by Mez Blume
“What are you two doing here? Does Janklow know?” Gabriel’s voice was soft but firm.
“No,” I answered truthfully.
“Then you shouldn’t be here.” He began to slide the window shut.
“Wait! Mr. Webb, please. There’s not time to explain, but we have to speak to you. We need your help if we’re going to rescue Ramona.”
The window slid slowly open again. “Rescue her? Have you found out where she is?”
“We have an idea, but first we need to know… the painting found on your boat. Did you…?” I cut short. Gabriel was giving me a strange, searching look.
“You know,” he said. “There is something of her in you. Something in the eyes.” He seemed to be wrestling with himself. “You really are determined to find her, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
He nodded back. “All that I told you was the truth, Miss Watson. I did not steal it. I was framed.” He gave a short, dry laugh. “A painter framed for stealing a painting. Sounds like a lame joke, does it not?”
“We didn’t think you did it,” I said hastily. “But there’s still one thing we can’t work out. If the painting is so important to Phineas, why would he steal it just to frame you with it? Especially if The Wedding Feast really is his doorway to the past… why would he let it go?”
“Ah.” I could tell from the creases in the corner of his eyes he was smiling. “You’re asking the right questions, Miss Watson. Go on. You’re a clever one. I’ll bet you can work it out.”
I wasn’t sure that I could, but I closed my eyes, thinking back over all that I knew of Phineas Webb … our meeting with him… his paintings… his strange behaviour when Imogen uncovered the canvas... I opened my eyes, the answer on my tongue. “Because it’s a fake. The painting on your barge was a fake. We saw it in his house.”
Imogen gasped. “Oh my goodness, of course! That’s why he was so upset when I uncovered it! He was only just getting started, but it looked just like The Wedding Feast.”
Gabriel was smiling grimly. “Bravo,” he said. “You really are good little detectives. Janklow should be proud to have you by his side.”
I swallowed, not wanting to admit the truth about what Janklow thought of us. “But if the police have the fake painting,” I said, quickly returning to task, “then where is the real one?”
“Wherever Phineas intends to use it. Somewhere he deems important and sufficiently secret.”
“We think we’ve worked out how he’s been travelling through it without Ramona’s help.” I said, holding the notebook up to the window open to Phineas’s note.
Gabriel squinted to read it in the dim light, his eyes growing stormier with each line. “It is just as I feared,” he said. “He intends to make a grand exit, and he has the means to do it. His plan has succeeded at every point. All his life, my brother has wanted nothing more than to rule as the lord over some medieval castle. He fancies himself quite the knight in shining armour.”
Imogen gave a disdainful snort. “He already has Camelot, not to mention fame and fortune.”
“Oh no, Miss Humphreys. Phineas could never be satisfied with make believe; not if he can have the real thing. Now that he has his precious knighthood, there is nothing holding him back from making his dreams a reality.”
Panic gripped me like icy fingers. “But then there’s not time!” I blurted. “He said in his note to Janklow he was leaving after his knighthood ceremony. If he leaves tonight, that’s it. Ramona–”
“Ramona will be out of our reach forever,” Gabriel finished solemnly.
I felt frantic. “We have to stop him. We have to go.” I paused long enough to look into Gabriel’s stormy eyes. “But what about you? We can’t just leave you in here.”
“Forget about me, Miss Watson. I am of no consequence. But listen to me, both of you. You cannot face my brother alone. Phineas is–”
But at that very second, two rooster crows sounded from outside. Dobbs came flying into the dark corridor. “Gus was slow on the uptake. Smart’s already at the door! We gotta back slang it!”
Imogen looked at him blankly. “Uh, sorry?”
Dobbs waved his hands wildly towards the back of the corridor. “Go out the back!” He fumbled with the key ring, trying two of the keys in the bolt with no luck.
“What’s goin’ on in ‘ere?” Smart roared from the front room.
“Come on, come on, come on!” Imogen whispered through gritted teeth.
Dobbs tried a third key, and it slid into the lock. He unbolted the door and swung it open just as heavy footsteps boomed in the corridor behind us.
“Oi, you three! Stand still!”
We hurled ourselves out the door into a dingy, stone courtyard locked in by tall brick walls. Dobbs waved us over to the wall and made a cradle with his hands. “Go on!”
He gave Imogen, then me a leg up so we were able to heave ourselves over the wall and drop down to the other side. I heard him grunt as he hoisted himself up after us. His top half was just visible over the wall when he slid back.
“I’ve got ya! You’re not gettin’ away this time!” Smart’s muffled, jubilant shouts came from the other side. Dobbs’s head was bobbing up and down as he tried to keep his grip. Smart must have caught him by the foot. We were helpless to do anything; Dobbs was too high up on the wall for us to reach his hands and pull him over to safety.
Smart shouted again, more violently than ever. “You don’t stop puttin’ up a fight, I’ll ‘ave your dog minced up for sausages!”
Dobbs made a face like he’d just been punched as he swung a look over his shoulder down at Betsy. In our flight, we’d all forgotten she was still behind, in the station yard.
“Don’t worry, Bess, I’ll not abandon ye!” He called down. “I give in, Constable. Let go of me leg ‘n’ I’ll come down.”
“No tricks!” the Constable snarled.
“No tricks,” Dobbs agreed lifelessly over his shoulder. He turned back to us with sorrowful eyes. “Tell the Janklows I’m sorry I let ‘em down. Now get goin’ ‘n’ find that lady.” With that, his fingers loosened and he disappeared behind the wall.
27
Desperate Measures
“Now where are we going? Katie, stop!”
I stopped at the top of Bedford Row just long enough to explain myself. “We have to tell Janklow. We have to get Dobbs out of there.”
“Katie, you can’t–”
“I have to, Im. He shouldn’t be in there. This is all my fault.” I marched towards the Janklows’ red door, ready to pound it with my fist until I got an answer. Whatever followed, I was ready to face it.
But before I could step up to the door to knock, Imogen threw herself between me and it. “Katie, listen to me. I mean it.”
Her face was as serious as a heart attack, and I found myself taking a step back. “Imogen, please move.”
“Weren’t you listening? Janklow said if we ever had anything to do with Gabriel Webb again, there would be consequences. If you tell him we’ve just broken into prison to speak to Gabriel, there’s no chance he’ll simply let us go on our merry way. We’ll end up in one of those cells too.”
“I have to at least try to explain to Janklow,” I pleaded. “I can’t just leave him–”
“You can’t save everyone! You have to choose. It’s Dobbs or Ramona. And bear in mind, without Ramona, we may never get back home again.”
I stood paralysed. Inside, the feeling of being torn in two was so terrible, it made me want to scream. How could I choose?
“I’ll deal with Janklow. You should go, before it’s too late.”
I looked at Imogen, confused. “What? You mean split up?”
“You can’t do both, so leave Dobbs to me.”
“But I can’t face Phineas without you,” I protested.
“Yes you can. You’ll find a way to stop him. If anyone can do it, Katie, it’s you. You were meant to find Ramona, remember?”
With those words, my
dream flashed before my mind… the hopelessness in Ramona’s eyes. With a deep breath, I reached out and met Imogen in a tight embrace. “How will we find each other? We need a meeting place.”
She thought a second. “At St. Paul’s. Where this all began.”
I nodded, still holding her hand. I didn’t want to leave her, to think of the possibility that we might never find each other again.
Gently, she pulled her hand away from mine. “Go, Katie.”
I knew the time for hesitation was over. Without another word, I turned and ran down Bedford Square, the distant bell chiming along with the thuds of my footsteps.
I skidded to a halt under the shadows of Covent Garden Market and looked up at the clock face on the church steeple. Eleven o’clock. One more hour and the night would be over. Even if I ran the whole distance, I would never get to Camelot in time. What if I was already too late?
No. I must not think like that. There must be a way to–
My thoughts were interrupted by a cacophony of honking and braying. My heart gave a leap. Samson!
With the help of my penlight, I raced through the market’s dark passageways, out the other side of the pavilion and up to the dilapidated little shed that housed the one-eyed mule. “Oh Samson, I am so glad to see you,” I panted, slinging open the shed door and giving him my hand to smell. He nibbled at my sleeve.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any apples today. But if you get me to Bloomsbury, I promise you a treat.”
He nodded his big, clumsy head, appeased. Trying not to startle him in my frenzy, I snatched the halter off a nail in the wall and slipped it over his nose and stiff ears. I found a rope coiled up on the ground and made makeshift reins out of it. Then, with the help of an upturned feed bucket, I hoisted myself over Samson’s broad back and braced myself for the kick-up.
He didn’t move a muscle.
“Samson, ya!” I urged him forward with all my might. Still nothing.
If only I had inherited Ka-Ti’s horse whispering skills. My mind was racing for a way to get the mule moving when I nearly jumped out of my skin. That crazy rooster had stuck his head up out of the hay. He must’ve thought my flashlight was the morning sun, because he was crowing his head off. But that crow had the effect of a shotgun. Samson bucked his hind legs and took off before I could find my balance.
I managed to stay on him and steer him to the left, just in time before he ran into the glass windows of a market shop. After a bit of bouncing and swaying side to side, I managed to wrangle him under control. He seemed thrilled to be out of his shed with free run of the streets. I tried him a little faster. He picked up pace like an Ascot race horse, and we were flying over the cobblestones of Long Acre in no time.
As we passed the Misses Turveys’ Hostel for Girls of Good Character, I couldn’t help imagining the look on Agatha Turvey’s face were she to gaze out the window at that moment and see me riding bareback on a mule through the London streets.
When we reached the wide thoroughfare of Kingsway, I pulled Samson to a halt. Raucous crowds celebrating the New Year poured out of taverns and mingled in the street. Cab drivers swerved and called out angry threats. It was mayhem.
My heart dropped. I had not counted on this delay.
“Turn around, Samson. We’ll have to find another way.”
But the mule, bewitched by his newfound freedom, had no intention of turning around. Rather, he lowered his head and bolted straight down the middle of the road. There was nothing I could do but get low and hold on for my life as people in fancy dress leapt out of the way while others catcalled and cheered us on.
I was breathless and shaking by the time we reached the quiet of Bloomsbury Square Gardens, thankfully without a single collision despite Samson’s having only one eye. He slowed to a trot as another bell somewhere nearby struck once – eleven thirty – and I knew I had the mule to thank for getting me to Bloomsbury before midnight.
“Well done, boy,” I whispered as I slipped off his back and led him under the big chestnut tree in the garden square.
Samson didn’t waste any time but set straight to chomping frosted chestnuts. “There you go. I promised you a reward, didn’t I?” I said, patting his neck, my hand still shaking.
A soft murmur of voices caught my attention. I looked for the sound. It seemed to be coming from across the street, in the high hedges surrounding Camelot. I dropped down out of sight and listened, not daring to blink or to breathe.
There was just enough lamplight to see a turbaned figure appear at the house’s grand gate. The turban turned one way, then the other, as if expecting someone’s arrival.
Who he was expecting became clear the next second with the sound of elegantly clopping hooves followed by the appearance of Phineas Webb’s four magnificent white horses drawing his carriage.
My eyes were as wide as a watchful owl’s. Could Phineas be inside the carriage? Might he only now be returning with his knighthood to make his grand exit? Maybe I wasn’t too late after all … but how was I to stop him now?
The horses came to a halt in front of the gate, the leader stomping his front hoof with a mighty snort. Behind me, Samson raised his head suddenly. Becoming aware of the horses, he let out a screeching bray, like a door swinging on rusty hinges. My hair stood up on end as the horses responded with disgruntled whinnies. Then the turbaned man called out, “Who is there? Show yourself.”
Terrified beyond thinking, I crawled on my belly through the crunchy, frosted grass and rolled beneath the bench, pulling my skirt hem under just in time before the light of his lantern swept the ground. It paused when it found Samson. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and held my breath.
“What is it?” A second voice called; I guessed it was the carriage driver’s.
“It is only a blind mule.” The turbaned man sounded irritated to have been drawn across the street for such a pathetic spectacle.
“What is the meaning of this?”
I clasped my hand over my mouth. It was Phineas who spoke.
“Sir, it is nothing.” The turbaned man’s lantern beam turned and retreated hastily back to the gate. I squirmed to the end of the bench and peered out. I could just see a tall top hat waiting at the gate. The turbaned man dashed over to it, bowed, then opened the door of the carriage.
So Phineas wasn’t coming. He was going!
The tall, top-hatted figure climbed into the carriage. The door shut, and the manservant nodded to the driver who in turned cracked a whip at the four white horses.
He was getting away! I scrambled to my feet, peeling the wet skirt from my legs. I took one look at Samson. I needed to follow Phineas without being apprehended. The mule had proved himself a fast mode of transport, but certainly not a stealthy one.
The carriage reached the corner, about to turn out of the square, when I had a sudden inspiration.
My hands half frozen from lying on the ground, I fumbled with Samson’s ropes and secured them to the bench. Then I turned and ran as fast as my wet skirt would allow. The carriage had stopped to let a cab pass. I had nearly caught up with it when the driver once again cracked his whip. I didn’t slow down, but thrust out my hand and grabbed hold of one of the big back wheels, just as I’d seen Dobbs do, at the same time launching myself off the ground. My foot landed firmly on the back step, and I grabbed hold of a lantern hanger over my head as the carriage lurched around the corner.
I felt a moment’s elation and wished Dobbs had been there to see me. But as the carriage rattled on down dark, deserted streets, a sense of cold dread crept into my bones. I was in deep now. Whatever destiny Phineas was riding towards, when we got there, I would have to face him alone.
28
Doom in the Dome
A fiercely cold wind whipped up as the carriage rattled down Fleet Street, past the Royal Courts and the guarding dragon; past Ye Olde Cheddar Cheese, its misted windows glimmering with lights and silhouettes of folk celebrating the New Year inside. It was déjà vu, making the same
journey Imogen and I had made our first night in 1885, only in reverse. I knew even before I saw the dome rising up against the cloud-shrouded sky that this journey would end where it all began: St. Paul’s Cathedral.
The white horses pranced around the side of the cathedral until the driver called “Whoa!” and pulled them to a stop in an adjacent courtyard. There was not a single streetlamp to be seen; all I could see were shadows moving about the carriage.
I couldn’t move. My fingers still clung to the lantern hanger, stiff and stinging from the icy wind. My eyes watered, but I forced them to stay open, watching for movement in the darkness.
The carriage door opened. Phineas was getting out; I could just make out the rim of his top hat against the shadows. His footsteps and cane rapped against the cobblestones. He was walking towards the cathedral.
Without warning, the carriage began to move off. I wrenched open my aching fingers and leapt, landing crookedly on the cobbles and falling onto my hip. I bit my tongue, but a grunt still managed to escape me.
The footsteps and cane stopped, then came closer. Softly as I could, I scrambled towards the wall of the cathedral and ducked behind a holly hedge. The prickly leaves stuck through my dress and pricked my skin, but I didn’t move.
From this angle, I could make out Phineas’s silhouette. It stopped and turned, as if looking for what had made the noise. At last, he cleared his throat and his steps resumed their purposeful patter towards the cathedral.
He stopped in the graveyard. I was sure he was standing over the very big stone tomb with the sleeping knight carved on it that Imogen and I had hidden behind that first night, when Constable Smart had pursued us. I never would have guessed then that in a few short nights, I’d be the one doing the pursuing through that very graveyard. And I certainly never could have guessed what would happen next.
I heard a scraping sound of rock against rock. Phineas must have pushed the lid bearing the sleeping knight right off the coffin’s base, because the next thing I saw was a ghostly hand holding a lantern rising up from the tomb. It hovered in front of Phineas Webb, as if floating in mid-air.
