by W.S. Lacey
It was difficult ground to cover in some places and, when they had reached the northern end of the island, it took them the better part of a half hour to realize that the spot they were looking for was at the base of the cliff on which they stood. The descent was a winding, slightly treacherous affair that Spender regretfully noted would become a winding, slightly treacherous ascent on the return trip.
In a recess of the cliff wall was the mouth of Holroyd’s cave. North set down his pack again and folded the map before tucking it inside.
“When Holroyd spoke to me last night, he didn’t really tell me to be careful- well, he did but he said a good deal more.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me that if we intended to get what we came for, only one of us could go in.”
“Why?”
“If we both go through the Door, only one of us will come out. He said something about a price- said that going alone was our only chance.”
“Why did he tell you all this?”
“I think it’s because I’m the one who is meant to go,” North said.
“I won’t let you,” Spender said suddenly, “it’s not worth it. We’ll just camp out here on the island tonight and begin the trip home tomorrow.”
“I have to risk it, Spender.”
“You don’t, though. You don’t have to do anything. We can just leave and go on living.” Spender, without realizing it, had begun shouting. North, on the other hand, had become strangely calm.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I can’t stand too much strangeness. I like it when things behave as they ought and you can go about making reasonable assumptions about the world. Ever since we’ve gone through that damned Door, things have been far too strange. I can’t wake up in the morning without remembering that the normalcy of life has been ruined by a lunatic with a silly fake name.
“That’s why I have to do it. I want to be able to walk through a nice, normal door without wondering if something ridiculous and magical is about to happen.” Roger F. North, it was clear, was fed up.
“And it’s worth possibly dying for?”
“Yes,” North said firmly.
“And you know that things will get stranger before they get better?”
“Darkest before the dawn and all that,” North said, starting into the cave.
“You’re sure I can’t convince you to give it a miss?” Spender called after him.
“Quite sure.” And then, echoing from inside the cave, “If I’m not back by tomorrow evening, leave without me.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” shouted Spender. “I won’t,” he said to himself.
Inside the cave, the sound of Spender’s voice died away along with the wind and waves, leaving North in silence. Though he had outwardly seemed brave and resolute, he had been subject to a rising sense of terror that had begun two days before. The futures that he could see had simplified and coalesced into a single image- a Door. It had loomed before him and he could not see past it. Now, it had come to loom in the present. It was fashioned entirely out of stone with animals and figures carved in relief on its posts and lintel. North stood before it, unwilling to go further and incapable of doing otherwise.
It had been easier to make light of Odd and the Doors when he had been with Spender in the sunlight. Now it all seemed not at all silly and very frightening indeed. After what seemed like ages, North reached out and pulled the Door open with some effort. The smell of growing plants washed over him accompanied by the tinny hum of insects.
Spender threw stones into the water for a while, had dinner on the beach, and walked around looking at the cliffs appreciatively. When that had lost its lustre, he ventured into the cave to look at the Door. While in close proximity to it, he was struck with a feeling not unlike that experienced when walking through a graveyard. To go through it, he imagined, must be as daunting as entering a crypt. He hoped that North would return soon, lest he, Spender, should have to find out exactly what it was like on the other side.
An unsettling thought occurred to him. Perhaps it was this Door that had made Dr. Holroyd do terrible things, had made Odd what he was. Perhaps the garden had some evil influence that corrupted all who set foot in it. What would he do if North came back wrong, somehow? Spender left the cave as quickly as dignity would permit and went back to patrolling the small stretch of rocks and sand that skirted the cliff.
#
Spender realized that he had fallen asleep. The incoming tide was silvery in the dark and a half moon shone through the ragged edge of a cloud. He had heard a grinding rasp from inside the cave; it could only be North. A silhouette came out of the darkness and Spender rose to meet it.
North approached him, looking disheveled and exalted.
“I did it and it was glorious. I told you I hated strangeness, I was wrong.” Spender looked at him closely and thought that his visible eye looked, for lack of a better word, crazed. “We can use this to destroy the Door and then,” he grabbed Spender’s arm, “and then, we can make our own Doors.”
“What?”
“It’ll be the easiest thing. I learned how to do it in there.”
“But people will die,” Spender protested.
“Will they? I suppose they will.” North released him.
“What was in there? How did you get the whatever-it-is?”
“I made a deal with her,” North said. “That reminds me, we have to go back. I want to show her to you.”
“Holroyd said that if we both go-”
“Come with me. I told her all about you. I made a deal, you know.” Something was terribly, terribly wrong. North had begun to drag him back towards the cave. “I really am a wicked young man, you know.”
Spender awoke and lay as if paralysed. It had been a dream. The sky was grey and streaked with light in the east and color had begun to come back into the water. Spender sat up. Where, then, was North? He started for the cave and nearly tripped over a bundle that had been left on the sand. The bundle moved and made an exhausted sort of sound.
“North! When did you get back?”
“Not long ago. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Are you quite all right?” Spender asked. North groaned.
“No, I don’t believe I am. I really thought I was going to die. And the strangeness…”
“North?”
“I got it, though. A single drop.” He held up a glass phial with what looked like a miniscule drop of water at the bottom. “It should be enough. There’s a parchment as well; all one does is carve the symbols onto the door frame.” North rolled over and sat up, allowing Spender to get a good look at him for the first time.
“What happened to your eye?” North’s eyes were identically brown and tired-looking.
“There was a price to pay and, as I didn’t have anyone with me, she took my eye. Not the whole thing, obviously, just the part that was special. I’m lucky to have made it out alive, I think.”
They breakfasted with an audience of seagulls, flinging morsels into their midst. Afterwards, they climbed the trail up the cliff and stood at the top, looking down.
“I’d like to come back some day,” North said, “and dynamite that cave.”
“Will you miss- what I mean to say is, do you mind the loss of your eye?”
“Actually, I couldn’t be happier.”
#
Cecilly loved Arthur very much. He was kind and good to talk to and had given her Lewis. Nevertheless, it had caused a stir of excitement when the letter from Fletcher arrived. She had heard, in a vague and peripheral way, of the scandals he had gone through, of his change of name, and of his committal; all these things only served to heighten the sense of mystery and romantic intrigue that surrounded the letter. Perhaps she had become slightly bored with planning meals and playing bridge. Perhaps she wondered at times what adventures she would have had had things gone differently. She did remember fondly the dark haired, earnest boy who had kissed her in the pa
rk years ago.
Whatever the reason, Cecilly Spender did not tell her husband about the letter. Instead, she sat down to dinner in a lovely state of suspense and wondering. After dinner, when Nanny had taken Lewis to be tubbed and pyjama’d and Arthur had gone to smoke and fall asleep with the paper, she took out the letter and read it eagerly.
“Dearest Cecilly,
It has been some time now since I have known freedom. Quite often, my thoughts turn to the past and to you. My greatest regret is that I never told you properly how very fond of you I am. I am now, as ever, quite alone in the world; otherwise I would never burden you with a letter. At times, loneliness can compel one to boldness.
I heard of the happy occasion of your son’s birth nearly three years ago and never had the opportunity to send my congratulations. I am glad that you have the blessings of family and happiness in your life.
Cecilly, I would very much like to see you. My days have become empty and I have been in poor health of late. I feel that the kindness of a friend would give me solace. I consider you my dearest friend and would like nothing more than to be in your company.
Ever Yours,
Alard”
Chapter Twenty-One
Spender and North had returned home two days before Lent term. They had stayed the night in Spender’s rooms and left early the next morning for Quartersoake. Spender sat upright in the passenger seat while, beside him, North drove and stared into the middle distance.
“I wonder why she went to him,” Spender said.
“Why she-”
“My mother; why she visited Odd.”
“Well, as Holroyd told it, they were acquainted once. He had to know her well enough if he thought that she would be,” North searched for a moment, “ideal.” Spender considered this.
“She must have known what he had become; she visited him in an asylum.”
“Well, we can ask Odd about it when we destroy the Door.” They had passed through Quartersoake and turned onto the road leading to the asylum. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what is it you intend to do when we have him standing in front of us?”
“I don’t know, really; something violent. We’ll be on even terms.”
“I expect he’ll still be quite dangerous,” North said.
“Ideally we should have arranged to have a policeman there to arrest him the moment he tumbles out. There are problems with that, though.”
“Yes, I can only imagine how that would have gone. ‘Excuse me, could you help us collar a thought-to-be-dead magician upon his reentry into the world?’”
As the Humber rumbled over the frost-bound road, Spender and North lapsed into silence, each thinking privately about the prospect of facing a murderer who would, in all likelihood, be utterly unhinged and desperate to escape.
“Perhaps we should have brought something to tie him up with,” Spender said. “Do you have a weapon, something we could use to subdue him?” North hm’d.
“I’ve got the starting handle; that might do.” Spender’s nervous anticipation had made him sick to his stomach and he tried, unsuccessfully, to think of anything other than what they had set out to do. North glanced over. “We’re going to destroy that Door and take Odd to the police. I’m not quite sure how, but we’ll do it. What’s more, we’ll find out what really happened that day.”
Outside, the row of cypresses stood in a frozen, rigid line. Further down the road lay the burial place of the ruined asylum.
#
As the orderly led Cecilly Spender down the corridor, she thought that she could faintly hear the first Gnossienne coming from a distant room.
“Do you hear music?” she said.
“One of the patients keeps a Zonophone in his room,” the orderly said. “It has a wonderful sedative effect. Dr. Webley’s treatments are very innovative, some of them. Mr. Odd’s room is just there.” The orderly advanced and rapped on the door. “Mr. Odd? You have a guest.”
The door opened and the man who greeted Cecilly was very much Adelard Odd and not at all Alard Fletcher, though she could not know it. The orderly tried not to be conspicuous as he avoided looking at him.
“Thank you, Cavendish. Dear Cecilly, I’m so glad you came. Would you like to go into the courtyard?” She followed him, looking at him all the way. He seemed- she could not pin it down at first- febrile; there was something about his hair and the slight glassiness of his eyes.
“The garden is much nicer in the summer,” he said. “The flowers are all withering and the trees are nearly bare.”
“It’s still very beautiful,” Cecilly said.
“I painted it in July when everything was in full bloom; would you like to see?”
“Yes, I would.” Odd led her back to his room, shutting the door behind them. Cecilly noticed that there were wood shavings and a sprinkling of plaster dust on the floor.
“Sit here, please.” Odd placed a chair by the bed. Cecilly sat and looked at several of the hanging paintings.
“They’re lovely,” she said, “which one-”
“I know about you,” Odd said suddenly.
“I’m sorry?”
“There’s more to you than is readily apparent. You’re more than hats and cucumber sandwiches. You know fear and exaltation and doubt and love with an intensity that no one, not even your imbecile husband, suspects. Why you ever chose such mediocrity-” Cecilly tried to rise from her chair but Odd pushed her back down. “I loved you in your complexity. You are like- like a labyrinth.”
“A what?” Cecilly was near tears and frightened half out of her wits.
“Shut up!” Odd said savagely. “I wish it weren’t so, but there it is. I will never find someone with the same quality of spirit. I have no choice.”
“Please, Alard.” Cecilly scrambled up and the chair fell onto its back. Odd grabbed her roughly by the wrist and pulled her to the Door. There was a pounding at the other door and raised voices outside. Cecilly stumbled and lost her shoe. “Please.”
Odd opened the Door and pushed her against the wall that filled the frame. Cecilly sobbed as he drew a small knife. Lewis would miss her terribly.
#
The Door laid face up in a barren field. Spender and North stood over it for a moment before hunkering down. North had a penknife and laboriously carved the symbols from the parchment onto the doorframe. Spender held the phial up to the light and looked at the drop at the bottom.
“What do we do with this?”
“I have an inkwell in that bag. We’re to mix it into the ink and fill the carvings with it.”
“Then what?”
“Then whatever is going to happen should happen.”
#
Odd locked the Door just as the door to the outside splintered and gave way. The men who rushed in did not see the faint light flickering around the jamb. There was a low rushing sound and Odd flung himself at them.
“Don’t try to go in- blindness and death- don’t touch me!” He was borne down under their combined weight and writhed on the floor, screaming incoherently.
#
“Is that it?” Spender said. They stood and looked down at the Door.
“I think I did everything right. I don’t understand.” Nothing happened at first and then, with startling rapidity, a large crack ran up the Door. More cracks branched out from the first and the Door seemed to warp and shudder. Spender and North stepped back and the Door virtually exploded, showering debris over the field.
Odd had appeared, standing where the Door had been. He looked at them, pale and perplexed, and swayed on his feet. There was no wind, no birdsong, no sound at all in the stillness of that moment. Then, Odd collapsed. Spender and North knelt over his body.
“He’s dead.” North said. The two looked at each other, rose to their feet, and walked out of the field.
#
There was a weeping willow in the park that Lewis liked. Mama took him there and read to him and let him throw pebbles into the water. He couldn’t
when the ducks were around because that was bad. Nan wasn’t there but that was all right because he liked Mama so much.
After the park, they went home and had dinner. He didn’t like it and Mama didn’t make him eat it, which was nice. He got to have biscuits from the kitchen after. When it was time to go to bed, Nan still wasn’t there and Mama sang to him. He was tired and Mama said “Good night” and he said, “I love you”, which was nice because it was true.
Epilogue
At first glance, the morning post seemed quite unexceptional. There were two letters for Charlotte and a post card for Prue- sent, North assumed, by her aunt. These he put on the hall table and was on the verge of going to see about some toast when he noticed the envelope. It was large, battered, and heavily franked. It looked to him as if it had been sent from somewhere in France and had taken quite the circuitous route. He turned it over in his hands, slightly perplexed, and wandered into the dining room.
“What have you got there, darling?” Charlotte brought him his toast on a plate and judiciously scraped at it with a knife.
“A letter, I think,” he said. As Charlotte sat, he absentmindedly ate and opened the envelope.
“Dear Mr. North,
I trust this finds you well. After hearing from the boatman that both you and Mr. Spender left Zembra alive, I assumed that, if Mr. Spender entered the Door alone as I suggested, he at least escaped with his life if not the thing you sought. Some time later, I received word that no door of any description was to be found at the site of the Quartersoake asylum. Unless I am very much mistaken, I take it that you were successful in your efforts.
Odd died on the instant, didn’t he? I thought he would. It took years for me to find out that Abney had died at the moment Odd unmade the Door- not after. I wonder if Odd knew that it would kill him. I don’t think that he ever dreamed that he would suffer the same fate at the hands of two schoolboys.
Since you are reading this letter, it means that my executors have sent it; and if they have sent it, it means that I am dead. This fact has some bearing on the matter though it is ultimately incidental. I have not written to ask for forgiveness, nor have I written to gloat. Instead, I have written to inform you of an important bequest.