Free The Silver Door by Emily Rodda

place where the giant bird had disappeared into the clouds. ‘That bird is an evil thing. I think—I
know—
it is the Enemy’s creature. If we wish to find him, and Sholto, we should follow it.’
    Sonia glanced at him, saw the certainty in his eyes, and instantly murmured agreement.
    Dirk’s brow creased. ‘But Rye, how could you possibly
know
—?’ he began, almost angrily. Then, no doubt remembering other strange things that his young brother had lately said and done, he changed his mind about what he had been going to say.
    â€˜I hope we are right in thinking Sholto chose the silver Door,’ he said instead. ‘I have seen no sign of him.’
    Rye looked up eagerly. ‘But we have!’ he exclaimed. ‘We found his notebook—or what remained of it.’
    He felt in his pocket and pulled out the scraps of paper he had taken from the pyramid. He handed them to Dirk, who scanned them one after the other, his frown deepening as he read.
    â€˜I agree this is Sholto’s writing,’ Dirk said after a moment. ‘But … I wish it were not.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’ Rye exclaimed. He snatched three of the paper scraps from Dirk’s hand, and read the one on the top.

    â€˜He was losing his mind,’ Dirk muttered.
    â€˜Not Sholto!’ Rye said stoutly, though a heavy, sinking feeling was weighing him down. Quickly he glanced at the next fragment, very aware of Sonia crowding in to read over his shoulder.

    Sonia made a small sound of distress. His mouth dry, Rye looked at the last fragment.

9 - Following the Bird
    I n sombre silence, Rye, Sonia and Dirk built the pyramid up again. Then they set off across the snail-covered stones, trudging in the general direction the monster bird had taken.
    At first they had hoped that the red feather would help them glide above the rocks, but that idea had been quickly abandoned. The feather had lifted the three of them a little way off the ground, but with no wind to help them, and no trees they could use to pull themselves along, they had merely floated helplessly in one place, unable to move.
    They could not use the horsehair ring, either. Dirk insisted that speed would be dangerous.
    â€˜It is not just that the rocks are treacherous,’ he said as they began walking. ‘The earth in the bare patches, where the holes are, crumbles and caves in at a touch. And there are obstacles everywhere. Thesettlers use this wasteland as a rubbish dump, it seems. See here!’
    With the toe of his boot he nudged at a snail-covered object that Rye had taken to be a stone. As the object rolled, Rye made out a spout and a handle. He realised with astonishment that it was a kettle, just a little larger than the kettle his family had always used for heating water on the stove.
    He shook his head in disbelief. The kettle was dented on one side, and there was a hole in its base, but what did that matter? It could be mended.
    How could anyone throw away something so precious? The kettle at home in Southwall was a family heirloom, hundreds of years old, and polished and prized above anything else in the house.
    â€˜No doubt the snails eat the rest of the waste,’ Dirk said, kicking the kettle aside and moving on. ‘Only objects made of metal remain. When I was cleaning the skimmer hook I saw all manner of things—old tools, metal pipe, lengths of roofing iron …’
    â€˜But why would the people abandon such treasure?’ Rye exclaimed.
    Dirk laughed without humour. ‘In Weld it is treasure, but outside the Wall it is not. That was one of the things that most amazed me when I first realised it in Fleet. There is little metal in Dorne’s earth, but metal is plentiful here all the same. Ships from other islands bring loads of it to Oltan, and they bring ready-made goods, too. Pots and pans, knives, nails, belt buckles,fish hooks, packets of pins and needles …’
    He and Rye