I so wanted Galerius’s neck at that moment.
Claryce touched my hands, which I only then noticed were clenched tightly together. “Easy, Nick.”
More pieces of the puzzle slipped into place. The scale, and maybe whatever else Galerius had stolen from Diocles and Cleolinda, must’ve been how he’d survived all these centuries. Somewhere along the way, he’d also learned about the Clothos Deck. “The dragon and the deck. He found a way to more than just survive. He found a way to thrive, damn him . . .”
“I fear that is so. My apologies, but I brought it up to Lady Claryce while you were in there in the hopes that she might recall something about when Galerius took whatever she had. I thought that perhaps there was some clue.”
“You thought you’d just remind her of when she died? Yeah, that sounds like you, Diocles. Cold to the core. Not caring who you hurt—”
“Nick! I want to remember!”
“It was sixteen hundred years ago, Claryce! You said yourself you can barely remember much from a few decades past. This does nothing but stir old, dark deeds. It accomplishes nothing useful!”
“We were just discussing a way to possibly overcome that,” she countered.
“Mesmerism, I believe they called it a century ago,” Diocles had the audacity to add.
Claryce shook her head. “Hypnotism is more accurate.”
“I know what it was called then and I know what it’s called now.” I gave him a foul look. “And the good emperor failed to mention the trouble I had with an acolyte of Mesmer, didn’t he?”
“It has been over for—”
“The man tried to fiddle with things beyond him! He nearly let the dragon loose!”
At least Claryce seemed to find that disturbing. “Through hypnotism? How? Why would you allow him to try it on you?”
“I didn’t! This so-called expert had been delving too much into the Feirie world in the mistaken belief that it’d help strengthen his knowledge and skills. Instead, he ended up with a Wyld manipulating him. Herr Goettelman got his stronger abilities, all right, and then used them to pry my mind open . . . just like the Wyld had wanted all the time.”
“Oh, Nick . . .”
“The man apologized a thousand times over, Georgius. You gave him forgiveness, as I recall.”
“Only to shut him up. He kept babbling in German.”
Claryce was quiet for a moment, then, “I still think it’s worth a try. If we can find someone trustworthy enough.”
“The dwarf seems an honest fellow,” Diocles of course had to offer.
“No!” I snapped too late.
“Dwarf?” She looked puzzled. My glare kept the emperor from clarifying, but Claryce figured it out, anyway. “You mean Barnaby! He knows hypnotism?”
I tried. “No. He doesn’t. Diocles is mistaken.”
“I know that tone. Don’t lie, Nick. It’s settled, then. We’ll go see Barnaby.”
“Claryce . . .”
“No argument.” She stood. “I assume you got what you wanted from Father Jonathan. May I finally see it? I gather Diocles knows what it is, but out of respect for you he didn’t say anything.”
“Sure. That he stays mum about.” I pulled out the cross.
Claryce was properly impressed . . . and startled. “I’ve seen that before!”
I wracked my memory, but couldn’t recall when I’d shown it to either her or one of her previous incarnations, and I told her this.
She continued to stare at it. “I know I have . . . and that it might be important.” Claryce looked defiant. “Now we have another reason to see Barnaby about hypnotism.”
I gave up. “All right. We stop at the house, then call Barnaby. Maybe he’s made better sense of Joseph’s papers by now.”
“Fare you well, my lady,” Diocles said to her as he added yet another bow. “I pray it all works out for you.”
“Thank you, Diocles.”
“Yeah. Thanks a lot,” I added gruffly.
The late emperor had the nerve to make an exasperated face before fading away.
I carefully put the cross back in its hiding place. Thankfully, we finally left St. Michael’s and returned to Fetch.
“Anything out of the ordinary?” I asked as we climbed into the Packard.
“Everything’s copacetic, Master Nicholas!”
“Okay, that’s one that’s getting on my nerves.”
“All’s swell?” he tried, his expression dog-innocent.
Claryce chuckled. I shook my head and started up the car.
We arrived at the house a short time later. I noticed a car parked near the doctor who lived a short distance from me. There was no outward sign, but I suspected he had a patient he’d prefer not show up at his office.
“What’s the matter?”
“The war’s getting a little too close to home. Literally.”
She cautiously peered in the direction I’d been looking. “Capone’s?”
“Most likely. Might be another reason to move soon.”
Everything about the Queen Anne looked normal. The lawn was neat and with little landscaping that would allow anything human or otherwise to hide. The house itself appeared to have been kept up well, with only minor hints of weathering despite the tempestuous Chicago winters.
We entered to find my eclectic collection of furniture seeming pretty intact, along with the other pieces I’d gathered over the centuries. In the hall, a candlestick telephone stood waiting. It didn’t get much use, of course, since nearly all the incoming calls were from those in desperate need of my “ghostbusting” skills. For the rest of humanity, the number didn’t exist.
Fetch made a beeline to the kitchen—and, more importantly, the Kelvinator—to see how well I’d stocked food supplies. Never mind how well he’d eaten at the safe house.
“I’d better see that he leaves something,” Claryce offered.
“Go ahead. I think I know what I want to check first in my files.”
I went to the room I used as a makeshift office. There, I opened one of the cabinets filled with news articles from Chicago papers past and present. Grabbing the thick files I wanted, I dove into my task.
Claryce joined me without me even noticing. I eyed the cup of coffee she’d set next to me. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. I’d hate to think what that tar would be doing to your insides if you were like regular folks.” She studied a couple of the clippings. “These are pretty old. The Chicago Democrat? I’ve never even heard of that.”
“Hmm? Joined with the Trib around the start of the war.”
“Which war?”
“Sorry. The Civil War.”
“‘The Civil War,’ he says.” After digesting that for a moment—an uncomfortable moment for me—Claryce said, “These mostly seem to be about ships lost on the lake.”
“Some.”
She picked up a couple more articles. “The Chicago Express. The Chicago Democratic Press. These are some pretty obscure ones.”
“Sometimes they have the most helpful articles.” I sat back. “But not this time. I’ve referenced several stories, crossed them with others, but got very little. Galerius’s done a good job of keeping things mum. I have two articles vaguely mentioning something monstrous out in Lake Michigan, but nothing else.”
“What’re you trying to find?”
I shoved the files aside. “Odd events out in the lake, especially ones coinciding with certain other events.”
While I’d explained, she’d been going over a few clippings herself.
“I don’t even know how well we can trust any of the eyewitness accounts. This one article has the man who survived one sinking dismissed as not a credible witness in part because he kept insisting the captain was a man named Edwards and records said the actual name was Stockton.”
That made me think of something else I’d read. I grabbed the clippings I’d gone through and searched.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure. Hold
on.”
I went through article after article. Finally, I located the one I wanted. I read through it three times before making a decision.
“Well?”
“Here’s something of interest. Three men. Survivors of a schooner. Adrift in the middle of the lake for two days because of violent storms preventing rescue. About twenty years after your story. Capable men, all with years of sailing.”
Claryce leaned close. “So what’s the catch?”
“According to this, the three men kept insisting that they were from the Vincent Charles, but all records indicate a different name for their vessel.”
“Maybe they were just confused after their ordeal.”
“Two them had been part of the crew for a decade, it says. All records show no Vincent Charles existing.”
She compared the two stories. “What kind of connection are you trying to make?”
“The one I least want to make,” I answered, as I downed a good swallow of coffee and sat back. “Facts that seemed to have changed for all but those caught directly in the events. Like what happened with the Tribune Tower even though it wasn’t at the center of Oberon’s plans.”
Her expression suddenly mirrored my concerns. “Nick . . . you’re not saying—”
“Yeah.” I stared at the two seemingly innocuous articles. “Not only does Galerius have access to a different card from the Clothos Deck, but he’s apparently been using its powers near Chicago for at least a century . . .”
CHAPTER 18
Claryce and I agreed not to mention this to anyone else, even Barnaby. Fetch was the only exception, since no one could speak with him unless I was nearby.
That made me suddenly wonder how he and Kravayik had managed to work together once they realized their mutual goal concerning the refugees from Feirie. The answer proved very simple. Kravayik had just been smart. Fetch had smuggled the one Wyld I’d earlier discovered him hiding to Kravayik. Kravayik, understanding what Fetch had done, simply asked the right questions, to which Fetch responded with a bark or a wag of the tail. That was all the communication they’d needed.
I called Barnaby right after our discovery and checked if he was still able to, not to mention willing to, use hypnotism. He proved to be quite agreeable when he thought it was going to be me he put under. Claryce, not so much. She finally had to take the telephone and insist that he do as she wanted.
He shut up after that, somewhat to my disappointment. I’d hoped he could talk her out of it.
With Fetch having left just enough in the Kelvinator to feed Claryce and me, we tied up things at the house and headed to Barna-by’s. I tried to think of some other reasons to put an end to this idea of hypnotism, but drew a blank. Claryce was determined to see this through.
Barnaby led all three of us to his study. I hadn’t paid much attention to that part of the house the last few times I’d visited, but knowing him as I did I suspected it’d been a lot neater until recently.
“Still trying to deduce things from Joseph’s work?”
“Still. Three times I thought I had it, and three times the answers came out as nonsense.”
“For example?”
He sighed. “Bottom of the lake and shifting each time I try to verify a final location.”
I knew that Michael had done his utmost to steer me toward Lake Michigan and that there was something out there tied to all this, but I was also painfully aware that Galerius wanted me out there, too. That tentacled thing out in the waters was just waiting for me. I wasn’t going out there until I’d exhausted every avenue on land. I needed to be fully prepared when next we confronted it.
“Any of the other points make more sense?”
“Sadly, not—”
There was a thump from somewhere beyond the room. I had Her Lady’s gift drawn even before I reached the hallway. Fetch was at my heels.
I saw no one. Fetch darted past me. He thrust his nose in the air and sniffed. His ears stiffened.
“Above us, Master Nicholas!”
Of course. I silently cursed myself for overreacting. There, at the top of the stairs and with one hand on the rail, stood Joseph. He was staring down at us with an expression that reminded me of a hopeful child. I kept having to remind myself that this was the same Joseph Sperling who would’ve sacrificed hundreds of lives if his plan hadn’t been stopped.
“Is she home yet?” he asked.
“No, Joseph,” Barnaby quickly answered, stepping past us. “Now, didn’t I ask you to stay in your bedroom? Run along.”
“You’ll tell me when she comes home, right?” He smiled wide. “She always likes to play with me when she gets home.”
“Yes, of course I will. Go on now.”
Apparently mollified, Joseph departed.
I returned the sword to its hiding place. “Well, that’s different from him.”
“He’s really balled up, Master Nicholas!”
“His staying at Dunning didn’t tell you that already?”
“Forgive me,” Barnaby said with a sad expression. “He’s waiting for Emma to come home.”
“He’s done this before?”
“Twice today. He always forgets later. Come, back to the study. We should be done with this as soon as possible for Claryce’s sake.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said from behind him. “I just want to see if I can help us.”
Barnaby guided her to the plush leather chair by the half-buried desk. “Please. Sit here.”
After she obeyed, he pulled something from his shirt pocket. It looked a woman’s jeweled bracelet.
“It helps for focus,” was all he said by explanation. “Are you ready, my dear?”
“Go ahead.”
Barnaby held the bracelet before her eyes at an angle that enabled it to catch the light from the lamp on his desk. As he rhythmically twisted the bracelet back and forth, he leaned to her left and whispered in her ear.
Claryce stared at the bracelet. After about a minute, I noticed she had stopped blinking. I almost said something, but Barnaby must’ve sensed that because he shook his head even as he continued to whisper.
Another couple minutes passed, by which time I was gritting my teeth. Finally, Barnaby straightened.
“She is under. That was quite a strain. Miss Claryce has a strong will.”
“It was difficult?”
“Don’t judge based on time. The method I used should’ve had her out within seconds.”
Claryce continued to stare ahead. I eyed her for a breath or two, then asked, “So what’s next?”
“I must guide her back to that time. This could take a little longer.” Bending to eye level, Barnaby murmured, “Claryce . . . can you hear me?”
“Yes.” Her eyes continued to stare without blinking.
“There is a path before you. A beautiful garden path. It has flowers of all shapes and sizes lining it. Do you see it?”
“Yes.”
“Follow the path. Are you following it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, as you follow it, you will see a long row of mirrors to your left . . .”
“In a garden?” Fetch asked.
I’d had the same thought, but I silenced him with a wave of my hand. He could’ve added Duke Slater and the entire Rock Island Independents football team doing laps so long as he got Claryce safely where she needed to go.
Ignoring us, Barnaby said, “When you reach the first mirror, look in it. Do you see yourself? Good. Proceed to the next.” Glancing at me, he whispered, “What was the name of her previous incarnation?”
“Claudette.”
To Claryce, he said, “Now, I want you to look in the next mirror. Look and see Claudette. Look deep. You know Claudette. You are Claudette. Do you see her?”
Claryce hesitated, then answered, “Yes.”
To me, he asked, “And before Claudette?”
I winced. “Clarissa.”
“Ah, yes. I remember. You told me of her.” Focusing again
on Claryce, he commanded, “Now, move to the next mirror. You will see Clarissa. You remember Clarissa. You are Clarissa. See Clarissa. Do you?”
She paused again, but then in a more assured voice added, “Yes.”
“Excellent. Now, do you see the other mirrors beyond?”
The fact that he’d succeeded in getting her this far stirred all sorts of thoughts. I wanted to ask Claryce how many mirrors there were and what she recalled about each . . . but right now I also wanted this over and done with.
Fortunately, Barnaby saved me from further mental struggles by quickly moving on. “I want you to go to the farthest one, Miss Claryce. You can ignore the others for now. We’ll get to them another time. Just head to the farthest mirror. Can you do that for me?”
“It’s so far,” she finally responded. A look of intense concentration spread over her face. “So far . . .”
“Is it? Hmm.”
I touched his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“One moment. Miss Claryce, I want you to pause at the next mirror. Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Look at it. Who do you see? What name do you have in it? Use the tongue of Claryce to speak, but give me the name as it is in the mirror.”
Another damned pause. “Clianthe.” Barnaby eyed me.
“Sound familiar?”
“No.” Great. Another one I’d missed protecting. Some saint.
“Tell me, Clianthe. Tell me who is the most illustrious man of your time?”
There wasn’t any hesitation this time. “Philippos, of course!”
“‘Philippos’?” Barnaby muttered something in what I finally recognized as a form of Greek. Claryce smiled and answered in the same language.
Barnaby laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Forgive me, Nick. I was just thinking how self-centered some assumptions can be. She’s referring to Philip of Macedonia. I’m afraid we’re about six centuries farther back from where we wanted. It seems Princess Cleolinda was not Claryce’s first incarnation after all!”
Black City Dragon Page 21