Read Online Lye Street by Alan Campbell, Dave McKean - Free Book Online
Authors: Alan Campbell, Dave McKean
Tags: Fantasy
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help you, dear. I can make all that is ugly about you beautiful."
Carnival remained wary. She had no memory of her childhood or parents, even in her dreams. When she slept she dreamt of chains and knives and blood. More likely the witch meant Carnival harm. Everyone meant Carnival harm. Yet what if this old woman was speaking the truth? What was it about her face Carnival found so familiar?
I can help you, dear.
"I know you have been plagued by messages lately." Ruby's violet eyes twinkled. "They make demands of you, don't they? And you suspect you know who the author is, eh? Yet you're too afraid to accept the truth. Perhaps I can help to make the messages go away."
Outside, the crystal glasses trembled and chimed. Carnival retraced her steps through the attic and came back into the house through the roof terrace door, as she had been asked to do.
The witch's study was snug and smelled of lavender. Her display cabinets faced each other across the floor, the stuffed songbirds positioned on branches and twigs, all peering out with eyes that glittered like anthracite.
Ruby hung a kettle on a hook over the hearth, and then turned to face Carnival. "Oh my," she said. "Oh you poor child! I had forgotten how many darkmoons have passed since we last met, but I see every one of them now in the cuts on your face." She lifted a hand to touch Carnival's cheek.
Carnival recoiled.
The witch lowered her hand. "You mustn't be afraid. What harm can a frail old thing like me cause you , the strongest of all angels?" Slowly, she brought her hand up again. This time Carnival did not flinch away.
"So many scars," murmured Ruby, running her fingers gently across the lesions on Carnival's cheek. "So many lives taken." She cupped the angel's chin softly in her hand. "This is a mask, child," she said softly, and then with vigour: "And if you can wear one mask, then surely you can wear another?" She released Carnival. "Let's forego the tea for now. We have a great deal of work to do, and I suggest we begin at once."
Carnival's skin tingled. She had never allowed another person to touch her before.
The witch became full of energy and determination. "We can cover the scars and lift that horrid pallor from your skin with make-up and rouge. Your hair? Hah! It's like a crow's nest! A wash and comb will soon fix that. Your eyes are quite pretty, in a dark, brooding sort of way. They just need a spot of colour around them. I have just what we need in my dresser."
She beckoned Carnival into the next room.
But the angel was looking at the desk where the witch had been sitting. A small bird had been fixed to its surface, the wings stretched out and secured to the wood with silver pins. One wing was dull and grey, but the other was quite beautiful, with brilliant hues of yellow and red. Then Carnival noticed the jars of colourful paint on a shelf beside the desk, and a pot full of tiny brushes, and she understood what had happened.
"A little hobby of mine," said the witch.
Carnival followed the old lady. At the door she glanced back one last time at the little painted bird, with its tiny dead eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
When the smoke cleared, Greene found himself surrounded by woodland once more. Autumn, or perhaps merely the memory of Autumn, had turned the trees to shades of gold and copper. The sky was a very pale yellow and sunlight fell through the canopy in needle thin shafts. The smell of old leaves and earth hung heavy in the air.
"The Forest of Teeth?" he asked.
"Think of this as an antechamber," said Cope. "Here the hound's memories are strongest, but as we proceed, you will see that Basilis's influence consumes the beast's dream. This aspect of the demon is quite beautiful, as you shall soon see."
"You think teeth are beautiful?" Ravencrag spat on the ground. "Maybe to a hag who lacks her own...."
"Ignore him," said Green. "He misses his courting days."
The thaumaturge laughed.
"Are we likely to encounter more of those flea-men?"
Carnival remained wary. She had no memory of her childhood or parents, even in her dreams. When she slept she dreamt of chains and knives and blood. More likely the witch meant Carnival harm. Everyone meant Carnival harm. Yet what if this old woman was speaking the truth? What was it about her face Carnival found so familiar?
I can help you, dear.
"I know you have been plagued by messages lately." Ruby's violet eyes twinkled. "They make demands of you, don't they? And you suspect you know who the author is, eh? Yet you're too afraid to accept the truth. Perhaps I can help to make the messages go away."
Outside, the crystal glasses trembled and chimed. Carnival retraced her steps through the attic and came back into the house through the roof terrace door, as she had been asked to do.
The witch's study was snug and smelled of lavender. Her display cabinets faced each other across the floor, the stuffed songbirds positioned on branches and twigs, all peering out with eyes that glittered like anthracite.
Ruby hung a kettle on a hook over the hearth, and then turned to face Carnival. "Oh my," she said. "Oh you poor child! I had forgotten how many darkmoons have passed since we last met, but I see every one of them now in the cuts on your face." She lifted a hand to touch Carnival's cheek.
Carnival recoiled.
The witch lowered her hand. "You mustn't be afraid. What harm can a frail old thing like me cause you , the strongest of all angels?" Slowly, she brought her hand up again. This time Carnival did not flinch away.
"So many scars," murmured Ruby, running her fingers gently across the lesions on Carnival's cheek. "So many lives taken." She cupped the angel's chin softly in her hand. "This is a mask, child," she said softly, and then with vigour: "And if you can wear one mask, then surely you can wear another?" She released Carnival. "Let's forego the tea for now. We have a great deal of work to do, and I suggest we begin at once."
Carnival's skin tingled. She had never allowed another person to touch her before.
The witch became full of energy and determination. "We can cover the scars and lift that horrid pallor from your skin with make-up and rouge. Your hair? Hah! It's like a crow's nest! A wash and comb will soon fix that. Your eyes are quite pretty, in a dark, brooding sort of way. They just need a spot of colour around them. I have just what we need in my dresser."
She beckoned Carnival into the next room.
But the angel was looking at the desk where the witch had been sitting. A small bird had been fixed to its surface, the wings stretched out and secured to the wood with silver pins. One wing was dull and grey, but the other was quite beautiful, with brilliant hues of yellow and red. Then Carnival noticed the jars of colourful paint on a shelf beside the desk, and a pot full of tiny brushes, and she understood what had happened.
"A little hobby of mine," said the witch.
Carnival followed the old lady. At the door she glanced back one last time at the little painted bird, with its tiny dead eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
When the smoke cleared, Greene found himself surrounded by woodland once more. Autumn, or perhaps merely the memory of Autumn, had turned the trees to shades of gold and copper. The sky was a very pale yellow and sunlight fell through the canopy in needle thin shafts. The smell of old leaves and earth hung heavy in the air.
"The Forest of Teeth?" he asked.
"Think of this as an antechamber," said Cope. "Here the hound's memories are strongest, but as we proceed, you will see that Basilis's influence consumes the beast's dream. This aspect of the demon is quite beautiful, as you shall soon see."
"You think teeth are beautiful?" Ravencrag spat on the ground. "Maybe to a hag who lacks her own...."
"Ignore him," said Green. "He misses his courting days."
The thaumaturge laughed.
"Are we likely to encounter more of those flea-men?"
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