Lady Door of the House of Arch (
iopenthings) wrote2004-08-03 09:58 am
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Part 1
When Door woke up, early morning sunlight was seeping through the curtains. Tom must have come in at some point during the night, because he was sprawled out in bed next to her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. She sat up slowly, sliding out from under his arm, and hopped out of bed. This morning, she had decided, she was going to do breakfast in bed for Tom. She padded over to his dresser to grab one of his shirts, then froze.
There was a boar. A tiny boar, carved from dark stone, sitting on Tom's dresser. It hadn't been there the night before, had it? No, it hadn't she had brushed her hair at Tom's mirror. It hadn't been there.
She knew, of course, what the boar was. It was a token that would lead its bearer through the labyrinth at the bottom of Down Street. They were relatively rare. One had been lost with Croup and Vandemar. Two or three there were rumours about, from time to time - the Velvets kept one in their cave; the Sewerfolk found one floating in the muck; the Ratspeakers went in search of one for the rats; the Earl had one somewhere in his library. One had belonged to her father.
Immediately, she was in her father's study. She knew exactly where he had kept his statue. It had always been right there, on the corner of his desk.
It wasn't. She remembered seeing it months before, while looking for his diary. Since then, she hadn't taken a careful look around. She had no idea if his had been gone for six months or six hours. She had no idea if the boar she held was his.
Door moved to her bedroom and tore through her drawers, searching for something not made of lace or silk or velvet. There - yes - blue jeans, and a long sleeved black cotton shirt, and bright red tennis shoes.
Five minutes later, her hair pulled tightly back from her face, wrapped in her leather jacket, she slipped out of the front hallway and into London Below.
There was a boar. A tiny boar, carved from dark stone, sitting on Tom's dresser. It hadn't been there the night before, had it? No, it hadn't she had brushed her hair at Tom's mirror. It hadn't been there.
She knew, of course, what the boar was. It was a token that would lead its bearer through the labyrinth at the bottom of Down Street. They were relatively rare. One had been lost with Croup and Vandemar. Two or three there were rumours about, from time to time - the Velvets kept one in their cave; the Sewerfolk found one floating in the muck; the Ratspeakers went in search of one for the rats; the Earl had one somewhere in his library. One had belonged to her father.
Immediately, she was in her father's study. She knew exactly where he had kept his statue. It had always been right there, on the corner of his desk.
It wasn't. She remembered seeing it months before, while looking for his diary. Since then, she hadn't taken a careful look around. She had no idea if his had been gone for six months or six hours. She had no idea if the boar she held was his.
Door moved to her bedroom and tore through her drawers, searching for something not made of lace or silk or velvet. There - yes - blue jeans, and a long sleeved black cotton shirt, and bright red tennis shoes.
Five minutes later, her hair pulled tightly back from her face, wrapped in her leather jacket, she slipped out of the front hallway and into London Below.