House of Many Doors

by Ian Richards

  ‘Maybe, but you’ll have to catch me first.’

  Without warning she turned and ran, out into the busy street, where passers-by leapt out of the way, their bags of Christmas shopping flying in colorful cartwheels around them.

  Silvertongue followed, sensing an advantage now, seething with anger at the impudence of this brat. The knife he had used to kill Firefox remained in his hand, its blade pointed towards his quarry like a divining rod. He didn’t care about the frightened looks he attracted or the honks of passing traffic. He advanced after Vanessa steadily, methodically, conscious of the cold air in his lungs and the icy pavement beneath his feet. London. After thirteen years away it was just as he remembered. A dump. A miserable, boring city stocked with miserable, boring people.

  A blast from his hand sent the girl tumbling. As she struggled to pick herself up, he fired again—this time hitting her hard on the back.

  ‘Your powers are nothing compared to mine, girl. Even here I’m stronger than you’ll ever be.’

  He tried to finish her off with a final blast, but at the last moment she rolled away. The pavement cracked in two, a steaming crater in its centre. Silvertongue tried again but each time Vanessa managed to dive out of the way moments before the bolt hit.

  They were in the centre of Oxford Street now. Christmas decorations shone overhead, stretched between the two sides of the street in colorful rows, a shimmering sea of light that stretched out for as far as they could see.

  Snowflakes began to fall.

  ‘Give it up,’ Silvertongue snarled. ‘The more time we spend here, the more time Krook and Kepler have to finish off the old man and the boy.’

  ‘The boy,’ Vanessa spat back. ‘He’s your son, you lunatic.’

  ‘Son indeed.’ A flick of his wrist sent a car hurtling through the air towards her. She ducked. Instead of hitting her it smashed through the window of the shop behind. The elegantly dressed mannequins that had previously occupied the window exploded in a mess of broken arms and decapitated heads. A yellow ‘FOR SALE’ banner fluttered gently to the floor.

  Vanessa ran. Bringing him to London had seemed like a good idea at the time. Here in the human world she had her powers—she could fight back. But now, as colored blasts of lightning whistled over her head, narrowly missing her, she realized that even here Silvertongue’s powers dwarfed her own. He had spent years honing his skills in Marshwood. He was stronger, faster, meaner. And so she had been forced to adjust her plan accordingly. Run, keep running, and hope for the best. Short of letting him finish her off, what else could she do?

  Silvertongue’s next lightning bolt caught the pavement directly beneath her feet and sent her rag-dolling through the air, all crazy limbs and odd angles, her hair momentarily taking on a surreal underwater quality as it floated weightlessly around her.

  She hit the ground hard, the breath beaten from her lungs by the impact. In desperation she struggled to her feet and stumbled in through the door of the nearest shop. The bell rang twice: once as the door opened and again as she slammed it shut behind her. The interior of the shop offered warmth and silence. Antiques surrounded her: tables, chairs, chests of drawers, bureaus, paintings, vases. An antiques shop. Of all the places … If she hadn’t been running for her life, she could have almost laughed.

  Behind her the window exploded in a shower of glass.

  ‘You’re trying my patience, Vanessa.’

  A click of his fingers forced the furniture to rearrange itself in a circle around her, a polished blockade from which there was no escape. As customers and clerks ran for the exit, Silvertongue calmly ghosted over the top of furniture and joined Vanessa in the makeshift arena. There was nowhere to go now. She was trapped: held in place by towering walls of antiques. Silvertongue smirked.

  ‘You put up a good fight, little girl. But I didn’t spend thirteen years planning my ascension just to let someone like you ruin it.’

  Vanessa looked around desperately for anything that might help her, any antiques that she might be able to use as a weapon.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I’ll even give you a chance. Give me your best shot.’

  ‘All right.’ Taking a deep breath, she fired a bolt of blue lightning at him. He stepped out of the way with ease, laughing as it struck the surface of a tall mirror behind him. The glass rippled like water.

  ‘You see?’ he smiled. ’Not even close.’

  They began circling each other. Eyeing each other carefully. Waiting to see who would make the next move.

  ‘Why?’ Vanessa said, raising her chin in the air. ‘All this destruction. All this manipulation. What was it for?’

  ‘Power’, Silvertongue said. He spoke in a guttural hiss.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. I think you started off with magic because you were curious. That’s okay. Curiosity is perfectly natural. But somewhere along the way you let it corrupt you. You weren’t strong enough to fight it. The reason you did all this is because you’re weak.’

  Silvertongue’s hand burst into flames. A nest of flickering, cherry-red tongues. She could feel the heat from where she was standing.

  ‘Are you sure about that, child?’

  They kept circling.

  ‘I’m absolutely sure. I’ve seen real strength. Real strength is giving up everything to bring up a boy with no parents. It’s going to the ends of your own endurance just to rescue your friends. Compared to Tony and Martell you’re not just weak. You’re pathetic.’

  She stopped walking.

  ‘Come on then. Let’s end this, shall we?’

  Silvertongue snarled. ‘With pleasure.’

  The fiery blast he threw at her flew like a comet. The air inside the shop crackled with energy—a fizzing, whizzing mass of red flames shot towards her, propelled on a stream of stardust and smoke.

  At the last second she shimmered and slipped out of the way.

  The bolt struck the mirror behind her, where instead of shattering the glass it found itself reflected, suddenly shooting back towards Silvertongue and catching him flush in the chest. He flew backwards into a wall of stacked furniture, hitting with such force he fell to the ground as broken as the pieces of wood scattered around him.

  ‘I wasn’t aiming for you last time,’ Vanessa said. ‘I was aiming for the mirror. Just a simple reversing spell, but effective enough, don’t you think?’

  She stood over him. He had been beaten. His face was bruised and bloody. One eye had swollen completely shut. Smoke rose from his singed hair.

  ‘A shimmer,’ she said. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’

  *

  Run. The thought screamed through Tony’s head as soon as he saw Mr. Krook’s knife. He grabbed Martell by the sleeve and took off at once, down the corridors of Marshwood, pulling his uncle after him. Open doorways flashed past on either side. Neither Tony nor Martell dared to look back. They knew that Mr. Krook was on their trail. They could hear the pitter-patter of his footsteps advancing behind them. The sound of his breath followed, too: a panting, angry wheezing that seemed to be drawing closer by the second.

  ‘Genie?’ Tony yelled. ‘Genie, where are you?’

  The creature was at his side in an instant. ‘Master Tony, I have searched the house and the only way out is through one of the doors.’

  ‘What’s to stop them coming straight through after us though?’ He was conscious that his uncle was beginning to tire already. Martell couldn’t keep up such a frantic pace. Each stride lacked the energy of the one before. As much as Tony hated to admit it, his uncle was slowing them down. Any slower and Mr. Krook would soon have them.

  ‘Leave that to me,’ the genie said. ‘They cannot follow if they don’t see where you go.’

  At once the genie shot back towards their pursuers, wrapping them up in great clouds of lime-colored smoke. In moments the corridor had transformed into a seething green sea. As Krook and Kepler swatted in vain at the creature zipping around the
m, Tony and Martell hurried on down the corridor, peering into each open doorway in the hope that it might offer sanctuary. A fiery land of volcanoes and sulfur. Faerie cottages built around a bubbling brook. There was even a door that offered nothing but darkness—a cool, refrigerator presence that Tony moved on past as quickly as he could.

  ‘We have to choose one of them,’ Martell shouted. ‘I can’t carry on much longer.’

  Neither could Tony. His legs ached. His lungs burned. From the midst of the fog behind them the sound of coughing rang out. Krook and Kepler. The genie had slowed them down, but they were still coming. They were still drawing closer.

  Moments later, when Krook and Kepler finally emerged from the smoke, they found no sign of Martell or the boy. The house was empty. Silent. Kepler didn’t like it. Silvertongue was still around here somewhere and as much as he longed to see Mr. Krook stick his knife into that weasel’s traitorous heart, he would rather avoid an encounter if at all possible. Better to load up on treasures and save that battle for another day.

  All Mr. Krook cared about was killing the boy. He stomped down the corridor, inspecting door after door, trying to assess the likelihood of the brat fleeing to a graveyard land of bones and smoke or to a picturesque fairy town that smelt of clover and honeysuckle. ‘He’s not getting away this time,’ he snarled. ‘I’ve had enough of that little git, Kepler. He’s going to get what’s coming to him.’

  It was the footprints that gave the boy away in the end. They came across a door leading into to a world of darkness—some backwater in Faerie consisting of craggy trees and lingering mist. Kepler stood in the doorway, sniffing the air. A cold woodland stink drifted on the breeze. Moonlight filtered down through the trees.

  The boy’s footprints were clear: they marked a trail in the mud leading away from the door and deep into the woods.

  ‘Only one set of prints,’ Kepler said. ‘Small ones. The old man isn’t there. He’s hiding somewhere else.’

  ‘They must’ve split up,’ Mr. Krook nodded. ‘Clever. Buys them a bit more time.’

  They crossed the threshold and began following the boy’s tracks. In this world—Faerie, judging from appearances—night had fallen several hours earlier. A midnight chill lingered in the air. Breath rose from both their mouths in curling plumes.

  After a while they found the boy waiting for them. He sat on a fallen tree in front of a steep ravine. Kepler’s first thought was that the stupid brat had run into a dead-end—after all, there was nowhere left for him to go but down. But there was something about the boy’s demeanor that he didn’t like. The child seemed too calm. Too composed.

  ‘You saw my footprints then?’

  ‘Should have chosen somewhere less muddy,’ Mr. Krook grunted. ‘Made it easy for us.’

  ‘I should say that it did,’ Tony replied. ‘I wanted you to follow me. I wanted to lead you as far away from Martell as possible.’

  ‘Why?’ Kepler narrowed his eyes. ‘Once we’ve finished killing you we’ll go back and kill him. A head-start won’t make any difference.’

  ‘He’s slow,’ Krook agreed. ‘Old. He won’t get far.’

  ‘You’re assuming you’re going to get the opportunity to look for him,’ Tony said. ‘The fact is there’s only one doorway back to Marshwood and you, gentlemen, are a long way from it.’

  Kepler scowled. ‘Cunning. Very cunning. But if you think you’ll be able to outrun Mr. Krook, you’re very much mistaken.’

  Tony peered down behind him. The ravine screamed away into nothingness. He couldn’t even see the bottom.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, turning back to them. ‘But you see, we’re in Faerie now. The rules are different here.’

  ‘What are you babbling about?’ Mr. Krook snarled.

  ‘You shouldn’t have killed my friends.’

  ‘Kepler, I’m getting fed up of this …’

  ‘And you really shouldn’t have killed theirs.’

  The creatures stepped out of the darkness like shadows. Each one had fiery-red hair and gleaming green eyes.

  ‘Kepler …’

  ‘You see,’ Tony continued, ‘I had a feeling that you two might have made a couple of enemies out here. And I was right. Turns out the fairy Firefox hired to take the doll to Martell met a bad end. She had a run-in with a couple of nasty characters by a canal in Camden. Men who are very tough in their world, but out here, out in the wildest parts of Faerie, well now, that’s a different story altogether.’

  The fairies began to close in on them. Mr. Krook tried to fend them off with his knife.

  ‘Now, fairies don’t take kindly to human folk. Especially those who kill their own.’

  ‘Keep back—’

  ‘And whereas I had someone to vouch for me—a fairy by the name of Mairead I met a little while ago—I’m thinking that you two do not.’

  ‘I’ll kill you,’ Mr. Krook screamed. ‘I’ll kill you all.’

  A high-pitched giggling, like chimes, skittered around the semi-circle. The fairies drew long knives that caught the moonlight and glistened cruelly. They moved closer still.

  ‘Goodbye,’ Tony said. ‘I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again.’

  He ran then, not daring to look back as the howls and screams of Mr. Kepler and Mr. Krook filled the woods. He splashed through muddy puddles, fought off the branches that tore at his clothes. Finally, to his relief, he saw the doorway that led back to Marshwood. He passed through and at once the icy cold of Faerie gave way to the warmth of the corridor. Martell and the genie were waiting for him. He gave his uncle a hug and passed his hand affectionately through the genie’s smoke. The creature beamed with pleasure.

  ‘It worked,’ Martell laughed. ‘It actually worked. Tony, you’re a genius.’

  ‘I thought if I could find some fairies I would be able to get them on side. Thank goodness it was Faerie, that’s all I can say.’

  He moved to close the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Frowning slightly, he tried again. It remained unmoving.

  ‘Martell?’

  ‘You can’t escape us, boy.’ Mr. Kepler limped slowly into view on the other side of the clearing. He stood maybe twenty paces away from the door, breathing heavily. His entire face was crimson with blood. ‘Did you honestly think a couple of pixies would be any match for Mr. Krook?’ The dwarf hobbled to his side. He had been badly beaten, but offered them a wicked smirk nonetheless. His bloodied teeth looked like tombstones that had been splashed with red paint.

  ‘I said I’d kill you, boy’ he coughed. ‘And I will, believe me.’

  Together they began advancing towards the door. Tony pushed it with all his might but it refused to budge.

  ‘Martell, it won’t move.’

  ‘Of course it won’t,’ Kepler barked. ‘Only Firefox has the power to close the doors now. The house answers to him, not to you.’

  They were getting closer. Picking up the pace.

  ‘Martell!’

  They ran faster now, their faces twisted with anger, their eyes burning with hatred.

  Martell threw his shoulder against the door, joining Tony’s efforts, but no matter how hard they tried, it wouldn’t move. It felt like pushing against solid concrete.

  ‘Hurry,’ the genie cried. ‘Hurry master, they’re going to get out.’

  Closer Mr. Kepler and Mr. Krook came, closer and closer. Mr. Krook held his bloody knife in his hand and as he neared the doorway he drew it back, ready to lunge forward and strike—

  At the last moment—with the blade mere inches away—the door suddenly slammed shut. BOOM. The noise echoed through Marshwood like cannon-fire.

  ‘And that,’ Vanessa said, ‘is the last we’ll see of those two.’

  ‘Vanessa!’ Tony laughed with astonishment. She was herself again: bright and sharp and brilliant as ever. She rested the back of her head against the now-closed door and blew back an overhang of hair.

  ‘Hello chimney sweep. I guess that with Firefox dead this place belongs to me
now. Which room do you want?’

  40 - The Closing Of The Doors

  With the battle for Marshwood over, the friends wandered through the house’s long corridors in silence. Their first task was to find any remaining servants and show them to the doors that would return them to their former lives. The genie volunteered to take responsibility for this. As well as restoring Marshwood to its former glories the wedding had also released those who had fallen victim to its enchantment. ‘I know only too well how these poor souls will feel. I would consider it an honor to show them their way home. Perhaps I can soothe their anxieties and offer comfort in doing so.’

  As the genie swept through the gleaming corridors of Marshwood, whisking up frightened survivors and ushering them to whichever doorway they requested, Tony, Martell and Vanessa made their way back into the atrium. The darkness was in retreat now. Through the tall windows the morning advanced towards them: thin fingers of light reaching across the sky, a horizon tinged with gold and green. The regeneration of the house had also brought about the regeneration of the surrounding area. The dank forest home of the Thalaki had transformed into a rich, luscious woodland of proud oaks and rising poplars. The lingering Marshwood mist had dissolved into a slick dew that caught the sunlight and twinkled so brightly it was as if the grass had been sprinkled with diamonds. Everything shone. Everything seemed fresher than the night before—clearer—more alive.

  ‘I suppose this is what Marshwood was like when the magician first built it.’ From the window in front of him Martell’s reflection stared back thoughtfully. The reddish tint in his hair had disappeared, leaving only familiar grey. ‘I can see why he didn’t want to destroy it.’

  Tony nodded. ‘It’s beautiful.’ And it was: a shining, splendid home set in the heart of the most picturesque surroundings he had ever seen. Already he had begun to imagine the adventures they would have there. Martell could pass his time in the grandest of libraries, and with Vanessa at his side he could use the doors to explore all manner of magical lands. They could visit Faerie, make new friends, learn new things. Even the thought of it set his blood tingling. The excitement of living like that. The thrill of waking up every morning without knowing what kind of day awaited them. Magic, mystery and adventure, forever and ever for the rest of their lives.