by Riser Troy
‘Why?’
‘This discussion must wait, my bro – Honoré. We have been noticed.’ He looked intently at Honoré. ‘I don’t suppose you can do that trick your tunnel-maker friend does?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then we have only one way out at the moment. Run!’
Honoré looked up from the body of the dead man, who had seemed so kindly and warm and keenly intelligent.
‘What if I decide to take this all the way? I’m sure they hang murderers in this time and place. Hapsburg Vienna in 1906 cannot be that enlightened.’
‘We would hang together, Honoré. You must know that. If you wish an explanation for this thing I have just done – this terrible, awful, unforgivable thing – then we must go, we must go now.’
‘Tell me now. Then I’ll decide.’
‘There is no time.’
‘I know you love the sound of our voice, Lechasseur, so keep it uncharacteristically short.’
Lechasseur looked about nervously, took a deep breath. It was the first time Honoré had seen his counterpart off-balance, even frightened. He found that he enjoyed that look. Given what he had just witnessed, he hoped the man would wear it for the rest of his natural life.
‘Adolf Hitler failed his entrance examination to the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts. Twice: once in 1907 and then again in 1908. Both times, Professor Roche was on the review board determining the merit of the candidates’ work, both times voting against Hitler’s admittance. There was no personal animus involved: Roche didn’t know Hitler; the two had never met.’
‘Lack of talent.’
‘Yes, lack of talent. You saw the painting at my place. The man was and is incapable of rendering the human form with any style or grace.’
Awareness lit Honoré’s features.
‘So you understand now, yes? So we can go now, yes?’ The strain in Lechasseur’s voice had become acute. Honoré could hear the clop of feet on cobblestones, coming closer. Shouts. Whistles – police whistles, he supposed. ‘You realise,’ Lechasseur continued, ‘I don’t need you to go home. Just my Em. You wish to stay, you’re welcome to it.’
‘We can go now, yes,’ Honoré said. But Lechasseur, having dropped his now-redundant crutch on the ground, was already running down the alley, angling left, toward where they left Em and Emily – to do what, Honoré could only guess at, and pray that it would be less ghastly than the murder in which he had just unwittingly participated.
Honoré barked a short, humourless laugh at the sight of Lechasseur fleeing, running like the coward he now knew him to be.
‘The Professor was right: you and I are nothing alike, up close.’
Chapter Seven
Honoré paced, glancing nervously now and then at the pieces of artwork decorating Lechasseur’s walls. The ‘windows,’ he now realised, seeing each piece for what it truly was – no longer an object of beauty (or lack thereof) but a portal to the past, a monitor trained on a particular time and place in history. It was insane, he thought. No, not insane – these people were quite in control of their senses. It was megalomaniacal; an outrageous display of hubris, ordering creation this way and that at a whim.
He stopped before the framed black and white portrait of the younger Lechasseur, flanked by his mother and grandmother. Honoré let his finger stroke the face of Evangeline Lechasseur. Wouldn’t he do anything to change things for the better? Wouldn’t he kill for paradise?
Omelettes and eggs.
‘So, do you have plans for today?’ Em asked.
Honoré did indeed have plans, futile as he felt them to be. ‘Thought we’d look around some more for our missing bridge-builder,’ he said.
‘The thrill of the hunt,’ Lechasseur said, with a wink that sickened Honoré to his core. ‘Never gets old, does it?’
‘Well, do freshen up first,’ Em said. ‘Honestly, Emily, love, you’ve been wearing that same outfit for days now.’
‘Sorry,’ Emily said. ‘I didn’t exactly pack for an extended holiday.’
‘If only there were someone your size from whom you could borrow some clothes,’ Em grinned ironically. ‘Come on. If not for you, then for me. Someone might see you and confuse you with me, God forbid.’
Emily allowed herself to be guided from the room, looking back to Honoré with a helpless shrug.
Lechasseur looked over at Honoré. ‘You good?’
Honoré nodded. ‘I’m good.’
‘You say so, frère.’ The other man stood. ‘Me, I’m for a good, long shower.’
Several minutes later, Emily emerged, dressed smartly. She span once in place. ‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘Does it suit me?’
‘I feel underdressed for the occasion,’ said Honoré.
‘You had a chance to clean up,’ she said. ‘But enough. Let’s be getting about our hunt – I want to be back by dinner.’
Honoré felt he should tell her that, should they find Jonah, there wouldn’t be any returning to this place. Instead, he shook his head and followed her out, closing the door on the sound of Lechasseur’s shower water running.
It was an unusually sunny morning in London, the air uncharacteristically vivid and clear, without smoke from the factories hazing the atmosphere – a change in the environment that Honoré attributed to Em and Lechasseur, who had probably gone back in time to fine-tune the beginnings of the industrial revolution more to their liking. After unmaking two World Wars, why not change for the better the quality of the air they breathed?
‘Why not?’ Honoré said aloud.
‘Needles, haystacks, that whole thing.’ Emily looked out over the throng of people milling about. ‘Honestly, Honoré, our man could reappear literally anywhere!’
Honoré maintained a casual pace, looking into every niche and alley they passed. None of the homeless folks he spotted bore even a passing resemblance to Jonah. In fact, the only thing that struck Honoré was how few of them there were. Perhaps his hosts were right, Honoré thought. Maybe they should be active, not passive or reactive. Shape events. Mould the outcome.
‘Change the world,’ Honoré said softly.
‘What was that?’
Honoré shook his head. ‘I don’t imagine our man will move very quickly in his state. Assuming that space here aligns with space there – and what little evidence we have suggests it does – then we’re at least investigating the right neighbourhoods.’
‘It might be worth inquiring within your network of contacts, particularly that fellow you left in charge of him. After all, there’s a good likelihood our man will reappear closest to where he disappeared, right?’
Honoré’s instincts were giving off a vague warning. Things weren’t right here, but there was nothing he could pin down or articulate. But his thoughts were interrupted as they passed a little café – the same café they had recently visited in their own world, he realised.
‘I’m going to get something to warm me up,’ Emily said, suddenly very animated. ‘Can I get you anything? Coffee? Hot cocoa?’
‘No, thank you,’ Honoré said. He watched her walk in and place her order, chatting with the counter clerk.
Something …
The man capped a steaming paper cup and handed it to her. Through the window, Honoré watched her as she dug about in her pocket for change and paid for her purchase.
… not right.
‘Mmm. You’re missing out,’ she said, sipping her drink, whipped cream moustaching her upper lip.
‘Never was much of one for chocolate,’ Honoré said. ‘Let’s look over in this direction.’
They crossed the street and resumed their search down a new path – one that led in exactly the opposite direction from Scarper’s house.
At Lechasseur’s flat, sunlight filled the sitting room, unfettered by curtains through the large window and skylight. It glinted
off the ivory statuary and brass fixtures, and highlighted the cheekbones of a puzzled and somewhat put-out Emily Blandish.
‘I thought we were going out,’ said Emily. ‘You know … Searching? Hunting?’ She was wearing a magnificent pair of slacks and a blouse she estimated cost more than she usually saw in a month. Not the kind of thing one would wear for staying in.
Honoré sat at the table, leafing through the day’s newspaper. ‘It turns out our friends here had a better idea. This Lechasseur has quite the network of contacts – probably better than my own.’ He turned the page and idly scanned the text. ‘Why not turn that to our advantage, hmm? All those eyes out looking instead of just ours alone? Sounded like a much better plan to me.’
‘So we sit here while they do the legwork?’
‘Well, it isn’t as if we could accompany them,’ he said, grinning lopsidedly. ‘Imagine the looks we’d attract from those who know them, having to suddenly explain that we both have twin siblings. No, they know their way. Best to let them take the lead on this one.’
Emily was about to speak when the telephone rang. Honoré reached for it instinctively, then froze a moment before finally speaking into the mouthpiece.
‘Yes?’ he said. ‘Go ahead. Yes, it is. Of course. Really? I’m very happy to hear that. No, that’s quite all right. We’ll be there right away.
‘Our luck has turned,’ he said as he hung up the receiver. ‘That was one of the contacts. Styvessant. Seems he was quite upset to have lost our man, so he says, and had initiated his own search.’ He pulled on his overcoat. ‘Which, it would seem, has paid off quite handsomely.’
‘He’s found Jonah?’ Emily asked. She had prepared herself for a long and – quite probably – fruitless search. To have their goal suddenly within reach gave her mixed emotions of surprise and relief.
‘Indeed he has,’ he said happily. ‘He’s holding him for us even now. Shall we be off?’ He held the door open gallantly, slightly bowing, as Emily preceded him into the hall and out of the house.
They made their way through the bustling streets of London, past Knightsbridge, toward the wall-to-wall flats Emily recognised as the neighbourhood where they had left Jonah with Scarper. She noticed that the streets were clean, the yards neat, details she hadn’t absorbed when she and Honoré had left here the previous night. It was a far cry from some of the haunts Honoré had escorted her through in the usual course of his doing business.
Scarper stood on his front step, watching for their arrival. ‘Lechasseur,’ he called out, waving. ‘And Miss Blandish,’ he added with a slight bow. ‘He’s in here.’
Leading the two into the house, Scarper literally erupted with apologies. ‘I can’t imagine what happened,’ he said. ‘But this time, I all but sat on the man. I haven’t left my post for an instant. This time, he’s not got away.’
‘I shouldn’t be so sure,’ his guest replied, hurrying up the stairs, Emily on his heels, Scarper following as fast as his bulk would allow.
Reaching the end of the steps, Honoré threw open the door.
‘Jayzus!’ Scarper exclaimed. There, Jonah Rankin sat in the corner, evidently busily engaged in conversation with one of his more argumentative inner voices. But what had shocked Scarper was the electric blue crackle that surrounded the man.
‘Just in time,’ Emily said.
Her partner stepped forward quickly. He pulled out a leather sap from the inside breast pocket of his coat. Emily shouted his name and grabbed for the weapon, but he avoided her easily and brought the weighted leather bag down against the old man’s temple. Even distraught, Emily saw that the blow had been struck expertly, just hard enough to render Jonah unconscious without killing him, dousing the energy web instantly.
‘As you say, just in time, non?’ Honoré said, turning toward Emily.
‘Lechasseur,’ she whispered in horror, before she too felt the impact from the sap and everything went black.
Chapter Eight
‘All right, so we didn’t find him this time. Better luck next time.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Honoré said as he and Emily approached the front gate. ‘In fact, I can pretty well guarantee that no matter how many times we go out, we’ll come back empty-handed.’
‘Why so pessimistic?’ she asked. ‘Just because we –’ Honoré fixed her with a stare. ‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ Em dropped her pretences and smiled. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I did say you were sharp.’
‘So when were you going to tell me?’ Honoré said as they stepped up to the front door. ‘What exactly is your interest in this? Lechasseur said you hoped Jonah would teach you two how to fly solo, but that’s only part of the truth, right?’
Em opened the door and stepped inside. Honoré followed undeterred. Finally, Em turned toward him, her lips pressed thinly together before she spoke.
‘There are things in my past –’ She stopped herself with a short laugh. ‘There were things in my past,’ she continued, ‘that were … difficult to accept. Things that, when I learned about them, made me want to change them.’
‘So you made them go away.’
‘Believe me,’ she said, ‘I’m the better person for it.’
‘So you say,’ said Honoré. ‘I can only imagine what you must have been like before.’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘I understand that the pair of you are cold-blooded killers,’ he said. There it was. The cat was well and truly out of the bag … or the box. Honoré only half wondered whether the cat was alive or dead. ‘But something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘That painting. And his legs – you already had a crutch ready. You expected it.’
Em pointedly ignored him.
Realisation dawned on him. ‘The things you’re doing,’ he said. ‘They’re unravelling, aren’t they? And you’re afraid. You’re afraid that the changes you’ve made to your own past are going to fade. That’s it, isn’t it? But where does the bridge-builder fit in with …’
The noise of a muffled shout and of fists pounding on a door came from the closet at the end of the hallway, catching their attention.
‘What the …?’ Honoré hurried down the hallway toward the closet, Em following.
The pounding grew more insistent and he could hear Emily on the other side of the closet door, shouting his name. He lifted the wooden plank barring the door and opened it.
‘Honoré! Look out!’
Stepping out from one of the side rooms, Lechasseur shouldered Honoré through the open door, slamming it behind him and locking him in.
‘Apologies, Honoré,’ said Lechasseur through the door. ‘But we can’t have you running about loose until we’re sure you understand the dilemma. You might be tempted to try something heroic, non?’
Honoré rubbed his shoulder as he tried to make out shapes in the pitch blackness of the closet. He stumbled, and bumped into another body, smaller than his, in there with him. Emily.
‘You asked me a question, Mr Lechasseur,’ he heard Em call from the other side of the door. ‘Do you still want your answer?’
Honoré didn’t respond.
‘You’re quite correct,’ she said. ‘Excellent piece of deduction, actually. And yes, it’s getting a bit tiresome, as well as … Well, as you’ve said, I’m not about to let that happen again.’
‘Let what happen?’ Emily whispered, but Honoré motioned for her to be quiet.
Silence. Then Em spoke again: ‘You are familiar with the concept of a mental self image, Honoré? That picture you keep of yourself in your head that tells you what you look like? That image of you all neat and clean? And then you see a mirror and find your hair is unkempt; maybe there’s a bit of food stuck in your teeth. And so you fix it.’
‘So you fix it,’ Honoré said.
Lechasseur spoke. ‘You begin to see, Honoré, no?’
&
nbsp; ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I don’t understand,’ Emily said. ‘Honoré, what are they talking about?’
He heard Em laugh. ‘She doesn’t know? Of course! No wonder she’s such a mouse!’
‘I’ll show you mouse, you … witch,’ Emily said. Honoré had heard Emily surprised, he had heard Emily sad, he had heard Emily relaxed and in good humour, but he had never before heard her fierce.
Their doppelgängers engaged in muffled, indistinct conversation beyond the door, and Honoré guessed they were going away. Suddenly, Lechasseur’s voice rose.
‘No, we do this first.’
‘It’s useless unless we proceed as planned. You must know that!’
‘Don’t care,’ Lechasseur said. ‘We don’t leave her like this. Never.’ His voice grew more charming; Honoré could picture him putting on that lopsided grin. ‘’Sides, sher, nothing to be done until the man sobers up, no?’
‘Fine. Fine.’ Em sounded exasperated. ‘We’ll return in moments anyhow. Let’s go and find a proper anchor.’
Honoré pressed his ear against the wood. He heard a door shut, then silence.
‘We need to work quickly,’ he told Emily. ‘Find a way out of here before they get back.’
‘They’re trying to get to our time thread, aren’t they?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think they believe that their time fixes aren’t sticking because they don’t parallel events in our thread.’
Emily gasped. ‘Honoré – I mean the other Honoré – he told me some of the “good” they’ve done. Honoré, they’ve killed so many people.’
‘I know, I saw it for myself,’ Honoré said, running his palms over the walls of the windowless room.
‘They are us in so many fundamental ways,’ Emily said. ‘But we would never … I could never …’
‘Listen to me,’ he said forcefully into the darkness. ‘I am not him. She is not you. They may look like us, but they aren’t us.’
