looked startled. “A letter,” she said in surprise, “for me?”
“I should have given it to you earlier,” he added, taking a stamped envelope from the mantelpiece.
Her mother looked at it curiously. “It’s from the lawyer,” she said.
“Maybe Auntie Muriel’s left you thousands of pounds,” Neil grinned.
His father shook his head. “The estate’s been settled,” he said. “It can’t be that.”
“Open it then, Clara,” Neil urged as she turned it over in her hand, ‘don’t keep us in suspense!”
“You open it, Dad,” she said, handing it back to him, looking suddenly upset. “Please!”
Her father shrugged, slit the envelope open and took out a sheet of stiff paper and another, smaller envelope.
“Well, John?” his wife asked.
“How strange,” he muttered, handing Clara the small envelope. “It’s from the lawyer. He says that your aunt asked him to send you this letter, Clara …”
“He’s taken his time about it then, hasn’t he?” Neil observed. “I mean, Auntie Muriel died a couple of months ago.”
“He apologises for the delay,” continued his father, “but your aunt instructed him to wait for two months before he sent it to you …”
They all looked puzzled as Clara looked at the white envelope in her hand and opened it reluctantly. Why, she didn’t know, although she was soon to find out. She just had a feeling that once it was opened, nothing would ever be quite the same again.
“Well, what does she say?” demanded Neil curiously.
“It isn’t a letter,” Clara said, her eyes scanning the sheet of paper and holding it out so that they could all see it. “It’s some sort of riddle about … about a talisman.”
“A talisman!” echoed her mother. “Do you think it’s the one the MacArthur was telling us about? The one the witches are looking for?”
Neil read the riddle swiftly. “Must be,” he said, his eyes alight with excitement. “Good old Auntie Muriel! This must tell us where she hid it.”
“Read it out, Neil,” his mother said. “What does it say?”
“No,” Clara said suddenly, grabbing the paper from Neil andfolding it in two, “that isn’t a good idea. Somebody might be watching us … through a crystal,” she explained. “The witches perhaps!”
“Do witches have crystals?” Neil asked curiously as they all looked round apprehensively. “I thought it was only magicians.”
“Nonsense,” her mother said dismissively, holding out her hand, “Who would be interested in us?”
Clara looked sceptical but handed her the folded sheet of paper. “Let’s not take the risk,” she muttered. “It ought to be okay if you cover it with your hand.”
“Then she won’t be able to read it, stupid!” Neil butted in.
“Neil,” his father said warningly.
Mrs MacLean read the riddle and folding the paper again, passed it to her husband.
The Talisman
Beside the firelight
Lies your treasure
A talisman from ages past
Cast in silver, steeped in magic
Keep it safe and use it well
Bind it to you, meet its challenge
Until it’s time to pass it on
Look to Morven’s Lords for guidance
Let their wisdom rule your choice
“Shhhh!” Clara said urgently, as everyone’s eyes automatically focused on the fireplace, ‘don’t say anything out loud.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Clara,” her mother said. “Whowould watch us?”
“Well … you never know,” Neil chipped in, his eyes scanning the room warily.
“I don’t want any witches in the house again,” her mother said, alarmed at the thought.
John MacLean nodded agreement. “Nor do I,” he said. “Look, why don’t we all memorize the riddle and once we’ve done it, Clara can hide the paper somewhere safe.”
“And when you’re hiding it,” Neil advised, “hide it in the dark. Then if anybody is watching you through a crystal, you’ll know, ‘cos you’ll see the light.”
“Good thinking, Neil,” his father said approvingly.
Mrs MacLean moved
“I should have given it to you earlier,” he added, taking a stamped envelope from the mantelpiece.
Her mother looked at it curiously. “It’s from the lawyer,” she said.
“Maybe Auntie Muriel’s left you thousands of pounds,” Neil grinned.
His father shook his head. “The estate’s been settled,” he said. “It can’t be that.”
“Open it then, Clara,” Neil urged as she turned it over in her hand, ‘don’t keep us in suspense!”
“You open it, Dad,” she said, handing it back to him, looking suddenly upset. “Please!”
Her father shrugged, slit the envelope open and took out a sheet of stiff paper and another, smaller envelope.
“Well, John?” his wife asked.
“How strange,” he muttered, handing Clara the small envelope. “It’s from the lawyer. He says that your aunt asked him to send you this letter, Clara …”
“He’s taken his time about it then, hasn’t he?” Neil observed. “I mean, Auntie Muriel died a couple of months ago.”
“He apologises for the delay,” continued his father, “but your aunt instructed him to wait for two months before he sent it to you …”
They all looked puzzled as Clara looked at the white envelope in her hand and opened it reluctantly. Why, she didn’t know, although she was soon to find out. She just had a feeling that once it was opened, nothing would ever be quite the same again.
“Well, what does she say?” demanded Neil curiously.
“It isn’t a letter,” Clara said, her eyes scanning the sheet of paper and holding it out so that they could all see it. “It’s some sort of riddle about … about a talisman.”
“A talisman!” echoed her mother. “Do you think it’s the one the MacArthur was telling us about? The one the witches are looking for?”
Neil read the riddle swiftly. “Must be,” he said, his eyes alight with excitement. “Good old Auntie Muriel! This must tell us where she hid it.”
“Read it out, Neil,” his mother said. “What does it say?”
“No,” Clara said suddenly, grabbing the paper from Neil andfolding it in two, “that isn’t a good idea. Somebody might be watching us … through a crystal,” she explained. “The witches perhaps!”
“Do witches have crystals?” Neil asked curiously as they all looked round apprehensively. “I thought it was only magicians.”
“Nonsense,” her mother said dismissively, holding out her hand, “Who would be interested in us?”
Clara looked sceptical but handed her the folded sheet of paper. “Let’s not take the risk,” she muttered. “It ought to be okay if you cover it with your hand.”
“Then she won’t be able to read it, stupid!” Neil butted in.
“Neil,” his father said warningly.
Mrs MacLean read the riddle and folding the paper again, passed it to her husband.
The Talisman
Beside the firelight
Lies your treasure
A talisman from ages past
Cast in silver, steeped in magic
Keep it safe and use it well
Bind it to you, meet its challenge
Until it’s time to pass it on
Look to Morven’s Lords for guidance
Let their wisdom rule your choice
“Shhhh!” Clara said urgently, as everyone’s eyes automatically focused on the fireplace, ‘don’t say anything out loud.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Clara,” her mother said. “Whowould watch us?”
“Well … you never know,” Neil chipped in, his eyes scanning the room warily.
“I don’t want any witches in the house again,” her mother said, alarmed at the thought.
John MacLean nodded agreement. “Nor do I,” he said. “Look, why don’t we all memorize the riddle and once we’ve done it, Clara can hide the paper somewhere safe.”
“And when you’re hiding it,” Neil advised, “hide it in the dark. Then if anybody is watching you through a crystal, you’ll know, ‘cos you’ll see the light.”
“Good thinking, Neil,” his father said approvingly.
Mrs MacLean moved
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