Mirrorscape (8 page)

‘The young scut here says he wants some pigment. Have we got any pigment in at the moment?'

‘All gone. Tell him to come back tomorrow,' said his assistant, as he measured out a quantity of orange pigment into a complicated set of brass scales.

‘What's all that then?' Mel pointed to the shelves where another man rolled back and forth on a wheeled ladder. ‘Please, it's really,
really
urgent. I've got to – '

The man in charge shook his head. ‘Give it here then.' He leant forward to take the proffered warrant. ‘
Poo!
You smell worse than you look.' He snatched the
document and quickly retreated. ‘Go and wait outside. You'll be called when it's ready.'

Mel went out into the corridor to stand by a large archway, open to the air. The first puffs of a breeze that promised to blow the fog away ruffled his hair and made him feel less uneasy about being there in the headquarters of the Fifth Mystery.

That same breeze wafted along the corridor and into the ventilation shaft feeding fresh air down through the building and into the chambers below. In one such chamber the breeze oozed out of the ventilator, carrying with it the disagreeable odour of rabbit-skin size.

‘What's that smell?' asked Adolfus Spute, wrinkling his stubby nose.

A negative note from his whistle indicated that Mumchance did not know.

‘
Men!
' the High-Bailiff shouted for his assistants.

Mumchance's whistle.

‘Yes, you're quite right, of course I did. How forgetful of me. I sent them to Kop to collect our guests,
didn't I? We'd best go and find out for ourselves. What
is
that stink?'

‘Red mercuric sulphide!' The completion of an order was announced in the commissary. When no one came forward the man bellowed at the top of his lungs, ‘Red mercuric sulphide! Cinnabar for Blenk!'

Mel rushed back in. ‘That's for me!' A parcel was pushed down the counter. He tucked the valuable pigment into his doublet and hurried back the way he had come.

‘It's getting stronger. It's definitely coming from this direction.' The High-Bailiff and his companion hurried along the corridor leading up to the commissary. ‘Whatever is that …
Smell!
How nice to see you again.'

Mel froze. The High-Bailiff and Mumchance stood there, blocking his way. He suddenly felt very cold.

‘So we meet again. Just when we thought that we faced a dreary afternoon, you've brought some colour into our lives.'

Mumchance smiled and piped a long note on his
silver whistle. He and the High-Bailiff moved closer.

Mel wished he had his bodkin.
But I do have this!
He withdrew the parcel and flung the powdered cinnabar in their faces. Adolfus Spute screamed and Mumchance doubled up, both coughing and clawing at their eyes. Mel turned and began to run back up the corridor, but the commissary servers emerged, barring his escape.

Mel looked to his right, at the archway, but escape was impossible that way. It was high above the street; the fall would surely kill him. To his left was a door. In desperation, he lunged at it, and it opened on to a stairwell. There was a scuffle of feet behind him as his pursuers reached the doorway.

With no time to think, Mel took the down staircase as a hand grabbed his collar. He half-turned and saw the High-Bailiff's face, now stained red and contorted with an inhuman fury. ‘I know you took it, Smell. It's mine, you thief. It's mine, and I want it back.'

Mel wrenched himself free and plunged down, the sound of feet close behind him. He reached the foot of the stairs and turned left, right, left again, as he tried to throw his pursuers off his trail.
They mustn't catch me. They simply mustn't
. Mel had a fleeting vision of the last time he saw Fa Theum but forced the dreadful image from his mind. He ran down a long, dimly lit gallery hung with large paintings. He stole a look over his shoulder. He could hear the drumbeat sound of running feet coming ever closer. The tattoo merged with the pounding of his own blood in his ears. Then he heard more running feet, this time from in front, doubling the rhythm.
I'm trapped
. He skidded to a halt in front of one of the paintings. Panting, he pressed his back to it.
There's no way out. It's all over
.

Secrets

Everything went black as a sack was thrust over Mel's head. Strong arms grabbed him and heaved him backwards. Abruptly, the sounds of pursuit ceased and were replaced by birds singing. He could hear wind blowing through trees and, somewhere nearby, the gentle tinkling of a stream. He felt the warmth of sunshine and, beneath his feet, grass. This sudden transformation was, in its own way, as frightening as the High-Bailiff and his pack.

‘What're we going to do with him now?' said a man's voice.

‘Shut up, I'm thinking,' said another.

‘
Yech!
Have you smelt him? We should have left him out there,' said the first voice. ‘We don't need this. He's not our problem. Let's slit his throat and dump him back. One more body in the House of Mysteries won't matter. They wouldn't even notice.'

There was silence for a while. All Mel could hear was the sound of his own rapid breathing.

‘Listen to him, he's hyperventilating. He's going to croak soon anyway. Let's slit his gizzard and be off.' It was the first voice again.

‘I told you to shut up.'

The sack was whisked off Mel's head and he received two sharp slaps to his face in rapid succession.

‘Are you all right, lad?' said the other voice.

Mel blinked rapidly and gradually came to his senses. Then he wished he was back inside the sack. He screwed his eyes tight shut.
I'm in the dormitory. I'm in bed; I'll wake up in a moment. I'm having a dream
–
a very, very weird dream
.

But he was not.

When he opened his eyes again he was still in a forest glade serenely lit with beams of clear, golden light. In the distance were snow-capped mountains, and birds with bright plumage wheeled overhead. Nearby, a unicorn grazed – a
real
unicorn. It looked up briefly and blinked its languid eyes at him. Mel shook his head. It was all too much. His legs turned to jelly and he collapsed heavily on the ground.

‘What've you done now? He's seen where we are. We'll have to kill him.'

‘Are you all right, lad? Speak to me.'

Mel looked up.
It's not a dream. I've gone mad
. The man bending over him was green: the colour of grass. His hands and his fingernails were green. His skin and his hair were green, as were his teeth. Even his eyes were a paler shade of the same green, with dark green pupils. This was so bizarre in itself that Mel did not notice his strange clothes or the weird piebald creature clinging to his shoulder.

‘He's in shock,' said the other man.

Mel looked at him. He was blue.
This isn't possible. I'm hallucinating
.

‘Of course he's in shock. So would you be. What's your name, lad?' the green man asked.

Mel just looked at him, uncomprehending.

‘Your name. Who are you?' He shook Mel again gently.

‘M … Mel. Melkin Womper.'

‘How long have you been Ambrosius Blenk's apprentice, Mel?'

‘How do you know …?' He remembered his livery. ‘Just a couple of days. I got a free one.'

‘What's he talking about, “a free one”? He hasn't been there long enough, he can't know anything. Now he's gone and seen us. Let's do him and dump the body back out there. We need to get out of here,' said the blue man, drawing his knife.

‘No one's going to do anyone. Not while I'm in charge,' said the green man. ‘Put that knife away. If Adolfus Spute and the Fifth Mystery are after him, then he's on our side. Can you stand, Mel?'

Mel nodded. Unsteadily, he got to his feet.

‘Well done. Now we're going to take you somewhere where it's safe to release you but I'm going to have to put the sack back on your head. It's for your own good.'

Mel briefly fought back panic. The last thing he saw before the sack was placed back over his head was a softly shimmering and undulating wall of mist that rose up, sheer, from the grass to the sky just a few feet from him. Then they began walking, Mel guided by the firm hands of the two coloured men.

They walked for what seemed like a long time. They climbed hills and clambered down steep inclines, picking their way over fallen branches. Once, the
temperature dropped suddenly and they skidded across a broad expanse of ice. Then it became warmer and they were in some inhabited place where he heard music and the sound of many voices that faded as they marched on. Eventually, they halted.

The green man spoke. ‘Right, Mel. I'm going to let you go now. When I take the sack off you won't be in the House of Mysteries, you'll be somewhere else. You won't be in any danger but you mustn't linger. You must go straight back to Ambrosius Blenk's mansion. Do you understand?'

Mel nodded.

‘And you can never talk about this. Not to anyone. Otherwise my mate really will slit your gizzard. OK? Now, close your eyes.'

Mel was gently thrust forward. He felt a tingling sensation all over and he sensed that the air around him changed again.

‘Goodbye, Mel. And remember, not a word.' The sack was lifted off his head.

Mel opened his eyes. He was in a strange room. In front of him was an open door with a short flight of
steps leading down to a busy street. He turned around and saw a large painting. Before he had a chance to study it he was interrupted.

‘I'm sorry, my son, but the House of Spirits is not open to visitors.'

The House of Spirits? I'm back in Vlam!
Mel turned to see a young priest walking towards him. He was smiling and his shining diaglyph sent reflections dancing around the walls.

‘I'm sorry, Fa ….'

‘Ah, I see you're one of Ambrosius Blenk's apprentices. Well, we sometimes allow you to come here and study the Maven's paintings but you must make an appointment first.'

‘Excuse me, Fa. I'm new here. I only arrived in Vlam a couple of days ago. I'm lost. I must get back to my master.'

The priest escorted him to the door and pointed at where the rooftops sloped down from the three hills to the centre of the city. ‘Ambrosius Blenk's mansion lies at the very heart of Vlam. The fog's lifted now and you can see the Great Houses. When they're equidistant,
you'll be near home. Now take care.' The Fa waved him goodbye.

It was long after dark when Mel arrived back outside his master's mansion. Above him, the clock chimed midnight and the gates to the courtyard were locked. Weary to the point of exhaustion, Mel walked around the block, trying to find someone to let him in through one of the side doors. He felt hopeless as he began a second circuit. Then he heard his name.

‘Mel. Up here.'

He looked up and saw Wren at a second-floor window.

‘I'll come down and let you in.' A short while later a nearby door opened. Wren was not wearing her pinafore or turban and her long auburn hair hung loose about her shoulders. She looked altogether different, less like a servant and more like she lived in the splendid house.

‘Mel, where've you been? You look done in. The house has been in turmoil. They were on the point of calling the Watch to go and look for you. But I knew you'd come back.'

‘Wren, you won't believe what happened to me.
First I got lost and then I was chased and
then
– '

‘Slow down.'

‘But I have a message for you.'

‘For me?' She laughed nervously.

‘From your father.'

‘My
father
. You can't have met him. He's – '

‘A prisoner of the Fifth Mystery. Honestly, Wren. I'm not making this up. He has a scar, here, on the bridge of his nose,' said Mel.

Tears welled up in Wren's eyes. ‘Oh, Mel, did you
really
see him? Where?'

‘Near the South-Eastern Winding Shed. He was with some other prisoners and I think they must have been taking him to work there.' Mel could not tell his friend that her father looked wretched.

Wren smiled sadly. ‘This means that he hasn't been sent to the mines. There's still hope.'

‘Why's your father a prisoner? What's he done?'

‘Done? What do you have to do to fall foul of the Mysteries?
Nothing
, that's what! You know the great clock on the front of the mansion? Well, my father made it
and
the one at the House of Thrones. He's
made clocks for all sorts of important people. He's the greatest clockmaker in Nem! The Mysteries – all of them – hated him because time didn't belong to any of them. You can't touch it and you can't smell it. You can't hear it, taste it or see it.'

‘There's no Pleasure attached to it.'

‘None. No one could make a profit from time. So they made up some kind of crime for his not having the Pleasure of time. No one ever knew what it was or which Mystery was responsible. They just came and took him away one night, about three months ago.'

‘I'm sorry, Wren, I had no idea. I didn't mean to upset you.' He touched her arm in a gesture of comfort.

‘We used to have a nice house, not far from here, and two servants, and now we have nothing. My mother has to work in a laundry and I have to work here, in the kitchens.' She fought back the tears and raised her head proudly. ‘So what's this message my father gave you?'

‘He said that he loved you and thought about you all the time. And then he said something else that I don't understand. He said that you should “look in the night”.'

‘Look for what? Which night? Tonight?'

‘I don't know. That's all he had time to say.'

The great clock chimed the half hour. ‘Come on, Mel. You need to get back to the dormitory. Stay here, I'll be back in a moment.' Wren disappeared down a hallway and returned holding a candle and a small key. ‘Here's something you ‘prentices don't know about. Even I'm not supposed to know. I
borrowed
a key.' Wren winked. She led Mel to some carved panelling on the wall and fitted the key to a tiny keyhole. The oak panel swung open and Wren stepped inside. ‘Come on.'

Mel followed her. ‘A secret passage!'

‘
Shhh!
' Wren closed the panel behind them and lit the candle. Her green eyes twinkled. ‘This is a service passage. The mansion is riddled with them. Most of the rooms can be accessed from the passages. It allows the senior servants to come and go without having to clog up the normal corridors. Come on, this way.'

Mel followed Wren along the passage. They climbed uneven stairs, cobwebs sometimes brushing their faces. As they proceeded, Wren whispered to Mel
what lay beyond the various doors they passed.

‘That leads to the servants' hall and that one over there to the scullery. Here's the door to the linen store.'

‘You must have a good memory. To remember all the doors like that.'

‘No, not at all. The rooms are written on the doors. Look.' She held up the candle. ‘What's that say?'

Mel was silent.

Wren held the candle closer. ‘There, surely you can see it now.' Then the truth dawned on her. ‘You can't read, can you?'

Mel hung his head. ‘Fa Theum, the village priest, wanted to teach me but he didn't have any books in Nemish.'

‘I've got some books. I can teach you.'

‘
Really?
You'll really teach me to read? I can write a bit.'

‘Then I'll teach you to write more. I'd like that, to have something better to do after work than to gossip with Cook and the others. It would be fun.'

Mel smiled for the first time that day. ‘Look, Wren, thanks for everything. If you hadn't waited up for me
I'd still be wandering round outside. You're the only friend I've got in here.'

‘What about Ludo?'

‘Ludo … He's ….'

‘Selfish?'

Mel nodded.

‘He's not really; he'sjust a bit thoughtless sometimes. It's his upbringing. Ludolf Cleef comes from a very well-to-do family. His father's Lord Cleef. They used to be very rich – still are by anyone else's standards. But they love their Pleasures a tad too much. He's the youngest son and his parents dote on him. They bought his apprenticeship for him, probably with money they don't have. They're counting on him being a successful artist one day. He was bullied a lot when he first arrived. His life never prepared him for an apprenticeship under Groot.'

‘I don't think
anyone
could be prepared for that,' said Mel.

They continued onwards and upwards. At length, at the top of a steep flight of especially rickety stairs, they reached the dormitory.

Wren opened the door a crack. ‘All's clear. Just get straight into bed.' She held the panel open for him and Mel slipped through. Wren closed it after him and made her way back through the passages in the direction of the servants' quarters.

In the silence after she had passed, a flame flared, illuminating the green face of a man. He made his way down a different passage. When he came to the door he sought, he raised his candle to read the inscription:
Dirk Tot's study
. He knocked softly and entered.