Devil's Paintbox by Robin Jarvis

Author:Robin Jarvis [Jarvis, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy
ISBN: 9781780317335
Google: lxQdDQAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 36288078
Publisher: Egmont UK
Published: 2017-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

‘Breakfast tea,’ Jack Potts said, bowing to deliver a rather lovely cup on its saucer to Lil who had finally come round. ‘An ideal reviver, with two sugars for shock.’

‘This was my nan’s special china,’ she said, sitting up. ‘No one uses this. It’s too precious.’

‘A fine example of Royal Worcester, with gold frilled edges and a most enchanting chime to the porcelain, like a sweet little bell. It should be used regularly, not hidden away in the corner of a cupboard.’

‘Put it back after this, yeah? And carefully – my nan loved it.’

‘How are you feeling?’ Verne interrupted.

Lil blew across the steaming tea.

‘Escoimus,’ she answered.

‘Nauseous, queasy,’ Jack Potts translated.

‘But I’ll be OK. Did it work?’

‘Don’t you remember?’

‘Only bits, like a fading dream. Did we get rid of all those insects?’

‘If any got away, they’ll be too few to worry about. You totally saved the town.’

‘I didn’t. Annie’s memory did. Where’s Cherry?’

‘Your mum sent her packing.’

‘What?’

‘They had a bit of a barney. I don’t want to sound horrible or rude or anything, but your mum was a bit . . . strange.’

Cassandra’s callous words the previous night came into Lil’s mind. The pain of them was still raw.

‘Where is she now?’ she asked quietly.

It was Jack Potts who answered.

‘Mistress Wilson has gone to be with your father.’

‘She knows where Dad is? Where?’

‘In the ballroom of the Royal Hotel. Apparently the hotel has been commandeered as an overflow hospital.’

‘I spoke to my mum half an hour ago,’ Verne added. ‘Clarke’s there too.’

Lil put the cup down without finishing her tea and jumped up.

‘Let’s get there then!’ she cried. ‘I can help them!’

Once Lil had fetched her knitting bag, the two friends rushed out of the cottage. Jack Potts emitted a mechanical sigh, plumped up the squashed settee cushions and took the porcelain cup into the kitchen where he emptied, washed and dried it.

Opening a cupboard to return it and the saucer, he paused, held the cup close to the window and gazed at the sunlight glowing through the fine china. Then he tapped it with one of his metal fingers and his eyes dimmed as he listened to the pure ring.

‘If I had a soul,’ he said wistfully, ‘this would be its eternal joy. A vessel fit to hold ambrosia, for goddesses to drink from. What everyday marvels and wonders humankind is capable of. Small perfections, that is where great happiness is found . . . do you not agree, Miss Cerise?’

He turned to the kitchen table where a mouse with pale blue eyes was watching him from the shelter of the fruit bowl. Caught in the glare of the robot’s bright lenses, the mouse hesitated a moment, then darted away, scooting down the furthest leg and disappearing under a cupboard.

Jack Potts hummed to himself, set the cup down on the window ledge and admired it some more.

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