She went to the kitchen, where a pot of tea and a loaf of apple cake awaited her. Oberon slunk out from under the table, looking sorry for himself. While Tanya had been in the bath, her mother must have hosed him down outside. Though he was clean, there was still a strong whiff of wet dog about him. She smuggled him a small piece of cake, which her mother chose to ignore, then made her excuses and took a second cup of tea and a smaller slice of cake back to the bedroom.
‘Don’t eat too much of that,’ her mother called. ‘I thought it’d be nice for us to eat out this evening – you don’t want to be full of cake.’
‘I won’t,’ Tanya mumbled. She shut the door behind her, then gasped, almost dropping the tea. The china doll was back, sitting boldly on the bed. Only this time it had been stripped down to its frilly undergarments. They had been white once, but were now faded and yellow with age.
‘Ta-dah!’ said Turpin. She stepped out from behind the doll, giving a proud twirl. The green velvet dress flared out, a perfect fit. ‘Turpin found some nice new clothes to wear.’
‘So I see.’ Tanya put the tea and cake on the bedside table and stuffed the doll back under the bed. ‘Somehow, I don’t think Thingy is going to be very happy about it.’ She stiffened as a light scuffle sounded from under the bed. Clearly, Thingy was listening. Even so, she couldn’t help but smirk. There was something comical about seeing Turpin neat as a pin and dressed in dolls’ clothes. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘I brought you some tea and cake.’
Turpin hopped over to the bedside table and thrust her head into the cup, lapping thirstily before breaking off a fistful of cake. ‘Turpin thinks,’ she said, through a crumbly mouthful, ‘that Thingy is not very happy about anything.’
‘It seems happy enough to make trouble,’ Tanya retorted before she could help herself. She waited for a muttered threat from under the floorboards, but heard only silence.
Turpin crammed more cake into her mouth. ‘Many fey creatures like to make mischief. But trouble, nasty trouble, this is different. Not without a good reason.’
‘But that’s just it,’ Tanya protested. ‘There is no reason! It terrorised us from the moment we walked in – we didn’t have time to upset it. It seems to dislike all humans.’
Turpin gave a thoughtful nod. ‘Turpin once knew a fairy like this. Long time ago, before Ratty was born. This fairy –
Nipkin was its name – was the guardian of a little girl. Its name was Delia. Not a very nice little girl, Turpin always thought, but Nipkin was a good and loyal guardian.
‘Of course, all little children must grow up one day. Nipkin knew this as well as anyone, but when Delia became a woman and got married, things changed. Her husband did not see fairies and neither did their children. Very soon, it seemed that Delia did not want to see fairies, either, and wanted to forget all about them. Even Nipkin.’
Turpin took another bite of cake, momentarily distracted as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She smoothed her hair vainly. Tanya poked her.
‘Go on.’
‘It started very slowly. Delia would seem to not hear things that Nipkin said and, when she did, Nipkin did not always get an answer. Its answers became shorter and quieter and, whenever Delia’s husband or children asked who it was talking to, Delia began to say, “Nothing.”
‘Months and years passed like this, and soon Nipkin forgot its name was Nipkin and instead started to think it was called “Nothing”. But Nothing did not want to be a Nothing. It became resenting and ugly. It did things to upset Delia and her family so that Delia would pay attention to it, but of course this only made Delia unhappy and resentful, too. With every unkindness, Delia began to show unkindness, too: dressing in red so she could not be seen by Nothing, and keeping her doors and windows blocked with lines of salt so that Nothing could not follow her.
‘So, Nothing took to living under the floorboards in the dark where it could roam the house freely, coming up only to cause trouble. And every bit of trouble, every grudge, began to weigh on Nothing’s shoulders, even grudges that were not its own, but that came into the house with other people. It kept them all and grew uglier and uglier and meaner and meaner until one day the family went to live somewhere else, leaving Nothing alone with only its grudges for company.’
‘Then what happened?’ Tanya asked.
‘The house became Nothing’s house,’ Turpin said. ‘An unhappy, grudge-keeping house full of arguments and tears. Families came, families left. All with their own grudges. Nothing collected them all, feeding off them. Until one day, when a new family came, a family that was different to many of the others. In this family was a small boy who, like Delia, had the second sight, but whose guardian had died protecting him.
‘The boy knew Nothing was there and he was often blamed for the tricksy things Nothing did. At first, he was angry. The boy often felt alone and sad because of his ability and Nothing was making things worse. But then the boy realised how sad Nothing must be, too, to do the things it did. Now, being a kind and special boy, he decided that the next time Nothing did something naughty, he would not hold a grudge. Instead, he told Nothing, “I forgive you.”
‘Nothing was confused. It had been such a long time since it had experienced forgiveness that it had forgotten all about it. But the same thing happened the next time. The boy forgave it and even left it a small gift of food. And, when the boy shared his forgiveness not only with Nothing, but with his family, too, for blaming him for the things Nothing did, a strange thing happened: Nothing began to let go of the grudges. And the more grudges it let go of, the more it remembered its old self, and soon it no longer wanted to cause misery. Nothing and the boy began to talk, and soon became friends. And, when all the grudges were gone, Nothing became Nipkin once more.’
Turpin paused, brushing cake crumbs from the front of her dress. ‘Turpin thinks Thingy is like Nothing.’
‘You mean a grudge-keeper?’ Tanya asked. ‘That it – I mean, Thingy – was a guardian once, with a proper name?’
The room was very quiet, like everything in it was holding its breath. Thingy was still there, listening, Tanya was sure of it. Could she find it within herself to forgive the trouble it had made? She was still angry, but the tale of Nothing had reduced it from a boil to a simmer. How long had Thingy been lurking in the cottage by itself, growing more and more bitter? She thought of all the people who must have passed through on their holidays, and all the different grudges building up one by one.
She knelt by the side of the bed, lifting the blankets, and peered underneath. The scratching sound had come from somewhere under here.
‘Thingy?’ she said to the dark, empty space. ‘I’m sorry I don’t know your real name, but I know you must have one. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that even though what you did was horrible when you sewed all my clothes up, and sewed me into the bed, I’m going to try to forgive you.’ She paused. ‘If I said it now, it wouldn’t be true and I don’t think either of us would believe it, but in a few days I think I might be able to manage it.’
She reached for the cake on the bedside table and broke off a small piece. ‘In the meantime, I’m going to leave this for you. As a sort of . . . peace offering.’ She leaned under the bed and placed the nugget of cake on one of the floorboards, then got up, allowing the bedclothes to fall back into place. The bed creaked as she sank down on it, then all was quiet. In the silence that followed, there came the faintest of wooden scrapes, like a floorboard being lifted very carefully. A moment passed, then it came again as the floorboard was lowered back into place.
Tanya climbed off the bed once more and peeked beneath it. Save for a few small crumbs, the space where she had left the piece of apple cake was empty.
14
In the Dungeons
‘WAKE UP!’
Tanya forced her eyes open with difficulty. They were gritty through lack of sleep, for she had not long dropped off. The room was dark, with just a sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains.
<
br /> ‘What time is it?’ she mumbled.
‘After midnight,’ Turpin replied. She tugged impatiently on Tanya’s hair, so close that her breath hissed across her nose in a soft whisper. ‘Turpin has been trying to wake you for minutes and many more minutes. Time to go, silly girl. Get up!’
Tanya sat up, pushing the warm bedclothes back with great reluctance. Though she had gone to bed early, it had taken her a long time to fall sleep, firstly because her thoughts were alive with the dungeon and what awaited them there, and secondly because Turpin had crawled on to Tanya’s pillow and made some sort of nest in her hair. Tanya’s attempts to extract herself had been unsuccessful; Turpin had simply burrowed closer and even let out a few little snores.
Tanya stood up, shivering, wriggling out of her pyjamas to change into the clothes she had placed on the chair before getting into bed. She dressed by moonlight, pulling on jeans and a thin sweater – making sure it was inside out first – then lost her balance, hopping clumsily as she tugged on a sock. She hit the chest of drawers with a thump, finally managing to steady herself, much to Turpin’s disgust.
‘Stupid oaf!’ she hissed.
‘Sorry,’ Tanya mouthed helplessly. She held her breath, listening hard. From the room next door, she heard her mother mutter something, then an ominous creak of the bed. Was her mother getting up or had she simply stirred and rolled over? Tanya remained still, ready to spring back into bed, but all stayed silent. She sat down to put on her other sock, then tied her shoelaces. Then, using her pillows and an extra blanket, she padded out the bedclothes to make a convincing sleeping figure, should her mother wake up and check on her. As an afterthought, she collected the china doll from under the bed and tucked it under, too, spreading some of its dark hair across the pillow.
‘Good,’ Turpin whispered approvingly. ‘Very tricksy.’ She had jumped on to the windowsill and was inspecting her clothes which Tanya had laid out to dry. ‘Still soggy,’ she said, poking them. ‘Turpin shall have to wear the pretty clothes a little longer.’ She sounded disappointed at this, but as she gently smoothed down the dress it became clear why: Turpin liked the dress and didn’t want to ruin it in the dungeon. ‘Hurry,’ she said to Tanya impatiently.
‘I am,’ Tanya whispered. She knelt by the bed, and from underneath it pulled out her rucksack, which she had hidden there earlier in the evening. Inside it were a couple of things she’d managed to sneak past her mother’s watchful eyes: a pocket torch, a small bottle of water, plus Ratty’s letter. She also had the money her mother had given her earlier to spend on the pier and, though she thought it unlikely that she would need it, she took it anyway. From the waste-paper bin, she retrieved the packets of salt and the iron nail that Ratty had given her, tucking them away in a pocket. Then she beckoned to Turpin with a whisper.
‘Let’s go.’
They crept through the cottage to the front door, with Oberon padding behind them. Tanya knelt down and kissed his nose. ‘You have to stay here, boy, and not make a fuss,’ she told him. ‘There’s no way you can climb down a well.’
From a hook above a kitchen shelf, she took a spare cottage key. The door gave a faint click as she unlocked it, and then she and Turpin slipped out into the night.
The sky was overcast, with the moon just a blurry glow behind thick cloud. The path away from the cottage was dark, but Tanya didn’t dare to switch the torch on yet for fear of being seen. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on Turpin, who scampered ahead as confidently as a fox. She seemed quite at home in her nocturnal surroundings, and none the worse for how little rest they’d had.
By the time they reached the main road, Tanya felt properly awake. It was well-lit here. The night air was fresh on her cheeks and the scent of sea salt invigorating, but the emptiness and quietness of the street niggled at her like a gnat. During the day, the road was jam-packed with cars, tooting horns, voices and seagulls pecking at discarded chips. Now there was nothing; no cars and no noise apart from the faint sounds of waves breaking over the sea wall. She hoisted her rucksack higher on her shoulder and wrapped her arms round herself.
Soon they reached the pier entrance, gated and locked for the night. Turpin led her past it, kicking through chip papers littering the ground and occasionally helping herself to the odd chip here and there. Further on there was a small amusement funfair, with dodgems and waltzers and a big wheel. Tanya eyed the carousel, where the painted wooden horses were frozen mid-gallop. Everything about it looked wrong in the dark: the bright colours washed to grey, the teeth that were now grimaces instead of grins. She averted her eyes and hurried on.
‘Almost there,’ Turpin whispered, leading her across the road opposite the seafront into a narrow cobbled street. She recognised the street from the previous night; she and her mother had bought their fish and chips from a little shop on the corner. Turpin scuttled on. The end of the street broadened where it came to meet several others in a crossroads. Beyond the crossroads stood a weathered, grey stone well.
‘This is the place,’ Turpin hissed.
Tanya followed her. The well was covered with a little slated steeple, and on top of the steeple was a weathervane perched on a tall rod. Turpin scrambled up the sides as Tanya approached. She stopped next to Turpin, resting her hands on the stone rim. Its surface was rough and as cold as a tombstone. The top of the well was covered with a metal grate, presumably for safety and to prevent people from throwing litter in.
Tanya set her rucksack on the edge and took out the torch. She flicked it on and shone it into the well. The reflection of the torchlight bounced back from the water far below. She flashed the beam at the curved walls. They were green and furred with moss. A short way down, thin metal rungs were built into the brickwork.
‘That’s it,’ Turpin whispered. ‘That’s the way down to the secret passage entrance.’
‘But how do we get past the grate?’ Tanya asked. ‘It’s fixed in place.’ She gave it a tug, but it held firm.
‘No,’ said Turpin. ‘Is only held in place weakly since Ratty and Don visited.’ She edged round the rim, pointing. ‘See here? There are two bolts, but both are rattly loose, loose enough for you to undo with your hands.’
Tanya reached through one of the metal squares. Her fingers brushed against damp, spongy moss. Then they found something cold, circular and hard. ‘Got it,’ she said, starting to unscrew it. ‘You get the other one.’
‘Can’t,’ Turpin said. ‘Is made of some kind of iron and would burn Turpin. Same for the steps. Turpin will have to be carried.’
Tanya continued to work her fingers until the nut was free. She pulled it through the grate and put it in her pocket, then began to work on the other one. Less than a minute later, it too was safely in her pocket.
‘Now lift here,’ Turpin instructed.
Tanya took the grate in a firm grasp and pulled. For a moment, she feared it was too heavy for her, but slowly it began to lift. There was a scrape of rusty hinges as it swung back and came to rest heavily on the opposite side of the well.
‘Now down, down we go,’ whispered Turpin, glancing about warily.
Tanya handed the torch to Turpin and unzipped her rucksack again. ‘Hold the torch and get in the bag.’ She waited as Turpin obediently climbed in, leaving only her head and shoulders and the hand holding the torch free, then hoisted the bag on to her shoulders before climbing on to the side of the well. It suddenly looked even deeper and darker than it had before.
She gripped the top rung and lowered her legs into the black space, reaching out with her toes until she found another rung lower down. Once she was sure it was secure, she eased herself down.
‘Now you must close it behind us,’ said Turpin.
Tanya gaped at the mouth of the well. ‘Do I have to?’
‘You has to,’ Turpin replied. ‘We cannot leave any clue that we came down here. Too risky.’
Tanya’s heart sank. She knew Turpin was right, but the idea of shutting themselves in filled her with
dread. Still gripping the rung with one hand, she reached for the grate with the other and heaved it over, ducking as it crashed into place.
‘Careful!’ Turpin hissed in her ear. The sound of the crash echoed in the depths of the well.
‘I’m trying,’ Tanya retorted. ‘It was lucky I could lift it by myself at all.’ She clung to the metal rung, staring up at the sealed grate above her head. She felt trapped, like she’d been thrown in a prison cell. Never, ever would she have believed herself to be capable of doing anything like this. Especially not at night, with only a fairy for company.
Something hard rapped her on the back of her head, and the light from the torch flickered crazily.
‘Chop-chop,’ said Turpin.
‘Did you just hit me with that torch?’ Tanya exploded.
‘Shh,’ Turpin whispered. ‘Wasn’t a hit anyway. Just a little nudge.’
‘I’ll nudge you with it in a minute,’ Tanya hissed. ‘See how you like it.’
‘Grumbly, grumbly.’ Turpin patted the back of her head. ‘Just like its mother. Giddy up. We must hurry. Turpin does not like this place.’
‘I’m not exactly thrilled to be here, either,’ Tanya muttered. She lowered herself further down the well shaft, hand by hand, foot by foot, testing each rung before allowing her weight fully on to it. ‘Keep that torch steady.’
The air grew colder and damper the further down they went. The rungs were slick with condensation, emitting a metallic smell. They were so chilled that they numbed Tanya’s fingers.
‘How much further?’ she asked.
‘Little way yet,’ Turpin said in a subdued voice.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘The smell,’ Turpin muttered.
‘I know,’ Tanya said, wrinkling her nose. ‘It’s so stale and rotten.’
‘Not just that. Turpin can smell the iron in the ladder. It makes her feel sick.’
‘I’ll try to hurry.’ Tanya shuddered as her fingernails caught the side of the well, dragging up green slime. She carried on, deeper and damper. ‘What am I looking for? A door or something?’