Any Other Name (The Split Worlds) - By Emma Newman Page 0,10

of it as far as he could see, so dense the ground seemed to stop where it began, as if forming the edge of Exilium. The pillar looked like it was made of iron with copper bands riveted around it and was about six feet tall. It was covered in symbols and things that looked like algebraic equations written by an insane mathematician. Several thick iron chains ran from the top of the pillar and disappeared into the ground.

Poppy had also stopped and planted his cane in the ground. “Well, I need to go to the wedding now,” he said, turning slightly so the shape up ahead would be out of his sight. “I look forward to your delivery – whichever one it may be. Time for you to leave.”

He pushed Sam backwards with the tip of his cane, so hard it hurt. The panic of falling made his arms pinwheel and seemed to go on for longer than it should. There was a horrible pop in his ears, a brief pain in his sinuses and his stomach rose up like he’d fallen several metres instead of onto his backside.

One second he saw blue sky as he tipped back and the next a white ceiling. His hands sank into a deep pile rug and there was the scent of cologne. Before he could even take in the room Clare landed next to him and then the others, as if they had fallen through an invisible hole in the ceiling. One of them landed on a chaise-longue, the rest on the rug next to Sam.

“Good God!”

A man in his sixties was on the other side of the room with a butler tying a bit of white cloth around his neck like a weird tie.

Poppy’s faerie appeared next to the older man and whispered in his ear as the servant came over and pulled Sam to his feet.

“Oh… I see,” the man said. “Well… where should I send them?”

The faerie whispered something back and a twitch at the corner of the man’s mouth made Sam nervous. He nodded and went to the door leading out of the room as the others were pulled onto their feet, just as disoriented as he felt.

“This way,” the man said, opening the door and gesturing for them to go through. Sam couldn’t see a room on the other side, just a haze.

“Where does it go?”

“Home,” he said. “I have a wedding to go to. Will you please hurry along?”

Sam wondered if they were in the Nether, as the Sorcerer’s house was, so he looked out of the window. The familiar silver mists confirmed his suspicion. “Come on,” he said to the others. “We need to go. And I think we should all hold hands, in case something weird… I mean more weird happens.” They did as he asked. Clare slipped her hand into his to join them together.

Wanting it to be over as soon as possible, he ran out of the room. His ears popped again, there was a rush of cold air and he found himself – and mercifully the others – in the central reservation of a motorway. It was dark and cold and he didn’t have a clue where they were, but car fumes had never tasted so good.

3

The servants were lined up outside the house when the butler opened the front door. Everything was misty white through Cathy’s veil. Her mother’s hand cupped her elbow, steering her forwards, as Cathy’s legs still felt as if they belonged to someone else. As they emerged, she saw the carriage waiting, decorated with red poppies, looking more like something to transport people to a war memorial in Mundanus. It seemed appropriate.

“Best wishes to you on your wedding day, Miss Papaver,” the butler said with a bow.

“Health, wealth and happiness,” the cook said, curtsying, and the same was repeated down the line.

The footman helped her into the carriage and her father was waiting inside. Once the train of the dress had been arranged under her mother’s critical eye, the door was shut and there was a familiar lurch as the carriage pulled away.

Father was dressed in a black morning suit with a poppy-red waistcoat and one of the blooms buttonholed in the lapel. It suited him; the dark colours matched his black moustache and peppery hair. He wore his usual funereal expression as he took in her garb.

“You look very… nice,” he finally said. Then he peered through the veil, studying her glassy eyes, and tutted.