Chapter One

Home at Last

The early morning sunlight broke through the windows, filling the hall with a golden glow. It lit the mysterious paintings and maps of faraway places that lined the walls.

Creeping out of her bedroom, Martha Macintosh, twelve years old, with messy brown hair and deep brown eyes, perched on the landing and dangled her skinny legs through the banisters.

The house was quiet yet felt heavy with a sense unease. Ever since they had moved in after Granny Maeve’s death, Martha had felt like a guest, as if the house truly belonged to the strange things her great-grandfather had collected. Every room was cluttered with jars of exotic plants, boxes of what she was sure were human bones, and statues with eyes that seemed to follow her. Sitting alone on the creaking stairs, with shadows dancing across the walls, it felt as though the objects were watching. Waiting.

But this morning was worth the early start: it was the beginning of the school holidays, and the day her mum and dad would finally return from their research trip to the Arctic. Martha’s younger brother Ed, nine years old and soon to be ten, was still fast asleep in the room they shared much to her annoyance. Not only did Ed look like their great-grandfather, with his freckled face and light brown hair, he also seemed to share the collector’s gene. Their room was piled with the rocks and shells he insisted on bringing home from hikes.

With a start, Martha heard the click of a key in the lock. The front door opened slowly, a huge yellow bag appearing first, followed by a flushed and smiling face.

“Mum!” Martha cried, almost tumbling down the stairs in her rush. “I’m so happy you’re home at last!” She threw her arms around her.

Her mum smelled just as Martha remembered, sweet rosewater, like Turkish Delight. Her short light brown hair peeked from beneath a red woollen hat, her sparkling blue eyes shining.

“I’ve missed you, Mum,” Martha whispered.

Emmy laughed. “Have you grown? You seem taller. Why are you up so early?”“I couldn’t sleep; I was too excited. I can’t wait to hear about your trip.”

“Hello, darling. Oh, how lovely to see my girl again,” came a deep voice as Jim stumbled through the door, his arms full of bags and parcels.

“Dad!” Martha laughed, jumping into his arms.

He was tall and slender, with dark curly hair that always looked like it needed a comb. His twinkling blue eyes, magnified by round glasses, beamed at Martha. His grin peeked out from under a neatly trimmed moustache. People often said Martha looked like him: the same messy hair, the same curious eyes always searching for answers.

“What did you see, Dad? Did you bring anything back?”