Aubrey tried to picture the ice block, but it threatened to melt as he fought against the overwhelming rage and dread that began to take root in his heart. “Yes, so he did,” he answered through clenched teeth. “Wait, Edmund. Wait,” the earl whispered as he rose to his feet. “Trent needed a mirror.”
“What, sir?” the fireman asked. “A mirror, sir?”
“Yes, a mirror! Why didn’t I think of this before? Lintel, did any of your men recover a broken mirror? Most likely a large one. Six feet or more.”
“Sir, most houses have mirrors here and there,” the befuddled man replied, scratching his bald head. “Generally, they break in a fire.”
“Was there a mirror found or not?” Stuart insisted.
“No, sir. Nor did we find shards that might indicate the presence of one. Didn’t you say the superintendent removed all the furnishings?”
“That’s correct. The house was empty,” the inspector replied.
Lintel sighed. “Then, looking for a mirror seems a fool’s errand, beggin’ your pardon, my lord. Now, as to these corset materials, I do apologise, sir. I fear we did not look in the hearth, for we’d assumed the remains within it were nothing but burnt logs.”
Aubrey took a deep breath, trying to clear his thoughts, but the ice block had turned to a puddle of water. “I hope you’ll forgive any impatience on my part, Mr. Lintel. It is not directed at you, but at these damnable circumstances! My cousin lies upon what may prove to be his death bed, and his bride is missing. If I can find her and return her to him, then my cousin may yet rally, but if I cannot, then I dare not imagine what may happen!”
Lintel nodded somberly, turning the soft grey cap over and over nervously. “Forgive me, my lord. You’re a good man, much like Superintendent Sinclair. If you believe a mirror might provide answers, then I’ll look in the other rooms whilst you and the inspector continue in here. Perhaps, there’s other evidence that we missed.”
The fireman left the room, and Aubrey crossed to the shattered window. “He seems a decent man, Edmund, but I hesitate to bring too many into our confidence. I’d have preferred to keep it to ourselves, but considering how many brave fire brigade officers and policemen rushed to our aid on Sunday night, it would be thoughtless to preclude them entirely. Now, what is this?” he asked, kneeling before the broken window frame. “Glass?”
“Most likely from Trent’s journey through the panes.”
Paul had hoped he’d found the second mirror at last. His coping abilities were wearing thin, and he wanted to smash what little glass remained in the splintered frame. He’d come here hoping to find evidence that would lead him to Elizabeth, but other than the bits of corset, the house had nothing to offer.
He turned to look all ‘round the small room, praying to discover something he’d missed. “I wish my father were here. His eyes were sharper than any other’s for finding what is hidden. There must be something that tells us where she is!”
“Look, my friend, it’s nearly midday. Perhaps, we should leave and return to Leman Street.”
“It makes no sense,” the earl told the policeman. “If there is no mirror here, then how did he do it? I’ve spoken with Kepelheim and MacPherson, and both men agree that there must have been a second mirror inside this house. Every legend that describes the use of mirrors for travel describes an entry and an exit point. He would need a mirror here. It must be why someone broke into the house! Doing so forced Charles to abandon the house and bring Mary Wilsham to Westminster. With the house empty, placing a mirror here would be simple.”
Lintel returned, his hands empty. “Nothing, Lord Aubrey. Not a sliver, not a shard. No sign of a mirror anywhere hereabouts.”
The earl grew silent, his eyes following the progress of two young women entering a three-storey house across the street. Reid recognised the look. Aubrey had an idea.
Suddenly, the earl turned about. “Gentlemen, I’m finished here. Thank you for your help, Mr. Lintel. May I call upon you with further questions as they arise?”
“Of course, my lord,” the befuddled officer answered as he shook the earl’s hand. “I’d be pleased to assist any time. When we’ve completed our investigation, shall I deliver any evidence we’ve collected to Inspector Reid or to you, sir?”
“Tell Reid when you’ve finished, and I’ll send someone to collect it. Thank you again, Mr. Lintel. This visit has been most instructive.”
The trio left the house, and once the fireman departed, Aubrey turned to the detective inspector, a wide smile crossing his face.
“I believe I know how Trent emerged with Beth at the proper place, Edmund. I’d assumed it required installing a second mirror inside Charles’s house, but all he needed to do was place it close to the house, not necessarily inside it. Go on back to Leman Street without me. I’ll see you later at the meeting, if you can make it.”
Reid watched the muscular earl cross the busy street and then enter the stylish house opposite. He began to laugh as he realised the purpose of the earl’s mission.
“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” the amiable inspector muttered to himself.
Constable Danny Antram stood waiting beside their hired hansom, and the young man held the wooden doors open to allow his superior to enter first.
“Where’s his lordship going, sir? I thought he’d be returning to Leman Street with us.”
“Lord Aubrey is conducting his own investigation, Constable. A very pleasant one, I shouldn’t doubt. Leave it to our earl to consider such a possibility.”
On the far side of Columbia Street, James Paul Robert Ian Stuart, 11th Earl of Aubrey passed through the bright red door of the neighbourhood’s most infamous business establishment, the brothel known as the Empress Hotel.
Chapter Five
Charles Sinclair hesitated before entering the mysterious portal. The ravens and other hideous birds sat above him on the high stone wall as though waiting to begin their hideous feast. The object of their desire gulped, imagining the hellish carnivores holding knives and forks, their black beaks flowing with saliva.
“Why seven gates?” Sinclair asked the peculiar bird creature. “Why not six or eight? Or ten? Why not a million, if your intention is to confuse and confound your victims?”
“Victims? I do not like your implication, human! Twas not I who built the maze, but rather the oldest of the old. I merely keep watch upon it; that is all. Why should I explain its purpose or mechanism to someone as willfully stupid as you?”
“If I’m so stupid, then why do you spend any time with me at all? Why not abandon me to my fate?” Sinclair noticed the creature’s eyes fixed upon his watch. “Or is it this that you covet? Why? Surely, you’ve no need of gold.”
“Of course not—not for payment. Our needs differ from your own. Gold is not a commodity but a key,” he replied slyly.
“How is gold a key?”
“That is considered education. Pay or remain ignorant.”
Charles shrugged. “Fine, then. I shall remain ignorant and in possession of this key, thank you.”
The birdman moved closer, rubbing its hands together greedily. “It is certainly shiny. Grant me one look at it, and I’ll offer you a hint—at no cost.”
Charles held up the watch, but didn’t dare remove it from the waistcoat button to which the chain attached. “You may look, but do not touch.”
“Whatever is it?” the creature asked, hopping closer.
“It is a timepiece and nothing more, but it has sentimental value. I shan’t part with it, no matter how much knowledge you promise.”
The birdman drew closer still, its feather-trimmed cape bristling in anticipation. “So very pretty. I seem to remember timepieces from long ago. I wonder, does it make that lovely ticking sound? The one such mechanisms used to make?”
“Of course.”
“Are you certain?” it a
sked, moving two steps nearer.
“Of course, I am,” Charles answered confidently. To prove his point, he depressed the latch once again and stared at the hands beneath the polished crystal. The Sir John Bennett featured a second hand which swept along a dial near the bottom, but the tiny bit of metal was stuck fast at the thirty-three second mark. Only now, did Charles notice the minute and hour hands also appeared frozen—at thirteen minutes past one. He shook the idle watch, but with no resolution. Finally, after unfastening the chain from the middle waistcoat button, he held the watch to one ear.
“Odd. I hear nothing.”
The bird creature grinned. “And thus my point is proven. Did I not say that you are stupid?”
“I’ve no idea what you mean, Creature. I must have forgotten to wind it before the wedding.”
“Wind it now,” it suggested, the sickly yellow eyes round as buttons.
Sinclair had a dread that the bird-thing was setting a trap, but he slowly wound the mechanism, tightening the springs within the eighteen-karat case. However, the hands remained stubbornly fixed. “I may have overwound it.”
“Or, perhaps, there is a simpler explanation.”
“And what might that be?” the marquess asked, anger and frustration tightening his voice.
“That time has stopped,” the bird stated, as though it were the most natural thing in all the world.
Charles started to argue, but something about the suggestion rang true in his mind. If I am in a dream world, then time may not exist. However, if I am dead, then it would also, likely, not exist.
“Are you saying I’m dead?” he asked boldly.
“Do you want to be?”
“No, of course not! I want to find my wife! Is she dead?”
“Another stupid question. I have told you that she asks for a man called Captain. Dead women do not generally submit questions regarding their lovers, now do they? Have you no memory at all, human?”
“That’s right,” he whispered, the back of his head pounding. “I’d quite forgotten. This is a very confusing place, you must admit. Tell me, then, why doesn’t time exist here? If I am not dead, that is.”
The creature stretched out its arms and used the black-feathered cape to ascend to the top of a large boulder, where it perched. “You can be quite trying, human. Why would I know about time? I did not create it! Lord Kronos might know, but he sleeps elsewhere. Shall I summon one of the old ones to instruct you? I warn you; they do not take kindly to being awoken prematurely, and they charge a much higher price than I.”
“No, let them sleep,” the human replied. “Who are these old ones? Why are they asleep at all, and if time does not exist here, how does one awaken prematurely?”
“Just who are you?” the creature asked as it hopped down from the rock in excitement. “I’ve never had any other human persist in such odd enquiries. Are you, perhaps, related to Gilgamesh? Orpheus? Odysseus? Inanna? Dionysus? Are you the son of an elohim? You smell different to me, Charles Sinclair. My nose never lies. I’m sure you’re something very special indeed!”
“I am the son of a human, who was himself the son of a human. Tell me about this traitor you mentioned earlier. Is he also an elohim?” he asked.
The birdman’s amber eyes blinked rapidly many times, as though counting. Above their heads, the murder of crows and ravens collectively blinked in unison with the gatekeeper. At last, the creature replied, “The answer would be considered instruction, therefore, I cannot reply without payment. However, I can lead you to the observation chamber. Perhaps you will find the location of your faithless wife there.”
“Why do I feel as though you’re trying to trick me?” Charles asked.
“No trick. None at all. Come, follow me, human. It is nearby. Just beyond these trees.” The creature changed back into a huge raven and flew towards a thicket of yew trees.
Sinclair’s legs felt heavy, as though bound by lead weights, but he pressed forward, hurrying to catch up with the birdman’s quick flight. After what seemed like an endless series of steps, he entered a clearing. The trees’ irregular shapes looked black in the moon’s dim light. Though evergreens, some of the yews had lost their foliage, and their limbs spread out from the thick trunks like endlessly entwining arms. Charles noticed that the branches moved, despite the lack of any discernable breeze.
“Here,” the raven cawed as it landed near his position and transformed back into a human, or rather the semblance of one. “Beneath these ancient boughs stand the asaru stones. They see and record everything that is ever done or thought; every moment, every intention, every dream. Is there a particular day you would like to relive?”
“Relive?” he asked, his mind suddenly crowded with pictures from his own life. “I don’t know. I want to find my wife.”
“Then, look and see,” the creature commanded. Sinclair stared into the asaru stone. Its rough grey surface grew fluid and rippled like the surface of a lake. An image appeared within the rippling grey fog, focusing slowly onto Edmund Reid’s office at Leman Street—only Reid wasn’t sitting behind the desk. It was Bob Morehouse, Sinclair’s late mentor. Morehouse was smoking a pipe and speaking with Dr. Alan Dollarhide, who stood beside the desk. Charles could also see himself, and he could hear their conversation.
“She’s a pretty thing,” he heard himself say in the vision.
“That was the first time I ever saw her,” he told the birdman as tears formed in the corners of his eyes. “I’d never seen a child so beautiful in all my life.”
“That, at least, is an honest answer,” the creature said. “She looks very young for a wife.”
“She wasn’t quite eleven,” Charles told him softly. “Why have you shown me this?”
“You see what you want to see, human. Why is this moment special to you?”
“Because she is special to me; that’s why. If we hadn’t met, I... I dare not think where my life would be now.”
The stone’s display rippled again, and when it stopped, Sinclair perceived a small parlour with a coal fire burning upon a small grate. He could see himself, sitting in a wingback chair, gazing at something. No, at someone. It was Elizabeth, lying on a velveteen sofa. She’d begun to stir.
The marquess smiled, for he knew precisely what would happen next. “I remember this so clearly. It was the first time I ever saw her eyes. It may even be the moment, when I started loving her.”
“So, this is your young wife again, I take it?” the creature asked as it stared at the stone, blinking. “I suppose she’s pretty enough.”
“She wasn’t my wife at that time,” Charles explained. “I felt protective, but that bond betwixt us took root so very swiftly... So profoundly that it felt...”
“Planned?” the bird asked him.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Mamitu, goddess of fate, had destined you to be together,” the gatekeeper suggested.
“No,” Charles argued. “God Almighty brought us together. I believe he designed us for one another.”
“Why must you bring up your useless God again?” the bird complained. “You really are rather stupid. Oh, wait, it looks as though she’s about to speak.”
“Captain Nemo,” the girl said.
“Captain Nemo?” his vision self asked her.
“Jules Verne,” she explained. “Second shelf down, third from the left. It’s one of my favourites. Captain Nemo is such a lonely man, don’t you think?”
“She thought you were lonely!” the birdman cawed excitedly. “Women always make such claims to men. They insist it is because they are superior, but I find it manipulative. You cannot trust them.”
Charles shook his head. “No, her comment was insightful. Even at eleven, Beth could see into my heart as no one else on this earth ever could.”
“Did you notice, though? She called you Captain. Is that what sh
e calls all her lovers?” the gatekeeper asked. “As I thought. You are but one of a number.”
“Of course not! Beth has no lovers. She is my wife, and her heart has belonged to me for a long time.”
“Is that so?” the creature taunted. “Then explain this to me.”
The stone’s surface shifted again, and when the rippling finally stopped, the Columbia Road parlour had given way to a stylish compartment of a moving railcar.
“It’s the Aubrey train,” Charles said. “Is this when we travelled to Branham in October?”
“What is an Oc-to-ber?” the birdman cawed.
“It is a month. We had to leave London quickly, because Beth was in danger. She dared not return home. Paul and I guarded her on that journey, and it was when I first met Martin Kepelheim.”
“Ah, yes, he’s a rather annoying person by all accounts. Why did you wish to see this moment?”
“I’m not sure. Is this when I kissed her? I longed to confess my love for her, but...”
“But she was not yours to love,” the gatekeeper said. “However, I do not think this is that moment, human. In fact, I don’t see you at all. How very curious.”
The angle of the view shifted, and it became clear that the only travellers in the compartment were Elizabeth and Paul Stuart.
“Why am I seeing this? How is this my memory?”
The creature grinned, its inhuman teeth sharp. “Did I say that these are only your memories? Hardly! What sort of seeing stone would that be? No, I’m showing you what you most want to see.”
“I don’t want to see this,” the marquess insisted. “Change it to something else!”
“Oh, but you do want to see it. You have always wondered what happened in your absence, haven’t you, Charles Sinclair? You’d left with that annoying tailor to have your measurements taken, remember? Let’s watch, shall we?”
“Do you love him?” the earl asked Elizabeth bluntly.
The duchess turned away, and Charles could see anxiety etched upon her face, and her lower lip trembled as it always did when she was upset. “Please, do not ask me that.”
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