Hollow Earth by John Barrowman, Carole E. Barrowman Page B

Matt.
    Oh, don’t be so dramatic.
    Quickly, Simon made the formal introductions. ‘Em and Matt, this is Mara Lin. She and your mum and I—’
    ‘—and Malcolm,’ interjected Mara, pulling the goggles from her hair.
    ‘And your dad,’ continued Simon, ‘were all at university together. Not only does Mara teach with your grandfather, but she’s also an amazing glassmaker.’
    ‘Did you make the installation on the trees out there?’ Em jumped off of her stool, rushing to the French doors. ‘I noticed it when we were taking our tour. It’s … it’s ridiculously gorgeous.’
    ‘I’m pleased you like it,’ said Mara, following Em to the window. ‘It’s a copy of a much larger piece I created for a hotel in the States.’
    Simon joined them. ‘What’s really cool about it is when you walk through the installation towards the water, the mirrors create this weird illusion that you’re walking into what you’ve just left behind.’
    ‘Could you teach me how to make glass, Mara?’ Em asked.
    ‘I’d love to.’ Mara put her hand on Em’s shoulder as they walked back to the table. Em noticed her fingers were dotted with thin cuts and pin-sized burns from her work.
    Matt was more interested in how deeply his mum was frowning at Em and Mara.
    Renard went over to a large desk and took a sketchpad and packet of chalk pastels out of one of the drawers. ‘Matt, Em,’ he said, ‘shall we go?’
    When Renard made up his mind, it was pointless arguing. Which was why, when they’d disagreed ten years ago over the twins’ futures, Sandie had packed up and left. But running was no longer an option, as Sandie was no longer in a position to protect the twins on her own. She had to let Renard do as he wished.
    The twins were staring at their mum, well aware that something complicated was going on among the adults in the room, including Jeannie, who was drying the same glass for the third time. Finally, their mother spoke.
    ‘Fine. Walk with your grandfather. Do what he asks.’

FOURTEEN
    E m lagged behind as she and Matt followed their grandfather across the lawn, under another arch in the stone wall and past Mara’s mirrored installation swaying in the breeze, trailing him deep into the forest. They were climbing. At one point, through a break in the trees, they spotted the water far below them. Every few minutes, Em thought she caught a glimpse of someone following them, but she dismissed it as a trick of the branches shifting in the wind and her anxiety over why they were being taken so far from the Abbey. Matt was working hard to keep up with his grandfather, whose strides were long. Every few steps he skipped a little, to stay at his side.
    ‘What should we call you?’ Em said, sprinting a few yards to catch up.
    ‘What would you like to call me?’
    ‘What’s your name?’ asked Matt.
    ‘Mason Renard Calder, but everyone calls me Renard,’ their grandfather smiled. ‘Jeannie, of course, yells “Mr R.” far too much.’
    ‘Well, I think we’ll just call you Grandpa then,’ said Em breathlessly.
    The older man chuckled. ‘That sounds good to me. Now, I have something to ask of each of you. Tell me about your special drawing abilities.’
    Don’t tell him anything!
    Matt, don’t be stupid. It’s why Mum brought us here.
    Well, I don’t trust him, so don’t tell him everything.
    The trees had thinned. The three of them hiked out to a rocky clearing. The road to Seaport was far below, and behind them in the distance they could see the flags flying from the Abbey’s tower. Beyond that lay the far edges of the jetty and the tower on Era Mina. The peak of the hill before them looked as if someone had peeled back the grassy earth to reveal a rocky underbelly.
    Their grandfather sat down on a ledge of slate and regarded Em. It seemed that he had sensed she would be the spokesperson in this conversation.
    ‘Sometimes when Matt and I concentrate and imagine things and then draw them, we can make the