The Nowhere Emporium (11 page)

“I really hope this wasn’t a mistake.”

Daniel stood so close to the new doorway that his nose almost touched the cold black surface. His heart banged in his chest. If Sharpe’s plan was a success, then Mr Silver might be just the other side of the door.

“Something wrong?” Sharpe stood a few metres behind, hands grasping his cane tight. He sounded impatient.

“I’m just wondering what we’re going to find,” said Daniel, recalling the last time he broke the rules. “Even if it has worked, what if we walk through to find him hurt … or worse?”

Sharpe stepped forward and reached out an arm. For a moment, Daniel thought he was going to place a hand on his shoulder, to tell him not to worry and that Silver would surely be fine. But the hand passed him by, and instead gripped the handle of the door. The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot in the hush. The door crept open.

Daniel did not have time to scream.

Hundreds of emaciated, wrinkled hands crowded the doorway, reaching and grabbing at him, pulling him forward by the neck and the hair and ears, by the clothes. He could see no faces, no bodies, as he fought them. There were only shrunken, withered fingers. They surrounded him now; he
was almost through the doorway, enveloped, suffocating. Fingers covered his mouth and nose. Perhaps he would die here. He closed his eyes, kicked and scratched and bit. A bony hand grabbed his head, twisted him around, pulled him further into the tangled mass.

And then Daniel heard a voice, filling his head to bursting.

“Leave,” it said in a whisper that ran right through him. “Leave us.”

Slowly, the hands released Daniel, and he wriggled and squirmed, feeling less crushing pressure, fewer cold grips. Another hand grabbed his own, this one warm, and he was heaved forwards.

He landed on the cold Emporium floor on his hands and knees, gasping, clutching his throat.

“The book! Do you still have the book?” Sharpe stood over him, his eyes bulging.

Daniel felt for his pocket. His shaking fingers touched upon the book. He nodded.

Sharpe spun away towards the open door, where hundreds of hands reached and clawed and grasped at the air. He grabbed the door, tried to pull it shut, but the hands refused, fought against him. Sharpe did not give up. He opened his mouth and yelled, a guttural scream from the depths of his belly. He pulled so hard that angry veins appeared on his neck and his forehead. Slowly, the door began to close, until the latch clicked, and Sharpe collapsed against the wood, holding it shut with all of his weight and strength.

“Get rid of it!” he yelled at Daniel.

The words shook Daniel from his daze. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the book and found the right page. Tearing it from the book, he ran to the nearest flickering lamp, and held the paper to the flame, where it turned to glowing ash and scattered.

The cracked black bricks around the door closed in, swivelling and shifting into place, multiplying until the doorway was
blocked, the door gone. Sharpe leaned against the wall, panting.

“What did you do?” he said.

“Only what you asked me to,” said Daniel. He stared at the book in his shaking hands, and at the place on the wall where the door had been. He tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Last time he’d written in the book without permission, Mr Silver had explained that there was a
reason
things had gone out of control: in trying to bring back his parents from the dead, Daniel had crossed an impossible and dangerous line. This time he’d attempted no such thing, only a simple doorway leading to Mr Silver.

“Maybe he doesn’t want us to find him,” he said, and his eyes widened as the idea struck him properly.

Sharpe gave him a quizzical look. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard a voice in that room. ‘Leave us,’ it said. I think what just happened was a warning from Mr Silver. A message. He was telling us not to come looking for him.”

Sharpe straightened up, and dusted off his suit.

“I’m growing tired of these games,” he said, and his voice was cold and sharp. Then he brushed past Daniel and walked away, his cane clicking on the floor.

As Daniel watched Sharpe go, something troubled him: he’d almost been eaten by a door, yet all Sharpe seemed to be worried about was whether the
Book of Wonders
was safe. In fact, every time Sharpe saw the book his eyes would shine and a strange look would creep over his face.

Daniel stowed the book back in his pocket, let his hand rest on it. Perhaps he was imagining things. Sharpe had saved his life twice now, after all. The stress of the crumbling Emporium and of Mr Silver’s disappearance might be taking its toll. He hoped so.

All the same, Ellie had been right. Sharpe was Daniel’s responsibility.

From now on he’d watch his every move.

A pair of well-worn grey shoes stepped from the train carriage onto the platform of Edinburgh’s Waverley Station. Lucien Silver had come home.

His handsome face was now a little more lived-in. The hair was a tangle of wild waves, the chin dotted with dark stubble.

He stayed for a few days in a modest hotel near the centre of the city. He walked the wide streets, occasionally stumbling upon a building or a point of view that would spark hazy memories of rare trips outside the walls of Castlefoot Home for Lost Boys.

On his third day, Lucien discovered an empty building in one of Edinburgh’s narrow backstreets. He asked around, learning that the shop belonged to an elderly baker who had retired and left it empty.

On the morning of Lucien’s fourth day back in Edinburgh, word of something remarkable began to spread. The old baker’s shop was gone. It had been replaced (overnight, it seemed) with a grand building made of sparkling black stone. An Emporium of some sort, though nobody was exactly sure what it might sell.

Some described the place as a living dream. Some said that the young man who ran the shop must be a genius, an illusionist
with no equal, for inside the shop they had seen Wonders beyond belief, or science, or reason.

Word of mouth is a magic of its own. Many that lived in the city, or nearby, became bewitched, returning again and again, sometimes every day. When journalists and writers picked up on the story, a new wave of patrons descended on Edinburgh, eager to see the work of the remarkable young man they’d read about. They came from Glasgow and Newcastle, Liverpool and London and beyond. None were disappointed.

And nobody ever suspected that the magic was real.

Lucien lined his pockets with more money than he ever imagined. He barely slept. His days were spent running the Emporium, his nights imagining new Wonders to capture the imagination of the public.

With every stroke of the pen he would remember Vindictus Sharpe’s cold words in the graveyard, words that fuelled his every move:
“You will never be better than me. I rescued you from the gutter, and that is where I expect you to return…”

Lucien had no intention of ever returning to the gutter. He wished beyond anything that one day Sharpe would walk through the doors. Then he would laugh in his face, and Sharpe would be forced to admit the cleverness of Lucien’s magic.

In the meantime, the Nowhere Emporium was open for business.

Yes indeed.

And business was booming.

The Emporium’s decay was speeding up. The cracks in the walls grew, and chunks of stone began to break away. The once shining black brick seemed dull and lifeless. Lamps had flickered out, and could not be relit. Doors began to lock without explanation. A strange illness was beginning to strike the staff; they became weak and fevered.

Daniel felt it too; his connection with the shop was fading. There were frightening moments when he found himself lost and confused, only for his knowledge to return.

Several times, Sharpe left the Emporium at night, complaining that he needed to eat – though Daniel had never seen anything pass his lips except whisky. When Sharpe was gone, Daniel sometimes found himself hoping that he wouldn’t come back. The uneasy feeling in his gut was getting stronger, and the more time he spent with the magician, the more positively Daniel felt he was hiding something.

One night, when Sharpe was out, Daniel checked in on his friends.

Caleb was revelling in his role as organiser. Every day he’d been sending out groups of vendors and performers to the increasingly dangerous far reaches of the Emporium. There were phantom sightings and false alarms, but no Mr Silver.

And no Ellie.

“We’ve discovered a long-lost part of the Emporium,” Caleb told Daniel. “A secret tunnel! It’ll take days to properly search it, and Ellie has gone with the expedition.”

“They won’t find him,” said Daniel, and he told Caleb about his attempt to write in the book, and the door that almost ate him.

“So you think Silver is alive?” said Caleb. “That’s great news!”

“Maybe,” said Daniel, “but why doesn’t he want anyone to find him? What’s he doing? What’s he so scared of?”

“We should call off the search parties,” said Caleb.

“Agreed,” said Daniel, and the thought that Ellie would finally be coming back cheered him. He missed her. He missed how she made him happy and angry and want to tear his hair out all at the same time. And he had been terrified that something would happen to her, that she’d be caught in one of the crumbling Wonders as it self-destructed. He hoped she’d be able to help him work out what was going on. And just having her around would make him less nervous about spending time with Sharpe.

Daniel heard the screams for help on a Monday morning.

He followed the noise, up and around, and found a corridor half caved-in, blocked by fallen chunks of roof and wall.

The muffled ring of shattering glass spilled from a warped, twisted door near the blockage.

The screams grew louder, more desperate.

Daniel ran to the door and tried to open it, but it was bent and jammed. He kicked at the handle, again and again, until at last the door burst open, revealing a palace made entirely of glass. It was beautiful. It was delicate and shimmering. And it was falling apart.
Everywhere the glass was marked by crawling, inching cracks. The sound of glass popping and shattering was all around. As Daniel followed the screams, long shards fell inches from him, exploding on the floor in countless sparkling fragments. He pressed onward, dodging and weaving, until he ducked under a doorway, entering a grand dining room.

His heart almost stopped. Anja was lying over a glass table. Her eyes were shut. A pool of black liquid, like ink, had formed around her and was dripping from the table to the floor. Stuck deep in her shoulder was a glass blade as long as Daniel’s arm.

“Anja! Anja, I’m here! It’s Daniel. Can you hear me?”

She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge him in any way. Daniel struggled to drape her over his shoulder. Then he began to pull her away, her limp feet dragging on the floor as the dining room crashed down around them. Out into the main hall, and he gathered pace. But white-hot pain flashed in his foot, and he dropped to the ground, Anja landing awkwardly on top of him. Daniel knew his foot was bleeding; he could feel the hot blood pouring from the wound. He also knew if he didn’t get Anja out they’d both be stuck many times over with razor-sharp glass. As the shattering roar became unbearable, he struggled up and dragged Anja through the door, jamming it shut behind.

“Help! Somebody help!”

“Daniel!”

Vindictus Sharpe sped towards them, blue eyes almost glowing in the dim light.

“Mr Sharpe! You’ve got to help her! Oh, she can’t die. Please don’t let her die!”

Sharpe brushed Daniel aside, crouched low over Anja. He felt her throat.

“She’s alive.”

Daniel slumped to the floor in relief. Sharpe pulled the glass
shard from Anja’s shoulder and a jet of black spurted high into the air. Then Sharpe’s eyes closed and he muttered under his breath, his fingers tracing the outline of the deep gash. The pouring liquid slowed. Then it stopped. Torn skin began to knit together until nothing remained but the thinnest of scars.

Sharpe turned his attention to Daniel.

“This will hurt. Close your eyes.”

Daniel sat by the fire sipping hot tea to steady his nerves as he waited for Sharpe to return. When the big man swept through the curtain from the labyrinth of corridors, Daniel leapt up.

“What happened? Will Anja be OK?”

Sharpe removed his coat, hung it near the door, and took a silver flask from the pocket, swallowing a mouthful of the liquid inside.

“She should recover. But even then, there’s every chance she’ll catch the sickness that’s spreading through the staff. Without Lucien they are rotting away, just like the Emporium. It’s not blood inside them. It’s ink.”

Daniel pushed his palm against the cool glass of the window. Hot tears gathered in his eyes. Why was it that everything he loved, or cared about, or depended on went away in the end? What was wrong with him?

Sharp said, “I don’t believe there’s much time left.” His big hands were pressed together, like he was praying. “We need to find Lucien. Now.”

Daniel shook his head. “I’ve been thinking. Mr Silver has always done what’s best for this place. Why would he stop now? If I’m right, and he doesn’t want to be found, then there must be a reason. I trust him.”

“Do you trust him enough to die here if you’re wrong?” said Sharpe. “Look … Lucien is
ill
. You said so yourself. He might not be thinking clearly. He might have gone mad for all we know. If we don’t find him, I promise you, everything in this shop, including your friends, will be gone. And you’re going to have to start thinking about life outside the Emporium again.”

Daniel stared desperately.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Then help me!”

“How?”

Sharpe let out a deep sigh.

“I know Lucien better than anyone. I know how his mind works. Perhaps if I were to study the
Book of Wonders,
I might find something that you have missed. The tiniest clue can make all the difference.”

Daniel reached for his pocket. He brought the book out and stared at the battered cover. He was tired, and frightened, and confused. Could Sharpe be right? Was it possible Mr Silver was losing his mind?

“It is your decision,” said Sharpe. “If you do not wish me to have the book, I understand.” He pointed to the gold watch on his wrist. “But time is running out. And consider this: how would you feel if the Emporium slipped away and you knew that you had not done
everything
in your power to save it? To save your friends?”

Daniel’s hand trembled as he clutched the book. Sharpe was right: how could he ignore any chance, no matter how small, of saving his home and the people who had filled his life with magic?

He held out the
Book of Wonders.

Sharpe stared at it. He licked his lips, reached out hungry fingers. Just like that, the
Book of Wonders
was gone, nestling in
Sharpe’s hands.

“How can I help?” Daniel asked.

Sharpe tore his eyes from the book.

“Mmm? Oh … I insist on doing this alone, boy. I won’t achieve much with you staring over my shoulder. Besides, you’ve been through quite an ordeal today. It’s best if you rest.”

As Sharpe spoke, Daniel’s eyelids grew heavy, and tiredness weighed upon his shoulders. “You’ll tell me if you find anything?” he managed to say through a yawn as he slumped into a dusty old armchair near the window.

Sharpe flashed those white teeth.

“If I find what I am looking for, boy, you will know about it. Believe me.”

And with that he turned and swept away through the curtain.

Daniel watched after him. Somewhere in the back of his head, something was screaming out at him. But he did not care any more. Tiredness wrapped around him, suffocating the world, and he curled up in the deep chair and closed his eyes.