*
“So each doorway in the halls of the North Tower is a gateway to another time and place?”
“Not quite. The gateway is held within the room beyond each hallway door. You might remember that you entered a stone room, then up some stairs before you passed through a door into the hallway.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Pierce and Dr. Cleaver had left his office and were now walking along a path that led from the Manor to the village of Rooks Bay. Dr. Cleaver had suggested that they take some air while Pierce attempted to come to terms with the strange circumstances of his current situation. The gravel beneath their feet crunched as they spoke.
“So if I were to go through the doorway I entered last night, I would find myself in the same room as before?”
“Right after you had exited. Almost as if you walked in to a closet, turned around and left immediately.”
“That’s incredible.”
“Just so.”
They continued walking in silence. Dr. Cleaver believed the silence was due to Pierce’s attempt to reconcile this incredible development. However Pierce was really looking at his way back home. If he could get back to the North Tower and remember which door he had come in from, he could make it back to Ottawa, like nothing had happened. That was if the Doctor was telling the truth.
“So where do you come from?” Pierce asked, attempting to deflect any potential suspicion arising in Cleaver’s mind from his silence.
“I remember the time and place exactly. It was a stormy day in London, Seventeenth of November, 1888.”
“So if you returned through your door, it would take you back to that exact date?”
“Not quite. It would take me back to the date the portal was last used. I’ve gone back many times since then.”
“So I could go back?” he uttered too quickly. Before he could try and mask his true meaning the Doctor replied.
“You can and will, the Manor isn’t a prison,” Cleaver laughed as his hands displayed the horizon. “But why would you want to leave this place? This is your new home.”
“It’s just a bit of a shock,” Pierce replied with a slight shake of his head. But at that moment he felt more worry than shock. In the back of his mind he remembered a quote that said the best prison was one which the inmates didn’t know they were in.
“Of course everyone feels that way when they arrive,” Cleaver continued, oblivious to Pierce’s inner misgivings. “But they all end up staying in the end. Nobody leaves.”
“Everyone? So there are others here from different times?”
“Of course. Members are recruited from locations throughout time; from America to Russia, and from the Middle Ages to the Twenty First century. You will meet them all in due time, as they are presently on a hunt.”
They had made their way down the hillside and had reached the long dark lake. A roadway of similar gravel lay between them and the lakeshore. As they stood admiring the sunshine reflecting off the lake, a horse-drawn cart approached. It was loaded with wooden barrels, with an older man driving. He had a wide honest face, bulbous nose, and the slight hunch of a working man. A boy with undoubtedly the same ancestry was perched on the topmost barrel. Seeing the two distinguished men on the side of the road, the old man slowed down, lifted the brim of his cap and uttered a quick m’lord. The cart resumed its speed after passing, heading towards the village.
“I have some business to conduct in the village, if you care to join me,” offered Cleaver. “I am meeting someone at the pub. The ale is quite good; however I cannot provide the pies with a similar endorsement.”
Nodding in assent Pierce fell into step with the Doctor as they leisurely followed the road to Rooks Bay. As he walked along the lakeshore, he was surprised at the size of the lake. He could barely see the other shore and the sails of the numerous fishing vessels appeared like flecks on the horizon.
The village of Rooks Bay was similarly altered as they drew near. What first appeared to be a scattering of buildings from his office window, transformed into a busy market town upon passing the first set of cottages. The docks were full of activity as fishing boats disgorged their nautical harvest or departed with baited lines. The streets bustled with movement as handcarts, wagons, people, and their animals jockeyed for position on the cobblestones.
Pierce had the immediate feeling he’d walked back in time to Victorian England, which he supposed was possibly true. The stone buildings were both charming and sad; owing to the combination of their simplicity and weather beaten facades. No electrical or telephone cables ran from poles to the houses and no gas engines could be heard or seen. Similarly none of the townsfolk were glued to cell phones or listening to any modern music devices. They were all dressed in wools and cottons, with black and grey being the dominant colours. It was all he could do to refrain from poking them to make sure they were real.
Despite the seeming chaos of the scene, Pierce and Dr. Cleaver were able to maintain their pace and proceed without incident. In fact the townspeople seemed to part ways for the pair naturally. They neither rushed nor stopped completely for the distinguished pair; however Pierce could tell they were making an effort to stay out of their way.
“The townsfolk have always treated us with deference when we descend from the Manor,” whispered Dr. Cleaver smugly, sensing Pierces curiosity. “As they should, of course. We have provided them with much from our travels that they would not ordinarily have. I do appreciate it when people show respect to their betters.” Although this seemed to be pointed towards the townspeople, Pierce sensed the warning and that he too was included in this group.
Within minutes they reached the heart of the village, where a nondescript fountain dominated a square surrounded by three storied grey stoned buildings. Their destination was on the other side of the square, forcing them to pass a group of children splashing in the pool. The children immediately stopped upon their approach, but instead of the respect and deference showed by the adults of the village, the children were cowed and ill at ease. They ceased their games and the younger ones hide behind their older peers. Pierce could feel their suspicious and wary eyes on his back as he passed, prompting a shiver of his own.
“Ahh, the Fish and the Feather,” remarked Cleaver as they reached the pub, oblivious to the effect they’d had upon the children.
Pierce looked up at the pub’s sign as it swung under the pressure of the afternoon’s breeze. Along with the name of the pub, the sign was also emblazoned with the picture of a fish fighting with a feathered fly-fishing line. The sign and the name carved upon it seemed very fitting to Pierce as he made his way into the pub. The walls were adorned with various prized catches and the lures responsible. The pub itself had the customary heavy wood bar in front of a large mirrored wall filled with glasses of various shapes and sizes. There were wooden chairs and square tables in the center surrounded by benches and large tables along the walls. They all had the worn look that only comes with age and regular use, a characteristic shared by the few customers within. They had clearly worked hard during their lives and were now content to spend their remaining years with a pint in their hand.
“Good afternoon my Lord, you are expected. Your appointment is waiting upstairs for you,” a soft voice said from behind Pierce while he took in the room. Turning around he found himself facing the beguiling Jane from Drummond’s office. She in turn was wide eyed with surprise by his appearance beside Dr. Cleaver.
“Jane, have you met Mr. Pierce?” Asked Cleaver casually, despite the recognition he sensed between the two younger people. “He is the newest member of the Hunt. So new in fact, that this is his first visit to this establishment.”
“Is that so sir? Then I shall show him to the Manor’s reserved seats.”
“Very well. You may bring me up a whiskey when you’re finished.”
Without speaking she led Pierce to a secluded snug at the back corner of the pub. Its dark oak half walls were ornately carved and h
ad a small door with a frosted glass window with the Hunt’s coat of arms etched in. Leaning over the half wall Pierce took in a completely different scene than that of the rest of the pub. In place of the worn wooden furniture there were two marble topped tables with bronzed legs, one sitting between a plush cushioned booth and the second surrounded by high backed leather chairs. The floor inside the snug was the same as the rest of the pub, but was highly polished and devoid of any dirt or dust.
“So this is how the other half lives,” muttered Pierce under his breath, then immediately feeling guilty as Jane waited for him to enter. He was now the other half.
A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1) Page 16
