“Kyle! Do not drink! Step back; if you drink you will be turned into a horrible beast and you will tear me to pieces.” She sees it in her mind – the teeth and the shredding of her flesh, the pitiless eyes of the beast, part tiger, part wolf.
Kyle turns to her and smiles, and his teeth are red. Maggie runs to pull him back from the water’s edge but he bends and his head is below the surface before she can reach him.
In an instant, her brother, the soft fragile boy she knows, is gone and in his place squats a huge yellow-and-black-furred creature, thick of haunch and neck, and snarling, turning toward her, hunching, ready to pounce …
* * *
KYLE IS SO THIRSTY. HE FEELS AS THOUGH HE HAS BEEN walking in this dark wood longer than the trail of his memory. Through the trees comes the sound of water burbling and he races to it, bending his head to drink.
Just as he does, he hears his sister calling to him. She stands on the other side of the spring. She is filthy, her teeth are rotten, her clothes tattered and stinking. Snakes curl through her hair. “Kyle! Don’t drink! If you drink you will be lost to me forever!”
“No loss to me,” says Kyle. He drinks, and the water is as sweet as the wine of frozen grapes.
Power surges through him, he is thrumming with it. His muscles bunch and flex; his member becomes erect. Maggie has disappeared and in her place is the woman he seeks. She wears only argent fog and her long white hair. He hunches, leaps and pounces on her, and she opens herself to him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DAWN WAS BREAKING IN A TANGERINE BLAZE, setting the landscape in harsh relief. The little boat floated toward a pier. Beyond, on the slopes leading from the lake’s edge, village lights twinkled. The air was clear, but thick dark blue and orange clouds, like the rippled surface of an upside-down lake, adorned the sky. Such clouds signalled approaching hard weather and a bad day for travel. Maggie’s breath fogged around her face. When she had woken a little earlier, the first thing she’d noticed was that the ravens were gone. Badger shook, rocking the boat, and then kissed her. She stretched her chin as the dog’s hot tongue flicked her neck. “I don’t know what you’re so happy about.” She scratched his ears. Badger cocked his head and perked up his ears. Maggie’s teeth began to chatter. She held Badger close to steal some of his warmth and wrapped her scarf around her head and ears.
Badger hopped from the boat, sniffing around and lifting his leg against a pylon. Maggie stepped out, her pack slung over her shoulder. She held the line in fingers stiff with cold. The line went taut in her grip as the boat pulled away. The rope tugged. She was either going to have to let go or be dragged. “Have it your way.” She let go.
The boat slipped back, turned and steadily, but without haste, returned the way it had come. The lanterns bobbed in a jolly sort of way. In a few minutes, it had disappeared.
“Well, that’s that.” She scratched Badger’s head. “We’ve got to get in out of this cold or we’re done for. I could use a cup of coffee, a bath and a long sleep.”
She started toward the village. The pier had only two small rowboats tied to it, neither in good condition, and the pier itself was in dire need of repairs. Many of the boards were soft with rot and she had to watch where she stepped for fear of falling through. The pier ended at the same sort of pebble beach as on the other side of the lake, but instead of great cliffs, the land rose in a gentle snow-covered hill. Buildings faced the lake, and several lanes led to dwellings on the hillside that were constructed from mismatched boards of red, yellow, blue and green. Windows were of every size and shape. Chimneys tilted. The whole place looked as though it was built with odds and ends. Yet it was an oddly cheerful facade.
The wind whipped, and snow pricked her face. Her feet were numb, as were her fingers. She tucked her hands under her armpits. The village looked deserted and just as she wondered how she’d go about finding anyone she heard the ravens’ caws. They swooped down and flew to a sign over a door, flapped their wings a few times and then flew off again, quickly disappearing. Maggie walked toward the building. It was a tavern. The sign read, The Fish and Fiddle. A painted flounder played the fiddle and smiled at the weary traveller.
The tavern was attached to a row of buildings and seemed not much wider than the door that came barely to the top of Maggie’s head. She knocked. Badger sniffed along the walls and then the bottom of the door. His tail wagged. She knocked again, and the door opened to reveal a woman with a smiling face as wrinkled as a dried apricot. She wore a long burgundy skirt and a quilted jacket of the same fabric. A red scarf tied under her chin secured a red hat. The jacket, hat and scarf were all embroidered with yellow flowers and green vines. Her merry blue eyes held not the least surprise at seeing a strange woman and a dog upon her threshold.
“You’re early on the road, my pets. Come in, come in. Weather on the way.”
Badger sniffed the woman’s skirt and wagged his tail. The old woman put down her hand and Badger licked it.
As the crone stepped aside Maggie thanked her and ducked so as not to whack her forehead on the lintel. The three crowded through a tight-fit hallway, with only enough space to walk single file. Badger kept trying to push past Maggie. She was afraid she’d trip on him and was starting to feel claustrophobic, but as they walked farther into the tavern the ceiling rose and the walls broadened. By the time they reached the end of the hall the beams were a good two feet or more over her head. Maggie followed her hostess into a room in which a cheery fire blazed on a stone hearth, filling the air with the scent of pine and cedar. Four well-used, overstuffed chairs crowded round the fireplace. Scattered about the room were chairs and tables, and a bar with three stools filled the far end. Emerald, amber, garnet and crystal bottles of various shapes and sizes glittered from shelves. Deep casement windows let in the early morning light, but when Maggie looked, she could make out nothing but cloudy grey shapes. She assumed the clouds she’d noticed on arrival had descended and the hard weather was about to begin. It was a bit unsettling, as though the tavern wasn’t in the cramped, if gay, little town, but perched on the edge of some great cloud-hung mountain.
Maggie shivered. Badger sniffed here and there – along the floor, the baseboards, around the bar – and then plopped down on the carpet in front of the fire and heaved an enormous sigh.
“The dog seems at home, now let’s make you feel the same way and you can tell me all about your travels,” said the woman. “Sit, sit.”
Gratefully, Maggie sat by the fire and peeled off her gloves, hat and scarf, stretching out her fingers to the dancing flames. The woman brought her a tankard of hot spiced cider with a cinnamon stick in it. Maggie held the tankard between her hands and let the fragrant steam warm her face. She sipped. It was sweet and rich and ran like a little molten stream down her throat into her stomach. She thought she’d never tasted anything quite so delicious and said so. She was rewarded with another smile.
“Should banish the chill.” The old woman sat in a chair next to Maggie and clapped her hands. “My name is Aunt Ravna, and who are you?”
Maggie told her.
“And what on earth brings you to Lake’s End?”
“Is that where I am?” asked Maggie.
“If it isn’t I’d like to know where I am!” Aunt Ravna laughed so hard at her own joke she had to wipe tears from her eyes.
Maggie didn’t think it was that funny but thought it would be rude not to laugh along and so she chuckled lightly, and then the chuckle turned into a chortle and the chortle into a giggle. Her giggles turned into cackles and the cackles into belly-clutching guffaws and the guffaws into the kind of soundless, open-mouthed, foot-stomping laughter that was very difficult to stop and resulted in tears and hiccups.
Maggie assumed it must be a reaction to all the strange things she’d been through, and the travel, and the fatigue, and she didn’t really care why, in the end.
It just felt wonderful.
When she finally caught her breath, the old lady said, “Oh, that’s much better. I always find nothing warms a person up quite so well as a good chuckle. And if there’s nothing to laugh at, it’s just a question of laughing at what there is, don’t you think? But where are my manners? I must be getting old, although that’s what I said fifty years ago, I’m quite sure. You sit here and I’ll bring you something to eat, shall I, which goes ever so well with something to drink, as does the reverse, of course, and then you can tell me all there is to tell.”
Aunt Ravna slapped her hands on her knees and tottered off somewhere in the back of the tavern.
“Oh, dear,” said Maggie, lolling in the comfortable chair and gazing at the fire. She wondered if this might not be another trick of a place like Mother Ratigan’s. She felt herself sliding into sleep and pinched the back of her hands. Kyle’s face swam before her. I need you. Follow me … As she stared into the fire she fancied she saw tiny figures with pointy shoes and pointy hats and sharp little fingers. They danced round a mirror and laughed and laughed …
“All right now, my possum, let’s get some food into you.”
Aunt Ravna wheeled in a butler’s tray loaded with plates of scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, and rashers of bacon, and toast and butter and jam, and a pot of apple cider to refill their tankards.
“Did you think I forgot you?” said Aunt Ravna to Badger, who’d woken at the scent of food. Aunt Ravna disappeared briefly and returned with two bowls, one of water and the other filled with stew that smelled so good Maggie wouldn’t have minded eating it. Badger’s tail thumped. “That’s a good boy,” Aunt Ravna said and he began eating.
Once Maggie began her meal, Aunt Ravna asked her to tell her story. Maggie did her best, and the more she talked, the more she found she trusted this ancient woman. There was a great calmness about her. The room was so homey and the old woman’s demeanour so placid, she couldn’t help but open her heart. Badger’s deportment also reassured her, for he lay on the rug with his legs out behind him, completely at ease. Although she knew it would be prudent to keep a few facts back, she couldn’t deny she felt a great relief at not having to keep it all bottled up.
“Oh, I know all about the Castoffs,” said Aunt Ravna, sipping from a tankard of her own and making a tut-tutting noise. “Poor lambs. All the little ones, half wild, and the adults up to all sorts. There’s no need for it. They’d be welcome here. Heaven knows I’ve plenty of room.”
“Wouldn’t your neighbours object?”
“They’re good people here. You’ll meet them later in the day. Most stop in for a wee chat and a dram.”
“I don’t think the Castoffs feel welcome anywhere.”
“Yes, well, robbing people does lead to that. Although the truth is, from what I’ve heard, people on the other side of the lake often travel with a good deal of things they don’t need, as a way to get supplies to people too proud for charity. But there is the issue of hostages, which is their new game, apparently.” She tut-tutted again and looked serious. “If only there was some way to educate them.”
“Well, that might change. The oldest daughter has learned to read.”
“Oh? And did you have a hand in that?”
Maggie blushed. “A little, maybe.”
“Did you? How extraordinary. How did you manage it?”
“I had some help.”
Aunt Ravna nodded. “Well, however you did it, if there’s a reader among them I think we’ll see changes. Perhaps not right away, but learning does have a way of taking hold. You’ve done a good thing, young woman.”
Maggie dropped her gaze and chewed her lip. Knowing she’d done it primarily because she was hoping to influence Beth in her favour didn’t make it feel like a selfless act.
Aunt Ravna regarded her. “There are times when we are used in ways we can’t understand. We must trust that. Our motives, even if they’re not entirely pure, do not negate our usefulness, don’t you agree?”
“I suppose.” Outside the window a blizzard now blew. A hard gale.
“Good. Now, the question is, do you know where your brother is, precisely? All you’ve told me is that this drug caused him to travel here, to this world. The problem is, like all worlds, it’s rather big. Do you think you can narrow it down just a tad?”
Maggie was loath to reveal too much. Who knew how Srebrenka was thought of on this side of the lake? “He was called, from what I understand.”
Aunt Ravna put her tankard down on the table and leaned forward. “Called? Called by whom?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“There’s only one person capable of that sort of thing, I’m afraid. Someone who feeds off pain. This is a bad business. She is bad business.”
“You mean Srebrenka.”
“Indeed. She who travels in both worlds, who dabbles in things she ought not.” Aunt Ravna’s eyes widened. “We should have known. You’re telling me she gave your brother this drug … this …”
Maggie nodded. “Elysium.”
“Yes. That does sound like her.”
Badger came to Aunt Ravna and rested his head on her knee.
“I know the standard good advice is never to trust anyone who tells you to trust them,” said Aunt Ravna, “but I hope in this case you’ll let your very wise friend here vouch for my good intentions. You’ll come to no harm here, and we’ll do all we can to help you. It is our job, you see, just as caring for the Grimoire is yours. We are a way station for travellers, and we have a few other tasks as well, but principally, we are a refuge. When I retire as tavern keeper … not for decades yet, of course,” she giggled, “but when the time comes, my son, Guivi, will take on the title of Uncle.” She petted Badger’s head and he rolled over on his back, presenting his belly for a rub, which Aunt Ravna obliged, laughing.
Any fears Maggie had about this being another trap dissolved. “It’s elysium that allows Kyle, and others, apparently, to move between the worlds. Perception changes. Ultimately, it’s impossible to tell what’s real from what’s not. Madness. Death. It’s caused more damage than you can imagine where I come from. No one, once they ride the pipe, escapes.”
Aunt Ravna looked at Maggie. “No one? You have battled this, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” said Maggie in a soft voice. “But I didn’t take it again to come here. At least I don’t think I did. There was smoke in the room … so maybe … but I came through a doorway. I didn’t take the pipe. It almost killed me, once.”
“The point is it did not. Never forget that. Whatever it is you drew upon to save yourself, it’s still with you.”
“But I don’t know why I was spared and so many others aren’t.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? You surrendered to life, no matter what it held for you, even abandonment, even grief and loss and pain.”
Aunt Ravna spoke as though she knew more about Maggie than what Maggie had told her. She shifted in her chair. “I had no choice. It was give up or die.”
“There was a choice. There’s always a choice, even if not everyone makes it. Tell me about the moment you decided to surrender.”
“I’m not sure it was any one moment. A series of moments, perhaps. Each more humiliating, more shameful, more soul-destroying than the next. Waking up in my own filth. Willing to do almost anything to get another pipe.”
Aunt Ravna’s face remained open, attentive and, to Maggie’s relief, without judgment.
“But there was one moment,” she said.
Maggie knew what the old woman was talking about. She’d run out of cash and Srebrenka had thrown her out. She’d wandered through the Forest looking for some way to get more money, but everything, everywhere had been deserted, as though every single person had magically disappeared. At last she’d collapsed in a doorway and
passed out. She woke some hours later, cold and sick and terrified. She’d dreamed of burning towers and madwomen in attics who tried to stab her with their long sharp nails. In a terrible moment of clarity, she knew if she spent another night this way she would die. Although every step felt as if she walked barefoot on glass, she dragged herself from the Forest. It took her hours and hours and she knew not how long, until she finally crawled into an alley in Kensington Market and found a stale heel of bread and a bruised pear in a refuse bin. She bit into it and nearly cried out it was so delicious, even as her stomach cramped. She chewed and chewed, and it took a long time for it to go down. She nibbled the bread and told the voice in her head, which whispered how wonderful it would be to lie on a soft blue couch and dream of paradise and plenty, to shut up, please shut up.
It was a lucid moment and, with a strange objectivity, she recognized it as such. As though someone had tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Pay attention, dear. Look and see things as they are.” Something broke in her. All at once she saw how her life might be if she no longer wanted things to be different. What the world might look like if she didn’t mind it being just as it was. This was no one’s fault but hers. There was a sort of freedom in that. And so the choice was clear: she could lie down and die right then, and be done with it; or she could get up and keep walking, and see what would happen next, and no matter what is was, she’d let it happen. She stood, and she walked, and walked, and walked, and came to a bookshop she’d never seen before.
“There was one moment,” Maggie agreed.
Aunt Ravna’s eyes twinkled. “Good, remember that.” She put down her tankard and folded her hands across her middle. “You’ll be wanting to go north, then.”
“Yes,” said Maggie. “Kyle came this way, I think. The Castoff woman said he’d stayed there for a while and then she sent him in the boat, as she did us.”
“If he came here, he didn’t stop in, and I do believe I know why. The one you want was seen some moons ago. It was remarked upon. She drove a white carriage pulled by an enormous white bear. She brings the snows with her when she comes and ice flies in the wind. Although she’s not often seen, we feel her effects. We huddle inside for we’re sensible folk. One of the farmers said he thought she wasn’t alone, that a man sat next to her on the carriage seat. Although I wonder why she made him come all this way alone, if she wanted him so much. It does seem odd. Why not simply bring him with her when she returned?”
The Grimoire of Kensington Market Page 21
