I was close enough to see now that he was putting his whole weight on an open book on the table, and the light came from that book. It shuddered and twitched beneath him as if trying to escape.
“There’s nothing you can do! Take the cat, and get out of the House!”
So he was about to blow the place up, it seemed. It might have been more sensible to do as he said, and take my chances on the ensnaring spell dying with him and setting me free, but my heart wouldn’t let me.
I forced my way through the hurricane of papers to the table. Don’t ask me what I was thinking; I hardly knew. I just knew that I had to get to him, somehow; touch him; do something to keep him from coming apart. I reached out to where his hands gripped the table on either side and put my own over his, as if that would do much good.
Amazingly, it did.
As soon as I touched him, every swirling piece of paper in the room froze and hovered in place. The green light blazed once, so brightly that it left an imprint of the room behind my eyelids, and was gone.
And then it was just the two of us, him still flat on the table and me clutching at his hands, and the papers floating peacefully down to the floor like a swarm of moths. We stayed like this for a moment in the sudden, ear-aching silence.
“What did you do?” Sylvester whispered, more expression on his face than I had yet seen. His hands trembled under mine, just a little.
“I don’t ... I didn’t ...” I stared at my own hands. They were the same old hands, chapped and work-roughened, the nails sensibly short.
“You did something,” he snapped.
“I didn’t! I ...”
He straightened up, pulling himself away. The book lay on the table, inert now, but steaming a little.
“Whatwasthat?”
“You did something,” he muttered, ignoring my question and leafing through the book. “You must have.”
“I ...”
“Please. You have to let me think.”
I stepped back over the threshold, and a gust of magical air slammed the door in my face.
After that, I was more eager than ever to visit Basil and find out whatever esoteric knowledge he had to share with me. I prepared carefully for my escapade that night, knowing I wouldn’t have long outside the House and away from Sylvester before the heartsickness set in. I wanted to make the most of my time as a relatively sane person.
I dressed myself in my old clothes—the new ones, though warmer and richer, were too conspicuous. With luck, the sorcerer would never know I had gone. I had taken him his dinner as usual, so he should not be looking for me. I had made the blandest meal I could, as I obviously wasn’t feeling very charitable toward him that evening.
“You’re coming back?” asked Cornelius as he watched me fasten my cloak. He had been hovering about me anxiously ever since I had returned from the market.
“Yes, I promise,” I said. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ll have much of a choice.”
When the time came, I walked down the corridor as casually as I could, headed for the front door, as if I was on my way to nowhere special, but I wasn’t fooling anybody. The House didn’t want me to leave.
In a wink, walking down the black corridor became as difficult as trying to climb back up a throat when you’d been swallowed. The floor stretched out endlessly underfoot, doors ranked on either side as far as I could see. I could feel the House’s sulk all around me, as thick as if I were wading through water.
I had treated it like a sort of disobedient but basically eager-to-please dog up until that moment, ordering it around and scolding it when it misbehaved. As it showed me its temper, however, I felt a little afraid of it, and the fact that I was afraid of it made me furious and therefore a little less afraid. I stopped dead.
“Listen, House,” I said. “I’m leaving, but not for long. Let me go. I’ll come back.”
The walls rippled. Silence. I felt a creeping along my spine. The House wasn’t a person. It didn’t have the same thoughts or feelings as a person, if it had either at all. Whatever was listening was not human.
The walls seemed to inch a little closer. The floor felt unpleasantly alive and warm even through my sturdy boots, as though I stood on a giant tongue. If I showed it I was afraid, I thought, I would never have any chance of getting out. I had to stand up to it.
“Let mego!” I said, and stamped my foot.
And then, just as suddenly as it had closed around me, the House released me. I staggered forward, legs buckling. The black corridor stretched before and behind me at its usual length, docile and still, as if it had never moved.
I listened for the sorcerer—surely he was aware of all this commotion? I still didn’t know if he ever slept—but heard nothing. I took a wary step forward, but the floor was solid beneath my feet, and the door allowed me to open it. I staggered across the black courtyard and flung open the door to the street.
