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.
“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 me for that cup, Guldrid – now pay up!”
“Want payin’, do ya?!”
The mud-gob threw his teacup at the dwarf, who barked in pain before smashing the table clear in half. No sooner had the sound of breaking china been heard than a giant arm came tearing through the room. The arm belonged to Mavis.
“NO FIGHTING IN MY TEA ROOM!” she bellowed.
The music, along with everything else in the room, suddenly stopped.
Realising what they’d done, the guilty parties pleaded in terror.
“Preease, we meant no ’arm,” begged the mud-goblin.
“RULES IS RULES!” warbled Mavis, and in one great sweep she grabbed both dwarf and goblin and hurled them out of a third-storey window.
There was no ugly splat outside, just their horrified cries as the two brawlers were launched into the mirror-verse, destined to float there long after they both had starved.
“Blimey,” whispered Ned.
“Shh,” replied his mum.
“WHAT IS RULES?” boomed the giantess now, with none of the cheeriness she’d shown only a moment ago. Her great eyes peered at the crowd defiantly, demanding a reply.
“Rules is rules!” warbled the crowd, no doubt with more than a pinch of fear-induced bravado.
“THAT’S MORE LIKE IT. MUSIC!”
The band started up again and seconds later the incident was seemingly forgotten.
Ned’s dad tapped one of the Mavii on the back. With all the commotion they were now running late for their appointment.
“Excuse me, madam?”
She turned with a blue-shadowed flutter.
“Yes, sir. Fancy a cuppa?”
“No, thank you.”
The mini Mavis scowled.
“I mean, yes, shortly. But, you see, we’re here to meet someone.” He whispered a name into her ear and the waitress’s face blanched.
“Are you sure?”
“The name’s quite correct. We were told that he had something for us.”
“No,
