Chapter 5
Reflections
Stone steps lead downwards, lit by a flaming torch on the wall. They curve away to the right and disappear into darkness, their centres worn down, smooth and shiny in the glow of the torchlight.
The air is thick and damp and mossy.
Excitement bubbles through me.
Me and Josh used to spend hours raiding caves and castles on my PlayStation. But Josh isn’t here now. I should text him again. I’ve been so wrapped up in all this strange weirdness I’d kind of forgotten. But then again, he never texted me back either. The thought sends a little spike of anger and regret through me.
I shake it away and look round at Alice.
“Where’s it go to?” she whispers breathlessly.
I turn to face the stairs again, fear of the unknown wriggling through the gaps in my excitement.
I begin to lift my foot to step downwards then freeze, stuck between worlds. I may as well be about to step off a cliff edge. And then something clicks in my brain and I know there’s no way I’m turning back now. Yeah, it’s sad Josh isn’t here to share it with me – we shared so much – but Alice is.
A small smile lifts the corners of my mouth. It might just be ok.
Alice peers past me. “Well? You think Sir De Silva went down there?”
I take a deep breath before sliding the fiery torch from its rusted iron bracket. “Only one way to find out.” The heat of the flame makes sweat bead on my skin; the smoke stings my eyes, but I blink it away. “Let’s go, Sir Werdun.”
She stares at me, a small smile on her lips. “You could use your phone torch, you know.”
“I could. But I’ve played enough computer games to know that if you’re going down into a dark tunnel, chances are you’ll need a flaming torch.”
She laughs, the sound echoing away into the darkness. “Onwards then, Sir Atkins. I reckon those stairs lead north. Back towards the Manor House.”
I’m glad she’s here with me. “The Human Compass strikes again!”
Her hand passes over the moss-lined bricks. “Dad taught me to pay attention to my surroundings, especially when walking a new path. Otherwise, it’s easy to get lost, to miss the good stuff and only see the bad.”
I stiffen a little. Alice is so strong about the crazy change in her life. I’m embarrassed to remember how I cried when my parents told me we were moving house. It seems such an overreaction now. Mum came to my room that day and sat on the end of my bed as I buried my face in the pillow. ‘Don’t look at it as the end of something Brad,” she told me. “It’s the start of a new life, a new beginning – for all of us. Sometimes life throws you opportunities and you need to grab hold of them, as scary as that can be.’
My fingers tighten around the handle of my foil as I draw it out from my belt loop. Then, holding the torch above me, I take the first step down into the unknown. Down, down, down we go, until finally we reach a long, low passageway. The ceiling arches above us, the bricks chipped and worn; every sound double loud as it echoes around us.
It’s so dark here. A nowhere place. A place between places. I don’t know what I’ll find if we keep going, but I’m not going back. Who would’ve thought Boring-old-Bledgley had such adventure buried beneath it?
My heart thumps in my chest as we move silently down the passageway.
The torch flickers, the flame bending sideways like a blown birthday candle before righting itself. I stop and hold the torch further out in front of me.
“What’s up?” Alice whispers.
“Look,” I say as the flame flickers again, sending a buzz through me. “Wind. There must be an exit up ahead.”
“I reckon we’re under the house by now,” Alice says, staring into the darkness ahead. “Might be a hidden basement or something.” Her eyes twinkle in the firelight.
Slowly we edge forward, just our breathing cutting the silence. With each step we take, the torch flame shudders in the breeze; every flicker matched by a skip in my pulse.
As we move further in, the darkness seems to recede a little, the ever-shifting shadows moving from deep endless black to light blue-grey. And then, in the distance, a rectangle of light shimmers seemingly out of nowhere.
“That must be the way out,” Alice whispers.
“Or a way further in.”
She shoos me forward, flapping her hands. “Only one way to find out.”
As we creep forwards the rectangle gets bigger, finally showing itself to be an old wooden doorway, the door itself half open. Firelight streams through, fighting the treacle-thick darkness in an endless, quivering battle of parry and riposte. The hinges of the door creak as the breeze picks up again, ruffling my hair, cooling the sweat on my forehead.
“What if he’s in there?” I whisper. “What do we say?”
Alice waves me on. “Have a look. We’ll just say we were bringing flowers for Dad, and we found the door open.”
Heart in mouth, I reach out and push. The door swings reluctantly inwards, the hinges squealing loudly. I freeze, listening intently for a reaction to the noise. But there’s nothing and me and Alice exchange a glance before stepping through into a rough-hewn basement with many torches hanging above.
There’s no sign of De Silva. I breathe out for what seems like an age and take in the scene that surrounds us.
Four suits of armour stand like guardians against the wall opposite. Each one is almost identical to the next. Shiny steel, a yellow and black feather jutting from the head piece and a shield with matching colours: one half yellow, one half black. In the middle of the shield is a crest showing a single stem of white, bell-shaped flowers.
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Lily of the Valley. A small gasp escapes me.
“What is this place?” I whisper to myself.
“It’s amazing, Brad,” Alice says spinning around, a mixture of awe and wild-eyed excitement on her face. “OMG! Check that out.”
There’s a large, dark-wood chest in one corner. The torchlight from above bounces off its contents and sparkles on the wall.
As she bends over it, Alice’s skin glows in the reflected light.
The chest is full of gold and silver coins; of sapphires and rubies and emeralds; jewelled daggers and silver goblets.
I reach in and take one of the coins. On one side it has a picture of a king’s head in profile. His beard is long and pointed and he wears a crown, his chin tilted upwards. There’s words around the edge:
Vestaharjle, 93rd King of Fae
Peace-bringer. Dragon-friend.
The other side shows a dragon rearing up, claws raised against an unseen enemy. My mind whirls. King of Fae. Dragons. Just like De Silva’s stories. Only his had a Queen in. “What is this stuff?” I ask, not really expecting a reply.
Alice gives me a sideways glance. “I reckon it’s the stolen treasure of Humfdoodle, King of the Northern Ogres.”
I drop the coin back into the chest. “You really love that story of De Silva’s!”
She raises her eyebrows and shifts to one side so I can see the front of the chest. Carved into it in big, scrawled letters are the words:
PROPITEE OF KING HUMFDOODLE
CLAWS OFF
OR YOU GETS YOUR CLAWS CUT OFF
I stare at the words like they’re written in magical runes or some bizarre alien language. “It can’t be.”
“It is though.” She traces the letters with her finger.
I squat next to her. “It can’t be real, can it? I mean, maybe Sir De Silva is some kind of master thief with a strange sense of humour.”
She looks at me, a smile spreading across her face. “It’s Humfdoodle’s treasure. Think about it. It all makes sense. His stories. I told you I thought Sir De Silva’s stories were about himself. Here’s actual proof.”
My heart skips a beat. I want to believe, I’m just not sure I really can. “Maybe, but…”
A breeze gusts through the room, sweeping the words from my head, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Shadows ripple across the walls and I get the odd sensation that someone’s stood behind me, but when I turn, no one’s there.
I shiver and rub at the back of my neck.
“If we find where Sir De Silva’s disappeared to,” Alice says, her eyes scanning the room, “then maybe we’ll find out how this treasure got here.”
I lick my finger and hold it up. The breeze is coming from an archway on the other side of the room. I point with the torch. “He must’ve gone through there.”
Alice holds out her hand. “Pass me that.”
She takes the torch and I follow her towards the archway, the inside of which is lit with a soft, silvery light: like a summer’s night with a new moon in the sky. From what I can see over Alice’s shoulder, the room beyond is not very deep but seems to run to the left and right of the opening. Probably another corridor. “Maybe it leads up to the house,” I say.
Alice shakes her head. “Nah. The house is that way.” She points towards the wall with the suits of armour along it then steps through the archway. “Brad!” she gasps. “Come and see.”
The room I step into is small and rectangular. To my left and right two mirrors – so large they cover the entirety of each wall – have been hung facing one another. Our bathroom cabinet in the old house had mirrored doors inside and out. I used to love opening the cabinet and sticking my head between the two opposing mirrors. The infinite line of reflections always amazed me. As I moved my head in and out of the cabinet hundreds of me would appear and disappear down what I always thought of as hidden side alleys. Where they led, I could only imagine.
This is what I’m seeing now: an infinite corridor of reflections. I narrow my eyes. The room in the mirror looks a bit like this one but not quite.
The realisation hits me like a football to the face.
I can’t see myself or Alice in the mirror.
I can’t see our reflections.
A sliver of ice pushes its way into my brain.
I can see straight down the never-ending corridor precisely because I’m not there to get in the way.
Alice turns around and looks behind us. “Brad.” Her voice is low and urgent.
I wave my foil in front of me. There’s no sign of it in the reflection. I peer closer and my breath fogs on the glass of the mirror.
“Brad.” Alice says, more insistent now.
My heart starts to pound in my chest, rhythmic and forceful.
I turn to look in the mirror behind us. It has the same infinite corridor of reflections I’ve just been looking at.
Only there’s a figure in this one.
And it’s not me or Alice.
The blood roars in my ears.
Just like the first time I saw him, he’s got his back to me. His jet-black hair. His fencing whites. His foil.
He’s inside the mirror.
Alice steps forwards and slowly extends her hand towards the glass. “Sir De Silva?”
I watch her, eyes wide, my chest heaving with each breath. Her hand stops on the glass, fingers splayed. She moves it around, passing over De Silva and back. As she does, he disappears momentarily, then appears again.
“Well mad,” I breathe. I know one thing right now: I want to follow him.
De Silva turns left down one of the side corridors and disappears from sight.
Alice turns to me, her eyes wide. “Where’d he go?”
“No idea,” I say, not taking my eyes from the mirror. “Proper mental.”
A ghostly green light ripples out from the corridor De Silva went down. The light gets brighter then fades away. “Did you see that?”
Alice turns back to the mirror. “See what?”
Drawing my foil, I step forwards and tap the glass of the mirror with the tip. It makes a dull thunk.
Alice taps my arm. “Brad, what did you see? Tell me.”
I peer into the mirror. “I dunno. Some weird light.” I rub my forehead. “What the badger’s bum is going on?”
Alice holds the torch up and shines it over the edge of the mirror. It’s dark-wood frame has been carved to look like a snake eating its own tail.
It’s creepy as.
“I think we should get out of here,” Alice says. “This just got way too weird.”
“Seriously?” A small glow on the bottom corner of the frame catches my eye. “What’s that there?” Bending down I find a swirl carved into the wood, just like the markings on the tomb. “This looks like another glyph. Another key-thingy.” This is too exciting to just leave. Bye-bye Bledgley. Hello adventure. Real adventure: like me and Josh used to dream about.
I touch my finger to the glyph and a jolt of electricity passes up my arm and fizzes into my brain. I try to stand on shaky legs but the breeze gusts out of the mirror with such force that both me and Alice stagger backwards. The torch flickers one last time then goes out, plunging the room into the moon-like silvery light from before.
My legs wobble and I plant them firmly to steady myself; the blue-grey smoke from the torch curling upwards and into the mirror like there’s no glass at all.
My stomach lurches.
The scene in the mirror seems to shift towards me. It’s like when the train next to yours at the station leaves, and just for a second you think you’re the one moving, but you’re not.
The torch clatters to the floor.
Alice grips my arm. “Brad, what’s happening? I feel like I’m going to puke.”
I don’t have an answer for her. What did I do?
And then the image in the mirror starts to grow towards us; over and through and past us.
Alice’s grip tightens.
My heart is battering against my ribs like it wants to escape.
The images are coming in waves now, rolling over us faster and faster and faster, each one erasing the room around us, leeching the colour from the world until we stand together in a long, white, featureless corridor.
It’s like someone stripped the skin off the apple of the world.
Alice sinks to her knees, holding her dad’s flowers tightly in both hands.
My legs buckle. I stagger sideways against the wall and hold out a hand to stop myself. The wall is made of some really, really odd material. It’s like sticking your hand into a pot of gooey slime: firm but squishy. And I get the feeling that if I pushed hard enough, I could push right through; see what life would’ve been like if every choice I ever made had been different.
I pull my hand away like I’ve touched something hot and rub at the ends of my fingers with my thumb. There’s no pain. I seem fine.
Alice stares up at me. “Where are we?” Her voice is high and thin.
I look behind, expecting to see a doorway – a way out; the way we came in – but the corridor just stretches onwards forever, the white walls turning first to grey before gradually disappearing into the blackness beyond.
There’s no way back.
I should be afraid. I should be petrified. But I’m not. Not with Alice by my side.
I don’t want to go back. Not just yet. And my heart thrums with the thought of adventure.
Alice stares at the bunch of flowers in her hand. “Brad? Please. Where the heckles cake are we?”
I heave some air into my lungs. “I think…we’re inside the mirror.”