The Door in the Moon (15 page)

He took a glass of wine, tried a sip and found it sharp as fire.

“We'll split up,” Venn said. “You take the right-hand side of the room, I'll take the left. Work through, then into the room beyond. If you find Jake, get to him. If they're guarding him, find me. Whatever happens, remember we need to be out of here by midnight.” He took the glass from Gideon's fingers and threw the wine into a vast arrangement of flowers. “Don't drink. You're not used to it.”

Gideon was annoyed. The liquid was a wonderful glow in his face and limbs, made him feel light and scornfully amused at the heavy, clumsy crowd. But Venn was already gone, so he slipped between the dancers and moved, Shee-silent and elegant, to the edge of the throng. All along the wall, ranks of chairs held women, chatting, fanning, glancing at his slender elegance with interest. Gideon smiled back, bowed, walked quickly, head up, watchful.

The dancing crowd met and parted in complex patterns; he saw dozens of young men the right height for Jake, once even catching hold of one and turning him, only to find a foppish white-painted face that stared at him in disbelief.

“Pardon, monsieur
.
”
He copied Venn's words and backed off, quickly.

By the third salon he had drunk a glass of wine and was sweating. The music was tearing at his nerves; it was scratchy and raw with none of the sweetness of the Shee's. But glancing up at the musicians' gallery gave him the idea. If he could get up there, he could see everyone.

He slipped quickly behind a group of card-playing men, found a screen and a small metal stair. Ignoring the protest of a footman, he ran lightly up and stood behind the viola players.

A sea of pomade and wigs surged below him.

He looked at them with the sight the Shee had given him, the keen unblinking stare of the adder, the close scrutiny of the owl.

He saw every masked eye, every gloved hand, every bare shoulder.

Diamonds reflected in the green of his eye.

And he saw Jake.

He recognized the back of his head, his jerky, awkward movements, always a little too sudden. Jake was dancing with a masked girl in white. There seemed to be no sign of any kidnappers.

Gideon shook his head. What was he playing at? He turned to go down.

And stopped.

Between one note and another of the music, even with his back turned, he felt the change in the air with a prickle of his skin. A shiver ran up his spine.

Slowly, he looked back.

Through the double doorway, their clothes glittering like a host of dark butterflies, an enfilade of dancers was entering. Astonishingly beautiful, frail and tall and languid, their narrow faces masked in green, their hair silvery and caught up in elaborate coiffures, the Shee swept in and with them all the muskiness of the Wood, a scatter of bees, a drift of cobweb.

Appalled, Gideon shrank back into shadow.

Some of the crowd turned, staring at the newcomers.

And at the end of the line, Summer, in a red dress, bowed haughtily on the arm of a sweating mortal in a white suit.

Could it be?

Gideon's eyes opened wide. He had seen many crazy things with the Shee. But
Wharton?

He glanced at the clock, felt a shiver of panic. The hands stood at ten minutes to midnight. He plunged down the stairs, threw himself into the crowd, and shoved his way urgently toward Jake.

Hidden safely behind the servants' screen, Sarah narrowed her eyes. For a moment, as the throng of dancers had opened and closed, she had felt sure she'd glimpsed beyond them a tall fair man, incredibly like Venn. But only for a moment. Now he was lost in the crowd.

Six minutes to midnight.

Jake must be here. He had to be here.

A murmur of laughter and excitement made her put her eye to a crack in the screen and peep out. Long Tom, among a crowd of jugglers and card players, had wound up the automata and set them working before an admiring audience, the Dancer spinning gracefully, the Conjuror uncovering the three balls, the Scribe writing sentences with jerky movements. There was a spatter of applause.

Too nervous to keep still, Sarah crept to the other end of the screen; above her the sandaled feet of the gigantic painted gods seemed poised to trample her down.

In the painted moon, the door waited.

Five minutes to midnight.

Then, with a jolt of absolute astonishment, she saw George Wharton.

And he saw her.

Wharton dropped Summer's fingers, and gasped.

“What? What is it?” Quick as a snake, Summer turned, following his gaze.

Sarah couldn't move. Her eyes met Summer's. A spasm of spite crossed the faery woman's face; she raised a white finger ready to stab, a terrifying, lethal threat, and then Venn came out of the crowd and grabbed her hand.

“Don't do that,” he said.

For a second the two of them, the tall man, the small woman, stood still and silent among the surging crowd. As if time stopped, Sarah thought. As if they were all held, suspended, in the endless reflections and possibilities of the mirror.

Then everything happened at once.

The music stopped.

Clocks in every room began to chime, a delicate medley of bells and tinkles. Outside, the first firework exploded, a crack of light illuminating the windows and slashing the lawns white.

The dance broke up; with an excited murmur everyone rushed to the windows, hiding Venn, sweeping Wharton along with them.

Sarah leaped back, into a girl who whispered in her ear. “Got that key, luv?”

She spun around.

She saw a dark-haired girl in a white dress, her eyes sharp with mischief. And behind her was Jake.

He looked amazed. “Sarah? How in hell—”

“No time.” She moved to the tiny lock, slid the key in, and had the door open in seconds, a dark rectangle in the gold disc of the moon. Moll—
so that was Moll!
—was through in an instant.

Long Tom came from nowhere and darted in behind her.

Jake said, “Come with us.”

“Can't.” Sarah grabbed him, her face close to his. “Listen, Jake, Janus is here. And Venn's come for you. It's okay. You don't have to—”

He shook his head.

“Sarah, I'm here to save my father. Find Venn and get out. The mob is on its way—this place will be burned, be in ruins by morning. There's a house in Paris, a place on stilts, over the river. Le Chat Noir. Find it and wait for me there. That's where the mirror is.”

“Jake—”

He smiled. “I'm glad you're safe.”

Moll darted back, grabbed him. “Move, cully!”

The door slammed behind them, in Sarah's face. She gasped with frustration.

Reflected in her eyes, the night outside exploded in a shatter of green and gold.

We exist in a regime where dreams are forbidden, where magic is outlawed, where wonder is lost. But there is no tyranny that can close down the imagination. We still dream of freedom, and that there will be a future. Beyond the black hole.

Illegal ZEUS transmission

“Y
OU'RE NOT A
real bird. For a start, I mean, you're not alive—” Rebecca stopped, wondering what exactly she did mean.

The flimsy creature ignored her. They had carried it down to the lab; now it perched on the edge of a filing cabinet and stared in fascination at the mirror. “So that's the famous Chronoptika! Wow. I can't tell you how much Summer wants to blow that thing to bits. When she gets to thinking about Venn bringing his wife back with it, she gets into
spectacular
moods. If she had had any idea that the half coin was . . . well, you know . . .”

Maskelyne flicked a glance at Rebecca.

She said, “We don't know. I think we should.”

Maskelyne leaned against the bench, rubbing the back of his neck as if it was stiff. She said, “Are you all right?”

“I think so. A little dizzy still. How long was I . . .”

“A few hours.” She glanced at the digital clock on the screen and frowned. “It's ten minutes to midnight. They've been gone over four hours.”

He nodded.

She said, “Piers told me Janus would have come through the mirror if you hadn't done . . . whatever it was you did. You really knew him well, didn't you?”

He stood and paced, restless. “I told you, we worked together. I had no choice. I'm not a traitor in your midst, Becky.”

She hadn't thought that. But it scared her, that there was so much of his endless life that she knew nothing about.

The bird said, “Well look. If Sarah is really gone and you don't know where she is, then maybe I should tell you about the half coin . . . the Zeus stater. Only, it isn't lost, you see. And Summer hasn't got it. I stole it back from her for Sarah.” It preened a fake feather complacently.

Maskelyne's whole body stiffened. “You did
what?
”

“Stole it. Took my life in my hands, but—”

“Where did she put it? For God's sake tell me where it is.” He was across the room and crouched, his face on a level with it.

The low, terrible urgency in his voice made Rebecca shiver.

The bird's bead-eye considered him. “You're a sorcerer, aren't you.”

“I have some abilities.”

“Cast-iron A1 as far as I can see. Can you turn me back?”

He shook his head. “Summer's spell is too strong.”

“Tell me about it.” The bird sighed. Then it said, “All right. I'll tell you because if the Shee get in here, we're all finished. The half coin is stashed up on the roof.”

“The roof!”

“In one of the gutters. Under a continual flow of running water. That was the theory. We—the Shee—don't like running water, so Sarah reckoned it would be safe there. Trouble is, it hasn't rained for weeks.”

Maskelyne stood. He looked so deeply troubled Rebecca went to him. “This coin. What is it?”

He turned his scarred face to her, and his eyes were dark as the night.

“The only thing that can destroy the mirror. In all time and space. If the two halves are ever reunited.”

She stared. “So who separated them?”

“I did,” he said.

Inside the door to the moon was nothing but darkness.

Jake whispered, “Moll?”

“Right here, Jake.”

Her voice echoed. A light flared. He saw her fingers touch a quick flame to the wick of a lantern. “Okay, Tom. Get on it.”

The tall man was already ahead, hauling his coat off, pulling out slim tools from sleeve and inner lining. Moll caught Jake's hand. “Step out, cully.”
Two minutes to midnight.

Beyond the walls he could hear the fireworks exploding. Sarah's words rang in his head. How could Janus be here? And Venn?

“This is it,” she hissed. They had come to a set of spiral stairs winding around a gilt railing—they raced up, burst through a small door at the top, and found themselves in a silken boudoir where every surface, or so it seemed to Jake, was draped in chiffon and velvet.

Moll swept them straight to an iron door in the paneling.

“There's the safe, Tom.”

He was already working at it, expertly sliding the tools into the lock. “Kid's stuff this, Moll,” he muttered. “Not even sweating.”

“You may not be,” Jake muttered. He had taken up his place at the door, sword in hand. His heart thudded with every crack of the fireworks.

“Relax, Jake,” Moll said, arms folded. “Not long now. Straight to your dad when we're done, Jake. I promise you.”

He looked back at her.

“What's wrong, cully?” she whispered. “That girl down there?”

He shook his head.

“Don't like the stealing, eh?”

“Not really. You're better than this, Moll. You could be . . .”

She lifted her white skirts and held them out. “What else does a kid from the gutters know, eh Jake? A girl too. Can't be anything except a thief or a trull. Can't have a brain. Brains are for men. That's the way it is in my time.”

“Not in mine,” he whispered.

Her eyes met his. She stared at him.

“Got it.” Something metal cracked. Tom swung the door open.

Moll turned. His gloved hands were already groping among the papers and documents. He drew out a scatter of gold and diamonds, a bag of gold coins, then a case of red leather and flipped it open.

Moll gave a hoot of delight.

The Sauvigne emeralds were a glittering green dazzle, a great supple collar of stones with matching earrings. She lifted them on her gloved hands and held them up for Jake to see. “Dosh, Jake. That's what the world is all about. Them that has it, survive. Them that don't, starve.”

A sound outside.

Instantly she thrust the jewels in a bag under her skirt and flattened herself against the dressing-table; Jake stepped back behind the door, sword ready. The hilt was sweaty in his hand. This was it.

The door opened. The tiny vicomte scurried in. “
Ma chére
, I had your note but this is no time . . . surely . . . my guests . . . the fireworks—”

He froze. The tip of Jake's foil gently touched the folded skin of his neck. He saw three masked figures in the darkness.

“Do you understand English?” Jake said softly.

Silence. Then “A little.”

Jake nodded. “Good. Please listen carefully. We now all go downstairs, together. We go to the front steps of the house—not where the guests are. You have your coach brought round. We all get in. Do you understand?”

“Do you think to kidnap me! How dare—”

The sword point pressed harder. The tiny man swallowed.

“Just do it, luv,” Moll's voice said pityingly from the dark. “And be thankful. Without us, you'd be carted off to the guillotine with all the rest of them.”

The guests streamed onto the lawn. Among them the Shee flitted, under cascades of shimmering gold and explosions of turquoise flame.

Sarah, shoving her way among them, cannoned into Gideon. “I saw Venn. And Wharton. Where are they? Where?”

“I don't know. We have to leave here, Sarah!”

But he knew it was too late. Already his keen hearing could hear a new sound, the low tread of many marching feet, the mutter of angry voices.

“There! I see him!” Sarah turned away; in an instant she was a dark shadow among the bright dancers. Gideon cursed and pushed after her. “Sarah! Wait!”

But she had struggled out of the crush to an empty expanse of lawn, and racing by a fountain of gold and scarlet, she found Venn. He was surrounded by Shee; Summer was there too, clutching Wharton. The Shee crowded close, greedy. But as Sarah walked among them, they fell back and let her through, gazing at her with the cold, bright curiosity of infants.

Venn turned. “Sarah! At last! Where's Jake?”

“With Moll.”

“Moll!”

“He's caught up some plan to find his father.” Her eyes flicked to Summer, hanging possessively tight to Wharton's arm. The big man looked thoroughly embarrassed.

“Hello, Sarah,” he said. “Thank God you're safe.”

“Yes. How lovely,” Summer said in a voice of pure venom, “to see you again.”

“This is ridiculous,” Venn snapped. “Let that man go.”

“Not until I have my changeling back. Where's Gideon, Venn? Isn't he here? Can't I hear his breathing?”

Sarah looked back. Gideon was nowhere to be seen.

But she saw something else. Roaring in like a dark tide of ragged shadows, the poor of Paris were invading the party. The cry they made as they came chilled her; it was a barely human murmur, a low deliberate threat, the growl of the starved and the forgotten, a raw blood-lust for revenge. There were armed men at their head, red-capped in some ragged attempts at uniform—all had muskets and pikes and crude clubs, even the women.

Venn took one look and whirled on her. “Where's the mirror?
Where, Sarah?
”

She stared at him, aghast. “I don't know! Somewhere in Paris. It's not here.”

“Poor Venn.” Summer turned calmly away, leading Wharton with her. “You'll just have to stay and see all the fun. The rest of you—home! Now.”

The Shee dissipated like cobwebs in the wind; they scattered like starlings before a hawk. Wharton's look of despair struck Sarah to the heart.

“No!” She leaped forward. “Wait. You can't take him back there.”

“Really?” Summer smiled. “Do you have anything you could exchange for him?”

There was only the half coin. Sarah was silent.

“No, I thought not.” Summer shook her dark head in mock sorrow. “These are supposed to be your friends, George, and they won't even help you. Believe me, you're better off with us.”

“Don't worry about me,” Wharton muttered, defiant. “Just find Jake.”

“We will,” Sarah began, but Venn pushed her aside and said, “Summer. I thought we understood each other.”

Summer laughed up at him and pulled Wharton closer. “Too late. I have a new mortal now, Oberon.”

She turned away.

And came face-to-face with Janus.

He was wearing a blue uniform jacket slashed with a tricolor sash; a red cap covered his tangle of greasy hair. The scrutiny of his blue lenses was calm and close.

Summer did not flinch. “So! It's you! The fascinating tyrant from the end of the world!” she said with cool amusement.

He bowed to her. “And the beautiful Queen of the Midnight Court.”

Summer raised a perfect eyebrow. “You know all about us, it seems.”

His eyes behind their blue spectacles stared at her curiously. “On the contrary. I know very little. I think I told you once that there are no Shee in my world.”

Summer tinkled a laugh. “That's what you think.”

“I assure you. Any magic there belongs to me.”

Summer glanced at Venn. “Hear that, beloved? What a future the world faces! Nothing left of the Wood and the Wild. And all because one man owns the mirror, and feeds it with his own greed and his own darkness until it becomes a monster.”

Venn's stare was bitter.

She turned back to Janus with dark disdain. “Not that it worries me. There is no world where we're not hidden somewhere.”

Janus frowned. Behind him revellers fled. A woman screamed. Red flames began to lick the eastern façade of the château; Sarah smelled the drift of smoke. Guests were running, many being rounded up and forced into their carriages at sword point.

Then, before anyone could realize what he had done, Janus reached out and took the purple flower from Wharton's buttonhole. He twirled it in his fingers. “How strange this is. A flower that doesn't die.”

Venn took a breath; his hand reached out to snatch it, but Janus drew the flower close. Wharton's face was white.