by Karl Fish
As she observed the street below, a dark figure, cloaked in a long gown – black or maybe brown – the type very much like a friar or monk would wear, briskly walked uphill with their arms interlocked within their own sleeves, headed towards the rear of the church, and vanished out of sight.
Aggie returned to the bed and lay down. Why, oh why, hadn’t her captors made themselves visible to her? By her own reckoning, she had been here at least twelve hours. She was so hungry, so thirsty. Rationing had made everyone hardier since the war had begun but she was light-headed and weak. The pitcher and goblet now looked like a good prospect, and even if it was poison what horrors lay in store for her now anyway? She turned and grabbed the swan-necked terracotta jug and poured the transparent liquid into the pewter drinking vessel. She stood there for one last moment, pondering her fate. If it was to be a slow agonising death, at least it would be over soon enough and she would soon be with her great aunt, and finally meet the parents she had never known. That was, of course, if Florrie had passed away. That doubt still niggled at her.
She snatched at the goblet and raised it to her lips. It was heavy, not only due to its age and metal casting but it was weighted at the base. She couldn’t lift it easily. She squatted down and there, underneath, it was tied to an almost invisible line of thread. It was catgut, fishing line. What on Earth was going on? Aggie took the line between thumb and forefinger and followed it around the room. It ran at the base of the wall and along into a corner before splintering onto two pulleys. One ran directly downwards and through the floorboards below, while the other ran along the far wall and behind the mirror that covered it. Having noticed the footprints across the rug, which ran to and from the bed, she looked down and once again traced them as they disappeared into the huge mirror. It was quite obviously the entrance in and out of the place but she did not wish to venture down the dim passageway beyond.
As she peeked through the worn edges the distant glow of torchlight could be seen but this time growing stronger. Someone was coming. Aggie scoured the room once again, the only thing she could find to use as a weapon was the swan-necked pitcher. The goblet was tied to the fishing line and she couldn’t move it. The mirror was not obviously hinged, and since she couldn’t determine which way it would open, she just had to wait, weapon drawn. Whatever her fate, she would make sure she went down fighting.
Aggie composed herself, waiting for the mirror to move. She backed away to allow herself time and space to react once she knew which way her captors would be coming in.
First came the scratching of the key entering the lock, then the clunking of the unlocking itself before finally the squeal of an unoiled handle hinge. Her heart was beating faster and faster as she waited for her moment. She waited patiently but then the noise of the opening door came from behind her, she turned quickly, and the small oak door, which was no bigger than a child, was beginning to open. She raised the pitcher, holding the neck as if wielding an axe.
As the door began to open, she glimpsed the fedora from her kidnapper’s head. At the same time, the mirror slid open behind her, she had to choose one or the other. The Fedora man was closer and his entrance was at such a level that if Aggie connected with her target, she could cause some real damage. No time to think otherwise.
She took a mighty swing towards the opening in the oak door. Almost immediately, she heard a cry from behind her.
‘NO!’ came the gruff lady’s voice.
Agatha’s blow missed her intended target and met the door, the flint wall, and the guarded forearm of her captor before she was bundled from behind and onto the floor. She kicked and punched for all her worth but the woman attacker held her in a vice-like grip and wrestled her to the floor.
As Aggie lay there with the remains of the jug in her hand, exhausted, tears of anger ran down her cheeks. The tall man pulled himself up through the tiniest entranceway, dusted himself down and crouched behind her. The young girl just stared into space. Removing his trademark hat, he tapped the female assailant on the shoulder and she loosened her grip on Aggie. Aggie crawled into a foetus shape and began sobbing.
The gentleman placed his hand on her head and gently stroked it.
‘I’m so, so sorry, my lovely,’ he whispered softly in her ear.
Aggie’s steely blue glare lasted momentarily and then a sudden rush of anger and adrenaline combined so quickly that she turned furiously with her clenched fist and caught the Fedora man square in the chin.
He slid back and clicked his jaw into place.
‘I’m so sorry, Aggie. There really was no other way,’ he apologised.
Aggie burst into tears and collapsed into his arms, sobbing.
‘Uncle Gideon, is it really you?’ she asked through streaming tears. ‘I can’t believe it’s you. I really don’t know what is going on!’
‘I can explain everything,’ her uncle replied, cradling her tightly towards his chest. ‘But first, we need to get you fed and watered. It’s been days, you know.’
‘I’ve been here for days?’ Agatha questioned, looking up at him.
‘Oh, a couple at least.’ He nodded.
Agatha was stunned, truly stunned. The confusion contorted her face. Gideon sensed the anxiety and pulled her closer.
‘You must be hungry, my love?’ he whispered, cradling her. Aggie nodded in response.
‘Let’s eat, and all will be explained’
The sense of relief lifted through her body as she stood up, and followed her uncle down the hidden stairwell before all of a sudden, the very terrifying thought entered her mind once again.
‘I think Florrie’s dead!’ she blurted out.
Gideon turned around and looked back at her on the stone stairs. He took her hand within his and cradled it gently. They stood almost touching noses as his height from the lower stairs, in comparison to hers, drew them level. He lent in to her ear. At first, Aggie thought he was going to peck her on the cheek and embrace her again but instead he whispered very softly and reassuringly, ‘Oh no, she isn’t.’
Aggie pulled back slightly and was just about to ask another question when her uncle pursed his lips, drew his index finger to them, indicated silence, and winked.
‘Sshhhh!’ he smiled. ‘That’s our little secret!’
The stone stairs descended sharply in a tight spiral towards an adjoining tunnel. Every ten feet or so, small torchlights cast dancing shadows from within a wrought iron basket. The flames were lit with wick and wax just as they would have been for their forebears. Again, it reminded Aggie of a medieval ruin, such as The Tower.
‘These corridors were not built for the likes of me,’ said Gideon as he took one of the torches, crouched, and then squeezed his way through the winding passageway.
‘How do you know?’ Aggie replied.
‘Well, they’re several centuries old, and our relatives were much smaller back then,’ he replied.
‘No, not that. You know what I am asking. How do you know that Florrie’s alive?’ Aggie responded, curtly.
Gideon paused, twisted himself around and surveyed the tunnel behind, raising his index finger to his pursed lips once more. There was no one there. The thickset lady who had wrestled Aggie to the ground had closed the passageway door behind them had left the room by the mirrored entrance.
‘We need to be careful. Not all is as it seems. I know you have many questions but you need to trust me just for a few moments longer. Please?’ her uncle responded in an assured, comforting tone.
Aggie nodded, and they navigated the serpentine passage until it widened into a fork with two options to take.
‘Left is rest and right is flight!’ Gideon announced pointing out the two options. ‘Heaven forbid you should ever have to take flight, my love, but if you ever do, place a torch on the opposing alleyway; it will mask the other alleyway into darkness.’ Her uncle duly demonstrated placing the torch on the right-hand side of the left passageway, the light shone down it and cast a shadow against the fork in
the wall, duly obscuring the neighbouring passage.
Through several twists and down at least two more sets of steps Aggie faithfully followed her uncle until they finally came to a door. It was small and similar to the one connecting her former room to this. Gideon peered through an almost invisible knothole before opening the doorway. He gestured Aggie inwards. It was a dark box, almost coffin-like. He helped her in, and then followed into the tight space. Once in, he closed the door and then pressed his ear to the other side of the panelling. Confident he could not hear anything, as he expected, he then slid the wooden panel sideways, revealing another large box space. This was different; there was a rail, and clothes hanging down from it. Gideon encouraged Aggie as she climbed inside and through what was surely the world’s largest wardrobe. She shoved the doors open and in streamed a crisp autumn sunlight that speckled dust around the sumptuous room.
Aggie was aghast. She stepped out of the wardrobe and revolved on her heel almost a full 360. The wardrobe she could not recall, but the huge Georgian sash which let in so much light was familiar to her. Beneath it was a small writing desk and to either side, children’s toys just as she was beginning to recall. To the right-hand side, a wooden rocking horse with a red leather rein, and white and grey patina. To the left-hand side, a dollhouse the size of an adult. It was built to represent a property three storey’s high with a dark brick facade, elevated stone steps with wrought iron railings and a prominent white front door, tiny brass knocker in the form a lion’s head and with ‘1a’ in bold type on the front. It was an exact replica of the house she now found herself in. She opened the sash on the second floor of the model and inside was a wooden, patina rocking horse with a red leather strap that sat within the palm of her hand.
‘Do you remember?’ Gideon enquired tentatively
‘Of course, I remember,’ she said as she smiled and as tiny tears welled up in her eyes.
‘Now, about Florrie,’ Gideon said.
Her uncle sat down side-saddling the large double brass bed. He patted the green velvet down that draped over it, and Aggie sat beside him cradling the toy horse in the palm of her hand.
Aggie had spent summers in this house, several years ago now. She remembered the long days spent with Uncle Gideon, playing in the fields and orchards. It was when she had just been a small child yet the room seemed so familiar still as if it hadn’t been touched since her last visit
‘On the night of the attack,’ Gideon began. ‘Word from Florrie had reached me some days earlier, asking if you could be evacuated to the countryside and come live with me.’ He reached inside his breast pocket and produced a small telegram.
‘Here…read it,’ he said, ushering the paper into her hand.
DEAREST G (STOP) LONDON TOO DANGEROUS FOR A (STOP) REQUEST EVACUATION (STOP) F (STOP)
It was a brief and concise message, Aggie thought. Without knowing who G, A, and F were, it would not make much sense to anyone else and was no doubt part of Florrie’s plan. Knowing her great aunt as she did, she knew the wily old lady was obviously worried as the message was so succinct.
‘Ok, so she was scared,’ Aggie responded. ‘The Thunder Machines are menacing, Uncle, and they are not exactly fussy about which homes they decide to destroy,’ she explained in expressive hand gestures.
‘True, Aggie, very true. But I think you already know that on that night, something more sinister was afoot and I need you to tell me what you can recall.’
Gideon had always been a very subtle presence in Aggie’s life. He wasn’t always there day-to-day, but he never missed a birthday, never missed Christmas celebrations, and as far as communication was concerned, he wrote to her almost weekly from wherever his adventures took him or whatever business he was on. He was quite secretive at times but he had never treated her with anything but love and adoration.
Aggie, in her heart of hearts, really could not piece anything together that had happened in the past few days. How had she managed to arrive in the safety of Ambledown and Gideon’s care? The more she knew, the more she realised something was missing. The kidnapper, the men he had shot in Florrie’s doorway, and the train journey. How on earth had she ended up here?
‘I need you to think, Aggie. Tell me exactly what you saw and how everything happened.’
Composing herself she started from the very beginning; the Thunder Machines overhead, the ‘thunder-and-lightning’ game, the fact it was her missing gas mask that had meant Florrie had succumbed to the noxious fumes, the two men with the peculiar markings on their faces shot dead by the assailant, and, of course, the killer himself. Aggie described at length how sinister he was, how he had crept up from behind and restrained her with such force that she could not struggle or warn the two home guards who he then brutally murdered. His snakelike skin, and his asthmatic wheezing; all-in-all, a monster of a man in every sense, and he told her she was going to die.
Gideon listened intently and nodded in recognition as she explained.
‘That’s good. Your memory seems fine,’ he said.
‘Well, why wouldn’t it be?’ she questioned.
‘You were poisoned,’ Gideon replied as he watched his niece’s face change to a state of alarm.
‘Poisoned?’
Her uncle was slightly hesitant before his response. ‘Gas poisoning. Strange toxic fumes that we did not understand at first. They made you quite poorly and you were hallucinating, seeing all manner of weird and wonderful things, and screaming for several days. That’s why we kept you high up in The Keep and out of sight of nosey local eyes.’
Aggie was relieved to understand that not everything she had seen or sensed had been true. Lord knows she could not make head nor tail of half of what had gone on in the few days past.
‘So,’ she quizzically engaged her uncle. ‘I wasn’t kidnapped at all?’
‘You were not kidnapped, Aggie, per se. It was a friend of mine sent to protect you.’
‘I don’t understand?’ she frowned.
‘It’s complicated,’ Gideon said, exhaling a deep breath. He took a moment, drew in another lung full of air, and began to talk once more. ‘The two men that came to your door that night, for all intents and purposes, were random home guards just checking and helping the neighbourhood, right?’
Aggie nodded, but she began to doubt herself as she recalled the markings on their faces.
‘Well, although your induced hallucinations presented many strange visions that night, I can actually tell you that those were not one of them. Those markings you glimpsed were real,’ Gideon explained.
‘Real?’ Aggie responded, alarmed for the second time in mere minutes.
‘Yes, unfortunately,’ Gideon confirmed uncomfortably.
‘I’m sorry, Uncle Gideon, but I really do not understand what you mean.’
‘It’s probably too much to take in for one day but I need to show you something in my shop,’ he replied.
Aggie had forgotten about the shop. Gideon was first and foremost an explorer, adventurer but he funded his exotic trips through his antiquity dealing. If she recalled correctly, the shop was just next door. It sat on the ground and lower ground floor of the Georgian house that was conjoined to the one she was currently in. A wave of excitement came over her as she recalled the exhibits and peculiarities she would gaze on or play with when she was much smaller.
‘But before we do so, we need to get a few facts straight, OK?’ Gideon told her in a stricter tone.
Aggie nodded silently back at him.
At that moment, there was a knock at the bedroom door and, soon after, the broad woman, who had wrestled Aggie to the ground, entered. She was carrying a tray with a large mixing bowl within which was a pair of scissors and a black tar-like substance.
‘This is Nan. Not your grandmother obviously, but Nan, my housekeeper,’ Gideon explained. ‘You may recall her from years ago. Anyway, for the time being, you are not my niece. You are just an evacuee from London, OK?’
‘Why?’
Aggie asked.
Gideon exhaled a loud puff of air again. ‘I just need you to trust me, Aggie, please? People cannot know we are related. There are many reasons.’
Aggie was becoming more curious and confused. She had no reason to distrust her uncle but why was he being so secretive? For the time being she agreed to go along with his plan and nodded.
‘And we need to cut your hair.’ He smiled
‘No, why?’ she asked angrily.
Gideon briefly held his head in his hands deciding how best to explain everything to his young charge. He leant into her and smiled.
‘If you let me cut your hair, I will talk to you about Cairo!’
Aggie leant backwards and paused. Goosebumps pimpled her arms as a chill spread across her body.
‘Cairo, really?’ Her lips quivered as nervous tears welled up in her eyes.
Gideon passed his right arm across her shoulder and cuddled her as Aggie found her head now bowing. The tears trickled down her cheeks and turned into a sob. Cairo was not a word that was used in Florrie’s house. The unwritten rule was that Cairo was a forbidden subject, a swear word.
Cairo was where her parents had been killed, that, Aggie was sure of.
Chapter 7
Lost and Found
Shattered mahogany boxes and glass scattered the floor as both Erket and Malcolm trod across the rubble. There was limited light in what remained of the Professors’ beloved department. A few shards of daylight streamed through the tumbledown walls and exhibits that he had spent so many hours dedicating his life to. The ceiling reminded him of an emaciated ribcage that had now decayed and was at the mercy of the elements.
