The Slanted Worlds

22

Progress report: ALICIA HARCOURT SYMMES

Subject observed continually. Seems to meet co-conspirators only at alleged séances. Information likely to be passed here.

Subject may be aware of surveillance. Yesterday she left the house and winked at this officer.

ALLENBY Covert Operations

THE ROOM WAS set up as a crude laboratory. Alembics stood on the bench; a rack of bizarre glass retorts bubbled and spat. A skull watched them with empty eyes.

David crossed quickly to a small cupboard in the wall and unlocked it. He took out a tiny vial. “This is it.”

He brought it over. “I’ve been trying to isolate an antibiotic. It’s crude, unrefined. But it might work, Jake, it might save a few lives.”

The vial was filled with a grainy substance, amber as honey.

A noise somewhere in the building startled them. They froze, listened to footsteps running up the stair outside. The baby made a small snuggling motion against Rebecca’s warmth. The footsteps came close, passed the door. Then they pattered on up and died into the distance.

Jake breathed out. “Right.” He undid the bracelet from his own arm and slid it onto Rebecca’s wrist, clicking it shut.

“What?” She stared in alarm. “But we’re all going together, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are. But this is just in case.”

For a moment she stared at him in dread, the possibilities of being lost in the endlessness of time reeling out before her. Then he turned her to the mirror.

“What do you use to operate this, Dad? There are no controls . . .”

“I’ve learned a few things about the mirror.” David came toward the silver frame. “All that electrical input, you don’t even need it. These letters here, these words. They’re enough if you know how to use them. You put your hands here. And here. Sometimes I think it reads your DNA. But”—he shook his head, stepping away in dismay—“for God’s sake Jake, every time I’ve tried I’ve gone further back! What if we all end up in some prehistoric swamp? What if . . .”

“We won’t.” Before his father could object, he moved, grabbing Becky and pulling her close. “Do as he says.”

She touched the silver frame.

Under her fingers she felt it tremble, felt it sense the bracelet she wore, the terror she felt. She felt it waken and become interested in her.

“Jake.”

Jake grabbed David. “Now us, Dad.”

The mirror hummed. It shuddered. The air in the room gathered itself up.

But what burst open, with an abrupt, shocking crash, was the door. The guards leaped inside, halberds at the ready. Behind, striding tall in his robe of damask, the condottiere of the palazzo entered and stared.

The mirror throbbed.

It opened like a sudden vacancy in the world and took Rebecca and Lorenzo into a sudden roaring gust of emptiness.

The guards fell to their knees, speechless with terror. A halberd clattered. All the retorts on the bench shattered; Jake was flung sideways, and in the seconds it took him to stumble up and get his breath back, the signore had a knife at his throat and one strong arm tight strangling around his neck.

He saw his father stop in midstride, fling up his arms, yell, “Signore! No!”

Jake gasped for air. His hands clutched at the warlord’s arm, but it was firm as steel, and the man’s voice was contorted with anger and fear.

“What sort of filthy devilry have you brought into my house, dottore?”

The very last ghost I ever saw was in January 1941.

I really should have given up by then, but even though I was an old woman, I could not stop hoping. My father had been so sure they would come—David or his son Jake, or their mysterious and rather thrilling-sounding friend Mr. Oberon Venn.

I had taken to keeping the mirror covered, and all those years it had been a silent presence in my room. It had never shown me anyone again but for my own sadly ageing face. Perhaps I had begun to wonder if David had ever existed. My father died, the world changed, another world war loomed over us. Food was rationed, London cowered under the Blitz.

And then, on a cold spring morning when the daffodils in the square were splitting their papery yellow buds, Janus came back.

I had long since ceased to be able to afford a maid. I had become a dusty old woman, gray and lined, but still my spirit was high. I was happy with my séances, which had become strangely popular, and my tea parties and my dear friends from the Psychic Society.

So when I entered the study that morning, the fire was unlit and the blackout curtains drawn. I opened them myself, letting them rattle in their great rings, and was gazing sleepily out into the street when he said behind me, “Hello again, Alicia.”

I turned, my heart thumping.

He had not changed by even the growth of a hair. Small and uniformed, his hair lank, his glasses blue discs, he stood on my hearthrug and smiled that twisted smile that had no warmth.

“You!” I gasped. Not my most original retort, I admit, but I was so shocked to see him out of the mirror. It leaned behind him. One of my china dogs lay smashed on the tiles of the grate.

“I hope you don’t mind me appropriating your parlor.” He waved a small hand. “I intend to meet someone here.”

I stared, astonished.

“In fact, they should be here any moment now.”

“Is it David?” I confess my voice quavered.

He smiled. “Ah yes. You have wasted all your life waiting for David. How pitiful a thing that is.”

Now, I take pity from no one. I rose, drew myself to my full height, and said, “My dear sir, I have waited for anyone who would come from the Other Side. My father and I spent many years contemplating our next visitor. And be assured, we did not waste our time.”

And with what I hope was a suitably grandiloquent gesture, I put my hand up and tugged at the lever hidden discreetly behind the curtains.

The concertinaed cage crashed down from the ceiling.

Electric wiring crackled on.

Janus stood startled and unmoving in the trap that for years had been awaiting him.

To say I felt satisfied would be too inadequate a word. I really felt rather gleeful. I turned, sat demurely upon my sofa, folded my hands, and contemplated my handiwork. A tyrant from the end of time was my prisoner. It was really rather gratifying.

Janus said nothing. He reached out curiously as if to touch the steel bars but I said quickly, “I would not wish you to harm yourself. There is a charge of twenty-five volts throbbing through that metal as we speak, enough to give you quite a nasty shock. My dear papa designed the whole apparatus.”

“Did he now.” Janus nodded, folding his arms. He looked at the mirror, safely beyond his reach. “My dear lady, I congratulate you. I really do.”

“I’m only sorry you have no chair in there. I have no wish to make you uncomfortable.”

He gazed out at me. The blue lenses of his glasses hid his eyes, and that made him so difficult to read. But with dismay I became aware that he was not as devastated as I had hoped.

So I said, “I am quite aware that you are using my séances as a cover for some fiendish device to trap me. Your men are continually watching my house. Really, it’s ridiculous.”

He looked amused. “My men? You really don’t understand anything, do you?”

I looked smug. “I have hidden all the evidence about my father’s device in a safe place. You will never find it.”

He shook his head. Then he said in a voice as silky as poison, “Alicia, you are perhaps the most foolish old woman I have ever met.”

I bristled. “Well, I’m not the one in the cage,” I snapped.

“Ah yes. The cage. So may I ask what you intend to do with me?” he asked softly.

In truth, I had no idea. We had expected David, or Jake. We had expected to be able to demand the bracelet in exchange for their release. But I merely shrugged. “I have my plans,” I said, deadpan.

His smile was fixed. “Indeed. Well, so do I, madam. And here they come.”

The mirror hummed. I leaped to my feet and stood well back, hastily grabbing the remaining china dog and hugging it to my bosom.

The whole room seemed to collapse. A terrifying vacuum opened deep in the heart of the mirror.

My hair was torn from its pins, my skirts snatched and whirled, my very soul enticed. And I saw, for one appalling second, the blackness that lies at the heart of the universe.

Maskelyne turned the pages of Sarah’s diary with his long fingers, reading silently. Behind him, Piers fidgeted impatiently against the table. “So you see? She’s been in contact with Janus all this time! And it says children. What children? Those replicants?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Well, we know what to do about that.” Piers fished a great bunch of keys out of his striped waistcoat and hurried to a small wall safe. Opening it, he brought out a cellophane-covered package and carried it carefully back. Maskelyne, hearing the rustle of the plastic being unwrapped, looked up.

Piers was holding the glass gun that could kill replicants.

“That’s mine,” Maskelyne said at once. He put the book down and took the weapon firmly from the little man’s nervous grip. “Don’t handle it unless you need to. It’s a very dangerous thing.”

Piers made an odd grimace. “Don’t want to. It makes my skin itch.” He sidled closer, watching Maskelyne check the weapon, slide open a panel in it, adjust a small glowing dial in there. “Is it still working?”

“Yes.”

Piers shivered. “Good. Because something tells me we’re going to need it.”

Outside, the crack and slither of earth seemed to shudder through the damp walls.

Maskelyne placed the gun carefully on the table. “Listen to me, Piers. From what Sarah writes here, these replicants have appeared to Jake. Been targeting Jake, I would say. Janus has been implanting prophecies in his ear—only too easy to do, if you come from the far future.”

Piers crowded closer. “What prophesies?”

“The Black Fox will release you was the first. That came true. Then The Man with the Eyes of a Crow.” He frowned. “Given the dates on the mirror, I have an idea what that may be. But what is this Box of Red Brocade? It contains something vital, that’s clear. Something Janus wants and can’t get, so he needs Sarah to get it for him. Therefore something she desires.” He looked up.

Piers stared back, eyes wide. “The Zeus coin! Yes, but Janus can reach anywhere in time. If he knows where it is, why not get it himself and . . .”

Maskelyne began pacing, a lean, dark figure in the gloomy lab, lifting a hand. “Stop talking, and just think about it. The coin—if reassembled—will destroy the mirror. Janus doesn’t want that, so he needs to keep the two pieces safe and apart. Who knows, maybe he’s got the left side himself. The box must hold the right half of the coin, the piece Sarah gave to Summer. That must mean it’s in the only place, the only dimension Janus cannot access. And it needs to stay there.”

They looked at each other across the malachite labyrinth.

“The Summerland,” Piers said gloomy.

“The Summerland.” Maskelyne stood in front of the mirror, gazing at its blackness. “That’s where it is. That’s where it’s safe. If Sarah brings it out . . . that’s exactly what Janus wants.”

For a moment they were silent. Then Piers said, “What about you. You don’t want that either.”

“No. I don’t.” Maskelyne put the gun on the table and they stared at each other over it.

“Venn needs to know,” he said.

Sarah turned and saw Wharton slide through the door and shut it with a gasp. He smiled at her.

“Sarah! Thank heavens!”

She stared. “George? What on earth are you doing here?”

“Good question! Venn came after you and I came because . . . well, I was worried about you.” He turned and stared at the smooth white wall behind him. “What happened to the door? What is this place? What the hell is going on?”

“I wouldn’t trust him,” the bird breathed softly in her pocket. “Ask him a question only he knows the answer to.”

Sarah sat on a cushioned sofa. “We seem to be trapped in Summer’s house of mysteries. When you met me at the British Museum, George, what sandwiches did you buy me?”

He stared at her as if she had gone out of her head. “Good Lord, Sarah, how am I expected to remember that? And what on earth does it . . .”

“Just try.”

Annoyed, he blew out his cheeks. “Egg? Definitely egg. Egg and cucumber.”

She smiled.

“Was that some sort of password?” He came forward, light on his feet. “Sarah, we have to get out of here, we have to find Venn and Gideon. Why on earth did you come here anyway? What are you looking for?”

“Don’t say.” The bird’s words were less than a breath on the air, but Wharton tipped his head instantly. “What was that? Did you hear something?”

“No. So you want to know why I’m here? Why not make Gideon tell you?”

“Gideon?” he gazed around, baffled. “I left him with Venn. What . . . ?”

“No wonder you’re puzzled.” Sarah stood, wandering along the row of sumptuous sculptures, her feet sinking into the deep carpet. “You don’t know what would make me come so deep into the Shee country, do you? What could be so important. That’s what worries you. That’s what’s tormenting you. Because you’re not Wharton at all, are you. You’re Summer.”

George Wharton giggled.

Then he began unraveling before her, his arms becoming slim and white, his boots shriveling to bare feet, his coat blanching to a turquoise-and-purple feathery dress with panels of lace. For a moment he was a patchwork being, part man, part woman, inhuman, un-Shee. Then he was Summer, and she was throwing herself full length on the sofa and giggling with glee.

“Oh your face, Sarah! And I thought I was doing so well! Such fun! Tell me, what did I get wrong?”

Sarah felt only a weary irritation. “If you must know, it was the cucumber.”

“Really! Your mortal food is all very confusing, I really don’t know why you bother about it at all.” Summer stretched bare toes and pointed them. “So, do you like my house, Sarah?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s a cobwebby, dark, damp hovel. Sometimes a cave under the sea or a temple on a hot green island. It can be anything I want it to be.”

Sarah kept her hand on the box in her pocket. “It must be boring. Always changing, always staying the same.”

For a moment she was scared; a sliver of venom crossed Summer’s face. She said, “Oh I’m never bored, Sarah. Now. You have something of mine. I want it back.” She held out her hand.

Sarah was calm. She had rarely felt so alert, her mind sparking with plots and lies. It was like the day they had broken through all the wire fences and electrified corridors into Janus’s lab and entered the mirror, not caring if they were caught; the sheer audaciousness of it exhilarated her. She took the box and held it out to Summer. “I came for this. The prophecies told Jake about it, and I came to find it, because I thought it would help me defeat Janus. But I can’t reach what’s inside it.”

Summer raised a perfect eyebrow. She snatched the box and opened it and the bird unfurled itself, preened a green feather, and uttered a burst of tuneful song. Summer laughed. “You! I had forgotten all about you!” She extended a white finger and the bird hopped from its perch and gripped on, a tiny thing of string and feathers.

Summer glanced in at the bottomless abyss of stars and treasure. “Is everything in there? All my lovely things? Nothing missing?”

The bird slid a sidelong look at Sarah. She held her breath.

It would betray her. Surely. The Shee could never be trusted.

It said, “Gold and gems. Diamonds and dewdrops. Rubies and robins. Marcasites and the moon. Everything is here that should be here.”

Summer looked into the depths of the box. She gazed a long moment, as if she could see all that it contained, and in that instant Sarah’s heart almost failed her, because the powers of the faery queen must be immeasurable. But the bird winked at her and she tried to hold hope like a bright flame in her mind.

“Well.” With a flick of her fingers, Summer snatched the bird, tossed it in, and snapped down the lid. “My box won’t help you against Janus. And trespassers in my house need to be punished.” She lifted her head and pointed a fine fingernail. “As you see.”

And Sarah saw Wharton.

He was frozen, mid-step, in a cell of glass. It slid and protruded into the room like a great ice cube. His face was hard, caught in panic.

“What have you done to him!” She ran to touch him, but her hands slid only on a flat cold surface.

“I’ve stopped him.” Summer came and stood by her, gazing critically. “How very ugly some of these mortals are, Sarah. Such ungainly animals. Wrinkled and heavy and weighed down by the world. Not Venn, of course. Venn is a sleek white leopard. Fierce and adorable.”

“Let him go.” Sarah’s voice was a growl. Wharton’s face, caught in this rictus of ridiculous surprise, annoyed and upset her. She felt humiliated for him. “I’m the one you should be punishing.”

Summer smiled. “Well, yes. That’s true.”

She did nothing, but the glass suddenly slithered down and became four silver-haired Shee in white satin coats who hauled Wharton by the arms and legs into the room. He came alive like a fury, struggling and swearing terrible army oaths as they threw him down before Summer.

He landed on hands and knees.

Then he saw Sarah.

His astonished relief made her smile. But as their eyes met, she knew he had realized what she was here for, and his relief became wary and cold, and she felt a sudden, unexpected pang.

Of something that might have been shame.

Don’t betray me! she thought.

Don’t.