The Door in the Moon by Catherine Fisher

they were paying her. As she followed the woman between the tables, she whispered, “How do you know Long Tom?”
    â€œMany years, in London. I was on the boards. I was the French Nightingale. I sang in all the gentlemen’s clubs, the coffee houses. Tom and I, we are old friends in crime.”
    They slipped out of the warmth and into a drafty corridor. Sarah said, “So . . . who’s the boss? Tom?”
    â€œOf course not. The contessa, always.”
    Sarah felt a tingle of excitement. “Contessa?”
    â€œSo bold, so clever. A queen of thieves, that one. Beautiful, a child, but she laughs like a man. They say her heart was once broken, but I believe she loves only danger.” Madame turned the corner and stopped. “Attend. No English now.”
    She led the way up a circling stair and suddenly they were in corridors of startling size, all hung with swags of white satin, decorated with huge chaplets of greenery. Servants stood busy on steps and ladders, and as she hurried underneath, her head demurely down, Sarah marveled again at how the scents of the past were so much more vivid than her own time. The lavender crushed under her feet was eye-watering in its pungency, the roses and honeysuckle and all the plants she didn’t know exhaling glorious scents.
    They came to a vast dining room, tinkling with glass chandeliers.
    â€œThis is where the guests eat their buffet. Come through.”
    She followed between the long tables. There would be hundreds of guests. Presumably at some stage there would be entertainment; the automata must be part of that—that was how Long Tom would get in. But what did this have to do with Jake? Unless . . .
    A thought struck her so swiftly her eyes blinked.
Jake had
journeyed
before.
Not in this time, no. But he’d met people who had the mirror! Symmes, for one. And for another—
    She whispered, “Madame! One more question please. Does the contessa have another name?”
    The woman threw her a glance of disapproval. “Once, maybe. But we people of Mercury, we change our names like clothes.”
    â€œBut once she did. Beyond the mirror.”
    â€œAh. Well. Yes. She was known as Moll.”
    Sarah took a deep breath, understanding like lightning, but before she could even think about it, Madame Lepage opened the double doors and they were in the ballroom, an expanse of polished wood floor, among a dazzle of crystal chandeliers and sunlight, and the grand enfilade of rooms, lemon and blue and gold, lay in a straight line before her.
    â€œ
Et voilà!
” Madam Lepage said, pointing. “The door in the moon.”

    Jake sipped the wine, to ease the shock.
    â€œNot sweet enough, Jake? There’s plenty of other—”
    â€œFor God’s sake Moll.” He put the glass down with a rattle. “Tell me about my father.”
    He leaped up and paced about. The room was dim and quiet. It was hard to believe the river lapped at the feet of the ancient building, that Paris roared with riot around them. “Is he here? Is Alicia with him?”
    â€œAlicia.” She scowled. “Symmes’s dotty daughter? No, she’s not.”
    He came back and stood over her. “Tell me! In the old days, Moll, you wouldn’t have wanted me to be unhappy. You would have told me straightaway.”
    â€œWe were good mates then, Jake.”
    â€œWe still are.” He stepped forward, hands gripped. “But I’ve got to know, Moll. Got to see him. Or I won’t raise a finger in your crazy heist.”
    She dropped her cutlery and stood, the rich maroon velvet of her dress gleaming. “Okay. We don’t have much time. Tonight is midsummer. The ball starts at eight p.m.—four hours, Jake. If I show you where he is, you’ll get the whole thing. Come on.”
    Abruptly she turned and opened a small door in the paneling. Beyond was a stair; she ran up it quickly and he