by Ian Richards
‘Martell, that man …’
He looked down at Firefox’s lifeless face. Death had taken much of the menace from the fairy. In passing he appeared softer—somehow more peaceful. Tony imagined that this was what he had been like before the house took his mind: not filled with rage and hate, but calm and placid. Possibly even decent. He hadn’t been in control for a long time now. His delusions had pushed him into realms where it had been easy for others to manipulate him. And yet to see such a powerful creature struck down so easily. It made Tony uncomfortable. Despite his many encounters with Mr. Krook and Mr. Kepler he still found such ruthlessness hard to stomach. How could life be taken so cheaply? Why did ambition trump empathy for so many people?
‘Tony, my boy.’ He felt Martell’s hand on his shoulder. ‘We have to go.’
Tony remained still for a long time.
‘It’s my dad, isn’t it?’ he said eventually. ‘That creature who has Vanessa.’
Martell nodded.
‘I could tell,’ Tony said. ‘I saw something in his eyes. This poor sod …’—he nodded towards Firefox—‘he was just a patsy. He didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘Tony, come on. There’s nothing we can do here.’
The boy shook his head. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that Martell.’
Reaching into Firefox’s jacket he pulled out the genie’s lamp.
‘I’d say there’s quite a bit we can do, actually.’
*
Silvertongue marched past the rows of open doors feeling untouchable. It had all gone to plan. Firefox was dead, Krook and Kepler had run for their lives, and Marshwood was finally his. To think of the power now at this fingertips. To visit these places—to skip across realities, to steal the knowledge of the greatest magicians to have ever lived.
The corridor stretched out in front of him like the world’s greatest department store. On the right he passed doors leading to vast deserts, enormous palaces, seething jungles. And on his left, doors that offered fairy villages, bustling city streets, diamond mines that twinkled like galaxies.
There were smells, too—such an intoxicating mix of smells. Dragon’s fire, ocean spray, freshly mown grass, icecaps, vegetation, butterscotch.
Vanessa stumbled along behind him, still blurry with enchantments, unsure where she was being taken or what this strange creature holding her wanted. The sound of her bare feet padded loudly against the floor. Silvertongue was moving too quickly for her. Dragging her on and on through an endless funhouse of strange attractions and magic mirrors.
‘Let me go,’ she mumbled, trying weakly to resist. ‘Who are you? What’s happening?’
‘Hello, dearie,’ Silvertongue laughed. ‘I was wondering when you’d get around to speaking up.’
‘Please, I don’t understand. Where are we?’
He wheeled around suddenly and her instinct was to flinch, as if expecting him to hit her. Instead Silvertongue merely tilted his head to one side, paused, and then reached into his pocket. He produced a vial of red liquid that he unscrewed and forced her to drink.
‘This is for you,’ he said, holding open her mouth and pouring it down her throat. ‘After thirteen years in the company of gawking imbeciles I can’t abide any more inane conversation.’
Vanessa coughed violently, spitting and choking as she tried to wriggle free. It took only moments for the effects of the enchantment to wear off.
‘What is that foul tasting—? Wait a moment, what am I doing here? Where’s Firefox?’
‘Dead,’ Silvertongue said. ‘I killed him.’
She nodded, unsure whether or not to believe him.
‘And Martell?’
‘That’s irrelevant.’
‘Not to me it isn’t. What’s going on here? Tell me at once before I—’
‘Before you what, Miss Kouris? I only gave your mind back to you because you’re no threat to me. Here at Marshwood I’m the one with the power. Your twopenny hexes won’t work unless I let them— and guess what? I’m not going to.’
He continued down the corridor, bringing her up to speed on the details of his triumph as a carousel of new worlds flashed by. A prehistoric swampland. A fairy castle. A neon cityscape shimmering beneath veils of heavy rain.
Vanessa followed behind, listening intently to every word. She learnt about the enchantment he had placed on her, her wedding to Firefox, and how Silvertongue now intended to use Marshwood as a means of brokering his own success. By the time he had finished she was incandescent with fury. ‘You imprisoned me. Drugged me. Married me to a lunatic. And you think this is something to boast about?’
‘My dear child, it’s one of the greatest successes the magical community has ever seen. Do you know how long this house has been out of bounds? I’m the first one to open its doors in centuries. I’ve written myself into history.’
‘You’re mad.’
‘A madman couldn’t have done this.’
‘I’ll stop you.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know, but somehow I will. You’re not going to get away with this.’
‘Oh, my dear, I already have.’ He laughed aloud and pinched her cheek between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Your naïveté really is quite adorable. How exactly do you intend to stop me, might I ask?’
She slapped away his hand. ‘The traditional way. By beating you to a pulp.’
‘Vanessa, Vanessa, Vanessa.’ His face became darker now: less jovial. ‘Are you all right in there? Are you still a bit foggy?’ He rapped his knuckles against her skull, hard enough to hurt. ‘You don’t have any powers here, remember? You’re as harmless as an infant compared to me.’
‘Oh, Mr. Silvertongue,’ she smiled. ‘Whoever said we were going to fight here?’
He didn’t have time to respond before she dived into him and together they went tumbling backwards through the nearest doorway.
There was a great rushing sound: the noise of high winds and summer storms.
The next thing he was aware of was a fist connecting with his face.
Silvertongue lay sprawled on his back, blinking as Vanessa stood over him. They were in an alleyway. Grey and dirty. The smell of rain and cigarettes in the air, a sky the color of smoke overhead. He heard the sound of nearby traffic. Buses, taxis, motorcycles, cars. London.
‘Welcome home,’ Vanessa said.
Slowly, unsteadily, Silvertongue staggered to his feet.
‘I’ll crush you, you little witch.’ He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. ‘I’ll stomp you into the ground.’
‘Go for it,’ she said. ‘But we’re on my turf now, and guess what? I’ve got my powers back. And I’m in a very bad mood.’
Her next punch was even harder.
*
Mr. Krook and Mr. Kepler wandered the long corridors of Marshwood in silence. There was, after all, very little to talk about. Thomas had tricked them. His so-called partnership had been nothing more than a scam to get them to do his dirty work.
But they weren’t going to run. Oh no, not yet. Because Mr. Kepler had seen the transformation that had swept through the house and had struck upon an idea. A very good idea indeed.
As soon as the wedding had finished the house had begun to change. A creeping cleanliness had swept through the corridors like a tidal wave, washing away the gloom and grime and replacing it with a glistening freshness. The shifting walls and lurching floors had been more dramatic, but Kepler hadn’t been able to help noticing how invigorated the house looked. A glance into one of the bedrooms when running from Firefox had been enough to confirm his suspicions. Once there had been dingy darkness. Now the room looked like the penthouse suite of a five-star hotel. The house had been restored to its former glories.
And so had the treasure room.
As they neared their destination, still flashing looks behind them to make sure they weren’t being followed, Kepler set out his plan. ‘We’ll strip the treasure room bare and find a door back to London. The h
ouse might be lost, but we’ll be rewarded for our endeavors, Mr. Krook, don’t you worry about that. As for Silvertongue … He’ll regret crossing us, you mark my words. Deceitful little worm. We may have to bide our time, but someday soon he’ll get what’s coming to him.’
Mr. Krook scuttled along next to him, his fists knotted with rage. ‘I’ll kill that treacherous bastard, Kepler, just you wait. I’ll bloody kill him.’
When they arrived at the newly restored treasure room all thoughts of revenge momentarily lifted. Unlike its shabby predecessor, which had held only cobwebs and dust, this was an altogether more enticing proposition. Everywhere they looked they saw fist-sized jewels, chests of gold coins, antique vases, glittering scepters, diamond-encrusted crowns. There was so much wealth in front of them—an immense chamber virtually overflowing with treasures—that for a moment neither could think of anything of say.
Eventually Kepler broke the silence. ‘I suppose it isn’t all bad, Mr. Krook.’
‘No, Mr. Kepler, I quite agree.’
They hurried inside, picking through the riches like jackals, searching for the most valuable items they could find. Mr. Krook stuffed the pockets of his jacket with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, gold coins, diamonds: a veritable rainbow of stolen goods. Kepler did likewise. They had almost finished loading themselves up when the sound of footsteps hurrying down the corridor towards them rang out. Voices followed.
‘I know, my boy, but what do we—’
‘We have to find her, Martell. He must have taken her through one of these doors.’
They remained silent as the boy and the old man passed the open doorway. For a moment Kepler felt sure they were going to hurry by without noticing them—go on, we don’t have time for this—but at the last moment the boy turned his head and glanced in at them. Their eyes locked: a sudden spark of such loathing that he could have almost smiled. He had never imagined the face of someone so young could contain so much hate.
‘Martell—’
It was too late. Mr. Krook was after him at once. The dwarf tore off his jacket, the pockets of which now bulged with jewelry, and raced towards the boy and the old man, knife in hand.
He had almost reached them when he saw the lamp.
The genie billowed out on a plume of green smoke, the vapor trail instantly filling the room with the sweet scent of fresh limes. Mr. Krook stumbled back in horror. The genie spiraled up towards the ceiling then settled in front of them, hovering in the air.
‘Master Tony, you have one wish remaining.’
Kepler flitted his attentions between the ominous thundercloud of a creature in front of him and the boy.
‘I could vanish these villains far away from here, master. I could give you safe passage back to London. Speak. Make your demand.’
But there was hesitation on the part of the child. A reluctance to use his final wish. Interesting, Kepler thought. He took a step forward, watching for a reaction. Yes. A tightening of the posture—a few shuffling steps back down the corridor
‘You don’t want to do it, do you?’ He moved forward again.
‘Hold it there,’ the boy shouted, pointing to the genie in desperation. ‘One more step and I’ll set him on you, I swear it.’
Mr. Kepler and Mr. Krook exchanged glances.
‘What a cruel thing to do, Mr. Krook.’
‘I agree, Kepler.’
‘I mean it,’ Tony cried. ‘And don’t talk to me about cruel. You two deserve to suffer for what you did to Sir Roderick and Ebenezer.’
Martell tried to usher him away, but Tony held firm, refusing to turn his back on them.
‘Silly child,’ Kepler smiled. ‘I wasn’t talking about us. I was talking about you. How cruel that you should use your final wish on something as petty as depriving us of material goods when there are so many better things you could use it on.’
‘Tony,’ Martell said. ‘Don’t listen to him, he’s trying to trick you.’
‘A trick? There’s no trick here, old man. Just a question. Is your dear genie ever going to get another chance to go free? Is he really? He’s saved your life twice already, boy. And what do you do in return? Spurn the chance to let him go so you can punish me and Mr. Krook instead? Yes, I think cruel is a very apt word in the circumstances, don’t you?’
‘Tony, ignore him. If you don’t use the genie they’ll kill us.’
But the boy was wavering. Unsure what to do.
‘Master Tony, ignore him.’ The genie’s voice was loud and authoritative. ‘Make your wish. It is my function to serve. Forget your promise, it was made in ignorance. Save yourself.’
‘A promise? Oh-ho. Now this is interesting.’
‘Shut up.’
‘You actually promised this sad puff of gas his freedom? You told him to his face that you would let him go? Oh my, Mr. Krook, it gets better and better. Not only is the boy heartless, but he’s a liar, too.’
‘Martell—’
‘Don’t listen to him, my boy.’
‘But I’m right, aren’t I, Tony Lott? Deep down you value your own life over that of the genie. Never mind that he has been imprisoned for thousands of years, never mind that he has suffered more torment than you or I can possibly imagine. You come first, isn’t that right? Condemn him to another thousand years in his lamp just because it suits you.’
The snakes of smoke coiling around the genie moved slowly. Tony could smell the fresh scent of lemons and limes. A sweet, juicy freshness. Summer days and the pleasant warmth of sunshine on skin.
‘He’s right, Martell. I did promise.’
‘Master Tony—’
‘Tony, my boy, no, it’s a trap.’
He shook his head, refusing to hear their objections.
‘If I don’t keep my word then I’m just as bad as my father. It would be selfish.’
‘Correct,’ Kepler cried, still keeping an uneasy eye on the genie. ‘It’s a simple choice, Tony Lott. You can keep your promise and save the genie. Or you can be like poor old Thomas. A liar. A selfish, petty creature who thinks only of himself.’
Martell had crouched at Tony’s side. ‘Tony, my boy, you’re nothing like your father. That’s nonsense.’
‘Prove it then, Tony Lott. Show us all that the same flaws don’t run in your blood, too. Because when I look at you I see a lot of similarities. You have the same restlessness, the same ambition. The same ego.’
‘That’s enough.’
‘It’s not enough,’ Kepler screamed back. ‘Make your wish, you sniveling brat. Send me and Krook to the far ends of the earth. Show us what kind of person you really are.’
The boy appeared close to tears. He stood his ground, lamp in hand, refusing to look at the genie. To do so, he knew, would be to make everything Kepler had said true. He would be a liar—selfish—just like his father. He shook his head. He felt trapped, caught between two extremes, damned whichever choice he made.
‘Martell?’ He turned to his uncle, searching for sympathy, understanding, he didn’t know, just some sort of answer. Something to take the decision out of his hands.
What he found was the softest of smiles.
‘Whatever you do, my boy, I’ll still love you.’
‘We’ll die though, Martell …’
‘Very probably.’
‘And Vanessa, too.’ He shook his head. ‘Genie, I’m so sorry, but I have to save them—’
The genie nodded. ‘I understand, master.’
‘He’s actually going to do it,’ Kepler laughed. ‘He’s going to choose himself. Just like his father did all those years ago …’
Tony wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘I’m nothing like my dad.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ He looked up at the genie and tried to smile. His lips trembled as he did so.
‘Genie? I’m ready to make my third wish.’
‘Yes, master Tony?’
‘I want you to go free. That’s it. My last wish is for you to be released.’
No sooner had he said the words than the lamp began to shake. It fell from his hands and continued to dance spastically beneath him, jiggling and rattling loudly against the floor. There was a mighty crack—like thunder—and then it split in two. A soft puff of green smoke rose from the wreckage.
The genie hovered in front of him, too astonished to speak.
‘I gave you my word,’ Tony said. ‘No-one deserves to be locked up like that, especially someone as kind as you.’
‘But master, your safety … What about you? I didn’t want this, master, oh, I swear I didn’t.’
Tony tried to smile. ‘I’m not your master anymore, genie. I’m just Tony. I’m your mate.’
And on the other side of the treasure chamber, where he had been observing all this with a satisfied smirk, Kepler turned to his companion and raised an eyebrow.
He gave the order.
‘Mr. Krook?’ he said.
*
London had seen many magical battles over the centuries. The conflict between the Thalaki and Mab, the witch queen of London. A bloody duel between a pair of romantic poets, each of whom had fallen in love with the same fairy princess. There were also the conflicts that had taken place during the Victorian era—seedy, underground meetings where wizened wizards fought to the death in grimy basements before audiences of occultists and spiritualists.
Yet none of these could compare to the sheer ferocity of the battle that took place that cold winter’s morning.
Silvertongue and Vanessa tore into each other with a frenzy of violence that shook the alleyway with bolts of colored lightning, thunderous explosions and an array of levitated objects that flew through the air like kamikaze pilots, crashing into one another at frightening speed. Rubbish bins collided high above them, spewing their contents into the lightning-lit air. Empty beer bottles, hurled with force by the merest gesture, cracked against the alley wall, spitting a rain of colored glass in all directions.
‘Little cow,’ Silvertongue hissed. ‘I can still crush you, you know, even here.’
