The Starspun Web

by Sinéad O'Hart

  The woman stirred awake a minute or two before her alarm went, as was her habit. She frowned, licking her dry lips, and then her eyes opened. It was only then she heard it: the scritch-scritch. Her body went rigid as she tried to listen. She perched on the edge of her bed like a bird about to take flight.

  After pulling her robe from the back of a nearby chair, she got to her feet and bent down to take the cover off her machine. What sat there looked like a wireless radio and her knowledgeable eyes took one look at it and knew that it was receiving something of importance. A needle-thin pen was moving over a roll of paper, scritching as it went—a change she’d been hoping for since the child had come to live here. Confirmation that everything she’d worked for, all the things she’d dreamed of, were going to come true.

  If she had anything to do with it, at least.

  She settled into her chair and pulled open a drawer in her table, revealing a book that, she felt sure, nobody else in the house would have the faintest idea how to use. It was a book of codes used to send messages. She opened it, smoothing it out on the correct page. Picking up a pencil, she made some light marks on the page, notes to help her to say—

  “Mrs. Thistleton?” came a voice outside her door. The woman jumped, turning irritably toward the sound.

  “Yes?” she snapped.

  “Forgive me, ma’am, but there’s a problem in the kitchen. The milk wasn’t delivered and the butcher’s just been but he didn’t bring half enough beef and—”

  “Yes, yes, all right. Cora—is that Cora?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” came the sheepish reply.

  “I’m just dressing, girl. I’ll be down presently.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Thistleton,” the girl said, and the woman waited to hear the sound of her feet moving away before she bent over the book again.

  Be ready, she wrote. Thirtieth. Protocol S. She left the pencil in the book to mark her place before putting it back in her drawer and replacing the cover on her machine.

  As she finished dressing, she looked at her reflection in the mirror of her wardrobe door. She smoothed back her tight chignon, straightened her collar and allowed a brief gleam of satisfaction to brighten her eyes. We’ve played the child right into our hands, she thought, and I’ve played him into mine.

  She locked the bedroom door behind her and hurried to the kitchen to attend to her duties, but the hiss from her machine filled her ears. She counted the seconds until she could get back to it again and until she could use it to send the most important message it had ever broadcast.

  It’s happening, she thought. The time has come at last.

  * * *

  “You’re looking a bit green around the gills,” said Mr. Cleat as Tess entered the breakfast room. He put aside his newspaper and looked at her with concern. “Everything all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Tess said, taking her seat. Her head ached; she was exhausted and she felt cold to the bones. The night before had taken a toll on her, but of course nobody could know anything of that.

  “I can’t imagine you’re tired from the work you’ve been doing in my lessons,” Mrs. Thistleton remarked. “What have you been up to?”

  “I didn’t sleep very well last night,” Tess replied, reaching for the toast. The thought of eating made her want to retch, but she knew she needed the energy.

  “Shall I send for the doctor?” Mrs. Thistleton asked, turning to Mr. Cleat.

  “Let’s just give Tess the day off and see how she feels later.” Mr. Cleat reached across the table to put his hand over Tess’s and she struggled not to pull her fingers away. “Does that sound like a good plan?”

  Tess squinted at him as she swallowed a mouthful of toast. She nodded.

  “Good, good,” Mr. Cleat said, patting Tess’s hand once or twice before withdrawing his own. “Now, I’ll leave you in Mrs. Thistleton’s care and I’ll see you both for lunch.”

  “Lunch?” Mrs. Thistleton gave Mr. Cleat a curious look but he didn’t glance in her direction. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  “I have an experiment I want to carry out and I was hoping Tess would help me. This might be the perfect day for it.” He met Tess’s eye. “That is, if you’re feeling a bit more energetic later?”

  Tess swallowed another mouthful of toast and jam. Her stomach roiled but didn’t rebel. “Of course,” she said, even though the thought of it made her feel uneasy.

  “Splendid. Get some rest this morning. Back to bed, I think. And we’ll see you at one. Right,” he continued, “I’m away to the city. Enjoy your leisurely morning, ladies.” And with that, he was gone.

  Tess put the rest of her uneaten toast back on her plate and stood up. She felt like something dragging itself along the bottom of the sea; everything seemed to weigh heavily on her. She turned to leave the room.

  “Don’t think I shan’t be checking on you,” Mrs. Thistleton said as Tess’s hand touched the doorknob. “If I find you’ve been malingering, I’ll be straight to Mr. Cleat about it.”

  Tess paused, considering how to respond, but her brain refused to form a sentence. She just turned the knob and pulled open the door, making her way out of the room on aching legs. Getting upstairs seemed like a struggle too far, but she knew she had to try.

  As she crossed the front hall, Millie emerged from a servants’ door weighed down with an armload of laundry. “Miss,” she said, her eyes widening in surprise. “Are you all right?”

  Tess nodded, but she felt Millie’s hands go around her shoulders anyway. The laundry was left in a neat pile on the bottom step.

  “No, you mustn’t do that. If she catches you—” Tess began.

  “If she catches me, she can go and blow her hot air at someone else,” Millie said firmly, helping Tess up the steps one by one. “That’s it, miss. You’re doing well. Come on, now.”

  “Millie, will you please call me Tess?”

  “All right, miss—I mean, Tess. That’s it. Just one more turn and we’ll be there.”

  As they walked, Tess thought of something. She could hardly believe it had never occurred to her before. “Can I ask you a question, Millie? Where is this place? I mean, we’re not far from the city here, are we?”

  Millie bit her lip. Tess felt her stiffen and her grip on Tess’s shoulders tightened. “We were told not to tell you if you asked, miss. I mean, Tess. You weren’t to know.”

  “Why not?”

  Millie sighed. “I was never sure. I suppose it’s in case you tried to run away.”

  “I don’t know why he wants to keep me prisoner here,” Tess said.

  “Nor I, miss. Tess,” Millie replied, giving her a fond squeeze. “It’s not right,” she continued in a whisper.

  They reached Tess’s bedroom door. “So,” Millie continued in a more normal tone, “let’s get you settled and then I can get back to work. Come on, miss.”

  Tess let Millie lead her into the room. The older girl bent to undo Tess’s laces and pull off her shoes, and as she stood up, she leaned close to Tess’s ear. “We’re in Fairwater Park, miss. North of the Plura? Near the old Kingsbridge train station.”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Tess replied. “Thank you, Millie.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Millie said. “Please.”

  “The message I wanted you to send to Ackerbee’s,” Tess whispered, looking Millie in the eye. “Quicksilver. Have you sent it yet?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that, miss. Tess,” Millie corrected herself, looking red and flustered and apologetic. “You see, Kate, the girl who was going to send the message for you, well, her sister’s taken ill. So Kate’s been called home to help and she won’t be back for a few weeks at least.”

  “That’s all right,” Tess said, taking off her glasses. “I was going to ask you to wait a bit, actually; I’m not finished traipsing through t
he garden yet.” She pulled her legs up onto the bed as she lay down and gave Millie a grin as the maid began to arrange the blankets over her. Millie smiled back, her eyes kind. “I don’t know how to thank you, Millie,” Tess whispered.

  “Getting one over on that old windbag is more than enough thanks,” Millie muttered, tucking the bedclothes tightly around Tess. “I’ll see you in an hour or two, miss. I’ll bring you some soup. Feel better, now.”

  “Thank you, Millie. See you then,” Tess replied, and Millie threw her a wink.

  Left alone, Tess tried her hardest to stay awake, to keep an eye out for Mrs. Thistleton, to make sure the Star-spinner was hidden, to think about Thomas and how all the strange pieces of her life might fit together, but the next thing she knew there was an odd grating sound close to her ear. She jerked awake and turned her head to see what had caused it.

  “Whoops!” came Mr. Cleat’s voice. “Tess, you almost had your own eye out!” He laughed but there was no amusement in it. Tess caught a glimpse of something in his hand and she pushed herself up onto her elbows.

  “Is that—is that a pair of scissors?” she asked, blinking. She reached for her glasses and put them on. She stared at Mr. Cleat. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s that experiment I mentioned,” Mr. Cleat said. “I needed a sample of your hair and I didn’t want to wake you to ask for one, but these rusty old scissors gave me away before I could make the cut.” He squeezed the handles a couple of times, making the blades whir back and forth with the same grinding noise that had woken Tess.

  She put her hand to her head. “My hair? What for?”

  “Just to demonstrate something to the members of my Interdimensional Harmonics Society,” Mr. Cleat replied. “We’ve been working on a machine, one that can detect harmonic signals from objects, and I wanted to show my colleagues that a sample from me and a sample from you would be exactly the same.” He gave Tess a level stare. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Tess said, her eyes wide with shock.

  Mr. Cleat pouted. “And here I was thinking you’d be happy to volunteer in the interests of science.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Tess, edging away from him.

  Mr. Cleat held up his hands. He didn’t drop the scissors. “All right, all right, I’m not going to force you. Forgive me, won’t you?” He inclined his head toward Tess, as though bowing. “No offense was meant. I hope none has been taken.”

  “No.” Tess licked her lips. “No, of course not.”

  “Wonderful. Well, I hope you’re feeling better. Will you be coming down to lunch?” Tess managed to nod. “I’ll leave you in peace then,” Mr. Cleat said. He whirled the scissors around one finger and shoved them into a pocket before turning and leaving the room.

  Tess drew her knees up and rested her forehead on them, wrapping her arms tightly around her legs. Her heart gradually began to slow but her thoughts whirled faster and faster. Eventually her mind settled and she realized she was filled with an infuriated rage.

  He was about to cut my hair, she told herself. Without asking! And what would have happened if he’d put it in his infernal machine? It would have proved exactly the opposite of what he was trying to demonstrate—she and Mr. Cleat were from different worlds, so their samples would have different harmonic readings. For a moment she enjoyed imagining his embarrassment, thinking about Mr. Cleat slapping his machine and apologizing for its malfunction in front of his ridiculous Interdimensional Harmonics Society…

  But then a second thought began to creep up through the cracks of the first and her smile faded. But that’s assuming he’s telling the truth, she told herself. If Mr. Cleat wasn’t being truthful, Tess realized, she might have walked herself into a trap. If all he wanted was to see what I’d do, then I’ve given myself away. Her heart began to pound. Because if I had nothing to hide, I would have let him have my hair…

  Violet crawled up the blanket and Tess cupped her in one hand. “I know, girl,” she whispered miserably. “I know. I’ve made a huge mistake, haven’t I?”

  Come on then, Tess thought. Where are you? She was perched on a high stool in her lab, where she’d been for over an hour. The Secret Garden lay beside her on the bench, underneath her experiments notebook, but all she’d managed to note were some random doodles. Now she was using her magnifying lens to zoom in and out on the back of her own hand, marveling at how it was harder to truly see something the closer you got to it.

  It had been three days since she’d last seen Mr. Cleat for longer than a few moments at a time, and just over a week since she’d last been in the lab. However, as soon as she’d walked through the door, she’d realized that someone had paid it a visit in her absence and she could take a guess at who. Things weren’t as she had left them: her lab coat had been left hanging on a hook near the door and she’d found it lying across the back of a chair; some of the things in her top drawer had been disturbed, as though pushed aside by a questing finger. She reached for the Star-spinner, a tiny bulge at her waist, and gave it a gentle squeeze. I won’t let him find you, she told it.

  “What a surprise!” came a voice behind her, and Tess fixed a smile in place before turning around. “How nice to see you back in here. I did wonder whether you’d lost your taste for science.”

  Tess gave Mr. Cleat an incredulous look. “Not at all. Mrs. Thistleton’s been keeping me busy, but I have this morning free.”

  Mr. Cleat inclined his head. “What’s on your agenda, then?”

  Tess reached into her cardigan pocket and took out a small envelope, trying her hardest to appear meek. “I wanted to give you this,” she said, holding out the envelope.

  Mr. Cleat grinned. “Oh?” Three long strides had him in the room and by her side. He took the envelope but didn’t open it. Instead he gave her a curious look.

  “It’s what you wanted,” Tess replied.

  Eagerly, Mr. Cleat tore the seal and looked inside. “Ah,” he said, smiling an embarrassed-seeming smile. His enthusiasm faded a little, but he gave Tess a warm look all the same. “Your hair?”

  A lock of hair lay inside the envelope—but it wasn’t Tess’s. It was Millie’s, and she’d darkened it as much as she could to try to match Tess’s shade by soaking it in strong black tea and letting it dry on a sunny windowsill. It still didn’t look quite right, but Tess was hoping Mr. Cleat wouldn’t notice. He hadn’t seemed to. “I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you the other day,” Tess said. “I wasn’t feeling too well, I suppose.” She smiled, and hoped it looked heartfelt.

  “Please don’t apologize, my dear. I was in the wrong. I shouldn’t have woken you so abruptly.” Mr. Cleat smiled back and Tess bit her tongue. That’s not all you shouldn’t have done, she thought.

  “In any case, I don’t need it now. The time for that experiment has passed, sadly. The members of my Society are looking for proof that these outlandish theories about other worlds and realities are actually true.” He sighed, tucking the envelope of hair into his pocket almost absentmindedly, but Tess had a feeling it was anything but.

  “I was hoping the experiment on your hair would act as a control, you know—a demonstration that two people from the same reality would have the same vibrational frequency.” His gaze grew cooler. “But I met my fellows in the Society yesterday evening, and they’re looking for a greater exhibition than that. No, a couple of clumps of hair won’t satisfy them any longer.”

  “Oh really?” Tess looked guileless. “So what are you going to do now?”

  Mr. Cleat sighed, looking away from Tess as he spoke. “The existence of other realities, Tess, is something I take for granted. Sometimes I find it hard to remember that other people don’t. Mrs. Thistleton, for instance, thinks I’m a fool; she hardly believes the ground under her own feet is solid until she stands upon it. It’s people like her I’m trying to convince. And the only way to
do that is to give them something they can see and feel.” He paused, raising his eyebrows. “To actually send something between worlds right in front of their eyes.”

  “But how are you going to do that?” Tess asked, clutching the edge of her desk so hard her fingertips ached. “I thought you said it was impossible.”

  Mr. Cleat smiled. “No indeed. I don’t believe it to be impossible at all. I’m firmly of the opinion that if it’s possible to send a radiogram signal far enough that it can be picked up by someone in a neighboring reality, then it’s possible to send other things too. People, perhaps.” He licked his front teeth. “Machines.”

  “Machines?” Tess tried to keep her tone bright and interested. “You work with those, don’t you?”

  “I do,” he agreed. “I work with large engines, Tess, which power steamships and airships and the new faradic trams you might have heard of—they run right through the heart of our own city. My father did it before me; it’s the family business. But the machines I’m talking about now involve significant investment on the part of some of the members of the Interdimensional Harmonics Society, and I must show a return on that investment or fall foul of their graces.”

  Tess squinted at him. “You mean—they’d be upset with you? For wasting their money?”

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself,” he said with a chuckle.

  “But why do you care so much?” she asked. “Why is all this so important?”

  Mr. Cleat settled himself more comfortably on his stool as he searched for a way to answer. “I know you’ll know what I mean,” he began, “when I say it’s important to feel that you belong somewhere.” He looked sidelong at Tess. She nodded and he continued. “It’s the same with me. I think all of us who grew up without parental figures might share that feeling. We can seem rootless. Am I making sense?”

  Tess nodded again, giving an encouraging smile, and Mr. Cleat narrowed his eyes just a little. “My interest in all this began with my father, who was taken from me when I was around your age. My mother sadly passed away when I was so young that all I have left of her are some letters and a tattered photograph.” He paused but Tess remained silent. In her hair, Violet stirred as if warning her to be cautious and Tess tried to relax. Breathe, she reminded herself. “I began to cling to the things my father had loved—machines, engines, money, and Interdimensional Harmonics most of all. I vowed that I was going to get to the bottom of the things that had eluded him and I was going to leave my name—his name—all over them as a living testament. This is it.” He waved his hands around, taking in everything. “This house. This Society. This quest, which I’m determined to see through.”