“Look, I really hope you’re right,” Roxy sighed. “I want to see this through just as much as—”
A loud cough came from inside the cushion.
“What is it, Mirror?” she added in a whisper. “Are you all right?”
“No, not at all,” came Mirror’s muffled voice. “I’m bored in here. I really want to see! If you’d been stuck indoors for years, you’d feel the same as me.”
“I can’t get you out,” Roxy whispered apologetically. “There are SMOGs all over the place.”
“Basically, put a sock in it, Mr Mirror,” Jones added. “Now, do we need to get past those guards,” she asked Roxy, nodding at the dozen huge SMOGs that blocked the front doors, “or is there another way to get to your sister’s place?”
“Don’t worry, the Staff Quarters are totally separate,” said Roxy, steering Jones away from the grand main entrance and all the way round to the back, where the plain-brick staff flats were. “I seriously doubt they’ve bothered to put anyone… Oh.”
There was a SMOG guarding the entrance to the Staff Quarters.
He was SMOG-style huge, SMOG-style armed and as grim-faced as any SMOG Roxy had ever seen.
“We’ll never get past him without a pass,” Roxy hissed as the girls darted behind the nearest tree trunk.
“What pass?”
“Security passes that get you into all the buildings in the Ministry. My sister has one but I don’t. Usually we don’t need one, but if they’ve put a guard there…”
“Hey, I’ve got this.” Jones was already reaching into her kitbag and pulling out what was left of her half of the foul-tasting goji-berry-and-bran muffin. “See, this is why you never throw food away, even the revolting stuff,” she went on, drawing back one arm. “An inedible muffin might just make an incredible weapon…”
She threw the hard muffin-lump, fast and with unerring accuracy, right at the SMOG’s face.
He shrieked and clasped both hands to his rather large nose. Red liquid gushed. Either the goji berries had been a lot juicier than they’d looked, or that was one impressive nosebleed.
Jones stuck up a thumb in satisfaction as the SMOG, presumably in search of wadding for his nose, staggered off.
“Works every time,” she whispered.
Fleetingly, Roxy wondered if, just maybe, Jones had pulled this kind of move before. If this might in fact have anything to do with the Cupcake Incident she wouldn’t speak about…
“Let’s go!” Jones went on, nipping out from behind the tree and pulling Roxy with her. “He could be back any moment!”
Roxy’s heart was hammering as she led Jones through the unguarded doors, then all the way along the empty corridor to Gretel’s bedsit. This door was locked, of course – Gretel was always security-conscious – but Roxy had her key. As she rooted around her pocket for it, her fingers brushed against the educational toy from the Proon Puffs packet. Was that still in there? She thought she might have dropped it back in Trixie’s dungeon. She’d chuck it out later, but right now she just wanted to get the two of them safely into the room without being spotted.
She held her breath as she turned the key in the lock, half wondering if Gretel might be here, but it was all clear.
“Right. The bathroom!” Jones announced, striding towards the bathroom door and pushing it open. “So, where’s this tunnel entrance, then?”
Her heart in her mouth, Roxy knelt down beside the bath and jiggled the side panel. It came loose just as easily as before, and as she pulled it away, half expecting to see nothing but boards – or worse: bricks – relief surged through her.
“Ha! Just as I thought!” crowed Jones as the stone steps appeared before them. “They haven’t boarded it up yet!” She leaned down to peer into the darkness. “Awe …” she breathed. “… some.”
“Come on,” Roxy said, sliding limbo-style under the top edge of the bath, lowering her bottom onto the top step and then bumping her way down five or six more steps until she could stand. “You don’t mind small, cramped spaces, do you, Jones?” she called over her shoulder.
“Kid.” Jones was following close behind. “I hunt for ancient artefacts. You don’t get far in that game if you suffer from claustrophobia… Wow,” she finished as she straightened up and took the last few stairs at a jog to join Roxy on the slippery stone floor. “So this is the Ministry labyrinth!”
“Labyrinth?” Roxy suddenly remembered that Jones had used this exact word the night they had met in the vault. “Wait, how many tunnels are there, exactly?”
“Dozens of ’em! Hundreds, for all I know. Dad’s notes say the Ministry was built on top of the site of the Cursed Kingdom’s Royal Palace. The old, creepy one Queen Bellissima would have lived in, not the nice, clean, shiny one Queen Ariadne lives in now, across the Square.” Jones’s voice echoed off the damp walls. “Can you just imagine how much magical skulduggery went on down here all those years ago? And then when they razed it all to the ground as part of the Great Clean-Up, they kept the tunnels open so that anything BOBI-related could still be kept down here, out of sight. No wonder your sister ended up with one of the best entrances, her being one of Minister Splendid’s top agents, and all that.”
“You OK there, Mirror?” Roxy suddenly asked, at a loud moan from inside the cushion. “Don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic?”
“Alas,” wailed Mirror, “if only that was what was setting me a-quiver! I cannot say the cause, but something’s causing me to shiver…”
“Oh, get a grip, will you?” Jones was already setting off into the blackness. “There’s no room on this mission for scaredy-cats. Wow, this is dark. I’ll just grab my torch.”
“It’s OK, Mirror,” Roxy said as she followed Jones. “It’s not far to the vault, and from there we can get up into the Minister’s office, find the Clock, have a quick look at the Stone … we’ll be right back here again ten, maybe fifteen minutes from now!” she finished, more confidently than she felt. “Mission accomplished. There’s really nothing to be scared—”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” shrieked Jones. Her torch and her hat clattered to the cobbles. “YOU DIDN’T TELL ME THERE WERE SPIDERS!”
“It’s an old tunnel six metres underground,” said Roxy. “I didn’t think I had to.”
“Maybe, but you could have mentioned there’d be MASSIVE ones!” Jones scrabbled for the torch. “With hairy legs! And … and fangs!”
“Spiders don’t have fangs.”
“This one did! And it had a really evil look on its face, too.” Jones shuddered.
“Jones, are you scared of spiders?”
“Hey! I’m not scared of anything! I mean, find me a spider right now, and I’ll stand right up to it. Show it who’s boss. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” Jones shrieked a second time, grabbing Roxy’s arm. “There it was again!”
Deep inside the cushion, Mirror emitted a loud snigger. “Correct me if I’ve got it wrong,” it said with rich satisfaction. “My hearing’s not the best. But wasn’t there no room for scaredy-cats upon this quest?”
“Now, listen to me, you jumped-up household—”
“Jones, come on. The longer we take, the greater the chance of getting caught. So why don’t you put your hat back on –” Roxy grabbed Jones’s fedora from the floor and shoved it at her – “and lead the way for once? That way, I can take the full force of any skull-burrowing spiders.”
The walk through the chilly, dank tunnel seemed longer than Roxy had remembered it. This, she had no doubt, was entirely down to Jones. Every drip of slimy water from over their heads, every hint of cobweb caused a full-blown panic attack. Roxy was relieved to finally be able to whisper, “We’re here!” as they reached the end of the tunnel.
“I’d thought we’d never make it,” gasped Jones, shoving past Roxy to be the first to scramble up through the gap high in the wall. “OK, as soon as we get into the vault,” she added, “I want a proper check-over. I’m absolutely certain there’s something in my hair and�
� Oh.”
Because they hadn’t come out into the vault. They must have taken a wrong turn in the tunnels.
They had come out into Bijou Splendid’s bedroom.
To be more accurate, they had come out through a fireplace grate that – just like the one in Minister Splendid’s office – was totally and utterly fake.
The huge bedroom loomed, pink and sparkly, around them.
“Wrong turn.” Roxy was already edging back down through the fake fireplace. “Let’s take it a bit slower this time. Maybe we should go back to where we started, and I can try to remember the way I went the first time.”
But Jones was not following her.
Jones was, instead, staring at the ornate antique dressing table.
“Wow,” she breathed. “This thing is incredible.”
“It’s pink,” said Roxy flatly. “And glittery. And hideous.”
“But it’s so old. It’s absolutely fascinating…”
“This is no time to get obsessed by another of your ancient artefacts…”
Jones was not listening. She was walking towards the dressing table as if drawn by an invisible thread.
“Jones, come on—”
Roxy was interrupted by the sound of a blood-curdling moan from inside the cushion.
“Mirror?” She reached in and grabbed it. “Are you OK?”
“Oh, Roxy,” gasped Mirror, “there is once again an icky feeling dawning. There’s something evil in this place! Please, Roxy, heed my warning!”
Roxy was struggling to keep her patience, both with Mirror and with Jones. “I’ll be happy to heed your warning after we’re safely back in my sister’s room. Jones, please,” she added, “will you just hurry?”
“I can’t be certain what it is,” Mirror was saying now, “but something in this room is filling me with fear and dread and quite a lot of doom. I’m feeling really, really freaked! It’s making me quite weepy! There’s something here! I’m getting chills! This place is proper creepy.”
It was a fair point. Bijou’s bedroom was a bit creepy, Roxy had to admit, what with all the pink teddies on the frilly four-poster bed, and the full-sized photos of Bijou all over the walls, and the ghastly pink-painted antique mirror above the dressing table Jones was acting so loopy over…
Well, that was strange.
The ghastly pink-painted antique mirror.
It wasn’t pink any more.
The whole thing, glass and frame and all, had turned very, very black.
22
“Uh, Mirror,” said Roxy, in a very, very, very quiet voice. “There’s something I think you should see.”
She edged back up out of the fireplace grate and lifted Mirror so it was facing the black dressing-table mirror over her shoulder.
“Don’t freak out,” she whispered, “but is, um, that the evil thing you’re talking about?”
Mirror looked at the other, black mirror.
It took a deep breath.
“THAT’S IT!!!” it yelled, in the most freaking-out way possible. “THAT’S IT! THE EVIL THING! YOU SEE, I WASN’T LYING! THAT’S SNOW WHITE’S STEPMUM’S MIRROR, AND IT’S PROPER TERRIFYING!”
Roxy felt a shudder down her own spine at the sheer terror in Mirror’s voice.
“You mean the mirror that always told Queen Bellissima she was the fairest of them all?” she asked.
“Exactly! And I promise you, this dark glass can’t be trusted. It’s lain in wait for decades, since Bellissima combusted.” Mirror lowered its voice to a whisper. “Now listen, Roxy, dearest girl: I know I’m sounding stressed. But trust me when I say, I think that mirror is … possessed.”
“How quaint,” came a sudden voice from the other, dark mirror. It was silken and female, and low. “How sweet. How nice to hear an uncorrupted mind! But heed that little looking-glass. It’s right, I think you’ll find.”
Roxy was just thinking, Oh no, not another rhyming mirror, when she realized she had a bigger problem on her hands.
Jones was looking, quite simply, zombified.
“Jones?” Roxy grabbed her by the shoulders, staring into glassy eyes. “Jones, are you –” She was about to say all right but something made her finish, instead, with – “there?”
“The Dark Glass has enchanted her!” gasped Mirror. “And I’ve a nasty hunch … that Jones’s normal thinking skills have toddled off to lunch.”
“I’m glad to say,” purred the Dark Glass, “that yes, indeed, she’s joined my little band. She gives me what I do not have: to wit, a useful hand. For I am just a piece of glass; I cannot work alone.” The Dark Glass’s silken voice twisted into a serpentine hiss directed at Jones. “My queen requires her heart’s desire: the precious Seventh Stone.”
Jones took three stiff steps closer to the Dark Glass.
“Jones,” said Roxy, her heart racing. “If you’re messing around, stop. Stop now. This is freaky…”
“You know who dwells inside me now,” the Dark Glass murmured to Jones. “I see it in your eyes.”
“I do,” intoned Jones, in a voice as zombified as her walk. “It’s Queen Bellissima, the powerful and wise.”
“OK,” Roxy whispered to Mirror. “Good call on the whole possessed thing.”
The Dark Glass hissed at Roxy, “Possessed is not a word I like, I’d rather it was ditched. I prefer a finer term … perhaps let’s say bewitched. Two decades I have waited for my dreams to come to pass. Just now, my queen returned at last; she shelters in my glass!”
So they had only been a few moments behind Queen Bellissima! If she hadn’t been so terrified, Roxy would have been immensely proud.
“And – praise to Diabolica – the Stone shall set her free,” the evil mirror continued. “Now, girlie,” it went on, addressing Jones again, “fetch that Witching Stone and bring it here to me.”
Jones nodded robotically and turned to the door of the bedroom.
“Jones!” Roxy tried to grab her arm, but she brushed it off. “Please, you have to listen to me. You’re stronger than this! You’re better than this! Well, OK, you’re definitely stronger…” Realizing it was hopeless, she turned back to the Dark Glass. “Let me go instead.”
The Dark Glass said nothing in reply for a moment. It simply glittered at her, more blackly than ever.
“I’m the only one who knows how to open the Dodgy Old Clock,” fibbed Roxy, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. “It’s … it’s got all these clever locks, you see, and I’m pretty good at lock-picking. Excellent, in fact! Way better than Jones.”
Still the Dark Glass said nothing.
Then Roxy felt a horrible sensation, right between the eyes, as though somebody had got hold of her brain and was attempting to pull it out through her forehead. It was, in fact, almost exactly the same sensation she’d felt just yesterday, back in Mortadella’s office, but this time it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. It was positively excruciating. “Stop!” she gasped. “Whatever you’re doing … please … stop!”
Just as suddenly as it had started, the pulling, twisting sensation stopped.
“You are immune – how very strange, despite all of my trying,” murmured the Dark Glass thoughtfully. “I cannot get inside your head to see if you are lying.”
“I’m not lying,” lied Roxy. She stared directly at the Dark Glass. “I can open the Clock. I have to be the one to go. Not Jones.”
There was another long silence.
“Agreed,” the Dark Glass hissed. “Then you may toddle off and bring me back the Stone. And dear Miss Jones can stay with me. I hate to be alone.”
Roxy had never recognized a threat more clearly in her life.
If she did not bring the Witching Stone back, Jones was in danger.
The kind of danger that made the danger back in Trixie’s dungeon look like a fabulous birthday party, complete with face-painting and rainbow cake.
“OK,” Roxy declared. “I’ll do what you want. I’ll get the Stone. But only if you absolutely, one hundred
per cent, cast-iron guarantee that once I’ve given it to you, you’ll let Jones go.” She shuddered at Jones’s glassy eyes and empty expression. “You have to … give her back to me.”
“You have my word,” slithered the Dark Glass. “I’ll set her free. Now hurry, girl, and go. I’ll give you … seven minutes, tops. You’d better not be slow.”
“I’m going!” Roxy reached out to give Jones’s icy hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll be as fast as I can,” she told her.
Then, holding Mirror tightly, she scrambled back through the fake fireplace and down into the pitch-black tunnel.
23
Without Jones’s torch, the tunnel was blacker than ever. Roxy had to feel her way, a hand on each of the damp walls, and just hope she would notice any fork in the path when she reached it. And that she would take the right one this time. They had seven minutes. Six and a half, now. There was no time for mistakes. The tunnel began to feel more familiar … the walls less damp … the puddles underfoot drying out…
“I think we’re here!” she suddenly hissed to Mirror. “The entrance to the vault!”
She put her hands against the wall, felt around and was relieved to feel the gap that she’d gone through last time. She pushed herself through, into the vault itself. Here she had to rely on her memory to get across it in the darkness, but felt her way successfully to the stone steps Jones had sprinted up that first night they had met.
“OK,” she murmured. “Now we just have to hope – really hope – there’s nobody in Minister Splendid’s office. Like, any SMOGs. Or Minister Splendid himself. Or my sister, pretending to clean his private toilet as part of her deep-cover…”
She reached up and pulled herself through the hole. It was tighter than she had thought. She pushed gently but firmly on the bit of wood in front of her. Please, please let this be the right fake fireplace…
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