The Door in the Moon by Catherine Fisher

The Door in the Moon by Catherine Fisher

Author:Catherine Fisher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2015-03-09T16:00:00+00:00


13

Another thing that is remarkable about Venn is that he is expert at changing his appearance. He has a chameleon quality that can be uncannily convincing. In Tibet he lived as a native of the country for two years and was never discovered by the authorities.

For a blond, blue-eyed Westerner, that is so unlikely it could almost be said to be magic.

Jean Lamartine, The Strange Life of Oberon Venn

THE GUESTS BEGAN arriving at twilight, and just after, Madame Lepage knocked softly on the bedroom door. “Time,” she whispered.

Sarah dressed and hurried down. She slipped through the servants’ entry and positioned herself discreetly behind a painted screen to watch the carriages roll up. The night was flaring with flambeaux held by a line of footmen in powder and gold-and-purple livery, the red flames cracking and sparking all down the mile-long drive.

There was no sign of Janus. But she knew, with that strange inner link that bound her to him, that he was still here, somewhere.

Behind her, in the first of several reception rooms, the tiny vicomte, pale with anxiety, fussed over the piled sweetmeats, while the musicians warmed up with deep notes and quick arpeggios. He was dressed in sumptuous cream and more frills than Sarah would have thought possible.

A jog at her elbow made her turn, fast, but instead of Janus, she saw Long Tom. His narrow face was rouged and powdered. He winked at her with a sly eye.

“All set?”

“Yes, but—”

“At the stroke of midnight the fireworks start. Open the door at once and wait behind it. Don’t go in.”

“Yes, but you have to listen to me! Janus is here!”

“Janus?”

“He’s a journeyman. An enemy. You have to tell Jake! Jake will understand.”

Tom muttered a few swear words and shrugged. “Can’t do it. I have to be with the automata. Is he from your time? Is he trouble?”

She laughed, harsh. “You have no idea!”

“Well, deal with him, girl! A cutpurse like you should know the ropes.”

As he slid away toward the summerhouse she wondered what deal with him meant. There was no way of dealing with a Replicant. Let alone the wolves.

Then she straightened, and took a sharp breath of awe. Low on the horizon over the roofs of Paris, round and silver and beautiful, the full moon was rising. And under it, winding away into the dark, a long procession of carriages, black and gilt and gold, was rolling toward her like a dry, creaking river.



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