Solomon smiled thinly. ‘Time for you to come downstairs. You can join the little friend you were so eager to see.’
Tanya struggled. Though Solomon was not as powerful as Morghul, he was still much too strong for her to escape. ‘What are you going to do with me?’ Her voice betrayed her fear.
‘That depends.’ Solomon scrutinised her. His eyes, now she saw them close up, were grey, and curiously cold and blank, rather like a dead sea creature. ‘On how difficult you plan on being. I have ways of dealing with difficult people. Ways of silencing them or making them disappear completely.’
Tanya stamped on his foot, hard. Even though she knew it wouldn’t do much good, she certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
‘I’m already getting tired of you,’ Solomon growled, his eyes watering. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a tiny tin, from which he took a pinch of blue-grey dust between his finger and thumb.
‘Sleep tight,’ he whispered, then blew the dust straight into her face.
Tanya’s eyes and throat itched and stung as the dust took hold. She coughed, her eyes streaming, then the unpleasant sensations faded, leaving Solomon looking even angrier.
‘Protected, are we?’ he hissed. ‘Very well. We’ll just do things the hard way then.’ He dragged Tanya through the door at the back of the shop and forced her down the stairs into the cellar towards the cage where Ratty was imprisoned. With a click of his fingers, the cage door opened and Solomon threw her inside.
She landed on her knees with a painful bump and the cage door slammed behind her. Then a cold hand was on her arm, helping her to her feet. She looked up into Ratty’s worried face.
‘Heck,’ he said miserably. ‘So he got you, too.’
Tanya rubbed at her eyes, blinking away the gritty dust. ‘He blew something into my face. Some kind of powder,’ she said. ‘Whatever it was, it didn’t work – my socks are inside out.’ She turned and stared through the bars of the cage into the dimly-lit cellar.
Solomon was leaning over a book, running his finger down the page. Before him was a large, black cauldron. Thick smoke rose from within it and a strange, herby smell filled the air. From a wooden beam above hung a lacy white dress, swaying gently like a cobweb.
‘Where’s the hourglass?’ Ratty asked.
‘I hid it, just before Solomon caught me,’ Tanya whispered. ‘But it’s only a matter of time before that creature finds it and brings it to him.’
‘How did you find it?’ Ratty asked her. ‘And how did you find me?’
‘I didn’t find it. Don did. He’d hidden it, in the most amazing place—’
‘You’ve seen him? You’ve seen my pa?’
Tanya held a finger to her lips, afraid Solomon would hear. ‘Yes. He’s here, upstairs.’
Ratty’s eyebrows knotted together. ‘Then why doesn’t he come down? Why isn’t he helping us?’
‘Because he can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Solomon turned him into a toad.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t have time to explain, except that hopefully he won’t be a toad for much longer.’ She looked past Ratty into the dark corners of the cellar. ‘Where’s Turpin? I sent her down here to try and get you out after Solomon and Morghul followed me with the hourglass.’
‘She tried,’ said Ratty. ‘But it wasn’t as simple as picking the lock. It’s protected by magic. She couldn’t free us.’ He scanned the cellar. ‘She shot off somewhere when they came back down here; she must be hiding.’
Tanya leaned forward and gripped the bars. ‘She’s our only hope now, along with Don.’ She bowed her head, knowing how useless it seemed. ‘A fairy who can’t do magic and a toad. What chance do we have?’
Ratty gave a sad little smile. ‘There’s always a chance,’ he whispered. ‘I still can’t believe you found me. How is that even possible?’
‘I—’ Tanya began, but was cut off by a triumphant shout from upstairs.
Solomon’s head snapped up from the book as heavy footsteps thudded down the cellar steps. Then the door opened and Morghul stood silhouetted against the light. In his outstretched hand, he held the hourglass.
Solomon stared at it, licking his lips like a thirsty man about to receive water. ‘At last. After years of searching, I’m about to find the truth once more.’ He turned to the wraithlike dress, his voice tender now. ‘And finally I’ll be able to bring her back. Morghul,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘Bring it to me.’
‘That thing . . . Morghul,’ Ratty whispered. ‘I don’t know what it is, but it gives me the creeps. It’s like Solomon’s pet the way it follows him around, doing everything he says.’
Tanya watched, uneasy. Despite what she knew, there was something not right about Morghul’s being here with Solomon. What exactly was he planning?
Solomon edged round the simmering cauldron, reaching out towards Morghul. But Morghul continued to walk past him, approaching the cage.
‘What are you doing?’ Solomon demanded. ‘Give that to me!’
Morghul seemed not to hear. Instead, he loomed before the cage, reaching towards Ratty with the hourglass in his hand. Inside it, the sand had begun to flow. And finally Tanya understood what was about to happen.
‘Take it,’ Morghul urged. Behind the mask, Tanya could hear his breathing, fast with excitement.
Ratty stared at the hourglass, mesmerised. ‘I remember this. I saw it before, one night a long time ago . . .’
‘Take it,’ Morghul repeated, thrusting it through the bars as Solomon charged towards the cage.
‘Ratty, there’s something I have to tell you . . . about Morghul,’ Tanya whispered. ‘You mustn’t touch that.’
‘Pa said that Solomon must never have it,’ Ratty murmured, reaching for the hourglass.
‘No!’ Tanya shouted, trying to knock Morghul’s hand away. ‘It’s a trap!’
It was too late. Ratty’s fingers closed round the hourglass and Tanya was powerless to do anything except watch as the lost memory flooded back.
24
The Sacrifice
RATTY RELEASED THE HOURGLASS AND backed away, pressing himself against the bars of the cage and as far as he could get from Morghul’s terrifying, painted face.
‘You . . .’ His breath came in noisy gulps, and his already grey skin turned even paler. ‘I remember now. I remember everything!’
Morghul stood motionless at the edge of the cage, still holding the hourglass and watching Ratty with his blank, black eyes. Solomon arrived next to him, his face screwed up in temper.
‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded. ‘Give that to me!’ He grabbed Morghul’s arm.
Tanya lunged for the hourglass, determined that Solomon shouldn’t get it, but he was too quick. Morghul released it into his hand easily, and Solomon clutched it to himself. Horrified, Tanya moved to the back of the cage next to Ratty. He was trembling and wide-eyed, frozen to the spot and unable to look away from Morghul.
‘Ratty,’ she whispered desperately. ‘You can’t be afraid. You have to overcome your fear or he’ll only grow more powerful!’
If Ratty heard her, he gave no sign of it.
He still hadn’t moved and he was trembling even harder than she was. Solomon shuffled away, gazing at the hourglass. Slowly, he turned it in his hands and the sand began to trickle once more. He closed his eyes, his face twitching as the lost memory took hold.
‘Aren’t you going to do something?’ Tanya hissed at Morghul. ‘Don’t you care what will happen when he remembers what you are?’
Morghul didn’t answer. Instead, he reached up and slowly removed his mask. Tanya wanted to look away, but found she couldn’t; the sight was so terrible she was helpless not to stare. The melted, misshapen face looked like bubbling porridge. It rippled and pulsed, as though an unseen hand were modelling it from clay. But Tanya knew there was no hand. Only one thing could shape Morghul’s form and that was Ratty’s imagination.
 
; ‘Ratty,’ she said urgently, tugging at her friend’s arm. ‘Please, listen to me. You have to stop being afraid!’ Already she knew her words were wasted. Ratty was plainly terrified and, with every second that passed, Morghul seemed to swell in size.
A loud smash made her jump. Solomon was standing by the cauldron, the hourglass in pieces at his feet. He stared at Morghul, his face a strange mixture of delight and disbelief. ‘You?’ he whispered. ‘All this time . . . you were the hidden memory, the secret ingredient? And yet you dared to seek me out, to hide under my very nose. Why?’
‘You should know the answer to that,’ Tanya said. She stepped away from Ratty to the edge of the cage. ‘You took Ratty’s memory of him and locked it into the hourglass. Without it, Ratty couldn’t imagine him or fear him and, apart from your glamour, that was all he had to give him life. He wanted the hourglass just as much as you did, but knew that without you he’d never find it.’
Solomon smiled faintly. ‘A risk you shouldn’t have taken, my friend.’ He made a circling motion with his hands. Silver chains appeared, binding Morghul’s hands and feet. Solomon beckoned and Morghul was propelled towards him as if held by an invisible rope.
‘I’m afraid it’s into the cauldron with you,’ Solomon said, with a contented sigh. ‘A life in exchange for a life.’ He reached up and stroked the faded, lacy dress, then lifted the lid of a small box on a table next to the cauldron. From it, he took something thin and white: a skeletal hand. A jewelled ring glinted on one finger. Tanya felt a scream rising in her throat and bit it back.
‘We’re almost there, my love,’ Solomon crooned, placing the skeleton’s hand back in the box. ‘Bone of the beloved and the last garment worn.’ He turned his attention back to Morghul. ‘But first it’s time for the sacrifice.’
‘You can’t do this,’ Tanya said. ‘If you destroy Morghul, you’ll destroy part of Ratty’s imagination – part of him! Do you really want to be responsible for that? For killing the part of him that’s able to create and believe? The part that’s able to listen to stories and bring them to life in his head? He’ll never be the same!’ Her voice rose to a shout. ‘Never!’
Solomon hugged the box to his chest, his triumphant look replaced by one of sadness. He looked older suddenly. Tired and haggard. ‘Imagination is overvalued,’ he said bitterly, running his finger over the lid of the box. ‘Memories, imagination . . . it’s all the same. For years I’ve lived in mine and it’s a lonely place. All that matters is what’s real. And what’s real is life, the here and now.’
‘No,’ said Tanya. ‘You’re wrong. Memories make us what we are, and imagination lets us dream of what’s possible. What we can be. No one can put a value on that.’
And, just for a moment, Solomon hesitated. But it was only a moment and it was over too quickly. The cold eyes hardened, filling with feverish madness once more. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘I will bring her back! No matter what the cost.’ He beckoned once more, eyeing Morghul greedily as the creature stumbled towards him.
Tanya shook the bars of the cage desperately, but it was useless. There was nothing, nothing she could do except watch as Morghul neared the cauldron. And then she froze, for Morghul had stopped. She glanced at Solomon. His face was blank with confusion and he gestured wildly, cursing under his breath at the unseen magic that was clearly failing him. And now Tanya could see why: Morghul was changing. The lumpy-porridge texture of his face was smoothing out like moulded wax, taking on new features. Features, she realised with horror, that encapsulated Ratty’s worst nightmares. Rotting flesh peeled from the skull, while blackened tooth stumps gnashed behind the lips.
As Solomon looked on in horror, Morghul’s lips drew back in a terrible smile and he lifted his hands, shattering the silver chains that bound them like they were no stronger than paper. A piece flew into Solomon’s face, striking his cheek and leaving a huge welt there. He threw his hands up, staggering back. Next, Morghul kicked out, separating the bonds that held his legs.
‘No!’ Solomon cried, recovering himself. ‘No, no, no!’ He lunged at Morghul, his eyes burning bright with madness as he tried to drag him to the cauldron – but he was no match for Morghul’s strength, not any more. Morghul seized him by the neck, squeezing hard with a rotting hand. Solomon’s face turned red and terrible choking noises forced their way from his throat. He clawed at Morghul’s face, forcing the monster to release his neck, but still Morghul grabbed at it.
Tanya turned to Ratty. His fear had paralysed him, leaving him unable to do anything but watch as the horrible scene unfolded.
‘Make it stop, Ratty!’ she begged. ‘You have to!’
Ratty’s head shook very slightly. ‘I can’t . . . he’s too powerful . . .’
Tanya grabbed him and shook him hard. ‘He’s only powerful because you’re letting him be! You’re the only one who can stop this, don’t you see? If you don’t, you’ll never be free of him and he’ll grow and grow until he takes you over completely!’
‘I can’t,’ Ratty repeated. ‘I don’t know how.’
His voice was empty, devoid of hope. Somehow, the sound of it terrified Tanya even more than the sight of Morghul. She glanced around the cellar, dimly aware that upstairs Oberon was barking from behind the closed storeroom door. She balled her hands into fists. Don must still be up there, trapped and in toad form. There was no hope of him coming to their rescue. And, even if he did, she did not know how he would stop what was in motion. She did not know how anyone could, even Ratty.
A sudden movement caught her eye. There, on the cellar steps, a shadow lurked in the beam of light coming from above. It loomed large, like a demon, with wild hair, pointed horns and a long tail swishing from side to side. Tanya felt the tiny hairs on the back of her arms rising, then realised what she was looking at. The beam of light widened and a small, fearful face peered round the door into the cellar. At the back of Tanya’s mind, it triggered something, something Don had told her. A bold little idea began to tap in her head.
‘Turpin!’ Tanya mouthed. ‘Here, quickly!’
Turpin hurried down the steps, moving swiftly through the shadows. With Solomon and Morghul still jostling for power, neither of them noticed as she slipped into the cage.
‘He is changing,’ she said, nodding at Morghul. She sounded more afraid than Tanya had ever heard her. ‘Ratty has remembered?’
‘Yes,’ Ratty said softly. ‘I remembered.’
‘Then hope is lost,’ said Turpin. ‘Whichever one of them wins.’
‘Hope isn’t lost,’ said Tanya. ‘Not yet. Listen, I have an idea, but we have to be quick. Can you go back upstairs and fetch the rucksack and sneak it to me without them seeing you?’
Turpin nodded. ‘Yes. Turpin is good at sneaking.’
‘Good,’ said Tanya. ‘Then hurry.’
Turpin squeezed through the bars again and scurried up the stairs. Morghul’s grunts and Solomon’s roars filled the cellar as they crashed around, each trying to gain the upper hand. Books and papers skidded across and littered the floor, and jars of ingredients and captive fairies smashed, with the fairies making hasty bids for freedom. It was clear that Solomon was losing, only hanging on out of the sheer will to survive, and that it could not last much longer.
Turpin reappeared, not only with the rucksack, but with Don in her arms and Oberon behind her.
‘Pa!’ Ratty exclaimed, as Don hopped on to his lap. ‘Heck, what a mess you’re in!’
Don hung his head miserably. ‘I’m sorry, Henry. I was hoping you wouldn’t have to see me like this.’
Tanya reached through the bars and dragged the rucksack to the cage. On the other side, Oberon scratched and whined, frustrated at not being able to join Tanya.
‘I know, boy,’ she said, unzipping the rucksack. ‘But you just have to stay there for now.’ From the rucksack, she pulled out the jar containing the Cornish brownie. ‘Listen to me,’ she told it through the air holes. ‘If I set you free, will you promise to help us?’
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The brownie scowled and nodded reluctantly. Tanya removed the lid from the jar. A wisp of blue smoke curled into the air as the magical seal was broken.
‘I need you to use your magic,’ said Tanya. She motioned for the others to lean in close as she quickly explained her idea. ‘Everyone clear?’ she asked. ‘Ratty, can you do this?’
Ratty nodded. ‘I’ll try.’
‘All right,’ said Tanya. ‘Get ready.’ She nodded at Turpin, who slipped out of the cage once more and began to head for the cellar steps. A terrible choking noise stopped her in her tracks and startled them all.
Morghul had grabbed Solomon’s neck once more and, this time, Solomon did not appear to have the strength to fight him off. His eyes bulged then closed, and his face was swiftly turning from red to purple as he gasped for air. His hands flailed uselessly, then dropped to his sides. Morghul gave one final squeeze, then released him. Solomon’s eyes snapped open again, full of cunning. He seized a heavy candlestick, ready to strike, but his foot slid on a pile of books and he skidded off balance, thrown back against the large, bubbling cauldron. As his legs buckled against it, his mouth gaped in a terrible realisation of what was about to happen. He grabbed at the air, trying to regain his footing, but to no avail. He toppled backwards with a blood-curdling scream and vanished into the frothing, steaming contents of the cauldron.
Immediately, the cauldron started to bubble and hiss, and wisps of white steam began to rise up. Morghul turned back to the cage, his gruesome face flushed with victory. Solomon would not climb out of the cauldron alive. Of that Tanya was now certain.
As the cauldron gave a rumbling gurgle, several things happened: there came a sharp sound of a lock clicking and the cage door sprang open. Inside the cage, Don gave an enormous belch, which produced a large, silver moth, and promptly transformed back into his rightful shape. He stared at his hands, wiggling his fingers in disbelief.