Page 42 of The Neverfear

Anya gave a valiant attempt at a laugh. ‘Ah. To be honest,’ she said, ‘I was hoping for something less deadly.’

‘Why? What’s in the orchard of the Hesperides?’

‘A snake,’ said Anya. ‘It’s one of the stories Gallia told me growing up. And not one of the nice, lullaby-type bedtime stories.’

Ratwin sighed. ‘Hercules was sents to steals three golden apples, ons the Island of Polytemus. They is valuable beyond wordings.’

‘And did he do it?’

‘Yes. He trickeds the god Atlas into helping hims.’

‘Right.’ There was a brief pause. ‘I don’t think that’s really an option for us,’ said Christopher.

‘Hercules.’ Anya was staring into space. ‘Didn’t Hercules also have to tame a Cerberus?’

Ratwin looked at Anya. ‘You thinks there is some connections?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Why these particular things, do you think?’

‘They is all items of golds,’ said Ratwin. ‘Perhaps they is gold-hoarders, these Astorians, like the dragons?’

‘But there’s something more. Something about Hercules.’ She dug her fist into her temple. ‘Hercules – someone I love was talking about him.’

‘I told you that Hercules stole the Belt of Hippolyta,’ said Jacques.

‘No, not you,’ said Anya rather tactlessly. ‘Before that. It was in Glimt – my father, I think? He said something about the fendthorn, but I can’t remember what—’

She never finished the sentence. She looked up – and then she screamed. It was a long shriek of pure horror.

‘The mirror!’

Christopher whipped round to face the mirror hanging on the wall.

In the reflection was his face and Anya’s – and behind them, watching, the face of a tiger. Its teeth were bared and its black eyes were fixed on him. The pupils were flames. He spun round: there was nothing. But in the reflection the tiger began to pace towards them, drawing back its lips.

Instinctively Christopher snatched up the pestle from the mortar and hurled it at the mirror. The glass shattered with a splintering crash and shards flew across the galley.

‘Smash the mirrors!’ he roared. ‘Before it comes through!’

Anya tore ahead of him into the bathroom. The mirror hung over the sink. She looked wildly around for something to smash it with. Her own face stared back at her as she cast about: soap, towels, nothing strong enough. Behind her reflection a figure appeared: the tiger stalked towards her. It lifted its claws to the mirror. Anya watched, paralysed with terror, as with the hideous shriek of nail on glass it scratched four deep gashes down the surface.

Anya screamed. Still screaming, she drove her elbow, hard, over and over into the mirror. With the crack of a pistol shot the glass shattered and the tiger vanished.

Christopher ran through the boat. There was a mirror in the narrow passageway below deck: a flicker of orange and black movement in its depths, and a sound of animal breathing coming closer. Christopher yelled; with a great jerk he wrenched the mirror free of the wall and stamped on it.

He and Anya collided in the bedroom, where a small mirror hung, a square in a tarnished silver frame. It was fixed high on the wall at Nighthand’s head height, and neither could see in it clearly. Christopher snatched it down, but Jacques was suddenly fluttering in his face, his voice high and urgent.

‘Wait! Don’t smash them all! Keep one!’

‘Get out of the way, Jacques! This isn’t the time to be vain!’

‘It’s not that, fool! You may need it! Don’t smash it – cover it with a cloth.’

‘You don’t understand! It can come through!’

‘It cannot! It can only come through the mirror if you summon it! Only if you call out to it to come to you!’

There was a single beat – then Christopher dragged a blanket from the bed, bundled it around the mirror, shoved it in a cupboard and slammed it shut. He stood staring at the cupboard.