White Horse Talisman (12 page)

One for sorrow, two for joy,
Three for a girl, four for a boy,
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret never been told.

“I think we're up to four magpies. We haven't seen five yet, have we?” Holly checked around with everyone. “Unless Chantel or Adam have seen them in their adventures?”

Brother and sister shook their heads.

“So that's something we have to watch for. The magpies always tell of something important,” Holly finished.

Owen's face glowed. “This is getting really exciting. Now if we can solve Wayland's riddle, we're set.”

“What was it Wayland said?” asked Chantel. She rubbed her forehead. “My brain is too woolly to remember.”

Everyone looked at Adam. He started chanting and Holly and Owen softly joined in.

Those you seek are running still,
Though hidden now, beneath the hill.
What lies below is seen on high.
Seek them where the magpies fly.

Seek them as small shadows, cast
By the sun when noon hath passed.
Red like white in slumber lie,
The talisman within the eye.

There was a long pause.

“That seems to say we'll find the red horse … if we fly like magpies … in the afternoon,” said Holly slowly. “And that the talisman is in its eye, like it was at the White Horse.”

“So … how are we going to fly?” asked Owen.

The cousins looked at each other and shrugged.

“Come back to that later. What about ‘hidden now be–neath the hill?'” asked Owen.

“Do you think the red horse could be hidden under Dragon Hill?” wondered Holly.

Adam started guiltily, but no one noticed.

Chantel shook her head. “The hill I saw was a big one, in a different valley.”

“Besides, Dragon Hill is white chalk, not red clay,” Owen pointed out.

“You're right … that doesn't fit. But if the carvings were buried somewhere else it would fit,” said Holly excitedly. “The images would still be running if they were just covered up. And if they are covered up, that's why no one knows about them.”

Adam looked doubtful. “If they are covered up, how can they cast shadows?”

Chantel shrugged again. “Dunno. What else did Wayland say, Adam?”

Reluctantly, he quoted, “Take heed you find not that you must not seek. Seek instead he who bears my name.”

“Hmm. I wonder what we are not supposed to be seeking.

We've not come across anything to avoid so far,” said Holly.

They haven't met the dragon, thought Adam uneasily. He suppressed the thought.

“Never mind that. We'll figure it out,” said Owen. “But we have to talk to Mr. Smythe.” He grinned cockily.

“Why?” asked Chantel.

“Mr. Smythe interrupted us at Wayland's Smithy,” said Owen.

Chantel nodded.

“Well,” continued Owen, “he was telling us about peo–ple's occupations. How they turned into last names. John the smith became John Smith, and Pete the miller became Peter Miller.”

“That's neat,” said Chantel.

Owen laughed. “It gets better. He told us that his name, Smythe, was just a fancy way of saying smith and that his ancestors were blacksmiths. So, that's who we've got to see. Wayland says ‘Seek instead he who bears my name' and who should turn up but Mr. Smythe … the blacksmith!” Owen turned to Adam “See … I told you!” he crowed.

“It kind of makes sense,” Adam admitted reluctantly. “But Mr. Smythe won't believe us. No adult will.”

“We won't tell him everything,” said Owen. “Just that Chantel was given the talisman and we've heard something about a red horse vale. He collects stories like that all the time.”

“That's true,” said Holly. “Mr. Smythe talks to strangers in pubs and visits the old people in the village. He won't think there is anything weird in our questions. We ask him about stuff all the time. He's a friend.”

“Okay. Just ask him about the red horse,” agreed Chantel. “But what about Wayland's warning?” Chantel shifted uneas–ily. “There must be something we are not supposed to look for.” She glanced across at her brother with sudden intuition. “Is there something you're not telling, Adam?”

Adam flushed angrily. “No!” He glared around, daring someone to argue with him.

Chantel dropped her eyes.

Adam clenched his hands. His little sister sensed some–thing. Too bad. He wasn't going to tell them. He was going to fly with the dragon and use its power. They might not be able to fly, but he and the dragon could. Then he could find the red horse on his own!

“You yelled that the talisman was yours, yours and … then you stopped,” Owen suddenly remembered. “You were planning to take it to someone else, weren't you?” He glared accusingly at Adam.

Adam glared back.

Chantel covered the talisman with her blanket.

“Oh nice, really nice,” Adam said. “Now you've turned my little sister against me.”

“Give over, you two.” Holly's hand cut the air between them. “You were such friends yesterday. What changed?”

“He did,” said both boys, pointing at each other.

Chantel stifled a giggle as the boys turned to glare at her.

She took the broken talisman from under the blanket and of–fered it to Holly. “Why don't you show it to Mr. Smythe this evening? You're the only one who hasn't kept it for a while.”

She smiled. “The doctors say I can come home tomorrow morning. You can tell me what happens then.”

“You're coming home!” Holly shrieked with delight.

Owen double-slapped Chantel's hands.

Adam's smile hid his smoldering anger.

CCC

It was early evening and still light out as Holly led the way through the gates of the Big House and up the broad sweep of gravel drive.

“Mr. Smythe must be rich,” Adam said as he took in the enormous lawn and the impressive terrace and columns along the front of the house.

“He doesn't act rich,” said Owen. “The house has been in his family forever, but he kind of lives in the kitchen and doesn't use the other rooms, except for special occasions.”

They ignored the steps up to the imposing front door, skirted a flowerbed and started down a narrow flag path that ran along the side of the house.

“Wait,” said Holly in an odd voice. She pointed. At the far side of the lawn, five magpies strutted under the boughs of an old oak tree. The three kids watched in awe as the magpies poked around in the grass. “Five for silver,” they whispered together.

They stood for several minutes, but the magpies ignored them and nothing happened.

The back of the house was more ordinary than the front but still imposing. The children clattered across a flagstoned yard and arrived at a small green door with a brass lion's-head knocker in the middle. Holly gave a loud rat-a-tat.

“Come in, come in. Nice to have young people visit–ing.” Mr. Smythe waved them through the door and along a passage hung with coats and strewn with rubber boots and shoes. They stepped into a huge kitchen.

Despite his reluctance about the visit, Adam's eyes widened with pleasure. The room was like something in a museum, old fashioned and full of amazing junk. A large wooden table stood in the middle of the stone floor. At one end was a clear space where Mr. Smythe ate his meals.

The rest of the table was covered with towers of books and magazines, bulging boxes, and, best of all, the sort of objects Adam wished his mom would let him keep.

A stuffed owl perched on a log anchored one pile of books; a glass case containing an old-fashioned collection of bird eggs topped another pile. A tray covered with a lineup of bones was balanced on top of several boxes. Stone Age axe heads and hammers held down sheets of paper covered with notes. A shallow plastic bowl full of sand held a small round urn partly glued together; the pieces still to be fitted rested on the sand's surface.

More books lined the shelves of an old dresser. They spilled over and marched in rows along the floor. Cracked jugs and strange iron objects hung from hooks in the ceiling. Stacks of old newspapers sat on every chair. Old photos, several showing aerial views of the White Horse, plastered the walls. A map acted as a window blind. The old-fashioned cookstove and much newer fridge looked out of place. This room was now an office, not a kitchen. In pride of place near the clear end of the table was a large white plastic skull with red glass eyes and a hole in the top, stuffed with pens and pencils.

“I gave him that last Christmas,” whispered Owen when he saw Adam eyeing it. “It glows in the dark.”

Mr. Smythe rubbed his hands together. “Brought some–thing new to show me, did you?” His eyes twinkled at Owen and Adam. “An old talisman, I think you said?”

To Adam's relief Mr. Smythe made no mention of the fight.

“Actually, sir, I've got it.” Holly handed over the piece of gold, with a sideways smirk at the two boys.

Owen rolled his eyes.

Mr. Smythe pushed aside a pile of papers and picked up a magnifying glass. “Make yourselves comfortable.” He waved his hand towards the chairs, switched on a bright desk lamp and angled it on the talisman.

Holly and Owen each chose a chair, moved the contents from its seat to the floor and sat down, grinning. Adam copied them. Owen gave him a thumbs up.

“Most intriguing,” muttered Mr. Smythe. His glasses began to slip down his nose. He grunted, pushed them up with one finger and continued his examination. “Hmm
a spiral design on one side. Could be a decorative whirl, or the symbol for a snake, or a worm.” He turned the talisman over. “Hmm, a horse. Possibly Celtic design.” He placed it on a square of felt spread out on the tabletop, walked over to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. “Let's compare it to something.” His hand paused in the air, then swooped down to pick out a small box. “This, I think, is the correct one.” He removed the lid, gave a quick nod of satisfaction and returned to the table.

Placing the box on the table, Mr. Smythe removed the lid of a Chinese ginger jar, thrust his hand inside and pulled out a pair of thin white cotton gloves. He pulled them on before lifting a bronze coin from the box and placing it on the felt beside the gold talisman.

He beckoned to the children. “See the similarities?” he asked.

“They're nearly the same size and shape. They're both old, and I think they've been made by hand because they're not perfect circles,” Holly said. It was clear that she had worked with Mr. Smythe before.

“They both have designs of horses. Like the White Horse,” offered Owen.

Adam decided it was time for him to get involved. “But one's gold and one's brown and they don't show the same horse, because this one —” Adam pointed to the bronze coin “— is only one horse, and this one —” he pointed to the magic talisman “— would show a large one and a small one if it was complete.”

Mr. Smythe stared at him.

Adam flushed and avoided everyone's eyes. He must be more careful when he opened his big mouth.

Mr. Smythe held the talisman under the magnifying glass again. “You think this would show two Celtic horses,” he muttered. “One large, one small. Could be. There is a sug–gestion of another leg on the edge of the break.” He looked vaguely into the distance. “It reminds me of something … now what?”

“Are there any lost horse carvings?” Holly asked. “Ones like the White Horse that have disappeared for some reason.”

“Only the Red Horses of Tysoe,” Mr. Smythe answered absently.

Holly, Owen, and Adam looked stunned, and Mr. Smythe sat up with a start. “That's it! That's what this reminds me of. Here.” He gave the talisman back to Holly and dashed over to the dresser, where he started looking through the drawers.

Mr. Smythe rushed back to the table with a slim silver box in his hand.

Holly nudged Owen.

Mr. Smythe lifted the silver lid and took out an ancient, leather-bound volume. The book was fragile. Mr. Smythe laid it carefully on the felt, but as he opened it two of the thin pages fluttered out. Mr. Smythe sucked in his breath and care–fully tucked them back in place. Then very slowly he turned the pages until he found the place he wanted. “There!”

The children gazed down at an old print of a landscape with the outline of two horses carved on a hill.

“The two red horses of Tysoe. Overgrown and lost in recent times. Now only known from this early sketch and a written description over three hundred years old.” Mr. Smythe tapped the page with his forefinger. “When you asked about two horses, that's what it reminded me of.” He fixed them all with a steely gaze. “Now come clean. What's all this about?”