“But I hired you! You’re supposed to –”
“And that’s what I’m doing,” I broke across him. “My job, the best way I know how.”
“Blast!”
He seemed lost for words for a short while after that. But then, in the soft glow of the candlelight, I caught a faint glimpse of a smile. It was perfectly neat and even this time. Except that, when I had last met him, his teeth had been slightly jagged. It was always this way with him, like watching a movie that kept altering the details of its plot.
All I ever felt like I was dealing with, around any of these guys, was an utter lack of definable substance. I was conversing with shadows. I was negotiating with creatures who dwelt far beyond the borders of the everyday mundane. And if I kept on doing this, I wondered, would I eventually travel to that place myself, without so much as a ticket back?
“Can I take it, then,” Raine asked, “that you’re appealing to my better nature?”
I nodded. If it made him any happier putting it that way, okay.
He blinked slowly. “Very well. What do you want from me?”
“Get both your heads together for a start,” I told him. “Pool your knowledge. Try and find some way to at least slow Saruak down.”
Willets’s mouth popped open again. But I still had him by the collar, and he seemed to change his mind.
“More importantly, figure out some way to convince Levin and the others that they need to cancel the ceremony.”
Woody seemed to lose the plot for a moment. He’s remarkably good at doing that.
“But I love that ceremony. It’s always such tremendous fun.”
“Not this year, Woods. Think about it.”
Which he did.
“Ah! You might have a point.”
An air of frantic busyness seemed to overtake him, as soon as he’d conceded that. Once he’d made up his mind about something, he usually threw himself into it with a passion. So he turned smartly around and took a few paces toward the furthest corner of the room, making a soft padding sound. Then he stopped and raised one arm, the palm held open wide. Something against the wall over there suddenly lifted itself into the dim, flickering air – it was massive and rectangular – and started to float toward the man.
“We’ll need magic stuff. I’ve got plenty of that, most of it inherited.” And he let out a small laugh. “In fact, I’ve got so much that I could actually go into the ‘magic stuff’ business. Wouldn’t that be grand?”
The object was a chest, I could see, and was glinting faintly. It was hard to tell in this poor light, but it looked like mahogany inlaid with brass. It settled down in front of him – there was not the tiniest sound. The lid swung open without anybody touching it. Our host bent over and started rummaging through its contents.
Willets rolled his eyes, although he’d learned his lesson and didn’t attempt anything more than that. His expression, a resigned one, hung there in the dimness. He had taken off his shades and his red pupils glowed. He stared around at me like some despondent bloodhound.
“This might take a while,” he pointed out.
“Which we don’t have.”
“There’s no need to exaggerate. We’ve still got a whole day.”
And there were times, I already understood, when good, effective magic could simply not be rushed.
A cough from the doorway captured my attention. Hampton had appeared there, in full uniform, and was clutching another candle in a white porcelain holder.
“Sir, if you would follow me?”
I hadn’t planned on going anywhere, and told him that.
But, “It would perhaps be more appropriate if you allowed the gentlemen some time on their own. Some privacy, yes?”
In other words, it might be best if I went elsewhere while there was sorcery afoot.
“Might be the wisest course of action, Devries,” Willets grumbled in my ear. “Once that we get going, well then, sparks might start to fly. Literally.”
Which was the first positive thing I’d heard him say so far. People can be just full of surprises, can’t they?
I stopped at the doorway and looked back at them. They were both leaning over the chest, mere shadows in the dimness, and were picking objects out of it, inspecting them, then casting them aside.
Two mighty magicians. One a sad, aimless recluse, his head all full of mad, chaotic music. And the other a Jesus wannabe, with barely the thinnest of grasps on the regular world.
Our whole survival might depend on them, within the next few hours.
And so, heaven help us all.
THIRTY-FOUR
Hampton led me through the wide, echoing passageways, our candle-broken shadows flickering around us. He was taking us a convoluted route, but there seemed no escaping that. There were dozens of corridors, all tortuous. The enormous house seemed to get even darker, the further in we went. As though each step we took was sinking us deeper into a perpetual night. There were still shapes around us, but you couldn’t even make out what they were.
We kept on passing light switches, however, polished brass ones. So – getting tired of this – I reached out and flicked at one. But nothing happened.
“Master Raine doesn’t approve of electricity,” the chauffeur informed me. “It makes him nervous.”
He continued leading me inward, turning yet another corner.
“How do you even stand this?” I asked.
“When I’m off duty, I get out into the daylight, as much as I’m able.”
Which explained the tan.
I thought about all those windows I’d seen on the outside of the mansion.
“Doesn’t any light get in here?”
“If it manages, then I’m not sure where or how. It certainly doesn’t announce itself.”
And then, as if by way of explanation, “Master Raine does all of his best thinking in the dark.”
Which sounded pretty much like Woody. All theatre and pose, and no real common sense.
We finally reached another doorway that we stopped in front of.
“The games room,” the man announced.
He walked in and stooped down, applying the candle to a larger wick. Smoky amber light came spilling out, widening as the flame grew. There was a clattering as he replaced the glass. This was another oil lamp, like in DuMarr’s office. It sometimes felt like we were living in the Eighteenth Century.
The glow it cast threw the room into dusky relief. Another crystal chandelier was tethered below the ornate ceiling, all the facets winking with the deep yellow light. Sporting scenes had been painted up there, from more elegant but rather crueler days. Aristocratic types in red coats hunted foxes, and there was a stag at bay. Hares were being coursed, and badgers baited. They used to call that stuff fun, which shows how definitions change.
Somebody was setting a falcon on some smaller birds.
Another thing struck me as odd. Everything around me, so far as I could make out, was spotlessly clean. The woodwork had a luster to it, and the fittings all gleamed. Woody’s state of mind spoke of neglectfulness and disarray. I had imagined thick cobwebs and mildew. But it looked like this part of his home was all scrubbed up and neatly ordered, like the pantry of some spinster who took Bible class.
If the same was true throughout the mansion, then I doubted Hampton here was capable of doing this much work. Maybe brooms appeared on sticks at regular occasions. And danced around the place to the strains of ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.’ Knowing Woody, it was not beyond the bounds of possibility.
Over in the corner, a huge red-and-green chess-board had been set up on a low desk – never quite my game. The larger pieces, carved from ivory, were around a foot tall. And I decided to avoid them as much as I could. Because the eyes of the facing row all seemed to follow me a little as I stepped into the room. Maybe that was only my imagination. But I wasn’t taking any chances, not in this particular house.
Dominating the center was a full-sized billiards table. The baize on
it was a deep navy blue. And all the balls were black. Terrific.
But there was a deep, comfortable looking armchair, swathed in dark red damask, to the left of it, which Hampton led me to. The coffee table by its side had a heavy crystal ashtray on it, several coasters.
“I’ll be back presently,” he told me, once I’d settled down.
As soon as he was gone, I got busy. I already understood, perfectly well, that Raine didn’t like the new technology. But he was fully occupied, and I figured that he wouldn’t notice. So I pulled my cell phone out, and then rang Cass.
Her voice was slightly distant. “I thought you’d forgotten about me.”
“No chance. Just been rather occupied. You?”
“I’m in Easy Rider’s sequel, Tedious Rider. Nothing’s doing here. How are things going your end?”
“I’m not sure you want to know.”
I could imagine her pulling her mouth out of shape, at the far end of the line.
“You be careful around those nuts,” she admonished me. “I wouldn’t trust either of ‘em with a burnt-out matchstick.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.”
Which was all that I could think to say.
“Want me to keep going?” Cassie asked.
She sounded genuinely fed up.
“That has to be your decision. But if there’s really nothing happening, then maybe you should just go home.”
Her voice became noticeably duller when I said that.
“That seems pretty pointless too,” she answered. “I’ll stay on it for a little while longer.”
She was like most people who spend too long on the street, in other words. She was there, mostly, because there was nowhere else she had to go.
Hampton came back in as I was pocketing the phone again. He caught a glimpse of it, and looked uncomfortable. But that went away almost immediately, and he decided not to comment. In fact, the man seemed almost pleased with me. I was doing stuff connected with the real business of the Landing, things that had a genuine purpose. This was possibly the first time in years that he’d been involved in anything useful.
He was carrying a large white china plate with an equally large sandwich on it, and a tall and foaming glass. I looked at them warily.
“My own speciality snack,” he informed me in those piping tones of his. “Spanish-style Serrano ham, Romaine lettuce hearts, and organic honeycup mustard on lightly toasted white bread. Do you know how hard it is to get ingredients like those round here?”
When he saw how cautious I still was, he made a reassuring clucking with his tongue.
“No need to worry, sir. I prepared this myself, and I do all the grocery shopping. No magic involved.” He took a quick glance round and then confided to me, “I like to make sure that Master Raine at least eats well.”
He set the glass down delicately on the little table.
“Ginger beer,” he added. “I thought you’d want to keep your head as clear as possible.”
It was probably best if someone did. He handed me the plate and then went away again, did not return.
After the briefest sniff at it, I wolfed the sandwich down. It tasted absolutely fine. I drained half of the ginger beer, then fumbled in my pocket and took out a cigarette.
And remembered what Cassie had said this morning. About the way I’d somehow changed.
I could feel the muscles in my forearm tensing slightly. And my hand stopped halfway to my mouth. I peered at the smoke, turning it over in my fingers. And then slid it back into its pack again.
Which left me with not very much to do. I was just waiting for the others. How to pass the time?
The adrenaline that had been driving me, ever since Saruak had come into my home, had gone away entirely. Lead seemed to be flowing through my veins. The dimness of the room was seeping through me. I leant back. My heart’s beat sounded like the thudding of some distant ocean. How long was I going to have to sit here?
Any rest that I got seemed to be on chairs or couches, these days. I was starting to forget what it felt like being in a bed. But what the hell. I couldn’t remain on the move forever.
I let my eyes slip closed. Then remembered where I was and sat up sharply.
There was still no one here. And nothing – except for the chessboard, perhaps – to worry about. None of the pieces seemed to be watching me anymore. They were staring fixedly ahead.
I couldn’t hear a sound from the surrounding mansion. Factually, I’d never known a place so quiet. But I slid back again, a little more relaxed, and grayness filled my mind.
Except … there was a tiny point of light within it.
Colored light.
Electric blue.
That first time she had contacted me, back at St. Cleary’s, it had only been the briefest of connections. A taut nudge at my consciousness, albeit one that had pushed me in the right direction, helping me save Cassie’s hide.
This time, it was entirely different. A larger intrusion by far. She took form in my mind and grew, till I could see her clearly. Her eyes were closed, as usual. And she was rotating, which she nearly always seemed to do. I could have almost been standing in her room and looking at her. What was happening?
The electric blue glow that she cast off seemed to wash right through me. And her energy made my fine hairs prickle. I couldn’t tell if this was a dream or something else entirely.
“Mr. Ross?”
I stared at her.
“Is that really you?”
“What do you mean?” she asked bemusedly, her high voice rather tight.
She always looked a touch annoyed when I managed to confuse her.
“You’ve never … come to me like this before.”
Her smooth brow puckered.
“I took what you said to heart.”
“Said?”
“What you thought, at least. What you’ve been thinking all this while. I’ve become,” and she smiled, rather proud of herself, “more actively involved. A concerned citizen, doing what I can to help.”
I shifted in my chair, not sure if that sounded like a good idea. But she was apparently trying her best. I felt it wise not to offend her.
“That’s … that’s good of you,” I said.
And then I paused, thinking it over.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“Looking for the person Dr. Willets talked about. The Changer of Worlds. But I haven’t found anyone like that yet.”
It was something that was puzzling me as well. I directed my attention to the matter.
“Does it have to be a person?”
“How so?”
“It might be a thing.”
“No, I don’t think so, Mr. Ross. To change a world, you have to want to. There has to be an active will, or what would be the purpose?”
I could see her point. And was impressed by how perceptive she was, for one who looked so very young.
“Maybe such a person wouldn’t even know they had the power in them.”
Which made her nod vigorously.
“Maybe.”
“Or perhaps we just don’t have a Changer. That sounds like a pretty massive thing. And – for all its strangeness – this is not a big or an important town.”
Her face went noticeably sad, the way it might do if you told her that her birthday party had been cancelled.
“Yes, that’s possible as well. But I’ll keep on trying. You’re right about that, Mr. Ross. All we can ever do is try.”
“Willets doesn’t seem to agree. He reckons we’re already beat.”
“That’s never true.”
“So there’s no Fate, no kismet?”
She studied that idea curiously.
“Maybe. Or perhaps there’s only what we make.”
But then the speed of her rotations slowed. That only happens when there’s something really bothering her. Her expression became very grave. As serious, in fact, as I had ever seen it.
“There is Time, though. Not
hing we can do can alter that.”
Sure. And any way you looked at it, it was a commodity that we were always running out of.
“Faster than you think, Mr. Ross,” she told me.
Once again, she’d listened to my thoughts. I’d gotten used to her doing that, so it did not surprise me.
But what she’d said puzzled me. She sometimes speaks in partial riddles, and it’s hard to know what she is driving at.
“Faster?” I asked. “How’s that?”
“If you want to know how powerful Saruak really is, then watch the moon tonight.”
And of all the references she’d made so far, this had to be the most obscure. I didn’t have the first notion what she might be talking about.
“The …? What am I supposed to see?”
“His impatience. And the scale of his ability. I’m sorry to tell you this. But if you’re wise, you’ll watch the moon.”
Then she faded and was gone out of my thoughts. And darkness filled my head again.
THIRTY-FIVE
It was getting fairly close to evening. The shadows were all stretching. And the sky was gently draining of its color, like blue ink fading in a massive tank.
Cass Mallory had headed west an hour back and begun patrolling Marshall Drive. She was heading slowly down the main street, her Harley making blatting noises underneath her as though it were a live animal, annoyed at being held back. She stopped at a corner, resting her boot on the curb.
Bethany Street lay up ahead of her. Cass felt her skin tingle at the mere idea of going there. Stared in its direction for a moment, and then opted to turn down Gaines instead. She felt her shoulders relax and her breathing lighten as she moved further away.
It was still there clearly in her memory, that first night she and Ross had found the Little Girl. And … bursting into that blue-lit room, gawking at that small, pale figure just rotating in mid-air … she’d almost screamed. She’d thought that she was looking at her eldest daughter, Angel, but with fairer hair. A phantom in her shape, perhaps.
Cass had never gone back since. Had resolved not to, and was privately appalled that Ross still did. How on earth could you trust something that looked like a child, but probably wasn’t?
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