CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The next morning, Dot and Theodora stepped out of the portal and into Hemmington’s department store.
Dot had on her new cloche hat and the rest of her smartest clothing which she had magazine-ordered in the months prior.
For the sake of her second meeting with the daemon, Salamander, she had even drawn in her eyebrows and put on mascara.
Theodora, however, was uncharacteristically unkempt.
She wore her usual silk blouse, but there was a stain by the collar.
Her trousers needed ironing. And, when they’d been falling through the whirling darkness of the portal, Dot caught a flash of fear in her eyes.
It was the witch who insisted Dot join her on the expedition to Hemmington’s, for without assessing the affliction, how could the daemon assist in the diagnosis? The thought of those leering, hungry eyes roving over her scales turned Dot’s stomach, but what choice did they have?
They had landed on a teleportation platform tiled with stars and sea creatures.
An attendant spirit nodded at them as they stepped off the platform and onto the plush carpet.
Another thud issued, and Dot turned to catch sight of two more Magicians stepping out of portals, each of them top-hatted, mink-coated and lighting up pipes.
Theodora led her briskly through the department store while Dot’s head twisted this way and that, spotting a tiered table of cakes, exquisite shelves of haberdashery and a wall of parakeets in wooden cages that reminded her so extremely of her exchange with the King that she felt her stomach tighten.
The store was eight floors of shoes and pocketbooks and artworks and jewels and porcelain and fine armoires and strings of pearls by the metre.
They came to an elevator.
‘To the top, Madame Kae?s?’
A small spirit in livery addressed Theodora. He looked like a bleached frog.
‘Yes,’ said Theodora, ‘thank you.’
The spirit shut the doors for them, waving as he disappeared from view. The car soared upward and Dot, having never been in an elevator before, grasped the rail.
‘Who are you here?’ asked Dot. ‘A bear baiter? A professional dancer?’
‘A foreign sorcerer’s daughter,’ said Theodora with a tired smile.
‘I see,’ said Dot. ‘Madame Kae?s, why does Salamander run a department store?’
‘Because he’s conniving,’ said the witch.
‘Before the daemotion, it helped to obfuscate his experiments. After, I suppose he decided that Hemmington’s would be a good tool to help rebuild his reputation.
What better way to do that than to sell shoes and pretty purses and earn himself mountains of silver? ’
‘Spirits have no use for silver,’ said Dot.
‘They do not, but we do,’ said Theodora.
‘He gives much of the profits to charity, and so Salamander’s generosity is printed in the papers every other month.
There are many patients in Alliastran hospitals who owe Salamander a great deal.
Orphanages, schools, and so on. His packet spell trade, that’s off the record – and that’s what he uses to fund the political parties. Very methodical, Salamander.’
Dot grimaced, and she shivered involuntarily at the memory of the daemon’s hungry eyes licking over her.
When the elevator opened once more, they stepped out onto a decadent green carpet and were enveloped by the smell of garlic, sausage and coffee.
‘Good morning,’ said Theodora to a purple catfish-like spirit, two metres tall with spectacles above her whiskers.
The archway behind her led to a lavish bistro of stained-glass lamps and hanging ferns and ivy.
Morning sun streamed through the large windows that overlooked the city of Alliaster, illuminating the breakfasters who drank deeply from tea cups and cut into their toast and croissants.
‘Madame Kae?s,’ said the spirit. ‘Are you after your usual table?’ The spirit glanced behind herself. ‘I am terribly sorry to let you know that it is presently occupied by the spirit Marcidus, Mr Delané and some fellows of their invitation.’
‘Of course it is,’ said Theodora. ‘Not to worry. Casimir is the one I’m here to see.’
The spirit wheezed with relief, and Theodora and Dot entered the bistro.
As they walked along its wide windows, Dot spotted the mountains and oceans through the glass.
The cream-coloured dome of the National Library was just visible to the north-west. They were not, however, facing the correct way to see Saint Penelope’s Cathedral and Dot swallowed a small glob of disappointment.
Theodora took her arm. ‘What name would you like?’
‘Doesn’t Salamander already know my name is Knox?’ asked Dot.
‘Salamander knows the King thinks your name is Knox. That’s no reason to give him, and Marcidus and the rest of them, your real name. What would you like? Margot? Denise?’
‘Jane,’ said Dot, ‘um . . . Spectre.’
‘This way, Jane.’ Theodora steered her through the tables and they halted, at last, before a man sat between spirits.
‘Kae?s,’ said the man, his voice coarse.
A smile split over his face. He was perhaps thirty, with one arm resting languidly across the back of the chair beside him and a cigarette poised between his fingers.
His shirt, which gaped open, revealed winding runes tattooed across his chest. His skin was olive, his nose hooked, his hair dark.
His eyes locked on Dot and she dropped her gaze immediately. ‘What spells have you for me today?’
Dot looked at the spirits. The first was hairy and green.
The second and third were identical, with blue plumage and aprons on their front, the fabric printed with the respective runes for ‘malice’ and ‘murder’.
The fourth was an amorphous spirit who Dot had seen on a few occasions in the Raven’s Attic – the opposition minister, Marcidus.
‘No spells, Casimir,’ said Theodora. ‘We’re after your boss.’
Casimir glanced at Marcidus for a moment, then he nodded slowly, his hair falling around his eyes. Those eyes flicked now to Dot.
‘This is the apprentice, then?’
It took a moment before Dot realised it was her turn to speak.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Yes, I am. I’m Jane.’
Casimir raised his eyebrows at her. ‘This’ll be fun.’
Dot’s face turned hot; there was something lewd about the way his eyes trailed over her.
‘How old are you?’ asked Casimir.
‘Old enough,’ said Dot in a panic. Immediately she regretted it, for Casimir’s eyebrows rose even higher and a smirk appeared on his mouth.
‘Old enough for what?’
Dot forced her eyes to meet his and said plainly, ‘I’ve no interest in you, Mr Delané. Please take us to Salamander and stop wasting our time.’
‘Ha!’ cried Theodora in a squawk. Several of the nearby patrons glanced at her, but she did not lower her voice. Her eyes regained some of their twinkle. ‘Hear that, Cas? No interest! Before you’d even turned up the charm, too. I told you.’
Casimir shook his head, smiling.
‘She’ll come around.’
Dot scowled, and Theodora let out another hiss of laughter. She patted Dot on the arm.
‘Wise girl,’ said the amorphous spirit.
‘Indeed, she is, Marcidus,’ said Theodora. ‘Now, apologies to all of you, but up you get, Mr Delané. We have a daemon to speak with.’
Casimir took a long drag of his cigarette and stubbed it in the glass ashtray.
‘Fine,’ he said, breathing out the smoke. ‘I’ll take you to Salamander.’
Casimir led them to the back of the bistro, through a hidden door next to the kitchen and down several hallways.
He stopped before a door made of thick metal and wrenched it open to reveal an elevator.
Theodora stepped inside and, after a flicker of hesitation, Dot followed.
The first elevator had been delicate and crafted of glass; this, however, was submarine heavy as if ready to plunge deeper than the giant squids of the South Sea.
Casimir pulled the lever and down they descended.
After an impossibly long time, the elevator drew to a clunking stop, and Casimir wrenched the door open.
Theodora lit a plume of fire to illuminate the way as they descended the dark corridors of wet concrete.
Dot waggled her jaw and tried to unblock her ears, lagging behind.
The space stank of mould and pondweed, so she breathed through her mouth.
Theodora and Casimir chatted as they walked.
Their conversation was a hush of inside jokes and sarcastic remarks and Dot remembered that this was the man Theodora had met at the markets – he seemed to know her name wasn’t Kae?s.
Dot would have dwelled further on this but she noticed that the hallway sloped downward, dragging them deeper beneath Alliaster, and her heart quickened.
At length, they came to a final door with a metal handwheel at its centre.
‘One moment,’ said Casimir and he eyed Dot again.
She was taller than him, yet he tipped back his head and surveyed her in an arrogant sort of way that made her feel as if she were no larger than a goldfish.
She grimaced and he chuckled and took both sides of the handwheel and, with some exertion, twisted it.
A dull thunk sounded, and Casimir heaved open the door.
With a flourish of his hand, he waved them inside.
Within was total darkness as Dot had never seen it.
Theodora extinguished the ball of firelight.
When Dot did not move, the witch took her arm, her hand still warm from the flame.
Somewhere behind them, Casimir shut the door.
There was a hitch to the witch’s breathing, Dot realised. Theodora was frightened.
‘Kae?s?’ came a voice from the darkness.
‘It is indeed,’ called Theodora, her voice sounding calm and firm enough.
A set of lamps flicked on and the space was illuminated in low, green light.
They stood in a large room constructed of wet, dark bricks on every side.
Dot spotted a drain in the centre of the floor and, at the far back, a water tank so large it might fit a blue whale. Instead, it held the daemon.