Time of Trial (10 page)

‘No it's not. What happened to you? Why are you here?'

She sighed. It was an expression of despair and desolation such that Aubrey's heart went out to her. ‘That sort of thing doesn't matter. I am here. It is where I belong.'

She left the cell, but the door didn't close behind her. Aubrey looked at the others. ‘Well?'

George shrugged. ‘I'd rather follow her than be stuck here.'

Caroline came close. ‘What's wrong with her, Aubrey? She seems...'

‘Not quite there?' von Stralick offered. ‘Either that or she's very ill. Some sort of wasting disease?'

‘I don't think it's anything like that,' Aubrey ventured. ‘It doesn't seem natural.'

‘So it's something unnatural,' Caroline said. ‘That's a cheery prospect.'

‘In an unnatural place like this,' George said, ‘it makes sense.'

‘Let's see where she leads.' Aubrey mounted the stairs and stepped into the corridor. Caroline, George and von Stralick came right behind him.

At least the metaphor is consistent
, Aubrey thought as they marched along the corridor. The stonework was weighty, gloomy and with the requisite amount of moss and spider webs in the corners overhead. Wall sconces held burning torches at intervals sufficiently spaced to ensure plenty of shifting shadows. They passed other cells, the doors of which were heavy timber, bound with iron. Several of the doors were open and Aubrey peered in as they passed, but the cells were empty.

He caught up to Sylvia. ‘Is there anyone else here? Any other prisoners?'

She walked in silence for some time; Aubrey took her head nodding as a sign she was considering the question. Eventually, she made a vague gesture with a hand. ‘I have had other guests here. I don't know what happened to them.'

She looked at him with eyes that were pieces of night, and then she looked away. Aubrey shuddered.

Caroline sidled up to him. ‘Aubrey,' she said softly. ‘How long have we been walking?'

Aubrey blinked. ‘I've no idea.'

‘Have you noticed how we haven't turned a corner? This is the longest corridor I've ever been in.'

‘No cross-corridors either,' von Stralick added.

George scratched his chin. ‘I wonder, if we keep going, whether we'll end up back at our cell.'

Aubrey glanced at him sharply. Then he took a few brisk steps to Sylvia's side. ‘Where are we going?'

She considered this while they walked on. ‘I'm not sure.'

‘You're not sure?'

‘I like walking.' She nodded, once. ‘I want to show you where I spend my time.'

‘Is it close?'

‘Of course. Here it is.'

Aubrey looked in the direction she was pointing. With a chill, he saw the corridor coming to an arch that he was sure hadn't been there a moment ago. He looked back over his shoulder to see intense wariness from the others.

Well
, he thought,
we could go back to the cell
. But then he wondered if it would be that simple.

Sylvia waited at the arch. ‘This way.'

Even though he was alert, Aubrey found himself stumbling with surprise when they crossed under the arch. George made a noise as if he'd been struck in the stomach.

We've left the prison
, Aubrey thought as he gazed around.
Or if we haven't, penal theory has undergone a radical change.

They were – suddenly, shockingly – in a charming, sunny drawing room. The scent of roses came in through the open windows, which looked out onto masses of garden colour. Daisies and columbines grew thickly underneath the standard roses, which were the rich, dark red that is only seen in dreams. A stretch of lawn as flat as a bowling green led to an avenue of cypresses which screened off any further view.

The room was airy and pleasant, free of overcrowding knick-knackery. Four easy chairs and a sofa in cheery floral chintz, a glass-fronted bookcase, a tall clock against the far wall, three small tables. A tall vase of irises stood on one of them.

‘This is my favourite room.' Sylvia stood gazing through the window, hardly even seeming to breathe. ‘It always was.'

Aubrey, without realising it, had spread his arms, as if he'd dropped from a height onto a surface of uncertain footing. Embarrassed, he brought his hands together and rubbed them.

Caroline and von Stralick stood just inside the arch. Caroline's gaze was darting around the room, obviously looking for danger. Von Stralick was equally tense. The only one who looked at ease was George. He stuck his hands in his pockets, sauntered into the room and dropped into one of the armchairs. ‘No sense in letting these go to waste,' he said as he made himself comfortable. ‘I say, Sylvia. Any chance of a cup of tea? And a bite to eat?'

Sylvia turned around and stared at George as if this was the most remarkable thing she'd ever heard. ‘Eat?'

‘You know. A scone, a slice of seed cake, something to make the tea go down.'

Aubrey shared a glance with Caroline and von Stralick. Caroline nodded slowly and advanced into the room.

Sylvia didn't notice this unspoken conversation. She was absorbed with George's suggestion. ‘That sounds like a good idea.'

She crossed the room and left through a door on the right-hand side of the room.

Aubrey swallowed. ‘That door wasn't there before.'

Caroline nodded. ‘Before what?'

‘Before ever, I'd say. A seat?' he asked Caroline.

Von Stralick watched them, then followed, not without a few backward glances.

Aubrey was pleased to see that Caroline had taken a position on the sofa. He battled with himself for a split-second before he managed to cut off von Stralick and take the seat next to her. She smiled at him tolerantly. He'd have preferred her smiling at him with admiration, or respect, or awe, but tolerance was acceptable.

Sylvia appeared. She drifted in carrying a large silver tea tray piled high with delights, which she placed on a small round table that was between the sofa and George's chair.

That table wasn't there earlier either.
Aubrey sat back, frowning, and scanned the room, trying to catalogue every item in it.

He had a puzzle on his hands. Trapped, perhaps in danger, he still couldn't help feeling the thrill of a challenge. His curiosity and his intellect were humming – probing, noticing, appraising, calculating.

He was willing to accept they were trapped inside Dr Tremaine's pearl – the observations fitted with that hypothesis. Finding Dr Tremaine's sister would be too much of a coincidence otherwise. But how were they to get out? Especially if the surroundings changed and flowed with Sylvia's needs.

Sylvia sat on one of the chairs and poured the tea. Aubrey noted how her movements were slow, as if she were moving through something denser than air. George sipped his tea and made a face. His waggling eyebrows alerted Aubrey in time so that he wasn't taken by surprise when he sampled it.

The tea was tasteless.
No, not quite tasteless
, he corrected himself. It had a faint tea taste, as if it had been diluted a hundred times, a memory of tea flavour lingering. And it was barely warm, too.

He put a hand on Caroline's arm, stopping her from raising her cup to her lips. She frowned at him, but quickly saw the lie of the land. She put the cup back on the saucer and balanced it on her lap.

Von Stralick had his eyes on Sylvia and missed the unspoken warnings. He took a mouthful and grimaced. With the aplomb of someone who had been a diplomat, he managed to swallow it instead of spitting it out. He held the cup away from him and stared at it with disgust. Then he glared at Aubrey, who shrugged.

‘Cake, George?' Aubrey passed the platter. It was piled with dark-brown slabs, but Aubrey couldn't smell a thing. He felt a little guilty, but decided that George was the right man for any job concerning food.

George snorted, but took a slice. His expression and the shudder after taking a bite was enough for Aubrey to guess that it, too, was not what it appeared.

The awkward silence continued, only broken by von Stralick's stubborn stirring of his tea. The ‘tink-tink-tink' of the spoon on the fine china was loud in the room until Aubrey coughed. ‘Sylvia. Was it your brother who put you here?'

Sylvia was gazing at the garden. Slowly, she turned her head to Aubrey and, once again, he had the feeling she wasn't all there. ‘My brother? Mordecai?'

‘That's the one,' Aubrey said.

‘Have you seen him?' she said, with a touch of animation – the most feeling Aubrey had seen in the strange, wan woman. ‘I miss him so.'

She went to the window and stood, unmoving, gazing at the garden.

Aubrey motioned to von Stralick and George, while keeping a good eye on her. ‘We have two ways out of this room,' he said in a low voice, ‘if we don't count the garden windows. Caroline and I will try to get some more information from her while you two see what you can find.'

Von Stralick rubbed his chin. ‘Reconnoitre and report?'

‘Exactly.'

George dropped the cake on a side table. ‘Glad to be rid of it. Tasted like ashes.'

Once George and von Stralick had gone, Aubrey and Caroline went to Sylvia at the garden window. Aubrey almost felt as if he were intruding, but the urgency of their situation pressed him forward. ‘Forgive me, Sylvia, but I need to ask. Can you remember how you came to be in this place?'

Again, she took her time before she answered and Aubrey had the distinct sense that she was weighing every word he'd uttered, testing them for sense and meaning. ‘I thought I had always been here, but your question makes me think.' She paused and the garden drew her gaze again. ‘I seem to remember a time when I was elsewhere.'

‘With your brother?' Caroline asked.

Sylvia nodded. ‘He isn't here so it must have been somewhere else.'

‘What can you remember of it?' Aubrey pressed.

‘I remember that I wasn't well.' She paused. ‘Most grievously ill. Mordecai was at his wits' end.'

Aubrey had a premonition of what was to come. Dr Tremaine wasn't one to admit defeat. The man who was manoeuvring the whole continent to war in his quest for personal immortality wasn't about to let something as trivial as a mortal illness thwart his will.

‘He worked magic on you,' he said. ‘He's locked you in here, preserved, until he finds a cure for your condition.'

Finding a cure for a condition
, Aubrey thought.
I'm not the only one in that pursuit, it seems.

Without any reaction at all, Sylvia turned back to the garden. Aubrey found her lack of curiosity frustrating. Then he added it to his other observations. Her flatness, her lack of vitality. Her reactions – emotional and otherwise – were slow. It was as if she was missing something essential...

She's only living half a life
.

The thought was teasing, suggestive, but he needed to know more. ‘And why are
we
here?' he asked Sylvia. ‘Do you know?'

‘To keep me entertained.' She didn't look at him. ‘People have appeared, now and then. Perhaps Mordecai sent them.'

‘Perhaps he did,' Caroline said carefully. ‘And what happened to the other visitors?'

‘I think they wore out.'

Aubrey stared. ‘Wore out?'

She glanced at him, but her gaze slid across his face, never fixing, never lingering. ‘I like watching. But it's sad when they finish.' Her mouth turned down – but maddeningly slowly. ‘It will be sad when your friends finish.'

George.
‘Where are they?' Aubrey demanded.

Sylvia gestured at the arched entry. ‘Out there. I'm sorry.'

Aubrey didn't like the sound of that, but Caroline almost beat him to the door.

‘It's probably better to stay here,' Sylvia said. ‘This is the safest place.'

Aubrey cursed himself for sending George and von Stralick exploring. He should have been more careful. ‘You stay, Caroline. Keep an eye on her.'

Caroline was already at the arch. She grinned fiercely at him. ‘You're suggesting we separate and see what happens? How many ghost stories have you read, Aubrey?'

‘Right. Let's stay together. As close as possible.'

‘Aubrey.'

‘It was your idea.'

She sighed. ‘The corridor is now going both ways. Choose a direction.'

The archway now opened onto a corridor that stretched into dim distance, both right and left. Both directions were identical – duplicates of the prison corridor, disappearing into infinity. He cocked his head but all he could hear was a thin whistling. Wind? A drift of scent came to him, alternating between dank and dusty, as if it couldn't make up its mind.
Or as if it were being made up on the spot.
‘I don't think it matters.'

‘Right is right, then.'

Garoline marched off, and Aubrey had to hurry to catch up.

‘Can you do anything?' Caroline asked him when he'd reached her. ‘Anything magical. Can you find them? Or can you stop this place getting us as well? Either would be useful. Both would be best.'

‘Ah, yes. Of course.' He walked with arms behind his back, chewing his lip. ‘Do you have anything belonging to George or von Stralick?'

‘No.'

‘Neither do I. There goes any hope of using a location spell.'

‘Perhaps you should list the other spells you can't do, to save time thinking about them.'

‘I have another idea.'

‘I hope so.'

Aubrey cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted. ‘George!'

The corridor echoed beautifully and his voice rolled away into the distance. ‘Simple. Straightforward. Direct.'

‘And not terribly effective. I don't hear any answers.'

‘That's because you've given up too early. We have to keep trying.'

So they pressed on, along the hypnotically straight corridor, shouting and listening, shouting and listening, until their voices were hoarse. Eventually, he leaned against the cool stone of the wall and held up a hand. ‘Rest stop. Please.'

Caroline nodded, absently. ‘Perhaps they went the other way. We should go back.'

‘Or they might be just ahead and we should go on.'

Caroline consulted her wrist watch. She was one of the few females of Aubrey's acquaintance who carried a watch, and the only one whose watch was a wrist watch. She did have most elegant wrists, he decided, and it did suit her.

She saw him looking at her. ‘We've been going for fifteen minutes.'

‘It seems longer.' Aubrey rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Then he frowned and took another. ‘Can you smell that?'

Caroline studied him, judged that he wasn't joking, then sniffed, delicately. ‘Bread. Freshly baked. And bacon.'

Aubrey wet a finger and held it up. ‘It's coming from up ahead.'

‘Mmm. Smells like heaven.'

Aubrey went to set off then froze, mid-step. ‘That's what I'm afraid of.'

Caroline looked at him with alarm, and he took it as a good reason to look back – which he enjoyed. Then she shook her head with exasperation. ‘Can't you keep your mind on our task?'

‘Of course. Sorry.'

Which he was. And wasn't. And he didn't know quite what to say about his most mixed of mixed feelings, so he lurched off in a random direction, away from her.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness struck him and he had to reach out and steady himself against the wall. It was as if his sense of perspective had undulated for an instant, the entire corridor swelling like a balloon before snapping back into place.

Caroline's face was pale.

‘You felt it too?' he asked.

She nodded. ‘Something changed.'

Aubrey looked back the way they had come, but the corridor was the same as before. He thought about taking a few steps in that direction to find out if they'd passed through something unseen, but the queasiness in his stomach convinced him otherwise. Besides, the smell of freshly baked bread still beckoned.

Ahead, the corridor looked indistinct, slightly misty. ‘Do you see that?'

‘It's wavery. Foggy.'

‘Press on or turn back?'

‘I say we press on.'

‘Very well.' Shoulder to shoulder, they edged forward. Aubrey could feel the magic on all sides, the subtle background prickling that reminded him that they were inside a pearl.

The corridor rippled again and this time all its dimensions wavered. Height, width and depth stretched and contracted all at once in a movement that made him sick to his stomach, so offensive was it to his innate notion of the solidity of things. Like most people, he'd grown up accepting that buildings just don't warp themselves at random. Dizziness piled on top of his nausea, so much so that he stumbled and clutched at Caroline's arm, but she was quicker and had already gripped his hand. He had the profound sense of a dream transition, where one moment he'd be in a classroom but then a sudden shift would find him in a park, all without any real in-between state.

‘Aubrey.' Caroline's grip on his hand was almost painful, but no force in the world would have made him relinquish it. The contact meant nothing, he knew that, apart from the natural human desire for comfort when in danger. But he wasn't going to be the first one to let go.

They found themselves in a gallery, a rectangular walkway looking down on a well-lit room. He took a deep breath. ‘All right, so we're somewhere else now.'

‘I'm glad you said that,' Caroline whispered. ‘I thought I might have been dreaming.'

Aubrey clutched an ornately carved pillar nearby with his free hand, partly for extra steadiness, and partly to reassure himself that this place was real and solid.
Insofar as that means anything around here
, he thought.

Another deep breath. He did his best to take in the new surroundings, nailing down the new reality through empirical observation, doing his best to be a rational, intelligent being.

Four doors, evenly spaced, opened onto the gallery, halfway along each side. They were elegantly set with six glass panes, ruby red. Aubrey nominated the doors as north, south, east and west and felt better for it. The orientation had a settling effect.

A waist-high rail ran around the gallery. It was a rich, red-brown wood, polished smooth. He ran a hand along it and enjoyed the satin touch. The rail surmounted a carved wooden screen made of the same red-brown wood. It was a repeating vegetative pattern, undulating vines alternating with large rosettes.

When Aubrey leaned over the rail he was looking down on a library. The room was lined with bookshelves. Two long tables – covered with books – were arranged in the middle of the room, running along the long axis. A chair stood with each table, while a large red leather armchair took up most of the gap between one of the tables and the north end of the room.

The room smelled of leather and paper, with just a hint of dust. It was the perfect place to enjoy a book, Aubrey decided. Quiet, comfortable, a place to immerse oneself in the world of the written word.

Which is what Hugo von Stralick was doing. With every appearance of bliss, he was reading, standing in front of a wall of books and sampling them with an expression of deep and utter contentment.

It would have been a restful sight, but Aubrey stared, disbelieving, because von Stralick was moving like lightning, picking up books, flicking pages, replacing and extracting another, every movement done with supernatural rapidity.

Agog, Aubrey watched while the Holmland spy sped through a green-bound book he'd plucked from the shelves only seconds earlier. His face was both thoughtful and delighted as he read, his eyes flicking from side to side, his fingers turning pages almost in a blur. His other hand was holding open the gap on the shelf, obviously where the book had come from, with the intention of returning it to its space soon.

Von Stralick was browsing, but it was the browsing of a creature made of pure speed. In seconds, he'd worked his way through a dozen books.

Aubrey met Caroline's wonder-filled eyes. ‘What on earth...?' she said before words failed her.

‘Magic,' Aubrey said simply. The magical power of their prison was propelling von Stralick at breakneck speed. Aubrey shook his head. No, that wasn't right. Von Stralick didn't seem strained or hurried. He was simply moving at a different rate. A phenomenally faster rate.

Aubrey gnawed at a lip. Or could it be that
time
itself was moving at a different rate down there?

He hissed as the implications hit him. If time were speeding away, how much time did von Stralick have left?

‘Hugo,' Aubrey called, but von Stralick didn't look up. With eye-watering swiftness, he simply nodded and chuckled – high-pitched – before replacing a fat book. Immediately, he sought another, a slim black volume.

Aubrey called again, but von Stralick was oblivious. ‘He's either gone deaf or...'

‘He can't hear,' Caroline finished. ‘What's he doing here? And what happened to the food smells?'

‘Food?' Aubrey sniffed. ‘It's gone.'

‘Library smell only.' Caroline dropped his hand, causing him a momentary pang, and leaned over the railing. ‘Let's go down and see what's going on.'

‘It would help if there were a staircase.'

Caroline straightened. ‘Ah. Rather a glaring omission.'

‘It seems as if we're not meant to get down there.'

‘Well, if there's no stairway, we'll have to find another way down.' She frowned slightly as she measured the drop by eye. ‘It's not that far. Twenty feet from this rail. Less from the floor.'

‘It's too far to jump.' Aubrey drummed his fingers on the rail and hummed a little. ‘I don't suppose there are any bed sheets lying around? Nothing we could tie together to lower ourselves down?'

‘No.'

‘Didn't think so. So perhaps it might be better to attract his attention.' He bent and unlaced a boot. ‘I'm sure he won't be able to ignore this.'

‘I'm glad you wore your good socks.'

‘Socks?' He looked down. ‘So that's where they went.'

‘Aubrey.'

‘Of course. I'll get on with it.' He hefted his boot, measured the distance, paused for dramatic effect, then threw it at von Stralick.

The boot sailed in an arc, but Aubrey's jaw dropped when, mid-way and in mid-air, it bounced once, then settled, bobbing slightly like a cork on a pond, well above von Stralick's head.

Caroline tutted. ‘I don't think you should try the other boot, not even for balance.'

‘Right. Good idea.' Trying to make sense of this impossible spectacle, Aubrey leaned over the rail. He grunted, reaching down as far as he could, but couldn't feel anything. He straightened and then went to climb over the rail.

Caroline put her hands on her hips. ‘What on earth are you doing?'

‘Testing. I need more data, more observations before I can work out what's going on.'

‘It's something invisible, something that's keeping us from von Stralick and something unknown. Isn't that enough?'

‘It's a good start, but I need more.'

Aubrey stepped over the rail, balanced on the narrow ledge, held onto the rail with both hands and stretched out a foot – his booted foot.

Ah.

Not far below the level of the gallery he struck a surface. It was spongy and giving, like a balloon filled with water. He pressed, and his foot sank. He pressed harder and the invisible material resisted, pushing him back.

‘I wonder if he can even see us,' Aubrey muttered, while eyeing his boot, stranded in the middle of the unseen barrier. Von Stralick looked as if he was trapped in a bubble – a bubble where time flowed differently.

And if he spends much longer in it
, Aubrey thought,
he'll start to age
. With a growing hollowness in his chest, he wondered how long a lifespan was in such a place. It must be shorter, but how short? Sylvia had mentioned others, but had also mentioned that they had worn out...

Caroline helped him scramble back over the rail. ‘It's as if he's on display.' She gazed around the gallery. ‘Like a zoo.'

‘Mmm. For Sylvia?'

‘She's the only one here. I have the impression that this whole place is for her benefit.'

‘To spy on someone in a library?' Aubrey rubbed his temples. ‘It seems rather excessive.'

‘Craddock and Tallis would love a facility like this. If they could observe suspects in their normal surroundings, they might learn a thing or two.'

‘Learn a thing or two.'

‘Aubrey, when you repeat my words like that, it means I've said something that made you think.'

‘Perhaps.'

‘If so, and if you come up with something clever, I want to register that I was the one who started the whole thing.'

‘Done. Due credit will be given to you in the playbill when this little drama hits the stage. “From an original idea by the redoubtable Caroline Hepworth.” '

‘Redoubtable.' Caroline flashed a quick smile. ‘I like that. It makes a change from “capable” or “competent”.'

Aubrey had a thousand other words he could use to describe Caroline, but he refrained, lest she see that his feelings hadn't disappeared. They were hidden, put aside, honouring her request to stay at arm's length.

The sudden opening of the gallery's north door made Aubrey whirl. He felt absurdly vulnerable, with one boot on, one boot off. So it was with relief that he realised that it was the wraith-like Sylvia who was drifting through the doorway.

She glanced mildly at von Stralick, who was so absorbed in a weighty volume that he turned the pages only every few seconds, then she walked slowly toward Aubrey and Caroline. ‘You found him,' she said, with the barest trace of surprise. Aubrey realised that this was her way. She had ghosts of emotion, hints, suggestions, nothing that took hold of her, no passion or intensity – apart from the memory of her brother.

‘I watch them,' she said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘My guests. I watch them once they're appropriately housed.'

Aubrey studied her face. It moved in slight, hesitant ways, as if feelings were strangers.

‘What about us?' Caroline said.

‘Oh, you'll be housed soon. Don't worry.'

Aubrey swallowed. ‘In a library?'

‘That's his dream, not yours.' Sylvia lay a finger along her cheek. ‘I suppose you could end up in a library, but it would be different. Yours, not his.'

Caroline stiffened. ‘Are you saying that you'll put us somewhere like von Stralick? But it will be our dream?'

‘So it seems.' A suggestion of an anxious frown flitted across Sylvia's mask-like face but it evaporated in an instant. ‘I don't do anything, you know. I just watch. It's hard to learn when I don't have anyone to watch.'