The Puzzle Ring (8 page)

‘I'd like to wish on it,' Hannah said impulsively.

‘What would you wish for?'

To stay here . . . For my father to come home . . . For a friend
. . .

‘You can't tell, else the wishes don't come true,' she answered.

‘Okay. Let's go then.'

‘Okay.' She cast Donovan a shy glance. He was a striking-looking boy, with blue-grey eyes edged with thick, dark lashes, pale skin, and a thin, bony frame. He looked as if he did not smile much, let alone laugh out loud.

‘It takes ages to go all the way round,' Donovan said. ‘You need to go out the front gates, and then through the woods. I normally just climb the yew tree to get over. But maybe you'd rather . . .' He cast a dubious look at her prim and proper navy-blue dress.

‘I'd rather climb the tree too,' Hannah said at once. She looked up at its thick, spreading branches. ‘It looks easy enough.'

‘All right, then, come on.' Donovan swiftly clambered up into the yew tree, then reached down his hand to help Hannah up. She scorned his help. Hitching up the hated navy dress, she scrambled up after him with quick agility. Her hem caught in a twig, and tore, but she dragged it free rather than show any slowness in front of him. One branch extended over the wall. Hannah was halfway along it, precariously balanced, when suddenly a magpie came diving down from the sky, striking at her head with its sharp beak. She cried out and flung up her arm. Donovan caught her other arm, keeping her from falling. The magpie beat about their heads, shrieking, and Donovan struck out at it. The magpie darted away.

‘I think it ripped a chunk of my hair out.' Hannah touched her fingers to her scalp. They came away bloody. ‘I'm lucky I didn't fall!' Rather shakily she let herself down to the ground, touching her fingers to her scalp every now and again.

‘Magpies are bad luck. Always raiding other birds' nests and stealing things. I wonder why it attacked you like that?'

‘Maybe it's got a nest nearby.' Hannah looked up into the tree branches.

‘Not in October,' Donovan said. ‘They only nest in spring. Maybe it thought your hair was something valuable. They like flashy things.'

‘Oh, so my hair's flashy, is it?' Hannah was not altogether pleased.

He gave her a quick crooked grin. ‘It's certainly bright.'

She tossed back her hair irritably. ‘All right, then, bring out all the old red hair jokes.'

‘I don't really go in for jokes,' Donovan said. ‘You want Max for that. Besides, I kind of like it.'

To her dismay, Hannah felt heat rise in her cheeks. ‘So did that magpie.' She turned to stare down into the pool, deep, green and mysterious. Faded ribbons and scraps of material had been tied to the yew branches overhanging the pool, and Hannah could see a few coins shining in the murk at the bottom of the pool.

‘Let's climb the hill first,' Donovan said. ‘We can see the sun going down over the loch. Then you can make your wish at sunset. That's a good time for wishing.'

As they walked up the path to the top of Fairknowe Hill, Donovan jerked his head towards a great boulder that half concealed a narrow cave in the hillside. ‘That's where they burnt the witch, you know. One of the first witches burnt in Scottish history.'

‘Where?'

‘Just in front of that big rock. It's meant to guard the gateway to fairyland. Miss Underhill said she was really a
fairy that had been locked out, and the locals caught her and burnt her for being a witch. Miss Underhill wants to put a plaque there, but Lady Wintersloe won't let her.'

‘That girl at the shop . . .'

‘Scarlett?'

‘Yes, her. She said the witch haunts the castle.'

Donovan gave a little snort. ‘Miss Underhill would have told her that. She's always telling ghost stories at Halloween. She's really into all that sort of stuff, ghosts and witches and fairies. I mean, really into it. Not just playing at it. Scarlett says Miss Underhill is really a witch herself. A modern-day witch. Wicca, it's called.'

Hannah nodded to show she had heard of it, though she was much too puffed to speak. It was a steep climb to the top. To her chagrin, Donovan was not short of breath at all. He climbed with long easy strides, the wind blowing back his dark hair from his face.

They had a spectacular view over the countryside from the crown of the hill. Ben Lomond glowered from clouds to the north, and lights sparkled here and there on the far shore. The sun was spilling liquid flame onto the clouds along the horizon. It had grown so cold it hurt to breathe. Hannah shivered and hugged her arms about her.

They did not speak. Everything was too grand and beautiful for words.

Once Donovan touched Hannah's arm, then pointed. An owl flew past on muffled wings.

Hannah stepped back, turning her head to follow its flight. She gave a little cry as her arm brushed against the dagger-sharp barbs of the great twisted hulk of blackthorn
behind her. ‘Ouch!' she said, and tried to pull her sleeve free. It was snagged on the thorns.

Donovan snapped the twig off, heedless of the sharp tips, and handed it to her.

‘You know this bush has not bloomed in more than four hundred years?'

‘The gardening lady said something about that.'

‘There's a prophecy that says it won't flower until the true king sits on the throne under the hill. The fairy king, you know.'

‘So I guess it won't be flowering any time soon,' Hannah said, then regretted her cynicism. It seemed so magical up here, at the very edge of night, with the world spread out under their feet. The first star shone out over the mountains.

Donovan shrugged. ‘I guess not.' There was a long pause. ‘It's a magical bush, though. Miss Underhill says witches make their wands out of its wood. And if you cast a blackthorn twig behind you it grows into an impenetrable hedge that nothing can cut through. She says the thorns around Sleeping Beauty's castle were probably grown that way.'

He shrugged one shoulder, as if embarrassed to be caught talking about such things. ‘Come on! It'll be too dark in a sec.'

Hannah thrust the blackthorn twig deep into her cardigan pocket, heedless of the thorns, and followed Donovan down the hill, laughing as they slipped and skidded on the damp earth. They ran through the trees to the pool, darker and more mysterious than ever.

‘What do I do?' Hannah asked.

‘I don't know. Drink some of the water. It's meant to be healing. Then you tie a clootie to the bush.'

Hannah knelt by the pond and looked down into its gleaming black depths. The water was cold and sparkled on her tongue. She hesitated, not sure what to wish for. It seemed important that she choose wisely.
For us to be happy
, she thought.
Here at Wintersloe Castle
.

‘What's a clootie?' she asked.

‘A bit of rag. You've got to tear it, not cut it.'

Hannah did not hesitate. She took the torn piece of hem and ripped away a long strip of cloth. She tied it to the branch of the yew tree which hung over the pool.

‘Done,' he said. ‘I hope you made a good wish. It'll come true, you know.'

‘I hope so.'

A sudden loud croak made her jump. An enormous brown toad sat right by her hand. She squealed and scrambled back, then, bitterly ashamed of herself, bent to look at it more closely.

It croaked again, then opened its wide mouth and spat out a small grey stone with a hole bored through it. Hannah looked at it in astonishment. The toad croaked again, urgently, then pushed the stone towards her with its head. Wonderingly Hannah bent and picked up the stone. It was rather sticky and unpleasant, so she rinsed it in the pool and then raised it high to look at it.

‘It's a holey stone!' Donovan said. ‘Wow! I've only read about those.'

‘The toad gave it to me.' Hannah was pleased and puzzled and intrigued all at once.

‘They're meant to be magic.' He stared at the toad in amazement.

‘In what way?' Hannah had goose bumps all over her
body. She stared at Donovan, wondering if he was mocking her with all his talk of magic and witches. He seemed serious, though, and she held in her hand a holey stone that a toad had spat at her feet. It was all too strange and uncanny.

‘I don't know. Take it to Miss Underhill and ask her.'

‘At the fairy shop?'

Donovan nodded. ‘She calls them hag-stones, I don't know why. She asked me once if I'd ever found one here in the woods. You should show it to her. She might buy it from you.' He shook his head slowly, in disbelief and awe. ‘A toad, of all things. It makes you wonder . . .'

‘I don't know. I mean, it's a bit weird, isn't it?' Hannah looked down at the toad, which was sitting very still, regarding her with huge dark eyes.

Donovan shrugged. ‘Yeah. Weird things happen, though, especially round this hill. Maybe he likes you. Let's catch him! I'd like a pet toad.'

As if understanding his words, the toad turned and waddled quickly away under a bush. In seconds, it had disappeared. Donovan laughed. ‘Well, he didn't want to be caught, did he?'

‘He? How can you tell?'

‘By his big thumbs. Also I heard him calling before. Girl toads don't call like that.'

‘How come you know so much about toads?'

He shrugged. ‘I like animals. I'd like to be a vet, except you have to go to uni and stuff, and I can't stand school. So I might be a park ranger or something.'

‘I hate school too.' Hannah got up, clutching the hag-stone in her hand. It was now dark under the trees, and too dark to climb the yew tree back into the garden. She could barely see
its thick, hulking shape any more, let alone where to safely put her feet on its branches. She was shivering, both from the cold and from a sudden superstitious terror that made her wish she was somewhere warm and bright and ordinary.

On impulse Hannah lifted the hag-stone to her left eye, looking through it. To her amazement, Hannah could now see the path as clearly as if it was drenched in moonlight. She dropped the hag-stone. All was dark and cold. She lifted it to her eye again. All was clear and bright.

Beside her, Donovan stumbled through the bushes, swearing. She held out her right hand. ‘Here, take my hand. I can see the way.'

‘You must be able to see like a cat. I can't see anything,' he grumbled.

Hannah did not say anything about the hag-stone. She was by nature reluctant to confide in anyone, let alone a boy she had only just met. She wanted to have time to think about what had just happened, and what it meant.
The less said
,
the better
, she thought, repeating one of her mother's favourite maxims.

She reached out and took his hand. He held her fingers as lightly as if he was holding some small hurt animal. Hannah led him along the path, the hag-stone held to her left eye, wondering at the clarity of her sight. She felt as if she had strayed into a fairytale, as full of peril as of wonder, a place where anything could happen. She looked about her and saw odd shadows crouched under bushes, and small points of light like gleaming eyes, and her steps quickened with her heart. Donovan kept pace with her, stumbling over snaking roots and stones that Hannah could see clearly.

When Hannah reached the road that led from the village, she dropped the hag-stone from her eye and was once again
standing in darkness. Only the row of black and white striped posts, with their red shiny triangles of reflective metal, showed where the road ran. The tall gates of Wintersloe Castle were only a few steps away, and Hannah could see the lights of the tiny gatehouse and smell food cooking.

‘I'd better head back. My dad'll be furious. See you tomorrow, hey?'

‘Okay.' Hannah gave a wave of her hand and went in through the little gate.

Donovan began to hurry away down the road, his shoulders hunched under his long black coat.

As she walked up the shadowy driveway to the house, Hannah lifted the hag-stone to her eye to see the landscape illuminated brightly, then dropped it to see the landscape dark and scary once more. It was a trick she thought she would never grow tired of. Her body fizzled with excitement and amazement and disbelief. All her life Hannah had longed for magical adventures—to ride a unicorn, to find a dragon's egg, to rub a lamp and conjure a genie. Never had she expected a toad would spit an enchanted stone at her feet. But then, she had never expected to discover she was the lost great-granddaughter of a countess either.

‘Where have you been?' Roz cried as soon as Hannah came through the front door. ‘We've been calling for you for hours!'

Hannah stiffened her back. ‘I went up the hill with that boy Donovan.'

‘Look at you! Your dress is torn, your hair's a mess! You are not to go wandering off with some strange boy!' Roz's voice was shrill. ‘It's dark out there, Hannah! When are you going to learn some sense?'