“Agreed,” Griffin said grimly.
Two more rooms lay at the back of the house. The first was a bedroom with an actual four-poster, and sheets which looked far cleaner than those in the front room. Perhaps Zeiler slept here? The only other furniture consisted of a washstand and a wardrobe, which proved to be empty.
The final room had probably started its existence as a bedroom, but now served as a sort of study. A desk took up much of the space. On the center of the desk stood a large pottery bowl.
Christine and I both gasped at the sight, and Griffin wisely got out of our path. The bowl was surprisingly large, but relatively shallow. Cracks showed where it had been expertly repaired, and I felt a flash of anger at whoever had put such work into restoring it for no other reason than to sell it at a higher price, rather than to further our scientific understanding. The fired clay had a reddish hue, with designs painted in black. My knowledge of pottery was sorely lacking, and I hadn’t the slightest notion what tradition it might have belonged to.
The painting in the center of the bowl depicted what Victor Bixby had referred to in his ledger as an unknown sea god. Certainly the creature was a monstrous thing: part cetacean, part human, and part octopod. I didn’t recognize its appearance offhand from any myth cycle familiar to me.
The creature didn’t swim alone, but rather was accompanied by a group of humanoid creatures, long and lithe, with flowing hair, sharp teeth, and what appeared to be fins of some kind on their legs and arms. Some ancient legend of mermen or naiads, perhaps? They seemed strangely familiar...
Characters marched around the edge of the bowl, and it took only a moment’s examination to identify them. “Look,” I said, pointing without actually touching the bowl. “The text uses the Cypriot syllabary. I believe the language is…hmm…an archaic form of Greek.” The lighting was terrible, and I struggled to make out the words. “There’s something about singing…and the god answering? I think it’s an invocation of sorts.”
“Later,” Griffin said. “We’ll take it with us—the fact it’s been found in Zeiler’s house proves he is mixed up with Bixby’s murder. The police will no longer be able to deny something strange is going on. With any luck, we can get Allan released immediately.”
“I certainly hope so.” I picked up the bowl and held it carefully. It was surprisingly heavy, and I cradled it against my chest to keep from dropping it.
We had just started back down the hall, when Griffin froze. “Did you hear that?”
Christine and I mimicked him, holding our breath. From the street outside came the murmur of voices, accompanied by the click of a key unlocking the front door.
~ * ~
Sweat slicked my palms against the bowl, and my heart sped. We were trapped—as soon as we started down the stairs, anyone standing in the hall would see us. And if they came up here, we’d surely be found. Even if we tried hiding in one of the back rooms, there was no egress save right past their sleeping space—assuming Zeiler himself hadn’t returned for another look at the bowl.
Steps trod along the hall downstairs. Time was running out to make a decision.
Griffin seemed to come to the same conclusion. His mouth firmed and his eyes darkened as he drew his revolver. “Run for the back door,” he ordered, before charging down the stairs.
Christine followed, her pistol drawn as well. Swearing under my breath, I bolted after them, the bowl a heavy weight in my arms. A rather surprised-looking sailor stared up at us from the lower landing. Without pausing, Griffin grasped the stair rail to brace himself and aimed a kick directly at the man’s chest.
The man fell back heavily and Griffin leapt the rest of the way down the stairs after him, kicking him again when he tried to rise. A shout rang out from the front of the house—accompanied by a frenzy of barking.
My heart clenched in terror, recalling the enormous tooth marks in the bone upstairs. On the landing, Griffin turned and fired a shot, but the barking didn’t cease. “Go!” he shouted at us. “Go!”
Shockingly, Christine obeyed him, running for the kitchen and back entrance. I followed her, glancing over my shoulder to see two more sailors and a huge dog crowding into the hallway. “Griffin, come on!”
“I am! Run, damn you!”
An instant later, his boots thudded on the wooden floor behind me—and the hellish barking of the dog grew closer as well.
We burst out the back door. I missed a step, jarring my spine but somehow keeping my feet. Christine, in a fit of apparent madness, ran straight for the rickety dock jutting out into the river.
I slowed, only to have Griffin grab my coat and haul me along with him, following Christine. “What are you doing?” I shouted.
“The river! It’s deep enough; the dog will surely not follow us!”
“Dogs can swim! I can’t!”
The dock vibrated under our feet, and the river spread out before us like a spill of ink. Terror burst in my chest; I tried to stop, feet skidding on the slimy planks, but Griffin’s grip was implacable. “Griffin, no please—”
He flung himself off the end, dragging me with him. We had an instant of weightlessness as we fell—then the rank water slammed into me with physical force, knocking the air from my lungs before it closed over my head.
~ * ~
I thrashed wildly, no longer sure which direction was up. My lungs ached—I had to hold my breath, only I had none left to hold. Fear pounded through me with every heartbeat. I was drowning, just as I’d almost drowned the horrible night on the lake with Leander. The water roared in my ears, but I thought I heard the sound of distant singing as well.
A hand closed around the back of my coat, hauling me up. My head broke the surface and I gasped wildly, choking as a bit of water lapped into my mouth. “Be still, Whyborne!” Griffin exclaimed.
“Griffin—no—I can’t—”
“Trust me and stop flailing, before you drown us both!”
The fear of doing him some harm cut through my panic. I forced my trembling limbs to be still and closed my eyes. “There we go,” he said encouragingly, slipping one arm around my chest, beneath my arms. “Just relax and I’ll get us to shore.”
Far easier for him to say than me to do, but somehow I managed. He swam with powerful strokes, and within a few minutes, he said, “Here we are.”
I dared open my eyes. To my unutterable relief, we’d reached a bridge abutment. Christine had already dragged herself up on shore beside it and stood uttering curses, which would have felled any of the sailors we’d just fled. I flailed about with my feet and found the bottom, and together Griffin and I stumbled out of the river. I collapsed instantly to my knees, swearing never again to leave dry land.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Griffin asked, thumping me on the back, as if worried I’d inhaled too much water. “Bathing in the ocean seems to be a popular pastime here; I assumed you could swim.”
“No.” I shivered. “I haven’t been in the water since the night on the lake.”
He didn’t have to ask what night I meant. “Ah. Forgive me—I had no idea. Not to suggest it would have dissuaded me, since I couldn’t leave you to get eaten by that monster.”
“No. I…” Realization struck, and my heart sank. “Oh no! The bowl! I let go of it when I hit the water.” Our one piece of evidence, and I’d managed to lose it at the bottom of the river. “I’m sorry. You should have let me drown.”
“Don’t be so absurdly dramatic, Whyborne,” Christine said. “Even an expert swimmer wouldn’t have made it to shore carrying that thing. Blast it all, why couldn’t they have waited another ten minutes before returning to the house?”
“Indeed.” Griffin stood up. “My equipment is lost as well. Even if they don’t find the carpetbag, I wouldn’t dare attempt to retrieve it now they’ve been put on alert.”
I leaned against the bridge’s footing. All of us were soaked to the bone with rank water and smeared with mud. Now that my heart had slowed its pace to something approachi
ng normal, I became aware of the cool night wind on my skin, raising up goose bumps and making me shiver. “What now?” I asked.
Griffin shook his head. “For tonight, we go home, bathe thoroughly, and change our clothes.”
“Out with it, Griffin,” Christine said. “You have some scheme already in mind. I can tell.”
He pressed his lips together in annoyance, but after a moment reluctantly nodded his head. “Even if we’ve no proof to show the police now, I think we can all agree we’ve seen enough to know Zeiler is indeed involved with the cult, and whatever they—and their god—might want, it’s not likely to be our good. If we are to stop them, however, we must determine what, precisely, is their objective.”
“And how to do you propose to do that?”
“There’s one other place Zeiler might keep personal documents—a diary, notes in cipher, something.”
I straightened in alarm. “Griffin, you can’t mean…”
“I can. I do.” Griffin stared off north across the river. “I mean to break into Stormhaven.”
~ * ~
“This is a terrible idea,” I said as I shut the door behind us.
We were both soaking wet and stank of river water, and I had little hope of salvaging my suit. Thank goodness I’d left the Arcanorum safely hidden in its drawer upstairs, instead of carrying it in my pocket.
Griffin made for the kitchen. “Help me with the tub.” Although we had running water in the kitchen and water closet, the house was too old and too simple for a permanently installed bathtub.
“Are you even listening to me?” I demanded, hastening after him. “Griffin!”
He stopped and turned on his heel, his green eyes stormy and his brows drawn down. “You think breaking into Stormhaven is a terrible idea. I heard you.”
“Shouldn’t we discuss it?”
“I don’t see what there is to discuss.” His voice remained level, but I knew him well enough to hear the faint tremor of emotion beneath it. “I’m going to do it, no matter what you think. You’re under no obligation to help or accompany me.”
“Don’t be absurd,” I snapped, feeling the stirrings of anger in my own chest. “I’m insulted you’d even say such a thing.”
He wavered slightly. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean…”
“You did, but never mind.” If he wished to speak harshly, I would do the same. “Allow me to be blunt: you have enough difficulties arriving in a carriage and walking inside with the blessings of the staff. Can you manage under more stressful conditions such as the ones you propose?”
He paled, as if I’d slapped him. “I’m not an invalid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Then stop trying to coddle me and help me instead!”
“I’m trying!” I flung out my arms in frustration. “Pretending there will be no difficulties involved won’t help anything, except perhaps to get us caught by Dr. Zeiler. Do you want that to happen?”
He paled even further, but his expression grew more determined. “What do you suggest? Do you mean to let Zeiler and the Eyes carry out the whims of some terrible creature? To abandon Allan to his fate?”
“Of course not!”
“Because I won’t. I refuse to let Zeiler carry out whatever horrors he has planned. I couldn’t stop him from doing as he wished before, in Illinois. But I can now. I’ll be damned to the lowest pit of hell if his plans, whatever they are, succeed because I’m too weak to stop him!”
“Griffin, please!”
“You don’t understand,” he went on, as if I hadn’t said anything. “You can’t. So either do as I ask or stay here.”
His words carved little slivers off my heart. “I’m not your enemy. I already said I would go with you. I don’t intend to abandon Allan to Zeiler, or the rest of the world to whatever Zeiler’s god wants. I only ask these questions because I fear…I fear you are not thinking as clearly about this case as you might another.”
Griffin laughed bitterly. “Really? Why ever would you think such a thing?”
I winced. “Don’t be angry with me, my love. Please. Truly, I only wish to help.”
“If you wish to help, start by trusting me.”
“I do.” I held out my hand. He reached back, twining his fingers with mine. “Tell me your plan.”
“We need access to Zeiler’s private quarters on the fourth floor. The only way to get it is to create a distraction, one large enough to throw the entire asylum into chaos.”
“What sort of distraction?” Did I really want to know?
He rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. “Assuming Stormhaven works on a similar system to the one I’m…familiar…with, the patients are locked in their rooms overnight, and released in the morning. Those who aren’t permanently restrained, at any rate. Beginning at nine o’clock at night, the attendants begin to herd them back to their rooms.” His mouth thinned slightly. “The usual way of things is to force the patients to remove all their clothes in the open doorway and hand them over to the attendant in exchange for a nightshirt. Then they are l-locked away for the night.”
I tightened my grip on his fingers. He squeezed back, but didn’t look at me, concentrating instead on Saul, who had wandered in to investigate his food bowl. “All of this is supposed to be completed by nine-thirty,” he went on. “As you can imagine, there is a great deal of movement and disorder already. If something were to happen to the power lines leading to the asylum at precisely the right moment—say if someone felled them with an ax—the entire place would be plunged into darkness. It would cause absolute pandemonium, at least for a short period of time.”
“If you simply cut down the poles, won’t it seem suspicious?” I asked. “If Zeiler thinks you are responsible, he’ll go to the police. And as you’ve attacked him in front of witnesses once already…”
Griffin’s green eyes flashed with suppressed anger, and he pulled his hands free from mine. “Do you have another suggestion?”
I tried to recall what I’d read about electrical lighting in the papers. “Don’t the poles sometimes fall over during storms?”
“So you wish me to, what, just wait until a convenient storm comes along, and…” he trailed off as my implication sank in. “No.”
“My wind spell—”
“Damn it, Whyborne—”
“Griffin.” I cut him off, and a bit to my surprise, he fell silent. “You want to find out what Zeiler, or whatever creature controls him, is up to, do you not? Surely, you must agree that slipping in and out of the asylum undetected is of vital importance. Or do you want to end up in a jail cell for destruction of Widdershins Electric property, while the Eyes have free run of the town?”
I knew I’d won the argument when he looked away. “No.”
“I know you fear for me. But have you seen any evidence to suggest the spells and the Arcanorum are doing whatever it is you imagine they’ll do to me?” When he didn’t respond, I let out a heavy sigh. “How can you ask me to trust you, when you aren’t willing to do the same for me?”
He winced. “I do trust you.”
“Then let me help you.” I took his hand again. “I love you.”
His gaze softened, and he gave me a small smile. “I know. I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t be foolish.” I bent to kiss him. “Now, let us prepare the tub and be out of these wet clothes. We shall take turns scrubbing each other’s backs.”
It got a chuckle out of him. “Why do I suspect it isn’t my back you’re most interested in scrubbing?”
“Because you have a wicked mind.”
“It’s why you love me.”
“Well.” I kissed him again. “One of the reasons, anyway.”
Chapter 14
Griffin wanted the opportunity to scout the area around Stormhaven and make certain of the particulars of the plan. He also did not wish to get caught, which meant arriving after dark but before the patients were shut away for the night. Thus, it would be at least another
day before we could infiltrate the asylum. His family had asked to see the waterfront, so the next morning he convinced me to meet them after church.
Although much of the waterfront was given to the business of ships and the activities of sailors come ashore, a group of enterprising businessmen had converted a stretch along the southernmost edge into a respectable area where swimmers might bathe in the ocean. Other entertainments sprang up on the nearby pier, and it had become a popular area during the warm summer months. I’d never gone, as I disliked crowds and none of the entertainments sounded appealing to me, so it was with some trepidation I made my way to the area around one o’clock Sunday afternoon.
Soon I found myself meandering through a crowd of families, couples, and large groups of friends; I seemed the only one by myself. The attempts of a brass band to make up for a lack of talent with volume vied with hucksters yelling at me to win a prize by shooting clay pigeons. The aroma of roasted sausages didn't seem at all appetizing despite the claims of the proprietor he supplied President McKinley’s table. I tried to ignore the shrill laughter of a gaggle of young girls as I passed by. Everywhere was sound and motion: singing, screaming, running, and my nerves stretched thinner and thinner with each passing moment.
Griffin had asked me to meet them near the carousel, which I found without much trouble, at least. Wooden horses galloped, tigers roared, and swans sailed around and around in a stately dance. Whoever had carved and painted the carousel animals had a master’s touch; they almost looked real, like actual creatures frozen in the midst of life. I found the effect eerie, unnerving even, although it didn’t seem the riders shared my sentiment.
“Whyborne! Over here!”
I peered about until I spotted Griffin and his family near the sausage vendor. Griffin had apparently made use of his parents’ hotel room to change, for instead of his Sunday best, he now wore an outing shirt with blue stripes and a straw hat. I had to admit they looked rather fine on him.
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