At first they beat their wings at random, but soon every bird was flapping in time with the others. And then, without warning, they broke from the circle below Mr Zhi’s hand and moved in one great flock, banking left then right, their wings catching the light in unison, forming a breathtaking display of colour. The gossamer strings seemed to have disappeared altogether. Moments later the birds turned their heads upwards and rose as if carried by an updraught of air. Sylas gazed in astonishment as he watched them soar over the top of Mr Zhi’s hand in a beautiful arc of light and colour, before swooping downwards to the floor. At the very last moment they turned upwards and sped through the air towards him, their wings beating rapidly now, their feathers ruffling and shimmering. As they circled round his head, Sylas laughed out loud, wanting to reach out and touch them. His heart thumped – not from fear, but from a wild, intoxicating excitement.
“So now you see it!” came Mr Zhi’s voice from the dark.
Sylas caught his breath. “I see it!”
Then, abruptly, the flock of birds wheeled sharply above his head and streamed towards Mr Zhi’s gloved hand. As they reached the glove, they turned again, so tightly this time that the leading birds met those at the rear of the flock, forming a circle. As the last joined formation, Sylas could again see the occasional glint of the silvery strings in the darkness, and then he saw that the tiny bars were supporting their weight once more, as though they had never been gone. The birds circled more and more slowly until they were drifting gently on the air currents. Their wings moved no more.
Mr Zhi began lowering them back down into the straw. Sylas wanted to ask him to let them fly some more, but had the feeling that they had done all that was intended.
He cleared his dry throat. “What was that?” he asked.
Mr Zhi simply patted Sylas cheerfully on the shoulder, picked up the candle and started back along the passageway of parcels. Sylas paused for a moment, glancing down at the pile of straw, but then picked up his rucksack and scrambled after him.
“There’s much to see!” he heard Mr Zhi say up ahead. “Please keep up!”
He moved so swiftly that, as Sylas turned one corner, the shopkeeper had already turned the next and the only way to keep pace was by following the dying traces of candlelight that flickered against the walls of parcels ahead.
“But what was it?” asked Sylas breathlessly.
“Ah well, the most wondrous Things show themselves only to those who are supposed to see!” shouted Mr Zhi ahead of him, without turning. “So it was with you and the mobile. When you saw it, at first you saw just a beautiful object, a thing of gossamer strings and silver bars and bright-painted feathers. But then you brought it to life. It stirred without any draught to carry it, the wings moved without any plan or design. You made the birds fly,” said Mr Zhi, turning to Sylas excitedly, “fly like I’ve never seen before!”
Sylas looked puzzled. “But wasn’t that just in my imagination?” he asked. “You told me to use my imagination.”
“No, I saw everything you saw, but that is not to say that your imagination didn’t bring it to life. You made the birds fly as you dreamed they might, and in doing that – in putting your imagination to work – you showed that you are able to use it like few others. You are able to see the world as it is promised to us.”
Sylas laughed. “I’m pretty sure I see the world like everyone else.”
“Certainly you do, but the mobile is a sensitive Thing. It shows what you are capable of seeing, not what you already see.” The shopkeeper cocked his head on one side. “A little confusing, isn’t it? But don’t worry, I have more to show you!”
With that, he turned and set off into the gloom of the shop. Sylas screwed up his face. “The world as it is promised to us?” What could that mean? He knew he had a good imagination – his uncle was for ever telling him that he lived too much in his head – but there was nothing unusual about that. He jogged after the strange shopkeeper, wondering what he was getting himself into.
As he went, he saw that the giant stacks of parcels were packed so tightly that the shop had become a maze of little corridors, which gave the impression of a room much larger than it actually was. Sylas was just starting to become a little worried that he might not be able to find his way out again when he sped round a corner and almost charged headlong into Mr Zhi.
The proprietor caught him by the shoulders. “I think this shall be our next stop, young man,” he said, with a wide smile.
He turned about and stepped on to a small upturned box. He reached up to the topmost shelf and took down a large flat parcel from the top of one of the piles.
“This Thing is at once very different from the mobile, and very similar,” he said, grunting as he lowered himself back down. “Like the mobile, it uses your imagination to show what is possible, not what you already know to be true.”
Sylas watched with excitement as Mr Zhi carefully tore open one end of the parcel, then pulled out a large flat object, and cast the wrapping on the floor.
“The mobile told us that you can see what the world may become,” said the old shopkeeper. “With this Thing – this set of mirrors – we will show something else: that you can see all that you are able to be.”
At first the object looked like a leather-bound book, but as Mr Zhi laid it carefully on the box, Sylas saw that it was not made of leather but of two pieces of wood, joined along one edge by tarnished but ornate brass hinges. The top piece was black and the piece beneath white. As he leaned forward to look more closely, Mr Zhi took gentle hold of the black panel and lifted. The hinges creaked slightly and the black panel swung open.
What was revealed seemed unremarkable. Both panels comprised a simple mirror framed by an ornately carved border. The old man lifted them up and adjusted them carefully in front of Sylas until he was looking at himself in both mirrors, each showing his reflection from a slightly different angle, the white one from the left and the black one from the right. The effect was interesting at first, but no more so than looking at a reflection in a bedroom dresser.
As he glanced between the mirrors, Mr Zhi peered at him, taking in Sylas’s wide brow and small stubby nose; his high arching eyebrows and dark brown eyes that seemed a little sad and old for his age; his thick, dark, wavy hair, cut crudely so that it fell in a tousled mass about his face. The proprietor smiled quietly to himself and shook his head, as if finding something difficult to believe.
“I just see myself,” said Sylas with a shrug.
Mr Zhi chuckled. “I’m afraid this will not be easy. You would not need money in my shop, but my Things still come at a price: the struggle to understand.” He moved the mirrors a little closer to Sylas. “The trick with these mirrors is not to look—”
Suddenly there was a noise at the back of the shop: the clunk of a door closing, the snap of a latch. Mr Zhi frowned and quickly closed the mirrors, pushing them into the nearest pile of Things.
“Please wait here,” he said, then set out quickly towards the back of the shop.
There was something about the way he had hidden the mirrors that alarmed Sylas. It was clear at once that whoever had entered by the back door was not expected. Instinctively he took a few paces after Mr Zhi, but when he saw a large shadow move across the candlelight on the ceiling, he stopped.
Mr Zhi turned. “Stand very still,” he said. “I’ll be straight back.”
A shiver went through Sylas. All of a sudden, Mr Zhi sounded worried. Very worried.
(#ulink_923b94cc-b33d-59e1-8b64-e170a46bc490)
“Here miracles rise from the earth and awe is in the air; here wonder flows over and, like a mountain spring, never runs dry…”
SYLAS STOOD STILL, AS he had been told, and listened.
At first he heard nothing but Mr Zhi’s footsteps, but then came the sound of voices. Low voices, speaking quickly in urgent tones. He could not hear what was being said, but one of the speakers was Mr Zhi. The other voice was deep and masculine, speaking in murmurings that resonated through the shop but were impossible to make out. There was a quick exchange between the two men, and then suddenly the strange voice boomed loud and clear.
“No! It must be now! Today!”
Then, for a long time, the voices were a mumble.
Finally, after Sylas felt like he had been standing there for hours, Mr Zhi came back into the room.
“My apologies!” he said as he strode back towards Sylas. His face bore the same calm, amiable expression as before, but Sylas noticed that he was walking even more quickly. “That was my new assistant – I had quite forgotten that we had arranged to meet, so much was I enjoying your visit!”
“That’s fine,” said Sylas. “Is everything... all right?”
“Oh, quite all right, though I am sorry to say that we will not have as much time as I had hoped.” The shopkeeper blew out his cheeks and fingered his little beard, eyeing the pile of Things where he had deposited the mirrors. “In fact... yes... yes, sadly I think we must leave the mirrors for another time...”
He turned on his heel and marched back towards the rear of the shop. “Come on, young man! The second Thing must wait, but the third Thing is by far the most exciting of all!”
Sylas shook his head in bewilderment and set out after him – this shop was getting stranger and stranger.
When they reached the back of the shop, there was no sign of the assistant, though Sylas noticed that the back door was slightly ajar. Meanwhile the shopkeeper had dropped to his knees behind the counter. All that could be seen of him was the very top of his odd little hat, which bobbed and danced as he scrabbled around on the low shelves.
“This third Thing is marvellous in its own right,” mumbled Mr Zhi as he threw unwanted Things over his shoulder, “but it will also help you to understand...” He grunted as he paused to look at something. “...To understand the others. This is it!”
He murmured with satisfaction and stood up, dusting the creased lapels of his jacket. He gave Sylas an excited wink and then lifted something above the broken surface of the counter.
It was another parcel, but different from all the others. It was an oblong about the size of a novel, covered with some kind of leather, which was folded over neatly on all sides and fastened with twine, tied in a bow at the top. The old man had placed his gloved hand on top of it, as though part of him didn’t want his most special of Things to be seen. He turned it over and ran a finger over the wrinkled leather.
The candles crackled and spat, the dancing flames making the shadows shift. Mr Zhi held the parcel for another moment with both hands, running his thumbs over the leather wrapping. Then he squeezed it fondly as if bidding it farewell and pushed it across the counter.
“Take a look at this.”
