by I H Laking
Ambrose shrugged. “I don’t know if the origin really matters in this case,” he said, looking at the other guests, who were involved in what he assumed were far more pleasant and light-hearted discussions. “It’s a valuable gem that will be displayed as part of a charitable event. That’s what I make of it.”
“You deny its power then?” Zhan asked, looking intently into Ambrose’s eyes. “There are many who believe that the Eye of Gothmore can stop the passage of time itself.”
“Ah, yes. Well in terms of time-stopping, I’ll have to join the sceptics in not believing,” said Ambrose. He could hear Felicity giggling behind him, clearing enjoying his discomfort.
Zhan leaned in, beckoned Ambrose closer and said quietly “My friend, I understand your hesitance. To you who follow The Order, the power of Gothmore is little more than a myth, but my people know better: the Eye of Gothmore is not a toy to be trifled with.”
Ambrose frowned as Zhan continued, with his voice dropping to a near whisper. “There are those in the East who still believe in the old ways. They still believe in Energy.”
Ambrose felt his face go pale. In all the years of his life, few people had dared to utter that word. It was forbidden to speak openly of it, and it was banned from every book of The Order; Energy was nothing more than an evil myth, used to coerce people into submission, or so the teachings of The Order said. Ambrose looked Zhan in the eye and spoke quietly and deliberately.
“Zhan, you may feel you can trust me, but you know who I work for. I am honour-bound to report anyone spreading rumours that could affect the civic mood. For all our sakes, I will pretend that I didn’t hear what you just said. Do you understand?” He leaned back from the Easterner and took a bite of his breakfast, while Zhan stared quietly at him.
“I understand, Inspector,” Zhan said, “But I wonder, do you?”
Ambrose wasn’t sure what to make of that comment, and thankfully Mrs Mansfield interrupted his thinking – she was standing behind him.
“If you gentlemen are so interested in the Eye of Gothmore, perhaps you would care to join Mr Bijonne for his inspection of the gem this afternoon,” she said, eyeing Ambrose and Zhan.
Ambrose wondered how long Mrs Mansfield had been listening to their conversation. Knowing her conservative views, he hoped she had not heard much of it. Felicity cut in with an excited squeak.
“Oh that sounds wonderful, Mrs Mansfield! Of course Amby will join you. May Molly and I come along also?” She clasped her hands together and bounced in her seat.
Mrs Mansfield had always had a soft spot for Felicity – Ambrose put it down to never having a granddaughter of her own. He watched as Mrs Mansfield actually smiled at Felicity and agreed to let her join the party during afternoon tea time. Felicity thanked her profusely, and with that Mrs Mansfield departed, leaving the room to its debates and discussions.
The morning passed quickly, with Felicity and Molly taking Ambrose through the plans for the auction. After a short lesson regarding the ins and outs of charity auctions, they marched him down to the Great Ballroom to lend a hand with decorating. As they passed into the room through its vast entranceway, Ambrose was once again taken aback by its grandeur.
The Great Ballroom was large enough to comfortably hold over two hundred people, including musicians and service people. Its square shape was complimented by four tall pillars that were set back into the walls and curved across its roof to join in the centre of the high ceiling, which rose a full three stories above the ground. The floor was made of polished marble, inlaid with streaks of black and grey, so that it seemed to move like fog as you watched it – Ambrose recalled hours spent quietly observing shadows and feet moving across the floor when he was a child.
Ambrose snapped out of his nostalgia as Felicity and Molly set up a table in the middle of the Great Ballroom. Soon he found himself up a ladder hanging streamers from the pillars, with Molly’s help. Ambrose normally didn’t enjoy manual labour, but Molly’s calm manner and gentle conversation kept him engaged with the work. She detailed to him her study of architecture over the past year, including the various basic forms and rules she had learnt in her first classes. Ambrose noted it all with great interest. He also appreciated her quick thinking when the ladder almost overbalanced – as it fell, she propped it up, causing him to almost fall over and end up with his face close to hers.
How can she smell so good as well? Ambrose thought as he regained his footing.
The decorating continued at a smart pace, with Colonel Chambers and Zhan lending their muscle as required. The Colonel had lost little of his strength despite his age, and was soon involved in an intense arm-wrestle with Zhan after they couldn’t solve a debate over who had the stronger forearm. Ambrose reflected on his last message to Percy; perhaps he should have said he was looking out for normal behaviour with this group.
After a light lunch of sandwiches and soup, the party retired to the music room to hear Felicity and Molly recite an a Capella song they were to perform during the auction. Though Felicity was at times pitchy, Molly hit every note with precision. Ambrose continued to be impressed by the girl’s abilities; he wondered if she would ever consider a career in detection. He didn’t wonder for long, because he was soon involved in a deep conversation with Molly regarding some of his recent cases. She seemed to hang off every word he said as he described the cases of Mrs Milliard’s malfunctioning Mech and Francis Finney’s vanishing villa, though he omitted the details of his run-in with the Assassins Guild from the second storey.
“I do hope I’m not boring you,” Ambrose said, even though he was sure he wasn’t.
“Oh Ambrose, your stories are like water in the desert! I’m so sick of talking politics and structural integrity with these old ones,” Molly said, dismissively waving her hand towards some of the other guests, who had gathered around the grand piano as Felicity showed off her skills. “Do you ever tire of solving such complex cases so simply?”
Ambrose blushed. Compliments were a rare thing in his line of work. “No, it’s an honour to be serving the Empire,” was the best he could muster.
Molly smiled and the conversation moved on to matters of politics and state. Ambrose hadn’t expected Molly to be so well versed in policy and social issues. Normally his sister’s friends kept their interests to fashion and local gossip; Molly had learnt the complex system of Guilds and Societies that kept the Empire turning, on top of a deep understanding of the history of the Empire, including the Outer Regions. Needless to say, it had been a long time since Ambrose had held a meaningful conversation about the geopolitical implications of wheat farming in the arid Empire Highlands. He and Molly talked for what felt like hours, until Ambrose felt a hand on his shoulder.
It was Zhan. He had come back to the music room (which was now quite empty) to gather Ambrose and Molly for Mr Bijonne’s assessment of the Eye of Gothmore. He was highly apologetic to Molly, but she simply laughed it off, and took him by the arm as they headed down the hallway towards the Guest House, where the gem was stored. As they passed through the Great Ballroom, Felicity joined them, throwing a cheeky smile at Ambrose, who felt his face warming, even as they stepped out into the cold air.
The path to the Guest House had been cleared by the House Mechs earlier in the day, and its red bricks gleamed in the sunlight. The double doors of the Guest House stood open for the first time that Ambrose could remember. He felt excitement rising as he thought about how long he had waited to get a good glimpse inside, beyond his fleeting peeks through the window when he had been a child.
Ambrose couldn’t help but feel somewhat deflated as he stepped into the Guest House. The double doors opened directly into a small entrance alcove, which was nothing to speak of, containing just a sparse table and hat rack stationed beside the door. A lounge area stood beyond this, with four gaslights burning low off the ceiling. The lounge was tastefully decorated with an ornate couch and two seats, one of which was occupied by the unamused Mrs Mansfield, who sat
talking quietly with Mr Bijonne while Clink and Clank waited nearby. Wood panelling lined the walls, and it could have passed for any room in the Manor, except for one striking feature: a giant painting that almost reached the room’s ceiling.
Blacks, reds, and deep oranges filled the top of the painting; a sky full of rage that fell down upon the land beneath. Hills rolled in from the left of the canvas, rising to a cliff upon which stood a burning temple, doused in white-hot flames. Men were jumping into the ocean that roiled below, a montage of blue and black that spat forth white foam against the cliff face. The main focus of the painting was a large Mech, standing in the centre of the image. Its body was made up of thin twists of dirty metal, like silver vines formed together in a humanoid shape. The Mech’s face was jagged, frozen in a scream. Where its eyes once sat, only hollow sockets looked out as it leaned forwards. Ambrose felt like it was staring directly at him as he made his way up to join the others, who were clearly as taken by the image as he was. As he approached, Ambrose could make out a small engraving in the centre of the painting’s wooden frame. It read:
Gothmore the Destroyer: Legacy
Ambrose couldn’t help but feel that this was the most terrifying piece of art he had even laid eyes on. Savagery and mourning were all that could be found within its frame. He suddenly felt relieved that he had never witnessed its horror as a child. Zhan leaned over to him and whispered in his ear, “A fascinating record of the great myth, don’t you think, Inspector?” He smiled a toothy grin as Mr Bijonne cleared his throat.
“I trust everyone is enjoying this cherry scene; however the time has come to inspect the Eye of Gothmore. Clink, may I have the gem please?”
The Mech nodded, and approached the painting. He turned to the guests and recited what was clearly a well-rehearsed speech.
“Dear guests, you are about to lay eyes on one of the rarest treasures in the Mansfield collection. Its security in this place is entrusted to me, and I ask that you treat it with the respect you would give any living thing.”
Living thing? Ambrose had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The gem’s legend had grown beyond the realm of what he would consider reasonable. Still, he found himself nodding and agreeing along with the others.
Clink looked over to Mrs Mansfield, who gave a tired nod; he then proceeded to push in on the side of the painting’s frame. It swung open with a satisfying click, revealing a small safe behind it. Clink moved forward and inserted a key into the heavy iron lock on the left hand side of the safe. He turned it swiftly and the safe opened to reveal a black stone the size of a man’s fist within.
All those present in the room fell silent. The Eye of Gothmore was more stunning that Ambrose had expected. It was a dense black, and seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it. Clink pulled it out and set it upon a white cushion, which he laid on a small table in the middle of the room. Mr Bijonne licked his lips as it was set down. “My, my,” he said, pulling out a loupe in order to inspect the gem. “It’s certainly denser than I had imagined.” He paused for a minute before beginning a detailed inspection of the gem’s surface.
Of all the people in the room, Molly and Felicity were most interested in the Eye. Molly asked several insightful questions about the texture and composition of the Eye, but received only cursory responses from Mr Bijonne, who was writing a valuation and quality report to be displayed beside the gem. Ambrose looked over at Zhan, who had fallen silent, and was brooding in the corner.
“Is everything alright, Zhan?” enquired Ambrose. “I thought you were looking forward to seeing the legendary gem in person.”
Zhan stared at the Eye, but his mind appeared to be a million miles away. “Yes Inspector, I was indeed excited. But where I expected light, I sense nothing. It is as if…” his voice trailed off and he resumed his brooding.
Mr Bijonne was nearing the end of his inspection. Mrs Mansfield stood and joined him as he walked the stone back to the safe. As he stepped onto the carpet that lay beneath the safe, the jeweller stumbled for a minute, and he and Mrs Mansfield grabbed at thin air as the Eye flew through the air towards the wall. The gem was about to make contact with the painting when a delicate hand intercepted its flight and placed it back in its correct position.
It was Molly. She smiled at Mr Bijonne and cheerily declared, “Well, that was close wasn’t it?” Ambrose watched as she smugly closed the safe door and turned to leave.
Is there anything she can’t do?
The remaining party left the Guest House, leaving Clink and Clank to tidy up – dinner was only an hour away, and preparations had to be made.
As he climbed the grand staircase to the first floor, Ambrose noted Mrs Mansfield walking off with Mr Bijonne. Zhan was also following them at a distance, and whilst he appeared to be merely inspecting portraits, he betrayed the look of a man who was set on eavesdropping.
Who are you, Zhan? And why are you suddenly so distracted? Ambrose pondered the afternoon’s events as he returned to his room to freshen up.
During dinner that evening, Ambrose found himself seated beside Lucas Lamarre and Sam Silcox, who proceeded to try and convince him of the benefits of a business scheme they were promoting. Whilst Lucas came across as genuinely naïve, Sam was truly slimy in Ambrose’s opinion. He carried all the hallmarks of a pan-handler from the slums, and if Ambrose had been in Traville, he might even have checked at headquarters for any criminal history. He politely declined Sam’s insistent offer, and proceeded to discuss more pleasant things with Mr and Mrs Durant, who were explaining their long history with the Mansfields to him.
As the evening progressed, Ambrose noticed that Colonel Chambers was having quite an intense conversation with Mrs Mansfield. He had positioned himself beside her, and had been leaning in close, speaking gently with her. Now they appeared to be having sharp words in hushed tones. Then, without so much as a word, Mrs Mansfield stood and walked out swiftly. The Colonel started to call after her, but thought better of it and returned to his food.
Silence descended over the dining hall, with Mystico attempting to lighten the mood with a terrible joke about Mechs and weddings. For the next half an hour, the room was a mix of polite conversations as the guests finished their dinner and waited for their host to return. People came and went, but there was an undeniable air of apprehension about why Mrs Mansfield had left so rapidly. The Colonel was silent in his chair, sullen as he ate the remains of his dinner. Time dragged on, and dessert was being served when Felicity excused herself from the room. As she left, Ambrose beckoned Clink over.
“I trust Mrs Mansfield is feeling well?” he asked, to which the Mech gave a knowing nod. The Mechs never gave out information about the Mansfield family, but Ambrose felt it was worth a try anyway. Clink did at least mention that he was sure Mrs Mansfield would return shortly. He returned to his post by the door, and Ambrose took a bite of the butter pudding that had just been served. The other guests were now mostly chewing away quietly, as often happens when a good dessert appears on the table.
Then a scream cut through the quiet.
Ambrose whipped around in the direction of the noise, immediately recognising Felicity’s voice as he leapt up from the table. He was outside in a flash, charging through the snow towards the Guest House. He could see two sets of footprints leading along the path to the doors, one of which hung open, swinging in the breeze. Light spilled out of the doorway, where Felicity stood screaming at the top of her lungs.
Ambrose slowed as he approached, and Felicity collapsed into his arms, sobbing.
“What’s wrong?” Ambrose demanded, but he didn’t have to wait for a response. Behind him he could hear the sound of the other guests arriving, along with Clink and Clank, who marched past them into the Guest House. Ambrose followed, passing Felicity over to Molly, just in time to hear Clink mutter, “Oh no.”
The wall safe was open, empty of its contents, and there on the carpet lay the lifeless body of Mrs Mansfield.
The entire par
ty had made their way out to the Guest House by now, and stood around the entrance in a state of shock. Most of the party said little, except Sam Silcox, who stepped forward towards the body.
“Let me have a look at her. She may still be alive,” he said to Ambrose, who had put out a hand to stop him.
“And how would you know that?” Ambrose asked.
“I used to be a doctor,” said Sam, as if the admission pained him. “In a former life, at least.”
Ambrose dropped his arm, and Sam knelt down beside the body, taking off his jacket and placing his ear near Mrs Mansfield’s mouth. Her body was pale, and she showed no signs of breathing. Sam muttered to himself and felt for a pulse. Ambrose made his way over to Sam – he was certainly full of surprises, but there didn’t seem to be much of a reason to trust him.
As Sam continued his examination of the body, Ambrose found himself taking in the scene. The safe was just a gaping hole in the wall now, and Mrs Mansfield’s body lay only a few metres away from it. The scene had the look of a theft gone wrong.
Or is this the slick work of an assassin trying to conceal their real motive – to murder of the matriarch of the Mansfield family?
Ambrose looked up at the crowd of shocked guests that stood by the door. All of them would have a part to play in the coming events. Did one of them do this, or was it an outsider? He glanced at the scene outside, where the snow was starting to form on the ground again.
Sam stood up from the body. “She’s definitely dead, Inspector. Not long gone – maybe half an hour, but dead is dead.” He smiled slightly, seemingly forgetting the seriousness of the situation, and Ambrose shot him a withering look.
“Very well, thank you for your assessment, doctor,” Ambrose said, to which Sam shook his head. “I’m not a doctor anymore, Inspector. They strip people of that title if they break enough laws.” He smiled again, and proceeded back to the crowd.