A Place of Hiding

Paul Fielder went to his special place when he fled Valerie Duffy. He left the tools where they were. He knew this was wrong because Mr. Guy had explained that at least one part of good workmanship was the care and maintenance of the workman’s tools, but he told himself that he’d go back later when Valerie couldn’t see him. He’d sneak round the other side of the house, the part that wasn’t near to the kitchen, and he’d collect the tools and return them to the stables. If it felt safe, he might even work on the shelters then. And he’d check the duck graveyard and make sure the little plots were still marked by their circlets of stones and shells. He knew that he had to do all of that before Kevin Duffy happened upon the tools, though. If Kevin happened upon them lying in the damp growth of weeds, reeds, and grass that surrounded the pond, he wouldn’t be pleased. Thus, Paul didn’t go far in his flight from Valerie. He just circled round the front of the house and rode into the woods along the east side of the drive.

There he dove onto the bumpy, leaf-strewn path beneath the trees and between the rhododendrons and ferns and he followed it till he came to the second fork to the right. Here he dumped his old bike next to a mossy sycamore trunk, part of a tree once felled by a storm and left to become the hollowed home of wild things.

The way was too rough to ride the bike forward from this point, so he shouldered his rucksack more firmly and took off on foot with Taboo trotting along beside him, pleased to be out on a morning adventure rather than waiting patiently as he usually did, tied to the ancient menhir that stood beyond the wall at the edge of the school yard, a bowl of water at his side and a handful of biscuits to see him through till Paul fetched him at the end of the day. Paul’s destination was one of the secrets he had shared with Mr. Guy. I think we know each other well enough now for something special, Mr. Guy had said the first time he introduced Paul to the spot. If you want to—if you think that you’re ready—I have a way that we can seal our friendship, my Prince.

That was what he had called Paul, my Prince. Not at first, of course, but later, once they grew to know each other better, once it seemed like they shared an uncommon sort of kinship. Not that they were kin and not that Paul would ever have thought they could be kin. But there had existed between them a fellowship, and the first time Mr. Guy had called him my Prince, Paul was certain the older man felt that fellowship as well. So he had nodded his assent. He was quite ready to seal his friendship with this important man who’d entered his life. He wasn’t altogether sure what it meant to seal a friendship, but his heart was always full to bursting when he was with Mr. Guy and Mr. Guy’s words surely indicated his heart was full to bursting as well. So whatever it meant, it would be good. Paul knew that.

A place of the spirits was what Mr. Guy called the special place. It was a dome of land like an upended bowl on the earth, grassed over thickly, with a flattened path running round it.

The place of the spirits lay beyond the woods, over a drystone wall, part of a meadow where the docile Guernsey cows once had grazed. It was overgrown with weeds and fast becoming encroached upon by brambles and bracken because Mr. Guy had no cows to eat the undergrowth, and the greenhouses that might have replaced the cattle had themselves been dismantled and carted off when Mr. Guy first purchased the property. Paul scrambled over the wall and dropped down to the path at its base. Taboo followed. It led through the bracken to the mound itself and there they tripped along another path which wound round to the southwest side. Here, Mr. Guy had once explained, the sunlight would have burned the strongest and the longest for the ancient people who had used this place.

A wooden door of far more recent vintage than the dome itself stood halfway round the circumference of the mound. It was hung from stone jambs beneath a stone lintel, and a combination lock thrust through a hasp on the door kept it safely closed.