Read Online The Demon Curse by Simon Nicholson - Free Book Online Page B

It’s twice the size already. More people joining the whole time. Who knows what they’ll do if that Oscar Dupont keeps driving them on—Harry, what are you doing?”
    Harry had run over to the dumbwaiter. Deep in his chest, he felt his heart quicken and tiny flickers creeping over his body, making their way all over his skin. Good. He often felt these sensations before one of his tricks, and it made sense that he was feeling them now as he prepared for the task ahead. A little nervousness is a good thing—it helps with concentrating, with focusing the mind…
    He worked quickly, opening the wire shutter and peering into the polished wooden box inside. He turned the crank on the wall, the box lowered, and he saw the chain from which it hung and the empty shaft lined with pulleys and ropes. He put in his head and peered up. A narrow tunnel of darkness led upward, and toward the top of it, Harry made out a glimmer of light. The shutter in Mayor Monticelso’s office, two floors above.
    â€œHarry, didn’t you hear Billie? What are you doing?” Arthur asked. “That’s a dumbwaiter. It’s meant for transporting cups of tea and trays of dinner and—”
    â€œAnd the odd other thing.” Harry pushed his head in further and then wriggled his shoulders into the darkness too.
    â€œIt’s too small for you!” Billie’s voice echoed after him. “Anyway, we’re meant to be heading down to the lobby.”
    â€œThere’s a clerk waiting for us and everything!” Arthur’s voice echoed too.
    â€œTell them I got lost.” Harry couldn’t help smiling in the darkness.
    And he pulled the rest of himself into the narrow shaft, closed the shutter behind him with a boot, and scrambled upward.

Chapter 7
    â€œHarry?”
    Billie’s and Arthur’s voices echoed up through the darkness. Harry kept scrabbling, his boots and fingers finding holds. He gripped brackets, pulleys, ropes. Cement crumbled as he dug his fingernails between bricks. Sucking in lungfuls of dusty air, he tilted back his head and stared up.
    He could see that faint glow of light two floors above. He peered and saw crisscrossed shadows, the sign of a metal grille. He thought back over everything he had observed, checking that he had pieced together his map of the building correctly, that he was heading for the right place. He kept climbing, digging his fingers deeper into the brickwork of the shaft, only for a clump of clement to fall away, so that he slipped.
    He shot down through the dark. He flailed at the shaft’s sides, tearing skin from his hands, but his boots found a hold, and he jolted to a halt. His muscles shook; sweat crawled through the roots of his hair. Concentrate. Brick dust kept showering down on top of him, and he winced as it entered his mouth, coating his tongue. But he was already climbing again, finding new holds, making his way up the shaft.
    He stared at the brickwork. He thought about how, just a few inches away from his fingertips, uniformed servants and council men would be hurrying past smoothly plastered walls, with no idea about the small, dust-covered figure on the other side. Unseen, unknown, just like a trick— the thought gave him a new jolt of strength, and he picked up speed, pulling, tugging, levering himself upward until his head drew level with the wire shutter. It was latched on the other side, but Harry easily wiggled a finger through the mesh and flicked the latch. The shutter rattled up, and Harry tumbled into the office, brushing brick dust from his clothes.
    His boots sank into a deep-pile rug. He breathed in the air, fresh and clean after the shaft but still heavy with odors of leather and polished wood. The curtains of the office were drawn, but they glowed with light, the New Orleans sun blazing through their thick threads. Harry made out the door on the other side of the room, still ajar and with the red ribbon