Time of Trial

by Michael Pryor

  ‘Rather than pushing it in and losing it?’ von Stralick said, joining them after his introduction to the ominous shaft. ‘We don’t want to leave an obvious hole in the wall if we have picky gaolers, do we?’

  It took George only a few minutes – and plenty of needless suggestions from his onlookers – before he’d managed to free enough mortar to get a grip on the sides of the stone block. Grimacing with effort, he inched the block forward. It grated, nearly stuck, then it was finally balanced ready to come out.

  ‘If it’s too much for you,’ von Stralick said to George, ‘I’m sure I can lend a hand.’

  ‘Appreciate the offer, von Stralick,’ George said, ‘but I think I have it under control.’

  Aubrey wished that George and von Stralick would stop sparring, but it seemed as if they were in a drawn-out battle of niggling, like a pair of five-year-olds in a sandpit.

  George leaned against the block with his shoulder, wiped his hands on his trouser legs and nodded. ‘All right, everyone. Stand back.’

  He switched position and grasped the underside of the block. Gritting his teeth, he edged it forward until he was taking its full weight. He grunted and moved backward, slowly, knees bent. ‘Nothing behind me, is there?’ he asked, the strain in his voice evident. The tendons in his neck stood out.

  ‘All clear,’ Aubrey reported. He knew his friend was strong, but this was an impressive display.

  ‘Good.’

  George shuffled back, then sank at the knees. With care, he moved his grip until he was holding the sides again, then gently lowered the block to the floor.

  He straightened, sighed and massaged the small of his back. ‘There. Easy as you like.’

  ‘Liar,’ Aubrey said.

  ‘True.’ George flexed his hands. ‘I was just doing my best to keep up the cliché count.’

  Aubrey went to reply, but his attention was caught by the hole in the wall and the words died in his mouth. He stared, then moved closer – carefully – to confirm what the removal of the stone block had revealed.

  White. The hole opened onto pristine white.

  George looked quizzically at Aubrey. Von Stralick narrowed his eyes and took a small step back. ‘What is it?’

  Aubrey squinted, then frowned. What he’d thought was a blank, white space was anything but. It had a lustre, a subtle, shifting sheen that looked as if it was composed of a thousand different shades of white, shifting as he moved his head.

  He reached into the gap. George caught his arm. ‘I was going to say “be careful”, old man, but I realised who I was talking to. What about “try poking it with something first”?’

  Aubrey patted the appurtenances vest through his jacket, then he looked around.

  Von Stralick, with a solemn face, handed him a long straw. ‘From the mattress. It was the best I could do at short notice.’

  Aubrey thanked him. He edged his makeshift probe into the hole. When it reached the whiteness, the straw buckled. ‘It’s hard.’ Then he shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  Before anyone could stop him, he put his hand into the gap, forefinger extended. He tapped the white surface with his fingernail. ‘Quite hard.’

  ‘Pearl usually is,’ Caroline said.

  Aubrey straightened. ‘Pearl?’

  ‘Pearl,’ she repeated. Then she gestured, encompassing the dungeon and its surrounds. ‘We’re trapped in Dr Tremaine’s pearl.’

  Of course. Immediately before waking in the dungeon, what had he been doing? Probing the pearl. He must have triggered a defensive spell and it had caught them all.

  Von Stralick nodded. George peered into the hole. ‘Makes sense to me.’

  ‘Brilliant notion,’ Aubrey said to Caroline.

  ‘I’m glad you’re impressed,’ she said, offering him a smile.

  The door to the cell suddenly swung back with a satisfyingly melodramatic creaking, and crashed against the wall with enough force to shake dust from the ceiling.

  ‘Ah. More have been sent.’

  Framed in the doorway was a young woman and Aubrey was actually relieved. He’d half-expected to see a guard – hunchbacked or otherwise – leering at them, and was thankful that this wasn’t the case. His active imagination had provided fleeting visions of being asked questions while keepers enjoyed working the various means of extracting information. He wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect.

  Their visitor was a striking figure, nonetheless, as she stood at the top of the stairs, studying them. She wore a long velvet gown the colour of old blood – a crimson so deep it was almost black. Her hair was thick and black, hanging past her shoulders. Aubrey had the distinct impression that she wasn’t well, for her skin was pale and her dark eyes sparkled with fever one moment, then lapsed into dullness the next. On top of this he had the creeping sense that she had a close resemblance to someone he knew well.

  ‘Sylvia?’ he said.

  She inhaled sharply and turned her attention to him. ‘Why do you call me that?’

  ‘Because you look like Dr Mordecai Tremaine.’

  ‘Mordecai?’ She put a hand to her throat.

  Caroline was grim. ‘What has he done to you? Imprisoned you here?’

  She shook her head and her black hair danced. For a moment, animation came to her face and her eyes glinted with vigour. ‘No, never imprisoned,’ she said, but the energy fled and once again her face was almost a doll-like mask. ‘This is my home. I belong here.’

  ‘In a pearl?’ Aubrey said.

  ‘A pearl?’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘What a strange notion you have.’

  ‘Then what is this place?’ George asked.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you.’

  ‘We’re free to go?’ Von Stralick asked.

  She shrugged, as if this was unimportant. ‘You’re free to come with me.’

  Aubrey had more than a few misgivings. Her demeanour didn’t inspire confidence. ‘You are Sylvia Tremaine, are you not?’

  ‘I like the name.’ She turned away, back toward the corridor outside the doorway. ‘But it’s unimportant.’

  ‘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. Au
brey 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 c
an 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?’