The Darkening King. Justin Fisher

he pressed his nose to the glass. His reflection appeared to wrap around him somehow, and the glass had give. It was cold – somewhere between ice and water. Not slush exactly; slush was wet. But not dry either. More like jelly, only without its stickiness.

      His reflection warped and blurred and joined with another until, quite seamlessly—

       Shluup.

      Ned popped out on the other side as though nothing had happened.

      “This is it, son,” said his dad. “Mavis’s real tea shop.”

      In front of them was a single carved door with images of fair-folk and Darklings all about its entrance. What was strange and very mildly terrifying was that it appeared to float on thin air, just above the red carpet they were standing on. Above and below was a starry sky with no moon to light it but what looked like the aurora borealis – a great dancing show of coloured light playing out around them.

      “Wow,” said Ned. “Where are we?”

      “Well, son, technically Mavis’s tea shop isn’t anywhere. Those stars out there are actually mirrors, just like the one we stepped through. This is somewhere in between the reflections, between the light. Geographically speaking, ‘here’ doesn’t really exist—”

      “Now, Ned, I don’t need to spell out the dangers,” interrupted his mum.

      “Yes, son, you’ve not been yourself for a while now, so if there’s trouble in there, you leave it to me and your mum, OK?”

      Ned bristled, but he knew he was right. Ned was like a tiger without claws – no more capable of defending himself than the boy he’d been before discovering the Hidden and his powers. His mum saw the look on his face.

      “Terrence Armstrong, sometimes your mouth gets in the way of your brain! Ned, darling, you’re finer than fine. It’s just a phase. I’m sure plenty of Engineers before you went through just the same sort of thing, and anyway, I don’t have any powers, do I? There’s nothing strong bones, a highly developed set of reflexes and quick thinking can’t get you out of!” said his mum, clearly trying to sound upbeat.

      Ned knew she didn’t really believe it, just as surely as he knew she was wrong, but he smiled as best he could.

      “That said, stay close,” urged his dad. “Now …”

      They turned to the door. The entrance was completely silent, and Ned wondered whether the mirrored version of the tea shop was as empty as the one they had passed through to get there. A pink neon sign rearranged itself from a jumble of words till it read, MAVIS’S YE OLDE TEA SHOPPE, and then the sign changed again to: NO COFFEE DRINKERS ALLOWED.

      Its oak door had the most lifelike carving at its front in detailed knots of intricately tooled wood. Ned had to blink – it looked very much like the Mavis they had seen back on the Isle of Wight, only “woody”, and both younger and a little less full in the face.

      “Who are you?” croaked the wood.

      Ned gawped – there was little he hadn’t seen behind the Veil, but this was definitely his first talking door.

      Ned’s mum paused for a second, quickly recalling the cover story they had decided on before setting out.

      “Ahem,” began Olivia in quite the regal tone, “I am the Lady de Laqua, with my warlock and nephew, Tarquin.”

      The carving’s wooded eyes peered at them slowly, till the entire door started to shake, before breaking into creasy, knotted laughter.

      “Ha ha ha! Come on, dear, no one ever tells me their real name here, but Tarquin?! Looks more like a Cecil to me.”

      Ned’s mum scowled at Ned, as though he had somehow let them down by not looking “Tarquin-ish” enough.

      “It matters not,” said the door. “Everyone is welcome here, just as long as you have coin. You do have coin, don’t you?”

      “Yes – yes, we have coin,” replied Ned’s mum.

      “ENTER!” croaked the door and flung itself wide.

      

       Boiling

      hey were met by a wall of colour, sound and heat. Mavis’s Ye Olde Tea Shoppe was bursting at the seams with its tea-drinking patrons and, to Ned’s amazement, there was not one but at least a dozen other Mavii all in the same heavy make-up and outfits as the one on the Isle of Wight. They moved through the crowd with all the skill and expertise of a lifetime pouring tea. Quick, amiable and with no time for nonsense.

      “Doppelgängers,” whispered his mum. “Don’t stare.”

      “Well, that’s one way to save on staff,” breathed his dad, his nerves finally settling into the mission at hand.

      At its very centre Ned saw the real Mavis, who was at least in looks completely identical to her counterparts working the room, except for one amazing and inescapable difference. The real Mavis was a giant. Ned could only get a proper look at her from the waist up, but she must have been at least thirty feet in height and her great warbling voice shrilled with banter and laughter in equal measure, seemingly having several conversations at the same time. Around her was a great circular bar area arranged on three floors and the heavily bejewelled Mavis had teapots for rings on brown-stained fingers, pouring her cups ten at a time and on every floor. Her great earrings swung like chandeliers and she was coated in at least a gallon of make-up. Great rollers the size of tractors were in her hair and her shimmering dress was in gaudy, sequinned reds. It appeared that only an original outfit would do for the original Mavis. No matter how loud the raucous tea room got, her voice carried over all of it.

      “My darlings, yes, of course!” she boomed to a boisterous gathering on the top floor. “Have you tried my new range in health teas? A little antioxidant? It’ll give you zip! We’ve Ener-tea, Strawber-tea and my absolute favourite, Zipi-tea. That’s trademarked, by the way, so don’t get any funny ideas.”

      For a moment Ned felt on familiar ground, as if he was at a party at the Circus of Marvels. All the fear, all the worry from running and hiding finally ebbed away as he took in the splendour and fanfare of a Hidden get-together, with its bunting and pretty lanterns floating in mid-air. Soft music was being played by a band of nymphs on the second floor and all around them the air seemed to bubble. It was only when Ned’s eyes adjusted that he began to notice why, and he finally understood why it was so hot. Every wall had built-in glass kettles that were constantly boiling away, ready to create one of Mavis’s multicoloured concoctions. Every tea imaginable, catering to every taste, was on show. The smell of herbs and spices was dizzying. Saffron and cardamom, lily and sage, rose water, bluebell and forget-me-not. And further along into the darker corners of the tea room were pickled egg, carcass and swamp bile. Because as Mavis had explained to them – “everyone was welcome at Mavis’s”, even Darklings.

      Ned’s mum put a heavy hand on his shoulder as they inched their way through the crowd. “Stay close,” she whispered.

      Ned had no intention of doing anything else. They were deep now in the Hidden’s underbelly. From the dwarves to the dryads, each and every one was hiding from something. What astounded Ned was that they could share a room, let alone a table, with Darklings. Goblins, pirates and cut-throats, imps and a pair of nightmongers, who were creatures too foul to share a table with anyone. How it hadn’t erupted into outright violence was beyond Ned, till he walked past a table where a blue-painted dwarven berserker was in a heated debate with a knot-skinned mud-goblin, its hair and teeth a mess of rooty browns.

      “You owe