The Door in the Moon Page 20

The owner of it giggled. “Oh, George. You’re so bold.”

  Summer was sitting on the narrowest ledge that slanted down the rock. Her short dark hair glinted; she wore earrings of pearl and a moon pale dress with lacy craters.

  He snatched his hand back and hung there, fingers aching, splayed feet jammed in footholds.

  She said, “I just thought I’d come and have a chat—”

  “Chat! For God’s sake, Summer I’m clinging for my life here.”

  “About my proposal, George! About giving you another chance at life. Remember that? All the things you thought you might do?”

  He did remember and for a moment it was all he wanted, to be anywhere away from this crumbling cliff whose fragments were plopping into the river far below.

  She smoothed the dress over her bare knees. “If you want I can get my people to lift you, George. Take your clothes in their beaks and lift you up and fly with you to the roof, where you’d be safe. Then I’d wait while you popped in and got me the coin.”

  “Coin?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know. That girl Sarah has it.”

  He stared. And then laughed.

  It surprised even himself—it was a laugh of finality, exasperation, of real amusement.

  Summer frowned. “Don’t do that.”

  His foot slid; he scraped it back up quickly. Then he said, “Okay, Summer. Here it is. I am never going into partnership with you. I don’t want the mirror destroyed but I’d rather trust Sarah than you. I’d never betray Jake. Ever. And certainly I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my worthless life, but they were my mistakes and if I had another existence I would almost certainly make them all over again. So any fantasy you have that you can win me over ends here. Sorry.”

  He knew she would cast him down. But that was all right.

  He had said what he needed to say.

  She was so silent he raised fearful eyes to look at her.

  But all that looked back at him were the cold yellow eyes of a hawk, and they were embedded in her human face, and she shrieked, a sound so harsh and dark that all the stars seemed to tingle with terror of it.

  And then she pointed one red-painted nail at him, and he let go.

  And fell.

  And fell.

  And fell.

  The carriage rattled through the dark alleys of Paris toward the Seine.

  The five passengers had been silent a long time. It was as if the turmoil they had gone through had cleaned them out, used up all their energies, drained them of speech. Except for Moll, who could be heard boasting to Long Tom outside on the box about her journey back to save Venn. “A few tools, a few minutes. Bolt off the trapdoor, Bob’s your uncle.”

  They heard Tom laugh. “Neat as a pin, Moll. They don’t call you Contessa for nothing.”

  Finally Sarah raised her head and fixed Venn with a hard stare.

  “What else happened back there?” she demanded.

  The others watched as Venn rubbed a hand down his face. He looked gaunt and worn, and that peculiar glint of the Shee that had entered him over the last few months was suddenly more apparent than before.

  “Happened?”

  “The blade fell. I saw it. The blade fell and you were under it.” She closed her eyes, remembering the great horror that had swamped her. “And then . . . You were gone. For a second. Then you were back there.”

  Venn looked at her, his stare arctic. “You imagined it. You blinked.”

  “I felt it. A shudder in time.”

  Jake listened, intent.

  Sarah leaned forward. “And that means one of two things to me, and both of them bad. Either Summer intervened. Or Janus did.”

  The coach rattled, slower now; it turned a corner, and the stench of the river grew strong.

  Jake said, “Summer wouldn’t—”

  “Neither would Janus.” Venn’s eyes were steady on Sarah’s. “And if . . . if . . . they did. If they offered me all the world in return for the safety of the mirror, do you think I’d take it, Sarah?”

  For a long time she did not answer. When she did her voice was a whisper, “No.”

  He smiled a wintry smile. “Correct.”

  David leaned forward. “Of course you wouldn’t. All you want is Leah.”

  Gideon raised an eyebrow, looked at Jake.

  “What?” David said. “What have I missed?”

  Venn looked down. “Like I told you, Summer distracted me, David. She . . . enticed me away. You don’t know what it’s been like. But I swear”—he looked up, sharp—“that that’s over. Forever.”

  David looked dismayed. He said, “It has to be, O, it has to be now.”

  Jake looked at Sarah, and Gideon. Neither of them seemed happy, or sure they believed Venn’s vow.

  In an uneasy silence, the carriage wheels bumped over cobbles and finally stopped, and the door opened and there was Moll, grinning at them all.

  “Back home safe and sound! And not a hair chopped off anyone’s head! I told you I could do it, Jake, didn’t I? Aren’t you pleased, Jake?”

  He was so pleased he jumped out and caught her up and swung her around as if she was still that tiny urchin he had known, and she screeched and grinned with delight.

  Dawn was a red slash of light over the housetops. Below the piles of the wharf, the dark river glimmered with reflected fires. Paris slept an exhausted sleep.

  When they had all climbed down, Tom muttered “See you, Moll,” and drove the carriage quietly away into the dark.

  “Where’s he going?”

  “To collect the gang. We have to get everyone back.” Suddenly her grin was gone; she turned and led the way inside. “Come on, quick now.”

  The long room above the river was dim; the fire had died during the night and only a few dull ashes lay in the hearth. Without another word Moll crossed the dusty floor and twitched the cover from the mirror. And as soon as he saw his own dim face in it, Jake knew what was puzzling him.

  “At last!” David almost ran to it. “I’ve searched for this so hard! Where . . . how did you find it?”

  Moll shrugged. “Research. Saw a drawing in one of the books on Versailles. Room full of mirrors, hundreds of them. And this one among them, bold as brass. As if it was staring out at me saying Here I am. Come and find me. So we came. Brought it here before the palace got trashed. Those crazy citizens out there can make a hell of a mess.”

  David put his hand out and touched the mirror.

  The obsidian glass gave a small ripple, barely seen.

  “It recognizes you,” Jake breathed.

  “Not him. The bracelet,” Gideon muttered.

  David nodded. He reached into his dirty lace coat and pulled out the bracelet he had carried for so long on a silver chain, then slipped in onto his wrist and clicked it shut.

  Venn lifted his own arm and the two snakes stared at each other. “First time together since we messed up the experiment,” David muttered. “So long ago.” Then, as if it took all his summoned courage to ask the question, he looked at Venn. “Exactly how long since I’ve been gone, O?”

  It was Jake who answered. “One year, ten months, nine days.”

  “My God. Is that all?”

  “All? It was forever!”

  Fear was back in his father’s eyes. “Yes, but don’t you see, Jake? For me . . . here and in Florence . . . it’s been longer. Maybe three, four years. I’m years older than I should be. When I go back . . . will I have lost time, or gained it?”

  For a moment they all shared the puzzling impossibility of it.

  It was Gideon who broke the spell. “It doesn’t matter now. We need to hurry,” he said uneasily. “Who knows what the Shee are doing back there.”

  “Right.” Venn turned, purposeful. “Sarah, take my hand. You too, Gideon. We journey toge
ther. Jake and David, all of us, linked in one line. With the two bracelets it should be possible. And we go directly into the mirror.”

  He adjusted the controls carefully on each of the bracelets, synchronizing them, and showed David the small ammonite in the top of the silver frame.

  “Amazing,” David muttered.

  Venn nodded, and turned to the mirror. “Can you hear us, Piers? Maskelyne? Can anyone hear?”

  Next to him, Sarah watched.

  The darkness of the mirror altered. Something drifted in its depths, like a dark leaf falling from a branch. For some reason it sent a dread through her. She stepped closer, staring hard, but only her own face, pale and tired and strangely thin, stared back at her. And then Jake said, “What the hell is that?” and she realized that the mirror was no longer black.

  It was green.

  A deep gloom, as if it reflected the very depths of the Wood.

  Venn swore a bitter oath. “The Shee are in the Abbey.”

  She saw that there were tendrils of ivy over the surface of the glass; that a great tree root had splintered the floor beside it.

  “Where’s Maskelyne? And Rebecca?”

  Venn’s face was dark, and she wondered if he had feared this all along. “That’s a good question.” He turned. “We go. Now!”

  Without waiting for an answer he grabbed Sarah’s hand, and she quickly caught up Gideon’s. Jake held on tight to his father. Then he turned and held out a hand to Moll.

  “Coming?” he said.

  She shrugged, tugging the red cap from her curly hair and tossing it down. “Might as well. Already missed the last omnibus, Jake.”

  He gripped her small dirty fingers.

  “Here goes,” David muttered, nervous. Jake held him tight.

  They walked forward.

  And all around them, the mirror exploded into vacuum.

  23

  When the Wood shall enfold the World, then there shall be wonders told.

  There shall be dreams and diamonds.

  There shall be a kiss through the smallest chink of time.

  From The Scrutiny of Secrets by Mortimer Dee

  REBECCA RAISED HER head wearily and said, “Light. At last.”

  Outside, beyond the green gloom of the Wood, they saw the light of dawn.

  Everywhere on turrets and branches and boughs, the birds of Wintercombe burst into song.

  The shortest night was ending, the sun was rising. She longed for it, and yet in a way she was dreading it too, because this would be Midsummer Day, and the scorching heat of summer would crisp the leaves of the gorse and the bracken, and it would be the day of her greatest power.

  “Can’t you do anything at all?”

  “I’ve tried.” Maskelyne dragged leaves from his dark hair. He looked angry, bitter with defeat. “Believe me. But even I can’t challenge the power of the Shee on this day.”

  They had crawled and wormed their way along the Monk’s Walk until they could get no farther. Now, sitting exhausted against the cool wall under the windows Rebecca peered ahead into dimness. The lab where the mirror leaned was inaccessible; a sheer mass of bramble had sprouted into a dark portcullis completely blocking the passageway.

  They had no way of knowing how things were beyond, and she was worried about Lorenzo, but certainly the cats were still there. Even as Rebecca looked now she saw a black paw emerge from the brambles, and then, flattened almost to the floor, a small head with green eyes looking at them.

  The cat mewed urgently.

  “What does it say?” she hissed.

  Maskelyne looked at it gloomily. “I have no idea.”

  “Piers would know.”

  “I’m not Piers.” But he was listening, intently. Then he said, “I think I can hear the baby crying.”

  She shook her head in despair, imagining the cradle wreathed in leaves, the Shee with their long fingers bending over Lorenzo in fascination. “What if they take him! We need to get through!”

  Remembering, she snatched the small wooden bird from her pocket. “You! You might get through.”

  “No way!” The creature opened its eyes wide. “Are you crazy? This place is infested. If even one of them lays eyes on me . . .”

  Even as it spoke it gave a cheep of terror and fled back in.

  Maskelyne knelt, alert.

  Something had jumped in the dimness of the stone corridor. Then it was on the sill; a small wet toad with pimpled skin.

  It flicked a long tongue out, caught a fly and ate it. And quite suddenly became a small man in a rapidly changing series of clothes—doublet, dark suit with top hat, red waistcoat, and finally lab coat, as if he had rippled through an imaginary wardrobe and selected the right outfit. His gold earring glinted in the coming light.

  “Piers, for God’s sake!” Rebecca leaped up. “Where have you been so long! Where’s George?”

  “Down below.” Piers scratched his skin, which still had too many warts, irritably. “Take a look.”

  She leaned out of the pointed window, and saw the rocks clustered with watching Shee, Summer in a dress as white as a swan, a man hanging desperately on the most precarious of handholds.

  She put her hand to her mouth.

  And screamed as he fell.

  Wharton heard her. He thought it was his own terror, the scream that was torn from him, or the screech of the faery queen’s laughter. Then all the breath went out of him as he hit the rock face and slid and grabbed and slid.

  Blood oozed on his fingers; winded, he blinked grit from his eyes.

  He yelled and swore and slipped again.

  He couldn’t see, daren’t look up or down because the Shee would cluster on him now like flies on a carcass.

  He was finished.

  “George!” The cry was Rebecca’s; it rang oddly in the crannies of the cavern. He rubbed his stinging eyes on his sleeve. Was he even the right way up? Was his neck broken? He had no idea.

  Something hit him with a smack on the shoulder. He grabbed it like a lifeline, hauled himself around, and then he was climbing, faster than he had thought he could ever climb again, knees tight, ankles locked, hands gripping the rope, and it was a strange spell-rope too, all made of bines and bramble, but he had no time to think of that, because around him the Shee hung and laughed and watched, butterfly-bright.

  Where was Summer?

  He reached the window. Hands grabbed him; he was hauled roughly in and at once crashed to the stone floor with a moan of relief.

  “Where is she?” Maskelyne hissed.

  Rebecca was leaning out, looking up. “There.”

  On the topmost gable of the house a white bird perched. A swan? Long-necked, elegant, it watched them with dark, careless eyes, and then, as the red glimmer of dawn touched it, it rose up and opened its wings wide.

  The feathers were tipped with crimson, like blood.

  Wharton pulled his head back in and looked at the clogged corridor. “What do we do now?”

  Rebecca considered the tangle of brambles, and turned to Piers. “We need to be small, Piers. Really, really small. Can you do that?”

  Piers flexed his fingers. “Here we go again. Ready?”

  And then something happened that she had no words for, and when it was over had no idea if it had really happened. Because how could the brambles have become so enormous, and the gaps between them suddenly so wide? How could she have been running like that, flat and fleet, and how could her heart have pounded and her eyesight been so sharp and the colors all lost? How could fear become a creature so huge, with green eyes and whiskers, a thing that picked her up with a velvet mouth, and carried her, shaking her, dumping her, flattened, under one paw?

  “. . . hear what I said, Primo! Let her go right now!”

  The cat leaped back, mewing with sulky venom.


  Breathless, she was sprawled face-down on the lab floor, and Wharton was helping her up. “Are you okay? Bloody cat! That could have been so . . . nasty.”

  She caught her breath. “Did we just . . . ? I mean, was that really—”

  “Best not to ask.” He turned, quickly. “At least we’re in.”

  Indeed, they were in the lab, and it was untouched by the spell of the Wood. In fact, the tendrils of ivy and branches turned back sharply at the door as if at some solid invisible barrier, and she saw one or two cool-eyed and silver-haired Shee beyond, staring in with calm curiosity, as if Maskelyne had guarded the mirror with every spell he knew.

  Pushing past Piers, she hurried to the cradle.

  Lorenzo was awake, eyes wide and dark, but lying quietly. Hugging him with loving abandon was the marmoset, Horatio, his tail wrapped cozily around the baby’s feet.

  “Look at that!” she breathed.

  Maskelyne said, “Becky. Come quick.”

  The mirror shivered. The malachite webbing tensed. The air hummed with a rising frequency.

  “They’re coming back!” Wharton was already there, eager. “Jake’s coming back. Thank God!”

  The mirror opened.

  So dark, so far and deep was its vacuum, they felt all the world would be sucked into it.

  And then, without another movement, there they were—Venn and Sarah and Gideon, standing in the room, and with them came a strange smell, a flicker of alien light, and it made Rebecca think of the one time she had journeyed, and the terrible heat and stench of Florence, and the wonder of that past world.

  Venn took one look at the green gloom in the corridor and said, “I knew it.”

  Gideon whistled. “They’ve been busy. The place is overrun!”

  But the others were silent. It was Sarah who turned and stared and turned again. And then said, “Where’s Jake? And David?”

  In fact Jake was standing in a street.

  For a moment he felt no emotion but surprise, and then a dreadful fear crawled through him, until he knew his father’s hand was tight on his and nothing else mattered.

  David swore. “Oh no. Surely not again . . .”