Chapter 1: The Boy on the Bench

1 The Boy on the Bench
The figure was alone. He was a boy, dressed strangely in a smart brown mackintosh coat and polished black shoes. He was about her brother’s age, Rachel thought, perhaps slightly older. He had short, very dark brown hair. And he was not here for the playground.

The boy looked at her seriously and nodded. What could such a look mean? Rachel was about to take a different path when the boy made a strange movement with his right hand. She looked down.

He was holding something.

It was a bloodred key.

Rachel stared in astonishment. The key was identical to the one Rachel had been magically left after she destroyed The Book of Stolen Dreams. But Rachel had hidden her bloodred key in the bedroom she shared with Robert ever since.

So how did this boy have one?

The boy signaled and walked on. Rachel followed him into an area of the park surrounded by rose bushes. He sat on a bench in such a way that left space beside him. Rachel stood by the bench but did not sit.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want?”

“I have something to tell you,” he said quietly. “Sit down.” Rachel sat but kept distance between them.

“How did you get that key?” she asked firmly, looking ahead so no one would know they were talking.

“The same way you did,” said the boy. “I closed a rip in the fabric.”

Rachel felt her breath stick in her chest. How did he know about that? Everyone in Brava was aware Rachel and Robert Klein had defeated Charles Malstain, but they had no idea that Rachel had destroyed The Book of Stolen Dreams and closed the gate to the Hinterland forever. Constanza Glimpf had made it very clear: ordinary people must have no idea that the Hinterland existed at all.

People cannot be trusted with such knowledge.

“What fabric?” Rachel asked the boy cagily. She was keeping as much distance on the bench as possible.

“Anyone who closes the fabric between life and death, between our world and the Hinterland, joins our select group and receives a bloodred key,” the boy said, glancing at her. “We are the Keepers of the Key. We know the truth of the Hinterland—the land where dead souls roam. We know its dark magic.”

There was such intensity in his honey-brown eyes.

“There are those like Malstain who wish to exploit the magic to bring the dead back to life. We must use the keys to stop them. You must use your key wisely, Rachel Klein.”

“But how will I know when to use it?” Rachel stammered. She couldn’t believe her ears.

“The key will tell you,” the boy said gravely. “Swear to me that when it does, you will not refuse it.”

Rachel wanted to ask how the key would tell her but instead she found herself swearing that she would do exactly as he said.

The boy stood.

“Tell no one about this. This knowledge is not for everyone.”

For a moment they watched as ordinary Bravans passed through the park, going about their daily lives in the new free Krasnia, utterly unaware of the strange conversation taking place among the winter roses.

Then very quietly the boy fished something out of his trouser pocket.

It was a small card with a red key imprinted on one side. On the other side was a six-digit number and an image of a telephone.



634234

Call only in Absolute Emergency

He placed the card in her hand. He kept hold of it for a brief moment.

“You are not alone.”

Then he walked away across the grass.

“Wait,” Rachel wanted to say, but by the time she’d opened her mouth, it was too late. The boy in the mackintosh coat was gone.

And she didn’t even know his name.