“Why did it take so long?” asked Elsie, ignoring the family reunion.
“There were loads more buttons,” said Steve. “To all the other worlds.”
“Really? Did you see any of them?”
“Just two.”
“Oh.”
“No, but one of them was the place with the dragons! The one the amulet came from.”
“Spiffing! Did you see any dragons?”
“Loads. And this man got on and he milks dragons! That’s his job—milking dragons.”
“You’re joking! Like cows?”
“I suppose. We didn’t actually see him do it or anything. But you’ll never guess what I did!”
And as Steve told Elsie the story of the dragon milk, they strolled across the hall and out into the sunshine and the gardens. Belladonna blinked away her tears and took a deep breath.
“We met the last Paladin,” she began. “His name is—”
“Edmund de Braes.” Her father smiled in that way he had when he got the answers in television quiz shows before the contestants.
“Elsie told us all about it,” explained her mother.
Belladonna nodded, relieved that she wouldn’t have to go over the whole thing again.
“We have to go to the House of Ashes,” she said, trying to sound like the sort of person she imagined would usually have the job of saving the Nine Worlds.
“The House of Ashes?” said Mr. Johnson. “What for? I mean … are you sure there isn’t any other way?”
“I don’t think so. Whatever the Proctors are doing, it looks like they plan on finishing it on the Day of Crows. That’s the second of March—three days away. The rhyme and the nobles are all we’ve got to go on.”
“The coins that Elsie was talking about,” said Mrs. Johnson. “How are they going to help?”
“I don’t know,” said Belladonna, shrugging her shoulders. “But the last one is in the House of Ashes, so we’re thinking that the Queen of the Abyss will know what we’re supposed to do with them.”
“The Queen of the Abyss!” Mrs. Johnson turned to her husband. “She can’t go there!”
“Who is she?” asked Belladonna. “Elsie mentioned her last year when we were here. She said the Queen of the Abyss rules the Land of the Dead, but she didn’t help much back then. Is she just a … you know, a figurehead?”
“No. At least I don’t think so.” Mr. Johnson had clearly never considered this before. “We haven’t actually seen her, though. I heard she comes to the garden parties sometimes, but I think the last time was about fifty years ago. That’s her in the carving outside above the front door. John Harbottle told me she rides a chariot drawn by a pterodactyl—”
“Yes, that’s what Elsie said.”
“But I reckon that’s just a story.”
“Story or not,” said Mrs. Johnson, her voice tense with worry, “the woman is immortal. People like that don’t look at life the same as the rest of us. We can’t let Belladonna just march into her lair as if she were going to the corner shop! You have to do something! Say something!”
“I don’t think I can,” said Mr. Johnson sadly. “It’s just … I’m sorry, Belladonna. I can’t see any other way. I wish you didn’t have to do this. But…”
Belladonna smiled. The idea was so tempting. The thought that she could just turn her back on the whole thing and return to the way things were, worrying about nothing more than being teased at school and keeping up with Math. She could let the Nine Worlds take care of themselves and maybe they’d find someone who was actually grown up to do all the dangerous stuff. Except she knew it couldn’t happen. Something had changed in her now that she was the Spellbinder, just as something had changed in Steve—he couldn’t help but protect her now, the way he had in the shed, and she couldn’t help trying to prevent the Empress of the Dark Spaces from escaping. She might not have all the answers, or know why certain things were happening, but deep inside she knew that it really was all up to her.
“I know. I have to do it.”
“No, you don’t,” said her mother, grasping at straws. “Perhaps … perhaps if you explained everything to the Conclave of Shadow, they’d know what to do.”
“Oh, you are joking!” said her father disdainfully. “Don’t you remember the last garden party? That lot upstairs couldn’t organize a booze-up in a brewery, let alone come up with a plan to save the Nine Worlds.”
A man in a toga walked by and made a sort of harrumphing noise.
“Sorry, Cicero, but really! I mean, they put alligators in the lucky dip! Just because you’re dead and your hand will grow back doesn’t mean you’ll enjoy having it bitten off.”
“That’s true,” said Mrs. Johnson thoughtfully. “There was an awful lot of screaming. But what about—”
“No, Mum.” Belladonna took her mother’s hand. “It has to be me. It’s alright.”
“But you’re twelve.”
“We have to hurry. There’s only a few days left to stop them.”
Mrs. Johnson sniffed back her tears and nodded.
“Your granddad brought his car,” said her Dad, smiling. “We should get there in no time.”
“If you can call it a car,” said Mrs. Johnson. “When I think he could’ve had anything he wanted. He could’ve had a Rolls-Royce, for heaven’s sake!”
“We’ll make a day of it.”
Belladonna beamed. It was just like the days out that they used to have, back when her Mum and Dad were still alive and everything was normal. She’d be sitting around doing nothing much when her Dad would bounce into the room and announce that they were going for a drive. There’d be no packing or organizing; they’d just jump into the car and take off, even if it was raining or worse. Her Dad would point the car toward the seaside and they’d park as close to the beach as they could get and eat a picnic of cold sausages, hard-boiled eggs, and fizzy drinks while the rain poured down the windshield in great rivers, and the ocean roiled beyond the sea walls, dashing itself against the stone.
“Belladonna!”
She snapped out of her reverie as Steve poked his head around the front door.
“You have got to see this!”
Mrs. Johnson rolled her eyes. “Typical!” she muttered.
“What?” asked Belladonna.
“Go and see,” said her Dad, a twinkle in his eye.
Belladonna left them and ran outside. For a moment she blinked in the unfamiliar sunlight, but as her eyes grew used to the glare, she saw it.
The car.
Her Grandad was sitting in the front seat, but that wasn’t the most remarkable thing. The most remarkable thing was the car.
“What d’you think?” gushed Steve, his eyes shining.
“What … is it?” asked Belladonna, trying to take the whole thing in.
It was red, for a start, but not just any red. It was the bright, wet red of a newly painted wall. It was redder than apples, redder than cherries, redder than anything she could think of.
And it was long. The longest car she’d ever seen. If it had been parked outside their house, it would’ve stretched from their driveway to next door’s. It was wide too and seemed to hunker down close to the ground, like some kind of ravening carnivore, its front grille stretching around the sides in a grin that was more reminiscent of the dragons of Pyrocasta than a car. There were four headlights on each side of the grille, like huge insect eyes, but that still wasn’t the most remarkable thing.
The most remarkable thing was the fins.
The fins were slender and tall, and swept away off the back of the car like wings, and in the center of each were dual pointed brake lights, like torpedoes ready to launch at anyone foolish enough to get too close. And, of course, it was a convertible.
“What d’you think?” grinned her Granddad, leaning back on the white and red upholstery, his right hand caressing the steering wheel.
“What … what is it?” she asked again, forgetting to say hello entirely.
“It’s a 1959 Cad
illac Coupe deVille.”
“It’s American,” said Elsie, with the knowing air of someone who has already been told all about something.
“It’s … huge.”
“Only one thousand three hundred and twenty were ever made,” said Grandpa Johnson proudly.
“Can’t imagine why,” sniffed Mrs. Johnson. “Come on, you lot, get in.”
“Can I go in the front? Please?” begged Steve.
“Me too!” said Elsie.
“Alright. Come on, Belladonna.”
Mrs. Johnson opened the passenger door, and Belladonna scrambled into the back. Even when her parents joined her on the long bench seat, there was still plenty of room. She quickly changed places with her Dad so that she was sitting between them both as Grandpa Johnson turned the ignition and the old beast sprang to life with a deep, guttural roar.
“This is probably a stupid question,” said Steve as the car rolled down the long driveway away from the House of Mists, “but what does it use for petrol?”
“Nothing,” said Grandpa Johnson. “This car’s as dead as me.”
“Well, then why is the engine running? Couldn’t it just go without making any noise?”
“Of course it could. But where’s the fun in that?”
Grandpa Johnson grinned as the car pulled out onto the main road.
“She’s such a beauty,” he whispered to no one in particular. Then he pushed hard on the accelerator and the car seemed to hesitate for a split second, then suddenly gripped the road and screamed away toward the horizon. Belladonna, Steve, and Elsie squealed with delight as hedgerows, trees, and fences melded into one long blur of speed.
“Careful!” said Mrs. Johnson. “We’re not all dead you know. We’ve got two living children here and no seat belts.”
“Sorry,” said Grandpa Johnson, slowing down ever so slightly. “I got carried away.”
Belladonna couldn’t blame him; she felt wonderfully carried away herself, sitting in the back seat between her Mum and Dad, her hair flying in the breeze. She leaned back in the seat and looked up. The sky was blue without a cloud to be seen, and as the tops of the trees sped by overhead, she tried to imagine that she wasn’t in the Land of the Dead at all but just out for the day with her Mum and Dad.
“So,” said Mr. Johnson, “where are these nobles Elsie’s been going on about?”
“Steve’s got them,” said Belladonna.
Steve reached into his pocket and handed one of the coins back to Mr. Johnson. “We’ve got eight, but they all look the same.”
Mr. Johnson examined it admiringly. “It’s gorgeous. So new-looking. And you say they’ve been hidden for how long?”
“Since the time of the last Paladin,” said Belladonna. “Around six hundred years or so.”
“Amazing.”
“Yes, but we don’t know what they’re for,” said Steve. “We’re just hoping that the Queen of the Abyss can tell us.”
Mr. Johnson glanced at his worried-looking wife, then leaned forward to hand the coin back. “Well, if anyone knows, I imagine she does.”
“Hang on.” Belladonna reached for the coin. She’d seen something, or thought she had. Something glimmering in the sunlight.
She took the noble and turned it over, examining the edge.
“There’s something written here.”
“What, like on a pound coin?”
“Yes … but it’s just one word. It looks like … Gwerfyl.”
“Gwerfyl?” said Steve. “What is that?”
“It sounds Welsh.” Mrs. Johnson was suddenly interested. “Is the same thing written on the others?”
Steve reached into his pocket and handed three more to Belladonna, then rummaged around in another pocket for the other four.
“No, they’re different,” said Belladonna, turning each of the coins over and examining them. “This one says Paderau. Then Morwenna and Rhianwen.”
“This one says Lowri,” said Steve.
Elsie took one of the coins from his hand. “Briallen.”
“Aerona and Caniad.”
“I think they’re names,” said Mrs. Johnson. “At least, I know Rhianwen is a name.”
“Are they all Welsh names?” asked Elsie.
“I think so. They sound Welsh anyway.”
“Why would English coins have Welsh names written on them?” asked Steve.
“I don’t know.…”
“Perhaps because they’re not coins,” said Belladonna.
“They look like coins to me,” said her Dad.
“I know, they are. But … maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re something else. Something that’s been made to look like coins.”
“So they’d be ordinary,” said Steve, suddenly understanding what she was getting at.
“What?” Mrs. Johnson looked from one to the other.
Steve hung over the front seat and explained, “Well, they seem special now, but six hundred years ago when they were made, they would have just been coins.”
“I get it,” said Mr. Johnson. “So if anyone found them, they’d just think they’d found money.”
Belladonna nodded, then sighed and handed the glittering nobles back to Steve.
“But we still don’t know what to do with them.”
“Yes, but it’s something, isn’t it?” said Steve. “Maybe they’re the names of gods or famous warriors or something and you’re going to have to call them to fight the Proctors.”
“Nine gods to fight one couple seems a bit like overkill,” said Grandpa Johnson.
“Well, maybe it’s not to fight the Proctors,” suggested Elsie. “Maybe it’s to fight the Empress. Perhaps these are the gods or the warriors who defeated her the first time around.”
“Maybe.” Belladonna wasn’t convinced. “But why would the names be hidden? I mean, if it was a great battle, wouldn’t everyone have known their names? Why hide them?”
“I don’t know,” said Elsie, slightly crestfallen.
“I think the Ninth Noble will tell us,” said Steve confidently. “There has to be a reason that one wasn’t hidden with the others.”
He put the coins back in his pockets and turned back to enjoy the ride. Grandpa Johnson smiled and started pointing out items of interest along the way, but eventually silence settled over the car, as it usually does on long trips.
Belladonna was still thinking about the coins and the names. She felt that she ought to know, it ought to be one of those things that would just come to her, like the Words. But she couldn’t think how coins could stop the Proctors or the Empress and she seriously doubted that the ninth coin would make everything suddenly clear.
“Don’t worry,” whispered her Dad. “It’ll be alright.”
Belladonna smiled, though she wasn’t convinced.
“Have a sleep. You need one. Everything always looks brighter when you’ve had a rest.”
Her Mum and Dad put their arms around her, and Belladonna hunkered down and let herself enjoy the feeling. She didn’t ask how far the House of Ashes was. She didn’t want to know. She closed her eyes and started to drift off, listening to the purr of the engine, the whistle of the wind, and Steve and Elsie eagerly questioning Grandpa Johnson about the car.
It felt like only moments had passed when her Dad gently nudged her awake, but it must have been ages because the whole landscape had changed. Where before there had been gently rolling hills and hedgerows, there were now towering knife-edged sand dunes as far as the eye could see.
“Look, Belladonna,” said her Dad. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes,” she muttered, still dopey with sleep. “Is this a desert?”
“No, it’s a jungle,” grinned Steve.
“Look over there,” whispered her mother.
Belladonna sat up, turned, and peered out across the undulating sands. Something sparkled. She glanced at her mother before turning back, a smile blossoming on her face. It was so beautiful, and so unlikely: a cluster of trees, deep green grass,
and the unmistakable glimmer of water, all shimmering in the desert sun.
“It’s an oasis,” said Elsie authoritatively. “I’ve read about them. Sometimes when people have been stranded in the desert and they’re dying of thirst, they start imagining they see them, but when they get there, there’s nothing but sand.”
“I take it this wasn’t a natural history book,” said Grandpa Johnson.
“No, it was a ripping yarn, though,” gushed Elsie, ignoring his ironic tone. “It was about this chap who left England after the love of his life married someone else. Only it turned out she wasn’t the love of his life, because later in Algiers … But that happened later. First he joined the—”
“—French Foreign Legion?”
“Yes!” said Elsie, turning and looking at Mr. Johnson with newfound respect. “And it wasn’t what he expected at all and he had to escape, but he ended up going back and it was just in time because the fort was being attacked and he saved nearly everyone, but then they had to make their way through the desert and the nearest fort was miles and miles away. The men were dropping like flies and then some of them started seeing water and oases and wanting to lead everyone off into the heart of the desert and certain death, and the hero had to stop them at gunpoint and keep them going on until they reached the other fort!”
Mr. Johnson rolled his eyes, and his wife gave him a sharp dig in the ribs.
“That sounds brilliant!” said Steve.
“I know! It was absolutely ripping. And that all happens in just the first half of the book.”
“What was it called?”
“Oh. Um … I don’t remember.”
Mr. Johnson leaned down and whispered in Belladonna’s ear, “Is she always like this?”
Belladonna smiled and nodded.
“Fantastic!” said her father, clearly impressed.
As they drove, the knife-sharp dunes slowly gave way to rough scrubland, which in turn became first thick brush and then a dense, verdant forest. The day had all but turned to night, and the starless sky was almost obscured by the canopy of trees. Steve was asleep in the front seat, and Belladonna let her head fall against her father’s shoulder as it became more and more difficult to keep her eyes open. But just as she was about to slip away, her mother leaned down and whispered in her ear.
The Midnight Gate Page 19