I had no idea what she was talking about but smiled brightly. And for a brief moment sensed the precariousness of her life. “A hot meal. Some fresh clothes. And then you will begin to talk and I will take detailed notes. Because I must discover this bracelet of theirs, Moll. Do you see, it may also be here, in our time. And I must discover more about Maskelyne. Will you help me?”
She gazed at her feet. “Wages too?”
“We might consider a small stipend.”
She looked up. I saw the light of greed in her eye, and confess to a slight doubt as to who would be the shrewder negotiator in this bargain.
With a great show of consideration she said, “Okay.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Okay. That’s future talk. Code. It means I will. Jake said it.” She glanced at the mirror among its gleaming, useless levers. “He’ll come back here for me, you know. Jake. He said so.”
That was also my most secret hope.
“Tea. Cake. Plenty of cake.” She sat back. “And I’ll tell you all the other secrets what I know.”
I was pleased, but I sighed as I touched the bell. This was going to be expensive. And it was not I who was in control here.
Moll grinned.
She really is quite an intelligent little thing.
She will run rings around me.
No one moved.
In the new harsh light Sarah saw they were all staring at her; it was with almost an effort that Wharton said, “No world?”
“In July of 2104 a disaster destroyed…will destroy…the Earth.” She kept her voice calm. “There will be no warning. Janus, his origin”—she pointed at the Replicant—“is to blame. He built the Labyrinth, a government research establishment into heightened human abilities, deep under London. We—I mean ZEUS—knew he had some device of extraordinary power; every time it was used, we detected power spikes of terrifying intensity.”
She shook her head. “I was part of the group, I joined because…well, my parent were lecturers in the Academy…until they were arrested.” She frowned. “I shouldn’t talk about any of this.”
“Arrested?” Jake whispered.
She hurried on. “We were just a small secret group—crazy kids with wild imaginations. They had given us strange abilities, so we used them. Those that survived. It got so that there were only a few of us left, and we were scared, because time was running out and no one—no one—was listening. So we made a plan. We would break into the heart of the Labyrinth and get evidence that the world couldn’t ignore.”
Janus snorted. Jake saw Wharton take a stealthy step nearer the Replicant, holding something behind his back.
“Six of us got through the wolves, the razor-wire, the security. We found, linked to a network of computers, an ancient, black glass mirror.”
Venn came up to her, fascinated. “It still existed?”
“Yes. But it was brittle, dangerous.” She glared at Janus. “He had been using it, burning it out, replicating himself in vain journeys. Speculating, forestalling inventions, making himself rich. But there was a price. It was clear to us that the mirror wouldn’t last much longer. It had begun to break down, and it was sucking matter and light into itself at a terrible rate. When it exploded—and that would be in hours, maybe only minutes—it would create a black hole that would engulf…who knows what? The world, the solar system, the universe? Because whatever the mirror is, it holds a terrible darkness at its heart.”
She looked at Jake. “It was too late to destroy it then. Don’t you see? We had to enter it, to go back. To get some time. Each of us made a vow that we’d enter the past, there and then, with no guidance, no safety, no bracelet, and wherever we found ourselves, in whatever time, we would seek out the Chronoptika and destroy it. So that there’d be no Replicants. No Janus. None of it would ever have happened.”
Venn said, “You can’t.”
She shook her head, fierce. “They were my friends. My only friends. We shook hands, we kissed. I was the last to go. Alarms were ringing—the wolves were out. We only had seconds. I don’t know if the others made it. But it’s true, what that creature says. I’m sorry, but it’s true. I’m here to destroy the mirror.”
Jake shook his head, struggling with the paradoxes. “But if you do, in the future it won’t exist, so how could you return…”
A small sharp laugh interrupted him. Summer sat on a stool, knees up. “What fools you are with your reasons and your fears. So all-in-a-straight-line! We could tell you about time. Time is a circle, Jake. An eternal now. A drop of dew falling from the bracken. Time is only there if you say it is.”
Jake stared at her, then back at Sarah. He was so devastated, he couldn’t think. “How do we know it’s true?”
She shrugged. “You don’t. But if it is, what’s finding your father—or Leah, even—against the fate of billions, Jake? Think about that.”
He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
The Replicant smiled, mild. “Well. Perhaps we can make an arrangement here.” It took a step toward Venn. “Let me deal with her. Take her off your hands. You—”
“Don’t move another step,” Wharton said.
“If you think some crude shotgun can…” The Replicant turned and saw the glass weapon. It stared, curious. “What is that? Some sort of primitive Victorian firearm? Do you really think it can injure me?”
“I know it can.” It was Maskelyne who answered. He moved past Rebecca. “Because it was designed just for that purpose. To kill Replicants. To obliterate reflections.”
Did Janus believe it? Possibly, Jake thought. He edged forward.
“You can’t kill me, fool. I’m not even here. I’m three hundred years in your future, sitting in a steel-lined bunker under the ruins of Parliament.”
It moved, turned, grabbed Sarah and pulled her in front of it. She struggled, but the wiry strength of its hands held her tight.
“Fire it,” Maskelyne shouted.
Wharton stared. “I can’t. She…”
“It won’t hurt her! Only him. Fire it, now!”
Wharton glanced at Venn. He raised the gun. His finger tightened on the frail trigger. Sarah stared at him, frozen in mid-fight, the weapon pointed straight at her heart.
His hand trembled. I can’t do this, he thought.
Instantly, out of nowhere, a small dark object swung from the shattered webbing, snatched the glass gun, and swung away with it, screeching with delight.
Wharton yelled. Jake stared up. “Horatio!”
The marmoset leaped from cabinet to vault and down to the ropes of the web. It clung on with its tail, hung upside-down, and with one long arm brought the weapon up and sniffed at it.
“Oh God,” Jake gasped. “Don’t!”
The shot blasted out like a white laser. It cracked across the room and they all leaped aside; the beam hit the mirror and instantly with a great snap it was reflected everywhere, a vast spider of light that exploded across the room. The mirror shuddered from its frame and fell, with a terrible crash, glass down.
Venn grabbed Rebecca and pulled her away; Wharton hit the floor chest-first. When he looked up, the room was clogged with bitter smoke; to his dismay Jake was clambering up, hand over hand through the cables to the roof.
“Give it to me. Give it!”
Far from dropping the thing, the monkey was fascinated by it. It transferred the glass gun to its back paw and climbed up a little farther. Jake swore. Glancing down, he saw that Janus was dragging Sarah to the door. Venn scrambled up, ran to the mirror, and hauled it over. It was undamaged.
“Give me that!” Jake yelled.
Horatio chattered and jumped. He landed on the floor.
Summer said, “Creature.”
The monkey stopped and stared at her. Then it did something that astonished Jake; it made a spitting, snapping sound he had never heard, all its fur standing up like a ruff of terror around its neck.
She held out her hand. Horatio flung the weapon down and screeched away, h
igh into the roof.
Jake dropped.
Summer picked up the gun and turned, tossing it to Venn. “Deal with him.”
Out in the Monk’s Walk Sarah struggled in the Replicant’s grip. “They believe me.”
“Maybe.”
“And the mirror fell—you heard.”
It laughed. Its small eyes behind the glasses were close to hers. “There is so much you don’t know about the mirror, Sarah.”
It dragged her to the stairs, stopped. “What is that noise?”
She stood triumphant even in his tight grip. “You can’t get out. I’ve made sure of that.”
Venn raced after the Replicant, tearing through the house; Jake and Wharton followed, leaving Rebecca to help Maskelyne up, dazed by the ringing crack of the light.
“Where?”
Venn hurtled through into the Long Gallery. “Downstairs.”
They raced down.
At the foot of the stairs Jake crashed into Venn’s stillness.
The hall was a swirl of snow. The Replicant was a shadow in the drift, holding Sarah tight; she flashed a look at Jake and stood calm. Jake went to move, but Venn grabbed him.
There was no way out. In the snow the Shee waited, an ominous horde, their war drums a pounding beat. Some of them peered in, watching in calm curiosity, never crossing the threshold.
Every window was clogged with their alien, inquisitive faces. The doorway darkened, and Gideon stood there, the horse’s skull on its pole leaning beside him. His arms were folded; he smiled a slanting grin at Sarah. “Don’t fret. You’re going nowhere. You owe me.”
Janus spun.
“Are you ready, Venn?” Summer was standing near the door, even though Jake knew she had not passed him. “Look, my changeling’s even guarding the threshold for you. Here are both your enemies. Why not destroy them together?”
Venn spared her a taut glance. “I think my true enemy is you,” he breathed.
Summer nodded. “I think so too,” she whispered.
Venn pointed the weapon straight at Sarah as Janus held her.
“Let her go.”
“No. Clear the way for us. We escape into the night.” Janus was urgent. “I take her, you keep the mirror. We both win.”
“The Shee…”
“Will do as you tell them.”
Venn hesitated. At once Sarah said, “Don’t listen to it. Shoot, Venn. Do it! Then smash the Chronoptika. That’s what you have to do!” She looked up and saw Wharton watching, Maskelyne a shadow on the landing, Rebecca holding the monkey tight. “All of you. Make him do it. You must!”
Jake glanced at his godfather. Venn’s hand was steady. His grip did not tremble.
“What if it kills you?”
“I’m not even born yet. Do it, Venn. Save the world.”
Tears were blinding her. Through them she saw his eyes on hers. “You don’t know me well enough yet, Sarah. Before I save the world I’ll save my wife.”
He fired.
She screamed. The white bolt of light drilled through her chest like a spear of pain; it passed right through her and struck the Replicant with full force, and for a moment, their faces so close, she saw the glasses vaporize, the ash-gray eyes widen in terror.
It was a weight against her, a hollow outline of brilliance against her retina, a clutch of long fingers.
Then it was gone.
25
“Have you thought,” I once asked him, “that before long there’ll be nothing left for you or anyone else to explore?” We were sitting at a café terrace on the Rue St. Honore in Paris; it was three months before his wife’s death. He said, “The world is finite. Time isn’t. Neither is the universe inside us.”
I thought he was joking.
But he never jokes.
Jean Lamartine, The Strange Life of Oberon Venn
WHARTON PUT THE match to the kindling and sat back, watching the small sticks slowly snap and crackle into almost invisible flame. Soon he felt heat against his chilled fingers; as the peats caught, fragrant smoke spiraled into the chimney.
He scrambled up, dusting his hands.
Despite the return of the electricity, Jake had found some candles, and was lighting them obsessively around the kitchen, stabbing them into holders as if the heart of the house had to be made warm and safe again, the snowy night closed out.
Sarah sat by the table. She was staring into the crackling fire, one hand turning the small gold coin she wore at her neck.
Wharton sat opposite. “How do you feel?”
She shrugged. She had no answer to that. How could she explain to him that the weird surge of light from the weapon had not hurt her, not like the angry despair in Jake’s look, the way he lit one candle now from another and would not even meet her eyes. That was the wound. She wanted to destroy his father’s way home. He probably hated her for it.
Wharton must have sensed it. He gave a quick glance at Jake and said, “I’ll just go and help Piers bring the food in.”
When he’d gone, she got up and crossed the room. “Jake. I’m sorry.”
She was standing close behind him. He kept hold of the last candle until the flame caught, then placed it deliberately in the iron candlestick. When there was nothing else to do, he turned.
She looked pale, and shaken, her eyes ice blue. She had changed into warm clothes, but they were still someone else’s, and for a moment he even wondered if Piers had found some of Leah’s for her. But she was still defiant.
He said, “Is it all true? About the black hole?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t be sure. If you left before it happened.”
“It was inevitable. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
“And my father?”
“Like I said. He’s just one person.”
Jake leaned against the table. “To me he’s everything.”
“You’re so like Venn!” She stared, exasperated. “You’re both obsessed with your own needs. What about everyone else? What about the future?”
He shrugged. “That’s all too big for me. Too far off.”
“You’re lucky, Jake. You haven’t seen what the world will become.”
He wanted to ask her then, about how it was a few hundred years from now, but he knew she wouldn’t tell him, any more than he had told Symmes about cars and planes and computers. So he said, “It’s not up to me. Venn won’t stop. You saw him. He fired that weapon even though he wasn’t sure—not really—that it wouldn’t kill you as well. He’s ruthless. He’d sacrifice any future world to get Leah back. And anyway, the mirror is unbreakable. Maskelyne says so.”
She didn’t believe that. She wouldn’t. “If there is a way, that man knows it.”
She turned as Summer said, “I think so too.”
The Shee queen sat delicately on the bench in the inglenook; she swept her bare feet down and stood lightly. “I’ve come for my treasure, Sarah. As you promised.”
Sarah glanced around. Slowly, she drew out the diamond brooch from her pocket.
Jake saw her reluctance. “You promised her that?”
“She did.” Summer came and stood opposite Sarah; they were the same height, but the woman seemed oddly younger, with a peculiar, childish petulance. She said, “But I told you, I don’t want it. I want that.”
She reached out a small finger and touched the half coin. Jake saw Sarah flinch.
“Why that?”
“A whim. No reason. Anything, you said.” Summer glanced around, smiling. “Should I ask for him instead?” She pointed to Jake.
He went cold.
“No!” Sarah put her hands up and slipped the coin off, quickly. “Have it. It has no value except that it once belonged to Symmes. My father gave it to me, but I doubt that means anything to you.”
“Nothing.” Summer eyed the shining thing; her sideways glance made Jake think of a bird’s sharp, predatory greed. Then she walked calmly to the archway and through it, past Gideon. She touched his hair, light
ly.
“Say good-bye to them, human child.”
When she was gone, he leaned against the wall, his thin silky clothes still stained with snow. New swirls of green lichen obscured his skin; he seemed more Shee than they had ever seen him, defiantly alien. He smiled, cold. “You should never give her what she asks for.”
“Come to the fire,” Jake said.
“What’s the point?” Gideon glanced around at the racks of plates, the gleaming pans, the huge hearth with its hanging spits. He glared at Sarah, his resentment erupting into anger. “You used me! You just wanted her help. You made me a promise you knew you could never keep.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Are you?” He laughed, harsh. “I thought I was the one trapped in a spell, but maybe yours is worse than mine. Maybe neither of us can ever go home.”
“It’s not over.” Jake leaned on the table. “I’m not going anywhere. And I make you a better promise. I’ll get you free from Summer, if I have to give—”
Gideon jumped forward, alarmed. “Don’t! Don’t make stupid offers. It’s not safe. Whatever you say, she’ll hear it. Don’t promise anything to her, because she’ll take it. Your soul, your father, your life. One thing I’ve learned about the Shee, is that they don’t give second chances.”
Wharton paused in the hall. The doors of the Abbey were shut and bolted, the windows locked, the cameras showing nothing, but there was a murmur of voices from the front entrance, and he went to the window and peered cautiously out. The hosts of the Shee were waiting, but as he watched Summer came out and stood in the deep snow, the moon casting a long shadow.
She said, “Go home. It’s all over.”
He hardly saw them change. They transformed before him, shrank, glittered, shimmered. Their clothes sprouted feathers, their beaked faces shrieked. Only their eyes, bird-sharp, aslant, stayed the same. And then they were up and flying, a great swooping host of starlings, dark and furiously noisy against the starry sky, breaking and re-forming in sudden bizarre patterns, the whooshing of their wings loud as they poured and split.
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