Gravenhunger (5 page)

Phoenix slid off the tree-trunk bridge and fought his way through the rain-soaked undergrowth on the other side of the river. Already he was waist-high in nettles and brambles, which grasped at his bare arms, covering him in stings and scratches.

If only he had thought to bring a sweatshirt with him. At least that would have kept off some of the rain – and it was definitely cold enough to need one.

Ahead of him lay an embankment of earth, rising several metres from the riverbank.

He dug his fingers into the crumbling soil and pulled himself up it, then stared out across the broad sweep of land at the mound in front of him.

Close up, it looked more extraordinary than ever, jutting up out of the earth like some vast upturned wheelbarrow and covered all over in spiky tufts of grass.

Had his mother explored it, he wondered? She would have seen it from the attic window, surely – it was impossible to miss.

Phoenix started towards the mound, rain lashing his cheeks. As he approached it, a chill wind seemed to blow up out of nowhere, whipping the grass around him into a wild frenzy and marooning him on a sea of billowing green.

He scrambled up the side, slipping and sliding on the wet grass.

At the top he stiffened. Someone was watching him, he was sure of it.

He spun round, his heart racing.

But there was only the sea over to the south, barely visible through the rain and the
fast-descending
mist, and behind him the dark chimneys of Gravenhunger Manor.

He gave himself a shake. Really, he shouldn’t be so taken in by the place. Just because he was in the middle of nowhere and the weather was closing in on him didn’t mean he needed to get all spooked out, did it?

And then he frowned.

Not far from where he was standing, something seemed to be moving above the surface of the mound – an odd thickening in the mist that appeared, just for a moment, to be almost human in shape.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again … but it had gone.

Phoenix cursed to himself.

This was ridiculous. He was tired, that was all. Tired and wrung out. And who could blame him, after everything he’d been through in the past twenty-four hours. It was time to get back to the house before Dad wondered where he’d got to. Shift his things into the attic bedroom and clean himself up a bit. Maybe even crash out for a few hours before dinner.

He should never have allowed himself to get distracted. He wasn’t here to traipse around the grounds getting soaked to the skin, was he? He was here to find out what had happened to his mother all those years ago. And that meant heading back and starting to look for some clues.

Phoenix turned to leave the mound.

He had just reached the edge when his foot caught inside a burrow and he went slamming to the ground.

Staggering upright, his gaze flickered back to the grey walls of the manor, and he caught his breath.

Someone was moving at the attic window.

5.
E.P.

Phoenix burst in through the front door and made straight for the stairs.

“Hey!” exclaimed Dr Wainwright, poking his head out of the drawing room, a box of matches in his hand. “Where are you going in such a hurry? Did Rose find you? I sent her to look for you.”

Phoenix didn’t reply.

He charged up the stairs, taking them two at a time and not pausing for breath until he reached the tapestry at the top of the fourth-floor staircase.

The door to the secret stairwell was shut, but he could tell she was up there. Muffled banging and scraping noises echoed from the floorboards above his head, and there was music too. The steady beat of some rubbish girl band pulsing away on a tinny
portable stereo system.

He grabbed hold of the brass doorknob, his blood boiling.

She had no business being in there. She had no
right
.

True, he hadn’t left any sign that he’d been up there already and bagged the attic for himself. But that room had belonged to his mother – and that meant it was now his. It was perfectly simple.

Not that he was about to tell Rose that. Until he knew exactly what had happened here all those years ago, he wasn’t going to tell anybody anything.

Phoenix thundered up the stairs.

“What d’you think you’re doing?” he yelled, thrusting open the door. “This is my room, OK? You’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep!”

His cousin turned towards him and her face zoomed into focus – a face framed by a cascade of red curls and illuminated by the most astonishing pair of blue eyes.

For a moment neither of them moved, Rose open-mouthed beside the chest of drawers, Phoenix frozen on the threshold.

Then Rose reached down and flicked off the switch to her stereo.

“Well, hello to you too,” she said into the silence that followed. “It’s generally a good idea to knock
first, you know.” She leaned back against the chest of drawers and crossed her arms. “It’s kind of more polite that way.”

The air bristled between them.

“I … I…” stammered Phoenix.

His eyes flitted over the newly made-up bed … the rucksack lying on the bare floorboards … the clothes spewing from its loosened top … the pile of books beside the bed … the kicked-off trainers in one corner of the room.

This wasn’t turning out as he’d expected.

He’d thought it would just be a matter of telling his cousin what was what. Of waiting while she gathered up her things and then booting her out of the attic as quickly as he could. But now he was actually here, standing face to face with her, things felt rather different. Rose didn’t look like she was about to be booted out of anywhere by anyone. Least of all by him.

Right now she was looking around the room and frowning to herself.

“Anyway, what d’you mean it’s yours?” she said. “I can’t see any of your stuff in here. Your bag’s still down in the hallway with your dad’s.”

Phoenix dropped his gaze.

“Look,” he muttered, “I found this room first, all right? I discovered the entrance to the stairwell when
Dad was out collecting you from the station.”

Rose let out a short laugh.

“So?” she said. “That counts for nothing. Just because you found it first, doesn’t mean it belongs to you, does it? I found it too, remember. And like I said, it was totally empty when I got here.”

Phoenix continued to glare down at the floor, his eyes now glued to a long run of woodworm etched into one of the bare boards.

“I meant to move my things up right away,” he said. “Honestly. It’s just…”

He broke off, stabbing at the woodworm with the toe of his trainer.

“I needed some fresh air after the long journey. I thought I’d go out and explore the grounds.”

“You mean you decided to go over to that mound on the other side of the river,” corrected Rose. “I did see you there, you know.”

Phoenix shrugged. “Whatever. It doesn’t really matter where I went, does it? The point is I didn’t mean to leave it so long before coming back up here and unpacking my stuff.”

“You don’t give up, do you? What is it about this room, hey? What makes it so special?”

“There’s nothing special about it. I just fancy being this high up, that’s all. I like the view.”

“Yeah, right,” said Rose. She gestured through the
open door towards the stairwell and the labyrinth of rooms that lay beyond. “What’s wrong with one of the other rooms?” she asked. “There’s one on the first floor with a four-poster bed. It’s much bigger than this one. I was going to choose it myself, but I thought your dad might like it. Why don’t you ask him if you can have it?”

Phoenix glanced up.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, meeting his cousin’s gaze at last. “How about I ask him if
you
can have it? He won’t care where he sleeps, and that way we’ll both get what we want, won’t we?”

Rose regarded her cousin coolly. “Maybe I don’t want that room now. Maybe I want to stay exactly where I am.”

Phoenix dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. “You’d be doing me a favour…”

Rose shook her head. “Sorry, Phoenix. You haven’t exactly put me in the mood for favours.” She kicked aside her rucksack and advanced towards him. “I’m not budging. I’m halfway through unpacking now. And anyway, I like this room. It’s kind of secret.”

Phoenix backed away, half falling down the top step of the narrow staircase as his cousin grasped hold of the door handle.

“But—”

“I
said
I’m not moving.”

The door closed, and Phoenix stood there for a moment in the darkness, his pulse racing.

Then he set off down the stairs, thrusting his hand into his pocket for the comfort of the little silver angel.

But it was empty.

Rose threw herself down on the bed, sneezing as a cloud of dust loosened itself from the faded patchwork quilt and settled all around her.

Who on earth did her cousin think he was, barging in on her like that?

This room didn’t
belong
to anyone.

Like she’d told him, there’d been nothing in it when she’d found it, and in any case, it wasn’t as if it was the only bedroom in the place. There had to be about twenty others, most of them way bigger than this one.

Not that she was especially bothered about having it for herself. In fact if her cousin had knocked on the door and asked for the room nicely, she probably would have given it to him straight off.

But he hadn’t asked for it nicely. He hadn’t even come close.

No – she might feel sorry for him, but there was no excuse for behaving like that.

She rolled over on to her side and switched on her mobile. Perhaps she’d text Mum and Dad and fill them in on things so far.

Great. There was no reception. Not even a single bar. She’d just have to try in a different part of the house later on. She’d go mad if she couldn’t even keep in touch with people this summer.

Rose reached out with one hand to where two tiny letters had been carved into the headboard.

She traced them with the tip of her finger.

E.P.

The initials of some visitor to the house, maybe. A child, most probably, with nothing better to do than scratch their name into the wood.

Outside, the rain hammered against the loose glass of the windowpane and the wind whistled around the eaves.

Rose sighed.

What with a pig-headed cousin, an old wreck of a house and a generous helping of rubbish weather thrown in for good measure, she reckoned she had the perfect ingredients for the worst holiday on record.

Well, she’d give it a week. One week.

And then she was out of here.

“You’re very quiet, Phoenix.”

Phoenix looked up from his soup bowl and met his father’s gaze.

“And you haven’t touched your supper. Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” mumbled Phoenix. “Just not very hungry, that’s all.”

He trailed his spoon over the soup. Apart from the sandwiches they had grabbed at a service station on the way down, he hadn’t eaten a thing all day, but the thought of swallowing a single mouthful right now made his stomach churn.

How could he when he’d gone and lost the one thing that really mattered to him – his mother’s precious keepsake?

It could be anywhere.

Or at least anywhere between the attic bedroom and the mound.

It might have fallen out of his pocket on his way across the driveway or the garden or the forest … or even on his slippery journey over the tree-trunk bridge, in which case it would be lost for ever in the dark depths of the river.

“It’s not exactly a feast, I know,” sighed Dr Wainwright, still watching his son. “I’d planned on making us something special, but I’m afraid the oven’s broken along with everything else in this
damned place. I can’t even get the fire to light properly. The drawing room’s just one great big smoky mess. I’ve had to leave the windows open to let out the smell.”

He shivered and turned to his niece.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I didn’t think it was going to be anything like this bad down here. But things are OK with you otherwise, are they? You’ve chosen yourself a room and everything?”

Rose nodded. “I’m all sorted, thanks, Uncle Joel. I’m really pleased with the one I’ve picked.”

She smiled sweetly at Phoenix, who scowled back at her.

Dr Wainwright frowned.

He glanced from Rose to Phoenix and then at Rose again.

“Am I missing something here?” he asked. “You two have actually said hello to one another, haven’t you?”

Phoenix pushed aside his bowl.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Don’t you worry about that, Dad. We’ve said hello all right.”

“Good,” said Dr Wainwright. “I wouldn’t like to think there was any – er – awkwardness between the pair of you.”

He finished his soup and stood up from the table.

“I’m off to get on with a bit of work. Could you two clear up, d’you think? And then I reckon we
could all do with an early night. I’m sure we’ll feel a whole lot better in the morning.”

He polished his glasses on the sleeve of his sweater.

“Talking of tomorrow, I’m going to have to go back into the village first thing. I need to find someone to come and unblock the chimney. The boiler looks like it hasn’t worked in ages, and we’ll have to keep the place warm somehow, especially if this weather doesn’t improve.”

They all turned towards the kitchen window, where fingers of rain were streaking their way down the glass, only to be blown off course by the howling gale.

“I just don’t understand it,” said Dr Wainwright, replacing his glasses. “It was so lovely in the village. In fact there was nothing but bright sunshine all the way back from the station. Right up until the turning for the manor.”

He crossed to the far end of the kitchen and began pulling down the tattered old blinds.

“Anyway, that’s what I’m up to tomorrow, if either of you wants to tag along. I’m sure you’d find something to keep you occupied in the village. There’s a promenade and an arcade – and a museum too, I think…”

“No thanks,” cut in Phoenix. “I’ll stay here, if that’s OK. There’s – there’s things I need to do.”