The Midnight Gate (25 page)

“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 Cadillac 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.

“We're here.”

 

18

The House of Ashes

BELLADONNA SAT UP.
They had left the forest and were now coasting down a dirt track toward the edge of a vast dark lake ringed by jagged mountains that seemed torn and wounded as they strained toward the ink-black sky. In the center of the lake was a small island almost entirely occupied by a rambling fortress that spread across the rocky outcrop like a fungus.

Belladonna's stomach flip-flopped as she tried to remain outwardly calm. She peered at the back of Steve's head, wondering if he was awake.

He was. He turned and glanced back at her, smiling thinly.

“It looks just like school.”

Belladonna smiled back. The shore of the lake was visible now, the water lapping gently over a pebbled beach and a small boat bobbing at a decrepit dock.

The closer they got, the more dilapidated the dock appeared. It had clearly been a fairly robust structure in its day. But its day had long since passed and now the boards and piers were black and rotted. With each movement of the tiny waves, small bits of wood could be seen breaking off and dropping into the water. The boat wasn't much better—Belladonna had seen more impressive craft on the lake in the park at home. The fact that this one didn't have a pedal paddle wheel was just about the only factor in its favor, so far as she could make out.

They had almost reached the dock before they saw the boatman. He was swathed in a black coat that was tied around his waist with a piece of rope, and an old blue muffler was wrapped around his throat. He sat on the edge of the dock, eating sunflower seeds and watching their approach.

Grandpa Johnson brought the car to a halt and they all got out. Was it Belladonna's imagination or were they all moving more slowly, as if they could delay the inevitable end of the journey? They walked down the last ragged bit of track toward the boatman.

“Hi,” he said when they were close enough that he didn't have to raise his voice.

“Hello,” said Mr. Johnson, smiling.

“What can I do for ya?”

“We need to get to the island,” said Belladonna nervously.

“Do you, now? And why would that be?”

“We have to see the Queen of the Abyss.”

“Really? Old family friends, are ya?”