The Severed Man

by George Mann

  Nevertheless, there remained Emily’s extreme reaction to the Devil-cult and the symbols of their worship; a fact that made Honoré suspicious that they might indeed have had some responsibility for her current state of mind and her initial appearance in 1949. From the look on her face during their conversation with Barnaby, he could tell that she was thinking the same thing.

  After a time, Barnaby stood. ‘I’ll make us a fresh pot of tea.’

  Lechasseur handed him his cup and saucer. ‘And then what?’

  Barnaby’s eyes flashed with excitement. ‘Then we storm the stronghold of the entity and attempt to free the people of the village from its thrall!’ He looked at them both in turn. ‘What say you?’

  Emily nodded slowly, and looked to Honoré for guidance. ‘Honoré, what do you think?’

  ‘I think we should talk it over whilst Barnaby makes that second pot of tea.’

  Barnaby smiled and walked out of the room, the china jangling in his hands as he danced around Mrs Wickham, who was still polishing earnestly in the hallway.

  Emily came to sit beside Honoré, perching on the arm of his chair. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, what do we know about this guy? How do we know we can trust him?’

  ‘We don’t.’ Emily looked suddenly serious. ‘But everything he’s told us makes sense to me. The picture is beginning to come together. The entity in the basement of that building, the Devil-cult, the people of this village who are locked out of reality. He’s even explained why his time-snake is all broken and severed. All those murders, Honoré – shouldn’t we try to do something to help?’

  ‘He may not be able to tell you any more about your own past – or future – you know. Just don’t pin any hopes on him. He could be dangerous; he’s already losing his mind. Remember what he was like back in the nineteenth century. What if it’s all a pack of lies, a trap?’

  ‘Do you honestly believe that, Honoré? Do you honestly believe that he’s just sat there and made all that up?’

  Lechasseur met her gaze, and sighed. ‘No, I don’t. But what I do know is that he’s now asking us to run headlong into danger alongside him, and we’ve only known him for an hour or two.’

  ‘But Honoré, this is what it’s all been about! The dreams, the murders, the skipping through time, running around London in the dark and the rain. If we can put a stop to it, here, now, we can go home again knowing that everything is going to be okay.’

  ‘Until the next time.’ Honoré shrugged and smiled. ‘Okay, we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘Marvellous to hear it!’ Barnaby appeared in the doorway, brandishing a fresh pot of tea. ‘Let’s bolster ourselves with this fresh infusion, then we can get moving. I’m sure Mrs Wickham would be delighted.’

  Emily laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all, and reached for the jug of milk on the table.

  The House Of Angels

  The ridge overlooking the old manor house was a good half a mile from the edge of the village. The three travellers had walked there together, Barnaby telling the other two of his plans as they strolled in the waning afternoon sunlight. The sky was still bright with a hazy, golden warmth, but the sun had begun to slip in the sky, and Honoré suspected that it would be dark before another two hours had passed. After dark was always a far better time to stage an ambush or a raid.

  They were crouched together on the edge of the low ridge – a kind of ruffle of earth that ran around one side of the village like a geological shelf – looking down on the large manor house in which Barnaby believed the entity to have taken up residence.

  The house itself was a massive Tudor mansion; a stone-built decoration on the landscape, with twirling brick chimney stacks and beautiful, bold window frames. A large wing to one side of the property had been erected by felling two great oaks together and building a fretwork of beams and panels around them, and the effect was to make the entire structure seem as if it had sprouted from the ground like some sort of naturally orchestrated phenomenon.

  A warm breeze was blowing in from the east, and Emily raised her face towards it, allowing the air to wash over her. ‘It’s such a lovely place, surrounded by fields and trees. Very different from London.’

  Honoré nodded. ‘True. But it feels a bit... parochial. I miss the buzz of the city when I’m not there.’

  Emily laughed. ‘Honoré Lechasseur: Metropolitan Man. I bet this place would seem a whole lot livelier if the people actually knew we were here.’

  The three of them had passed through the square again on their way out of the village, and again had been met with not so much as a look. It was as if all of the residents were trapped in a perpetual loop, a cycle of activity from which they could not break free. Barnaby believed that to be a symptom of their servitude to the entity, but Honoré wasn’t so sure; he couldn’t see what use the people would be to the time creature if they were trapped in a permanent state of flux. He wondered if there was more to it than that. Maybe they had been wrapped in their tiny stasis bubbles to protect them from something?.

  The activity around the manor house was minimal. A couple of gardeners were tending to the flowerbeds around the very edges of the estate, but were of little real concern. More worrying were the two burly men standing guard directly outside the front entrance.

  ‘I’ll wager there are two other chaps like that around the back.’ Barnaby shifted his jacket on his shoulders. He’d stripped off his tie before leaving Mrs Wickham’s cottage in the village.

  Honoré felt that the whole setup seemed terribly familiar. ‘Well, if it’s anything like the last big house we broke into, most of the activity will be centred around one point, a great hall or something. Maybe even underground again.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt it, my friend.’ Barnaby patted him lightly on the arm. ‘But hopefully less dangerous, hmm? I don’t believe the time-cult are directly involved in the operations here; and if they are, they’re focused on something entirely different. There have certainly been no dead bodies turning up in Middleton Bassett of late.’

  Emily smiled. At least that was something.

  Honoré got to his feet. ‘Okay, I’m going to skirt around the grounds and try to see a way in, or at least try to get a better idea about what’s going on inside. I vote we don’t make a move for a couple of hours anyway, until the light is on our side.’

  ‘Agreed. We’ll stay here and keep a look out.’ Barnaby nodded at Emily. ‘I’m sure Miss Blandish will keep me on my toes.’

  Honoré scrambled away down the incline towards some bramble bushes on the ridge, in an attempt to gain some cover. A waist-high, dry-stone wall ran around the perimeter of the grounds. Once he was behind it, Honoré kept low and shuffled along, until Emily couldn’t seem him anymore for the undergrowth.

  After a few moments had passed, and she was sure they were alone, Emily turned to Barnaby. ‘Can you tell me anything more about the future? I need to know what happened to me, where I came from, what my life was in the time before I met Honoré. It terrifies me that I have no concept of where I came from.’

  Barnaby smiled. ‘My dear, you know how it is. My mind is in tatters – I have no memory of the future, and very little of the past. I don’t expect to live very much longer, and I want to try to achieve something with what dwindling time I have left. All I know is that this cult, these time-travellers from the distant future, are becoming more and more active, more and more dangerous with every day that goes by, and that the entity they have summoned here needs to be destroyed or banished as quickly as possible, before more of us are lost forever.’

  Emily was practically shaking at the thought of it. She couldn’t help wondering if the entity they were about to face had played a detrimental part in her own existence. ‘Something happened to me, something terrible, in the time before I found myself in 1949, and I know it has something to do with the Cabal. The things I saw,
the symbols they were carrying, they meant something to me, and they terrified me. But for what reasons, I can’t remember.’

  Barnaby was staring off into the distance. ‘Sometimes...’ he murmured. ‘Sometimes... I get flashes, as if my mind is trying to show me why it won’t let me remember. Screams... and blood... always blood...’ He shuddered and blinked, coming back to the present and to Emily. ‘We must put it out of mind,’ he continued. ‘We have a task at hand, and when your friend returns, we’ll know what we have to do to achieve our aims. I can only assure you that I do know how you feel. My mind is slowly disintegrating, reeling and reeling, and all my attempts to keep it together are failing. It’s as if I’m trying to catch spilling water with my bare hands.’

  Emily looked away from Barnaby and the old house, allowing the breeze to ruffle her hair about her face. The wind reminded her, momentarily, of the tides of time, and she thought of herself and Honoré, swimming against them, pushing their way through against the force of the flow. Sometimes – and particularly since meeting Barnaby – she had wondered if it would be better to take up residence in one time period and create a normal, stable life. But she was acutely aware of how deeply the need to travel was set down in her bones, and of how, if she let it, her memory loss would eat away at her until she ended up in the same state as the dying traveller who sat on the ridge beside her.

  That was too much to give away.

  They waited for darkness to come, enjoying the silence of the warm evening and the reassurance of each other’s company as the tension and anxiety of what they were about to do hung above them like a dreaded weight, waiting to fall.

  The Shroud Of Light

  After about an hour and a half, Emily was startled by the sudden reappearance of Honoré behind her. He had come up and around the ridge from the other direction, completely circling the old house in an effort to identify the best way in. She hadn’t seen him approaching in the growing darkness.

  Honoré’s shoes made light scuffing sounds on the grass as he walked towards them.

  ‘Well, what did you find?’ Barnaby was anxious to proceed. He kept fiddling nervously with his fingers, as if trying to steady a nervous twitch.

  ‘The back way is barricaded, and the window frames are all stone – we could break the glass, but we wouldn’t be able to get through the gaps in the stonework. I think we’re going to have to go through the goons at the front.’

  Barnaby looked pained. ‘Really? No other way in?’

  ‘I can’t see one. Let’s hope they’re as oblivious to our presence as the people in the village.’

  Emily shook her head. ‘Somehow, I doubt that very much.’

  They clambered up and began making their way down the incline in the shadowy light, making use of the scrub and bushes as cover. The house was cast thoroughly in darkness, and the two guards had stepped back into the doorway itself, retreating from the growing chill and the night breeze that had now transformed itself into a cold wind.

  Barnaby whispered over his shoulder to Lechasseur as they found the dry-stone wall and ducked down behind it for a moment to decide how to tackle the two men. ‘Do you think there’s anyone else inside? It seems awfully dark.’

  ‘I couldn’t tell from walking around the place, but it seemed quiet. The only people I saw were the two guys on the front. We may find we get inside and there’s no one else around.’

  Barnaby winked at Emily, who was looking nervously over Honoré’s shoulder. ‘Oh, I think we’ll find what we’re looking for inside. I’ve been doing this sort of thing for far too long to get it wrong this time.’

  Honoré shrugged noncommittally. ‘Okay, so you take the one on the left, I’ll take the one on the right?’ He nodded towards the other man.

  Barnaby looked a little put out. ‘Well, I must say it’s not my usual type of thing, but needs must.’

  They counted to three and leapt over the short wall, running towards the entrance, their feet churning up the gravel of the driveway. As predicted, the two men came hurtling out of the doorway to meet the on-comers, inquisitive looks turning to surprise at the sight of a large black man in a leather trench coat and a slight man in a black suit hurtling towards them. They readied themselves in preparation for defence.

  Suddenly, just as the four men were about to come together in a clash of fists and bodies, the guard on the left dropped to the ground, followed in quick succession by the guard on the right. Lechasseur nearly went bowling over the prone form of his target, and had to catch himself so as not to lose his footing.

  A moment later, when he had righted himself, he looked up to see what had happened. Emily was standing there in front of him, her shoe in her hand, the two unconscious men lying by her feet. Barnaby had started to chuckle loudly and was slowly clapping his hands in approval. Honoré looked at her quizzically.

  ‘How about I take the one on the left and the one on the right?’ She smiled, before replacing her shoe and turning about towards the entrance to the house. ‘Now, do we need a key or something?’

  Honoré laughed and shuffled up beside her. ‘That’s twice you’ve done that. Thanks.’ He smiled, putting a hand on her arm before edging his way over towards the doorway.

  The door was open where the two men had been standing in the entrance, sheltering from the night wind. Honoré stepped into the hallway, looking around. A large staircase ran up the right-hand side of the space, taking a sharp left at a small landing and disappearing into the darkness above. Beside the staircase was a large table holding a porcelain bust and an arrangement of dried flowers. Left and right led off into small dark rooms, which appeared to lead deeper into the big house. Barnaby and Emily were waiting behind him.

  ‘I think we should stick together. Barnaby – where do you think is the most likely place to find this entity?’

  ‘Let’s try the old wing first – it looks like the biggest space in the house from the outside. So,’ he paused, ‘I believe that means we take a left.’

  They set off, heading towards the older part of the building, ducking their heads beneath the low doorways as they worked their way deeper into the building.

  Emily hugged herself as they walked, feeling the chill. ‘Do you think it knows we’re here?’

  Honoré caught her eye. ‘It doesn’t look like there’s anyone else around. It depends on whether it knows what has happened to the two guards, or whether they were under its control.’

  Barnaby coughed lightly into his hand. He was twitchy now, obviously nervous, but, Honoré could see, determined to complete his task. He could see now why the man had so desperately sought out their help, even across time – this was not a job for one man alone. If Barnaby truly was fading away – which Honoré believed he was – then he understood all too well the desire to make a last gasp, to finish what he had started and to make a difference with what time he had left. Honoré had seen that impulse many, many times during his years in the army.

  The rooms in this part of the building were mostly interconnected, so the three of them passed through a number of smaller chambers before entering the old wing proper. Each of these rooms was largely devoid of artefacts or furniture; save for the odd table or a random chair, the left wing of the building seemed largely empty and uninhabited. Lechasseur supposed that whatever family did still live here inhabited only one small part of the whole building now.

  Emily suddenly stopped walking and raised her hand in the air. The others stopped short to see what was wrong.

  ‘Emily, are you...’ began Lechasseur.

  ‘Shhh.’ She cut him off. ‘Can you hear that?’

  Barnaby cocked his head in an exaggerated expression of compliance. ‘Oh my goodness, yes I can.’ He looked startled, strangely entranced. Honoré strained to hear too.

  There was a hollow, tinkling sound coming from somewhere ahead of them. Honoré guessed it was a few rooms away, b
ut it was certainly there. He listened more intently. It had a bizarre, abstract quality to it, an almost musical tone, as if someone were speaking – or singing. He couldn’t detect any real melody or words, but nevertheless could feel himself being drawn into it, losing himself in its sweet complexity. He shook his head to try to clear it. He watched the other two for a moment. They were clearly caught up in the strange music too, taking in all its connotations, its details, its layers.

  Honoré cleared his throat, trying to get their attention. ‘Let’s keep going. We’re obviously heading in the right direction. Remember why we’re here – don’t get caught up in it all. Think of the people in the village who can’t wake themselves out of the trance. We don’t want to end up the same way.’

  Barnaby shook his head, looking dazed. ‘You’re right, quite right. Let’s concentrate and keep moving.’ He stepped towards the closed door at the other side of the empty room, his footsteps echoing loudly on the wooden floor. Just as he was about to turn the handle, he hesitated, and looked back at Honoré and Emily, smiling.

  ‘I just wanted to say thank you, before we go any further.’ He nodded to them, as if he knew something of what was about to happen. ‘Now watch yourselves in there.’ He clicked open the door and stepped into the adjoining room.

  The two travellers stood for a moment, as if waiting to see what would happen next. Then Emily grabbed hold of Lechasseur’s arm and pulled him onwards, after the severed man.

  The next chamber was similar to the last, devoid of all personality and life, except that the sound of the strange music was more distinct here, and there was a bright light seeping underneath an old, misshapen door in the far wall, giving Emily the impression that to open it would be to flood the room with an abyss of whiteness, of bright nothingness. It was as if the door was holding back a tide of some sort, and to open it would bring about the end of the world, drowning everyone in the strange glow, deafening them with the oddly symphonic sound. For a moment she wanted to do nothing else but scream and run from the house, as far away from Barnaby and his terrible time entity as possible, or else grab hold of Lechasseur and force him to time hop back to 1950 and the safety of home. But then she composed herself with a deep breath, glanced briefly at Honoré, and stepped forward, opening the door.