Read Online The Slanted Worlds by Catherine Fisher - Free Book Online

on him. He opened his mouth to yell—a filthy gag was shoved in. He fought furiously but the beggars were fast—and the spy knew a few fiendish Eastern tricks too, because his feet were knocked from under him by a savage kick, and his arms whipped back and bound even as he struggled.
    They trussed him tight.
    Then Jake sat on his chest and said, “Keep still. And listen.”
    The drone of aircraft, high above.
    â€œI’m sorry to leave you here. I hope you’ll be okay. But I have to go. I want you to tell Allenby that I’m not a spy—he’s got it all wrong. I just walked in on this. Understand?”
    The sergeant swore again, furious and indistinct. Then his eyes slid with fear. Gideon leaned over him, a strange flint knife in his hand. “Why don’t we make sure he stays silent.”
    â€œAre you crazy?” Jake stared in disbelief.
    â€œIf he gets free . . .”
    â€œYou’ve been with the Shee too long. You’re turning into one of them.”
    â€œI’m as human as you are, mortal!” Gideon’s eyes were bright and fierce as a bird’s.
    For a moment he and Jake shared a bitter doubt.
    Then Gideon stood abruptly. “Do what you like. But let’s go.”
    In the doorway Jake winced as the building shook again. He was worried about leaving the man here during the air raid, but there was no choice—he had to get away. “Sorry,” he said. “Really sorry.”
    He slammed the cell door, and locked it.
    Then, after a second of bitter hesitation, he turned and tossed the keys in through the grille.
    â€œWhat are you doing!” Gideon grabbed him. “He’ll untie himself . . .”
    â€œI’m being human. We’ll be long gone. But first, I have to find that suitcase.”

    Wharton strolled into the kitchen just as Piers was saying “. . . must never know anything about it. But the teacher—”
    â€œWhat about the teacher?”
    Standing by the fire, Venn glanced up. His cold, clear gaze was an icy chill; it seemed to weigh Wharton in a second’s acute scrutiny. Then, surprisingly, he said, “I think the teacher is a man who can be trusted.”
    Piers sighed. He was sitting on the inglenook bench, absurdly cross-legged, wearing a white chef’s apron splashed liberally with what looked like tomato sauce. His small alert face was twisted in thought. Then he shrugged. “Your call, Excellency.”
    â€œTrusted with what?” Wharton demanded.
    Venn didn’t answer. Instead he went to the door and opened it, looking cautiously up the dim paneled corridor. He shut the door and came back, one of the seven black cats pacing behind him. Striding to the fire and staring at it, his back to Wharton, he said, “There’s something you should know. Unless . . . Has Jake ever spoken to you about the coin?”
    â€œWhat coin?”
    Piers scrambled up. “I’ll make some tea. Or coffee?”
    â€œHe hasn’t told you.” Venn turned. “So he has some discretion.”
    Wharton went and sat at the table. He pushed the unwashed dishes aside and said, “Coffee please, Piers. So maybe you should tell me, then.”
    Venn was wearing his usual dark jacket; his hair was dragged back with an easy carelessness that Wharton envied hopelessly. To Wharton’s surprise, he came and sat opposite, leaning his long arms on the table, his fingers interlocked.
    â€œThe night Sarah left. Christmas Day. On that night the man called Maskelyne told Jake and me something important about the mirror.”
    Wharton nodded. “The scarred man. He’s a strange character. He knows more than he’s letting on.”
    â€œI agree. Clearly his connection to the mirror is an old one. He owned it before Symmes, remember. He traveled through it unprotected—with no bracelet—and just about survived. He hungers to get it