The Thief of Mirrors: 4 (Enchanted Emporium)

by Pierdomenico Baccalario

  “I knew it,” I muttered, slipping off the glasses. “A lake monster. Is this the infamous third trial?”

  I opened the suitcase and took out Lightning Launcher and the Transmogrifier. I could use the sword to fight the monster in the lake, but it wouldn’t get me to the castle. What about the Transmogrifier?

  Think of an animal and picture it in your head — those were Aiby’s terse instructions, which she apparently thought were perfectly clear.

  Think of an animal, I thought. I looked at Patches, then closed my eyes. Done. Now picture it in my head …

  I felt a strange sense of suction. When I opened my eyes, I found myself face-to-face with Patches! The tip of my nose and the base of my tail itched, and I felt like I was cooped up inside my shirt. When I went to straighten it, I discovered that my hand had become a paw! And then I saw something else.

  “I have a tail!” I tried to say — but it came out as a series of barks.

  Have I become Patches? I wondered. Terrified, I wriggled out of my clothes. Patches — the real one — looked at me with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, acting like nothing weird was going on. I drew back on my paws a bit and noticed that the Transmogrifier had fallen onto the grass next to the Night Spectacles and the sword.

  “Now what do I do?” I barked.

  I tried to think of a way to reverse the effect, but I couldn’t focus due to an irresistible urge to go pee behind a bush. I indulged my newfound animal nature, then continued trying to think. Thankfully only my body had been transformed, because the thought of being trapped in my friend’s mind made a chill run down my spine.

  Maybe I just need to picture myself as Finley again to go back to normal, I wondered.

  I closed my eyes and pictured myself. It didn’t work.

  I tried again while holding the Transmogrifier between my paws. I pressed it against my furry forehead, but it still didn’t work.

  It must last for a certain period of time, I thought. But how much? A minute? An hour? A year? I didn’t want to think about it.

  I trotted to the shore of the lake and tested the water with the tip of my nose. There were some fantastic smells! I put a paw into the water. It didn’t seem at all cold to me.

  “How do you swim, Patches?” I asked him, barking.

  He wagged his tail next to me, completely happy and clearly not understanding what I was saying. I always have struggled with languages, I thought.

  I looked at the ruins in the middle of the lake and was surprised how poorly dogs saw at night. That explains why he barks at every noise at night, I realized.

  I thought I glimpsed a faint glow in the sky and wondered what time it was. My stomach growled. Was this how a dog’s sense of time worked?

  I had no time to speculate. For all knew, it was already too late to save my friend.

  Opening the suitcase with the muzzle of a dog was nearly impossible, but luckily Patches helped me.

  “Get your paws off me, you ugly animals!” Angelica shrieked. “I’m lovely Angelica, you flea-bitten rascals!”

  I really hate that puppet, I thought. Grabbing her in my muzzle, I gnawed on her energetically and then tossed her to Patches. He sniffed at her and batted her on the nose a couple of times. She continued to call us names in barely rhyming sentences.

  Finally, we decided to dig a hole and drag her into it.

  “Oh no, oh no, what terrible luck!” Angelica cried as dirt began to cover her. “Help me! Help me! I’m buried in muck!”

  I had to admit, pushing fresh dirt with my rear paws was a magnificent feeling.

  Silence having returned, I dragged my clothes, the Transmogrifier, and the sword into the suitcase, then dragged it to the lakeshore. As I’d hoped, the suitcase floated.

  Patches and I placed our front paws on the suitcase and paddled with our rear legs. “Good dog,” I barked, unsure which of us I was congratulating.

  Paw-stroke after paw-stroke, we gradually made our way toward the ruins of the Sunken Castle.

  It was a long, long swim. The water was as black as ink, deep, and sinister. I found myself having to stop more than once. While panting and struggling to stay afloat, I felt some invisible force was pulling at me from below. I had to be imagining it, but it felt physical and very real. It made the darkness toy with my mind even more profoundly.

  My dog senses were on high alert. I could hear things I’d never heard before, like whistling and various other sounds. The sky itself seemed to murmur constantly, like a lullaby.

  We reached the deepest point in the lake. The darkness became total. Clutched by an instinctive fear, I tried to crawl up onto the suitcase, but my little paws couldn’t manage it. I saw ripples some three hundred feet away. Something like a backbone was parting the water.

  I briefly sank below the water’s surface, gripped by panic and struggling to control my new dog body. I turned to look for Patches. Judging by his wide eyes, he’d also seen it. Presumably because he was used to being a dog, he was a much stronger swimmer than I, making it a struggle to keep pace.

  The rippling headed right at us, so we swam harder. The suitcase went under for a moment. I saw Patches’s head in front of me, his ears aimed at the castle ruins. He looked back to check on me, so I followed his lead.

  The rippling in the water was less than thirty feet away from me. I could feel it near me as if it were rubbing my fur the wrong way.

  Then it disappeared. The water calmed down. For a few seconds, I didn’t notice anything but my panting and the suitcase hinges creaking.

  Then I went under.

  An immense body swam right behind me in the water. Total darkness was sucking me in.

  My brain urged me to swim, but my dog body had other ideas — I froze.

  An undertow pulled me down. Slowly I began to sink deeper. The more I sank, the more my panic blossomed.

  Something brushed against my tail, making me surge back to the surface for a moment. I gasped in air, but then I began to sink again. I bit into the handle of the suitcase and gripped it tightly between my teeth, refusing to die like a dog.

  The water slowly began to go up my nose. The abyss below me seemed to tremble. I swore I heard laughter from beneath me.

  The lake creature attached to my tail somehow. It was big — no, enormous! And I was a tiny ball of fur.

  I went underwater again, deep into the dark. But I didn’t let go of the handle. I held fast with every tooth in my muzzle. And I struggled to hold my breath, to keep my eyes shut.

  When my plunge into the darkness finally became unbearable, the undertow was suddenly replaced by an opposing motion. Instead of dragging me in, it began to push me away.

  I didn’t know why. Maybe I’d passed a test or a trial or whatever. Maybe it was just luck. But I didn’t waste any time wondering about it. The thing in the lake had released me and I wasn’t going to hesitate.

  I surged to the surface, opened my muzzle wide, and swallowed a huge gulp of air. My little paws paddled as hard as they could. I even whirled my tail like a rotor in the hopes that I could catch up to Patches.

  “Patches! Where are you?” I barked between breaths.

  Bark! I looked to my side. There he was, right next to me! Loyal as a fool — or the perfect friend. My courageous Patches.

  A few more long minutes passed. Lake monster or not, we finally reached our destination. We swam through a big window covered with slimy algae. Together we shook out our fur on the floor of the Sunken Castle.

  A staircase went down to the floors below. The level we were on sloped unpredictably and was slick with moisture. I sniffed the floor. Sensing no immediate danger, we set forth into the castle halls.

  The furniture was dusty and decaying. We passed beneath a large table draped with spiderwebs and crossed a dining room with moth-eaten curtains swaying gently in the night in rhyth
m with the constant chorus of distant dripping.

  We found a large fireplace at the other side of the room. Mysterious echoes came from within. And then, without the slightest warning, the effect of the Transmogrifier ended. My vision improved and became clearer. The wet cold of the night stung my skin. Naked and shivering, I scurried back to the moldy suitcase. I slipped on my jeans, pulled my shirt over my head, and slid my frozen feet into my sneakers.

  I grabbed Lightning Launcher and unsheathed the blade from its scabbard to reassure myself. I couldn’t help but admire its sharp, shining blade. With Aiby’s diary in my pocket, we continued exploring the castle.

  We ascended a grand staircase, its steps covered by a worn-out runner, its walls shrouded in white cobwebs. Our steps rang out in the emptiness, echoing down into presumably submerged rooms. Looking down, I saw huge formal tables lazily bobbing in the halls, crystal chandeliers that looked more like pale coral, and floating tapestries spread out like faded water lilies.

  I held Lightning Launcher tightly. Its blade projected a faint glow around us that pulsed like a dim beacon. The more I looked around, the more I was gripped by uncomfortable sensations. The castle was a lonely place. Its entire interior gave of a sense of abandonment, a home long forgotten.

  Why would they meet in a place like this? I wondered, not for the first time. And what are they planning to do?

  I reached the top of the staircase, where piles of decrepit picture frames and faded coats of arms lay. We passed through a corridor with vaulted ceilings. The damp had damaged the carpets, and the white wood paneling on the walls was wrinkled like a crumpled-up map. The surviving chandeliers swayed gently in the humid air. Large canvas paintings on the walls were blackened by mold, rendering the portraits indistinguishable. Countless snails had left a slimy labyrinth of trails on the floor as a sign of their passage.

  I pushed on a big, dark door that opened into a hall. As the rusty hinges creaked like the wheels of time, Lightning Launcher emitted a painful surge of light.

  “We’re here,” I whispered.

  I had reached the Hall of Mirrors.

  The long hall had a large central table with ornamented chairs placed all around it. Two enormous windows on each side gave way to the darkness outside. White curtains made of threadbare gauze fluttered at the sides of the glass panes like immense spiderwebs. Papers and scrolls were strewn on the table and across the floor as if a battle of books had been fought at that very spot.

  The walls were the most ominous element of the hall. Made of six huge mirrors, which where angled inward toward the ceiling. A seventh, segmented mirror covered the entire ceiling. An enormous chandelier resembling a golden anchor or a gigantic whaler’s harpoon hung in the middle.

  My fears grew to irrational proportions. A vague but nearly crippling sense of urgency grasped me.

  What is this place? I wondered.

  The unnatural and sickly sweet smell of rotten fruit wafted out from the center of the room. As I walked, the scrolls crackled beneath my feet. The floor itself felt fragile and translucent like cuttlefish bones.

  I brushed one of the chairs around the table with the tip of my sword. The worn-out wood crumbled to the ground like ashes.

  “There’s no way,” I said to myself. “The meeting of the shopkeeper families couldn’t have taken place here.”

  In the center of the room, where the sensation of vulnerability was strongest, Lightning Launcher’s blade began to pulse incredibly fast. Patches froze by my legs.

  Slashing the air before me with the tip of the sword, I recalled a line from Aiby’s diary. “‘And that was when Askell emerged from one of the mirrors,’” I recited from memory.

  I looked up and saw my image in the mirror on the ceiling. I stepped forward into the light of the moon to get a better look.

  I froze. Shivers ran through my body. The mirror directly in front of me showed Patches standing beneath the legs of a an upright wolf with gray fur. I thought I must still be experiencing the Transmogrifier’s effects, because the wolf followed my movements exactly.

  He was me.

  I watched my reflection stare back at me. Wolf. Wolf. Wolf, I thought. Where have I seen a picture of a wolf?

  I glanced at the mirror to my side and saw a medieval knight with his back to me. Like me, he held a sword in one hand. In the other was a long fishing pole.

  “Doug’s fishing pole,” I whispered, recognizing the item I’d stolen from my brother.

  I backed away from the images and bumped into a chair. It crumbled to the floor and I braced myself against the table.

  What’s in the other mirrors? I wondered.

  In the first one I saw a man with my own nose, a long beard, and a tunic from ancient Rome. At his side, instead of Patches, was a donkey with golden fur.

  The next mirror showed a nineteenth-century man with long, bushy hair, a pointed beard, and a velvet-trimmed jacket. Instead of a sword, he held a long shining goose-quill pen.

  I broke into a cold sweat. Who are all these strangers? I wondered. And why do they look so much like me?

  Slowly I found the courage to move along the table. The chairs broke into pieces as I passed. The mirror on the ceiling kept showing my real image, the Finley I knew, with Patches at his side and Lightning Launcher in his hand. But in the next mirror …

  I saw a little girl staring back at me. The blood in my veins froze. I had to force myself not to scream. The little girl was holding the same sword in her hand as I was. Patches stood next to her. She looked an awful lot like me. But in some strange way … she also looked like Aiby. The way she would’ve looked as a kid.

  “Oh, no,” I whispered. I stepped closer. “Aiby?” I whispered. To my horror, the little girl did the same.

  Even she was me. It was me in all the mirrors.

  “But, but this doesn’t — I don’t understand,” I stammered. I couldn’t be them. Those mirrors were liars. They were tricking me. They were mirror thieves!

  Or perhaps they’re prisoners, I thought.

  I turned around. “Doug could be the fishing knight,” I reasoned aloud. “Aiby could be the little girl. A nineteenth-century writer would be a fair representation of Mr. Lily …”

  But what about the wolf? I wondered.

  Each of the mirrors enticed me. I could feel their cold surface upon my skin as if I were touching them. Each reflection lured me, tugged at me. But the strongest pull led me toward the last mirror.

  So I stared at it. It was a man. He stared back at me.

  Inside that mirror was Semueld Askell.

  I was him. He was me.

  Askell was wearing the same shirt, jeans, and sneakers I was. He was carrying the same sword in his hand. But while my Lightning Launcher was sharp and shiny, Askell’s was chipped and emitted a mournful glow.

  I raised it over my head, and he did the same. I brought a hand to my face and tilted my head. He did too. Semueld Askell’s reflection was missing a large part of his left ear.

  “You’re not me!” I shouted at the mirror. Askell’s mouth mimed the same words.

  And the little girl, the old Roman, the writer dressed in black, the knight, and the wolf shouted along with him.

  I held the sword over my head. “These aren’t mirrors!” I cried.

  All seven figures held their swords, pole, and quill aloft. Patches barked. Six dogs and one donkey barked back.

  I pointed the sword toward Askell’s mirror. “Go away!” I threatened him. “Get lost! I don’t ever want to see you again!” When he did the same, I grew furious.

  I didn’t understand what those mirrors and reflections truly were. Anyway, I was too frightened and too enraged to care.

  I shouted, “I am Finley McPhee — with an ‘F!’” Then I ran toward the mirror with my sword aimed at my enemy’s heart. My image ran at me in the sam
e way, Askell’s face reflecting the rage in my own.

  Lightning Launcher emitted a blinding flash.

  “GET AWAY FROM HERE!” I shouted.

  As I struck the mirror, the sword plunged into the glass and passed right through Askell. The blade vibrated in my hand and a web of cracks radiated outward from Askell. Light wrapped around me like a circular lightning bolt. I crashed through the mirror.

  I dropped to the ground with my hands covering my head to protect myself from the rain of shards.

  But nothing happened. The mirror hadn’t shattered.

  I had passed right through it.

  I found myself in a little room with a gray floor. The only sound was a trickling noise. A stream of crystal-clear water flowed through a crack in the wall and slid into a channel. The stream passed around a sapling with dark berries on its branches, then fell into a well in the precise center of the floor.

  I stood up, stunned. The room was small, maybe nine feet by nine feet. Besides that tiny fountain, the well, and the tree with berries, nothing else was there.

  But I wasn’t alone. I heard someone breathing softly behind me. I didn’t turn around.

  “Welcome, Finley.”

  Where is my sword? I wondered. Where is the Hall of Mirrors?

  “Where am I?” I asked, staring stubbornly at the trickle of water as it vanished into the well.

  “You’re in the deepest and darkest of prisons, Finley. You’re inside your own head.”

  Then, very slowly, I turned around. Semueld Askell was there in front of me, sitting on a cot.

  The prison had no door — in its place was a mirror just like the one I had passed through in the Hall of Mirrors. Now I was on the other side.

  But it wasn’t a mirror any longer. I could see through it into the hall. The tip of my sword was stuck in the glass. I saw the table cluttered with papers. Patches was running around like a madman, trying to find me.