Marion Lane and the Midnight Murder

by T. A. Willberg

  Bill handed her a slip of paper. “Came with this—a riddle, I presume. Apparently Amanda’s already opened hers. Surprised?”

  Marion laughed. “She’s probably hoping it’ll get her another promotion.” She read the riddle out loud. “When darkness falls, the lock will open.” She frowned. “Any ideas?”

  “Well, it’s a sequence. I suppose we’re to press the symbols in the correct order and the lock will open. When darkness falls the lock will open. A key, a feather, an arrow, two lines...” He trailed off and Marion’s attention wandered from the Trick Lock and back to the stage where Professor Bal was now conversing with Gillroth and several other senior staff members. Occasionally, Professor Bal would turn to survey the crowd, and although Marion couldn’t be sure, his expression now seemed more tentative than excited.

  “Opposites!” Bill called out.

  “What?”

  “The answer to the riddle,” he explained. “Opposites in order. What’s the opposite of darkness?”

  “Light?” She stared at the symbols again. There was nothing that resembled a light but... “Feather! The opposite of darkness is light, light as a feather.”

  Bill nodded and pressed the corresponding symbol. “Okay...and the opposite of falls?”

  “Wait, I’ve got it,” Marion said, jumping several steps ahead. She pressed the symbols in the order she’d just worked out: a feather, the upward facing arrow (up, the opposite of falls), the key (unlock, the opposite of lock) and finally the two lines that were so close together they almost touched (close...the opposite of open).

  She was right.

  The Trick Lock clicked open, revealing three tokens. She passed them to Bill. “And these are?”

  “Blimey,” he said, repeating the sequence and opening his own. “Beer tokens. Might have been easier to get my wallet out.” He collected the tokens and made his way to the drinks table, returning shortly after with a tray of six pints.

  “I’m not drinking all that,” Marion said.

  Bill frowned. “It’s free, and it’s all they’re serving.” He pushed a pint into her hand and took a sip from his own. “Huh...that’s odd.”

  “What?”

  He held his pint at eye level, examining it. “Tastes off.”

  Marion took a sip. She had no idea what off beer tasted like, though the liquid in her mouth was bitter and flat. “I suppose.”

  Bill opened his mouth, perhaps to discuss the matter further, but stopped when the ballroom lights flickered off and everything went black.

  The starlit walls and ceiling gleamed. A drone of murmurs came from the crowd and then, all at once—silence. The air buzzed, whirled, hissed and finally began to rattle with the slow drum of a circus march. A red-tinged cloud of smoke rose from the center of the ring, and as it lifted, Professor Bal appeared, dressed all in white.

  “Welcome to the first annual Circus Ball,” the professor announced to the crowd; his voice wavered. There was a slow applause. Then, from somewhere in the shadows behind the stage, Edgar Swindlehurst appeared. He stepped slowly into the light, and as he did, Marion noticed a glistening gray eagle perched on his arm. The professor and he looked at one another, an exchange of words was had and the eagle took flight, swooping across the room, pouring a rain of silver sparks from its wings that drifted down through the air, dying out just before they collided with the heads of the now completely enthralled crowd.

  “That thing,” Marion said to Bill, taking her third sip of beer, “that...”

  “What?”

  Marion rubbed her lips. They had begun to tingle. “That eagle. It’s gray.”

  Bill looked confused. He cast his eyes upward, at the thing swooping above his head. “Yeah...yeah, it is.”

  Marion opened her mouth, though whatever point she’d been trying to make left her as swiftly as it had arrived. She looked back at the stage, behind it and into the darkness of the alcove from which the eagle had appeared. Swindlehurst moved back into the shadows, his outline now barely visible. Marion’s insides twisted and pulled, her head swirled, her breath grew thick and hot.

  Professor Bal drew a loudspeaker to his mouth. “Let the show begin!” he roared, prompting the crowd to break into a thunderous applause.

  Marion felt her vision cloud over, not so that she couldn’t see, but as if a soft mist had surrounded her. Bill, too, looked as if he were lost in some pleasant dream, his mouth slightly open and his eyes fixed, unmoving, on the show before him.

  Two blond men stepped into the ring next, removing a white silk covering from the large wooden cart they pushed in front of them. Each man took one step backward so that they came to stand on either side of the cart. In absolute unison they reached one arm into the cart and pulled out a wide red sheet of silk. Together they twirled around themselves and behind the sheet, appearing again moments later many feet taller. The men in stilts, their heads dusting the ceiling, then began to juggle. Marion fumbled for Bill’s hand as she realized the things the two men were juggling with were not balls but rather five light orbs each. This time, for a reason Marion was too tired or drunk to understand, the crowd clapped a little less enthusiastically.

  Bill slumped in his seat, apparently on the verge of sleep as the two men (still on stilts) clapped their hands. Instantly, something from inside the cart began to sizzle, followed by a high whistle. From deep within the cart, red and green sparks burst into the air, hit the ceiling, then floated down and onto the crowd. Marion caught one between her fingers; it burned her skin for a fraction of a second, then turned to green-red dust.

  It hadn’t occurred to Marion that the spectacular display unfolding in front of her was having the very effect it had been designed to. The lights and sounds—the shimmering eagle, the acrobatics, the fireworks—had mesmerized her. There was nothing she, or anyone else in the room, could do to tear their eyes from the dazzling extravaganza. Except for, it turned out, a man who was already quite used to bright colors and flashy things.

  18

  THE ROOM ON FIRE

  “Lane! Get up!” Kenny pulled Marion from her seat as an enormous blaze of bright blue fireworks spilled from the center of the stage.

  She stumbled to her feet as the fireworks contorted themselves into something that looked like a rain cloud, looming just a foot below the ceiling. Kenny hauled Marion through the crowd and out of the ballroom, just moments after the illusionary cloud burst, dispatching a swarm of glossy sparks that fell to the floor as a fiery rain.

  Marion steadied herself as they came to a halt, realizing for the first time that not just her lips but her entire body was lingering between a state of numbness and hot prickling. She grabbed Kenny’s shoulder. “What’s happening?”

  Kenny picked her up. She would have liked to elbow him in the stomach for it, but could not gather the energy to do so. He carried her to the powder room and laid her down on the chair by the mirror. “The beer was laced with something. And I think there was something in those fireworks, too. A hallucinogenic, maybe. Here, take this.” He handed her two white tablets and a glass of water.

  “What...are those?”

  “Just take them. You really need to be more alert if you want to be a good detective.”

  Again, Marion couldn’t find the energy to retaliate.

  “Now show me how to use this darn thing,” he said, holding out something round and shiny.

  Marion stared at him. Unable to move, to think, to understand.

  “Blazes, Lane! Swindlehurst is on the move and we can’t let him get out of range.”

  She was trying to listen, she really was, but her head was spinning uncontrollably. Kenny’s dazzling form slipped in and out of focus; she was unable to speak and the only thing she could bring herself to think about was whether the Circus Ball had actually happened or whether she’d just imagined it. She threw the two tablets down her throat and
curled up in the chair until her head had cleared.

  She dragged herself to her feet once more. Though she now had a thumping headache, her logical, rational brain was making a slow comeback. Kenny stood by the door, still staring at the shiny device in his hand. “Where were you all day?”

  “Busy.”

  “With?”

  “We’ve had a little development. I’ll explain later.” He handed her the shiny round object, which, at last, she realized was a Vagor Compass. “Planted a tracker on him around lunchtime but it’s damn impossible to read, so I’ve had to resort to following the blasted man around all day long. Surprised he hasn’t caught on yet.” He wiped a trail of sweat from his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “What are you going on about? Following who?”

  “Goddammit, Lane. Swindlehurst! He laced the kegs with God knows what. The whole agency is staggering around like half-conscious idiots. He’s up to something tonight, something big.”

  A gnawing ache formed in her stomach, nothing to do with whatever drugs were coursing through her veins. “The...the eagle...” she stammered. “The eagle... I saw it.”

  “What? What eagle?”

  She took a sip of water and several long breaths. “There was a mechanical eagle used in the circus. I recognized it but couldn’t remember from where at the time. Now I do. It was in the laboratory. A gray eagle. My God, it’s Swindlehurst, isn’t it? He’s the murderer?”

  Kenny unclipped the topmost button of his shirt and loosened his collar. “Bingo. When I woke up this morning, I received a note from Professor Bal. He said Nancy and the High Council approved the ball a few days ago, though it had been primarily Swindlehurst’s initiative. Already a bit bizarre since apparently Swindlehurst’s not the type for extravagance and frivolity. But the professor really started to get uncomfortable when Nancy left on her trip. He said Swindlehurst started pestering him at the Gadgetry Department, wanting to make sure everything was perfect, obsessed that the ball went ahead exactly as planned. He seemed especially interested in the fireworks, too, which now makes sense. Anyway, the professor suggested I keep an eye on Swindlehurst until Nancy gets back. Just in case.” He pointed to the Vagor Compass. “Hence the tracking device.” He paused. “How are you feeling now?”

  “Same as I was two minutes ago.”

  “Well, that’ll have to do.” He pushed the compass into her hand. “You’re going to have to read it for me.” He smiled. “It’s as you said, Lane. I need your help.”

  Marion turned the gleaming device over in her hand. “Let’s go.” She followed Kenny from the powder room and into the foyer outside the ballroom. Lights still spilled from inside. Sharp cracks and earsplitting hisses resonated across the hall, and through the dazzling smoke and sparkling mist emitted by the ever-bursting fireworks, Marion could just make out the last rows of chairs, the audience slumped in their seats, staring blankly in front of them.

  She flipped the compass lid open. Beneath its glass face was a thin needle attached to a central pivot. Where north would be on a regular compass was instead a brilliant emerald light (the indicator) that glowed brighter the closer the compass was brought to its paired Vagor Stone. Just below the central pivot was a direction board, a rectangular metal plate on which appeared a simplified guiding map. So long as the compass’s needle was pointing at the emerald indicator, you could be sure you were going in the right direction.

  Marion watched the emerald indicator as it glowed dimly, barely at all. The paired Vagor Stone had to be right on the edge of the compass’s range—approximately half a mile. She adjusted her stance until the needle pointed at the indicator, then looked up. In front of her and slightly to the right was the entrance to the corridor that led past the library. On her left was one that wound upward and toward Nancy’s office.

  “I was certain he’d be hanging out in the break room,” Kenny explained, “considering your little discovery. But I waited there all day and he didn’t show. Eventually I found him in the ballroom where he fussed around for a bit, all for appearances, no doubt. But then when the show was in full swing, I lost him completely. I tried to use the compass but it just went dead. Maybe he was out of range but—”

  “Please, Kenny. I’m trying to concentrate.” She took a step forward. “It just requires a little practice. And patience.” The guiding map flashed on, something that only happened when the compass sensed its user was lost. A delicate line of glowing green light appeared, connecting two points. One was black—this belonged to Marion—the other green, the Vagor Stone. “He’s not in the break room or anywhere near it actually...it looks like he’s in the Intelligence Department, moving northwest. Come. This way.”

  It was a reasonably calculated guess, and the compass guided them through the tunnels and chambers that wound toward Intelligence. Normally busy and brightly lit, even this well-used part of the agency now seemed deserted. They continued on, past the cafeteria, past the kitchens, turning left or right according to the compass’s tiny needle and flickering green light.

  As Marion had guessed, the needle guided them toward the short staircase that led from the library’s ground floor to the Filing and Intelligence Departments beneath. She flipped the compass closed, the light now at full burn. She nodded. “He’s definitely down there—” She was cut off by a loud clang as the door at the bottom of the staircase burst open. “He’s coming!”

  “This way.” Kenny pulled Marion behind a bookshelf to the left side of the staircase.

  They waited. Their eyes began to burn. The air around them started to ferment, to thicken.

  Marion ripped two long strips from the hem of her chiffon gown. She handed one to Kenny. “Wrap it around your nose and mouth.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it. Quickly!”

  The effects of the haze did not disappear altogether, the air still thick and clouded, but when Marion peered around the corner of their hiding place and squinted into the darkness, she saw a shape that vaguely resembled Swindlehurst’s tall, wide frame drifting up the staircase. He, too, was protected from the effects of the mist, a gas mask covering his nose and mouth.

  “Check the compass,” Kenny whispered.

  She flipped it open. The needle quivered as it attempted to realign itself and the green light of the indicator dimmed. Swindlehurst had moved past them.

  Keeping a safe distance behind, far away enough to minimize the effects of the translucent mist but close enough to keep Swindlehurst within the compass’s range, Marion and Kenny traced Swindlehurst across the library.

  With adrenaline filtering through her veins and the effect of the drugs now completely worn off, she was starting to feel sickeningly nervous. Whatever was going to happen next, whatever Swindlehurst had planned that required a distraction as gargantuan as the Circus Ball, Marion could feel the threat of it gnawing on her nerves.

  Swindlehurst’s form filtered in and out of view. At times, especially when he passed through an area of minimal light, he vanished nearly completely.

  “Where’d he go?” Kenny asked as Swindlehurst’s outline faded behind a bookshelf.

  Marion caught sight of him again. “He’s heading for the lock room.”

  But it was difficult to be sure. The library’s perimeter lights, small bell-shaped bulbs, had been switched off and the main ceiling light had been lowered to just a flicker.

  Marion and Kenny slipped from behind one bookshelf to the next as Swindlehurst edged toward the lock room.

  “He’s coming toward us.” Marion elbowed Kenny in the ribs and gestured to what might have been Swindlehurst in a dark corner just a few feet from where they hid. Neither of them moved, for it was now nearly impossible to make out where he was.

  Marion’s breath caught in her throat.

  “Don’t move...” Kenny said.

  The sound of footsteps clipped against the
marble floor. A speck of light flickered into view, then faded into the grayness. The footsteps came again, then stopped. The gate to the lock room opened, and after a short hesitation, Marion and Kenny stepped through.

  But inside the long, rectangular room, darker still than even the library, there was simply no chance of making out where Swindlehurst had gone. The room was lined on either side by rows of steel sliding drawers, labeled numerically from one to nine hundred and fourteen. And Marion finally understood why the council had little choice but to believe Frank guilty—there really was no way in or out of the caged room other than passing through the camera-guarded gate.

  Kenny gripped her arm.

  Footsteps on the stone floor. A shadow moved on the other side of the room. There was the sound of a zip being undone and a scraping, as if something was being removed from the wall—a large box, or so it appeared.

  “I think it’s wearing off,” Marion whispered as the air around her started to clear.

  Swindlehurst began to hurry. He turned a dial on the black box and pried it open. The moment the lid was unhitched, a ticking started from inside. He looked at his watch, then removed a single glass vial from the box.

  Unlike the crystal vials Marion had seen in the laboratory, those filled with the silvery mist, the vial Swindlehurst now held contained something very different. A solidly black substance that seemed to hiss and sizzle.

  He slipped it into his coat pocket.

  A new sound, like steam pushing its way through the narrow aperture of a tiny pipe.

  Footsteps hurtled across the room and toward the gate. It opened and shut in a hurry.

  “Kenny,” Marion said, her heartbeat in her throat. An unusual smell, one of rot and burning rubber, had filled the air. Ribbons of black smoke poured from the box lid, so pungent that it was becoming difficult to breathe.