Any Other Name (The Split Worlds) - By Emma Newman Page 0,1
protect him against the quiet violence of the city. He strolled to an elaborate tomb, past an ornate blue drinking fountain and up to the church. He didn’t go inside when he heard music coming from within, not wanting to interrupt anything, so he walked around the back and came across an oak tree with dozens of gravestones stacked at its base.
He stared at the way the roots had grown between the slabs until the stones and the tree looked like they’d always been one. There was probably a metaphor for life and death in there somewhere.
“Hello!”
He jumped and looked for the source of the high-pitched voice. It sounded like a–
“Down here!”
He crouched and peered into the dark crevice between two gravestones. A tiny face moved out of the shadow for a moment and then an equally tiny hand waved at him. It was the faerie from Exilium, the one who’d led him and Cathy to Lord Poppy.
“Bloody hell! What are you doing here?” he whispered. “I thought you guys were trapped in Exilium.”
“We can come through in the oldest places, if we’re very careful. How clever of you to come here.”
“I had no idea… wait – what do you mean?”
“You want to come back, don’t you? To Exilium?” When he nodded, it clapped its hands. “I’ll take you. Close your eyes.”
He hesitated. The first time he’d met one of them in Mundanus they’d Charmed the fuck out of his brain and practically ruined his life. The second time he met one, Cathy had walloped it with a plate. He was fairly certain this one was actually helpful in Exilium, but not certain enough.
“I promise I’m taking you into Exilium to help you,” it said. “I won’t take you anywhere horrid or turn you inside out.”
Sam remembered the people he had to find. How else was he going to get there? He closed his eyes. There was a brief tickle on his left eyelid, then on the right, and his ears popped.
He was struck by a distinct change in air quality; the grim fumes he’d already become accustomed to in London had been replaced by the sweet scent of flowers.
“We’re here!”
Sam opened his eyes. The blue of the sky made him ache for childhood summers, playing outside in seemingly endless sunshine, and the grass was so verdant it made him doubt he’d ever seen real grass before.
Then he remembered what Cathy told him: people could get lost there forever if they didn’t stay focused. He looked at the faerie. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any blonde people here lately? They’re from Mundanus.”
The faerie flashed an excited smile. “Oh, yes! Would you like me to take you to them?”
“Yes! Brilliant!” Sam said, following as it set off. Maybe this heroic rescue thing wasn’t going to be so hard after all.
Catherine sat in her nightdress. Her feet were cold; the slippers were still tucked neatly in their usual place just to the left of her bare toes. Leaden, she leaned back towards the welcoming divot her head had made overnight.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” the maid dashed over to pull Cathy onto her feet. “Time to get up now, Miss Papaver! There’s so much to do. The mistress said I need to wash you quick.”
The nightdress was pulled off her and the sponge rubbed up and down her arms. Cathy watched the activity with complete detachment. “So much to do,” the maid had said. That resonated.
“You must be so excited,” the maid gabbled. Cathy wondered if she’d been talking all along and she just hadn’t realised it.
She was about to ask why when the maid had already moved onto another subject. All she wanted to do was lie down and go back to sleep. Once she’d been washed and dried, an unfamiliar silk dressing gown was tied about her waist.
Cathy could feel a flutter of something unpleasant in her stomach. Had something bad happened? Was that why there was so much noise?
She could hear servants clattering up and down the stairs. The house was filled with the sound of orders being given and occasional shrieks from her sister down the hallway. The latter was nothing new.
“Come on, now,” the maid said. She’d opened the door and was looking at her expectantly. Cathy assumed she wanted her to leave, but walking felt like a distant memory of something she once did to pass the time. “You’re to be dressed in your mother’s dressing room today.”
“Why?” Cathy fought to form her lips around the word.