by Ian Richards
By now many of the sellers were handing over their lots to the house staff, a cavalcade of morose men in black coats who carried them off into a room at the back of the hall. Some guests were already making their way out of the backstage area, no doubt keen to get themselves good seats for when the show began. Tony was content to amble amongst the stalls, taking in the sights. There was a more international feel to this part of the house. With all the tents and barrows and colors and smells it felt like walking through a bazaar. He passed an Arabian man selling exotic curries covered with sprinkled spices, and then a fakir meditating on a bed of nails. He saw a Chinese woman selling jewelry, a German gentleman offering timeshare holidays to the houses of infamous Bavarian serial killers. There were dwarfs selling chunks of mined quartz, Peruvian peasants selling packets of herbal medicines, a Nigerian giant who posed for photographs in exchange for cash. Some of these stallholders tried to appeal for Tony’s custom as he drifted past them—‘little boy, hey, come, come’—but he gave each of them no more than a smile and a nod of his head. The most successful salesman appeared to be a suited Moroccan selling access to an enormous silken tent. He had a queue of men waiting patiently for their turn to step inside. Each one that did so emerged minutes later, starry-eyed and disorientated, but unable to stop grinning. The sign pinned up outside read, ‘Tonight Only—Dance of the Seven Veils.’ And though all of these stalls and attractions tempted Tony on some level—just to experience these things—just to taste this food and to shake hands with the giant and to watch this mysterious, magical dance—he remained steadfast. He had given Martell his word and he intended to honor it. Also, as silly as it seemed, he wanted to prove to himself that he was nothing like his father—that he could resist temptation. That he was better than that.
As he continued exploring this colorful shantytown he thought about how strange it was that he should be here, sharing the company of magicians and criminals when just yesterday he had been cleaning candlesticks and playing with Pushkin back in Martell’s Antiques. Everything seemed so much grander here. The colors were richer, the smells more pronounced. Even the rain lashing the tall windows at the back of the room seemed special—as if this wasn’t a mere downpour, but rather the rain to end all rains. A storm worthy of a place in history.
‘You all right, pet? You look lost.’
The voice—which was sweet and light, the sound of honey and sunshine—snapped him back to attention. Turning around, he saw that it belonged to an attractive woman sitting at a table behind him. She was in her early twenties; blonde, friendly, and wearing a low-cut dress that showed off her globe-like breasts. When she waved at him the rings on her fingers twinkled like Christmas lights. ‘Hello, my lovely. Want to know your future? Tarot cards, palmistry, I Ching, crystal ball? Buyer’s choice. You won’t get a better reading anywhere in the country, I promise you that.’
Tony shook his head and moved to leave. ‘No, thank you.’
‘No? All right, Tony Lott, fair enough. Have a good night.’
The comment jarred him. He turned back. ‘How do you know my name?’
She nodded towards the crystal ball on the table in front of her. Its insides swirled with tiny lights. ‘The spirits told me,’ she said. ‘They know everything, the spirits do. Here, take a seat.’
He did so. The invitation demanded it.
‘Now then, Tony Lott. What brings you to a place like this? You’re a bit young to be mixing with folk like this, aren’t you?’
Tony’s reply was cautious and cynical. ‘Can’t the spirits tell you?’
She giggled: the type of giggle befitting someone much younger. ‘They already have, love. I was just making conversation. But come now, tell me, Tony, are you enjoying the auction? You don’t look as if you are. You look a bit on the pale side.’
Martell’s warning came back to him. He felt uncomfortable—wanting to leave but not wishing to appear rude. ‘I’m sorry, miss’ he said. ‘I don’t think I should be talking to you.’
She snorted. ‘Oh, come on, who told you that? A conversation never hurt anyone. The name’s Bonnie Monroe. Nice to meet you.’ She extended her hand. He kept his arms by his sides. The woman, Bonnie Monroe, widened her eyes in mock-disbelief. ‘Blimey, you are a funny one, aren’t you? All right, bugger off then if you don’t want to chat. I’m only trying to be friendly, like.’
She dismissed him with a wave of her fingers. A twinkle of rainbow.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tony offered. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Bonnie shrugged. ‘I was only going to offer you a reading. Thought you might have some questions you want answering, that’s all.’ Her smile became sharper. ‘Maybe about your dad? Maybe you’re wondering what he’s up to these days?’
Tony stiffened. ‘You could do that?’
‘Of course I could, hen.’ Bonnie ran her hands theatrically over the crystal ball. The lights inside glowed brighter, a snowstorm of fireflies trapped behind glass. ‘All you have to do is cross my palm with silver.’
Digging his hands into his jacket pockets Tony fished out his last few coins and picked through them. One pound seventy-two. Bonnie saw the crestfallen expression on his face and shook her head. ‘Oh, all right, we’ll skip the crossing my palm bit. I should have known from the look of you that you wouldn’t be able to afford a proper reading. But still, we can help you out a little bit, can’t we, Tony? Now what would you like to know? About your dad, certainly, but what about other things, too? What about your future? Or the auction? Would you like to know how that’s going to go down?’ She leant closer to him and whispered, ‘Because I’ll tell you a secret, darling—you really don’t.’
The lights in the crystal ball continued to swirl in slow, sad patterns. Feeling strangely uneasy—almost as if he couldn’t look away from them—Tony nodded towards the globe.
‘How do you do that?’
‘Do what, pet?’
‘Make those lights move about.’
The woman smiled, pleased he had noticed. ‘It’s a secret, sweetheart. Have a closer look. See if you can guess.’
Tony leant in closer. The lights were moving faster now, with more urgency. It was hypnotic, the patterns they made. Like watching a snow-globe filled with tiny will-o'-the-wisps.
‘Pretty, aren’t they?’ she smiled.
‘They’re beautiful.’
‘That’s right. Magical, too.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes. Go on, touch the glass, see what happens. They won’t bite.’
Tony’s face was right next to the crystal ball now. Ever so carefully he reached out his fingers. The lights shining in his eyes projected dizzying patterns across his retinas. As his fingers inched ever closer he wondered if the globe would be cold or warm to the touch—and yet somehow he already knew. It would be cold. Freezing cold. Colder than the deepest, darker winter there had ever been.
‘Stop, you imbecile!’
Before he had time to react a hand grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked him backwards, away from the globe. He turned to see a girl standing behind him, her arms folded sternly across her chest. She was roughly the same age as him—perhaps a little younger—with tangled black hair and a bronzed, Mediterranean complexion.
‘Unbelievable,’ she snapped. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing, you ridiculous child? You can’t really be that dense, can you?’
Away from the spinning lights of the crystal ball Tony felt as if he had woken from a trance. But woken into what? Nothing made any sense. He looked to Bonnie for answers and almost tumbled out of his seat with fright. She wasn’t a beautiful young woman any more. She was older, her face harsher and her eyes full of hate.
‘You’ve made my bad books tonight, girly-girl’ she snarled. ‘I’ll get you for this, you see if I don’t.’
Still reeling, Tony moved his gaze down to the crystal ball. At once his stomach froze. The lights. They weren’t lights at all. They were people. He could
see it now. Their tiny, screaming faces, flittering desperately around the crystal in search of a way to escape.
The girl grabbed Tony by the arm and marched him away.
‘You,’ she snapped, ‘are quite possibly the silliest creature I’ve ever met. Almost getting yourself zapped into a crystal ball just because a pretty lady in a tight top told you to. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. And you still haven’t had the decency to thank me yet for saving your life. Do you know, I think that might actually be even more outrageous.’
‘Thank you,’ Tony stammered. ‘Honestly, thank you. That crystal ball—’
‘Would have sucked you into it the second your fingers touched the glass, yes, yes. Do catch up, chimney sweep, you’re not doing yourself any favors being this dense, you know.’
‘Chimney sweep?’ He looked at his clothes. By the standards of the other guests his suit was a bit on the tatty side, yes. But chimney sweep?
The girl was still marching him away, unconcerned by the looks they were attracting or his half-hearted attempts to wriggle out of her grip. ‘That woman you were sitting with,’ she continued, perhaps enjoying herself slightly too much, ‘was an enchantress—as anyone with half a brain would have realized. Don’t you recognize a glamour when you see one? No ordinary human has breasts like that. You should learn to think about things more, chimney sweep. It might save your life one day. I won’t always be here to bail you out, you know.’
‘Listen,’ Tony said, ‘I’m very grateful, miss, honest I am. Thanks very much and all that. But do you have to dig your fingers into my arm quite so hard?’
The girl wheeled around in astonishment. ‘Count yourself lucky I don’t put you on a lead. You’re the most reckless person I think I’ve ever seen. Whoever decided to let you wander around this place by yourself must be an even bigger fool than you are.’
She marched off then, leaving Tony standing alone in the centre of the aisle. After a few moments she marched back. ‘By the way,’ she said, ‘that card game you thought you were oh-so clever for figuring out earlier? It was a pickpocketing scam. The only reason the dealer’s associates didn’t fleece you to the bone is because there’s nothing in your pockets but cobwebs and lint. Think on, chimney sweep. You really are frightfully naïve.’
Once again she was gone, storming away, her dress swishing defiantly behind her. At a loss for what else to do Tony hurried after her.
‘What’s your name?’ he said once he had caught up.
The girl smiled a superior smile. ‘The first rule of magic,’ she said, ‘is that names are power. You should never give out your true name unless you’re absolutely sure that the person you’re giving it too won’t be able to use it against you. Seeing as you don’t know the first thing about anything, there’s no danger of that happening to me, and so yes, I’ll tell you. My name is Vanessa.’
‘I’m Tony,’ said Tony. ‘I’m here for the auction.’
‘How nice.’
‘And you?’
‘I’m here for the company. And so far I find myself dreadfully disappointed. Now if you’re going to insist on being here I suppose you’d better stick with me. I shudder to think what sort of trouble you’ll get into otherwise.’
Although Tony didn’t care much for her attitude he decided to take her up on her offer. It was nice being around someone his own age. He guessed that Vanessa couldn’t be much older than he was. She had dark hair, tanned skin and wore a white dress—the kind more suited to hot afternoons on the Mediterranean than wet evenings in England. She told him her story as they walked through the hall. She was from Crete originally. Her father was an English academic and her mother was a native Cretan. They both died in a car crash a few years ago and now she lived with Carlos, an overweight misery of a man who ran an antiques emporium in the hills above Heraklion. From the way she talked Tony got the impression that she didn’t care much for poor old Carlos. ‘Carlos is always complaining about things,’ she moaned. ‘Carlos is always telling me what to do when he’s the one who should be listening to me.’ He wondered why she bothered to work for him in the first place seeing how much she disliked the man, but an opportunity to ask never came up. Vanessa kept on talking, if not complaining about Carlos and his dusty old shop then pointing out passing strangers and telling him how they probably didn’t know the first thing about antiques, you could see it in the way they carried themselves. Tony began to see why Carlos might have been so miserable.
‘So you’re an assistant antiques seller too,’ he said when she eventually stopped for breath.
‘I am no such thing,’ Vanessa said primly. ‘I’m the last descendant of a long line of Cypriot witches. I just so happen to be working in an antiques shop at the moment.’
‘A witch?’
‘A descendant of witches. Don’t you listen to anything anyone says to you?’
Before Tony could say anything more a loud noise interrupted him. It was deep and sonorous—the solemn sound of metal striking metal. Everyone stopped what they were doing as it sounded out again and again and again.
‘Midnight,’ he heard Vanessa whisper, and at once a chill formed in the pit of his belly.
The auction was upon them.
Through the big bay windows at the back of the hall the lightning was now flashing so frequently that the rain-soaked grounds of the auction house appeared as if under a strobe light. Everything about the world felt fragmentary. Unreal.
As the clock continued to chime, they joined the movement of people towards the doors at the back of the room.
They walked through the doorway and into the belly of the house. The main hall was breathtaking, an enormous cathedral of a room that smelt of perfume and polish and seemed to radiate light from every surface. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, hovering over their heads like beings from another world. The wooden floor beneath them had been polished so much that Tony could see his reflection in it.
‘I think I shall sit with you, chimney sweep’ Vanessa said disinterestedly. ‘At least until I have to help Carlos present our lot. You’re probably better company than he is. Not that there’s much in it, mind you.’
They found Martell sitting a couple of rows from the front. To Tony’s surprise the seat his uncle had been saving for him was already occupied. Sir Roderick sat there, legs apart, like a king on a throne. When he saw Tony approach he broke off from his babbling and embraced the boy in an enormous hug. ‘Tony Lott, so wonderful to see you again. Your first midnight auction. How exciting for you.’ Then, turning his attentions to Vanessa, he laughed aloud: thunderous, delighted laughter that made his belly shake. ‘Yes,’ he roared. ‘Good lad, good lad. You’ve only been here a few hours and you’ve already bagged yourself a filly. Good work, young man, good work indeed. I’m very proud of you.’
Without looking Tony knew that Vanessa would be scowling.
‘Who,’ she said, ‘or rather what—is that?’
‘That’s Sir Roderick,’ Tony explained. ‘Sir Roderick, this is Vanessa. Vanessa, this is Sir Roderick.’
Sir Roderick extended a large, sweaty palm towards her. Vanessa stared at it coldly, her arms fixed by her sides. For a moment Tony felt sure she was going to swing for him.
Fortunately Martell stepped forward and broke the tension by introducing himself to Vanessa and asking her who she had come with. When she told him about Carlos he frowned, unable to place the name, then shrugged his shoulders and said it had been some years since his last visit and that he was a little out of the loop. He offered to give up his seat and sit with them at the back of the hall, but knowing how much depended on the sale Tony told him to stay where he was.
‘You don’t have to worry,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.’
Sir Roderick grinned and nudged Tony with his elbow. ‘Feisty thing, that one. You’d better watch yourself there.’
As the seats continued to fill up, Martell brought Tony up to speed on how he thought t
he auction was likely to play out. He had begun to get nervous now that the moment was almost upon them. There was so much at stake, not only the financial security of the shop, but his very reputation, a reputation that appeared to have diminished greatly during his absence. He kept glancing around the room, muttering to himself about potential buyers and would-be bidders. Sir Roderick remained buoyant, preferring to point out people he knew from previous auctions and tell scandalous stories about them.
‘You see that woman over there? That’s Madame Chi, from the Gansu province in China. Lovely lady. Looks like a bit like a swan, don’t you think? And those twins over there, the ones in the blue suits, they’re collectors from New York. Ridiculously rich men. Between them they own the largest collection of forged artwork in the world.’
Vanessa looked around sniffily, unimpressed. But Tony, who had only ever experienced the rainy-day ordinariness of regular auctions, couldn’t control his delight. As he took his seat at the back of the hall he found it hard to stop himself from grinning. Already his heart was pounding with excitement, his stomach quivered with anticipation. It was as if he had lightning in his blood. The auction was upon them. They would make their fortune or return to Martell’s Antiques as failures. Poverty or riches, heroes or clowns. Everything came down to the next few moments. The little eternity between the final bid and the crack of the hammer.
A stage had been set up at the front of the hall, and once the audience had settled, it was here that the auctioneer walked, striding across the wooden floorboards to his position behind a lectern. The muttering of the crowd dropped to a respectful silence.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.’ The auctioneer was a portly man dressed entirely in black. His spectacles glinted beneath the bright lights. ‘Welcome to the house’s annual Halloween auction. I trust you are all well and looking forward to bidding on what are some truly extraordinary items.’ He picked up the program on his lectern and thumbed through its pages. ‘Most of you,’ he said, returning his attention to the audience, ‘will be familiar with the way the auction is run. For those of you who aren’t—for those of you who are here for the first time—all I can say is the doors have been locked, there is no escape, and screaming will only draw attention to yourself.’