15

He was back in Le Grand Theatre des Illusions. One light burned gloomily down at him, revealing in semi-chiaroscuro his strewn clothing. Tom yanked his trousers on and shoved his feet into his shoes; he balled up his socks and underwear and thrust them into a pocket. Then he put on his shirt. All this he did mechanically, numbly, with a numb mind.

He looked at his watch. Nine o'clock. Nine or ten hours had vanished while Coleman Collins played tricks with him.

He went down the darkened hall. What had Del been doing all this time? The thought of Del revived him - he wanted to see him, to have his story matched by Del's. That morning, he had been almost joyful, being at Shadowland; now he again felt endangered. Warmth was just beginning to return to bis frozen toes.

Tom had reached the point in the hallway, just before it turned into the older part of the house, where the short corridor led to the forbidden door. Tom stood at the juncture of the two corridors looking at the cross-beamed door. He remembered Collins' words: This is your kingdom too, child. He thought: Well, let's see the worst.

And as he had said to Del the first night, wasn't the very commandment not to open it a disguised suggestion that he look behind the door?

'I'm going to do it,' he said, and realized that he had spoken out loud.

Before he could argue himself out of his mood of defiance, he moved down the short hallway and put his hand on the doorknob. The brass froze his hand. He thought back to the third thing Collins had shown him, back in the wintry sleigh: a boy opening a door and being engulfed by lyric, singing brightness.

Your wings, or your song?

He pulled open the forbidden door.