purpose. Nevertheless the parchment flapped and rattled a bit in the wind. It
was covered with cabalistic signs.
Cappen stepped around to the other side, and whistled low. That held a picture,
within a narrow border. Past the edge of what might be a pergola, the scene went
to a meadowland made stately by oak trees standing at random intervals. About a
mile away – the perspective was marvellously executed – stood a building of
manorial size in a style he had never seen before, twistily colon-aded,
extravagantly sweeping of roof and eaves, blood-red. A formal garden surrounded
it, whose paths and topiaries were of equally alien outline; fountains sprang in
intricate patterns. Beyond the house, terrain rolled higher, and snow-peaks
thrust above the horizon. The sky was deep blue.
‘What the pox!’ exploded from Jamie. ‘Sunshine’s coming out of that painting. I
feel it.’
Cappen rallied his wits and paid heed. Yes,Warmth as well as light, and … and
odours? And were those fountains not actually at play?
An eerie thrilling took him. ‘I … believe … we’ve … found the gate,’ he
said.
He poked his spear cautiously at the scroll. The point met no resistance; it
simply moved on. Jamie went behind. ‘You’ve not pierced it,’ he reported.
‘Nothing sticks out on this side – which, by the way, is quite solid.’
‘No,’ Cappen answered faintly, ‘the spear-head’s in the next world.’
He drew the weapon back. He and Jamie stared at each other.
‘Well?’ said the Northerner.
‘We’ll never get a better chance,’ Cappen’s throat responded for him. ‘It’d be