House of Many Doors

by Ian Richards

  ‘So you are magiciansss …’ another said, her head cocked inquisitively to one side. ‘This isss interessting …’

  ‘That’s right.’ Tony could sense Sir Roderick staring in confusion, but the bluff felt like their only chance. ‘Powerful magicians. If you let us go, we’ll spare your lives.’

  The witches looked at each other, then burst out laughing. They began leading them off into the woods, marching them like condemned prisoners on the way to the gallows. For a moment Tony thought they might be taking them to Firefox’s house and his spirits lifted. Just to get there—to see Martell and Vanessa—between them they could come up with a way out of there, he was sure of it. But as they rounded a stagnant pond he caught a glimpse of the moon and realized they were travelling in completely the wrong direction.

  ‘Where are you taking us?’

  ‘Sssilly boy,’ one of the witches cackled. ‘You’re our guessst now …We’re taking you home … you mussst come for dinner …’

  ‘Yesss,’ another crowed. ‘Dinner!’

  The howls went up, one after another. ‘Dinner.’ ‘Yes, dinner.’ ‘A feast!’ ‘A stew!’

  As if the situation couldn’t get any bleaker, he noticed that the witch carrying the genie’s lamp was becoming frustrated with its reluctance to produce a genie. She began banging it on a rock with such force he thought it might split in two. Fist-sized dents bit into the shell, mangling the metal and filling the night with an awful clanging noise.

  ‘Stop it,’ he shouted. ‘You’ll break it!’

  ‘Where isss your familiar, boy? Why won’t it appear for ussss?’

  An idea struck him then. Feigning ignorance, he approached her and asked for the lamp to be put into his tied-together hands. ‘I don’t know. It should work. Let me see.’

  The witch moved to do as he said, but at the last minute yanked the lamp away again, screeching gleefully. ‘Fool … We are the Thalaki … Your tricksss won’t work on usss …’ She tossed the lamp to another, who caught it, sniffed it, then cackled. ‘It only ssserves the boy … Sssisstersss, it is worthlesss …’

  ‘Dessstroy it …’

  ‘Get rid of it …’

  ‘Into the pond!’

  And before Tony could protest, the witch hurled the lamp into the middle of a nearby bog, where it landed with a flatulent splat and slowly began to sink under the surface.

  ‘No!’ he cried, ‘you can’t.’

  But they had, and in seconds the lamp was gone.

  The vile black sludge that filled the pond oozed over the top of its shell and dragged it down to darkness.

  *

  Martell sat in his cell, waiting anxiously for Silvertongue to return. There wasn’t much time left now. The pressure seemed to be growing by the minute. As the pounding in his head continued, he shivered and tried to still his jittering hands. Whatever dark magic was at work here, it was beginning to take effect. He could feel his thoughts unwinding. His body tiring. The horror of the room made it feel as if a pair of clammy hands were squeezing his head as tightly as they could.

  By now he was certain that Firefox had locked him up down here to accelerate his transformation. The energy in this part of the house felt more potent than anywhere else. He imagined tunnels winding down into the earth like tree roots, sucking up the raw magic that infested the house’s foundations. He was deeper than deep now, buried in the soil like a dead thing. On all sides, walls of black earth surrounded him. Escape was impossible, he knew that. He had beaten against the walls until his fists were caked with dirt, bruised and bloody, but always to no avail.

  He thought again of Vanessa. What was happening up there? Was she all right?

  The headache came on again, stronger this time, the squeezing sensation so painful he had to bite his lip to stop himself from screaming. Though he feared the transformation, he didn’t like to imagine the consequences of it going wrong either. Was it possible to overdose on magic? He rather thought that it might be. He doubted any other servants had been locked up like this. Their change had happened naturally over a number of weeks. Here he was mainlining this toxic energy at the source. It was all too easy to imagine his body giving out under the pressure. Blood vessels in his brain pulsing. Then, without warning, the white-hot flash of aneurism. He pictured the whites of his eyes turning red with blood, his limbs jerking, the icy darkness of oblivion swallowing him. Firefox probably wouldn’t even care.

  He tried to tell himself that such thoughts were a consequence of being exposed to these extreme conditions. This was dark magic, after all. Powerful and corruptive and liable to turn anyone’s thoughts poisonous.

  But the fear. The jangling nerves. The rapid breaths.

  There remained no sign of Silvertongue. He had promised to return within the hour, but that felt like an eternity ago now. Where was he? Had something happened to him?

  When the door was finally unlocked—clack-click—a rusty key turning in an even rustier lock—he stumbled to his feet and rushed to the cell entrance.

  To his horror, the creature that came in wasn’t Silvertongue at all. It was Firefox, his eyes bright and his features as sharp as ever. The fairy raised a single, curious eyebrow, then flashed his teeth like a shark. ‘Good evening, Black Magician. How nice of you to come and greet me.’ His expression seemed smug and self-satisfied; knowing in a way that Martell didn’t care for one bit.

  ‘If you’ve come to gloat, you needn’t bother.’

  ‘No? But gloating is so much fun.’ He sniggered and waved the notion away. ‘Actually, my good man, I came to give you the good news. I’m getting married. Seeing as you’re the one who gave me the idea in the first place, I thought I might drop by and offer you an invitation. The wedding is taking place tonight at midnight. Food and drink will be provided, and the only favor I ask of you is that you sit on the bride’s side of the aisle. It’s looking a little threadbare at the moment, you see. I don’t think her family and friends really approve.’

  Martell held his tongue. There was nothing he could do for Vanessa down here. But if he could get back to the surface … if he could just get away from this rotten cell and these crushing headaches …

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll come to your ridiculous wedding.’

  ‘You will? Do you know I thought you might. Because between you and me I think you’d do anything to get out of this place. Am I right?’

  He could still feel the pressure squeezing his temples. The magic surrounding him like a fog.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘This room is too much for me. It’s making me ill.’

  ‘Haroo! Haroo! Making you ill? Is it really? How funny. Because I should say it seems to be doing wonders for you.’

  Martell’s insides turned cold. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, not much. Only that you’re looking well. Dare I say it, much more spritely than usual.’

  No …

  ‘Yes,’ Firefox laughed, ‘I don’t think there’s any need to keep you locked up any more. You can go and explore Marshwood to your heart’s content. What do you say?’

  A flick of the fairy’s wrist produced a pocket mirror. He admired his reflection in the glass, then tossed it over to Martell, who caught it with trembling hands. Firefox hooted again with laughter—haroo! —then retreated with a bow. He left the cell door open behind him; a final, taunting gesture that Martell paid no attention to whatsoever. His eyes remained locked on the mirror.

  A terrified face stared back at him.

  There were touches of orange at his temples. His eyes had turned a misty, swirly grey, the color of fog rolling across a desolate moor.

  He was too late. The transformation had begun.

  35 - Prisoners Of The Thalaki

  The Thalaki village was situated deep in the heart of the forest. It was an unimpressive domicile, consisting as it did of a series of huts and tents that squatted amongst the trees like enormous brown toads. The moist stink of rainwater and fungus hung in the air, and the same
dreary colors repeated themselves throughout the camp. Everything was drab and brown, made of mud, bracken, or branches. It reminded Tony of photographs he had seen of trenches in the First World War, not so much because of the mud, but because of the sense of hopelessness the place exuded—the lingering evil.

  He was thrown to the ground next to a cast-iron cauldron. Sir Roderick landed beside him, grunting as he hit the floor. Both had been tied with rope that ate into their wrists if they struggled.

  ‘Bloody hags,’ Sir Roderick hissed. ‘They’ve taken out our carpet, our genie, and now they want to cook us for dinner.’

  In the centre of a small clearing the Thalaki were building a bonfire. They piled up broken branches and sodden clumps of peat, then dragged the cauldron, which was almost full to the brim with rainwater, to the middle of the pyre. It sat there like a fat king, elevated and self-important. Its metal shell glistened from the spilled water.

  One of the witches lit the fire with a blast of lightning. Flames roared up, a mass of crackling tongues that curled around the cauldron greedily. In moments thick smoke had enveloped the clearing. The pungent smell of sizzling peat and rotten wood somehow made the stench of the camp even worse.

  Tony felt Sir Roderick nudge him with his shoulder. ‘What do you think, lad? Any ideas for getting out of here?’

  He shook his head. As desperate as their situation was he couldn’t stop thinking about the genie. Nobody would ever find him down there: sunk to the bottom of a rotten pond in the middle of nowhere. He felt overcome with guilt. I should have freed him … right after I made my second wish I should have kept my word and let him go … But I didn’t. I held on, just in case I needed someone to bail me out again … And because of that he’ll never be free … never ever …

  The witches added food to their pot. Earth-sodden vegetables, plump tubers, berries, leaves, powders, plants—each addition sent more sizzling water pouring down the cauldron’s sides, creating clouds of steam and a terrifying hissing noise. The roaring flames bathed the woodland in flickering light. The scene felt primitive—tribal. Concepts like reason and logic held no value in a place like this. There was only the fire, the panting heat, the darkness.

  ‘Come on, Tony’ Sir Roderick whispered. ‘Think. I’ve seen first hand how smart you are. You can’t rely on me to come up with anything. I’m a drinker, not a thinker. I just bumble along and do what people tell me.’

  Tony nodded. He put his guilt aside and tried to find a solution. What did he have going for him? A working knowledge of antiques wasn’t worth anything out here. That left the bits and pieces of magic he had picked up from Vanessa. Think, he told himself. How would she get out of this? The first lesson she ever taught him suddenly flashed into his mind. Names are power. And it struck him like a bolt of lightning. The Thalaki didn’t know who they were. That meant they didn’t have to be Tony Lott and Sir Roderick Black. They could be anyone they wanted. He could feel the heat of the fire on his skin now. Beads of sweat ran down his face. This was it, their only chance. And he could pull it off, he was sure he could. This was how magic worked. Through manipulation and deceit. Through shadow-plays and lies. It was the same principle as dear old Ebenezer’s beloved shimmers. Confuse reality with fiction. Make your enemies believe truth is lie and lie is truth.

  He took a deep, shuddering breath and addressed the witches as forcefully as he could.

  ‘Ladies, you will listen to me right now!’

  Heads twisted to look at him, surprised to hear themselves being commanded rather than pleaded with. In the light of the fire the Thalaki appeared even uglier than before. Their sunken, wrinkled faces—their swollen eyes—their scars, their veins, their matted hair. At least one had tentacle-like strings of saliva hanging from her mouth. They swung from side to side in the wind, a cat’s cradle of slime and spit that ended up smeared across her chin like glue.

  ‘Up until now I have been extremely patient,’ Tony continued, marveling at how unlike himself he sounded. This must be how political candidates feel, he thought. Lying through their teeth and hoping people believe them. ‘I will not tolerate this nonsense a moment longer. You will release my companion and me immediately. Otherwise you will face the consequences.’

  ‘Why ssshould we lisssten to you, boy?’ They were dismissive, but there was an air of caution there now, too. Frowns of—if not quite of trepidation, then certainly interest. He took it as a good sign. ‘You should listen to me, ladies, because I am offering you a very clear choice. Release us and live. Or keep us hostage and die.’

  ‘We do not fear you, child … Nor your performing bear of a companion …’

  ‘Nor should you. I am a mere boy. What could I possibly have to threaten you with?’ He paused. ‘Apart from my name.’ The witches straightened suddenly. A hit, he thought. A very palpable hit. ‘You see, ladies, I don’t believe you know who I am. Or more importantly, who my father is. Were I to tell you my name, however, then I promise you this night will fill with screams and none of them will be mine.’

  ‘Liesss.’ The nearest witch pulled him to his feet. Good. He had his back to the fire now. He worked the ropes back and forth as subtly as he could. ‘No mortal can hurt usss … You lie, child.’

  ‘Who said my father was a mortal?’ Another scoring blow. Almost there. Just a few more minutes. ‘If you harm me or my companion he will show you no mercy, I promise you that.’

  ‘We don’t believe you … Who issss he? Who are you …?’

  ‘You know his name.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who is the last person alive you would want to cross? Who gives even the Thalaki nightmares?’ He had no idea, but from their reactions he could tell that there was someone they feared.

  ‘Firefox …? It’sss not posssible …’

  Firefox? So be it. Tony held the moment for several nerve-jangling seconds, then forced his mouth into a smirk. ‘I told you you’d know him.’

  At once the witches plunged into a state of panic. He could see the fear on their faces—the anguish. Though delighted with how his plan had turned out, a worrying thought lingered in the back of his mind: if the Thalaki were this terrified of Firefox then what kind of a monster was he? But that would be a concern for later. For now the only thing that mattered was escaping this dingy campsite and putting as much distance between themselves and the Thalaki as possible. By now the heat from the fire had loosened his ropes enough for him to snap them. The theatrical way he burst them open, as if he could have escaped at any time, played into the lie perfectly. He wasn’t a frightened little chimney sweep out of his depth anymore. Oh no, he was powerful, he was menacing, he struck terror into their blackened hearts.

  He untied Sir Roderick and turned back to the Thalaki. They stared at him with a barely disguised contempt. ‘Ladies.’ The coup de grace involved walking away with his back to them. He didn’t look round once. He didn’t need to. If the illusion was to hold—and it would, he could feel their fear— he had to maintain it to the end.

  ‘Tony, that was brilliant’ Sir Roderick whispered. ‘They’re letting us go.’

  ‘Don’t look back. Keep your eyes ahead. We’re not out of it yet.’

  Soon the Thalaki village gave way to dense woodland. When Tony finally dared to glance back there were no witches following them. Just a mass of lonely, skeletal trees, and the lingering mist. Once he saw they were clear he started running. The situation seemed too precarious for them to risk being there any longer than necessary. The whole lie could come crashing down at any moment.

  They traced the path back through the woods as best they could until they reached the pond into which the lamp had been thrown. Tony stood anxiously on the bank, trying to intuit some way of recovering it. The sludge seemed thick and impenetrable—black, porridgy goop that stank of methane and compost. Breaking off a branch from a nearby tree, he lowered it into the pool to test its depth. Despite the branch being almost six feet in length it didn’t touch the bottom.


  They didn’t have long, he knew that. As soon as they had slipped out of sight the Thalaki would have fallen into discussion about his claims. Truth, sssissters? Because I sssay liessss. Sir Roderick squinted back through the trees, sensing trouble.

  ‘We don’t have long, Tony. We’ve got to keep going.’

  ‘But the genie … We can’t leave him here.’

  From behind them came a sudden wail of noise. Shrieking. Howls of anger.

  They were coming.

  ‘I can try the bluff again,’ Tony stammered, but even as he said this he knew it wouldn’t work. The witches had seen through him. His words had cast a neat little spell on them, yes, but it had been flimsy and hadn’t been able to hold under interrogation. Their screams were drawing closer now. Banshee wails tore through the forest.

  He saw them. The first ones, zipping towards him on crooked broomsticks, traveling at speed through the trees. Their hands glowed with energy.

  ‘Tony, we have to run, they’re going to attack.’

  But it was too late. The witches made violent throwing motions and at once balls of lightning whizzed towards them on stalks of spiraling smoke.

  They hit the dirt, aware only of the whoosh of a near-miss passing overhead and then the thunderclap explosion of a nearby tree splintering into pieces.

  ‘Tony—’

  He had one chance. It was now or never.

  Without stopping to think he scrambled to his feet, sprinted towards the edge of the pond, and dived in. There was a moment in which he seemed to hang suspended in mid-air—he felt weightless—conscious of a great silence in the world. Then he hit the surface, hands outstretched in front of him, a dive not unlike the ones he used to practice in the local swimming pool on weekends.

  Sir Roderick cried out in alarm—‘Tony, no!’—but it was too late, the boy disappeared into the pond. The sludge swallowed him greedily, belching as it sucked him down.

  Then there was silence.