Tanya left her room and crossed the landing, eager to tell Fabian about the compass. She was almost at his door when it was flung open from the other side, making her jump. Fabian stomped out, his nostrils flaring.
“Look at this!” He brandished something beneath her nose. “A mousetrap! It would have taken my toe off if I hadn’t seen it in time.”
Tanya frowned. “It’s not like my grandmother or Warwick to use mousetraps.”
“That’s because they don’t,” Fabian said hotly. “Florence doesn’t like them, and we’ve never needed them with Spitfire in the house. It has to be Nell’s doing!”
“Well, I daresay my grandmother will put a stop to it,” Tanya said impatiently. “Listen, about the compass—”
A terrible, high-pitched squeal of agony prevented her from finishing the sentence.
“What was that?”
Fabian looked blank. “What?”
“A scream, down on the landing.”
The compass forgotten, Tanya edged away from Fabian and toward the staircase. “You didn’t hear it?”
Fabian shook his head but followed her anyway. The sound of whimpering drifted up to them. She descended the staircase. She knew in her gut where the sound was coming from, and the fact that Fabian could not hear it did not bode well. Each step brought her closer to the grandfather clock on the landing. The sound was coming from the other side of it. She approached, ignoring Fabian, who was prodding her and demanding an explanation. Already she had a horrible premonition about what she was going to find.
Fairies resided in the clock, and the space beside it was also one of Spitfire’s favorite snoozing places. The combination made for a deadly possibility. Tanya’s stomach lurched as she took another step. She had witnessed the death of one fairy at Spitfire’s claws. She had no wish to see another.
This time, when she peered around the side of the clock, Spitfire was nowhere to be seen, though the sight that met her was no less gruesome.
“Oh, no…” Tanya murmured.
Three pairs of tiny fey eyes—a mixture of anger and terror—met hers. The fairies huddled together in such a way that, even as one of them bared its teeth, Tanya could see that they were afraid. Behind them a fourth fairy was the source of the whimpering. It looked up at her, its eyes huge with fear and pain. Just in front of it lay a pale cube of cheese.
“What is it?” Fabian asked.
Tanya swallowed. “One of the fairies from the clock. Its wings are caught in another trap.”
She dropped to her knees, deaf to the cries of the trapped fairy’s companions. She had never before seen the inhabitants of the grandfather clock, and had always imagined them to be ugly creatures with good reason to hide themselves away. But the lodgers, as she’d always thought of them, were actually rather beautiful: small, silvery beings with bluish skin and white hair and dressed in tiny mouse skins.
“Let me help,” she told them, but as she reached out they fled and hid behind the clock. The trapped fairy shrieked in distress.
“Stay away, tricketty girl!”
“I’m trying to help,” she muttered, wondering if she should just take the whole thing—trap and fairy—to her grandmother. But she simply could not bear for the fairy to suffer any longer. Gently, she released the trap, disabling the spring that held the snapping arm in place, and eased the fairy into her hand. It was moaning incoherently now, while its companions looked on from the foot of the clock.
“I’m taking you to my grandmother,” said Tanya. “She’ll know what to do.” She stood up. Fabian hovered helplessly at her side.
“Search the house for any more traps and dismantle them,” she told him, starting down the stairs. “If more fairies become injured, we could be punished.”
“How badly is it injured?” Fabian asked.
“Its wings are completely crushed,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t think it’ll ever fly again.”
Fabian took off, back up the stairs. Doors opened and slammed as he searched the rooms. In the kitchen, Oberon bounded over and tried to jump up at her, but Tanya shooed him away, afraid he would further injure the fairy in her hand.
Through the back door she could see Florence pegging laundry out to dry. Tanya called to her and waited in the doorway, next to the General’s cage. The bird tilted his head to one side, staring at the fairy quivering in her palm with interest. He gave a loud click suddenly, making both Tanya and the fairy jump. A moment later Florence came in and closed the door. She took one look at Tanya’s hand and pressed her thin lips into an even thinner line.
“How did this happen?” she asked. “Was it Spitfire?”
“No,” Tanya answered. “A mousetrap.”
“A what? Who on earth would—”
“Nell,” Tanya finished.
Florence’s eyes narrowed and she held out her hand urgently. Tanya placed the fairy into her grandmother’s palm as gently as she could. The creature moaned.
“Where is Nell?” Tanya asked.
“She’s gone to the post office in Tickey End,” said Florence. “But I’ll be having words with her when she gets back.” She marched out of the kitchen and started up the stairs. Tanya hesitated, then went after her.
Her grandmother’s bedroom door was ajar as they approached, and Tanya wondered if she would notice. Fabian must have been into Florence’s room in his search for the traps, but if Florence realized it, she did not mention it.
As they entered Tanya heard a thump from a few doors away. Fabian was still engaged in his search. Florence motioned for Tanya to close the door, and then sat on the bed. If the situation had been different, Tanya would have enjoyed the opportunity to look around her grandmother’s room, for she had not often been in it. But now was not the time to satisfy her curiosity.
Florence nodded to the oak chest of drawers under the window.
“In the second drawer, there’s a needlework kit. Fetch it for me.”
Tanya did as she was asked. The sight of a framed photograph on top of the chest momentarily distracted her. It was of her and her grandmother, taken only a few weeks ago.
“Open the box,” her grandmother told her, snapping her back to the present. “There’s a red pouch at the bottom.”
Tanya fumbled through the contents, pricking her fingers on errant needles. Beneath a tangle of embroidery thread was a small, blood-red drawstring pouch. She pulled at it—velvet soft between her fingers—and slipped her forefinger inside.
Something soft and cool to the touch met it. She withdrew a small skein of gossamer-like thread. It glittered as the sunlight coming in through the window hit it.
“You know what this is, don’t you?” her grandmother asked.
Tanya nodded. “Spidertwine.” She looked up at her grandmother, bewildered. “Why do you have it?”
“It’s not just used by the fairies,” Florence replied. “It can be used by us too, if we know how to, and how to obtain it in the first place, of course.”
“You got it from Morag,” Tanya guessed.
“Yes. And I keep it here, hidden, for times like these,” said her grandmother. “It has healing properties—it can bind a wound and restore health more effectively than any medicine we know of—if it’s used quickly enough. I need you to cut some off and thread a needle with it.”
“How do I cut it?” Tanya asked, confused. “I thought it was unbreakable by anything other than magic.”
“It’s unbreakable by mortal hands,” her grandmother continued. “But there are other ways, and not all of them involve magic.”
“There’s something else in the pouch.”
Tanya lifted the pouch and felt a small, hard object still inside. She shook it out into her hand. It was a tiny wooden pillbox. She opened it. Inside, there was an assortment of odd objects: animal teeth and fragments of bones, and several small half-moon shaped things—cat claws.
“Are those…?” she began.
“Yes, Spitfire’s,” said Florence. “A few from when I’ve trimmed his claws and some from where he’s shed them through sharpening them on the furniture.”
“What are they for?” Tanya asked.
“Cutting the spidertwine,” her grandmother explained. “As you probably know by now, spidertwine can’t be destroyed by humans, as it is used to make the nets fairies use to capture human children in the changeling trade. But it can be broken by things that are naturally designed for cutting, such as teeth or animal claws. Whatever’s used must be living or must have come from a living being. If the object is detached from the living creature, like these are, then each can only be used once.”
Tanya nodded. She understood now how valuable the scissors Morag had given her—the scissors she had lost—really were. Unraveling a length of thread, she selected a grimy claw from the box. As she touched it to the spidertwine’s surface, it separated effortlessly from the remainder, which she returned to the velvet pouch.
“Now thread a needle,” said Florence.
Tanya reached for the lid of the needlework box, where a few needles were stuck in the underside of the lid.
“No, not those,” said Florence. “They’re steel. Steel consists primarily of iron, which will dispel the spidertwine’s magic.”
“So what do I use?” Tanya asked. Her eyes rested on the small shards of bone in the wooden box. She carefully lifted one and inspected it, correctly guessing that there would be an eye at the blunter end through which to direct the thread. Quickly and deftly, she threaded the spidertwine through it and handed it to her grandmother.
The fairy was now limp and quiet in Florence’s hand. It had finally passed out from the pain.
“Will it fly again?” Tanya asked, watching as her grandmother skillfully began to sew the torn shreds of its wings back together again.
“I don’t know,” said Florence fretfully. “It’s possible we acted in time, but the damage is bad. I don’t know what Nell was thinking, using traps when there’s a cat in the house. Most of the fairies know to stay away from Spitfire, but I’ve never used traps for fear something like this might happen.”
Tanya watched as her grandmother continued to sew. The next few minutes passed in silence, but it was shattered from a thundering of steps on the landing outside the room, and then raised voices from downstairs.
“Now what?” Florence snapped. “If that’s something to do with Nell, I’m going to be very cross. Go and see what’s the matter, will you?”
Tanya got up and left the room. She hurried down the stairs, but paused by the grandfather clock. Muffled sobs were audible from inside.
“It’s going to be all right,” she whispered to the clock. “My grandmother is helping.” The sobbing ceased, and Tanya ran on toward the kitchen, where already an argument had ignited.
“We don’t use traps,” Fabian was saying coldly. “There’s a perfectly good cat to catch rats and mice!”
“Perfectly useless, more like,” Nell retorted. “He can just about manage to chew his food with what’s left of his gnashers!”
Tanya burst into the kitchen. Fabian and Nell were glaring at each other. Nell’s coat was draped over one of the kitchen chairs, and she had just put the General on his perch outside the cage.
“I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss about it,” Nell said indignantly. “There’s vermin in this house—I can hear it in the bleedin’ walls, scuffling and scrabbling. They’re even in that old clock on the landing!” She shuddered, her plump shoulders wobbling. Her voice had taken on a shrill note, and in response, General Carver was bouncing up and down on his perch, clearly agitated. Oberon, too, appeared upset, his paws folded over his nose as he lay in his basket.
“All the same, Nell,” Tanya said, trying to mask her own irritation. “We don’t use them. My grandmother is quite cross.”
“Cross?” said Nell disbelievingly. She picked up her coat and threw it onto a hook on the back door, startling the General. “Cross? Anyone would think it’s acceptable to have vermin in the house, the way you lot are carrying on!”
Cold air rushed into the kitchen as Warwick came through the back door. From the look on his face it was clear he was aware he had walked in on an argument.
“What’s going on?”
This latest interruption proved too much for the General. With a squawk and a flap of his wings he took off from his perch and flew over Warwick’s head, through the open door and out into the garden.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Nell cried. “Come back, Carver!”
Warwick fell back against the doorframe as Nell pushed past him. Tanya and Fabian ran to the door, watching as the General led Nell on a merry dance around the garden.
“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Warwick demanded.
Fabian pointed to the array of traps he had collected. He had set them on the table.
Warwick sighed, raking his long hair back from his face.
“Does Florence know about this?” he asked. “Where is she?”
“Upstairs,” said Tanya. “One of the fairies from the clock got caught in another one of the traps. It’s badly injured—she’s trying to help it.”
Warwick looked outraged. “I said she would be trouble.” Turning back to the garden, his expression darkened further. “Now where’s she got to?”
The garden was quite empty.
“There,” said Fabian suddenly. “Through the gate—look!”
A rotund figure was rapidly growing smaller in the distance beyond the garden walls. Above it, Tanya could just make out a speck in the sky before it vanished altogether.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I think the General has just flown into the woods… and Nell’s about to follow him!”
Warwick made a noise like a dog growling, then turned on his heel and strode out into the garden.
“Where are you going?” Fabian called.
“After her, of course!” came his father’s indignant reply. “She can’t possibly go into those woods alone. It’s not safe.”
Tanya and Fabian exchanged glances, and then the two of them pulled on their outdoor shoes and coats, and raced after Warwick. Tanya whistled to Oberon, who was only too glad to come bounding after them. By the time they caught up with Warwick, he was a short way beyond the garden gate, striding quickly across the sodden land.
It was only the afternoon, but darkness had begun to draw in, bringing with it a damp autumnal chill that crept around Tanya’s neck like the tentacles of a sea creature. She could see Warwick’s breath coming out of his nose in short little puffs that gave him the appearance of an angry dragon.
“What are you two doing?” he asked them, his voice gruff. “You’re not to come into the forest. Go back.”
“We know how to protect ourselves,” said Fabian, pointing to his coat and Tanya’s, which they had automatically put on inside out. “And you might need our help.”
Warwick gave a low snort. “Just stay close to me. If I tell you to do something—if I tell you to do anything—you obey. Immediately, got it?”
“Got it,” they answered in unison.
“And this doesn’t mean you can go gallivanting off whenever you feel like it, either,” Warwick continued. “This is a one-off.”
They had reached the brook. For the second time that day (unbeknownst to Warwick), Tanya and Fabian crossed at the stepping stones, following Warwick across the border of trees that marked the edge of the woods. It was almost dark now, and Tanya’s teeth had begun to chatter, though this had less to do with being chilly and more with the memory of the last time she had been in the forest after sundown. The night she had almost become imprisoned in the fairy realm…
“Now what?” she heard Fabian ask.
“We wait, and listen,” said Warwick. “She’ll probably be making enough racket to rouse half the forest. That way we can track her.”
Before he had even finished the sentence they heard a shrill voice, calling out from within the wood. “General Carver! Where are you, dearest?”
Tanya felt an unexpected pang of sympathy as she heard Nell’s quavering voice. She sounded afraid as well as worried for her pet.
“This way,” Warwick said quietly, leading them along a narrow trail. “And be careful where you walk—there are fairy rings everywhere this time of year. Don’t step into them.”
Tanya and Fabian said nothing, each remembering their conversation about the very same thing earlier that afternoon.
“Carver! I insist you return this instant!” Nell’s voice was closer now. Ahead, they could hear the swish of low branches being pushed aside and the crackle of undergrowth under a heavy tread. They were close.
“Goodness knows how many traps are still lying about,” Fabian mumbled. “She’s probably killed off half the fairies in the manor—”
“Quiet,” Warwick hissed. “Something’s wrong—listen!”
They froze at his words and strained their ears. Nell was wailing—a piercing, high-pitched sound of surprise. Beneath it Tanya could hear music. A violin or a fiddle of some kind, a tin whistle, and an irregular beat, like a drum.
“What’s she yowling like that for?” said Fabian.
“And what’s that music?” Tanya wondered aloud. “The tune sounds familiar somehow, but I can’t place it….”
“Music?” Fabian looked at her, his blue eyes curious. “I can’t hear any music, just her squawking.”
They both looked up at Warwick. His expression was worrying.
“Neither can I,” he said. “And that’s not a good sign!”
He raced ahead, Tanya and Fabian close behind. Tanya jumped as a pair of eyes in a leafy nook of a tree blinked at her crossly. She sped on after Warwick, until Fabian drew level, then took over.
Suddenly, Nell’s wailing was upon them and Warwick halted abruptly. Fabian skidded to a standstill just short of his father, and stood open-mouthed in astonishment. Tanya drew up behind them, her chest heaving with short, painful breaths.
At the center of a large ring of bright red toadstools were four figures dancing frantically to a strange little melody. Three of the figures were musicians, and fey. Nell was the fourth, jigging away to the tune with a bewildered look on her face. It was clear to Tanya that Nell had absolutely no control over her limbs, and that, much to her horror, now that she was inside the ring she could see her musical companions as well as Tanya could.
“Nell, what on earth are you doing?” said Fabian. “Have you gone barking mad?”
“Help…” Nell panted. “Make them stop!”
“Them?”
“She’s not alone,” said Tanya, knowing that Fabian was oblivious to Nell’s odd companions. “She’s under some kind of enchantment.”
“What do you see?” said Warwick. “Describe them.”
Tanya glanced at him in surprise. She had assumed that Warwick would be able to see the fairy revelers, for although she knew he did not have the second sight, she was aware that he used the same eye tonic as Fabian in order to allow him to see fairies temporarily.
“I used some eyedrops earlier,” he said, reading her thoughts. “They’ve worn off now, and I’ve run out.”
Tanya nodded. Now she understood why Warwick had allowed her and Fabian to accompany him into the woods—he needed Tanya as a lookout.
“There are three of them in there with Nell,” she said in a low voice. “They’re playing instruments and dancing along with her. One has a fiddle. He’s as tall as Fabian, and looks like he’s half man, half goat. He has goat’s legs and cloven feet, and two little horns growing out of his head.”
“What are you? What are you?” Nell was gasping.
“A faun,” said Warwick, his eyes narrowed. “And the others?”
“A goblin,” Tanya said with certainty. “Knee height, grubby-looking. It’s beating a dish with a spoon.” As she spoke, the goblin eyed her sneakily and grinned, showing the characteristic large, yellowing goblin teeth.
“The third is a little old man, wearing old-fashioned clothes. He looks a bit like the brownie in the tea caddy, but skinnier. He’s playing a tin whistle.”
“Anything else?” said Warwick.
“They’re dancing around an empty flask.”
“How can you tell it’s empty?”
“The flask is on its side and the cork is beside it.”
“Drunk,” said Warwick disgustedly, but there was a measure of relief in his voice. “It’s likely that they’re just mischief-makers, but they could be on their way to the fairy realm. We need to get Nell out of there.”
“How do we do that?”
“I’m going to reach in and pull her out,” said Warwick.
“Will that work?” Fabian asked doubtfully.
“As long as I keep one foot out of the circle and grab hold of her firmly, it should.”
“Do something!” Nell shrieked, now hopping madly on one foot.
Warwick planted a foot heavily in the soil of the forest floor, ready to leap at the right moment.
“Stand back,” he ordered Fabian and Tanya. Then to Nell, who was about to lap the circle again, he added, “Get ready. On the count of three. One, two—”
As Nell came almost level with Warwick, she reached out to take his hand. Warwick placed one foot inside the fairy ring and leaned toward her. Their fingers brushed briefly, but then Nell stumbled and tripped over Warwick’s foot. Staggering forward, she almost went over completely but somehow managed to right herself at the last minute. The effect of this was disastrous. Hot on Nell’s heels was the faun, who quickly reached out and took Warwick’s hand in place of Nell’s. His momentum caught Warwick off guard completely, propelling him headlong into the fairy ring with Nell and the rest of the revelers. All he could do was dance helplessly to the enchanted fey music.
“Dad!” Fabian yelled, rushing forward. Tanya grabbed him and yanked him away.
“Stay back!”
“What do we do?” he cried. “How do we get them out?”
“Don’t try anything!” Warwick shouted. “Go back to the manor at once!”
“But—”
“Just go! Now!”
“Come on,” said Tanya, pulling at Fabian’s arm. “We need to get help. We can’t take any more risks—they could pull us both in as well.”
They backed away from the circle, taking care where they placed their feet. After they had taken a few steps, the tune being played by the fairy revelers shifted and went off-key. The dance changed, and before Tanya and Fabian’s horrified eyes, the revelers leapt from the fairy ring into another that was alongside it, continuing their dance there for a minute or two. Then once again, a key shifted and they moved on, into another nearby fairy ring, gradually moving farther into the woods and away.
“Where are they being taken?” said Fabian, his breath coming in short bursts.
“I don’t know,” Tanya answered. “But we need to go, and quickly.”
As she spoke, the revelers, Nell, and Warwick vanished from sight, swallowed by the woods.
“Which is the way back?” Fabian asked, panicking. “I can’t think—I can’t remember which direction we came in from!”
Tanya reached into her pocket and pulled out the compass. “This way,” she said, reading the needle and pointing calmly.
Fabian stared at the compass in confusion. “But this morning… we were going to return it to Mad Morag….”
Tanya shook her head. “I know. That’s what I was coming to tell you when you found the first trap. It’s a good thing we didn’t manage to return it—it’s still working.” She glanced into the trees at the space where Warwick and Nell had last been visible. “Which is just as well, because we’re going to need it.”