The Door in the Moon by Catherine Fisher Read Free Book Online Page B

silenced him. “Shut up. Get in the boat.”
    He was pushed down a set of creaking wooden stairs. The river lapped at his feet, sucked at his boots. He climbed quickly into the boat, the last man followed and cast off, and they began to row downstream.
    It was a journey through a nightmare. To each side the city rose, its church pinnacles, its crowded slums and rickety tenements. Lights flared, a woman cried out. Drunken men laughed on the waterfront. Almost silent, the boat floated on, the ripple of the oars barely heard among the noise of the quays.
    Once they passed below the shell of what had been a great palace, all its empty windows lit with flames, fires still burning in its courtyard, and Jake said, “Is this the Tuileries?” He knew that palace had been destroyed in the Revolution.
    To his surprise the man beside him said, “Bloody cut-throats. Call themselves Citizens! This would never happen in England.”
    One of the rowers grunted in agreement. “Sooner we get the goods and get out of this crib, the better. Before all our heads get chopped.”
    As he spoke they came under a wharf, wooden piles rising around them. It stank so foully Jake put a hand over his nose and mouth and tried not to breathe. Looking up he saw a dilapidated sign swinging in the wind.
Le Chat Noir,
a dark cat with yellow eyes. The boat rocked as one of the rowers stood and thumped upward with the oar.
    A dull thud.
    Then another, answering.
    A trapdoor crashed down.
    Jake was hauled up. He found himself in a cellar, moldy with damp, its walls green with slime. “Up again.” The man with the pistol gestured; leaving the others to unload the mirror, he pushed Jake up some stairs in the corner to a door, which he unlocked. “Go on.”
    Jake shook his head, uneasy. “You first.”
    â€œWhat, you think we’ve brought you through time and tide to top you? Bloody thick, are you? Why she thinks you’re so . . .” He stopped. Then, angrily, “Get on.”
    Jake climbed the stair and opened the door.
    To his great surprise he found a comfortably furnished room. His wet boots sank into a deep rug. A long table, laid with silver dishes glittering in the light of five crystal candelabra, each with branches of bright candles.
    Plates of food littered the surface—roasted meats, steaming vegetables, sauces. Sweet, sticky confections of cream and sugar and cinnamon were piled haphazardly on delicate porcelain plates. A carafe of dark wine stood by a cask of beer.
    Jake went straight for it. He drank some wine and felt its heat flood through him; then he sat, pulled up a plate, and ate with concentration and speed.
    After ten minutes he felt a lot better. He took a breath, wiped his lips with a napkin, took another long swig of wine.
    Then he looked up, and saw in the warped silver side of a tureen that someone was standing in a doorway behind him, watching him; a slim, dark, cloaked shape.
    His heart leaped.
    â€œDad?” he whispered, in wild hope.

    Venn’s temper was so spectacular that most of the Shee had fled to the safety of the treetops. Now as he picked up a chair and hurled it into the bracken, so that the frail wood splintered against a tree trunk, even Wharton winced.
    He had made himself tell the story of the kidnapping very clearly, and without emotion. Summer had smiled her pretty red lips throughout, even laughed a cold tinkle of laughter when she heard of Sarah’s disappearance. Could she be behind this? He wouldn’t be at all surprised.
    Now she said, “Calm down, Venn. It’s nothing that need bother us.”
    He swung on her. “Someone comes into my house through the mirror, kidnaps my godson—”
    â€œYou know very well the boy means nothing to you.”
    â€œSummer, he’s David’s son. That means something.”
    â€œStill?” She pouted. “Oh, that’s so disappointing, Venn. I thought you’d