“Um … do think this is a good idea?” asked Steve as the man hauled his cart across the last of the smoking stones toward the lift. “He could be anybody.”
“I know,” whispered Belladonna. “But we can’t leave him here.”
“Well, we could.”
Belladonna opened her mouth to speak, then quickly changed to a smile. The man had arrived, hat, gauntlets, canisters, and all.
“Oh, bless your little cotton socks!” he gasped, heaving the cart into the lift. “I had to wait three days for the lift last time. So unreliable. I’m not convinced the button out there really works, you know.”
As he spoke, he took off his gloves, unwound his scarf, and punched one of the buttons on the panel. The doors whispered shut again and the lift shot down, then sideways, before settling into a steady up-and-down motion as if it were driving across a series of small hills. Belladonna began to feel a little ill.
“I know,” said the man. “Sick-making, isn’t it? But it’s the only way here. They’re a protected species, you see.”
“The dragons?” asked Steve.
“Yes, poor things. Ours died out at the beginning of the latest cold snap.”
“Yours?”
“Yes. Oh, sorry! Introductions all around. Name’s Burner. Well, not me real name, obviously, but that’s what everyone calls me.”
“Because of the dragons?” asked Belladonna.
“Yes. Not very imaginative, but there you go.”
The lift lurched to a halt again and the doors opened into what appeared to be a dark room full of loud music and lights the size of cricket balls that pulsated in time with the beat and whizzed from one side to the other.
Burner looked alarmed and reached for the button to close the doors, but before they could fully close, two of the lights zoomed into the lift and hovered at head height. Burner glanced at them disapprovingly, then seemed to decide that he would pretend they weren’t there and returned his attention to Belladonna and Steve.
“What about you two? Bit young to be traveling the old Transversal alone, aren’t you?”
“The what?”
Burner opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, one of the lights suddenly spoke up in a voice that sounded like it was being filtered through an entire hive of bees.
“The Transversal. The lift. Goes to all Nine Worlds. Don’t you know anything?”
“They don’t know anything,” piped up the other one. “Look at them. They’re small. They’re probably not finished yet.”
“Ignore them,” said Burner. “They’re just trying to wind you up.”
“What are they?” asked Belladonna.
“We are here, you know. You needn’t talk about us as if we’re not.”
“They’re Emphots. Now, where did you say you’re going?”
“Oh,” said Belladonna, not really feeling any wiser. “We’re going to the Land of the Dead. My name’s Belladonna and this is Steve.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Burner, holding out his hand. “And thanks again for holding the doors.”
Belladonna shook his hand. It was hard and calloused and speckled with burn scars. He noticed her concern and grinned.
“Yes, it is a bit of a mess,” he said, “but that’s one of the risks of the business.”
“What business?” asked Steve.
“What business? Well, what business do you think?” said Burner, patting the canisters proudly.
“I don’t—”
“Dragon milk, of course!” said one of the Emphots.
“I told you they’re not finished yet,” buzzed the other.
“But I thought you said they were protected?” asked Belladonna, suddenly concerned about the dragons.
“I don’t kill them. I just milk them. And I’ve got a contract, all legal and aboveboard.”
“If you believe that, I’ve got a large bridge you might be interested in purchasing,” said the first Emphot, fizzing like a dying fly.
Burner glanced at the Emphots and seemed about to say something, then took a deep breath and smiled.
“Dragon milk?” said Steve, gazing at the canisters. “What for?”
Burner shrugged. “People like it. Our world, Nidval, is going through a bit of a cold snap, like I said.”
“But … how do you milk a dragon?”
“Very carefully, my boy, very carefully!”
Belladonna and Steve stared at him, then all three broke into broad grins.
“I love it when people ask that question!”
“You should get out more,” said the second Emphot in a way that Belladonna would have described as smirking if they’d had faces.
“There’s no need to be rude!”
The Emphots crackled like crinkled plastic and Burner reached out a hand and patted Belladonna’s arm.
“Don’t let them get to you,” he muttered. “They feed off strong emotions; that’s why they talk like that. Doesn’t take them long to figure out which button to press.”
Belladonna and Steve stared at the glittering balls of light.
“Is that true?”
“Perhaps. Tell me, half-things, do you mean to say you have never tasted dragon milk?”
“Of course not,” said Steve.
“You should give them a taste.”
“No.”
“Go on.”
“No. They could be allergic.”
“Would you like a taste, half-things?”
Steve stared at the canisters. Belladonna could tell that he was really curious.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispered.
“Are you afraid?”
“Of course it’s afraid. It’s not finished yet. It’s just a baby.”
“If you’re trying to make me mad, it isn’t working,” said Steve in a tone that made it abundantly clear that it was.
The Emphots crackled again.
“Look,” sighed Burner, “you can’t let them get to you. They feed off that.”
“Lots of people do,” said Steve. “I’m used to it.”
“No. The Emphots really feed off it. You’d better have a drink. It’ll shut them up.”
“What?” said Belladonna, alarmed. “Drink the dragon milk? How do we know it’s not poisonous?”
“You see, you see!” buzzed the second orb. “Frightened.”
“I’ll drink some with you,” said Burner. “We don’t usually drink it on its own, mind. We mix it with other things, and … well, you never know how it’s going to take people. Some people have a bit of a reaction to the neat stuff.”
“A reaction?”
“Um … yes … like an allergy.”
“I don’t think you’d better have any,” said Belladonna. “What if you’re allergic?”
“What if you’re allergic?” whined the first orb. “What if you’re allergic?”
“I’m not allergic to anything,” said Steve grimly.
Belladonna rolled her eyes. What was it with boys and always having to prove things? She wanted to say something else, something that would convince him to leave the stuff alone, but Burner had already slapped Steve on the back in approval, and she knew there was little she could say that would override a slap on the back from a real adventurer, let alone one who worked with actual honest-to-goodness dragons.
Burner smiled and opened his coat to reveal a sturdy leather belt with various tools hanging from it. He removed what looked like a small bone disk and pulled it apart so that it telescoped into a cup. Then he pried open the lid of one of the canisters, scooped out some of the contents into the cup, took a drink, and handed it to Steve. Belladonna peered over his shoulder.
“It looks sort of … pink,” she said.
“Yup,” said Burner. “That’s the color it comes. Only take a sip, mind; it’s powerful strong stuff.”
Steve stared into the cup, then turned to look at Belladonna. For a moment she thought he was going to back out.
“Drago
n milk,” he whispered. “From actual dragons.”
“Go on, then,” said the first Emphot. “Or are you scared now it’s come to it?”
“Of course it’s scared. Half-thing, half-finished.”
Steve glared at the orbs, then raised the cup to his lips and gulped it all down.
“No!” Burner reached forward to stop him, but it was too late.
For a few moments, even with the undulation of the lift, it seemed as if time stood still. Burner pushed the lid back on the canister, the Emphots bobbled slightly in the air, the lights on the panel’s buttons flickered by, and Belladonna stared at Steve—watching as his face went from its normal ruddy hue to white, then pink, then violently red.
“Gah!” he gasped, dropping the cup. “Hot! Hot!”
He staggered back into the rear wall of the lift, clutching at his throat. The crackling of the Emphots was almost deafening.
“Ow! What are you doing!?” Steve grasped his head and stared at the orbs as they moved toward him across the lift. “Aagh! Stop!”
Belladonna looked at Burner, her eyes wide with panic.
“What’s happening?”
The dragon milker put his finger to his lips, then, just as the Emphots seemed to be close enough to Steve to touch him, he hit a button on the panel. The lift screeched to a halt with a sound like a dozen fingernails on as many blackboards. Belladonna and Steve stumbled against the back wall, but Burner stood, sure-footed, and pulled a long stick from his belt. The doors opened to reveal a vista of sun-splashed beaches and distant glistening water as he swung the stick once, then twice, hitting the orbs and sending them spinning out of the lift and across the sand. The Emphots wavered, slowed, then swung around and began flying back toward the lift, but Burner hit the button again and the doors slammed shut.
He twirled the stick happily and shoved it back into his belt.
“Nasty things. There’s supposed to be a lock preventing the lift from opening on that world, but the wretched thing is always breaking.”
Belladonna looked at Steve. He didn’t seem to be in quite so much pain, but he was still gasping. Burner reached into a pocket and produced a large teardrop-shaped green bottle. He picked up the cup, poured some clear liquid into it, swished it around, and spilled it out onto the marble floor of the lift. Then he filled the cup to the top and held it toward Steve.
“Here,” he said, “drink this. Sorry about the dragon milk, but I needed to distract them so we could get them out of here.”
“Wait.” Belladonna took the cup from his hands before Steve could grab it. “What’s this? Is this poison too?”
“It’s water,” said Burner, taking it off her and handing it to Steve, who eagerly gulped it down. “And the dragon milk isn’t poison, it’s just very … spicy.”
“More…” gasped Steve, holding out the cup.
“Drink it slowly,” said Burner. “And hold it in your mouth for a bit before you swallow.”
“They were from another world?” complained Belladonna. “Another one of the nine? But they were so…”
Burner looked at her, sniffed, and refilled the cup with water again.
“Not everything is what you expect. And there are reasons why movement between the worlds is restricted.”
Steve held out the cup, and Burner filled it again. As he was gulping the third cup down, there was a melodic ping and the lift slowed and stopped.
“This’ll be me,” said Burner cheerfully, taking the cup from Steve and reattaching it to his belt.
“Will he be alright?” asked Belladonna, glancing at Steve, who still looked decidedly red in the face.
“He’ll be fine! It just takes a bit of getting used to, that’s all.”
Steve cleared his throat and coughed. A small plume of smoke shot out of his mouth.
“Ah!” said Burner. “Umm … that could be a slight allergic reaction.”
“Slight? That was smoke!”
Burner fastened his coat up tightly as the doors slid open to reveal a landscape almost as blasted as the dragon world, but this time the view was not of fire but of ice and snow. A bitter wind swept into the lift and whipped around like a mini tornado, bringing sleet and snow in its wake.
“Yes … smoke. So it was. Well, good luck to you both.”
He heaved the cart of dragon milk out of the lift and into the blizzard.
“Wait!”
“Good-bye!” he yelled as the screaming gale almost drowned him out. “Don’t take any more food from strangers!”
And with a cheerful wave he turned and began pushing the cart away across the ice.
Belladonna watched until he had vanished into the whirling snow, then turned back into the lift. She was just about to press the button to close the doors when Steve pulled her away.
“Wait!” he said, his voice sounding almost normal. “Just a sec!”
He dropped to his knees at the door and reached for the snow that was rapidly heaping in a drift against the sides of the lift. Belladonna watched as he made a quick snowball, then stood up and backed away from the doors.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Steve bit into the snowball, filling his mouth with cooling ice. Belladonna hit the button to close the doors, and the lift shot down to the right, then powered away diagonally toward the Land of the Dead.
After about five minutes, Steve’s face had resumed its usual color and the snowball had all but melted away.
“Belladonna?” he said.
“Yes?”
“Did you see that smoke?”
“Yes.”
“Probably not a good sign…”
17
Coupe de Ville
“DOES THIS SEEM to be taking a lot longer to you?”
Steve was leaning against the back wall of the lift, watching the numbers or names (or whatever they were) flick by on the display above the doors, and Belladonna had to admit that it was starting to feel as if they’d been standing in the marble box for hours.
“Yes,” she said. “Don’t you wonder, though—”
“What it would be like to just stop it and visit one of the other worlds?”
“Yes. Not the Land of the Dead or that place with the light things, but a proper other world with people … or, you know, inhabitants who are living entire lives in another place with different countries and languages and everything.”
They watched the lights flick by.
“Well,” said Steve finally, “maybe after we’ve saved our world again, we’ll get a chance to go and visit somewhere else instead of just being sent back to school as if nothing had happened.”
“It’s funny…” began Belladonna.
“What?”
“The name of the lake. The lake where the Queen of the Abyss lives. Frank said it’s called Grendelmere.”
“I know. Like the monster in Beowulf. D’you think there might be a monster in it?”
“Probably. It seems like almost everything I thought was imaginary is actually real.”
“Yeah.” Steve smiled. “It’s so cool.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth before the lift slowed, juddered a few times, and then came to a halt. Then … nothing.
“D’you think it’s broken? It opened right away for Burner.”
“Maybe the Land of the Dead is special,” said Belladonna. “Perhaps I need to say something. You know … like last time.”
“Okay,” said Steve, taking a step back as if there was a one-in-ten chance that she might explode. “Go on.”
Belladonna closed her eyes and was going to wait for the Words to come, but to her surprise she found she just remembered the Ancient Greek for “open the doors.” Was that how it would be? Would she eventually just know the Words right off the top of her head without having to concentrate?
“Arate thyras!”
There was a split-second delay and then the doors snapped open with a whoosh, and Belladonna found herself staring at two familiar faces.
&nb
sp; “Mum! Dad!” She flew out of the lift and straight into their arms, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, she felt safe and free as her Dad hoisted her into the air and swung her around. And that wasn’t all—for the first time in days, her head wasn’t aching.
The familiar vast entrance hall of the House of Mists spun by in a blur as first the grandfather clock, then the massive chandelier, and finally the ornate front door sped into and out of view. It was only when her Dad finally put her down that she was really able to see that, although it was familiar, it really wasn’t the same at all. The last time she and Steve had been here, the building had been little more than an empty shell, but now it was a hive of activity. Men, women, and children strode through the hall, up the stairs, and into and out of rooms, with the overly purposeful air of people who are Doing Something Important.
Somehow it wasn’t quite what Belladonna had imagined when her grandmother had told her about the Conclave of Shadows all those months ago. She’d imagined elderly people in white robes, sitting in some kind of hushed chamber and being very serious, but nobody here was wearing white robes; they were all dressed in whatever had been fashionable when they died—and not a single one was old. Of course, she thought, there wasn’t any reason they would be. Elsie had said that they could pick any age to be, although no older than when they had died, so why wouldn’t everyone be young? The general effect of all this youth and color, of course, was that the House of Mists seemed less like a serious organ of government for the Dead and more like a rather grave costume party.
“Oh, Belladonna!” cried her mother, hugging her so tight that she could barely speak. “What have they been doing to you?”
“I’m not really sure,” whispered Belladonna. “But I feel better now.”
Then, as her mother let her go and looked into her face with the kind of genuine love and concern that she hadn’t seen since that fatal Tuesday, she felt tears start to sting her eyes.
“Now, then,” said Mrs. Johnson gently, giving her a little shake, “none of that. You’ve got important things to do. You can cry when it’s all over.”
The Midnight Gate Page 18