House of Many Doors

by Ian Richards

  Outside in the lobby, Kepler closed the door and gestured for Martell to take a seat on a nearby window-ledge. Through the wet glass, lightning flashed violently in the sky. Rain poured in great torrents.

  Martell stood.

  ‘What’s this about, Kepler? Who is this Firefox character? What does he want with me?’

  ‘Come, come, Mr. Martell. You know very well how good you are. Even retired you know more about antiques than everyone else in that room put together. Our benefactor simply wants to make use of your expertise. He’s an interesting character, Firefox. He facilitated all of this, you know. The robbery. Without him, dear old Mr. Krook and I would still be holding up bookmakers and post offices. He’s powerful, you see. Magical. And when he came to us with the idea of knocking off a midnight auction, he said to me, ‘Mr. Kepler, I’ll give you the spells to get through the door. I’ll give you a list of the troublemakers you should take out first. I’ll make it so that you finish up the night richer than you ever dreamed of being. And all I want in return is for you to bring me the best antiques expert you can find.’ That’s all. He didn’t want money or a share of the spoils. He wanted an expert. And Mr. Krook and I chose you.’

  ‘Why? To do what?’

  ‘He wants your knowledge, of course. There’s nothing more to it than that. Firefox has a fabulous collection of antiques. It even puts this auction to shame. But one item remains a mystery to him. He would very much appreciate an informed opinion on what it is and how exactly it works.’

  ‘And if I don’t choose to help him?’

  At this Kepler merely smiled, as if such a thought were greatly amusing. ‘We’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to bring you here tonight. Do you really think we’ll abandon our plans simply because you don’t wish to be part of them?’

  Bring you here tonight … Suddenly Martell had the sensation of having been played. He didn’t like it.

  ‘Oh, don’t look so shocked, Black Magician. Do you really think Anastasia’s doll would turn up on your doorstep purely by chance? You were set up, old man. The doll was bait to lure you out into the open. And I must say, you walked straight into the trap. What was it that blinded you, the prospect of making yourself rich or the idea that you could claw back a tiny piece of that shattered reputation of yours?’

  He thought back to the afternoon when he had discovered the doll. The girl with the red hair and green eyes who had spun him a story about her great-grandmother and virtually pushed the doll into his hands. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  ‘So it was all a trick to get me here. Why? Why not just kidnap me from my shop?’

  ‘The idea was discussed. Mr. Krook was especially keen on it. He’s been watching you for months, you know. You and the boy. Such a spiky little character, that one. Looks just like his father, don’t you think?’

  ‘You—’ Martell had barely finished clenching his fist before Kepler struck him in the stomach.

  ‘Too slow, old man. Far too slow. What say we leave the violence to us, mm? In answer to your question, we decided to lure you here because it makes transporting you to Marshwood all the more easier.’

  Marshwood. What was Marshwood? He tried to ask the question, but his lungs wouldn’t let him. He sucked in mouthfuls of air, all too conscious of the horrible wheezing noise he was making.

  ‘London isn’t the most convenient spot for our purposes, you see. It’s too congested. And there are so many people around. Much better to steal you away out here, Black Magician, in one of the wildest, most primal parts of the country. The ley lines alone make this the perfect spot. This is prime magical territory. The earth is practically buzzing with malevolent energy.’ He smiled. ‘You don’t get to Marshwood by car, Mr. Martell. You get there by magic.’

  ‘So you’re in league with a magician.’ It hurt to speak, but he tried not to show it. ‘That explains how you were able to do what you did. You could never do it alone. You needed outside help.’ He moved to catch his breath. If there was any chance of an escape he couldn’t see it. Kepler was bigger than him, stronger than him, and faster than him. He was intelligent, too—dangerously so. He had planned this entire scheme to perfection.

  ‘What now?’ Martell said between coughs. ‘What happens next?’

  As long as Tony is all right though, he thought. As long as the boy is safe.

  But Kepler didn’t answer. Because at that moment an enormous crashing sound came from inside the main hall. The doors flew open. As people began streaming out, pieces of shattered furniture flew over their heads and crashed into the walls. Shouts rang out. Screams. It was as if the thunderstorm raging outside had somehow transported itself into the middle of the house. A whipping, whirling wind chased past, fluttering Martell’s clothes and forcing him to shield his eyes with his hands.

  As the crowds chased past, Kepler cried out with surprise. He shouted for Mr. Krook, but the dwarf was nowhere to be seen. There was only the wind, the noise, the crowds, the chaos.

  And the blade pressed against his throat.

  ‘Hello, dear boy,’ Sir Roderick smiled. ‘Not so tough without your little friend, are you?’ He shot Martell a wink. ‘You’d better get moving, Black Magician. I think you might need to have a word with your young protégé.’

  Martell felt his heart stop. A chair flew overhead and crashed into the wall a few feet above him.

  Oh my lord, he thought. Tony.

  What have you done?

  *

  It had been a peach of a shot. He hadn’t known he had it in him. But there it was. He couldn’t have thrown the jar any more perfectly.

  It had shattered right at the dwarf’s feet, releasing a whirl of spirits that had dizzied the terrified creature right up to the ceiling. He had spun there suspended in his own personal cyclone, and Tony had felt a surge of pride. He had taken care of the dwarf. Now all that remained was the man with the grey hair.

  But the wind kept coming. Faster and faster now, the twisting cyclone that held the dwarf was getting bigger by the second, growing into an almighty storm that shook the hall and toppled chairs and whipped through his hair at speed. Vanessa called out to him from the stage, where she and Miss Maidstone stood, the curtain leading to the elevator flapping wildly behind them.

  ‘Tony, come on. We’ve got to get out of here.’

  A powerful gust of wind hurled a table at the door, which splintered under the impact. At once the crowd began rushing for the exit, trying their best to dodge the pieces of debris that followed them. Tony looked for Martell but found no sign of him.

  ‘Chimney sweep! Get out of there!’

  He tried to run, but the wind was too strong. It almost took him off his feet. The creatures he had released, the poltergeists, acted without reason. They threw themselves in all directions, filling the hall with a rush of hurricanes—screeching gales that collided with each other and spun off at unexpected angles, taking anything in their way with them.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake. How is it possible to go from a hero to an idiot so quickly?’ Vanessa clambered from the stage, ducked a spinning piece of chair leg, and struggled across to where Tony had crouched down with his hands pressed over his ears. Grabbing him by the sleeve, she led the way towards the exit.

  ‘Martell,’ he tried shouting. ‘I can’t find him.’

  ‘He must have run for it,’ Vanessa shouted back. ‘Like any sane person would. Now come on, if we stay here any longer we’ll end up the same way as them.’

  The bodies of the auctioneer and the men Mr. Krook had killed were now spinning around above them too, their nodding heads and flapping limbs a horrible imitation of the life they had so recently enjoyed.

  Tony and Vanessa inched their way across the hall as somewhere behind them a window smashed and several of the poltergeists disappeared, sucked out into the storm. When they finally made it out into the lobby they found Martell waiting for them. He checked they were all right and led them over to where Sir Roderick held Mr. Kepler captive.
Back in the main hall another window gave out. The sound was like an explosion. The whole house felt as if it were shaking.

  ‘Sir Roderick,’ Martell shouted. ‘What now?’

  ‘I haven’t the foggiest idea,’ Sir Roderick shouted back merrily.

  ‘What about Carlos?’ Vanessa said. ‘Did you see where he went?’

  ‘I’m afraid he legged it, young missy. I should imagine he’s halfway across the Mediterranean by now.’

  ‘He what?!’

  Her change of expression was instantaneous. She looked horrified.

  ‘He ran off,’ Sir Roderick hooted. ‘Sprinted out of the house and got into that funny little car of his. I saw him go.’

  ‘He left me? But—what am I going to do now?’

  Tony took her by the arm. ‘Come with us,’ he shouted. Turning to Martell he added, ‘We can’t leave her, Martell. They’ll kill her.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Martell nodded. ‘What about you, Sir Roderick? Do you have an escape route mapped out?’

  ‘Do I balls,’ Sir Roderick grinned. ‘I’ll wing it, my good man, like I always do.’

  Throughout this exchange Mr. Kepler had remained stony-faced and silent. The cautious looks Tony dared steal revealed him to be a cruel, frightening figure. His long grey hair twitched in the wind, but otherwise he remained quite still. The expression on his face spoke of the deepest hate. He had been humiliated and insulted and he would not forget it.

  ‘Goodbye, Kepler’ Martell said. ‘Give my apologies to this Firefox fellow.’

  Rather than scowl, Kepler simply smirked. ‘You old fool. Do you really think that Mr. Krook and I are delivery men? We weren’t hired to bring you in, Martell. We were hired to point you out. Someone else has been lined up to deliver you to Marshwood. And they’re still going to do the job, don’t worry about that.’

  He gestured towards the window. There, through the driving rain, illuminated by the flashes of lightning, Tony could see small dark shapes circling in the sky. His first thought was that they were birds of some sort—enormous jet-black crows or ravens with mighty wings and pointed beaks.

  Then he realized: it wasn’t wings keeping them aloft. It was broomsticks.

  The sky was full of witches.

  *

  When Mr. Krook eventually touched back onto the ground he held his head for a several moments to control the dizziness. When he opened his eyes again he saw that the hall had been destroyed. What remained of their loot had been scattered in every direction imaginable. There were still a few items here and there, yes. A necklace hanging on the back of a broken chair. A couple of damp fifty pound notes fluttering at his feet like dying birds. But most of the pickings were gone, either snatched up by the fleeing crowds or spirited out into the storm outside.

  Stumbling to the window he watched as the annoying Miss Maidstone helped guests load antiques into the backs of their vans. His antiques, the antiques he and Kepler were going to pilfer. The greatest score of their career and it was disappearing right before his eyes.

  A great anger came upon him then. A fury unlike any he had ever known.

  Had he been able to put one foot in front of the other he would have run out there and gutted the lot of them. But instead all he could do was press his forehead against the icy-cool glass and watch as one by one his riches were taken away from him.

  Overhead the witches circled, waiting for Martell and the boy.

  The boy.

  The boy who had appeared on the stage with the jar raised over his head and a look of frightened amazement on his face. The boy who had ruined everything.

  One day, you little brat, he thought to himself. One day soon you’ll meet the sharp end of my knife, I swear it.

  Mr. Krook was a violent man. He was a cruel, dangerous individual who had taken more lives than he could remember.

  Unfortunately for Tony, if there was one thing to be said for him, it was that he kept his promises.

  10 - High Gear

  They ran, out into the darkness, out into the rain. Tony felt the wet gravel slip and slide beneath his shoes as he struggled to keep himself upright. Vanessa followed, her white dress billowing out behind her in a swirling sail of fabric. Until now the world of magic had revealed itself slowly to Tony—a creak of color in a world of grey. It had offered gentle mystery and small wonders. Now the lid of this Pandora’s box had been ripped off completely and all manner of horrors poured out. The night seethed like a thrashing snake. Lightning flashed. Rain poured. Trees convulsed wildly. The wind flickering across the auction house’s immaculate lawns filled the grass with invisible vipers. The wet-hound stink of thunderstorms hung heavy in the air.

  But far, far more terrifying than these unpleasantries were the creatures circling overhead. Tony could hear their screeches and cat-calls crying out above the noise of the rain. Their laughter was high-pitched and cruel. It had the nerve-shredding quality of fingernails scraping a chalkboard.

  There were perhaps a dozen of them in all. Maybe more. They were circling overhead like vultures, moving at a frightening speed as their damp black dresses flapped out behind them. Their shrieking, maddening laughter made it seem as if the night itself were screaming at him. In the darkness they were almost invisible; they were merely a sound—a presence. But each time a bolt of lightning split the sky the true horror stood revealed. It was like flipping on a light-switch to find a room infested with insects. Then, terrifyingly, plunging straight back into darkness. Somehow these fragmentary glimpses were far more frightening than any sustained look could ever be.

  They reached the van and scrambled inside. Martell slammed the door shut behind him. Instantly the volume of the storm dropped. Howling wind gave way to the steady drumming of rain on the roof. A fog of condensation began misting the windows.

  ‘This is your getaway vehicle?’ Vanessa shouted. ‘You are joking. How are we going to outrun a coven of witches when two of us will have to get out and push?’

  Martell ignored her. A twist of the key started the ignition. The van began trembling. Black smoke rose from the exhaust.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said. Then he floored the accelerator with such force that both Tony and Vanessa shot backwards in a tangle of wet limbs and surprised yells. The van sped off through the car park and down the driveway, splashing through the puddles that had formed by the side of the road as the witches screeched with delight and began their pursuit.

  Once he had recovered his footing, Tony watched from the window at the back of the van, his hands pressed against the shuddering glass and his heart pumping furiously. The scenery shot past at a frightening speed. Winding country lanes, nightmarish trees, all disappearing behind them as if being sucked into a black vortex, as if the darkness itself were advancing on them. Only the sporadic flashes of lightning dispelled the illusion, and that was even worse, revealing as they did the close proximity of their pursuers.

  The witches were wild, nightmarish creatures. They wore damp black cloaks and had ancient, wrinkled bodies. Several had swooped down from the sky and were following close behind the van, trailing them with the cruel glee of fox-hunters closing in on a kill.

  ‘They’re gaining on us, Martell. Can’t you go any faster?’

  ‘Not on roads as twisting as these, my boy. We’d tip right over.’

  Suddenly the headlights caught sight of something ahead. A black shape advancing at speed, coming straight at them.

  A witch.

  They screamed in unison as she hit the windscreen, her claw-like hands pressed against the glass so hard Tony could make out the webs of veins inside them. A wrinkled face leered back at them. Pale, saggy skin. Moist green eyes. She cackled gleefully as her cloak fluttered and flapped against the windscreen.

  ‘I can’t see,’ Martell shouted. ‘She’s blocking my view.’

  Almost at once the van began to veer off the road. Tree branches and thick hedgerow swiped at the sides. Tires bumped and banged along the edge of the verge.

  ‘H
it the breaks,’ Tony cried. ‘We’re going to crash.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Vanessa snapped. ‘The second we stop they’ll tear us apart. Keep going, Mr. Martell. We have to outrun them.’

  ‘But I can’t see where I’m going.’ As if on cue they hit a bump in the road that threw them all into the air. ‘I might drive straight into a tree—or crash headfirst into a ditch.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll do no such thing. Just concentrate on holding the wheel. We need to move up a gear, that’s all.’ Reaching forward she grabbed the gear-stick and began wiggling it back and forth.

  ‘Vanessa, no.’

  ‘We’re already in fifth,’ Tony cried. ‘It doesn’t go any higher than that.’

  ‘Of course it does,’ Vanessa snapped back, her hand moving faster now. ‘All vehicles have an extra gear built into them for emergency use. It’s just that only those who have been taught magic know how to find it. There. That should do it. Floor it, Mr. Martell. Full speed ahead.’

  Against his better judgment, Martell did so. Suddenly the van shot forward, accelerating at a frightening rate. He was about to cry out in terror when something unusual happened. The rough traction of the road beneath them gave way to airy smoothness. Before he could express his confusion the van lurched into the air, broke through the branches of the overhanging trees, and began speeding through the sky like a rocket. The witch howled in displeasure, throwing herself back into the elements as the rain lashed against the windscreen and the wind buffered them from side to side. Tony watched on in amazement as the ground beneath them fell away into a miniature world of patchwork fields and toy-town farmhouses.

  ‘This is unbelievable. How did you ...?’

  ‘Magic,’ Vanessa answered primly. ‘This is one of the first things they teach you. All you have to do is move the gearstick in a certain pattern. It’s built into the design of every car. You can thank Henry Ford for that. He was a warlock, you know.’

  They drove ever upwards into the storm, followed by a screeching stream of witches. As lightning played amongst the clouds they tried to evade their pursuers by turning left, and then right, and then driving straight into the heart of a mountainous black cumulonimbus that plunged them into darkness. Here the volume of the storm dropped and the notion of movement seemed like an illusion. There was only nothingness, the grumbling of the engine, pitch-blackness pressed up against every window. It felt as if they were trapped inside the belly of some terrible monster, destined to spend the rest of their days in claustrophobic darkness.