The Lives of Christopher Chant Read Online Free PDF

caught Tacroy glancing at him several times, as if Tacroy was not sure of the way to go and was waiting to see what Christopher did. He seemed very relieved when they came to the end of the valley and found themselves on the rutty road among the huge jungle trees. The sun was almost down. There were lights at the windows of the tumbledown old inn in front of them.
    This was one of the first Anywheres Christopher had been to. He remembered it hotter and wetter. The big trees had been bright green and dripping. Now they seemed brown and a bit wilted, as far as he could tell in the pink light. When he followed Tacroy onto the crazily built wooden veranda of the inn, he saw that the blobs of colored fungus that had fascinated him last time had all turned dry and white. He wondered if the Landlord would remember him.
    “Landlord!” Tacroy shouted. When nothing happened, he said to Christopher, “Can you bang on the table? I can’t.”
    Christopher noticed that the bent boards of the veranda creaked under his own feet, but not under Tacroy’s. It did seem as if Tacroy was not really here in some way. He picked up a wooden bowl and rapped hard on the twisted table with it. It was another thing that made Tacroy’s eyes screw up.
    When the Landlord shuffled out, he was wrapped in at least three knitted shawls and too unhappy to notice Christopher, let alone remem-ber him.
    “Ralph’s messenger,” Tacroy said. “I believe you have a package for me.”
    “Ah yes,” shivered the Landlord. “Won’t you come inside out of this exceptionally bitter weather, sir? This is the hardest winter anyone has known for years.”
    Tacroy’s eyebrows went up and he looked at Christopher. “I’m quite warm,” Christopher said.
    “Then we’ll stay outside,” Tacroy said. “The package?”
    “Directly, sir,” shivered the Landlord. “But won’t you take something hot to warm you up? On the house, sir.”
    “Yes please,” Christopher said quickly. Last time he was here he had been given something chocolatish which was not cocoa but much nicer. The Landlord nodded and smiled and shuffled shivering back indoors. Christopher sat at the table. Even though it was almost dark now, he felt deliciously warm. His clothes were drying nicely. Crowds of fleshy moth-things were flopping at the lighted windows, but enough light came between them for him to see Tacroy sit down in the air and then slide himself sideways onto the chair on the other side of the table.
    “You’ll have to drink whatever-it-is for me,” Tacroy said.
    “That won’t worry me,” Christopher said. “Why did you tell me to write the number nine?”
    “Because this set of worlds is known as Series Nine,” Tacroy explained. “Your uncle seems to have a lot of dealings here. That was why it was easy to set the experiment up. If it works, I think he’s planning a whole set of trips, all along the Related Worlds. You’d find that a bit boring, wouldn’t you?”
    “Oh no. I’d like it,” Christopher said. “How many are there after nine?”
    “Ours is Twelve,” said Tacroy. “Then they go down to One, along the other way. Don’t ask me why they go back to front. It’s traditional.”
    Christopher frowned over this. There were a great many more valleys than that in The Place Between, all arranged higgledy-piggledy too, not in any neat way that made you need to count up to twelve. But he supposed there must be some way in which Tacroy knew best—or Uncle Ralph did.
    The Landlord shuffled hastily out again. He was carrying two cups that steamed out a dark chocolate smell, although this lovely aroma was rather spoiled by a much less pleasant smell coming from a round leather container on a long strap, which he dumped on the table beside the cups. “Here we are,” he said. “That’s the package and here’s to take the chill off you and drink to further dealings, sir. I don’t know how you two can stand it out here!”
    “We come from a cold and misty