Read Online Lye Street by Alan Campbell, Dave McKean - Free Book Online Page A

asked Greene.
    "Doubtful," said Cope. "They fear the Forest of Teeth, and the things which dwell in there."
    "Well my mind's at rest," said Greene. "Let's get it over with."
    They marched over a carpet of crisp leaves. Greene spied what appeared to be another clearing, a short distance ahead of them through the trees. He saw flashes and sparkles of light there, as of a great confusion of silvered mirrors. And now he thought he heard sounds upon the air, like faint metallic music.
    Cope stopped and scratched the brim of his tall hat.
    "What is it?" asked Greene.
    "I've just had worrying thought"
    "About something that lies ahead?"
    Cope nodded. "We didn't bring tools." He set off again.
    The prospector exchanged a glance with the phantasmacist, then followed the other man into the clearing.
    It was a tree of swords. This sentinel stood in the centre of a circle of dry earth, its steel branches glittering under the pale sky. The lower part of the trunk had been wrapped in stained leather cord, like the grip of a heavily used weapon, while the upper bole split into many vicious steel branches. Long thin blades jutted out at every angle, these in turn sprouting smaller and smaller blades, like knives and needles. By the size and curve of each branch, Greene took them to be bastard swords, cutlasses, daggers and stilettos, all beautifully forged and polished to a mirror-like sheen.
    Beyond the tree lay a wicked forest of metal, a thicket so dazzling as to pain the eye. The trees crowded together in the sunshine to form a blinding hedge of razor sharp edges. Greene couldn't see a way through it.
    "My master was fond of his weapons," said Cope. "And it is here that that aspect of Basilis transforms the dream of this hound. These are the teeth of the demon, Gentlemen. We must be wary. My master may protect us from the forest, or he may choose to sacrifice either of you. It's often hard to tell."
    Ravencrag growled in his throat. "I'm not walking through that."
    "Then please remain here," said Cope. "Should you encounter Wirralwights, Red Spleeners or Needlechildren, or even – Gods forbid – Armstrong Hackwish and his three blind wives, I trust you will remember to make the appropriate signs before you flee? These creatures are not mere witless insects."
    "I rue the day I met you, Cope."
    The three men walked into the forest of swords, following the thaumaturge, who led them along a narrow track through the steel. A cold breeze blew, shivering the metal. The trees rasped. Needles tinkled. Everything glittered and flashed until Greene felt dizzy and disoriented. He saw reflections in the blades all around: of his own haggard face, Ravencrag's scowl, and Cope's sardonic smile. He smelled leather and metal. Sharp edges crowded in on them, ever threatening to pluck the flesh from their shoulders. Even the ground over which they travelled felt hard and jagged underfoot and in places the tips of swords broke through the cracked earth and split the soles of Greene's boots. The prospector wrapped his heavy topcoat around himself. He decided he would rather not be forced to flee through this cruel forest.
    "Why don't we just grab one of these branches?" he said to Othniel Cope.
    "By all means, try," replied Cope.
    The prospector eyed a likely tree: a monstrous, buckled thing bristling with serrated long swords, short swords, rapiers, foils, and a scintillating canopy of knives.
    He pressed the heels of both hands against the flat of a good-sized blade, and pushed. The metal flexed, but remained firmly attached to the tree. He reached around the steel to pull it towards him, and winced in sudden pain. A line of blood welled across his left palm. He cursed and squeezed the hand under his armpit. "Razor sharp," he said.
    "I could have told you that," muttered Ravencrag.
    "And yet you didn't."
    The thaumaturge tipped his hat further back on his head. "It is as I thought," he said. "My master wishes us to take a particular sword; one which best