impressed.
“Damn,” said Peter. “The
“What?”
“Nothing!” said Peter. “Do carry on. The local Council, eh? How interesting. Is it an interesting job? Why are you here, Mister Cuthbert? I’ve been good. Mostly.”
“It has come to our attention,” said Mister Cuthbert, just a little doggedly, “that you have not been maintaining the proper amenities of this residence to the required standards.”
“But . . . it’s our house,” said Peter. “Not the Council’s.”
“There are still standards! Standards have to be met! All parts and parcels of every house in the district must come up to the required criteria. Regulations apply to everyone; it’s a matter of health and safety.” And having unleashed that unstoppable trump card, Mister Cuthbert allowed himself a small smile. “I shall have to make . . . an inspection.”
“What?” said Peter. “Now?”
“Yes, now! I have all the necessary paperwork with me . . .”
“I felt sure you would, Mister Cuthbert,” said Peter. “You look the type. Well, you’d better come on in and take a look around. You’ll have to take us as you find us, though.”
WHILE PETER WAS having his close encounter with a supremely up-its-own-arse denizen of the local Council, there was a hard, heavy, and even aristocratic knock at the back door. Jubilee went to answer it, frowning thoughtfully. Visitors to the House were rare enough, from either world. Two at once were almost unheard of. The back door to the House was a massive slab of ancient oak, deeply carved with long lines of runes and sigils. Jubilee snapped her fingers at the door as she approached, and the heavy door swung smoothly open before her. She stepped forcefully out into the cool moonlight of late evening, and her visitor was forced to retreat a few steps, despite himself. The door slammed very firmly shut behind her. Jubilee ostentatiously ignored her visitor for a few moments, glancing quickly around her to reassure herself that everything on the night side of the House was where it should be.
Here, the House was a sprawling Gothic mansion, with grotesquely carved stone and woodwork, latticed windows, cupolas, garrets, leering gargoyles peering down from the roof, and a tangle of twisted chimneys. Set out before the House, a delicate wicker bridge crossed the dark and murky waters of the moat, leading to a small zoo of animal shapes in greenery, and deep purple lawns. Ancient trees with long gnarled branches like clutching fingers stood guard over a garden whose flowers were famously as ferocious as they were stunning. The night sky was full of stars, spinning like Catherine wheels, and the full moon was a promising shade of blue.
Jubilee finally deigned to notice the personage standing before her. He didn’t need to announce he was an Elven Prince of the Unseeli Court. He couldn’t have been anything else. Tall and supernaturally slender, in silver- filigreed brass armor, he had pale colorless skin, cat-pupiled eyes, and pointed ears. Inhumanly handsome, insufferably graceful, and almost unbearably arrogant. Not because he was a Prince, you understand; but because he was an Elf. He bowed to Jubilee.
“Don’t,” Jubilee said immediately. “Just . . . don’t. What do you want here, Prince Airgedlamh?”
“I come on moonfleet heels, faster than the winter winds or summer tides, walking the hidden ways to bear you words of great import and urgency . . .”
“And you can cut that out, too; I don’t have the patience,” said Jubilee. “What do you want?”
“It has been made known to us,” the Elven Prince said stiffly, “that many of the old magics, the pacts and agreements laid down when this House was first agreed on, are not being properly maintained, as required in that Place where all that matters is decided. I must make an inspection.”
“Now?”
“Yes. I have the proper authority.”
“Buttocks,” said Jubilee, with more than ordinary force. “All right, you’d better come in. And wipe those armored boots properly. The floor gets very bad-tempered if you track mud over it.”
PETER LED MISTER Cuthbert around the House. Because the man from the local Council had entered the House from the everyday world, that was the aspect of the House he should see. So it always had been, and so it must always be, in the House that links the worlds, if only because most people can’t cope with more than one world at a time. Mister Cuthbert took his own sweet time looking around the kitchen, sniffing loudly to demonstrate his disapproval of absolutely everything, and then allowed Peter to lead him out into the main hall.
“How many rooms in this residence, Mister Caine?” Mister Cuthbert demanded, peering suspiciously about him.
Peter didn’t like to say
“Oh dear,” Mister Cuthbert said smugly, shaking his head happily. “Oh dear, oh dear, Mister Caine . . . That doesn’t agree with our information at all! I shall have to make a note.”
And he got out a notepad and pen and took his own sweet time about making the note. Peter tried to lean in to see what he was writing, but Mister Cuthbert immediately turned away so he couldn’t.
“I haven’t been here that long,” said Peter. “The wife and I only moved in three years ago.”
“You haven’t gotten around to counting the number of rooms in your house, in three years, Mister Caine?”
“I’ve had a lot on my plate,” said Peter.
“So; you don’t actually own this desirable residence?” said Mister Cuthbert.
“We hold it in trust,” said Peter. “It’s like the National Trust. Only more so. You’ll find that all the proper paperwork was submitted to the Council long ago . . .”
Mister Cuthbert sniffed loudly, to indicate he didn’t believe that for one moment but would let it go for now. He was so busy with this little performance that he didn’t notice all the faces in the portraits on the walls turning to look at him. Disapprovingly. Mister Cuthbert wasn’t supposed to notice anything of that nature, but with the avoidance spells malfunctioning, God alone knew what else might go wrong in the House . . .
Two small hairy things chased their ball down the hall and then slammed to an abrupt halt to stare at Mister Cuthbert.
“My niece and nephew,” Peter said quickly. “They’re visiting.”
“What a charming young boy and girl,” said Mister Cuthbert, just a bit vaguely. And to him, they probably were. Though given his expression, charming was probably pushing it a bit. He reached out to pat them on the head, but some last-minute self-preservation instinct made him realize this wasn’t a good idea, and he pulled his hand back again. Peter hurried him past the hairy things and showed him the downstairs rooms. Mister Cuthbert was, if anything, even less impressed than before and made a number of notes in his little book. Finally, they went upstairs.
“We have two Guests staying with us at the moment,” Peter said carefully. There were others, but none of them the kind that Mister Cuthbert could usefully be introduced to. “In the first room we have a young lady called Lee, visiting from the Isle of Man. Next door is Johnny, a young man just down from London, for a while. Do we really need to disturb them, this early in the day?”
“Early?” said Mister Cuthbert. “I myself have been up for hours. I am not the sort to let the day pass me by when there is important work to be done. Oh no; I must see everything, while I’m here. And everyone. My job requires it.” He stopped suddenly and looked about him. “What the hell was
“The hot water boiler, up in the attic,” Peter said quickly. “It’s temperamental. Though you’ll have to bring your own ladder, if you want to inspect it. We don’t go up there.”
“The boiler can be inspected on a future visit,” Mister Cuthbert conceded. “There must be something seriously wrong with it, if it can make noises like that. Sounded very much like something . . . growling.”
“Oh you are such a wag, Mister Cuthbert,” said Peter. “Such a sense of humor.”
Mister Cuthbert headed for the Guest rooms. Peter glared up at the attic. “Keep a lid on it, Grandfather Grendel! We’ve got a visitor!”
He hurried after Mister Cuthbert, who had stopped outside the first Guest door. Peter moved quickly in and knocked very politely on the door.
