised, was nowhere to be seen. He had watched her bid the boy farewell and slip away. He was surprised the woman had deserted him at this late stage but she was cunning. Perhaps she knew the battle was lost. She had to know she was no match for Varla. Lynch smirked. No-one, in this world or any other, was a match for his beautiful Varla.

Lynch took off his shoes and socks and placed them neatly on the shore, well out of reach of the water. Then he rolled up his trousers and raised his walking cane.

'Sit calmly now, Regal,' he muttered to the monkey. 'Keep your wits about you. Do exactly as I say.'

The little monkey shivered.

From her hiding place in the sea grass, the Donut Lady waited until Lynch waded into the shallows.

Then she raised her sword and crept up the beach behind him.

The terrified monkey saw her coming. It watched her for a moment and blinked passively. Then it turned its back and ignored her. The monkey felt a strong affection for people like the Donut Lady.

And it despised its master.

## CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

____________________________________________

## The beast

At the sound of Martha's voice, joy and terror surged through Angus in equal measure. This was not what he had expected. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

He grabbed for the rusty door latch. The door swung open before he had barely touched it. Angus braced himself and walked inside.

The shack was stifling — hot and stuffy and murky. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He looked about quickly.

The small room was empty, save for an old iron bed frame and the remains of countless parties. Beneath his feet, the bare boards creaked wearily, threatening to cave in at any moment. Many of them already had.

He stepped lightly, drawn to the sound of Martha's voice — she must be in the next room. She was singing some kind of lullaby in a haunting falsetto. It should have been soothing and ethereal. But it wasn't. It was sinister. Angus felt his pulse hammering as he crept down a narrow hallway toward the sound.

A few paces ahead there was a door. It was slightly ajar.

'Martha?' he said as he pushed the door open. The singing stopped.

On the other side of the room, Martha sat on the floor with her back to him.

'Martha!' Angus flung himself across the room. 'You're okay!' He threw his arms around his little sister and pulled her close.

'Hello,' she said in a detached voice.

Angus pulled back. He stared into his sister's face. It really was true; she was alive!

Martha stared back at him. Her expression was vacant. In her hands she held a small willow flute and a couple of turban shells.

'Martha?' he said, and that feeling of intense fear, the one he had felt at the door, surged through him again. 'It's me. Angus.'

'I'm leaving,' she said vaguely.

'Definitely,' said Angus, looking around the room. It was dark and shadowy but it was empty. There was no-one else here. He thought of Varla and looked up. He could see past the rafters to the shingled roof. No birds, nothing.

'Come on,' he said urgently. 'Let's go.'

'I'm leaving,' said Martha again but she made no attempt to move.

'Martha, please,' said Angus. 'Come on. We have to go now. While we can.'

'I can't go with you,' said Martha. 'I'm leaving. I'm leaving soon. I'm leaving with ... Varla.'

Angus felt as if he'd been punched. 'Are you insane?' he cried. He dragged on his sister's arm. 'Get up,' he ordered. 'Get up now!'

There was a deep growl behind them and Angus spun around.

In the doorway stood a tall, thin wolf. Its ragged coat was the colour of clotted cream. Its tail stood upright. Around its neck its hackles were raised.

'Did you bring the narrare?' asked Martha calmly.

'What? Yes,' said Angus, his mind racing, his eyes focused on the wolf.

'Give it to me and then I have to say goodbye,' said Martha.

'You're kidding me,' said Angus. 'This is crazy.'

The wolf took a step forward.

'Give me the narrare,' said Martha. 'I want to go with Varla. I want to be with her. She has taught me to sing and given me presents.'

Angus knew he had to bide his time, draw this out while he tried to think. He sighed and slowly raised the case over his head. The wolf slunk closer.

'Martha,' he whispered, 'what's wrong with you? You don't belong with Varla and you know it. You belong with us. With me and the Prof.'

'The Prof?' said Martha, and for the first time since Angus arrived he saw a flash of the old Martha. Anger and defiance flicked across her face. But in the same instant, Angus saw something else entirely. Something he had always avoided, ignored, denied.

It was enormous sadness.

'Give me the case,' said Martha. 'She wants to see it.'

The wolf was closing in. Angus could smell its rancid breath. 'Varla is lying,' he said softly. 'She's using you, Martha. She doesn't care about you. She doesn't care about anyone —'

The wolf pounced. It threw itself at Angus, knocking him sideways.

Martha screamed. 'Just do as I say, Angus,' she cried. 'I want to go. I hate it here. I hate this world!'

The wolf was unnaturally heavy. Each of its paws seemed to bore into Angus's flesh. Its coat reeked of old meat and death. It pinned Angus to the floor. As he kicked and fought, the wolf raised its head and howled. It was so loud, so awful, that Martha dropped the willow flute and the shells and shook uncontrollably.

'Get out of here, Martha!' yelled Angus. 'Get out!'

Martha scurried backward on her bottom, confused and disorientated, as if waking from a dream.

As the wolf bared its teeth and lunged at his throat, Angus swung the leather case and slammed it against the beast's head. The wolf yelped and collapsed on top of him. Angus summoned all his strength and heaved it aside.

'Get up, get up!' he screamed at Martha. 'We have to go. NOW!'

But instead of responding, Martha crawled toward the wolf and cradled its bleeding head in her arms. 'You killed her!' she said, her face white with rage and despair. 'I loved her and you killed her.'

'Martha, please,' said Angus, dropping down beside his sister. 'You're not thinking straight. You have to come with me.'

The wolf's eyelids flickered. It would be awake again at any moment.

Angus gently took his sister's hand. He looked at her pleadingly. She tore her eyes away from the wolf and raised her face toward her brother's.

'Who am I?' she said sadly. 'I can't remember anymore. I can never remember ...'

'You are Martha Jack,' said Angus. 'Martha. Jack. There's no-one else like you _anywhere_.'

Martha thought for a moment.

'I miss Mum,' she said in a small voice. 'Everything about her, it's all so hazy.'

'Don't worry,' said Angus. 'I've been writing it down. All the memories. All the stories. What made her laugh. Her favourite films. How she dressed — remember those horrible green beads? Remember how she thought she could sing?'

Martha smiled shakily.

'The perfume she wore. How she was petrified of cockroaches and always said "whatchamacallit". I'll help you when you forget, Martha. I'll be your memory.'

Martha let go of the wolf's head and it flopped to the floor. The wolf lay still for a moment then slowly opened one eye.

'Let's go,' said Angus quickly, and he pulled his sister to her feet and grabbed the leather case.

The wolf snarled. The sound was soft — and bloodcurdling.

'Run!' cried Angus.

They tore out of the room. Behind them, the wolf rose to its feet. It howled, but its howls were more like the screams of a human.

## CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

____________________________________________

## Mevras speaks

Watch it!' The Donut Lady appeared from out of the shadows. 'Behind you!' she cried.

The kids spun around. In the narrow hallway, not five paces behind them, stood a spectacularly ferocious-looking woman. She was unnaturally tall and wore a full-length fur coat, grimy and matted. Her long, dark hair was as tangled and filthy as the fishing nets outside the shanty. Damp blood streaked the side of her face.

Angus wrenched Martha aside as Varla made a grab for them. They tumbled into the nearest room off the hallway.

The Donut Lady bellowed something in a foreign language and Varla turned her attention away from the kids.

Angus peeped around the doorframe.

The Donut Lady held her sword at her side and approached Varla cautiously.

'You!' said Varla.

'I am surprised you remember,' said the Donut Lady, trying to conceal her revulsion at the sight of Varla. Varla was in some ways the same. But in many ways she was greatly altered. For one thing she was enormous. But more alarming than her height was her _presence_. The Donut Lady felt a wave of nausea. It was as if Varla's essence, her very soul, had left her.

Varla eyed the Donut Lady scornfully. 'You came back to this world. You left the Old Realm to be ... _this_?' she said, throwing her hands wide. 'To continue this worthless existence?'

'The carnival has always been good to me,' said the Donut Lady. 'It was once good to you too, Varla. You were a great talent. You were adored on this side.'

' _Pah_ ,' said Varla. 'What did I want with illusions and perception errors? Children's tricks! As for my adoring public, they stopped adoring me long before I left this dull world.'

'You could have made a comeback,' said the Donut Lady. 'Could have revamped your routine. You had so much talent. So much of the shazam and charisma! You still do.'

'Don't flatter me,' said Varla, almost spitting with contempt. 'Besides, I found so much more, didn't I? In the Old Realm I found real magick. Real power.'

The Donut Lady sighed. 'Your choices in life, I suppose they are none of my business. But, Varla, I know you must long to get back to the Old Realm. I see you here before me, I see you in this degraded, bedraggled state, and know you are not here by choice. I will aid your passage back through the veil. I am here to help you.'

'You?' said Varla suspiciously. 'You will help me?'

'And in return you will leave the children and their father in peace.'

Varla stroked the collar on her coat. Her fingers looked withered — almost scaly.

'I do this for the sake of old times,' said the Donut Lady. 'And because these children are special to me.'

'And the narrare?' Varla's voice was husky with greed.

'The narrare belongs with the goblins,' said the Donut Lady. 'This is how it always is and will be. It was the wish of Mevras himself.'

Varla laughed mirthlessly. 'I've waited decades for this,' she said. 'Do you really expect me to give it up now?'

'If you wish to go _home_ ,' said the Donut Lady pointedly, 'yes.'

'You think you're the only one who can get me back through the veil?' said Varla quickly. 'There are others in this miserable world, you know.'

'If you are speaking of Lynch,' said the Donut Lady, 'I think you will find he is ... indisposed.'

Varla shifted her weight. From his vantage point behind the doorframe, Angus could see that her feet were troubling her. He could see her bare heels. They had changed to a leathery grey colour. And something was protruding from her ankles ...

'Yes, I knew this idiot was in love with you,' said the Donut Lady. 'Even when he was still with the carnival. I saw his madness, his obsession. Mirrors everywhere! It was all for you that he did what he did. Chasing that narrare, threatening children, just for you.'

Varla shuddered. She rolled her shoulders painfully.

'I intercepted Lynch this very day. He was on his way here. Always and forever at your bidding,' said the Donut Lady.

'He loves me.' Varla shrugged. 'What can I say? It's entertaining. It always was.'

'I knew you had found a way to summon him. I knew he would help you escape — and take little Martha with you, no doubt.'

'That girl has the blood of Mevras,' hissed Varla.

The Donut Lady shook her head. 'What has become of you, Varla?'

'These useless children have the blood of Mevras!' shrieked Varla as if that were explanation enough.

'And you do not,' said the Donut Lady. 'And you never will. The battle is lost.'

'Their blood, so full of the endowment of Mevras, will make my magick invincible!' cried Varla. She teetered slightly — and pulled forth her own weapon: a long, ivory dagger almost like the fang or tusk of an enormous beast. The tip was rusty red, discoloured with blood. This weapon had killed before.

'I will find my own way back through the veil,' said Varla. 'And I will take the children with me. Rest assured, I will kill them quickly. Such a tiny sacrifice.' She laughed as she lunged at the Donut Lady.

Angus recoiled in horror and slammed the door. He and Martha huddled together. They could hear the thuds and shouts of a terrible fight. They could also hear the Donut Lady, still trying to calm Varla, to reason with her.

'What will we do?' said Martha. 'We can't get out. The window's boarded up.'

Angus glanced around the room. For a moment he wished they had fled toward the back door. But he had not realised it was the only way out.

He looked up. Shafts of light poured in through the derelict roof but there were boards across the only window and they looked solid.

They heard the Donut Lady cry out in pain.

'She's going to kill the Donut Lady,' said Martha. 'I just know it!'

Angus put his arm around his sister. 'The Donut Lady knows how to fight,' he said, 'and besides, I think something weird's happening to Varla. Something she can't control ...'

In his pocket the Wishing Stones jolted — as if prompting him, reminding him to think, to reason things out. He thought about the narrare, the Narrare of Mevras. It was a storage place for the _memories_ of Mevras, the great Viking magician. Mevras was his ancestor. Their ancestor. The blood, the DNA, the memories of Mevras were theirs as well.

Angus recalled what Martha had told him, how when she'd shaken the narrare, memories long forgotten, or perhaps never part of her conscious mind, came flooding back to her. He had scorned the idea. But deep down he had also feared the narrare, feared the memories, the feelings it might provoke in him.

'Jam the door,' he said. As Martha sprang to action, Angus quickly took the narrare out of its case. He had the Wishing Stones. And he was directly descended from Mevras. Maybe, just maybe, this would work ...

The narrare was icy. So icy his hands burned with pain. The scales on the silver serpent rippled as Angus brought the narrare to eye level. Behind the glass, the snowflakes swirled and glimmered like tiny stars in a vast black cosmos.

Angus knelt on the floor, shut his eyes — and shook the narrare with all his might. In the darkness of his pocket, the Wishing Stones lit up.

When the ghosts and shadows of his recent mind began to clear, he saw other images, sharp and pristine: people, villages, fields and forests. He saw rock and ice. He tasted sweet mead, periwinkles and mussels, smelt fish smoking over hot coals. He saw deer and wild boar and ravens on high. In the depths of a winter forest, he spotted dark elves, tall and menacing. He saw wooden boats covered in hoar frost, haunted landscapes made desolate by biting winds and gale-force 'skeevers', brutal lands inhabited only by ice trolls. Angus saw his ancestors. He knew these people. He knew they were his family, his tribe. He heard snippets of their songs, lines from their stories. He heard the music of willow flutes and the pounding of hammers on anvils. He even saw a group of laughing goblin elders spinning runes in the dirt.

And all of this, every fragment, he gleaned in less than a minute. He even heard Mevras himself speak. It was like tapping into a current of breathtaking magick ... and humbling wisdom.

Angus let the narrare fall into his lap. Perhaps this was not as it might have been had he entered the ice caverns; he could not ask direct questions, or choose to view the stories and memories he most desired, but in his heart he knew he had received all the answers, all the clarity, he needed. It was enough.

'Are you okay?' Martha knelt beside him, her face alarmed. 'You looked like you were having some kind of fit.'

'I'm fine,' he said softly as he slid the narrare back into its case.

They both looked at the door.

The battle in the hallway had fallen silent.

## CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

____________________________________________

## Cornered

They waited.

Still there was no sound, only the wind outside and the occasional roof shingle rattling. On the beach a gull squawked.

Time passed slowly.

'I can't stand it,' said Martha under her breath.

'I'm opening the door,' said Angus.

Martha gasped as he silently pulled away the plank she had propped beneath the doorknob.

He passed the plank to Martha and she quietly set it aside. Then, huddled together, they opened the door, grimacing as the handle squeaked. They peeped through the crack.

Down the hallway the Donut Lady sat slumped against the wall. Her face was obscured. One hand held her sword, the other rested across her belly. Blood oozed between her fingers.

Martha attempted to run.

'No,' said Angus. 'Wait here. I'll see to her.'

Martha nodded and Angus dashed out into the hallway, glancing about fearfully. Where was Varla? Was she waiting in the shadows, ready to pounce? Or had she slunk away, wounded and ... dying?

Angus knelt beside the Donut Lady. She raised her head and smiled weakly. 'You are a good boy,' she said. 'Too skinny. But a _good_ boy.'

'You mean a lot to us,' said Angus. 'You're more than just a friend. Martha and I, well, what I want to say is, um ... _thank you_.'

The Donut Lady managed another brief smile.

Angus looked down at her wound. He felt so helpless.

'Take my sword,' she whispered. 'The witch, the sorceress, she is still about. You know what to do?'

Angus nodded and gently prised the sword from the Donut Lady's hand. He noticed Varla's weapon, damp with blood, lying further along on the floor.

'Angus!'

Angus leaped up. It was Martha! Brandishing the sword awkwardly, he bolted back to where he had left her.

Martha stood in the middle of the room, pointing at the ceiling, backing away slowly. Hanging upside down from the rafters was a large, grotesque creature. It looked like a bat but it was white. It had the head of an old woman, bald and mottled. It used its claw-like feet to grip the beam.

'It's some kind of harpy,' said Martha almost with awe. 'Like in the old stories. Only worse.'

The creature opened its eyes, unfurled its leather wings and flapped gracelessly to the floor. From the way it moved, Angus could tell that Varla was not used to this form.

'Run!' cried Angus.

'But, Angus ...'

'Now!'

Martha shot out into the hall. He slammed the door behind her, jammed it with the plank, then turned to face the creature. It leaped at him unsteadily, flapping its wings. It had two human-like legs, long and sinewy. Its face was that of an ancient crone, but the eyes — the eyes belonged to Varla. And it was her fury, her cruelty, that animated the creature; that gave it its arrogant stance.

It hissed at Angus and began to circle him, its clawed feet clattering on the floorboards. It had thin, withered arms and hands, but the long, black claws on its fingers were razor sharp.

Angus raised the sword and held it steady.

The harpy spoke. 'You won't kill me.' It was Varla's voice. 'You poor, weak New World scrap. You don't have the courage.'

Angus thrust the sword at the harpy and it recoiled.

'I have courage enough,' he said angrily.

The harpy took a swipe at him. Angus brought the sword down. It sliced through one of the creature's fingers and sent it flying.

The harpy shrieked.

Martha hammered on the door. 'Angus!'

'Stay away, Martha!' yelled Angus. 'Please. It's okay.'

But it was not okay. Somehow the harpy had backed Angus into a corner. He could either hack his way out, which would probably lead to his own gruesome death, or he could draw on the knowledge of Mevras, the strange, intangible wisdom that Angus had glimpsed when he shook the narrare. He took a shaky breath. In his heart he knew what he had to do.

Quietly, his gaze fixed on the harpy, he rested the sword against the wall.

Confusion flickered across the harpy's face. Confusion ... and interest.

'You were human once,' said Angus, his mouth dry with fear. 'You still are, deep inside. Maybe we can do a deal. Maybe we can work together, Varla the Vanishing Lady ...'

The harpy cricked its neck. Its wings quivered.

Angus reached into the case and took out the narrare. The harpy's eyes gleamed. It licked its lips with a fat, white tongue. Temptation had it enthralled.

Angus offered up the narrare. Inside the glass, the snowflakes whirled and danced.

'Take it,' he said. 'And then we can both be free.'

The harpy reached out, the stump of its severed finger dripping blood.

Angus held the narrare closer.

The harpy faltered. It withdrew its ugly hands. 'This is a trick,' it hissed.

Angus shook his head. 'What chance have we got against you?' he said. 'My father is dying in the veil. My friend is dying in the hallway. Take this rotten thing. Take it and leave us be. Leave all of us be.'

Quietly, unobserved by the harpy, Angus ran his thumb along the silver serpent's back. Its scales rippled in response. Angus felt a twinge of excitement.

Without warning, the harpy extended its wings, arched its back and screeched. It swooped on Angus, slashing and tearing.

'Take it!' he yelled, and as the harpy's claws tore at his chest, he slammed the narrare into its face.

With lightning speed, the serpent uncoiled from the base of the narrare and spun itself around the harpy's neck like a collar. The harpy staggered back, clutching and clawing at its throat, gagging and gasping as the serpent tightened its grip.

Angus scooped up the narrare. 'Hold the narrare, Varla!' he yelled. 'Hold it and _shake it_.'

The harpy backed away further.

'Don't you want to remember?' said Angus. 'Don't you want to remember what it was like to be human, to have a heart, a _soul_? Don't you want to remember what it's like to miss the people you love?'

The harpy began to writhe and spit. Once again Varla was transforming, but the serpent simply readjusted its grip. The harpy screeched. The noise was excruciating. Angus covered his head with his arms. The walls of the old shack rattled, showering them with dust.

When all was still again, Angus looked up. Varla's human form had returned.

She was hunched on the floor, draped in the long, white fur coat with the silver serpent still wound around her neck. She looked drained. But he knew there was not much time before her old strength, her old venom, returned.

'You wanted the narrare,' said Angus, getting up quickly, 'you wanted access to Mevras.' He stood over her. 'Here.'

Varla glared at him with pure hatred. But in her weakened state she could not resist his offer. She seized the narrare greedily. The serpent slithered about her throat and hissed in her ear.

'Oh,' she said, almost swooning. 'I feel it, I feel the magick, the power of Mevras!'

Angus took a step back, his fingers gripping the sword, poised, ready to strike should the witch suddenly turn on him.

Varla shook the narrare, gently, tentatively — and as she did, she closed her eyes, unwillingly it seemed to Angus. It was as if she were suddenly in the grip of a greater power, of magick more potent than her own. She smiled indulgently.

'He guides me,' she murmured. 'Mevras knows my power. He recognises one who has devoted her life to the Wild Magick ...'

Angus took another step back.

'Do not move!' screeched Varla. 'Stay where you are!'

Angus stopped dead.

Surely this was not how it would be? The Mevras he had glimpsed, the Mevras who was his direct ancestor, would not pander to the will of someone like Varla. Someone in love with Wild Magick.

But it did seem that Varla was communing with Mevras, basking in the glory of his spirit. Any moment her strength would return. Any moment she would shake off the serpent collar and all would be lost. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thought a plan like this would work?

In his panic he raised the sword and lurched forward ...

'Stop!' she screeched and kicked out, knocking him off balance. The sword went clattering across the floor.

Angus scrambled after it and leaped up. He spun around, ready to fight. Ready to do whatever he had to ...

But Varla's expression was faltering. Concern, doubt, fear, all began to line her face. For a moment she seemed lost inside her own dark mind.

'Oh!' Varla tried to drop the narrare, to toss it on the floor and be rid of it, but she could not. She threw back her head but she could not open her eyes. She was in the grip of another force.

Angus reconsidered. Perhaps his plan was working after all. Perhaps, when she first held the narrare, Varla only saw what she wanted to see. He stared at her, transfixed.

Varla gasped, a throaty, strangulated noise. What memories, what nightmares, would the narrare stir in such a vile being? Worse still, how would she react? Angus felt his heart thudding with terror as he steadied himself and gripped the sword.

To his dismay, her first reaction was ... delight. Innocent delight. It spread across her face like dawn on a summer's day, transforming her features so that Angus saw the striking, intelligent woman she had once been, and the young, inquisitive girl who still lingered behind those eyes. An odd feeling came over him. It wasn't exactly sadness. It was a kind of regret or longing.

Then, with a rush, confusion replaced delight — followed in a heartbeat by horror. Varla wailed as if she could not believe what she was seeing. She clutched the narrare, kept shaking it madly, as if by shaking it she could escape what she saw.

Finally, as Varla was reminded of the simple joys she had sacrificed, all the wonders she had turned her back on, all the everyday pleasures she had ignored or scorned, the love, the kindness, the friendships she had forgone, despair overwhelmed her.

Varla's memories had become the fractured mirrors of her soul and she finally saw who she had become.

She dropped the narrare and opened her eyes, staring at Angus as if for the first time. 'What? How?' she whispered.

She covered her face and began to weep. But her tears froze like tiny seed pearls. 'The tears of a witch,' said Varla, looking at her hands. 'So ... pretty.'

Still holding the sword, Angus came and knelt beside her.

Varla looked at him again, quizzically now, as slowly, painlessly, she began to transform one last time.

Angus caught his breath. She was turning into ice — ice as thin and brittle, as flimsy as rime on a puddle. Ice as insubstantial as her empty heart.

The hot morning sun poured through the roof shingles and glanced off her forehead.

Angus let the sword drop to the floor as right before his eyes Varla dissolved into the mists of time.

## CHAPTER FIFTY

____________________________________________

## Stranded

Martha was pounding on the door. Angus gathered up the narrare, fixed the silver serpent back onto its base, then kicked the plank away from the door. Martha fell into the room.

She looked about quickly, saw the white fur coat in a heap. 'Is she ...? Did you ...?'

'She's gone,' said Angus.

Martha stared at the long, jagged cut on his chest. 'It's nothing,' he said, pulling at his bloodstained T-shirt. 'I'll be fine.' Martha nodded. 'Quick,' she said. 'The Donut Lady. I've been sitting with her the whole time. But, Angus, she won't wake up!'

Martha's voice was tight with fear.

It was only now that Angus remembered how badly the Donut Lady had been injured. They rushed out of the room.

The Donut Lady remained slumped against the wall in the hallway. Her forehead was damp, her skin pale. She looked somehow smaller. Angus feared the worst. He checked the wound on her stomach. There seemed to be blood everywhere.

'We'll never get her back to the mainland in time,' he said. 'The tide will be in by now. We're stuck, Martha.'

Martha shook her head furiously. 'No ... No way.'

Angus bowed his head. 'I'm so sorry,' he said. He didn't have the heart to tell her straight. He didn't have the heart to say, _the Donut Lady is dying and there's nothing we can do_.

Martha kissed the Donut Lady on the forehead, then got up and headed for the door.

'Where are you going?' said Angus in surprise. 'We can't just leave her here!'

But Martha kept walking.

'Sorry,' whispered Angus to the Donut Lady. 'We'll be back in a second. I promise.'

He touched her cold hand gently. The Donut Lady did not open her eyes. But he thought he saw the flicker of a frown. She was conscious. But only barely.

He ran outside. Martha was at the front of the shack. She stood on a mound of crunchy brown kelp, looking out to sea. Angus stood beside her. He was right. The tide was high. They were surrounded. Stranded.

Martha raised her hand and pointed. 'Look,' she said.

Angus looked out to sea.

At first he could see nothing. Then he noticed a couple of gulls circling and swooping and squawking. Something was heading toward the island. It was an old wooden skiff. It looked like a wreck. But it moved quickly, rolling and pitching, slapping confidently against the waves.

Angus studied the skiff. Could it be? He squinted his eyes — and saw something else entirely.

It was the boat! The boat from Ava's notebook.

'It's Nydo,' said Martha. 'Nydo will take us home.'

The boat drew nearer, moving ever more quickly as the kids jumped up and down, waving and hollering. The wind whipped across their faces and Martha's hair blew across her eyes. She flicked the green curl.

'I knew it would come,' she cried. 'I called out to Graini with my mind. I called out to her and asked her to send the boat!'

But as the boat came into clear view, they both stopped shouting and let their hands drop at their sides. There was someone in the boat. But it wasn't Graini. And it certainly wasn't Ava.

Lynch, thought Angus with a thud. Now what would they do?

'No,' said Martha woefully. 'Not Lynch. Please, please, please, not _him_.' She moved closer to her brother.

But still Angus was not so sure — the figure in the boat was obscured, hidden by the tall, elegant serpent's head.

At last they saw clearly and the kids caught their breath. Standing at the prow, scanning the shore anxiously, was a haggard, desperate-looking man. Angus and Martha watched speechlessly as the boat sailed smoothly up onto the shore and the man clambered over the side. He waded through the shallows.

Halfway up the beach, the man stopped in his tracks and stared at them. His face was lined with heartache. His chin was covered in grey stubble and his pale red hair was windswept.

He opened his arms.

'Dad!' Martha bounded down off the kelp and ran to her father. She leaped into his arms.

'My girl,' said the Prof, holding her close. 'Oh, my girl.' He stroked her filthy hair. 'My dear little Martha.'

'Dad,' she said again, and for the first time in many years Martha Jack began to cry.

## CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

____________________________________________

## Moment by moment

The sea was flat. Dawn was only just peeping above the horizon. The day since their return to the house on Anchor Street had passed quickly. There were explanations and exclamations. There were revelations and healing sessions. There was even great hilarity. Especially when the Donut Lady, still weak from her wound but slightly energised by Ava's Singing Stones, described her encounter with Lynch. 'This is no man,' said the Donut Lady, sipping her iced tea. 'This is an insect!'

She went on to describe in great detail and with much enthusiasm her expert karate chops and upper cuts, her high kicks, the punches she had landed, and the backward headbutt that had finally brought Lynch to his knees.

'So, where is he now?' asked the Prof. 'I'd like a word or two with him.'

The Donut Lady gave a dismissive shrug. 'I would say he is groping about on the floor of Berkeley's Shanty, wailing over the puddle that was once his Varla. His spirit is broken ... and his cane is snapped and washed out to sea. You will never see Lynch again.'

'More's the pity,' said the Prof, his voice loaded with threat.

'Yes,' agreed Graini. 'I would like to wallop him severely.'

'Graini,' warned Ava.

The conversations ebbed and flowed. They learned how the Prof had suddenly, without warning, fallen out of the veil and onto the floor of his study. As they discussed the possibilities, they realised that his release must have occurred at the moment Varla began to shake the narrare. The moment the poison in her mind began to clear and her magick began to unravel. Ava had been quick to assist him and direct him to the boat and so to Berkeley's Shanty.

And now it was ... tomorrow — nearly a whole day since Varla had disappeared forever. Everyone was back on the beach. No-one had slept much. They had all been dreading this moment.

'Do you really have to go now?' said Martha for the umpteenth time. She stood in the shallows, the cold water tickling her feet and ankles.

Graini nodded. 'Already we are stupendously late,' she said. 'We have a long way to travel. A long way before we sail through the veil and back to our homeland. We must hurry. We must not miss our opportunity.'

'Verdens Ende,' said Angus wistfully. 'World's End.'

'Correct,' said Ava. 'It is indeed the end of the world. Well, the end of _your_ world.'

'Are you sure it won't take months?' he said doubtfully. 'Norway's the other side of the globe.'

'Goblins can move very quickly when unobserved,' said Graini. 'Surely you have observed this for yourself, Angus Jack? We know many secret portholes too.'

'And dear, sweet Nydo is highly skilled,' said Ava, stroking the side of the boat.

Angus looked back at the Prof. He and his father had spent many hours the previous night talking and laughing and, for the first time in their lives, reminiscing. His father was intensely proud of Angus, but Angus insisted he'd only done what he had to do ... He thought about what the Donut Lady had once said: 'We are all little heroes. Each and every one of us.' And looking around now, Angus reckoned that was true. Everyone had a role to play and every role was vital.

His father was escorting Reafen and her luggage to the boat. In her turquoise vinyl mod coat, blonde beehive wig and thick make-up, Reafen's outfit was, as always, wildly inappropriate. But it gave her pleasure and the goblin girls had decided to let it pass (although they drew the line at her Honey Crumble collection). Reafen looked frail as she shuffled toward them but she would eventually recover. As soon as she returned to her homeland, she would receive the care she needed. And the love she had missed. Reafen had in her own clumsy way protected 'the pretty', the Narrare of Mevras, for years and effectively lured Varla to her demise. The goblin elders would see this and appreciate it. Reafen had only ever acted in the best interests of her people — and she had taken risks none of them had even dared contemplate. Although the adventure had left her potty, she was already forgiven. In fact, in the not-too-distant future, some of the younger goblins would begin to revere her ... There would be stories. Songs. And when she finally passed on, Reafen's narrare would hold a special place in the ice caverns.

In the meantime, she struggled on, her Glomesh handbag slung over her elbow, large plastic baubles swinging from her earlobes. As they waded into the shallows, the Prof placed her bags in the boat. Then he turned and lifted Reafen into the boat too.

'Oh!' she said gratefully as he scooped her up. She threw her arms around his neck and fluttered her lashes like a Hollywood starlet. 'Are you seeing anyone?' she asked coyly.

The Prof laughed. 'No, Reafen,' he said. 'I only have eyes for you.'

Martha grinned, not only because this was funny but because it was true. The Prof had told her so last night. The thing with the colleague had not worked out and the Prof had made a decision: he was taking a long break from 'all that dating stuff' ... That way of life, it had never suited him anyway.

'Barney,' said the Donut Lady softly, and Barney stepped forward. Regal the monkey sat on his shoulder, gibbering happily, revelling in the care of its new owner.

'Take good care,' said the Donut Lady, and to everyone's surprise her eyes glistened with tears. She had been thrilled at the idea of returning to the Old Realm — especially in the hands of such skilled guides as the goblin girls. A 'holiday of a lifetime', she had called it. But even so, now that it was happening, a niggling sadness had settled upon her.

Barney stroked her face tenderly. ' _You_ take care, you hear?' he said. 'Till we meet again. A deal?'

The Donut Lady nodded and turned back to the boat.

Angus offered her his hand — and was surprised when she took it. He hoped she didn't expect him to lift her too ...

She leaned on him and grunted stiffly as she climbed into the boat. 'Ah, Reafen,' she sighed, 'you and me, we are a pair of old war camels ...'

'Warhorses,' said Martha. 'You are a pair of old _warhorses_.'

Angus nudged his sister.

But the Donut Lady only laughed. 'Look after Vlad,' she said to Martha, and Martha nodded eagerly.

'Jarly really likes him,' she said. 'I think they're best friends.'

Angus seriously doubted that. Jarly? That cat had never liked anyone. Except for an old goblin.

'I am looking forward to this journey,' said the Donut Lady, dismissing her sadness as she settled into her seat and placed her guitar case at her feet. She pulled her colourful shawl around her shoulders. 'Yes. Yes, indeed,' she said with forced cheer. 'It has been many years, many decades since I have been through the veil, since I have visited the Old Realm. I thought those days were long over. I never imagined I would one day be a special guest!'

'And there you will get proper healing,' said Ava. 'And proper rest. So well deserved and gratefully acknowledged.'

'This is for you,' said Graini gruffly, and she slipped something into Martha's hand. It was a small rune, emerald green with gold markings. 'It's the symbol for friendship,' she said with a funny grin. 'Enduring friendship.'

'Oh!' said Martha, but before she could say anything more, before she could even shake Graini's hand or hug her, the goblin girl had swung herself up into the boat.

'Ava,' said Graini (who had clearly recovered from her night lost at sea), 'you must avoid this lingering. It is time.'

Ava sighed. 'Yes, Graini,' she said obediently.

But still Ava lingered. She stood before Angus. 'It is with enormous sadness and regret ...' she began but Angus stopped her.

'I know,' he said. 'Same here.'

He hesitated. Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

Martha whistled. 'Woah,' she said, nudging her father and giggling. 'Huzzah!'

The goblin girl held Angus close. 'I shall speak of you often, Angus Jack,' she said passionately. 'I will remember you always.' Angus lifted the narrare case over his head, shortened the strap, then draped it over Ava's shoulder. He smoothed her silver dreadlocks. He thought about this, his fourteenth summer, and how everything in his life had changed. Forever.

'I will always remember you too, Ava,' he said, and he smiled. 'Goodbye. For now.'

Angus and Martha linked arms with their father and together they watched as the boat disappeared over the horizon.

By the time they turned for home, a new day had begun.

## Acknowledgements

This book is dedicated to David Moore, who, unlike me, never gave up on Angus. David, you make it all possible. Your patience astounds me AND you are the best cook in Christendom. Thank you barely covers it.

I am grateful beyond measure to my publisher, Lisa Berryman, who like a Fairy Godmother makes me believe I am capable of far more than I ever dreamed possible. Lisa's intelligence, creativity and elegance inspire and motivate me every day.

To the entire team at HarperCollins Children's, thank you! To name a few, Cristina Cappelluto, Children's Publishing Director, your kindness and warmth made me feel at home from day one. Amanda Diaz, Publicity Manager, and Jacqui Barton, Education Manager, you make my little sojourns into the world exciting and mercifully uneventful. I don't even lose stuff when I'm with you.

Lucinda Gifford. What can I say? I have spied on you during meetings and rushed to buy a Staedtler B in the hope that my own drawings would improve ... Lucinda's myriad roughs made it almost impossible to choose. I am in awe of her talent and energy and so grateful to have worked with her on this book.

Steph Spartels. Owner and wielder of a most spectacular Design Wand. How does she do it? Steph, it was a day for celebration when you came on board.

Tania (Dot) McCartney. My dear friend and colleague. Dot swept in and read the manuscript when I was at hair-tearing (and page-tearing) stage. Her reader's report is one of the most invigorating (and astute) documents to ever float by my desk.

Tegan Morrison. The best kind of editor: spirited, intelligent and not afraid to ask thousands of questions. In so doing, Tegan forced me to take my story to a whole new level. I adore working with you, Tegan.

Libby Volke. Another brilliant editor who took up where Tegan left off. Libby, your skill and insight have made the final work shine.

Clare Forster, aka Agent Clare. Thank you for your hard work and unwavering support. I am immensely proud to be represented by Curtis Brown. Thank you also for the designer tea — and vintage china. Essential accoutrement.

Lastly to my son, Tristan, and stepson, Eli. Both young adults now and lost in their own stories — just as they should be. Your indifference keeps me grounded and makes me laugh. Constantly. I love you to the moon and back.

## About the Author

_**JEN STORER**_ grew up in a small wheatbelt town in Australia. She left school in a hurry and fiddled about in a variety of jobs from selling shoes to nursing, all the while taking night classes in English, drama and history. In the 1990s, Jen returned to formal study and completed a Bachelor of Arts at Monash University, Clayton, where she majored in both Literature and Cinema Studies. She graduated with First Class Honours in Literature. After graduating, Jen worked as a children's book editor. This renewed her love of children's literature and sent her imagination soaring. Jen lives in Melbourne. **jenstorer.com**

## About the Illustrator

_**LUCINDA GIFFORD'S**_ career encompasses advertising, design, marketing, architecture and teaching. Now a full-time children's illustrator, she enjoys illustrating any kind of beast — or beastliness — and her many messy sketchbooks are not for faint-hearted perusal. Lucinda's favoured subjects are children (the more unruly or put-upon the better), houses, animals, monsters — and any situation where something unusual is about to happen. She lives in Melbourne with her husband, two children, two fish and two chickens. **lucindagifford.com**

## Also by Jen Storer

_Tensy Farlow and the Home for Mislaid Children_

_The Accidental Princess_

_Truly Tan_

_Truly Tan: Jinxed!_

_Truly Tan: Spooked!_

_Truly Tan: Freaked!_

## Copyright

The ABC 'Wave' device is a trademark of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation and is used under licence by HarperCollins _Publishers_ Australia.

First published in Australia in 2015

This edition published in 2015

by HarperCollins _Children'sBooks_

a division of HarperCollins _Publishers_ Australia Pty Limited

ABN 36 009 913 517

harpercollins.com.au

Text copyright © Jen Storer 2015

Illustrations copyright © Lucinda Gifford 2015

The rights of Jen Storer and Lucinda Gifford to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the _Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000._

This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the _Copyright Act 1968_ , no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

**HarperCollins _Publishers_**

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195 Broadway, New York NY 10007, USA

ISBN: 978 0 7333 3443 6 (paperback)

ISBN: 978 1 4607 0520 9 (ebook)

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

Storer, Jen, 1961– author.

The fourteenth summer of Angus Jack / Jen Storer ; Lucinda Gifford.

For children.

Mythology, Norse—Juvenile fiction.

Fantasy fiction.

Gifford, Lucinda, illustrator.

A823.4

Cover and internal design by Stephanie Spartels, Studio Spartels

Cover and internal illustrations by Lucinda Gifford

Cover background texture by lostandtaken.com

Author photograph by One Toy Can Jump Studios

Illustrator photograph by Andrew Harding

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaBook