Read Palace of Mirrors for Free Online Page A

down the path to the pond instead of the path to the village. I’ve just stepped into one of the same mud puddles that I splashed through this morning when I was with Harper, right before I saw the shadow. I freeze in fear, but the whole night is a shadow now; I’m in no greater danger here than anywhere else. When the fear ebbs, I’m just weary: It’s taken me so long to get this far, and now I’m going to have to edge my way back to the cottage, through the trees along the proper path, and then all the way to the village. Or . . . maybe it’d be quicker to keep going toward the pond and then—if I manage not to fall into the water—turn and go to the village from there. I can picture a triangle in my head, the points formed by the pond and the village and Nanny’s cottage. And because of all of Sir Stephen’s lessons about hypotenuses and the Pythagorean theorem, I’m pretty sure that I’ve chosen the longer distance. But I’ll pretend I don’t know any geometry if it means that I don’t have to turn around and go back.
    Because if I go back, I’m afraid my courage will give out, and I’ll creep back into Nanny’s cottage, crawl back into bed, pull the quilt over my head, and just let someone else make all the decisions about my fate. And then maybe Harper will never know . . .
    “Harper, you had better appreciate this,” I mutter under my breath, stepping forward through the mud.
    I’m not worried about being heard, because the night is already such a noisy place, what with crickets sawing away and bullfrogs calling from the pond. And mosquitoes buzzing—soon I’m working out a ratio of two steps forward to every mosquito I slap away. I almost begin hoping that my enemies are lurking somewhere along this path, because if they are, they’re being eaten alive.
    Finally, I reach the pond and turn toward the village, and the mosquitoes thin out a bit. Then I see a bit of light glowing in the distance—it’s the village watchman, swinging his lamp.
    “Three o’clock of the morning,” he calls, his plaintive voice just loud enough to reach my ears. “All’s well. All’s well.”
    I don’t really know the village watchman—given his job, I’m guessing he probably sleeps during the day, which is the only time I’ve ever been in the village before. But I feel a slight moment of kinship: the night watchman and me, both out on important missions while the whole rest of the world sleeps. Still, I’m careful to stay back until hewalks on. Then I follow on tiptoe, using the light dying behind him to guide my way.
    I hesitate when I get to Harper’s. I haven’t thought this out clearly. How am I supposed to tell Harper my whole long, convoluted story—dating back to my very birth—without waking his mother? Like Nanny and me, the Suttons have only one room in their cottage; Harper and his mam are probably even more crowded in their sleeping space, because they have to make room for the harp and music stand. For that matter, how am I supposed to get past the harp and the music stand in the dark, without knocking them over and setting off such a clatter that I wake the whole village? I stand there deliberating long enough that the gleam of the watchman’s lamp comes back into sight. I calculate: When he’s close enough that his light will illuminate the Suttons’ cottage—but not so close that he’d see an open door and investigate—I’ll push the door back, get a quick glance, memorize the lay of the cottage, dash in, shut the door, whisper Harper awake, and then, when I’m sure the watchman’s past, bring Harper back outside to tell him my story.
    It’s a lot to do very quickly, but I don’t have time for another plan. The light’s coming closer. And closer . . .
    Now!
    I try to shove the door open, but it’s blocked by something bulky. Er—no. Something wearing a white nightshirt. Someone. Harper.
    By the time I finally realize that it’s Harper himself blocking the doorway, he’s