Dad returned to the bed and began gathering up his rocks, bones, and bits of glass, all of which he put back into his pouch. He dropped the charcoal in on top.
“That's crazy.” Aber shook his head.
Dad looked at Blaise and me. “Prepare yourselves.”
I drew my sword and went to stand beside him. As we all faced the picture on the wall, I half wondered if Aber might be right. Dad's drawing ranked among the worst Trumps imaginable. Sketchy black lines, faintly drawn from memory… how could it possible work?
But then, as I studied the image, I sensed an almost tangible power radiating from it. As Dad stepped forward and concentrated, the picture suddenly colored with browns and grays and ruddy oranges, coming to life. Instead of a black-and-white line drawing, we suddenly gazed through a shimmering doorway into Thellops's workshop.
Without hesitation, Dad stepped through into that room. He looked around quickly.
“Empty,” he announced. His voice sounded distant.
“Impossible!” Aber muttered, staring.
“Not at all.” I glanced at my brother. “You need to pay attention to what Dad's doing.” Some time ago, our father had mentioned offhandedly that Aber had no idea how Trumps really worked. I hadn't repeated that comment, since I'd known it would hurt Aber. But clearly my brother needed to adjust his methods of Trump-making if he intended to keep up.
“But—” Aber began, looking with bewilderment from the drawing to me and back again. “How—”
“I'll explain later. Right now, I want you to find some white-wash and cover up the Trump on the wall. Summon it using the Logrus if you have to. I don't care—just get it. I don't want anyone following us through the picture on the wall.”
“Come quickly!” Dad called, voice flat and far away. He held out his right hand to Blaise. She took it and he helped her step through.
“What if you need rescuing?” Aber asked. “I can't help if I can't get there.”
I said, “We won't. If we fail, we'll be dead.”
He sighed. “Okay. I'll do it as soon as you're gone. Anything else?”
“I can't think of anything.”
Dad called, “Hurry up, my boy!” The doorway to the workshop suddenly rippled like a lake touched by morning breezes.
I hefted my sword. Hopefully Dad's plan would work.
In fast. Rescue Freda. Run away.
Simple, at least in theory.
Lowering my head, I walked through the drawing on the wall. Aber vanished behind me. Down and up flip-flopped several times. Strange colors and smells hit my senses in pulsating waves—reds that smelled of cheese, yellows that stank of wet skunk, browns and grays like rotting horseflesh. Gagging, I tried not to retch.
Voices reached me, but oddly garbled. Suddenly Dad's face pressed close to mine. I looked up into his brown eyes and gasped. His pupils flickered with reds and yellows, as though fires burned behind his face. His skin might have been the paper of some paper lantern.
He said something, but I couldn't quite make out the words. He might just as well have been speaking some barbarian tongue. Since he seemed to expect an answer, I gave a curt nod and forced myself upright. I couldn't hold up Freda's rescue.
That seemed to satisfy him. Turning, he headed for the door.
Taking a shuddering breath, I glanced around the room. Light came from a dim ball hovering in the corner, just below the ceiling. Much like Dad's workshop in Juniper, this appeared to be a private retreat for study and magical research. If we'd had more time, I would have liked to go through it carefully. There was no telling what useful notes or devices we might find in here.
Suddenly the room tilted to the left. I staggered into the table and caught myself against it. Everything swam drunkenly, and gravity flip-flopped several times.
Blaise gripped my shoulder. Gulping frantically, I looked into her face.
I couldn't make out the words, but I read her lips: “Are you all right?”
“Dizzy…” I muttered.
Something in my ears made a little popping sound, and the next time she spoke, I actually heard words:
“Want me to slap you?”
“Hah!” I said. Maybe my “Chaos legs,” as Aber had called them, were returning. “Just try it.”
“If you think it will help…”
I released the table. “Only if I get to break your arm!”
“He's all right,” she said to Dad.
“Are you sure?” Dad asked, hesitating. “He looks sick.”
“I'm fine,” I growled. I had no intention of sitting out Freda's rescue.
“Don't worry,” Blaise said, patting my cheek. “If you can't keep up, I'll carry you.” She glanced at our father. “Can you locate Freda? I sense her presence, but not clearly. Is she close?”
“Yes,” Dad said. “This way, I think.” Pushing open the door, he hurried out into a hallway.
Blaise motioned me forward, so I went next. She brought up the rear.
Dimly glowing balls of light hovered overhead at regular internals. Light puddled on the ceiling above them, casting a dim yellow glow across the stone floors and wood-paneled walls.
Dad headed right, and I followed two paces behind. He seemed to have a clear idea where he was going. We passed doors with faces, each exactly the same as the last. They had all been carved from slabs of ebon-colored wood, with an identical face in each one's exact center: horned forehead, deep-set eyes, broad nose and cheekbones, cleft chin. Each face had its eyes closed, as though sleeping.
If these doors acted anything like the ones in Dad's house in the Beyond, they might wake up at any moment, spot us, and raise an alarm. I made certain not to touch any of them.
I was about to suggest we return to Thellops's workshop and search for keys to the doors when the floor began trying to slide out from under my feet. Stumbling, I had to lean against the wall every few paces to keep my balance.
Blaise caught up and grabbed my arm to steady me. “Do you need to go back?” she asked in a hushed voice, her tone no longer kidding.
“I'll make it,” I said.
She hesitated. “If it comes to fighting,” she said, “stay behind me. I'll protect you as much as I can.”
“Thanks, but I fight my own battles!”
“A lot of good it does us if you end up dead!”
I shook my head stubbornly. “Then we'll just have to be careful. I'm not hiding behind you, Blaise. Don't ask me to.”
She frowned, but didn't press the point. Which was fine with me, since I had no intention of giving in. Besides, I had a feeling I'd be back to normal soon… my Chaos-legs were definitely returning.
Dad navigated a twisting course through hallway after hallway. The passages seemed to curve back on themselves like serpents devouring their own tails. Hadn't we come in a full circle? Were we back where we had started? I couldn't tell. Still we passed door after identical door—the count must have run into the dozens by now. Several times I had the impression of descending on a slight incline, though the floor always appeared level. More tricks of Chaos…
Dad stopped in front of a door like so many others we had passed. It had no markings or numbers to identify it.
“Prepare yourselves,” he said. “This is the one.”
“I'm ready.” Swallowing hard, I tightened my grip on my sword. Nothing to do now but storm in, letting heads fall where they may.
“Wait, Dad,” Blaise said. “Are you sure?”
“I know Freda's voice,” he said, eyes distant. “She is calling from inside. I am certain of it.”
“I don't hear anything,” I said.
Dad made a dismissive gesture. “You are deaf to the Logrus, my boy. Her spirit is crying out in agony. You are not attuned to it, so you cannot hear it. Blaise and I can.”