Read Online Corbenic by Catherine Fisher - Free Book Online Page A

of the desk and looked at the bundle. For a moment he thought of Bron, that bitter agony of disappointment, that pain. Bron had been real. So had the girl. And the cup, the Grail, as she called it. Maybe . . .
    The door opened; Phyllis came in and raised an eyebrow. “Packing up?” she asked drily, her sharp eyes going straight to the clock. And quite suddenly Cal couldn’t stand the office another minute; the stale room, the stink of the photocopier, the clattering of printers. He picked up the bundle quickly. “Feel a bit queasy. Thought I’d finish early and get some air.”
    â€œIf that’s all right with your uncle,” she said so sourly he could almost hear the acid. Dragon, he thought. As soon as he was gone she’d go hissing to Trevor but that could wait. He grabbed his coat from the peg and swung past her. “See you next week,” he said to the closed door. He walked fast through the outer office, said good night to the glamorous typist who winked at him, and thundered down the stairs into the street, pulling his coat on and dragging in deep breaths of icy air. Freedom! Thank God.
    It was getting dark, the streetlights were coming on, the gleam of lit windows spilling over the pavements. His breath made clouds; he pulled his gloves on and walked quickly, sword under arm, the cold air shocking him back into alertness, his face stinging with the coming night frost.
    The quickest way down into town was through Castle Dell. He crossed the road, and the streetlights reddened, dull scarlet glimmers high in the misty darkness. The side street was quiet, with few cars. He followed the railings as far as the gate, and turned into the foggy darkness of the Dell. It sloped deeply into the old dry moat of the castle. On his left were trees, black against the purple twilight, and the concrete path ran down into mist, the lamps smaller here and spread out, their islands of light faint and drifting.
    His footsteps were loud; he tried to walk more softly. In daylight this was a busy path, full of dog walkers and small kids out with their mothers, but now in the closing winter night it was lonely and strange and as he went deeper the moat rose around him, crowded with tangled trees and brambles, and behind them, ominously high from down here, the sheer, ruthless bastions of the castle wall.
    He stopped, breathing hard. The night smelled of smoke. It was bitterly cold. In front of him the path was black. If there was another lamp the fog had swallowed it. And it seemed to him, with a shiver of fear, that he had done it again, walked straight out of the normal world into some other that was always there waiting for him, in his mind, at twilight, on borders and boundaries, shadowy crossroads. And if he went on, if he walked down there, it would change his whole life, if he didn’t turn back right now, back to the lit streets, the office, Trevor’s lift in the warm car.
    The sword felt awkward, prodding him urgently; he shifted its weight, and looked behind. The frosty halo of the last lamp lit the bark of a tree; far off, down in the town, cars hummed over the bridge. Here, only the breeze moved. He walked on. At once it was colder, as if the sun never got this deep. Spiny branches crowded the path, furred with frost. Gravel crunched underfoot; he pulled the scarf over his face, ducking under twigs. As if he had traveled into some forest, because the path was not like this in the daytime.
    Something straight loomed up on his right: a lamppost, dark. Broken glass snapped under his shoes; he moved the pieces with his foot, thoughtfully. And hanging on the branch of a bush was a whole dustbin lid, right in the path. He stopped. The lid was tied, and it swung. As he tried to duck under it the sword struck it hard; there was a great looming clatter. And as if in answer the voice came from behind him. It said, “The mobile phone. And the wallet. Quick!”
    Cal turned fast. The man was