ssuccinctly sstated:
take your own damn time
.’
Pen watched the synod, and the synod, patient and inexorable as geological forces, watched her back.
‘I need your help,’ she said at last.
‘Why elssse would you come?’
‘So … How does this work?’
The five oil-soaked men shrugged, their shoulders rising and falling in an undulating symmetrical wave, starting with Johnny and rippling to the two taller figures on the flanks.
‘You sstate a desssire,’ Johnny said. ‘We sset a price. It’ss esssentially sshopping.’
There was a little pebble of tension in Pen’s throat. If they couldn’t help her, she had nothing. ‘I need to go behind the mirrors,’ she said. ‘I need to go to London-Under-Glass.’
There was silence, broken only by the ruffling of oily wings.
Johnny Naphtha hissed slowly through his teeth. He sounded like a bit like a plumber, just before telling you that the last guy was a total cowboy and that the cost of the parts would be roughly equal to the mortgage on a house in Hamp-stead and the price of a couple of kidneys.
‘We ssseldom ssee that sside of the glasss. The cossst will be sssignificant.’
Pen drew a deep breath. ‘I’ll pay.’
A thin smirk spread over five pairs of lips. ‘What makess you think you can afford usss?’ Johnny’s eyes were black on black, but there was a circular rainbow shimmer in the centre like an iris.
Pen focused on that patch of colour and straightened up. ‘You trade in anything, right?’ she said. ‘So there must be something I’ve got that you want – something about me that’s valuable, even if I don’t know it. You can have it, but get me through that mirror.’
Five heads tilted in interest, and Pen felt herself shrink a little. ‘Only I won’t hurt anyone,’ she added.
There was nothing cruel in Johnny Naphtha’s voice as he said, ‘Of courssse you will.’
The five men stood and buttoned their jackets. ‘Thiss way, Ssteel Insssurgent.’ Johnny reached out to Pen. ‘We have a propossition.’
Pen swallowed, hesitated and took his hand.
She felt the wrongness instantly. The pads of his fingers squeezed between hers and the oil spread over her skin, chill and viscous. She tried to jerk her hand back, but his arm just stretched, strung out like chewed gum.
‘What are—?’ she started, but her voice died in her throat. Johnny Naphtha’s face was melting, his features running in an oil slick off his neck. The others were doing likewise, their feet blending into an oily pool. Rivulets raced off the side of it and ran over the edge of the floor.
‘Wai—’ Pen tried to say, but her teeth felt as soft as candlewax against her tongue, and in front of her she could see her hand blending, emulsifying into what was left of Johnny’s.
She felt a drunken kind of falling and all the colours in the world ran together into black.
*
She gasped, and her lungs drew in dust and she choked and coughed. She couldn’t see, but there was brick, rough and solid under her knees and palms. She blinked and brought her free hand up to rub her eyes, but the blindness clung on.
There was a snap-click-hiss and five flames appeared, bobbing alarmingly over lighters in oil-soaked hands. The synod smiled down at her.
‘I—’ she managed at last. ‘I thought you’d …’ There was only one word that fitted the memory of the creep of oil over her skin. ‘I thought you’d
eaten
me.’
‘Why? When did we sssay we’d require payment in advance?’
The smiles remained the same; she couldn’t tell if he was joking.
‘Well then, next time d’you mind asking before you melt me?’ Pen demanded.
‘Excussse usss, Sssteel Inssurgent,’ Johnny whispered courteously, ‘we undersssstood you to be in hassste. It iss a sseven-hour desscent through the dark to where we sssstand by bipedal means. And ssome of the ssspaces you would need to traversssse would be,
disssquieting
.’
He offered her his hand, but Pen ignored it and pushed
take your own damn time
.’
Pen watched the synod, and the synod, patient and inexorable as geological forces, watched her back.
‘I need your help,’ she said at last.
‘Why elssse would you come?’
‘So … How does this work?’
The five oil-soaked men shrugged, their shoulders rising and falling in an undulating symmetrical wave, starting with Johnny and rippling to the two taller figures on the flanks.
‘You sstate a desssire,’ Johnny said. ‘We sset a price. It’ss esssentially sshopping.’
There was a little pebble of tension in Pen’s throat. If they couldn’t help her, she had nothing. ‘I need to go behind the mirrors,’ she said. ‘I need to go to London-Under-Glass.’
There was silence, broken only by the ruffling of oily wings.
Johnny Naphtha hissed slowly through his teeth. He sounded like a bit like a plumber, just before telling you that the last guy was a total cowboy and that the cost of the parts would be roughly equal to the mortgage on a house in Hamp-stead and the price of a couple of kidneys.
‘We ssseldom ssee that sside of the glasss. The cossst will be sssignificant.’
Pen drew a deep breath. ‘I’ll pay.’
A thin smirk spread over five pairs of lips. ‘What makess you think you can afford usss?’ Johnny’s eyes were black on black, but there was a circular rainbow shimmer in the centre like an iris.
Pen focused on that patch of colour and straightened up. ‘You trade in anything, right?’ she said. ‘So there must be something I’ve got that you want – something about me that’s valuable, even if I don’t know it. You can have it, but get me through that mirror.’
Five heads tilted in interest, and Pen felt herself shrink a little. ‘Only I won’t hurt anyone,’ she added.
There was nothing cruel in Johnny Naphtha’s voice as he said, ‘Of courssse you will.’
The five men stood and buttoned their jackets. ‘Thiss way, Ssteel Insssurgent.’ Johnny reached out to Pen. ‘We have a propossition.’
Pen swallowed, hesitated and took his hand.
She felt the wrongness instantly. The pads of his fingers squeezed between hers and the oil spread over her skin, chill and viscous. She tried to jerk her hand back, but his arm just stretched, strung out like chewed gum.
‘What are—?’ she started, but her voice died in her throat. Johnny Naphtha’s face was melting, his features running in an oil slick off his neck. The others were doing likewise, their feet blending into an oily pool. Rivulets raced off the side of it and ran over the edge of the floor.
‘Wai—’ Pen tried to say, but her teeth felt as soft as candlewax against her tongue, and in front of her she could see her hand blending, emulsifying into what was left of Johnny’s.
She felt a drunken kind of falling and all the colours in the world ran together into black.
*
She gasped, and her lungs drew in dust and she choked and coughed. She couldn’t see, but there was brick, rough and solid under her knees and palms. She blinked and brought her free hand up to rub her eyes, but the blindness clung on.
There was a snap-click-hiss and five flames appeared, bobbing alarmingly over lighters in oil-soaked hands. The synod smiled down at her.
‘I—’ she managed at last. ‘I thought you’d …’ There was only one word that fitted the memory of the creep of oil over her skin. ‘I thought you’d
eaten
me.’
‘Why? When did we sssay we’d require payment in advance?’
The smiles remained the same; she couldn’t tell if he was joking.
‘Well then, next time d’you mind asking before you melt me?’ Pen demanded.
‘Excussse usss, Sssteel Inssurgent,’ Johnny whispered courteously, ‘we undersssstood you to be in hassste. It iss a sseven-hour desscent through the dark to where we sssstand by bipedal means. And ssome of the ssspaces you would need to traversssse would be,
disssquieting
.’
He offered her his hand, but Pen ignored it and pushed
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