Obsidian Mirror (29 page)

He walked warily to the hall, then ran up the stairs. Halfway, on the wide landing, he turned.

Something clicked below in the hall. He lifted the shotgun.

“Sarah, is that you?”

Snow drifted. The cold was so intense, he felt it was gnawing at him. He stepped up, backward, keeping his gaze moving. Something was here. Something strange, and close.

Then as if his eyes had focused, as if it had blurred out of deepest night, he saw the wolf.

It was slinking up the lower steps, against the banister, a white, sinuous thing with no shape or outline, hard to see, except for its eyes, small glowing sapphires in the dark.

It gave a low, eerie growl.

He whipped up the gun with both hands, pointing it at the beast.

It came on, watching him.

“Get back. Get back or I shoot.” He stamped and threatened.

The wolf snarled, a terrible sound. Behind it, someone laughed.

Wharton backed. “Who’s down there? Control this animal or I’ll be forced to! Do you hear me?”

No one answered but the ice-animal. It leaped three steps and streaked toward him.

Wharton gasped, missed his footing, fell backward.

And fired.

Jake watched Venn fold the paper slowly, his face bleak. He said, “Jake…”

“Don’t talk to me about how sorry you are!” Jake’s snarl was savage. “You got him into this with your stupid, selfish obsessions! He would never have…”

“It was his idea.” Venn turned. “He was as keen as I was.”

“Only because he couldn’t stand to see your guilt! And you let him go! Don’t fool yourself,
godfather
—you’d do anything, sacrifice anyone, to get her back. Me, Dad, anyone on earth.”

Venn’s face was icy, but before he could answer, Symmes said calmly, “Gentlemen. We are scientists and we must approach this problem in a scientific manner.”

He was back sitting by the fireside and had lit a small dark cigar. He seemed to have recovered from his shock; now he was self-possessed, smoking and thinking, one knee crossed casually over the other. “I could never make the mirror operate fully before Dr. Wilde came, but that was because I did not have the other device—the bracelet he wore on his wrist. He never removed it and when he left, he was wearing it. You, I observe, have an identical one.”

Jake, still simmering, glanced at Moll. She grinned. “Thanks to me he does, mister.”

“Yes…” Symmes inhaled deeply. “So, with it, you may perhaps be able to re-enter the mirror and go home.”

“Without my father?”

“He is not here.”

“I need to know how the mirror was calibrated.”
Venn came and stood over Symmes, looking down at him. “I must see it. Now.”

In the silence, the rattle of cab wheels was muted; the stench of the streets a faint tang.

Symmes tapped ash on a glass tray. Then he squashed the stub in and stood up. “Very well. It’s in the cellar.”

He tied the dressing gown cord firmly and glanced with sudden distaste at Moll. “Not the urchin, though. Surely we have no further need of her.”

Jake muttered, “She saved me, and the bracelet.”

“Nevertheless…” Symmes looked at Venn. “I don’t intend to give beggars a tour of my house and valuables.”

“I’m not a bleedin’ beggar!” Moll snapped.

“We know you’re not.” Venn searched in the pockets of the stolen clothes he wore and pulled out a heavy handful of florins and shillings and pennies. “Here.” He dumped the lot carelessly in her hastily cupped hands. “Take it. Go and get yourself some good food. And some shoes.”

Moll looked staggered. She had probably never seen so much money in her life. Jake wished he had something to give her too, but all he could do was wait until she had stashed the cash and take her small grubby hand and kiss it.

She giggled. “Just like a lady.”

“You are a lady. Thank you, Moll. I hope we get to meet again, sometime.”

Symmes looked baffled, then amused. He rang the bell, and the butler came smoothly in. “Show this…child out.”

The man went to put a hand on her, but she twisted away. She smiled at Jake—a wistful grimace. “I hope you get back home. And find your pa.”

He said, “Thanks, Moll.”

And then she was gone, the door closing firmly behind her small upright back, and Venn was turning impatiently. “Right. Where is it?”

Symmes took a small key down from a hook on the wall and unlocked a door that was almost hidden in the paneling; it opened straight onto some wooden steps twisting down. “Wait. We need light.”

As he crossed to a small oil lamp on the table, Jake caught Venn’s eye. But there was no time to speak; Symmes was back, and leading the way into a damp darkness redolent with the faint smells of spilled wine.

They hurried down. Behind him, Jake heard Venn’s boots scrape on the stone; both their shadows, huge and distorted, flickered over the brick walls. Symmes held the lamp higher. “This was at one time my wine cellar, but I had it cleared and furnished as a laboratory, after the first attempt at burglary. By far the most secure location in the house.”

“Burglary?” Venn’s voice echoed. “By the scarred man, the one you stole the mirror from?”

“Maybe. But I did not steal it, Mr. Venn, I rescued it. I shudder to think for what nefarious purposes it had been used.”

He had reached the bottom; there was a short corridor ending in a heavily barred door. “Would you hold this, please.”

Handing Jake the lamp, Symmes tugged the rusty bolts. As he turned back, the lamplight flickered on the silver bracelet.

Symmes frowned. “Strange. That is not the same.”

“What?”

“As the one your father wore. They are not the same.”

Venn pushed through. “What are you talking about? They’re a pair. Identical.”

“I assure you, no. Dr. Wilde’s was definitely not in the form of…what is it, a snake? May I see?”

Reluctant, Jake unclipped the silver link and slid it off; he held it up and Symmes took out a pair of glasses, put them on and bent forward, examining it intently. “The snake biting its own tail. An ancient symbol of eternity—originating perhaps with the ancient Egyptians. And yet, I’m sure it is different.” He took the arm-ring and turned it in the spilling light of the oil lamp.

A silver flicker cascaded down the walls.

And instantly Jake saw the man’s hand flash out and felt a fierce shove that sent him flailing back against
Venn. They crashed against the cellar door; it slammed open and they were tumbling inside, into a dark straw-scattered space of casks and cobwebs.

Venn was fast; he had rolled and scrambled up and thrown himself at the door, but already Symmes had it slammed shut in his face; even as Venn beat his fists against it, they heard the rusted bolts grate tight.

Venn roared, “Symmes! You can’t do this!”

The answer was mild and unapologetic. “I wish I could say I was sorry, Mr. Venn, but that would be a lie. You cannot possibly know how I have longed, these last months, to find another of these rings. How I have scoured the antique shops and flea markets of this city. And you have come in out of the night and put one into my hands!”

Venn closed his eyes. Jake, still kneeling in the straw, sank slowly down.

“I am not a criminal, however, not a thief. I simply intend to experiment—for a short while. Some days. Then I promise you, I will do all I can to help you return.”

“Symmes, listen to me.” Venn’s hiss was savagely restrained. “You’ll break it. You’ll wreck it. That is a device of such sophistication…For God’s sake, you have no idea.”

“Hassan will make sure you’re reasonably comfortable,
given the circumstances. I’m so sorry, gentlemen. Perhaps you should both think of it just as a little
delay
.”

They heard his footsteps, in the soft slippers, go up the stairs.

The door at the top was noisily locked.

Venn turned, slid down with his back against the door, and stared at Jake.

They were both silent with despair.

There was nothing left to say.

The recoil from the shotgun sent Wharton slamming back; in the confined space of the stairwell the report sounded like an explosion. The wolf took the full force; it went straight through the beast’s chest and splintered the painted canvas forehead of a Venn of some distant century, thudding into the wood behind.

The wolf landed astride Wharton. It was completely unharmed.

He gave a great yell, as much of astonishment as of terror. The creature’s eyes were snow-shards, its teeth dripped saliva, and its growl was so close, he could smell the sickening hot stench of its breath.

He kept utterly still.

He could not even breathe, because if he did its teeth might snap, meet in his raw flesh. For a second of inhuman terror he did not even seem to be in his
own body, as if he had shriveled up somewhere dark, far inside.

Something rattled, down the stairs.

The white wolf looked up, behind him, over him.

Another rattle. The world came back with a crash of noise. Rebecca was shouting, he smelled the acrid flare of flame.

The wolf put its head back and howled, a sound so loud, it made Wharton’s whole body quiver with shock.

Then it slid off him and turned, yelping and growling, twisting, and he saw a sudden rain of sparks was falling from somewhere above, onto the beast’s fur, on his hands, the stairs.

Wharton gasped and wriggled back. Before he could realize it, the wolf was gone, tumbling and yelping furiously down, and the darkness was back.

“Get up.” Rebecca’s voice hissed in his ear. “Quickly!”

She had him; she was heaving him up. He felt her stagger; then she had an arm around him and was half carrying, half dragging him away. He wanted to say
Stop, I can walk,
but for some reason his voice had dried up in his throat, and all that emerged was a croak.

Up the stairs, back along the Long Gallery. “What…?” he gasped.

“Candles! All I had.”

They backed with reckless haste, but now Wharton
could breathe; he gasped, “I can manage,” but Rebecca muttered, “It’s back,” in nervous dread, and he saw the ears, and then the long muzzle of the wolf rise threateningly over the top stair, saw its moon-silver slink along the floor of the Gallery.

He scrambled backward, raised the useless gun. “Get that door open, Rebecca! Ready?
Now!
”

She had it wide; he turned, flung himself in, and as they slammed the door Wharton had one nightmare glimpse of the beast leaping, before its savage impact made the boards of the door crack and splinter.

Rebecca had the wooden bar; Wharton grabbed it and they forced it across, safe into the solid iron bracket.

The door shuddered again.

They stood back, breathless. Wharton felt as if he had been scraped from some collapsed building.

Every inch of him ached.

“Are you hurt?” Maskelyne was running down the Monk’s Walk; he grabbed Rebecca. “Did it injure you?”

She shook her head.

Wharton was bent over, one hand on the wall. “I shot it. I shot the bloody thing! And yet…”

“No weapon will kill it except mine,” Maskelyne said.