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Here, the House was a sprawling Gothic mansion, with grotesquely carved stone and woodwork, latticed windows, cupolas, garrets, leering gargoyles peering down from the roof, and a tangle of twisted chimneys. Set out before the House, a delicate wicker bridge crossed the dark and murky waters of the moat, leading to a small zoo of animal shapes in greenery, and deep purple lawns. Ancient trees with long gnarled branches like clutching fingers stood guard over a garden whose flowers were famously as ferocious as they were stu
Jubilee finally deigned to notice the personage standing before her. He didn’t need to a
“Don’t,” Jubilee said immediately. “Just . . . don’t. What do you want here, Prince Airgedlamh?”
“I come on moonfleet heels, faster than the winter winds or summer tides, walking the hidden ways to bear you words of great import and urgency . . .”
“And you can cut that out, too; I don’t have the patience,” said Jubilee. “What do you want?”
“It has been made known to us,” the Elven Prince said stiffly, “that many of the old magics, the pacts and agreements laid down when this House was first agreed on, are not being properly maintained, as required in that Place where all that matters is decided. I must make an inspection.”
“Now?”
“Yes. I have the proper authority.”
“Buttocks,” said Jubilee, with more than ordinary force. “All right, you’d better come in. And wipe those armored boots properly. The floor gets very bad-tempered if you track mud over it.”
PETER LED MISTERCuthbert around the House. Because the man from the local Council had entered the House from the everyday world, that was the aspect of the House he should see. So it always had been, and so it must always be, in the House that links the worlds, if only because most people can’t cope with more than one world at a time. Mister Cuthbert took his own sweet time looking around the kitchen, sniffing loudly to demonstrate his disapproval of absolutely everything, and then allowed Peter to lead him out into the main hall.
“How many rooms in this residence, Mister Caine?” Mister Cuthbert demanded, peering suspiciously about him.
Peter didn’t like to say It depends, so he just guessed. “Nine?”
“Oh dear,” Mister Cuthbert said smugly, shaking his head happily. “Oh dear, oh dear, Mister Caine . . . That doesn’t agree with our information at all! I shall have to make a note.”
And he got out a notepad and pen and took his own sweet time about making the note. Peter tried to lean in to see what he was writing, but Mister Cuthbert immediately turned away so he couldn’t.
“I haven’t been here that long,” said Peter. “The wife and I only moved in three years ago.”
“You haven’t gotten around to counting the number of rooms in your house, in three years, Mister Caine?”
“I’ve had a lot on my plate,” said Peter.
“So; you don’t actually own this desirable residence?” said Mister Cuthbert.
“We hold it in trust,” said Peter. “It’s like the National Trust. Only more so. You’ll find that all the proper paperwork was submitted to the Council long ago . . .”
Mister Cuthbert sniffed loudly, to indicate he didn’t believe that for one moment but would let it go for now. He was so busy with this little performance that he didn’t notice all the faces in the portraits on the walls turning to look at him. Disapprovingly. Mister Cuthbert wasn’t supposed to notice anything of that nature, but with the avoidance spells malfunctioning, God alone knew what else might go wrong in the House . . .
Two small hairy things chased their ball down the hall and then slammed to an abrupt halt to stare at Mister Cuthbert.
“My niece and nephew,” Peter said quickly. “They’re visiting.”
“What a charming young boy and girl,” said Mister Cuthbert, just a bit vaguely. And to him, they probably were. Though given his expression, charming was probably pushing it a bit. He reached out to pat them on the head, but some last-minute self-preservation instinct made him realize this wasn’t a good idea, and he pulled his hand back again. Peter hurried him past the hairy things and showed him the downstairs rooms. Mister Cuthbert was, if anything, even less impressed than before and made a number of notes in his little book. Finally, they went upstairs.
“We have two Guests staying with us at the moment,” Peter said carefully. There were others, but none of them the kind that Mister Cuthbert could usefully be introduced to. “In the first room we have a young lady called Lee, visiting from the Isle of Man. Next door is Joh
“Early?” said Mister Cuthbert. “I myself have been up for hours. I am not the sort to let the day pass me by when there is important work to be done. Oh no; I must see everything, while I’m here. And everyone. My job requires it.” He stopped suddenly and looked about him. “What the hell was that?”
“The hot water boiler, up in the attic,” Peter said quickly. “It’s temperamental. Though you’ll have to bring your own ladder, if you want to inspect it. We don’t go up there.”
“The boiler can be inspected on a future visit,” Mister Cuthbert conceded. “There must be something seriously wrong with it, if it can make noises like that. Sounded very much like something . . . growling.”
“Oh you are such a wag, Mister Cuthbert,” said Peter. “Such a sense of humor.”
Mister Cuthbert headed for the Guest rooms. Peter glared up at the attic. “Keep a lid on it, Grandfather Grendel! We’ve got a visitor!”
He hurried after Mister Cuthbert, who had stopped outside the first Guest door. Peter moved quickly in and knocked very politely on the door.
“Lee? This is Peter. We have a caller from the local Council. Are you decent?”
“Close as I ever get, darling,” said a rich sultry voice from inside the room. “Come on in, boys. The more the merrier, that’s what I always say.”
Peter swallowed hard, smiled meaninglessly at Mister Cuthbert, and put all his trust in the House’s special nature. Fortunately, when he and Mister Cuthbert entered the room, it all seemed perfectly normal, if a bit gloomy. A slim and very pale teenage Goth girl was reclining on an unmade bed, dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt bearing the legend I’m only wearing this till they come up with a darker color. She also wore steel-studded black leather bracelets around her wrists and throat. Her unhealthily pale face boasted more dark eye makeup than a panda on the pull, and bloodred lips. The bedroom walls were covered with posters featuring The Cure, The Mission, and Fields Of the Nephilim. The girl rose unhurriedly to her feet, every movement smooth and elegant and just that little bit disturbing, and then she smiled slowly at Mister Cuthbert. Peter moved instinctively to put himself between Lee and the man from the Council.
“Just introducing Mister Cuthbert to the Guests, Lee,” he said quickly. “He can’t stay long. He has to get back. Because people might notice if he went missing.”
Lee pouted. “I don’t know why you keep going on about that. It was just the one time.”
“Are you . . . comfortable here?” said Mister Cuthbert, apparently because he felt he should be saying something.
“Oh yes,” said Lee. “Very comfortable.” She smiled widely at Mister Cuthbert, and there was a flash of very sharp teeth behind the dark lips.