The Magic Lands

Here are the first two chapters of a work in progress which will eventually be my next book. Currently I don't have a publisher or any other deal in place to publish this novel. But once it's finished this story will hopefully become available for all to read. It's another fantasy adventure story, so if you enjoyed The Magic Lands this should also appeal to you. Comments as always, are very welcome.

                                                BOOK ONE

                                              DOORWAYS

1.  A NEW LIFE

2.  ANTIQUES AND CURIOSITIES

3.  A MESSAGE IN THE DARK

4.  LESSONS BEGIN

5.  WHO IS THE MASTER?

6.  VICTIMS OF MADNESS

7.  ABSOLUTE JUSTICE

8.  A WAY OUT

9.  A TIME TO DIE

10.  THE INQUEST

11.  ANOTHER DOOR

12.  ABNER FLOOD

13.  AN UNEXPECTED CALL

14.  DEATH AND RESURRECTION

15.  WHO HAS MY FACE?

                                              A NEW LIFE

"I like train journeys," said Mitch with a big grin, her eyes twinkling with barely contained excitement.

"Yes, we are quite aware of that," acknowledged her brother, suppressing a smile. "You must have told us about a million times!"

Jo ruffled her younger sister's hair. "Do you know, our brother is a bit of an exaggerator!"

Mitch nodded, a serious look on her face. “I’m sure it wasn’t more than a thousand.” Grinning again, she walked along the platform for a short distance gazing down at the tracks and then came running back to them. "Do you think Aunt Sophie will be pleased to see us?"

Peter groaned at this. "Probably not," he said, glancing at Jo. "But it looks as though she's as much stuck with us as we are with her. For now, at least."

Mitch became thoughtful, her face creasing into a frown. "Why do we have to live with her if she doesn't want us? I don't want to go somewhere I'm not wanted!"

Jo laughed softly and pushed a loose strand of hair away from her sister’s face. "Don't be silly, it won't be so bad."

Two hundred yards from the platform there was a bend in the track, the distance hidden by trees. A low rumbling had begun while they spoke and peering in the direction of the sound, Peter saw the dark shape of a train trundle into view, moving slowly toward the station. "Here it comes!" he cried.

The two girls turned their attention to the approaching train and gathered up their belongings, ready to board.

"Make sure you've got everything," Jo told Mitch, but the other girl just tutted.

"You're far more likely to forget something than I am."

"Have you got the tickets?" Jo asked Peter, ignoring her sister's remark.

The boy patted his trouser pocket. "Safe and sound."

As their train came to a ponderous halt, the three of them glanced around at the familiar station, knowing that in all probability they would not see this place again for a very long time, their home soon to be far away.

"London," Peter said with a hint of revulsion, thinking of what might wait for them at their destination. "I wish I thought I was going to like it there."

"Maybe it will be better than you think," Jo tried to reassure him, but in truth she herself did not really expect to relish life in such a big city, her own heart lost to the countryside.

The truth was that they had been given little choice in their future, their Aunt Sophie the only relative in a position to take them in, although all three had seen and heard enough to know that the offer to do so had been a reluctant one.

The death of their father nine weeks before had turned their lives upside down in a single, terrible moment, the sense of loss they shared powerful beyond measure. They each dealt with it in different ways, the grief more intense when they were alone, so they had spent most of their time together, attempting to lock away their fear and sorrow for the sake of each other. The pain cut all the deeper because they had barely come to terms with the death of their mother five years earlier and each, in their hearts, considered life to be incredibly cruel and unjust. And yet, on the surface at least, they all tried very hard to be supportive and as far as possible, optimistic, realising on some deep, undeniable level that they needed each other now more than ever before.

"Maybe this is a new beginning," Peter said, his eyes kept low, wishing he could say something that would help them all, but words always seemed to be so useless when it came to the important moments in life, the emotions he felt impossible to articulate.

"Maybe," Jo told him, opening a carriage door, "but I wouldn't have minded staying as we were." The last few words came out a little choked and she quickly climbed aboard the train.

Mitch glanced at her brother and saw the sadness on his face. "It'll be all right," she said, touching his arm, making him look up.

He offered her a small smile. "Come on then, sis. Before they leave without us."

Once inside, they set about making themselves comfortable, placing cases and baggage on the overhead racks. Peter helped Mitch with hers when she insisted on clambering over the seats on tiptoe in an effort to secure her own small suitcase. "Can I sit next to the window?" she pleaded, jumping down with a thud.

"If the guard sees you doing that, we'll probably be thrown off!" Jo warned her, but the other girl had snuggled up close to one of the windows, her face pressed to the glass.

"We can all sit next to the window if we like," Peter said, striving to keep the peace, "at least while we're the only ones in the carriage."

"I hope nobody else gets on when we stop," Mitch said, turning back toward her brother.  “Then we can have it all to ourselves for the whole journey!”

"We might be lucky,” agreed Peter. “There shouldn't be that many people travelling this time of day."

"What time is it anyway?" Jo wanted to know.

Her brother pulled up his sleeve and checked his watch. "A quarter past ten. Four hours to go before we get to Liverpool Street."

"That's the big station in London, isn't it?" asked Mitch. “The one you showed me on the map?”

Peter nodded and saw that Jo was yawning, trying to stifle it with the back of her hand.  “Why don’t you try and get some sleep?” he suggested.  “The journey will go by faster.”

"If I thought I could sleep, I would," she grumbled back. "But I'm just too, well, excited I suppose, if that's the word for it."

"I know what you mean," Peter admitted. "Even though I don't particularly want to go, it is exciting, in a funny sort of way."

"It is," voiced Mitch without looking at them, her face up against the window once more.  "When is this train going to get moving?"

Peter stepped up beside her and pulled down the window, before poking his head out.   Immediately a shrill whistle blew. "Look's like we're off," he notified his sisters, returning quickly to his seat.

The train lurched beneath them and began to chug slowly forward, hissing and groaning as it struggled to pick up speed. Mitch watched the station as it seemed to move past them, the illusion saddening her in a way she had not expected. "Goodbye," she whispered, her farewell more than just for the town where she had lived. It was as though she were leaving behind everything that had meant anything to her, the only things she had left now, her brother and sister. Her life had been hard, although she was not aware of it in any intellectual way and she had her scars, hidden deeper than most beneath a mask of independence and curiosity. When she had been only five her mother had died, a victim of cancer or so she was told. That hadn’t meant very much to her then and it still didn’t. She was not interested in reasons. All she knew was that her mummy was never coming home. And now her dad was gone too.

Jo fiddled with a London A to Z, scanning the small maps for the best route they could take to reach their Aunt's home; the underground connections they needed to make appeared far more complicated than she would have liked.  She had the address on a piece of paper kept safely in her purse, but she had memorised the details just in case. 11 Arcadia Avenue, London SW.

She glanced at her brother but he was engrossed in a comic, The X-Men, one of those super-hero stories he liked so much. She had to concede that they were actually quite entertaining, finding herself on the few occasions when she had picked up a discarded copy, to be quickly wrapped up in the colourful adventures. At thirteen, she had found herself increasingly torn between the lure of teenage distractions such as clothes, music-and of course, boys-and the things she had grown up with, her love of animals, particularly horses and the countryside generally, one of her great joys simply to walk in the meadows and woods that had surrounded her village. But all of that had been lost.

Now, they all faced an uncertain future, captives of a city ruled by smog and cars and the crush of so many people it felt you would be suffocated by them. This was a life-style that was entirely alien to her.  Why did this have to happen?  Why?

Death had stolen so much from their family, tainting them in some incalculable way that had taken such a terrible toll on their lives.

Cancer for mum, a heart attack for dad. Common fates, so common and acceptable.

But what of those left behind? Farmed out to whoever was available, without any say, without any choice. What future could they hope to have in the circumstances that destiny had chosen for them?  It would be easy to cry, so very easy, but Jo chose not to. She could make that choice at least.

Fields and trees sped past, indistinguishable from one another, the gentle rhythmic rocking of the train vaguely soothing. All of them were tired after many sleepless nights during the previous weeks. They had spent much of that time staying with family friends, but it had been like living in a vacuum, grief stretching out the days and nights until they seemed unendurable, every morning yielding the same unwelcome feelings of despair and emptiness.

Peter put down his comic beside him and turned toward the window to watch flashing shades of green hurtle by, a mixture of emotions passing rapidly through his mind. Sorrow, self-pity and anticipation of the new world that awaited them. In a way he felt guilty that part of him was actually looking forward to going to live in London, the prospect of such a completely different way of life intriguing him. He only wished the reason for going there could be changed. He thought about his dad, the man's face rumpled and good-natured and all kinds of memories came rushing back upon him, good memories that he never wanted to lose. Was it fair to have both your mum and dad taken from you? Was that really fair? He didn't think so. And now he felt a tremendous burden, the responsibility for his sisters squarely upon his shoulders, because he was the eldest.

But I'm only fifteen.  He felt very young in that moment.  I don't want all of this.

And yet, young or not, he had come to realise already that often choices were made for you and there was nothing you could do except try to survive and to do your best. 

He glanced at Jo and saw that she was checking the map again.

The sensible one! That's what dad had always called her.

"What's that?" came Mitch's voice, bringing his thoughts back to the present.

Peter glanced over at her and shrugged. "What's what?"

"That," said the girl, pointing toward him.

Looking down at himself, Peter didn't know what his sister could mean. "Where?" he queried, at a loss.  He thought she might be playing a game.

"There beside you. That box,” she insisted. “Where'd you get it?"

Beside him, next to his comic was a wooden box and Peter stared at it for several long moments, utterly dumbfounded. "Where did that come from?" he asked no-one in particular, his bewilderment plain to see. He looked to Jo for an explanation, but she only gazed back at him with curious interest.

"What is it?" she asked him and he knew immediately by her expression that it wasn’t just some kind of joke she was playing on him.  Jo had never been very good at telling lies. She always went bright red when she did. Mitch, however, was rather adept when it came to such matters and he turned his attention to his younger sister.

"Did you put it there?" he asked her sternly, but the girl just shook her head blankly.

"Why?" she wanted to know, "didn't you bring it with you?"

"Why on earth would I have something like this with me?" he said, gesturing at the box.  "Have you ever seen it before?"

Mitch shook her head. "Where did it come from then?"

"That's a good question," conceded her brother, "that is, if you didn't put it there yourself."

This suggestion seemed to surprise Mitch and she glared at him with a hurt expression. "When could I have put it there?" she demanded, "I haven't been any where near you!"

"That's true," joined in Jo, "I would have seen her if she had."

"All right, all right," Peter allowed, raising his hands, "but I just can't see how it could have been there when we got on, or one of us would have noticed it. In fact, I could have sworn that it wasn't there just a minute ago, when I put my comic down."

"That's ridiculous," Mitch decided. "Things don't just appear out of thin air!"

Peter shook his head absently. "I suppose so." He frowned and paused for a moment.  "Somebody must have left it on the train then. We'll have to hand it into lost property when we get off." He glanced down at the box once more, his curiosity aroused, then pulled it over onto his lap.

It was very light, so he presumed it must be empty, but what caught his attention were the beautiful carvings that covered the lid. Several intricate scenes were depicted in great detail and he bent down to get a closer look, examining the tiny cameo. Each one was a finely wrought, realistic study set within a rose-bud, linked by sinuous vines to a central, slightly larger portrait of a tree bearing the same flower in full bloom. One depicted a great house besieged by towering waves, another a beautiful carousel, but rather than horses, bears capered from red and white poles.

"This looks antique to me," he voiced without looking up and Jo slid over next to him to get a better view for herself. Mitch followed and soon all three peered at the mysterious object.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Mitch questioned, her inquisitive nature getting the better of her.

"I'm not sure that we should," Peter told her, although he was as eager to investigate as his sister.

"There might be a name and address inside," Jo suggested, leaning forward.

Peter nodded. "All right, but I have a feeling it may well be locked." While he studied the box, he had noticed that there was a small keyhole and it seemed very probable that such an expensive looking item would be kept securely locked. Half-heartedly, he gripped the lid, the wood smooth beneath his fingers and he tugged at it gently. To his surprise, the lid lifted easily and all three stared at what lay within.

"Why on earth would someone keep that in there?" Mitch spoke up, the first to question as she so often was.

"A flower?" Jo said simply, a bemused expression on her face.

"A rose," Peter elaborated, carefully touching the bloom with his fingers.

It was indeed a beautiful red rose, a neatly cut stem bearing three thorns, the petals delicate and moist, as if it had been only recently picked.

"It's lovely," Jo said, "but why keep it in a box?"

"Maybe it's a lover's token," Mitch proposed with a smile, batting her eyelids melodramatically.

"It can't have been in there long or it would have shrivelled up," stated Peter with authority, tentatively brushing a petal with his finger. A small plaque on the inside of the lid caught his eye and he read aloud. "Property of George Welles, Antiques and Curiosities, 101 Limbus Street, London SW."

"Looks like we know who it belongs to then," Mitch said, losing interest and returning to her place by the window.

"Just a minute," Jo began, grabbing her A to Z, "I'm not sure, but that sounds as though it could be fairly near to Aunt Sophie's. Let me check." She looked up Limbus Street in the index and then went to the appropriate page number, scanning the tiny road names carefully. "You can never find the one you're looking for," she grumbled, running a finger slowly across the page. After another minute or so, she passed the book over to Peter with a sigh, "here, you have a look.  I can't find it."

Her brother squinted at the small lettering and began to methodically trace his way across the unfamiliar terrain, numerous roads, streets and avenues marked closely together in a complicated maze. "Wait a minute," he said at length, "what's this in the crease? Yes, here it is, Limbus Street!"

Jo looked for herself and nodded. "I was right," she declared, "it isn't all that far from Aunt Sophie's house.  Do you think we should drop it in on our way?"

"It would be easier to just hand it into lost property at the station," commented Peter. “Let them take care of it.”

Mitch turned her attention back to them, her interest rekindled. "I think we should do it ourselves. Maybe there's a reward or something!"

"Always thinking of what there might be in it for yourself," Jo rebuked, but not too unkindly.

"No," contested Mitch with an indignant frown, "I'd be quite happy to take it back anyway."

"Okay, I suppose we could return it," Peter said, "as long as it's not too far out of our way."

"It's not," Jo assured him, returning the book to her bag, "and I'm sure Mr. Welles will be pleased to have it back sooner rather than later."

“It probably won’t make any difference,” murmured Peter, shutting the lid with a firm click. "The flower will have died by then anyway."

ANTIQUES AND CURIOSITIES

Liverpool Street station was huge and vaguely unsettling, hundreds of people rushing around, intent only on getting wherever it was that they were going. Three or four times Mitch had her case knocked by some passing fellow traveller, with not a word of apology or even a backward glance. It was every man, woman and child for themselves in the big city and although she had rather expected it to be that way, the hard reality of it disappointed her.

The three of them made their way falteringly through the throng, trying to locate the entrance to the underground and were relieved to find it with less difficulty than they had feared, descending some steps before using their tickets to pass through a barrier. Referring to a large sign on a wall, they calculated the connections they would need to make-Circle Line to Central Line, then onto the Northern Line-and waited on a busy platform for a train to arrive.

"It's so gloomy down here," Mitch complained, not enjoying this part of their journey one bit. She spotted a rat scurrying along one of the rails and pointed it out to Peter, who watched it with an expression of disgust, thinking that the place was probably infected with the creatures. Jo, meanwhile was glancing around the crowded platform, looking at the advertisements upon the walls and up at the high arched ceiling, thick with grime. She listened to the conversations of those around her-it was impossible not to-and overhearing what sounded to her ears to be snatches of Japanese and then German, she guessed that many of those that packed the station were tourists, come to visit their capital city. Already she found London daunting. It was so unlike the town where she had grown up, too many people bustling around with their own agendas and there appeared to be a distinct lack of community, the atmosphere vaguely hostile. The numerous beggars they had seen within the station had also disturbed her greatly and though she had given some change to the first they came upon, she had quickly realised that there were just too many of them, their joyless faces regarding her with morose intensity.  She could not help them all.

At last a train came, but once inside they were forced to stand, their luggage crushed against their legs.

The air was clogged with perspiration and Peter found it hard to breathe. "I can't wait to get out of here," he whispered to Jo, but there were eyes upon him that seemed less than friendly and he remained silent for the rest of the journey.

All three of them experienced a tremendous sense of relief when at last they climbed a flight of stairs and emerged into a narrow street, passers-by ignoring them as they gazed at the tall, old buildings that loomed overhead. Just to be out in the daylight again was a wonderful feeling.

"Let's avoid using the underground wherever possible, okay?" Jo submitted and she didn't need an answer to know that her brother and sister shared this sentiment.

"Time to check the map," urged Peter, having to step aside as a woman brushed hastily past him. "But maybe we should find a better place to stop."

They walked a short distance along the road, moving away from the busy station into a side-street, where they found a quieter spot to refer to the A to Z.

"Are you sure we won't get lost trying to take that box back?" Peter asked Jo, looking over her shoulder at the map.

"We'll be all right," Jo reassured him, "as long as we don't lose this." She tapped the A to Z for emphasis.

Mitch shuffled impatiently on the pavement. "All I want to do is find a toilet."

Once a lavatory had been located and utilised, they continued on along a winding pathway that meandered between tall buildings. This part of the city was noticeably older, to judge by the architecture, and quieter too. Coming upon a cobbled street, Jo commented on the marked difference between this part of London-the old London, she supposed-and the image of bright lights and the bustle of tourist infested hot-spots that most visitors to the city took away with them. Her opinions about the potential of their new home were gradually altering as they moved deeper into this archaic area of the historic town, relics of a bygone age everywhere. They passed an antiquated church, sadly in disrepair, a stained-glass window shattered by the bored and mindless and turning a corner, they looked down a long, narrow, deserted lane, where the only things moving were swirls of dust and litter, picked up by a gentle breeze.

"There doesn't seem to be all that many people around," remarked Peter, pausing for a moment.  “I always thought London was crowded!”

"No cars either,” Jo returned, smiling at the fact. The noise of traffic was no more than a faint rumble now.

"They probably can’t get down these roads, it's too thin," observed Mitch, standing in the middle of the street.  She was enjoying this part of the city almost as much as her sister.

"Look," said Peter, pointing up at a high wall, "Limbus Street." A time-worn sign revealed the name in faded white lettering.” This is the place!”

"I bet they don't get much business around here," decided Jo, starting down the neglected pathway, the stone cracked and uneven.

Peter just shrugged, following on behind. They passed a great many silent houses, their windows darkened and all three had the feeling that they had somehow passed into another time and place. There was no sound at all now, no radio playing, no dogs barking, nothing. The sun beat down on the cobbled lane and only their footsteps broke the perfect stillness.

"Keep your eyes open for the shop," Peter said in a hushed voice. "This place is really quiet," he added, glancing through the window of an empty storefront, the interior bare.

"Looks like someone couldn't stay in business," Jo noted, also looking through the glass.

Mitch gritted her teeth as she hauled her suitcase along. It was beginning to feel very heavy and she was forced to hold it in both hands, bracing it against her legs.

"Do you need some help with that?" her brother asked noticing her labours, but she shook her head.

"I'll be okay."

“It can’t be much further,” said Jo, and then looking ahead she saw an ornate sign protruding from the wall in the shape of a lamp, the words Antiques and Curiosities emblazoned on a dirty white background.

"Not far at all," affirmed Peter, gesturing and they all eagerly made for the entrance, desperate to put down their cases even if it was only for a minute or two.

"If we’re lucky, the manager might give us a drink for our trouble," suggested Mitch with her natural optimism.

"I do hope you're right," Jo said, her throat very dry.

Pausing at the doorway, Peter checked the window for the shop’s business hours, but he couldn't see a card or plaque anywhere. "Please don't let it be shut." Tentatively he tried the handle but the door wouldn't budge. "If we've come all this way for nothing," he complained.

"Maybe it's stuck," said Jo, knowing full well there was very little chance of that being the case.

"Give it a hard push," Mitch prompted, offering to do it for him but Peter stopped her.

With a reluctant glance at his sisters, lending a little more weight to his efforts, he tried again but the door was securely locked. "I don't believe it!" he moaned, turning around in annoyance.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, no-one knowing what to say.

"How about knocking," proposed Mitch suddenly, "the shop may be shut, but there might still be someone in there."

Peter considered this and then nodded.  "We've got nothing to lose, I suppose."

Rapping his knuckles loudly on the door a few times, he waited, the girls trying to peer through into the dimly lit shop.

"There can't be anyone inside," Jo said after a while, "it's so dark in there."

"You’re right,” conceded Peter. “It looks as though we'll just have to take the box to the nearest police station and hand it in. They'll be able to return it."

His sisters nodded in unison, wishing they had gone straight to their Aunt Sophie's instead of traipsing all the way here. They still had a fair way to go before they would be able to rest their legs and if they were lucky, get something to drink.

Turning back into the lane, Peter gave Jo a weary look. "There isn't a short-cut is there by any chance?"

"Let me check the map again." Reaching into her bag, she fumbled around for the book but couldn't seem to find it. Bending down to have a more thorough search, Jo rooted through her belongings with increasing frustration. "I can't have lost it," she mumbled. “I can’t have!”

Peter and Mitch were watching her with a growing sense of horror. "You're not going to say what I think you are," Peter asked slowly.  “Are you?”

Jo glanced at them red-faced. "I don't understand it," she breathed, "there's just no way it could have fallen out of my bag."

"We'll have to backtrack," Mitch declared, on top of the situation immediately. “If we’re careful, we should be able to find our way back to the station.”

"Are you children having some kind of difficulty?" boomed a voice from behind them and all three turned to see an extremely large, rather portly man standing in the shop doorway.

"Eh, hello sir," Peter spoke up, slightly intimated by the sheer bulk of the man. He was well over six feet tall and had a girth that suggested an appreciation of good food.

The big man smiled warmly. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Are you Mr. Welles?" Mitch asked boldly, as ever the forward one.

"Indeed I am," responded the man, "at your service."

"We knocked on your door," Jo offered, almost an apology.

"Really?" Mr. Welles said with a small frown. "I didn't hear anything. Must be my hearing going. Old age you know!"

"How old are you?" questioned Mitch, causing both Peter and Jo to blush with embarrassment.

"Positively ancient, my dear, especially in such youthful company," he answered her with a chuckle.

Peter stepped forward and cleared his throat, feeling a little self-conscious. "I think we have something of yours, sir.  We found it on a train."

"Indeed!" Mr. Welles said, the sound of his voice echoing through the empty street, "and what might that be?"  He eyed Peter expectantly.

"A box," the boy told him. “It has your name on it, so we brought it back for you. It's in my suitcase," he added hastily.

"A box," the man reflected, "how interesting! Well, why don't you all come inside where we can discuss the matter more comfortably, hmm?"

Peter hesitated just for a moment, wondering if it was entirely safe to take his two sisters into a dark building with a complete stranger, but he decided that after all, they had come all that way to return the box, so it seemed a little foolish to back out now.

"Do you have any lights?" Mitch queried, promptly walking forward. She clearly didn’t share her brother’s reservations. Peter and Jo followed, Mr. Welles closing the door behind them.

Although the interior of the shop was murky, they all saw the vast array of cluttered bric-a-brac that seemed to fill every available space, mysterious items stacked haphazardly all over the large room, tables and chairs buried beneath objects of every kind imaginable. Portraits stood askew against other pieces of furniture, while several tall grandfather clocks could be seen poking out from behind shelves loaded with porcelain vases, china plates and a myriad of different ornaments. Many of them showed the likeness of animals, although there were some that defied identification. In one corner an army of tin soldiers stood proudly upon a velvet covered table and below them, reclining against an oak cabinet, were dozens of dolls of all shapes and sizes, many of them appearing to be very old.

The three children surveyed the room, their eyes darting back and forth, amazed by the clutter of objects; everywhere they looked there was something of interest or the promise of treasures waiting to be found.

"How do you like my shop?" Mr. Welles asked them, looking at each face in turn.

 "It's great," Peter said, meaning it. Jo nodded too, quite taken by several bronze statuettes of horses she had spied within a dusty glass cabinet.

Mitch meanwhile had gone over to a high-backed chair that stood just inside the door, on the seat of which there sat a ragged looking teddy-bear, its yellow body faded, one eye drooping rather badly. "I like him," she said.

"Well then, perhaps I can give you a special price," offered Mr. Welles with an affectionate smile. "He could do with someone to look after him properly."

"I'm a bit old for bears really," she told him with a reluctant frown.

"You're never too old for bears!" the man rumbled, "I am ancient beyond belief and I have never stopped loving them." He said this with such sincerity and warmth that the girl returned a small, if rather bemused smile.

"Would you really let me have him?"

"I'm not sure that would be right," Jo interceded, glancing at Peter.

"Nonsense, my dear," Mr. Welles reassured her. "You deserve some small token for your trouble and to be perfectly honest, this old bear is not worth a great deal. The condition you know."

Jo looked at the man and then at Mitch.  "Well, if you're sure."

Mitch had already gathered up the old bear into her arms.  "I'll call him Pat."

"A grand name!" exclaimed Mr. Welles. "Now, shall I take a look at that box?"

Peter lay his suitcase down onto the musty green carpet and getting onto his knees, he opened it up and carefully took out the box.

"I expect the rose will be dead by now," he remarked, gaining his feet and offering it to the man.

"Rose?" Mr. Welles asked, taking it from the boy in an immense hand.

"Yes," Mitch told him, "there's one inside. A red one!"

"How fascinating. Let's take a look shall we?" Opening the box, Mr. Welles glanced briefly at the flower and then held it out for the children to see.

"Oh good," Mitch spoke up, "it hasn't died!"

The rose was just as it had been when they had examined it on the train and Peter found this rather perplexing as he felt sure it should have shown at least some signs of wilting, especially in the hot weather.

"Well, I am indeed grateful that you children have returned this to me. Unlike your bear my dear, this is valuable."

"I thought it might be," said Peter, pleased that they had taken the trouble to return it now.

"Do you know,” Mr. Welles stated, closing the box. “I don't even know who it is that I am thanking. It is hardly fair that you should have such an advantage over me, now is it?”

"Oh no, of course,” Peter began, realising that they should have introduced themselves. "I'm Peter, Peter Gardner. And these are my sisters, Jo and Michelle, although she prefers to be called Mitch."

"How do you do, Peter, Jo and Mitch," he said formally, shaking each of them by the hand. "Now please, let me offer you a cup of tea or something. I'm sure you must be quite thirsty, having come all this way."

Mitch's eyes lit up and Jo didn't need to be asked twice. Only Peter, who was mistrustful by nature, was reluctant to accept the man's hospitality.

"I'm not sure we should,” he voiced, “our Aunt is expecting us."

Both girls immediately turned on him with irritation. "Don't be silly," Jo scolded, "Aunt Sophie won't be worried. She doesn't really know what time we'll arrive anyway. And if she had been that bothered, she would have met us at the station!"

"You can’t argue with that," Mitch agreed, narrowing her eyes and giving her brother a stern look.

Mr. Welles had remained silent during this exchange, waiting to see what the outcome would be.  Now he looked at Peter with one questioning eyebrow raised.

Peter held up his hands in submission. "All right," he allowed, "as long as we don't stay too long."

They followed the big man through a narrow opening, the two girls keeping close behind him, Peter hanging back to admire several one-armed bandit slot-machines that stood on ornate metal platforms either side of the short passage. Pulling back a heavy curtain, Mr. Welles ushered them into a smallish kitchen area where a sink, refrigerator and a table and chairs were situated.

"Please sit down," he instructed them politely, indicating the chairs and the children gratefully did as they were asked, their luggage hastily stacked about their feet. Mitch kept her bear on her lap and watched as Mr. Welles readied the tea things, humming the fragment of a tune while he worked. Peter meanwhile examined the kitchen, noting that in most respects it was much the same as any other he had seen, if a little sparse, but one aspect of it did catch and hold his attention. Apart from the way they had entered, there was only one other exit from the room, a rather narrow, metallic door, set in the wall opposite the sink. Its appearance alone would have been enough to arouse his curiosity, but what really interested him was the addition of a sturdy, rusty padlock that made him wonder what might be locked away upon the other side. Mr. Welles must have noticed him staring at it, because he went over and tapped the door with his fingers.

"Unusual, don't you think," he said, glancing at Peter.

A little embarrassed, Peter nodded vaguely. "Yes, it doesn't look like it's been opened in a long time."

"Never!" the man informed him, "at least not while I've owned this shop. And that's been quite some considerable time."

"Isn't there a key for it?" Mitch inquired, joining in with the conversation.

Mr. Welles looked over at the girl and grinned. "Straight to the heart of the matter," he chuckled. "You have a sharp mind. I like that!  But first of all, how about that tea? Is tea all right?" The three children nodded.

"How do you think the box got on the train?" Jo asked abruptly after a moment. She looked over at Mr. Welles as he busied himself filling an old copper kettle with water and placing it on a hob.

"That is a good question," he said, measuring out the tea from a tin and tipping it into a large pot.  "I suppose the man who bought it must have left it behind."

"Oh," Jo uttered, "so it doesn't actually belong to you."

Mr. Welles turned toward her and scratched his chin. "Now that you mention it, no it does not, but no harm done. I have the purchase on record somewhere, I'll see to it that it's returned to the rightful owner."

Jo nodded slowly. "Good," she said, pleased to know that everything would be put right.

The kettle began to boil with a high-pitched whistle and Mitch shuffled her feet with impatience.  Noticing this, Mr. Welles gave her a long gaze.

"You are wondering when I am going to answer your question?" Mitch smiled at him and nodded. "Well, my dear, it's like this," he began and then turned back to pour the hot water into the teapot. With his back turned to them, he continued to speak. "I did have a key to that door, but I misplaced it years ago, soon after I arrived here in fact. And to tell the truth, I have never particularly liked the look of that door. Too narrow!" He patted his huge belly with both hands. "So I decided to leave well enough alone."

Peter found this hard to believe. "But surely you could do with the extra space?" he spoke up, realising as soon as he had that it sounded quite rude.

"Perhaps," the man admitted, "but to be honest, Peter, it just became a kind of habit. Time passes and you just leave things as they are." Placing the pot of tea and the cups and saucers onto a tray beside a small jug of milk and a dish of sugar, he brought it over and placed it on the table. After saying thank you, the children became quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the strong tea. Taking up the box once more from a shelf where he had set it down, Mr. Welles opened it up and fingered the rose tenderly.

"Do you know," he said to them thoughtfully, taking a seat, "roses are marvellous flowers. In many ways they are the perfect symbol of the twin nature of Mankind. The bloom itself so delicate and beautiful, while the thorns in contrast are vicious and unforgiving."

Peter had become a little uneasy while the man spoke and made to rise from the table, thinking that now would be a good time to leave. He made to say as much, but wasn’t given the chance.

"What's this!" Mr. Welles cried in surprise, having lifted the flower from the box. The two girls were peering inside, at whatever the man was pointing at and Peter couldn’t stop himself from leaning over to see what all the commotion was about.

"A key," said Mitch in a whisper, her eyes wide.

"It's probably for the lock on the box," Peter reasoned, eyeing an ornate silver key that the man now held between thumb and forefinger.

"Was it caught up in the rose?" Jo enquired, not really seeing how it could have been.

"I suppose it must have," Mr. Welles said, but then looking at Peter and noticing the doubtful expression on the boy’s face, he shook his head. "I can't see how it can be for the box though, it's much too big." He handed it to him. "What do you think?"

Peter turned the key over in his hands and saw that the man was right. It was far too large to fit the small lock on the box. "Strange," he mumbled, holding it up before his eyes and frowning at it.

Mitch also stared at the key in her brother's hand and then, without knowing why, glanced across at the metal door. "You don't think," she started and then hesitated.

"Surely not!" Mr. Welles exclaimed, also looking over at the door.

"Why would it have been in the box?" Jo wanted to know, finding it all rather bizarre.

"I suppose," the man said thoughtfully, "that it could have fallen into the box years ago and that's where I lost it."

Peter shook his head violently. "No," he asserted, "whoever put the rose in there would have seen it. The man who bought the box from you must have put the key inside. It must belong to him."

Mr. Welles regarded the boy for a few moments, his expression difficult to read. "Your brother is right," he said, turning to look at the girls, "it is just a curious coincidence.  This key couldn't possibly be anything to do with that door." He waved an arm at it dismissively.

For a few moments no-one spoke; then Mitch voiced a question. "Aren't you going to try it at least?  What harm can it do?"

"Come on, Mitch," her brother said with a disapproving glance, "there's no way this key could be for that door."

He was conscious that Mr. Welles was looking at him, his head angled slightly to one side. "Like your sister says, Peter, what harm could it do?"

The boy returned the man’s challenging gaze, the key held tightly between his fingers. Reasons why they should forget the whole thing passed swiftly through his mind, only to be cast aside one after another, as either inadequate or ridiculous. "It won't fit," he said with a hint of annoyance and handed the key back to Mr. Welles.

Standing up, key in hand, the proprietor of the shop went to the door and took hold of the old padlock. "It really is very rusty," he reported, before inserting the key into the lock.  Mitch had stood up to get a better view and both Peter and Jo leaned over in an attempt to see past the man's massive bulk.

There was a loud snapping sound; Mr. Welles removed the padlock and turned toward the children, a stunned expression on his face.  "I really don't believe it," he cried, "it actually worked!"

Mitch moved beside him, her eyes darting from the man to the door.

Peter shook his head, a feeling of utter bewilderment clouding his thoughts. What was going on here?

"I wonder what's inside?" Mr. Welles asked aloud, his eyes finding Mitch, his growing enthusiasm shared by the girl, who seemed to bristle with excited curiosity.

"There's only way to find out," she said, determination in her voice and stepping forward she took hold of the handle and pulled with one hand, the other still clutching her bear.

"Mitch!" Peter shouted, not really knowing why the idea of his sister opening the door should frighten him. But the truth was, it did frighten him. In fact, it terrified him.  Apparently, Mitch had no such concerns, not even turning around when Peter called her and he could only let out a stifled cry as she proceeded to enter into the darkness that lay beyond the open door.  “JO! Stop her!” he finally managed to say, getting clumsily to his feet.

Jo looked at him in confusion. “What?” she mouthed, but Peter was already moving toward the door, Mitch no longer in sight.

Mr. Welles merely stood to one side watching the children, his expression neutral.

"Mitch!" Peter called, nearing the doorway, "come out of there!" But there was no response and all he could see was a dark void. "Mitch!" he shouted at the door, his imagination conjuring up all kinds of dangers, from sudden drops into bottomless pits to malformed creatures lurking in the blackness.  "If this is some kind of game, it's not very funny! Just come out of there." He glanced back at Mr.Welles but the man said nothing, just continued to watch intently and this made Peter burn with anger, irritated that no-one else seemed to be concerned about what was happening.

Suddenly, Jo brushed past his arm. "I'll get her," she said casually, walking into the gloom.

"No!" Peter almost screamed, grabbing wildly at his sister's arm, but he was too slow and within seconds she too was lost in darkness.

Peter turned on Mr. Welles, his frustration and fear causing him to almost lose control of himself. "What's going on here!?" he bellowed at the impassive figure. "Why are you just standing there!? Why don’t you do something!?" But the man did not answer and Peter turned back to the door to peer uneasily into the nothingness beyond. "Jo!" he shouted at the top of his voice, "Mitch!" His call was met by utter silence. What can I do? he wondered despairingly. There was something wrong about all of this, something bad, yet he was powerless to prevent it.