MOLLY FOUND HERSELF IN THE archaeology Exhibition in Middle Museum.
She ran around the mock-up of a Viking settlement, through the double doors.
I’m waiting, Molly.
Down a further corridor she flew, her feet clopping on the wooden flooring as she ducked beneath a display of hanging vines made of silver. Molly stopped, raw-breathed, to consult her map and find the way to the Dark Chambers. Then she pressed on.
At last, at the end of a chilly corridor, was a door with the sign: MIRROR ROOMS AND DARK CHAMBERS.
She gulped when she saw the hall beyond.
It was not particularly large, but its walls (the misshaped hall had many walls, some jutting out in wedges, others curved) had been plated with mirrors, and the mirrors made the space infinite. The ceiling, too, was mirrored. The main sources of light were the lanterns hanging from the silver trees that made up Kaspar Van de Werhe’s art exhibition. Reflected in the mirrored walls and the mirrored ceiling, the trees formed a silver forest that fell away from the eye in every direction and vanished to nothing.
But there were archways as well, set in some of the walls, and these glowed with deep ruby light – beyond them (Molly knew) were Dark Chambers, which housed claustrophobic galleries of creepy portraits.
I can satisfy your curiosity, Molly.
Molly struggled to calculate how to get across the room – with every step, the forest tilted and lurched around her. If she spun, it spun the other way; it loomed and fled and swirled and disobeyed her senses.
I’m in here, Molly…
She wobbled her way through the glimmering landscape of lamp-lit trees, peering into the red-glowing chambers, scanning the paintings on the walls, looking for the grey-faced lady with the eye patch.
She heard a voice speaking directly into her left ear.
The last archway, Molly.
Gasping, she spun. The mirrored hall spun. The trees flew and the lights streaked as Molly wobbled across the hall, until at last she tripped through the last archway, into the chamber beyond.
She was surrounded by eerie glare-eyed portraits lit by torches set in metal holders on the walls. Thick velvet curtains hung from a silver railing that ran around the chamber; at present the curtains were tied back to reveal the portraits. The torches were made of red darksbane, which produced a deep scarlet flame.
And there, on the wall, was Lady Orgella wearing her circular blue sapphire-studded eye patch. Just as in Molly’s dream. Molly thought that the other paintings looked drab by comparison; Lady Orgella glowed with astonishing lunar beauty.
Molly stared.
The longer she stared, the stronger her fascination became. She didn’t know how long she looked up at the portrait, gazing into the one good eye of the Mistress of Ghouls, spellbound. But eventually she was wrenched from her reverie by a horrid, shrill noise.
“Thompson! Where are you, Thompson?”
It was the furious voice of Felicity Quick.