Serpents and Stairways

Chapter 8* - Part 3

"Oh but of course you do," the little snake rested her head on the end of her tail, "then here's what I can offer you. I'll make three of your wishes come true—not immediately, of course, but sooner or later. And you will serve me with good deeds in return. Deal?"

Gabriel considered. Fairytales never ended well for those who made a deal for wishes—fairies, djinns, and demons were always on the lookout for flaws in wording, and you weren't in for anything good when they found them. And even though actual demons had better things to do, and he wasn't sure whether djinns at all, there was something suspicious about the little snake's offer.

"Would I have to let you out or something like that? Sell my soul, perhaps, or—"

"Would anyone in their right mind even dream of leaving these wonderful chambers?" the little snake was surprised, and ran its tail on the fine velvets of her box, "what would I trade these for? Dusty carpets, draughts, and sunlight? Spare me. And what good is your soul for me? A lump of aether—not any more interesting than any other. You think it has a price?"

"Then what about looking for mistakes in wording of my wishes and punishing me for them?"

"Oh Conservator, how dreadful your preconceptions of me is, here in the outside world," the little snake said, and Gabriel decided against telling her they, in the outside world, had really no preconception of her at all, "no, that's not what I shall do either, boy. You wouldn't even have to say your wish out loud: for I know all that you want. And have known from the start—even before I came here."

The boy considered. He glanced at the little snake one more time. She was lovely—almost like a toy, and didn't look dangerous at all. Besides, she wasn't offering to grant him wishes for nothing—she had to be served. And receiving a wish in exchange for honest work didn't seem that bad of an idea to him.

"Uh-huh," said the boy, "then what can I do for you?"

"Open the topmost drawer of my tower," the little snake ordered, "and be quick—the thirteenth hour passes sooner than the rest."

"I thought the thirteenth hour was one past noon."

The little snake stared at him with undisguised disdain—Gabriel was at a loss, so belittling was the gaze of her small red pupilless eyes.

"I see that this mother of yours ignores her roots, choosing to live pretending there is no aether in this world," the little snake said at last, "and raises you to act the same. But one can't escape their fate—everyone born under the veil comes back, even if many, many years after they are called a child for the last time. No one is an exception. Now stop wasting time and pull the drawer."

Gabriel sighed—the mistress of the box had stopped scaring him. He took the serpent key, and the bit had shifted once more—the rings moved, coiled in a new, different way. He obediently inserted the key into the topmost keyhole, turned it, opened the drawer, and pulled out a deck of cards—not a simple one, but with white symbols embossed on red paper.

"Take these cards, sit by the clock and play patience till the morning comes," the little snake ordered, "and don't ask questions."

"But..."

Gabriel wanted to ask how he was supposed to leave the room, locked for him by his nanny, but realised that he was still holding the serpent key. He walked to the door, raised it to the keyhole, and oh wonder—the key fit perfectly, even though it used to be so much smaller.

The boy looked into the corridor. It was dark. He lit a gas lantern, and looked back at the box, as if expecting the snake to escape the moment he left the room. But she was slowly coiling back onto her velvet pillow. The lid over her closed and the lock clicked. Gabriel put on a warm robe over his pyjama and walked towards the parlour, listening to the lacquered parquet under his bare feet.