Mirror, page 20
It jerked, frantic to pry her off, spinning to and fro.
“Now!”
Her father tried to get a clean shot at the creature’s legs, but it was turning so quickly, he was having trouble.
“Now!” she said again.
“I’m trying.”
The creature spun around so quickly, she nearly flew off its back.
“Try harder, please!”
“I just need to ….” Her father said as he positioned himself, and then with a mighty swing, the sword cut into the back of the creature’s knee.
Just as she’d hoped, its mouth opened in a silent shriek of pain. She reached around and slipped her hand into its gaping mouth and grabbed onto a small roll of parchment. She yanked it out just as the stone jaws were slamming shut.
As soon as the paper left its mouth, the entire beast froze in place.
She clung to its neck with one arm, the other hand clutching the small roll of paper. Her heart thundered in her chest so loudly she was sure her father could hear it in the sudden silence.
“Well done,” Mr. Darvill said, limping over to them.
Artemis slid down the creature’s back as her father’s hands came about her waist to lower her more gently to the floor.
“Are you all right?” she asked her father breathlessly.
He managed a weak smile, but she could see the red marks blossoming on his throat.
“That was …” he coughed, clearing his throat, “a near thing.”
They all stared at the golem, no more than a statue now, its body frozen in the throes of its last moments.
After a moment, it began to crumble, bits falling away. The remaining arm fell off and then its head tumbled from its shoulders, crashing to the floor and rolling a few feet away. It stared back at them, mouth agape, eyes hollow and empty.
Then the whole of it turned to dust. And it was over.
Well, that was a complete disaster.
The room was in utter shambles. Nearly every cabinet was broken and countless priceless artifacts lay in shards and ruins. Her father and Mr. Darvill had been injured, and Leroux had gotten away with the scepter.
All in all, not according to plan.
No matter what was at stake, no matter what else happened, no matter how angry she might be with him, she would always protect the people she loved first, and her father was at the top of that list. She supposed that wasn’t what a Blaze was supposed to do, but ….
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t ….”
Her father’s smile was filled with comfort and understanding. As so often happened, it seemed he could read her thoughts. “It’s all right. We’ll find a way to stop him.”
They had to.
“At least he’s a man down now,” Mr. Darvill added, glancing at the pile of dust where the golem had stood. “So to speak.”
That was something, she supposed. But now Leroux had the scepter, and God only knew what he was planning to do with it.
Chapter Nineteen
Artemis sat in her father’s desk chair, turning the invitation from Liam over in her hands. Obviously, they wouldn’t be going; he’d probably already invited the Raycrafts to take their place.
A mixture of pain and anger swelled inside her. She glared one more time at the embossed invitation.
Pfft.
Dulcie could hang all over him all night for all she cared.
With one last look at the embossed card, she tossed it into the wastebasket.
There. She was better off.
In a show of how little she cared, she spun her father’s chair away from it with more force than she’d meant to and banged her knee against the wall.
“Bugger.”
She began to massage it when the front doorbell chimed. With a scowl, she got up to answer it.
Mrs. Perry was out to market and her father was with a patient. She didn’t know how he managed. She’d been so exhausted by the time they’d arrived home last night, she’d nearly slept through breakfast. He’d not only been up but was already at work seeing patients by the time she managed to drag herself downstairs.
After the debacle at the museum, they gave the police an anonymous tip about the break-in, ensuring that the two injured guards would be seen to, and took Arthur Darvill to hospital. His arm was broken, but not too badly. Other than that, he was lucky to get away with just a few scrapes and bruises. Her father’s throat was sore, but he was otherwise uninjured. The only thing that Artemis hurt was her pride. She’d managed to let the two people with her get injured and allowed Leroux to escape with the scepter, the one thing she absolutely wasn’t supposed to do.
The door chimed again as she limped toward it, leaning down to massage her sore knee as she went. She was still half-bent over when she pulled it open.
“Yes?” she said as she straightened and looked to see who it was.
“Good morning,” Miss Ashcroft said brightly.
Artemis pursed her lips. “Miss Ashcroft.”
Despite the fact that her father trusted her, Artemis wasn’t yet convinced. Who was to say she wasn’t somehow in league with the witch helping Leroux? Surely, they all stuck together?
It didn’t help Artemis's disposition that Miss Ashcroft had to be so … lovely. Today she wore an elegantly tailored cream silk jacket with lavender accents and matching skirt.
In spite of Artemis's chilly reception, Miss Ashcroft continued to smile genially at her.
“I brought these for your father,” she said, nodding toward a small stack of books cradled in her arms. “They’re from Arthur,” she added seeing Artemis's skeptical look.
“Mr. Darvill? You know him?”
Her smile became warmer and almost amused. “We’re old friends. He told me what happened last night and I wanted to check on him. He’s a dear man, but not used to such things, I’m afraid.”
She held out the books again. “He asked if I’d bring these to your father. He thinks they might be of some help.”
For some reason Artemis resisted trusting her, but Mr. Darvill knew quite a lot about magic and the supernatural. Surely, he wouldn’t be friends with a witch who meant them harm.
Miss Ashcroft stood on the stoop patiently waiting for a response, then finally spoke when none was forthcoming.
“Is your father in?” she asked, tentatively.
“He’s with a patient.”
“Oh,” Miss Ashcroft said, clearly disappointed. “I had hoped to speak with him, but … Well, that’s all right. He can call on me at my shop. I’ll just give these to you then.”
She held out the books once more, but Artemis hesitated to take them, weighing her feelings. The woman had been nothing but kind and polite to her. She’d even gone out of her way to help by placing wards at her house and at the Cliftons’. And if she truly was a friend of Mr. Darvill’s … perhaps she was being unfair.
“He won’t be long,” Artemis said, coming to a decision. “Would you like to come in and wait?”
Miss Ashcroft dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”
She stepped inside and then handed Artemis the books. “The Book of the Dead and The Coffin Texts,” Artemis said, reading the covers of the top two books.
“Sound like a rousing good time, don’t they?” Miss Ashcroft said, and Artemis couldn’t stop her laughter from coming.
Miss Ashcroft smiled, and under the warmth of it Artemis continued to thaw.
“In here,” she said, gesturing toward the study. “What did you want talk to him about, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Miss Ashcroft tugged off her kid leather gloves. “Well, ever since I heard about the scepter, I’ve been thinking about what he might want to use it for.”
“Any ideas?” Artemis asked.
“I’m far from an expert on such things; I’m no scholar.”
“Welcome to the club,” Artemis said, glancing down at another tall stack of books on her father’s desk as she put down the new ones.
“But after talking to Arthur, I think whatever he and his associate—”
“The witch,” Artemis supplied tartly.
Miss Ashcroft’s calm demeanor was broken by a ripple of tension. “Yes.”
She paused about to continue, then looked Artemis in the eye. “We’re not all bad, you know?”
Artemis did know, and she was honestly a little embarrassed by her outburst. “Yes. It’s just ….”
Miss Ashcroft looked at her with understanding. “You’re the Blaze?”
She was sworn to protect London from things like witches; it was hard to imagine cozying up to one.
“It can be difficult to know who to trust and who not to,” Miss Ashcroft went on, “even for the rest of us. Life would be so much simpler, wouldn’t it, if our enemies were easily discerned.”
If only, Artemis thought. “They could wear placards that said, ‘Slay me, I’m evil.’”
Miss Ashcroft laughed and tugged on her ear. “That would be helpful.
“Witches are not your enemy. Most of us, anyway,” she added. “We are as unique and individual as any human. We come in all varieties, some good, some bad. It isn’t what we are that defines us, but who we choose to be.”
It was humbling being caught out in one’s own prejudices, but Miss Ashcroft was right.
“It makes people uncomfortable to see powers they don’t understand. But witch, warlock, Blaze—merely having power doesn’t make one inherently evil. It’s how you to choose to wield it that matters. We all have the potential for good or ill.” She seemed to look right into Artemis's soul. “I think you, of all people, can understand that.”
Does she know? How could she know?
“There’s a battle inside you as vast as the one outside.”
Artemis watched her uneasily, but for an entirely new reason. Her green eyes seemed so luminescent that Artemis could not look away from them. The room around them seemed to fade away. All that remained was the woman across from her. Even time beyond this moment seemed somehow out of reach. Everything, all that was, existed right here and now.
“The darkness is seductive; it makes tempting promises, offering power greater than you can imagine ….”
Artemis was transfixed. It was as though Miss Ashcroft could see inside her, could hear the whispers of the darkness that called out to her.
“But there is always a cost. A great and terrible cost.”
Yes. Artemis knew that the cost for her would be everyone she loved.
Miss Ashcroft took a small step forward, urgent but restrained.
“The light is stronger than the dark, Artemis. In the end, it always is. Trust yourself.”
In her soul she knew it was true, hoped it was true.
Suddenly, the rest of the world came back to her in a rush and she heard her father’s voice in the hall as he ushered his patient out. Miss Ashcroft gazed at her placidly. For a moment, Artemis wondered if all of that hadn’t been inside her head or if Miss Ashcroft had cast some sort of spell on her.
“Artemis,” her father said brightly as he came into the study, “I wonder if you might—”
He drew up short and cleared his throat. “Miss Ashcroft, I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Arthur wanted me to bring you a few books.”
“Did he?” He noticed the books sitting on the corner of his desk. “That was kind of you. How is he this morning?”
“Bored already.”
“It’s been less than twelve hours,” her father said with an amused chuckle.
“That’s Arthur,” she said returning his grin, but she quickly grew serious. “He told me about your Monsieur Leroux and I had a few thoughts. Artemis and I were just talking about them,” she added.
His brow raised in surprise. “Were you?”
Artemis was still slightly dazed—What just happened? Did she do something to me?
Her father leaned down to look her in the eye. “Are you all right?”
She shook off the last vestiges of whatever that had been, and then felt as though nothing had happened at all. She couldn’t remember what had pushed her off-balance. “Yes. I’m fine. We were talking about Leroux.”
“Right,” Miss Ashcroft picked up for her, “and I had some thoughts on what he might be up to.”
“If that’s the case, I’m all ears,” her father said.
She walked toward the fireplace, thinking as she spoke. “The Scepter of Heka is quite powerful, but most magic, the big stuff,” she said, turning around, “usually requires other tools: herbs or crystals, amulets, objects that provide focus to the spells, give it potency, direction.”
Artemis's father easily fell into academic mode as he sat on the corner of his desk. “Yes, I’ve read quite a bit about that. Some crystals conduct magic in much the same way as metals conduct electricity.”
“And unless I’m mistaken,” Miss Ashcroft said with a nod, “the sort he’d need to use with something as powerful as the scepter aren’t available in your average shop.”
Her father stood, following the current of her thought that so far completely escaped Artemis. “But they are available in your less than average shop?”
Miss Ashcroft grinned in reply.
“The Night Market,” he said, almost reverently.
“What’s that?” Artemis asked.
Miss Ashcroft’s smile grew. “A very special place.”
“I’ve always wanted to see this,” Artemis's father said as he helped Miss Ashcroft out of their carriage, followed by Artemis.
Miss Ashcroft looked around the small but busy street in Wapping. “Not many outsiders have.”
“Will they let us in?” he asked.
“As long as you’re with me,” Miss Ashcroft said.
“We’ll be back in an hour or so,” he told Tommy, who looked at them dubiously as Miss Ashcroft led them toward a small side street leading to the shores of the Thames.
The dockland area was a rather rough part of town, filled with wharves and seamen who called it home. The air smelled vaguely of fish and decay. The building Miss Ashcroft stopped in front of appeared as nondescript as a building could be. It was neither large nor small and whatever letters had once been emblazoned on the side of the wood planks were long since faded from the old warehouse.
She rapped smartly three times on a rickety old wood door. Moments later a burly looking man roughly the size of two steamships yanked it open. His surly expression softened into a spreading grin immediately upon seeing her.
“Wotcher, Izzy.”
“Hello, Otto.”
His grin faded a little as he noticed Artemis and her father.
“They’re with me,” Miss Ashcroft said.
Otto appeared ready to give them trouble, but Miss Ashcroft spoke again.
“I will be responsible for anything that happens.”
That seemed to mollify his concern, but only just. “All right,” he said, then jerked his head toward the inside. “G’won.”
He stepped aside, not returning either her or her father’s smiles of thanks. As they crossed the threshold, a prickle of energy caressed her skin.
Must be the wards letting me pass through.
She wasn’t sure what to expect when she stepped inside, but a completely empty warehouse wasn’t it. The only thing it stored now was dust, and plenty of it.
At their apparent confusion, Miss Ashcroft didn’t bother to fight her knowing smile. “This way.”
She stopped near the middle of the room and tugged on Artemis's arm. “A little closer. Don’t be alarmed.”
There was nothing more guaranteed to instigate alarm in a person than a warning against it. Artemis tensed and waited. Her father edged slightly closer to her and they waited.
A moment later, the very ground beneath them seemed to shudder and her father grabbed ahold of her arm. He looked at Miss Ashcroft with concern, concern that grew as the patch of floor they were standing on slowly began to break away from the rest and to lower itself into the ground.
Or was the rest the building rising?
It was an odd sensation, and Artemis wasn’t sure what to make of it until the platform they were standing on moved completely beneath the warehouse and a low railing rose up to create a half-cage around them.
Four small lights, each attached to a corner of their lift, came on and she could see the rough-hewn walls of stone around them pass as they were lowered deeper and deeper into the ground.
The dim light from the warehouse above them disappeared as two trap doors closed, sealing them in the tunnel like miners going down into a shaft.
Unable to stop herself, Artemis moved hesitantly to the railing and peered over.
“Artemis,” her father said uneasily.
She leaned forward and tried to see down to the bottom but it was only darkness.
“How far down is it?” she asked.
“About one hundred feet, I think,” Miss Ashcroft answered. “Deep enough to get us under the Thames, anyway.”
“Under the river?”
The corner of her mouth turned up enigmatically in reply, and they continued their slow descent, until finally, they reached the bottom and came to a stop with a jerk and a thump.
Miss Ashcroft slid back the accordion gate from one of the sides of their lift and pushed against two heavy wooden doors.
“Welcome to the Night Market,” she said as they swung open.
Now, this was a market.
“Remarkable,” her father said.
Artemis had to agree. Stretching out before her was an enormous tunnel lit by a string of lights dangling high overhead. The shaft was easily thirty feet across and half that distance high. How far under the river it extended, she couldn’t tell. There were too many people. Dozens and dozens coursed about, moving from one stall to the next. It was as if someone had taken Covent Gardens and shoved into a tube.
“Are all of these people witches?” Artemis asked.
“Some. All sorts come to the Night Market. Stay close,” she urged them as she walked into the market proper.
Small carts and larger stalls laden with wares lined either side of the tunnel. There were baskets filled to overflowing with herbs and flowers, vials filled with ocelot tears and jars of crocodile eggs and lizard hearts.
“Now!”
Her father tried to get a clean shot at the creature’s legs, but it was turning so quickly, he was having trouble.
“Now!” she said again.
“I’m trying.”
The creature spun around so quickly, she nearly flew off its back.
“Try harder, please!”
“I just need to ….” Her father said as he positioned himself, and then with a mighty swing, the sword cut into the back of the creature’s knee.
Just as she’d hoped, its mouth opened in a silent shriek of pain. She reached around and slipped her hand into its gaping mouth and grabbed onto a small roll of parchment. She yanked it out just as the stone jaws were slamming shut.
As soon as the paper left its mouth, the entire beast froze in place.
She clung to its neck with one arm, the other hand clutching the small roll of paper. Her heart thundered in her chest so loudly she was sure her father could hear it in the sudden silence.
“Well done,” Mr. Darvill said, limping over to them.
Artemis slid down the creature’s back as her father’s hands came about her waist to lower her more gently to the floor.
“Are you all right?” she asked her father breathlessly.
He managed a weak smile, but she could see the red marks blossoming on his throat.
“That was …” he coughed, clearing his throat, “a near thing.”
They all stared at the golem, no more than a statue now, its body frozen in the throes of its last moments.
After a moment, it began to crumble, bits falling away. The remaining arm fell off and then its head tumbled from its shoulders, crashing to the floor and rolling a few feet away. It stared back at them, mouth agape, eyes hollow and empty.
Then the whole of it turned to dust. And it was over.
Well, that was a complete disaster.
The room was in utter shambles. Nearly every cabinet was broken and countless priceless artifacts lay in shards and ruins. Her father and Mr. Darvill had been injured, and Leroux had gotten away with the scepter.
All in all, not according to plan.
No matter what was at stake, no matter what else happened, no matter how angry she might be with him, she would always protect the people she loved first, and her father was at the top of that list. She supposed that wasn’t what a Blaze was supposed to do, but ….
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t ….”
Her father’s smile was filled with comfort and understanding. As so often happened, it seemed he could read her thoughts. “It’s all right. We’ll find a way to stop him.”
They had to.
“At least he’s a man down now,” Mr. Darvill added, glancing at the pile of dust where the golem had stood. “So to speak.”
That was something, she supposed. But now Leroux had the scepter, and God only knew what he was planning to do with it.
Chapter Nineteen
Artemis sat in her father’s desk chair, turning the invitation from Liam over in her hands. Obviously, they wouldn’t be going; he’d probably already invited the Raycrafts to take their place.
A mixture of pain and anger swelled inside her. She glared one more time at the embossed invitation.
Pfft.
Dulcie could hang all over him all night for all she cared.
With one last look at the embossed card, she tossed it into the wastebasket.
There. She was better off.
In a show of how little she cared, she spun her father’s chair away from it with more force than she’d meant to and banged her knee against the wall.
“Bugger.”
She began to massage it when the front doorbell chimed. With a scowl, she got up to answer it.
Mrs. Perry was out to market and her father was with a patient. She didn’t know how he managed. She’d been so exhausted by the time they’d arrived home last night, she’d nearly slept through breakfast. He’d not only been up but was already at work seeing patients by the time she managed to drag herself downstairs.
After the debacle at the museum, they gave the police an anonymous tip about the break-in, ensuring that the two injured guards would be seen to, and took Arthur Darvill to hospital. His arm was broken, but not too badly. Other than that, he was lucky to get away with just a few scrapes and bruises. Her father’s throat was sore, but he was otherwise uninjured. The only thing that Artemis hurt was her pride. She’d managed to let the two people with her get injured and allowed Leroux to escape with the scepter, the one thing she absolutely wasn’t supposed to do.
The door chimed again as she limped toward it, leaning down to massage her sore knee as she went. She was still half-bent over when she pulled it open.
“Yes?” she said as she straightened and looked to see who it was.
“Good morning,” Miss Ashcroft said brightly.
Artemis pursed her lips. “Miss Ashcroft.”
Despite the fact that her father trusted her, Artemis wasn’t yet convinced. Who was to say she wasn’t somehow in league with the witch helping Leroux? Surely, they all stuck together?
It didn’t help Artemis's disposition that Miss Ashcroft had to be so … lovely. Today she wore an elegantly tailored cream silk jacket with lavender accents and matching skirt.
In spite of Artemis's chilly reception, Miss Ashcroft continued to smile genially at her.
“I brought these for your father,” she said, nodding toward a small stack of books cradled in her arms. “They’re from Arthur,” she added seeing Artemis's skeptical look.
“Mr. Darvill? You know him?”
Her smile became warmer and almost amused. “We’re old friends. He told me what happened last night and I wanted to check on him. He’s a dear man, but not used to such things, I’m afraid.”
She held out the books again. “He asked if I’d bring these to your father. He thinks they might be of some help.”
For some reason Artemis resisted trusting her, but Mr. Darvill knew quite a lot about magic and the supernatural. Surely, he wouldn’t be friends with a witch who meant them harm.
Miss Ashcroft stood on the stoop patiently waiting for a response, then finally spoke when none was forthcoming.
“Is your father in?” she asked, tentatively.
“He’s with a patient.”
“Oh,” Miss Ashcroft said, clearly disappointed. “I had hoped to speak with him, but … Well, that’s all right. He can call on me at my shop. I’ll just give these to you then.”
She held out the books once more, but Artemis hesitated to take them, weighing her feelings. The woman had been nothing but kind and polite to her. She’d even gone out of her way to help by placing wards at her house and at the Cliftons’. And if she truly was a friend of Mr. Darvill’s … perhaps she was being unfair.
“He won’t be long,” Artemis said, coming to a decision. “Would you like to come in and wait?”
Miss Ashcroft dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”
She stepped inside and then handed Artemis the books. “The Book of the Dead and The Coffin Texts,” Artemis said, reading the covers of the top two books.
“Sound like a rousing good time, don’t they?” Miss Ashcroft said, and Artemis couldn’t stop her laughter from coming.
Miss Ashcroft smiled, and under the warmth of it Artemis continued to thaw.
“In here,” she said, gesturing toward the study. “What did you want talk to him about, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Miss Ashcroft tugged off her kid leather gloves. “Well, ever since I heard about the scepter, I’ve been thinking about what he might want to use it for.”
“Any ideas?” Artemis asked.
“I’m far from an expert on such things; I’m no scholar.”
“Welcome to the club,” Artemis said, glancing down at another tall stack of books on her father’s desk as she put down the new ones.
“But after talking to Arthur, I think whatever he and his associate—”
“The witch,” Artemis supplied tartly.
Miss Ashcroft’s calm demeanor was broken by a ripple of tension. “Yes.”
She paused about to continue, then looked Artemis in the eye. “We’re not all bad, you know?”
Artemis did know, and she was honestly a little embarrassed by her outburst. “Yes. It’s just ….”
Miss Ashcroft looked at her with understanding. “You’re the Blaze?”
She was sworn to protect London from things like witches; it was hard to imagine cozying up to one.
“It can be difficult to know who to trust and who not to,” Miss Ashcroft went on, “even for the rest of us. Life would be so much simpler, wouldn’t it, if our enemies were easily discerned.”
If only, Artemis thought. “They could wear placards that said, ‘Slay me, I’m evil.’”
Miss Ashcroft laughed and tugged on her ear. “That would be helpful.
“Witches are not your enemy. Most of us, anyway,” she added. “We are as unique and individual as any human. We come in all varieties, some good, some bad. It isn’t what we are that defines us, but who we choose to be.”
It was humbling being caught out in one’s own prejudices, but Miss Ashcroft was right.
“It makes people uncomfortable to see powers they don’t understand. But witch, warlock, Blaze—merely having power doesn’t make one inherently evil. It’s how you to choose to wield it that matters. We all have the potential for good or ill.” She seemed to look right into Artemis's soul. “I think you, of all people, can understand that.”
Does she know? How could she know?
“There’s a battle inside you as vast as the one outside.”
Artemis watched her uneasily, but for an entirely new reason. Her green eyes seemed so luminescent that Artemis could not look away from them. The room around them seemed to fade away. All that remained was the woman across from her. Even time beyond this moment seemed somehow out of reach. Everything, all that was, existed right here and now.
“The darkness is seductive; it makes tempting promises, offering power greater than you can imagine ….”
Artemis was transfixed. It was as though Miss Ashcroft could see inside her, could hear the whispers of the darkness that called out to her.
“But there is always a cost. A great and terrible cost.”
Yes. Artemis knew that the cost for her would be everyone she loved.
Miss Ashcroft took a small step forward, urgent but restrained.
“The light is stronger than the dark, Artemis. In the end, it always is. Trust yourself.”
In her soul she knew it was true, hoped it was true.
Suddenly, the rest of the world came back to her in a rush and she heard her father’s voice in the hall as he ushered his patient out. Miss Ashcroft gazed at her placidly. For a moment, Artemis wondered if all of that hadn’t been inside her head or if Miss Ashcroft had cast some sort of spell on her.
“Artemis,” her father said brightly as he came into the study, “I wonder if you might—”
He drew up short and cleared his throat. “Miss Ashcroft, I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Arthur wanted me to bring you a few books.”
“Did he?” He noticed the books sitting on the corner of his desk. “That was kind of you. How is he this morning?”
“Bored already.”
“It’s been less than twelve hours,” her father said with an amused chuckle.
“That’s Arthur,” she said returning his grin, but she quickly grew serious. “He told me about your Monsieur Leroux and I had a few thoughts. Artemis and I were just talking about them,” she added.
His brow raised in surprise. “Were you?”
Artemis was still slightly dazed—What just happened? Did she do something to me?
Her father leaned down to look her in the eye. “Are you all right?”
She shook off the last vestiges of whatever that had been, and then felt as though nothing had happened at all. She couldn’t remember what had pushed her off-balance. “Yes. I’m fine. We were talking about Leroux.”
“Right,” Miss Ashcroft picked up for her, “and I had some thoughts on what he might be up to.”
“If that’s the case, I’m all ears,” her father said.
She walked toward the fireplace, thinking as she spoke. “The Scepter of Heka is quite powerful, but most magic, the big stuff,” she said, turning around, “usually requires other tools: herbs or crystals, amulets, objects that provide focus to the spells, give it potency, direction.”
Artemis's father easily fell into academic mode as he sat on the corner of his desk. “Yes, I’ve read quite a bit about that. Some crystals conduct magic in much the same way as metals conduct electricity.”
“And unless I’m mistaken,” Miss Ashcroft said with a nod, “the sort he’d need to use with something as powerful as the scepter aren’t available in your average shop.”
Her father stood, following the current of her thought that so far completely escaped Artemis. “But they are available in your less than average shop?”
Miss Ashcroft grinned in reply.
“The Night Market,” he said, almost reverently.
“What’s that?” Artemis asked.
Miss Ashcroft’s smile grew. “A very special place.”
“I’ve always wanted to see this,” Artemis's father said as he helped Miss Ashcroft out of their carriage, followed by Artemis.
Miss Ashcroft looked around the small but busy street in Wapping. “Not many outsiders have.”
“Will they let us in?” he asked.
“As long as you’re with me,” Miss Ashcroft said.
“We’ll be back in an hour or so,” he told Tommy, who looked at them dubiously as Miss Ashcroft led them toward a small side street leading to the shores of the Thames.
The dockland area was a rather rough part of town, filled with wharves and seamen who called it home. The air smelled vaguely of fish and decay. The building Miss Ashcroft stopped in front of appeared as nondescript as a building could be. It was neither large nor small and whatever letters had once been emblazoned on the side of the wood planks were long since faded from the old warehouse.
She rapped smartly three times on a rickety old wood door. Moments later a burly looking man roughly the size of two steamships yanked it open. His surly expression softened into a spreading grin immediately upon seeing her.
“Wotcher, Izzy.”
“Hello, Otto.”
His grin faded a little as he noticed Artemis and her father.
“They’re with me,” Miss Ashcroft said.
Otto appeared ready to give them trouble, but Miss Ashcroft spoke again.
“I will be responsible for anything that happens.”
That seemed to mollify his concern, but only just. “All right,” he said, then jerked his head toward the inside. “G’won.”
He stepped aside, not returning either her or her father’s smiles of thanks. As they crossed the threshold, a prickle of energy caressed her skin.
Must be the wards letting me pass through.
She wasn’t sure what to expect when she stepped inside, but a completely empty warehouse wasn’t it. The only thing it stored now was dust, and plenty of it.
At their apparent confusion, Miss Ashcroft didn’t bother to fight her knowing smile. “This way.”
She stopped near the middle of the room and tugged on Artemis's arm. “A little closer. Don’t be alarmed.”
There was nothing more guaranteed to instigate alarm in a person than a warning against it. Artemis tensed and waited. Her father edged slightly closer to her and they waited.
A moment later, the very ground beneath them seemed to shudder and her father grabbed ahold of her arm. He looked at Miss Ashcroft with concern, concern that grew as the patch of floor they were standing on slowly began to break away from the rest and to lower itself into the ground.
Or was the rest the building rising?
It was an odd sensation, and Artemis wasn’t sure what to make of it until the platform they were standing on moved completely beneath the warehouse and a low railing rose up to create a half-cage around them.
Four small lights, each attached to a corner of their lift, came on and she could see the rough-hewn walls of stone around them pass as they were lowered deeper and deeper into the ground.
The dim light from the warehouse above them disappeared as two trap doors closed, sealing them in the tunnel like miners going down into a shaft.
Unable to stop herself, Artemis moved hesitantly to the railing and peered over.
“Artemis,” her father said uneasily.
She leaned forward and tried to see down to the bottom but it was only darkness.
“How far down is it?” she asked.
“About one hundred feet, I think,” Miss Ashcroft answered. “Deep enough to get us under the Thames, anyway.”
“Under the river?”
The corner of her mouth turned up enigmatically in reply, and they continued their slow descent, until finally, they reached the bottom and came to a stop with a jerk and a thump.
Miss Ashcroft slid back the accordion gate from one of the sides of their lift and pushed against two heavy wooden doors.
“Welcome to the Night Market,” she said as they swung open.
Now, this was a market.
“Remarkable,” her father said.
Artemis had to agree. Stretching out before her was an enormous tunnel lit by a string of lights dangling high overhead. The shaft was easily thirty feet across and half that distance high. How far under the river it extended, she couldn’t tell. There were too many people. Dozens and dozens coursed about, moving from one stall to the next. It was as if someone had taken Covent Gardens and shoved into a tube.
“Are all of these people witches?” Artemis asked.
“Some. All sorts come to the Night Market. Stay close,” she urged them as she walked into the market proper.
Small carts and larger stalls laden with wares lined either side of the tunnel. There were baskets filled to overflowing with herbs and flowers, vials filled with ocelot tears and jars of crocodile eggs and lizard hearts.
