10. Tent
Peter Lake had thought that a window could be ajar, or a door, but it became clear that whoever had left was not taking any chances. The house was sealed shut.
There was a comforting aura permeating from even the dark blue interiors he saw beyond the glass. The house had only recently been abandoned. Whoever lived in it (a family, most likely) would return at some point. You could feel the life in the rooms, even through the windows. This was a lively home. It would not be empty for long. It demanded to be filled.
Peter returned to the white horse and reached into his satchel.
"You sure challenge me, horse," he said. He hated the way the silver clattered. He trembled as he slithered in his hand and felt it on his skin. "And here I thought I would never find a use for this."
He took out the rope and the hook. Tied them together. Prepared his tool.
When Peter Lake returned to the house the darkness was thinning at a rapid pace. The sky was turning from a creamy blue to a peach-colored pink. He threw the rope and the hook clawed into the metal railing of the roof. With much effort he held on and began to climb.
He had forgotten the exhilarated panic of this practice. The weight of gravity. He had flown yesterday, felt the wind thicken under him, seen the city shrink. But this was not the same. The white horse was a large mass, a safety net, keeping him from falling. There was no net here. No cushion upon which to land. He was on his back against an invisible wall. There was some delicious terror in walking vertically. In acknowledging, as you climb, that the only thing keeping you alive was a rope between your hands.
He was walking toward the sky. The stars had yet to be entirely wiped clean. Peter thought of them as specks of chalk on pavement. A board game. When he breathed out, clouds formed there.
The sky rolled up above his head and he clawed at the roof. Threw himself over it. The chilling metal railing was painful to the touch. Unbelievably cold. But he grabbed it, he had to grab it, and found his footing. Peter let out a shaky breath of relief. A snake of white mist danced before his eyes. Rose into the purple sky, the beautiful dawn above his head.
Peter Lake felt hungry now, very hungry. The weight of his hunger was only now coming down on him. He wanted to see Humpstone John and hug him. Eat some clams. Taste the salt. He wanted some breakfast.
But now he had things to do. Wishes to fulfill.
"I'm only now realizing how absurd this all is," he remarked, quietly, as he tiptoed across the smooth surface of the rooftop. "I'm taking orders from a horse… A horse that flies… Huh."
He stopped then. Because something had caught his eye.
A tent.
He had never seen one as large. Not on a residential home, at least. Perhaps on a fair. On a circus. A carnival show. One seen from afar. One smelled, not tasted. Because when he was a child he couldn't afford going to those places. John could not afford it, either. They contented themselves with the sight of it. The smell of it. Sugar. So much sugar.
He had seen tents that big before. But they were not meant to be used… like this. Someone had been sleeping here. Living here. This was a room. There was a bed, and a little table, and a lamp, and a mirror. A wardrobe. A chest.
The bed was unmade. On the surface of the mirror lay the misty outline of a hand. The slender fingers curled across the reflection of Peter Lake as he looked into the tent.
Who would sleep out here, in the cold? All alone? In a house as grand as this...
The help, perhaps. A maid. A servant. Peter felt some bitterness as he conjured up these theories. He abandoned them for his own good, went on with what he had come here to do. He traveled across the roof, soundlessly. And to his shock, found a door. Barely open, but open regardless. He had thought the chimney would be his only feasible entrance.
Caught under the door, keeping it open, lay a delicate white nightcap. Peter dodged it, almost instinctively. And he went into the velvety shadows of the house.
Author's Note: Peter is officially in the Penn house now, and you know what THAT means...
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