by Tony Evans
“Well, I’m of two minds on the matter,” Dr. Chaffin said.
“What a world we live in where the doctors are the exalted ones,” Laidlow said as he gazed out the window of the study watching the rain streak across the glass.
Chaffin scoffed at the comment, took another pull from his pipe and continued his pacing across the study.
Sitting in the flickering light of the fireplace enveloped in a high backed Victorian chair Mrs. White interceded. “The good doctor is here because of you, Laidlow. Remember that.”
“Forgive me Mrs. White, but we’ve called him here because he’s the foremost physicist within a day’s ride. Instead of helping he’s done nothing but walk a hole in the center of your study.”
“I’ve made up my mind,” Dr. Chaffin said. “I’ve simply made it twice and am now weighing the options. You said it just appeared in the cellar, Laidlow?”
“Not exactly,” Laidlow said. “It’s the product of a series of unfortunate events. I was in Mrs. White’s cellar on the floor scrubbing the Hessian crucible clean. I got up to stretch and bumped my head on the table knocking over the retort along with some chemicals.”
“What chemicals?” Chaffin asked.
“I’m not sure.” Laidlow closed his eyes and thought. “Troll fat it must’ve been, along with vampire dust, void salts. Quicksilver was dripping off the table. Definitely a giant’s wart, and possibly a few other things.”
“When we went down there I thought I smelled lavender,” Chaffin said.
“I don’t use lavender,” Mrs. White said. “It must’ve been pixie’s breath you smelled.” She turned to Laidlow. “Please tell me there wasn’t any manticore oil in there.” Laidlow’s only answer was a pained look. “Maker, no,” Mrs. White said sorrowfully.
“I’m sorry,” Laidlow pleaded. “I picked it up as quickly as I could. There wasn’t more than a thimble full that came out.”
“I don’t understand,” Chaffin said. “Mrs. White you’re the alchemist here, tell me, doesn’t a mixture need a catalyst to incite the ingredients?”
“In this case it was a fire. Laidlow had knocked over the retorts burner while trying to clean up the ingredients.”
“I was in a hurry to clean up the mess,” Laidlow said in a rush to defend himself. “Being Mrs. White’s apprentice is a prestigious position and I didn’t want to lose it over a foolish mistake.”
Chaffin sighed as he repacked his pipe. “So you accidentally created a potion with unknown ingredients which spawned those…” Chaffin’s decades of education failed to produce the word. “Things! Mrs. White surely this is within your realm of expertise.”
“I’ve not come across anything like this,” Mrs. White said. “To be honest my expertise is in creating potions, not dealing with their aftermath. It was Laidlow that suggested we call a physicist.”
Chaffin, forgetting to light his pipe, but continuing to suck on it, finally tucked it in his pocket. “Well, it seems that these anomalies should be studied. We should go down and take some measurements.”
“I’ll help,” Laidlow offered with an enthusiasm that was out of place for the moment. “That is…” Laidlow smoothed his waistcoat. “If you don’t mind.”
They all went down to the cellar where they could see light pulsing along the edges of the door going from blue to purple and back again. A sound, nearly imperceptible, pulsed in rhythm with the changing light. It was the air escaping the room, Dr. Chaffin deduced. It was the void calling for a passenger, Mrs. White guessed. This is the end, Laidlow reconciled.
Chaffin opened the door and looked upon the twin unknowns he was summoned to investigate.
Two swirling black holes sat in the middle of Mrs. White’s cellar. Oval in shape and as tall as a man. A cloud of dust was being sucked into the holes, condensing into a velvety blue cloud as it approached the holes event horizon where it shot off in sparks of purple lightning.
They stood in front of the twin holes in awe as if staring into the eyes of oblivion. Mrs. White’s papers, tools, and chemicals were being strewn about the cellar by an ever increasing vortex of air.
“What are they doctor?” Mrs. White asked.
“They’re either miniature black holes or a fracture in space-time. Which could still be the same thing,” Dr. Chaffin said. Shielding his eyes from flying debris he noticed Laidlow walk over to the table, take up a knife and mutter an enchantment to himself.
Laidlow walked back to Chaffin. “Here, take this,” Laidlow said. When Chaffin reached out Laidlow sliced him across the hand. Chaffin howled more in shock then in agony.
“What was that for?” Chaffin asked.
Laidlow wiped the blood off the knife and rubbed it between his palms.
“Their neither black holes nor fractures. Fools! They’re doorways!” Laidlow said.
“Doorways to where?” Mrs. White screamed over the howling wind.
Laidlow didn’t answer. He turned towards the swirling holes, put his bloody hands out and walked into the left door.
Both doors shrunk to tiny pinpricks that eventually popped out of existence leaving behind a peaceful quiet and Laidlow’s clothes scattered on the floor.
Mrs. White stepped towards the clothes, picked up the trousers and pulled a small book from the back pocket. It was a book of forbidden alchemy, bookmarked at…
“The Evangelical Doors,” Mrs. White said.
Chaffin wrapped a bandage around his hand before he asked. “What’s that? And why did he cut me?”
“They’re the doors to heaven and hell. And he needed the blood of a scholar on his hands to enter one of the doors.”
“But which door led where?”
“The book doesn’t say,” Mrs. White said flipping through pages. “Laidlow may have just guessed.”
“He went in the left,” Chaffin said. “Which do you think that was?”
“Traditionally the left represents impurity and the cursed.” Mrs. White shook her head as a smile began to inch its way across her lips. “Looks like he picked the wrong door.”
The Vengeful Poppet