“I know what you’re thinking, Lumpy. I don’t blame you. You’ve kept your promise. You’re a good friend. I’ve always known you to be a man of your word. A man I could trust.”
The silvery glint dulled. His eyes were just his eyes, reddish and watery. “Always been fond of you.” He stuffed his hands under his armpits, as though afraid if he didn’t pay attention to them they might act of their own volition.
“And I of you. If you want to go now, I’ll pay you and that’ll be the end of it, no hard feelings. But, if you stay I’ll do right by you. You know you can trust me, just as I can trust you.”
He considered, and then said, “I’ll get you inside, but I ain’t getting caught up in no pointless quest. Clear? If I was smart, I’d drag you back to the border and leave you there. Stupid pipe dream.”
“Well, pipe dreams got us all into this in the first place, right?”
Lumpy laughed and, to Maggie’s relief, pulled his hands out from under his armpits, apparently deciding they were no longer a threat. “Must be nuts,” he said.
He pounded on the door so hard every board shook, and the nails rattled. After a minute of this abuse the peephole flew open and the same voice as before shouted, “Keep doing that and I’ll sic the demons of the underworld on your silvered soul!”
“Listen. This is Maggie and she’s a friend and that means something, even in this scabby, vermin-infested, mouse-turd-reeking, piss-soaked cauldron of disease. She’s already talked to her ladyship, who’s got a soft spot for my friend here, and you don’t want to piss that one off now, do you, or you might find yourself without even this farty excuse for employment. Now, don’t make me reach in there and grab you by your warty neck, Colin. You don’t let us in, I’m going to wait out here until you come out and I don’t care if it takes a year and I starve to death in the process, I’ll be waiting for you and when you come out I’ll jam my own thigh bone up your ass and make you dance like the puppet you are.” He took a breath. “So, you going to open this door or am I coming through it? Your choice, by God.”
Maggie’s mouth, she realized, was hanging open. In all the time she’d known Lumpy she’d never heard him say so many words in a row.
There was a period of silence from the other side of the door and then the voice said, “Such ructions. Such bad manners. You surprise me, Lumpy.”
“Really? I’m surprised you’re surprised, Colin.”
“I’m thinking it would do you wise to apologize. Ever heard you catch more flies with honey?”
“I offer you my deepest regret. Now open the goddamn door.”
A kind of snorted laugh came from the other side of the door and then the sound of metal against metal. Maggie imagined bolts and chains and latches and hooks. The door swung open. There stood a surprisingly small grey-haired man. He was closer to four feet tall than five. An impressive assortment of weapons hung from his belt: two revolvers, an unsheathed serrated dagger, a set of brass knuckles and a leather sap. He wore overalls, like the kind painters wear, and heavy boots, and he appeared to be made essentially of sinew and tendon, giving the impression of a well-armed, possibly psychotic leprechaun. He smiled, revealing teeth filed to points. A stool was next to him, on which he’d apparently stood while speaking through the peephole. Behind him a steep set of rickety stairs led to a second floor.
“Well, aren’t you a pretty thing.” He looked Maggie up and down. “What kind of present are you offering? Maybe a little left over for old Colin?” He smacked his lips.
“Don’t make me slap you, Colin,” said Lumpy.
“You could try.” With astonishing speed, Colin pulled his dagger from his belt and went into a crouch, jabbing upward, toward Lumpy’s groin. “Just like a wild boar, I’ll split you cock to belly. You’ll be dead before your blood pools on the floor.”
Lumpy stepped around him and said, “No need to get all testy. I’m reaching for my own knife, gentle as a babe, right?” He pulled the knife from behind his back, holding the blade by two fingers, and handed it to Colin. “That’s all there is.”
Colin took the knife and placed it in a basket near the door, which already contained several knives and three handguns. “Oh, I’d love to take your word for it, but forgive me.”
Lumpy held out his arms. “Have at it.”
Colin put the dagger back on his belt. He patted Lumpy down, standing on his tiptoes to reach under the big man’s arms, although how he expected to find anything under all the layers was a mystery. When he was satisfied, he said to Maggie, “Over here, girl, and let me give you the once-over.”
Maggie did not like Colin’s greedy, sharp-toothed grin, or the thought of his hands on her. She opened her coat. “I’ve no weapons, you can see that.”
“Manners, Colin. Manners,” said Lumpy.
“What do you think this is, the governor’s mansion? I search her or out she goes.” He pointed at her rucksack. “That first.”
She handed him the sack and watched as he pawed through her belongings. “Get your arms up.”
Maggie did as she was told and refused to give the little troll the satisfaction of a wince when he pinched the inside of her thigh or ran his hands under her breasts.
“You’ll do,” he said at last.
“Come on, Mags.” Lumpy ushered Maggie past the grumbling little man.
Halfway up the stairs, Maggie turned. Colin stood on his stool, glaring after them. To Lumpy she said, softly, “He’s a bit small for a doorkeeper, isn’t he?”
“He might be small, but he’s right about that wild boar trick and he can move fast as a cricket.”
At the top of the stairs they entered a claustrophobically narrow hall. The smell was sweet, heavy, musky. Doors on either side were boarded over. There was no option but to go forward. Maggie thought it a clever layout. Any enemy who got through the front door would be forced to walk single file in one direction, giving whoever needed to escape plenty of time, especially if there were, as she suspected, an anthill of hidden tunnels and passageways behind the walls.
The silence made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It was like walking into a crypt. The musty-sweet smell might be that of decay. A sign of any living thing, even a rat or a roach, would have comforted her. At least it would prove life hadn’t abandoned this place. She tried to imagine Kyle walking this hall, money clutched in his fist, desperate for silver dreams.
As they neared the end of the hall they faced another door, which opened at their approach. A coil of dark smoke wafted out, curling up toward the ceiling as though searching for something in the rafters. She followed Lumpy and expected to step into the same vast hall as the day before, thinking this was simply a different entrance to the same place.
It was not.
The octagonal room was small and windowless. The walls looked as if fashioned of obsidian and lanterns hung from metal posts. The thick smoke roiled on the ceiling like thunderclouds. Maggie squinted up into it. It didn’t just roil, it formed shapes, a hand here, another there, a face pushing outward, turning this way and that, as though looking for her. The face seemed familiar but before she could place it, it dissolved. A prickle ran along her skin.
“Srebrenka told me to expect you.”
Maggie turned. On a sagging loveseat in front of a black velvet curtain sat a man of enormous girth, a bloated toad, his head blending into his shoulders as though he’d eaten his own neck. A drawstring shirt billowed over his massive, drooping chest. His brown jacket was missing all but two buttons, as if the task of keeping all that fat enclosed had simply been too much for the others and they’d popped under the strain. Folds of flesh rolled under his big ears. His lips puffed out like plump sausages. He wore multiple rings – all nearly buried in his fingers. His eyes were glittering slits and his belly hung so far between his monstrous wool-clad thighs they were forced wide a
part.
“Hello, Trickster,” said Lumpy. “Wondered if you’d be here. Where’s Srebrenka?”
Trickster patted the front of his shirt, smoothing the oddly feminine garment. “She’s away on business just at the moment, but told me you might stop in.”
“I’m looking for my brother. His name is Kyle.”
“Everyone’s looking for something.”
“Is the door here, or not?”
His eyebrows flicked and then his face settled into an impassive custard-like stillness. “Oh, of course it is, sweetie.”
Maggie’s stomach clenched. “And did Kyle go through it?”
“Now, you see, that’s the piece of information that’s going to cost you.”
“I have money.”
“How much?”
“Name a price.”
He named an astronomical figure. She laughed. “Name a real price.”
Trickster shifted, causing the seat to creak dangerously. He placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself into a standing position. He was slightly taller than Maggie, and three times as wide. As he waddled toward her a miasma of sweat and something yeasty preceded him. Lumpy stepped to her side.
Trickster spoke to Lumpy. “How much does she know about the way this place works?”
Lumpy shrugged. “She used to live here.”
“But things have changed.” Trickster studied her. “You don’t know Srebrenka at all.”
“I do,” said Maggie, meeting his gaze steadily.
He snorted. “You only think you do. Like you think you know this place. I know things nobody knows and if you want to find your brother – though why you would I’ve no idea – you’ve got to know what I know. I’m the Trickster, right? I know all the tricks. You want to know a trick or two? That’s gonna cost you, toots.”
Maggie named a counter figure, less than she was willing to pay, but enough to let him know she was negotiating in good faith. They went back and forth until they arrived at a figure she considered criminal, which was only appropriate. She reached into her pocket and drew out one of her money pouches. She handed him the money. “What do you know?”
The room had become hot, and smokier. The curls of smoke, which had festooned the rafters when she entered, drifted downward.
The money disappeared into the loaf of Trickster’s fist. “Pretty. Oh, yes. I am pleased with this.” He winked at Maggie. His smile grew, pushing his mashed-potato cheeks upward slightly. “Maybe you’ll even give me the rest of what’s in your money pouch to pay for dear Lumpy’s dreams. After all, he’s been a friend to you.”
“Fine.” It seemed quite reasonable now to give him everything. She held out the cash. “But no more stalling or I’m gone.”
“Yeah, that’d be a great loss,” Trickster snorted. “Fine. Here’s what I know.”
The smoke was filling the room, although no one else seemed to notice. Maggie felt as though her insides were ripping in two. One part wanted to strike out, to swat at the smoke as one would a swarm of wasps. The other wanted to open her arms, throw back her head and let it in, that familiar sting in the nostrils. She wondered, at some emotional distance, if she were about to faint.
Trickster sat on the loveseat. “I liked your little brother. Even though he was a pain in my ass. Thought he was a tough guy, didn’t he?”
“Are you going to take me to the door or not?” Under the guise of brushing her hair from her forehead, she swiped at the smoke.
“Impatience. Runs in the family.” Trickster chuckled. “Don’t rupture a blood vessel. Your brother always wanted more. No journey was enough for him.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Things progress. One thing leads to another is what I’m saying.”
“What are you talking about?” She waved her hands in front of her face, trying to banish the haze she now looked through.
“Srebrenka knows.” Trickster put his palms together and pressed them to his lips. “You sure about this, toots?”
Why did everyone keep asking her that? “Forget it. I’ll find him without your help.”
“No, you won’t, but then again I doubt you’ll find him with my help either.” He moved with more speed than she thought him capable. In one smooth motion, he was standing in front of her.
The smoke smelled so sweet – like lavender and burnt sugar. She wanted to lie down and dream. Right now. And keep on dreaming and dreaming.
“Mags, you all right?” Lumpy’s voice cut through the silver mists swirling round her vision.
“Oh, Srebrenka likes you, she does,” sneered Trickster. “And you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“She’s ready. Show her,” said Lumpy.
“Not quite yet.” Trickster pulled open her coat and plucked the second money pouch from her pocket.
Maggie wanted very much to stop him. In fact, she wanted very much to kick him in his probably inaccessible private parts, but the silver smoke had wrapped around her arms and legs and she moved as though through water, heavy water, as though through molasses. She could only be grateful Trickster didn’t find the little blue box of strange gifts Mr. Strundale had given her. She wondered if this was the moment she should eat the seed, hold the tooth, wave the mistletoe … She stood like a tree rooted in this unhallowed ground.
Trickster bowed. “Step this way, girlie, and may I wish you all the best …”
He pulled the loveseat away from the wall and yanked a rope beside the curtain.
CHAPTER TEN
THE CURTAIN OPENED, REVEALING A WIDE ROUGH tree trunk. It didn’t seem possible that a tree grew on the second floor of a Forest tenement, and yet there it was. Its roots grew through the floor, or perhaps they became part of the floor. It was difficult to tell where the tree ended and the building began. Had the tree grown with the building around it, or was the building built around the tree? The tree’s trunk disappeared into the ceiling seamlessly, without any sign of a hole in the surrounding wood. It must go up into the third floor, or the fourth, Maggie thought, if there was one, or perhaps it grew out of the roof. Well, it must do, in order to get light.
Her vision dazzled, sparked, flared. She was entering the Silver World. Was she a Piper again? Despair was a rock in her chest. How had this happened? And why was she standing, not lying on a couch? Or perhaps she was lying on a couch and simply didn’t know it. No, it was only the smoke in the room making her light-headed. Only? That was dangerous enough.
“Go on, girl,” Trickster said. “You wanted to find Kyle, well, go on, follow him. Open the door.”
What was he talking about? What door?
There was, in fact, a door in the middle of the tree trunk. How could she have missed that? The door was black wood, nearly twice her height, and another tree was painted on it, all swirls and strange symbols – circles and crowns and eyes. A pair of ravens perched on the branches, one with wings outstretched. Both appeared to stare directly at her. She moved her head. Their gaze followed. The painted tree trunk shimmered with gold, the leaves sparkled emerald. Fruit the colour of rubies hung heavy and one formed a door handle. Flowers like glittering opals and diamonds twinkled near the roots. And what roots they were. From the middle of the door downward, the roots below were as vast as the branches above, so that the entire tree seemed perfectly balanced.
That door; it drew her like an enchanted flame. Kyle’s in there! The thought came to her as though someone screamed it. She put her hands over her ears, it was so loud. He’s in there! Open the door! Open it! Open it now! Her bones sang with the knowledge. Kyle was behind that door, and if she had any hope of bringing him home, she was going to have to open it.
Someone moved her hands from her ears. “Go on, Mags. It’s what you came for …”
Although the compulsion to open the door was fierce, she fought it. To open the door was a dangero
us, probably fatal, thing to do, and her heart flapped and fluttered in her chest like a swallow trapped in a stovepipe. The doorknob pulsed slightly, reached for her.
The voice was right. It was what she’d come for, nothing could be simpler. Accept and surrender to the path. Kyle, I’m coming. Come out, come out, wherever you are.
Maggie touched the doorknob. It was smooth and warm and fit into her hand as though moulding itself to the shape of her palm. She had the distinct impression that if she tried to pull back, the doorknob would engulf her fingers and she’d grow into the trunk and become part of the tree. She took a deep breath.
She pulled, and the door gave itself to her, leaped toward her. She had only a moment to register a dark void through the opening. It might be an empty shaft for all she knew. And then someone from behind pushed her and she stumbled forward. The world spun. Up was down and down was up and it felt like being rolled in a huge wave. Her arms flailed, and her stomach flipped. But then her foot landed. She was at least on solid ground. She swung around to defend herself in case more than a push followed shove, but a wall faced her. She put her palms on it, trying to find evidence of the doorway, but felt only cold, flaking brick and crumbling grout. They’d been on the second floor, and from the outside, when she and Lumpy entered, the street was level. There’d been no hill. If she’d stepped outside from the second floor, logic dictated she should fall to the ground. Logic? She snorted.
Fine. Her head was clearer. Whatever the smoke had been, elysium or something else, walking through the door had banished its effects. She was where she was and the most sensible thing to do was to determine in what direction she ought to set off. She surveyed the scene. A narrow laneway. A pile of refuse – scraps of tin and plywood, old cans, broken bricks. It must have snowed while she was inside, and quite heavily, too, for she stood in an inch or more. No footprints, not even that of a rat or a dog or a cat, marred the white surface. The brick walls on either side sported not a single window or door. They went on a long way, receding in either direction into impenetrable darkness. These must be large buildings indeed. She looked up. The walls loomed for several storeys and she saw nothing but the sparkle of stars in the sky above her. Was she still in the Forest? Or had she come out somewhere else? Warehouses? What and where were these buildings? Her mouth was dry, and her thoughts bounced around. Of course, Trickster might simply have tossed her into the street, or perhaps he’d drugged her and moved her while insensible to some other part of Toronto, to some other city entirely, for that matter. Perhaps he knew nothing of Kyle. Srebrenka might have arranged the whole thing.
The Grimoire of Kensington Market Page 9