The Lazarus Gate

by Mark Latham

  ‘Unless I kill my father. Why? Why does he have to die, Ambrose?’

  He looked at me forlornly, and I wondered then if this trickster could have some genuine feelings of comradeship for me.

  ‘You know of the devices that we all carry within our bodies—the devices that return our mortal remains posthumously to our own world? Well, they are located near our hearts. I said that we still have hope whilst Lazarus’ heart beats, and I meant it quite literally. The device that he carries is… unique. It helps to form the bridge between our worlds, making it a more stable passage that can support travel in both directions. In fact, it has allowed even our normal gateways to remain open for longer periods than ever before—perhaps even indefinitely. When he dies, the gates that have sustained our presence in this universe for so long will close. We have to pray that, at the very least, the invasion is successful before we lose him.’

  ‘If he is so vital to your plans, why place him on the front line? My father should know better than that.’

  ‘He has no choice, John. He has to be with the first wave in order to give the gate the best chance of working. Just as he has had to return here regularly over the past few years.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

  ‘Nor do I,’ Jim echoed. The blank looks on the faces of the gypsies indicated that they hadn’t understood anything at all that had been said so far.

  ‘Look,’ said Ambrose, with a defeatist air, ‘I am no scientist. I’ve been here so long that my knowledge may not even be up to date. But it was explained to me thus: every living thing has a resonance, a pitch, like a tuning fork. You can’t hear it—no one can—but it’s there all the same. Things on this side resonate differently from things in my universe, and the two have a hard time coexisting. It’s as though the universe recognises invaders, and tries to push them out—only if it succeeds in doing so, the results are rather messy for the traveller. Short visits are fairly easy, but longer trips, well… they need a locus, something to stabilise the frequency. Do you follow at all?’

  ‘Partly,’ I said. It was outlandish, and I began to realise the genius of the Othersiders. After all, if Ambrose Hanlocke could grasp such recondite theories, then everyone on their side must be at least as devilishly clever. But of course, I was forgetting that the Ambrose I thought I knew was merely the part of an accomplished actor. ‘Please go on… at least humour me.’

  ‘Very well. When your father defected to our side, he was implanted with a device similar to the one that all of us carry. The devices ease our passing and prolong our stay by tuning our frequencies partway towards yours, and for Marcus Hardwick it was essential in order for him to remain in our universe. However, your father is different. Our scientists discovered that the longer he spent in this universe with his new implant, the longer all of our gates remained stable. This was the discovery that ultimately led to the Lazarus Gate. Perhaps he is unique—he’s the only true defector from your side ever to cross the veil, so we’ll never know. But in any case, he has somehow helped to disguise our presence in this world from the natural forces that seek to expel us. This universe treated us as foreign bodies—a virus, I suppose—but no longer. Lazarus is our Trojan horse, and today is the time of our coup de grâce.’

  I turned to Jim, who had taken out his pocket-watch. He nodded to me.

  ‘And the time is imminent, it would seem,’ I said. Ambrose glared at me.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised, Ambrose, it’s not only your kind who can be one step ahead. As soon as I discovered the date and place, and that the invasion would be a naval one, it was obvious that it would have to begin at low tide. London Bridge was not designed with large vessels in mind. So, I believe 3 a.m. is the optimum time for Lazarus to strike.’

  ‘Very clever, John,’ Ambrose said. ‘But you don’t seem terribly well prepared. I suppose there aren’t many people you can trust. I wonder if any of Captain Denny’s soldiers are actually agents from my side? Even I wouldn’t know for sure. That is the gift that your father has given us—the ability to infiltrate your world with impunity.’

  ‘Those men are hand-picked,’ snapped Jim.

  ‘So was I,’ sneered Hanlocke. ‘By Sir Toby Fitzwilliam, no less. We can all be poor judges of character—I mean, look at the company John is keeping these days.’

  ‘Please Ambrose, be civil,’ I said. ‘Gregor needs little enough invitation to snap your neck, after what your fellows did to his people. Your friend Lillian killed a gypsy princess in front of us both—it has given us common cause.’

  He thought about that for a second before replying: ‘Lillian Hardwick is hardly my friend. I barely know the girl, save that she is Lazarus’ right hand. She came from nowhere, promoted by virtue of being the daughter that Lazarus thought he’d lost, all those years ago.’

  ‘If my sister had survived in this world, I would have recognised her sooner, when I first laid eyes on her at Commercial Road.’

  ‘Good Lord…’ he said. ‘I didn’t even know she was the one. God’s own truth, John—I received the order to flee the building. I caught only the briefest glimpse of the agents.’

  ‘They seem to keep you in the dark quite a bit, Ambrose. Perhaps you aren’t so important to their plans after all,’ I said, hoping to rile him.

  ‘I never was, John. I am one of many agents sent to live among you. My reports are doubtless useful, but my fate is inconsequential to the greater mission. Information is one-way; no one tells me anything in case…’ He paused.

  ‘In case you find yourself too deep in the mire? In case you start to feel at home on this side of the veil, and decide that you’d like a cosier life, away from the dangers of “hell”? Is that it?’ I prompted him.

  ‘Something like that,’ he replied, quietly. He looked down, ruefully. Perhaps I had hit the nail on the head.

  ‘Ambrose… you have been surprisingly forthcoming with information. I thought I’d need to be more… persuasive. I hope you haven’t been feeding us more lies.’

  ‘Believe what you will, John,’ Ambrose said, wearily. ‘Truth be told I’m tired of it all. I knew the time of the invasion was near, but didn’t know when exactly until you dragged me down here. I felt relief—I’ve been too long living this lie; living like him. Would you believe that I was nothing like the Ambrose Hanlocke from your world before I took on this role and now… now I cannot work out where he ends and I begin. I promise you, John, I haven’t lied to you. It’s just that your efforts will be in vain—there’s no point pretending otherwise. I wish it wasn’t so; there are good people in this world who are about to die. If there was another way I would take it. But the decision does not rest with me; it never has. I can change nothing. Why don’t you run along and try to save the world, and leave me be.’

  ‘Ambrose, I… Look, why don’t you help us? You can still be of consequence, and you can save millions of lives.’

  ‘No, John, I can’t. Nor can you. You’re merely trying to postpone the inevitable.’

  ‘John, we need to get moving,’ said Jim. ‘Not long to go.’

  I instructed Gregor to pick one of his men to stand guard over Ambrose, and the rest of us went outside and began to make our way to the bridge. In the early hours of the morning, even the great metropolis was calm and still, and it was hard to imagine what chaos was to come into the world, as if from nowhere. Even as I reflected on that, a low tolling bell could be heard sounding off in the distance, marking the hour.

  ‘Three o’clock,’ said Jim. ‘If your theory is right, all hell should be breaking loose right about now.’

  * * *

  We made our way to the water’s edge, in the shadow of the great bridge, where a skiff was waiting for us. Six armed men crewed the boat, and I eyed them warily—Ambrose had given me enough suspicion of my fellow man to last me a lifetime. However, if I could not trust these men then what hope was there? We were few in number and the danger was great indeed. I instructed Gregor to take the other gypsies up t
he wide stone stair of London Bridge and position themselves above us in the many parapets of the bridge’s piers. They had been given rifles, and I thought it best that they fight at a distance; I had promised Rosanna, after all, that I would take no unnecessary risks with their lives. A band of armed gypsies was not easily concealed in London, so Jim had taken precautions. The local beat bobbies had been paid to keep their distance, and soldiers stood on every street corner nearby, disguised as civilians, ready to turn back anyone who tried to access the bridge. There were not enough of us to fight a war, but there were enough to board the first vessel to appear, and hopefully to end the battle before it even began. I wondered if Sir Toby had heard of the operation yet, and what he would think of my actions in circumventing Apollo Lycea in favour of the army. I imagined he would take a dim view, and I did not relish my next meeting with him, should I survive the night.

  We stepped into the boat, and the oarsmen took up positions, ready to push off. Before that moment, the very idea that the Lazarus Gate would open and a force of invading soldiers from another world would appear before us seemed unreal—an impossible fantasy that had somehow taken root in my mind and driven me to delusion. But if I had any doubts as to the very real danger posed by the Othersiders, they were instantly obliterated, for no sooner had we taken up our positions than a series of strange phenomena began to manifest, heralding the start of the battle. We found that our sense of hearing was dulled, and an unbearable pressure rose in our ears, causing each man to put his hands to his ears and exercise his jaw. Some of the men nearby groaned as the pressure caused their heads to ache. All around us, the darkness seemed cloying as the very air appeared to thicken. The inky black water beneath our little boat that had previously seemed so gentle now appeared as a ponderous swell, as though the entire river was composed of glutinous oil.

  Just as the atmosphere became unbearable, the fearful high-pitched humming began. It had been there all along, I think, almost inaudible, but now it rose in pitch and intensity, signalling some great rent in the fabric of our universe. With my hands over my ears, I turned to look at the shadow-shrouded archways of London Bridge. Fine lines of crackling energy were cascading from the apex of each arch, following the curve of the brickwork and fizzling out in the water, like sparkling dynamite fuses. More and more trails of sparks crawled down the masonry, until the underside of each arch was illuminated by their radiance. The trilling noise intensified further, and I heard men cry out along the riverbanks, and on the parapets above us, as the pain in their heads began to overcome them. And then it happened.

  A flash of brilliant light made us all turn our heads away from the bridge. When the light faded, the noise and pain had stopped, and there was a moment of utter calm. The moment that had seemed to last an age had finally passed, and the splashing sound of river water around our boat was once again natural. I turned back to the bridge, and was struck with awe and wonder. Each of the five arches was now filled with a sheet of soft light, like huge windows of amber-glass. Where the light touched the surface of the river, the water steamed and the otherwise smooth veil of light rippled at its touch. A soft yellow glow reflected off the waves of the Thames, like the delicate light of an autumn moon. The last time I had seen a portal to the other world, it had been like a mirror, reflecting our own world back at me. This one, however, was translucent; shadows flitted and darted behind it. It was as though we were peering through yellowed gossamer into a long-forgotten and mysterious realm beyond. The sense of wonder from everyone assembled was palpable—but that wonder very quickly turned to dread.

  A great shadow, darker than the rest, appeared at the central arch, the largest of the five. A part of the shadow made contact with the portal from the other side, causing a bright, coruscating light to flare around the foreign object. It was the bowsprit of a vessel, which was slowly pushing its way through to our world in a blasphemous birth. It took some moments before the prow of the ship loomed into view—part thrust into our world, and the rest in shadow. Energy crackled and raged around every inch of the ship; this was a vessel of war, born unto violence, and I saw that it was not alone as the shadows behind the other arches grew darker and loomed larger. The time for action had come.

  Our boat had barely carried us into position near the central arch when the gunfire began. At least twelve yards of prow had pushed into our world, and the gypsies up on the bridge had caught sight of the first enemy sailors to come through with it. The Othersiders were at their most vulnerable, for they could not make a ship battle-ready until it was all the way through the portal and they had a true sight of their targets. Jim had instructed his men on the banks of the river not to fire upon the first ship that came through, for that was the vessel we intended to board. However, the gypsies and the few soldiers on the parapets above were there to clear the decks so that we could climb aboard and find Lazarus. Only then would this nightmare be at an end.

  As the reports of the rifles grew more infrequent, we asserted that the advance guard must have ducked for cover or retreated back though the portal, leaving us clear to send up our grapples and begin the climb to the deck. I had not thought through the difficulties of such a climb with a wounded shoulder, and I was by far the slowest man up the ropes. Thankfully, the need to answer the call to action was greater than my frailties, and I soldiered on, finally heaving myself over the gunwale in time to see Jim and his men taking up firing positions on our portion of the deck. The prow of the ship was bereft of hatches as far as I could see, so we knew we would have to fight our way along the length of the vessel to get to my father. The ship was a flush-decker, and there was little cover, so we hunkered down behind the anchor machinery in the centre of the deck. Through the amber portal we could see indistinct shapes running to-and-fro, and I was certain that the Othersiders could see us as similar shades. They had numbers on their side, and we could not tarry long before they plucked up the courage to come at us again. I said as much to Jim, who nodded grimly and snapped orders to his men. The ship was creeping further and further into our world, and the central structure, which was probably the command bridge, was looming closer. We could see the indistinct figures of men assembling in the walkways on either side. Would Lazarus be amongst them? Would he have made it so easy for us?

  Four of Jim’s men fanned out, making for opposite sides of the ship so as to guard against attacks from either of the walkways. Two large howitzers, one positioned on either side of the foredeck, were slowly revealed as the ironclad ship groaned and creaked into existence. The crews of the guns scurried back to their own side of the veil as soon as they were met with gunfire from above and afore, and the guns provided our men with invaluable steel-plated cover. The other two men remained at the anchor crank, ready to cover our advance. As soon as the command bridge came into view, Jim and I planned to run to it whilst the men on either flank took care of the enemy. Before long, the crackling energy that signalled the emergence of some foreign object began to dance around the great block of dark iron, and the armour-plated frontage of the ship’s control tower loomed over us, its tiny windows too high to reach, and with no signs of ingress. Despite the rather daunting appearance of the vessel, Jim and I stuck to the plan, and raced to the foot of the iron wall. No sooner had we reached it than the first wave of enemy marines came through the portal—hard-bitten men brandishing rifles. The first man from each side of the ship fell instantly, and only one marine managed to return fire rather ineffectively before the marksmen on the parapets of London Bridge fired down upon them. The crossfire was brutal, and the marines fell over each other to scramble back beyond the portal. I was just beginning to wonder if it was even possible to fire a weapon though the shimmering gateway when my question was answered—a bullet ripped through the veil and slammed home against the arm of one of Jim’s men. There had been no gunshot, only a flare of white light as the gateway resisted the projectile for but the briefest moment.

  This action sparked the most terrifying engageme
nt, as the men on both sides, both buoyed and panicked by the fact that the veil offered no real protection, began to fire wildly at the obscure shadows beyond. The deck of the ship was lit by dazzling flashes of light as bullets ripped through the air, ricocheting off iron rails, embedding themselves in wooden decking, and only occasionally drawing blood from a combatant. The orderly conduct of our men was soon dashed, and it became every man for himself. We realised that we could not hold our position, and Jim was first to react, barking orders at some men to cover the port side, whilst ordering all of the others to fix bayonets and prepare to enter melee on the starboard. The prospect was not a thrilling one, but I drew my pistol, gritted my teeth, and prepared to charge.

  ‘Are you sure this is safe?’ yelled Jim.

  ‘As sure as I can be,’ I replied.

  ‘Then let’s go. For Queen and country and all that!’

  And just like that, we threw ourselves through the portal.

  It was the strangest sensation I have ever felt. Rather than pass through a veil of energy in the blink of an eye as I had expected, we had to push our way through the membranous portal, which took on the consistency of treacle. Time itself seemed to flow slowly, and for a horrible moment we were trapped like flies in amber. I remember panicking that perhaps we weren’t meant to cross; I could not see Jim even though he had been right next to me, and I could hear nothing but strange, muffled echoes, and the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. Just as I thought that it was the end of the road, that perhaps I would die trapped between the worlds, or be turned inside out when we reached the other side, we emerged in a flash of light, gasping for air and plunged into a fight for our lives.