One Wish (17 page)

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?’

‘A very small door,’ Turpin whispered. ‘When you reach the end of the ladder.’ She buried her nose in Tanya’s hair and let out a little moan. ‘Oh, it burns. Hurry.’

The torch hung from Turpin’s fingers, its light flickering crazily, making Tanya feel a little dizzy, but she said nothing. She knew Turpin couldn’t help it. Instead, she focused on finding each rung with her feet and tried to ignore the increasing numbness in her fingers. She had to keep going, for Ratty’s sake.

Finally, her foot found only air. There were no more rungs. She glanced down, seeing the glint of water a short distance away. Holding the ladder with one hand, she reached out and patted the slimy walls, first on one side, then the other. Her fingers brushed wood. It was a small, square panel, set back a little way into the stone. There was a metal ring in the centre. She pulled it, bringing the panel open with a creak. It came to rest just above her knees, forming a small platform that was supported by a heavy chain either side. A gaping square of black in the well wall stared back at her.

She took the torch from a shivering Turpin and shone it into the dark space. It was narrow, but wide enough to allow a slim man through. Tanya would fit easily. She took off her rucksack and helped Turpin on to the platform, watching as the fairy crawled weakly into the small tunnel.

She pushed her rucksack through, then pulled herself on to the platform, gripping one of the chains for support. On hands and knees she crawled into the cramped space, feeling cold, hard stone against her palms.

‘Don’t go too far ahead, Turpin,’ she said. ‘The light from the torch is too dim.’

Turpin paused, waiting as Tanya pulled the hatch closed after them, sealing them in the tunnel. In the flickering torchlight, the fairy’s small, pinched face was horribly pale. Tanya was beginning to feel queasy, too. Now that the fresh-air supply had been cut off, all that remained was the horrid, musty scent that reminded her of a damp cellar.

‘Let’s get moving,’ she said, holding on to her rucksack and crawling along. ‘Is it this narrow the whole way?’ It would make for a long, unpleasant journey if that was the case. Thankfully, Turpin shook her head.

‘No. Just narrow for a little longer. Then opens into a wider tunnel further up, until we reach the castle.’

‘And how long will that take?’ Tanya asked. The castle was visible from the seafront and even looked quite near. Yet appearances, she knew, could be deceptive.

‘Not so long,’ said Turpin. ‘We shall be back before the dawn.’

‘I should hope so,’ Tanya muttered. She was uncomfortable now, not just from being hunched over, but from the very feeling of the place: cold, trapped and claustrophobic. The thought that they were venturing into a dungeon wasn’t helping matters.

She crawled onwards, the worn stone digging into her knees and hands. She felt the air change, growing colder and a little fresher.

‘Here,’ said Turpin. ‘You can stand up now.’

Tanya lifted her head and saw that the tunnel had opened out to become wider and taller. She got to her feet, blowing into her cold hands for warmth.

‘Give me the torch,’ she whispered.

Turpin handed it over. Tanya shone it at their surroundings. The tunnel was still fairly low; a tall adult might have to stoop. The walls were constructed of the same ancient cobbled stone, with iron sconces set in every so often. The waxy remains of long burnt-out candles clung to the walls below them. Tanya wished they were still alight, for the torchlight didn’t stretch very far ahead. The ground was uneven beneath her feet, with some stones jutting and others missing.

‘Let’s try to be quick,’ said Tanya, upping her pace. She wrapped her arms round herself. The castle and the escape tunnel were hundreds of years old. She could not help but imagine who might have used the tunnel in the past; inhabitants of the castle under attack? Or perhaps even prisoners that had discovered the secret exit and used it to escape. She held those thoughts in mind, trying not to allow her fears to manifest themselves, but every so often the reality of what she was doing crept in and sent a cold shiver of fear rippling over her skin.

It’s for Ratty
, she told herself.
I’m doing this for Ratty
. And though she tried not to think it a horrid little thought came into her mind anyway.

‘What do we do if there’s nothing there?’ she blurted out.

Turpin stopped walking. ‘Nothing there?’

‘In the dungeon. What if Ratty’s pa never made it this far and there’s no clue about what to do next?’ Her voice rose. ‘How will we find Ratty?’

The fairy wrung her hands. ‘Turpin does not know what we will do. Only that we must try.’

They began walking again in silence, each keeping to their own thoughts. On they walked, and on, with only the flickering torchlight for company. Now and then there were small changes in the air, the stale sluggishness sometimes giving way to chilly draughts, and in one part the tunnel even grew wet and green. Thick slime coated the walls like ruined fabric.