The Mirror of Pharos

by J S Landor

  The amber eyes gazed back, seeing all there was to see. Then they blinked. A million rings of light – myriad upon myriad – spread out like ripples around them.

  Chapter 41

  Lily paused in the doorway to her office, a plastic coffee cup in hand. She’d worked most of the night, a delegation of ministers was arriving in less than three hours – and now this. An intruder, in the shape of a scruffy boy, sat sprawled at her desk, a filthy rucksack at his feet.

  Her mouth twisted to one side. How had he got past security? And what did he think he was playing at? His head was so close to the 3D hologram she’d been preparing for her boss he was practically inside it. Hadn’t he seen an Imagepad before?

  ‘Oi! Leave that alone. Who gave you permission to be here?’

  Her favourite black chair swung round, the coffee cup left her hand and a dark stain spread out on the carpet below.

  ‘Oops. Sorry. Hang on, let me get that,’ said Jack, scrambling after the cup.

  Through a window next to a tall bookcase, a patch of pink sky blossomed around the dome of St Paul’s cathedral. Lily’s eyes flicked towards the building, before returning to his.

  ‘I’m dreaming, right?’

  ‘No, that’s real out there. So am I,’ said Jack gently. ‘Here, sit down. This stuff takes some getting used to.’

  Lily sank slowly into the chair, blinking at him through owlish brown glasses. Everyone, even the workaholics at Abelwhite Design, had told her she was overdoing it. Could lack of sleep make you hallucinate? A boy – no, a ghost – from her childhood had come to haunt her.

  She glanced at his black gym shoes. ‘Jack?’

  A smile spread across Jack’s face. He put the cup on the desk, slowly so as not to make her jump, and nodded. Despite the fierce chin and angular cheekbones, he could still see hints of the baby face he knew. Lily, he guessed, must be in her twenties.

  ‘Don’t worry. You’re not going mad. Look, it’s 5.49, an ordinary Friday morning.’

  The digital clock on Lily’s computer clicked to 5.50.

  She continued staring at him as if he’d grown another head.

  ‘Okay, maybe not that ordinary!’ said Jack. He turned slowly in a circle. ‘Wow, you really made it! What an office. This is brilliant, by the way. I like the spire. How will a building that size manage to float?’

  Lily transferred her bewildered gaze to the hologram. A soaring architectural model of the Pharos lighthouse, a perfect replica of Jack’s screensaver, rose from the Imagepad embedded in her desk and bobbed across a virtual sea.

  ‘Um, Archimedes’ principle, I guess,’ she mumbled.

  ‘No kidding! What’s that?’

  ‘It’s to do with water displacement … But you’re not here for a maths lesson, I take it?’

  ‘Not likely! Archimedes comes into it though.’ He beamed at her, glad the shock of his appearance was wearing off. ‘You’re stuck, aren’t you? Something’s missing. A piece of genius, perhaps?’

  Lily nodded mutely. Then before he could say any more, she opened a desk drawer, produced a tatty looking scrapbook and began turning its pages. Dozens of sketches, similar to the one she’d drawn for him in Wakeham, flipped through her fingers, all child-like prototypes of the hologram in front of him.

  She glanced up uncertainly. ‘We met on the quay, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I remember because you were kind and …’ She trailed off, frowning at the book. ‘You gave me the name. You wrote it down: Pharos. I’ve searched high and low over the years. I don’t know where I put that sketch.’

  Jack shrugged. ‘You were small. Things get lost.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Lily smoothed out the curling pages and chewed her lip. ‘How on earth – I mean – did I do something to bring you here?’

  Jack’s eyes rested on the fish shapes which covered the scrapbook. ‘I expect you made a wish. That’s how it starts.’

  ‘I see.’

  It was obvious she didn’t, but he kept quiet.

  ‘If I did, I don’t remember. To be honest, I can’t even think straight. I’m that close to giving up.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A hundred reasons. It’s complicated.’

  ‘You mean I’m too young to get it?’

  ‘No! Nothing like that. It’s just –’ Lily removed her glasses to rub her eyes, leaving dark make-up smudges on her cheeks. ‘Everyone has their own big ideas: the investors, the government in Egypt, the partners here … especially them.’

  She pulled a grumpy face and copied the deep, plummy voice of her boss. ‘Pharos has to be an “icon”, Ms Harington. A landmark for the next century. A symbol of peace between east and west.’ She sighed.

  ‘There’s a snag?’

  ‘Yes! Don’t get me wrong, that stuff’s important. But honestly? No one realises the technical problems. This is our fourth attempt. It’s meant to be a lightship, an observatory and a communications tower. Only we can’t do it all. Frankly, it’s a mess.’

  Jack frowned. The model looked amazing to him. Inside the blue dome, tiny figures sat at café tables in a huge glass atrium. And below the waterline, in a tunnel which ran like a watch dial around the edge, others strolled about admiring the ruins. He knew it was only a trick of light, but he couldn’t resist. He reached in to watch the figures walk across his hand.

  A faint smile flickered over Lily’s face. She gave the computer screen a smart tap and the image tripled in size.

  Jack leapt back as if electrocuted.

  ‘You know, I should really be thanking you, not complaining,’ she laughed. ‘Just imagine if we’d never met. There’d be no Pharos. Not even in a hologram!’

  Blues and greens swirled about Jack’s head, making patterns on the floor and walls. Half of the lighthouse spire had disappeared through the ceiling and from the waist up, he was standing in an illusion of sea water. His mind reeled with memories of the shipwreck.

  ‘Can I ask something?’ he blurted.

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘In Wakeham you mentioned a holiday, a cruise.’ He drew in his breath slowly. ‘Did you go?’

  ‘On The Empress? Yes. Its maiden voyage.’

  ‘Past the Pentland lighthouse?’

  ‘All the way to the Med!’

  ‘With your grandmother and Mr Lonsdale – ’

  ‘And my parents, of course. It was incredible, like a film set. People loved the furniture. Very retro: shades of the Titanic! They were in every magazine.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My parents! That’s what they do. Look, they made me this.’ Laughing, she spun round in the chair.

  Jack stared at her. He could hardly take it in. Lady Harington had built her ship. There’d been no virus …

  As the chair turned, a chain of minute events seemed to rewrite themselves. He pictured Herbert Lonsdale snoring soundly in his cabin, undisturbed by a twelve-year-old stowaway, his glasses unbroken, the engine pounding, while outside his door the steward passed quietly by, brushing at his uniform to remove a handprint: a greeting left by a certain bearded engineer before he bounded up the stairs to peer at a distant winking light …

  You’re a piece of bloomin’ magic.

  A tingle of electricity shot through him. He’d done it! He’d sent events down another track. It was Fenstreet all over again, except on a much grander scale. Grinning, he gave the chair a nudge so it spun faster. The irony was priceless. Jago had given him the whole idea!

  ‘Whoa, hang on.’ Lily got up, slipping her foot into a stray shoe. Her fingers flicked over the computer screen, pinching at various folders and stretching them open. ‘Give me a minute. There’s something I want you to see.’

  A piece of bloomin’ magic!

  From a past that no longer existed, Bill’s ghostly words replayed in Jack’s mind. He qui
ckly undid the rucksack. No shipwreck means no seagull, he told himself. It was time to go home and start over, back to a life in which the mirror would never arrive.

  Outside, the clouds had grown luminous, fanning out like spidery hair in the reddening sky. A quiet swish, like a curtain grazing the floor, made him start. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hem of a purple coat next to the bookcase.

  Sybil! He nearly said the name out loud. But the old woman raised a finger to her lips and nodded in Lily’s direction.

  ‘You’ve led me a merry dance, Jack Tideswell,’ she said, in a breathless voice only he could hear. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.’

  The brilliant eyes twinkled. ‘Fenstreet has never seen such mayhem. All journeys on hold, people stranded in different centuries; complete madness. However, you’ve done well. Extremely well. Thanks to you, the junction has reopened. You may pass through on your way home.’

  Jack gaped at her.

  ‘That’s right. You can travel light; you’re a Magus now. The ability was always there, I might add. No more need for the mirror. Speaking of which –’ she pulled her coat about her ‘– better make haste. Let’s not push our luck.’

  She glanced at the crimson sky in which the clouds, Jack noticed, were moving surprisingly fast.

  His heart thumped. Jago. Is he –?

  ‘Don’t even say his name,’ Sybil snapped. She touched the scar over her right eye. ‘Wounds inflicted by magic don’t heal that easily. Your wolf picked his bones clean and blew his soul to kingdom come. He’s gone. Kaput! In this timeframe and every other.’ She glanced at the racing clouds. ‘Even so, until this exchange happens things in the ordinary world are – how can I put it? – a tad unstable. Hurry along; finish what you came to do.’

  She nodded at Lily who was busy typing a long string of code. ‘She doesn’t know it, of course, but she’s building a new junction. You’re about to deliver the main component.’

  Jack’s jaw dropped.

  ‘Ah, here we go,’ said Lily.

  A large cylindrical object, like a bass drum, rotated on her computer screen. She flipped it upright and entered some co-ordinates. The hologram returned to its original size and the cylinder appeared inside it.

  ‘So that’s the data centre,’ she said. ‘I’ve managed to reduce it to three floors, but see how it’s crowding the observation deck? Apart from the light transmission, we’ve got all sorts of communication systems on board: internet servers, TV, radio, satellite. That’s a load of hot electronics. And with all the cooling equipment, there isn’t enough room. It’s like you said, I’m stuck, and unless –’

  ‘You need more space, right?’ Jack placed the mirror on the Imagepad.

  ‘I … yes!’ The disc had begun to glow, turning his hand a translucent blue. Lily’s eyes bulged. ‘What – is – that?’

  ‘A mirror. The centrepiece of the old Pharos lighthouse. It has Archimedes’ initials on it.’

  ‘Archi-m-medes!’ she stammered. ‘Where did you –?’

  ‘My parents found it in the ruins.’ Jack wanted to tell her all about them, but already the seal on his finger had begun to sting. Once he let go, his time would be up. ‘It connects the past with the future, a kind of superconductor.’

  He removed his hand and the mirror rose off the pad, glowing like a huge blue coin. For several seconds it revolved inside the hologram before attaching itself to the underside of the cylinder. Equations poured down the computer screen, the data centre flickered and slowly began to shrink.

  ‘You won’t need cooling equipment. There’s niobium in it,’ said Jack. ‘It conducts electricity without overheating.’

  He thought of Charlie and the fun they’d had with the street lights and suddenly his head swam. The sounds of another place were filtering in, the everyday noises of a train station.

  ‘Jack, what’s happening?’ Lily’s voice sounded muffled. ‘Where are you? Come back …’

  ‘You’re standing in front of the turnstile,’ said Sybil. ‘Speak your name and destination.’

  Jack’s mouth opened but nothing came out. All he could see was the brightness of the mirror.

  ‘We have to go. The arrival hall is through here. What are you waiting for?’

  ‘Jack!’ called Lily faintly.

  ‘I can hear you,’ he shouted.

  ‘What do I do?’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Sybil cut in.

  ‘Sybil says you’ll be FINE!’ he yelled. When no response came, he hung his head.

  ‘Oh cheer up. She’s hardly going to forget you. I’ve never seen anyone with such strong shadow memories.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Sybil’s eyes rolled. ‘Must I spell it out?’ she huffed. ‘There’s a reason she can’t find that sketch. It’s because it doesn’t exist. You never met her on the quay. Not this time round at any rate … Oh Jack, do keep up. In cases like this, the subconscious holds on to what no longer exists. All she’s remembering is –’

  ‘Pharos!’ shouted Lily. ‘Not far, but fair …’

  ‘There. Satisfied? She’s thought of her wish. That one memory and the confidence you gave her has made a new time junction possible. Now, give yourself a pat on the back and move along, please. There’s a lady with a small dog and a large suitcase right behind you … Dear lord, this isn’t doing my blood pressure any good. Say your name and destination. The turnstile opens automatically.’

  The brightness faded and Jack became aware of something sniffing at his ankles. But his own name and where he was going were the last things on his mind. The tiny dog looked up at him, then scuttled away in terror as he filled his lungs one last time.

  ‘LILY!’ he bellowed across the years. ‘We made it. I kept my promise!’

  Chapter 42

  Full circle home

  In the kitchen of number 12 Hill Rise, three rashers of bacon sizzled under the grill, sending tiny puffs of smoke uncoiling towards the ceiling below Jack’s room.

  On the radio, a voice jabbered excitedly. The great-grandson of William Godley himself had abandoned his usual ‘Thought for the Day’ to announce a competition. The sight of the town’s ancient chestnut tree, on his way to the studio, had put him in an oddly reckless mood. He’d half expected the tree to be gone, the family statue too. And so, even though he’d meant to say something grand – about roots and tradition – he found himself advising everyone to find a nut and aim for glory in the town’s first conker festival.

  His audience at the kitchen sink was miles away. Despite the smoke creeping over her shoulder, it took several explosive pops from the grill to break Nan’s reverie.

  ‘Oh, for crying out loud.’ A flurry of soapsuds floated down from her yellow gloves. ‘Watch what you’re doing, woman!’ With a groan of despair, she grabbed the grill pan and threw open the window.

  Outside, the wind chimes on the apple tree tinkled like a sweet shop bell. A breeze blew in, bringing with it the scent of wet grass, and the fumes evaporated.

  Pink-faced, Nan looked down at the pan. The bacon was extremely crispy, but fortunately not cremated. In fact, the crunchy rinds were just how Jack liked them. She tightened the belt of her dressing gown and set about cutting the bread.

  That’s it, she told herself, sawing furiously. Absolutely, positively The Last Time. Brandy Brainstorms were a great invention – possibly her most delicious recipe ever – but from now on, they were for medicinal purposes only. Not a treat and certainly not a nightcap. Never in all her life had she woken up feeling so peculiar.

  It wasn’t a hangover exactly. It felt more like permanent déjà vu. She kept getting flashbacks of strangely familiar events, as if this particular morning had already happened, but under very different circumstances.

  For the hundredth time she checked the sky outside. Not a storm cloud in sight, nor a single wh
ite seagull to bring whispering voices she didn’t want to hear. Instead, the sun glinted off the chrome bumper of her blue Beetle, which stood by the garage awaiting its weekly wash and polish.

  Dreams and premonitions: it was just as well half of hers meant nothing whatsoever. She glanced at the black and white dice which hung motionless over the steering wheel. Thank goodness her magic was so fallible. If last night’s wild imaginings had any substance …

  She turned down the radio, fading out the weather forecast. The barometer had already told her what she needed to know. It was going to be a cold day, so whether he liked it or not, Jack would need a coat.

  ‘Time to get up! Bacon sandwich on the table – twenty minutes and counting!’ she bellowed.

  There was a thud on the ceiling.

  Nan’s eyes shot upwards. She’d never known Jack get out of bed so fast. Footsteps thundered overhead, accompanied by a volley of bangs from the study. Odin tore in like a missile, skidded to a halt and proceeded to twine himself around her ankles, yowling in a rusty voice and looking up at her with moonstruck eyes.

  ‘Hey, what’s all this?’

  Odin rolled over on his back, waggled his legs in the air and purred his loudest tractor purr.

  ‘You daft thing!’ Nan bent down to rub his tummy. ‘Anyone would think you’d been starved for a month.’

  A pair of black plimsolls appeared in front of her.

  ‘He missed you,’ said Jack.

  Nan straightened up slowly. There it was again: that déjà vu feeling. Why was Jack wearing those grubby old gym shoes when he had a perfectly good pair of trainers in the hall cupboard? And why had he brought Indigo downstairs?

  Jack put the blue horse in her hand. Without another word, he threw his arms around her, squeezing so tight she could barely breathe. ‘Everything I ever wanted was right here under my nose.’

  Nan’s eyes grew round as saucers. Seagull or no seagull, something peculiar was going on. She looked from her grandson to Odin, who nervously licked his paw, then back again to Jack.