by Mike Shevdon
Inside was an expansive room well-lit by overhead fluorescent lights. There were three large benches, each crammed with equipment and scraps of notes. Broad-leafed plants stood in tall glass cylinders wrapped around with copper wire connected with crocodile clips to an array of car batteries. A tank of liquid stood to one side, filled with murky looking water and illuminated by a black-lamp that hummed quietly. It looked like the specs floating around in there were glowing.
"What subject did you say he was teaching?" I asked.
"I didn't. He teaches modern history, we met at an academic convention."
"This doesn't look like history to me."
"His research follows a rather wider remit. Gregor is a scientist and a magician — he's into all sorts of esoteric ideas and sees no distinction between science, philosophy and magic. Last time I was here he was trying to show me a perpetual motion machine."
"That's not possible," I stated with some certainty.
"You're a fine one to talk about what is and is not possible," she reminded me. "Gregor, are you here?"
"Can't you see I'm busy?" A voice came from a smaller office attached to the lab. "The tutorials have all been rescheduled — new dates have been sent out by email. Check your spam filter — it's probably in the spam folder."
"Gregor, I'm not one of your students," she called through to the office.
"Then what are you doing in my…" His face appeared around the door. "Veronica! How absolutely delightful to see you. How long have you been there?"
A barrel chested, moustached grandee of a man swept out of the office and picked up Blackbird in a bear-hug embrace, kissing both her cheeks noisily twice.
"Mmmwa! Mmmwa! It is fantastic you are here. I have something to show you. Have you heard of wave energy stimulation? Do you have a bodyguard now?"
"Gregor, this is Niall. He's helping me with some research and we wanted to pick your brains."
He turned to me and extended a hand. "Gregor Leyonavich, at your service." He wore generous sideburns which almost connected with his moustache. Taking his hand, I shook it firmly and slowly.
Gregor smiled. "Sword callous, right hand, a long weapon and heavy by the feel of it, not a practice weapon and not one of those toys, those lightweight foil things. I was joking about the bodyguard, Blackbird, but maybe this is not a funny joke?"
I glanced at Blackbird.
"Sherlock Holmes is one of Gregor's heroes. He observes everyone and everything," she said.
"Sherlock Holmes never existed. He was a fictional character," I pointed out.
"Quite so, but in his genius, Conan Doyle invented the ultimate rationalist," said Gregor, "sceptical about everything but assuming nothing, evaluating all possible alternatives. You have muscle underneath that jacket, which means you work at it. Your weight is balanced towards your toes, so you have been trained. You are no amateur, I think. Your right shoulder is higher than your left, which implies a bias to one side, so not a master swordsman, but very competent. Not often you come across a trained swordsman these days. But when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever you have left, no matter how unlikely, is the truth."
"In my experience the truth is in the eye of the beholder," I said.
"Well said, my friend, but without truth we cannot have beauty, which brings me back to the delightful Veronica. My dear, they told me you had sold your soul to the Americans."
"I'm back for a little while," said Blackbird, "but I am not advertising my presence. I have no wish to get sucked back into academic rivalry."
"An overrated occupation at best," agreed Gregor. "Come, let me show you my wave energy demonstrator." He gestured across the lab to a machine in the corner. "One day, machines like this will power entire cities."
He went to a bank of switches and relays on the wall and clicked on a pair of large red switches. Boxes began to hum and lights flashed on displays. A laptop computer stopped showing screensaver pictures and began displaying a graph with flat-line red and green readings.
"The matter we wanted to discuss…" said Blackbird.
"A moment only, I promise," interrupted Gregor. "This is impressive; wait and see."
An orange indicator turned to green and Gregor threw a switch with a flourish. A laser emitted a blue-white beam which was split by a half-silvered mirror and bounced around various prisms before hitting another pair of prisms which brought the beams together again into a single beam aimed at a detector. Gregor carefully adjusted an instrument that was receiving the beam.
The prisms and the mirror were inscribed with odd symbols — It made me wonder what his native language was. Something Eastern European by the sound of it.
"Watch the display," he said. "The red one shows total energy input while the blue one shows the energy released."
The lines on the graph started to climb until they levelled off about half-way up the screen, the red line on top indicating that energy input exceeded energy released by about a third again. A digital read-out measured the difference at just over minus twenty-seven percent.
"This is the default state. The gaps between the lines indicate the energy used by the system," he explained.
"Gregor, this isn't what we came to talk to you about," said Blackbird.
Gregor ignored her, intent on the rig. "Now," he said, "I'm using microwave transmitters to introduce harmonics into the beams."
He turned a dial and the blue line began to climb towards the red.
"That's just increasing the energy input to the system," I pointed out.
"It would be if the beams were absorbing energy from the microwaves," he argued, "but that's not what's happening. The energy in the microwaves is all accounted for in the measurements. There's no direct transference, or rather there is, but it's already been subtracted from the read-out."
The red line rose slowly as he increased the input, but the blue line rose faster, until it passed the red line and stabilised above it. The read-out said plus eleven point two percent.
"You must have an energy source that's not accounted for," I stated.
Blackbird kicked my ankle hard enough to get my attention. "What Niall meant to say is that we have a question we'd like your view on."
"No," he ignored Blackbird again. "It's all in the measurements. What's more, you can increase the input to the laser, and the percentage yield stays constant without increasing the microwave input." He adjusted the input to the laser and the blue line climbed even further away from the red one.
"That's not possible." I was sure I was right. "Energy has to come from somewhere."
"Niall. You're only encouraging him," said Blackbird.
"You're missing something, surely?" The experiment was interesting, but there had to be a source for the increased energy. It couldn't come from nowhere. It was a long time since I'd done any physics, but it was a basic law of the universe that you don't get something for nothing.
"That's what I thought," said Gregor, "but I'm damned if I can find it." He flipped the master switch and the system clicked off. The lines on the laptop dropped to nothing. "What was it you wanted to ask me?"
Blackbird glared at me, but I shrugged. He was clearly enthusiastic about his experiment. What harm could it do to let him demonstrate it?
"A couple of items were stolen recently," she explained, "and I thought you might be able to tell us what their significance might be."
"What sort of items?"
"A key from an Anglo-Saxon burial mound and a tail feather from a raven," I told him.
His eyebrows lifted. "Not the usual sort of thing," he stated. "What makes you think these thefts are related?"
"They were stolen at the same time," said Blackbird, "from the same place."
"The Tower of London?" said Gregor.
"How did you know that?" I asked.
"Give me another instance where ravens and keys are kept in the same place," he said. "I cannot think of one. Besides, your question answered mine."
"Wh
at do you think, Gregor? What are they doing with these things?" asked Blackbird.
"You haven't mentioned jewels, so I assume they didn't succeed in stealing those?"
"As far as we can tell," I said, "they didn't even try to steal them. They used the jewels as a distraction but then went for things that are worthless."
"They are only worthless to someone who does not value them," said Gregor.
"And you would?" asked Blackbird.
"Perhaps. A key and a feather are both potent symbols. A key is for opening, and as a symbol of secrets — things locked away. A feather is also a symbol. The Egyptians believed that the feather represented truth, and that in the afterlife their hearts would be weighed by their gods against a feather of Maat."
"Maat?" I asked.
"The essence of truth, usually represented by an ostrich feather."
"This was a the tail feather of a raven, not an ostrich," Blackbird pointed out.
"But the symbology may transfer," said Gregor. "Symbols are all about the power you invest in them. They could have taken a feather from an old hat, and it would still be a feather, but because there was nothing invested in it, it would have little power."
"So the fact that this feather was stolen from the Tower of London gives it power?"
"In a sense, yes, perhaps."
"So what is it for, Gregor? Why do they need a feather and a key?"
Gregor rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "I do not know," he said finally. "I am not aware of any rituals that would use just those symbols. They are too ambiguous — too loose, do you see?"
"I'm not sure I do," said Blackbird.
"Most magic is the art of converting something you don't want into something you do," he explained.
"Like alchemy," I suggested, "transforming lead into gold."
"A simple matter. You sell the lead to someone who needs it and they give you money, which you turn into gold."
"That's cheating," I said.
"Is it? Or is it simply using a path which people who do not think do not see? Much of magic is like that — trading one thing for another."
"You make it sound ordinary," I said.
"True magic, though, is very much rarer. In true magic you extend the bounds of the universe to include the infinite, where limits become meaningless and therefore exchanging one thing for another becomes like getting something for nothing. You can appear to get more out than you put in, like my wave energy demonstrator. If I am right, it is drawing power from the universe itself, and therefore exhibits a resource which is, for our purposes, limitless."
"So is it science or magic?" I asked.
"A great question," said Gregor. "You must tell me when you have the answer. A feather and a key? They have no unifying symbology, no theme to draw upon. They do not in themselves define the boundaries of anything."
"You're saying they are insufficient in themselves?" said Blackbird.
"Indeed I am, Veronica. Much of logical deduction is not knowing the answers, but knowing the right question."
"What's the right question?" I asked her.
She grinned at Gregor. "What else have they taken?" "Correct," he said.
FIFTEEN
The market was near closing time. My visit to Gregor with Blackbird had delayed me and I had almost forgotten my invitation to meet Andy the honey-seller at the cafe. It was an outside chance that he'd appear, but having made the offer I felt honour-bound to at least turn up.
I sat in the cafe window, watching the market traders beginning to pack up their wares and close down their stalls. The idea of using someone to set up some sort of bridging arrangement with the fey courts appealed to me, but it needed someone the inmates would trust to front it. Andy had the potential, but I had to find him before I could pitch it to him. I'd been here for an hour, but there was no sign of him.
The trader I'd left the coat with said he still had the coat under the counter, so Andy hadn't been and gone without seeing me. Of course, it was possible that I had scared him off — having been arrested and carted off to Porton Down can't have done a lot for his trust for authority. He might have decided to abandon coat and money, cut his losses and run, but I thought not. He'd been arrested here in the first place. He'd returned here after the escape. Something was bringing him back, and I was hoping he would show himself sooner or later.
I had to admit, though, it didn't look like it was going to be today. Maybe if I came back tomorrow I would have more luck. I thanked the waitress who cleared my cup away and headed out into the market. I stopped at one of the stalls selling fruit. The stallholder was bemoaning the figs he had for sale, saying they were too ripe to hold onto and he was going to have to chuck them out the next day if someone didn't buy them. I hesitated, wondering if Blackbird liked figs.
That was when the half-seen figure crossed my vision. It wasn't that I recognised him, but that I didn't really see him. When I turned to look there was no one there. He was using glamour to conceal himself.
I left the fruit-seller and walked swiftly to a parallel row, following along with the path I'd vaguely seen from the corner of my eye, trying to catch a glimpse of shadows that shouldn't be there or places where I had the sudden urge to look away.
I tracked back towards the stall where his coat was, being careful to keep out of view. I circled around, keeping stalls between me and the path he was likely to take, and came out near where I had left his coat. Andy was talking to the owner of a stall selling Caribbean foods with his back to me. The owner pointed to the stallholder with the coat. He thanked the guy and walked over to the stall, taking my bait.
I waited out of sight until he was talking to the stallholder. The coat was produced and he grinned, clearly pleased to have it back. He slipped into it, shrugging it onto his shoulders and patting the pockets. He pulled out the money I'd secreted and hefted it, making some remark to the stallholder. I edged forward, waiting for him to read the note I'd left with the money. As I did, the stallholder lifted up the rucksack and then noticed me, pointing me out to Andy.
Andy's reaction was immediate. He sprinted for the aisle, knocking over a tray of apples in the process, scattering them across the concrete. The stallholder shouted after him, gesturing after him as he raced away.
I was already moving after him, heading down a parallel row of stalls, catching glimpses of the flying coat as he ran ahead of me. He turned into the side street, heading back where he went before. I accelerated, figuring he was going for the same exit. As I tuned into the back street he was running ahead of me, coat flying out behind him. He didn't even look back, he skidded into the blind alley.
I slowed to a halt at the mouth of the alley. A little way in the coat was sprawled across the floor, abandoned. The bag of money was discarded too, thrown against some of the bin bags further in. Of Andy there was no sign. I drew my sword and edged into the alley, scanning the walls and the high roof, looking for an outline that didn't fit. I'd been only seconds behind him. Unless he could fly or run up sheer walls he had to be here somewhere.
"Andy? Come on out. I won't hurt you. I want to talk to you."
There was no reply. After a few moments I summoned up the courage to explore deeper, finding only old bin bags and rotting vegetables. I turned around in the alley, looking for hand-holds and climbing places. There was no obvious route upwards, but he'd used this alley twice now. Was there some means of escape that I was missing? I rattled the thin windows and checked the roller shutter again. Did he have some way of opening and closing it quickly and quietly?
I put my sword away and placed may hand on it, willing it to open. The cold metal was unresponsive, and when I tried to lift it, it clacked noisily but wouldn't budge. It left a finger-width gap, but that was all.
Turning slowly, I looked for trapdoors or drain-covers that might hide an exit underground, kicking aside bin bags to see what was underneath, but there were none. Walking slowly back along the alley I picked up the coat and the money. I hefted the mone
y as he had done.
This clearly had value to him, he'd been pleased to receive it back. So why abandon it? The same with the coat, it was bulky, yes, but why leave it behind? I was beginning to think he was sprouting wings and flying away over the rooftops, which might explain the coat, but not the money. Why not take it with him?
Shaking my head I took it back to the market. The stallholder was not pleased to see me.
"He was fine until you turned up. Owe you money does he?" he said, hefting boxes of fruit onto a sack truck.
"I just want to talk to him."
"Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you? Thought of that, have you?" He carried on loading.
"Look," I said. "If I don't talk to him he could be in trouble."
"Police are you?" he asked. "Show us your badge."
"Not police, this is a private matter, and I think Andy will want to keep it that way."
"Bonking someone's missus is it? The quiet ones, they're always the worst."
"As I say, it's a private matter." I let him come to his own conclusions. "He's come to you twice now, he'll come back for the coat when he thinks the coast is clear." I held out the bundled coat.
"I ain't looking after it. Look what happened, you scared him into tossing my stock half-way round the market."
"You still have the rucksack, and I apologise for the damage to your stock." I fished out a tenner from my wallet. "That should cover any damage."
"Nah, I don't want your money. Give it 'ere." He took the coat from me.
"I've slipped a note into the inside pocket for him, make sure he knows it's there."
The stallholder tucked the coat away. "You've warned him off now. Can't you let him alone? He don't mean no harm."
"He's not in any danger from me. I only want to talk to him."
"Yeah, funny how those sorts of conversations end up with broken bones, ain't it?" he remarked, assessing me.
"Just make sure he gets the message," I said.
"All you have to do is find them and bring them in. That's it," Garvin said. "That's the job."
"It's not as simple as that," I said. "Amber and I went after this group and they were prepared. Now they know we're after them they'll be even more careful. It's not just me that can't find them, Amber hasn't been able to track them either."
