by Kerstin Gier
“Maybe you’ve forgotten that we wanted their blood as well. And it was you who put a pistol to Lucy’s head, not the other way around,” I said. “She didn’t have a gun.”
An angry line showed between Gideon’s eyebrows. “Gwyneth, please don’t be so naive. We’d been lured into a trap—as usual. Lucy and Paul had armed reinforcements. It was at least four to one!”
“Two!” I snapped. “I was there too!”
“Five if we count Lady Tilney. But for my pistol, we could be dead by now. Or at least they could have taken blood from us by force, because that’s exactly what they were there for. And you wanted to talk to them?”
I bit my lip.
“Hello?” said the gargoyle. “Anyone got a thought to spare for me? Because I don’t understand this one little bit!”
“I can see why you’re confused,” said Gideon, much more gently now, but you couldn’t miss the patronizing note in his voice. “You’ve had too many new experiences over these last few days. And you were totally unprepared. How could you understand what it’s all about? You ought to be at home in bed. So let’s get this over and done with, fast.” He reached for my arm again and made me go on. “I’ll do the talking, and you confirm my story, right?”
“Yes, so you’ve said at least twenty times already!” I replied, annoyed, stopping when I saw a brass plate outside the door saying LADIES and bracing my legs. “You can all start without me. I’ve been needing to go to the loo since June 1912.”
Gideon let go of me. “Can you find the way up by yourself?”
“Of course,” I said, although I wasn’t absolutely sure whether I could rely on my sense of direction. This house had too many passages, flights of stairs, doors, and nooks and crannies.
“Great! We’re rid of that pest at last,” said the gargoyle. “Now you can tell me what’s going on.”
I waited until Gideon had disappeared around the next corner, then I opened the door of the ladies’ room and snapped at the gargoyle, “Okay, come on in here!”
“What?” The gargoyle was looking offended. “Into the ladies’ toilet? I kind of don’t think that would—”
“I don’t care what you think it would be. There aren’t many places where a girl can talk to demons in peace, and I don’t want to risk being overheard. So come on.”
Holding his nose, the gargoyle reluctantly followed me into the ladies’, where the only smell was a faint one of lemony disinfectant. I glanced quickly at the cubicles. All vacant. “Right. Now listen to me. I know I’m probably not about to shake you off in a hurry, but if you want to stick around, you have to keep a few rules, understand?”
“No picking my nose, no rude words, no scaring dogs,” chanted the gargoyle.
“What? No, what I want is for you to agree to leaving me alone in private. I want to be on my own at night, and in the bathroom, and if anyone happens to kiss me”—here I had to swallow—“I don’t want any audience then either. Is that clear?”
“Tut, tut!” The gargoyle clicked his tongue. “And that from someone who’s dragged me into a ladies’ toilet!”
“Well, is it a deal? You respect my privacy?”
“No way do I want to watch you showering or—yuck, heaven preserve me!—kissing anyone,” said the gargoyle emphatically. “You really don’t have to worry about that. And as a rule, I think it’s a dead bore watching people asleep. All that snoring and slobbering, not to mention the other stuff—”
“What’s more, I don’t want you gabbling away when I’m at school or talking to someone—and please, if you have to sing, keep it for when I’m not around.”
“I can do a really good trumpet imitation too,” said the gargoyle. “And a tuba imitation. Do you have a dog?”
“No!” I took a deep breath. I was going to need nerves of iron to cope with this little guy.
“Couldn’t you get one? Or a cat would be better than nothing, but they always look down their noses at you, and it’s not so easy to wind a cat up. A good many birds can see me, too. Do you have a bird?”
“My grandmother can’t stand pets,” I said. I was about to say she probably wouldn’t have much time for invisible pets either, but I swallowed the words again. “Okay, now let’s start over again from the beginning: My name is Gwyneth Shepherd. Nice to meet you.”
“Xemerius,” said the gargoyle, beaming all over his face. “Pleased to meet you too.” He climbed up on the washbasin and looked deep into my eyes. “Really! Very, very pleased! Will you buy me a cat?”
“No. And now get out of here. I have to go to the loo.”
“Urggh!” Xemerius stumbled hastily through the door without opening it first, and I heard him strike up “Friends Will Be Friends” again out in the corridor.
I spent much longer in the ladies’ than really necessary. I washed my hands thoroughly and splashed plenty of cold water on my face, hoping it would clear my head. But that didn’t stop my confused ideas from going round and round like a carousel. My reflection in the mirror looked as if crows had been nesting in my hair, and I ran my fingers through it to smooth it out, meanwhile trying to encourage myself. The way my friend Lesley would have done if she’d been here.
“Only a couple of hours and then you’ll be through with it, Gwyneth. And, hey, considering you’re so tired and hungry, you don’t look too bad.”
My reflection peered reproachfully at me out of large eyes rimmed by dark shadows.
“Okay, that was a lie,” I admitted. “You look terrible. But you’ve been known to look worse. For instance when you had chicken pox. So chin up! You can do it.”
I found Xemerius dangling from a chandelier in the corridor like a bat. “It’s a bit creepy in here,” he said. “A one-armed Knight Templar just walked by. Friend of yours?”
“No,” I said. “Thank God, he isn’t. Come on, we have to go this way.”
“Will you explain time travel to me?”
“I don’t understand it myself.”
“Will you buy me a cat?”
“No.”
“Come to think of it, I know where you can get cats for free. Hey, there’s a person inside that suit of armor.”
I cast a surreptitious glance at it. Sure enough, I had the feeling that I saw a pair of eyes glittering behind the closed visor. It was the same suit of armor I’d tapped cheerfully on the shoulder yesterday, naturally thinking it was just there for decoration.
Somehow yesterday seemed years ago.
I met Mrs. Jenkins, the secretary, outside the door of the Dragon Hall. She was carrying a tray and was glad that I could hold the door open for her.
“Just tea and biscuits for now, dear,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Mrs. Mallory went home long ago, and I’ll have to look around the kitchen to see what I can make for you children.”
I nodded politely, but I was sure that with a little effort anyone could have heard my stomach begging, “Oh, do just send out for Chinese!”
They were already waiting for us in the Dragon Hall: Gideon’s uncle Falk, who always reminded me of a wolf, with his amber eyes and mane of gray hair; Dr. White in his eternal black suit; and, to my surprise, my English and history teacher, Mr. Whitman, also known as Mr. Squirrel. I immediately felt twice as uncomfortable and tugged nervously at the pale blue bow on my dress. Only this morning Mr. Whitman had caught my friend Lesley and me skipping a class and read us a lecture. And he’d confiscated all Lesley’s research work. So far we’d only had a strong suspicion that he belonged to the Inner Circle of the Guardians, but it was officially confirmed now.
“Ah, there you are, Gwyneth,” said Falk de Villiers, in a friendly tone but without smiling. He looked as if he could do with a shave, but maybe he was one of those men who shave in the morning and already look as if they have a three-day growth of beard by evening. Possibly it was just the dark shadow around his mouth, but he looked a lot tenser and more serious than yesterday, or even at midday. A nervous leader of the wolf pack.
H
owever, Mr. Whitman gave me a wink. Dr. White muttered something incomprehensible in which all I could make out were the words women and punctuality.
The little fair-haired ghost boy Robert was standing beside Dr. White as usual. He was the only one who seemed glad to see me, because he gave me a beaming smile. Robert was Dr. White’s son, who had drowned at the age of seven in a swimming pool, and now, as a ghost, he stuck close to his father all the time. Of course, no one except for me could see him, and because Dr. White was always there too, I still hadn’t managed to have a proper conversation with Robert.
Gideon was leaning against one of the lavishly decorated walls. His gaze moved only briefly over me and then stopped at the biscuits on Mrs. Jenkins’s tray. With luck, his stomach was growling as loudly as mine.
Xemerius had slipped into the room ahead of me and was looking around appreciatively. “Wow,” he said. “This place is quite something!” He walked all around it once, admiring the elaborate carvings on the walls. I never tired of looking at them myself. I specially liked the mermaid swimming above the sofa. Every one of her scales was carved in detail, and her fins shimmered in all imaginable shades of blue and turquoise. But the hall owed its name to the gigantic dragon winding its way along the high ceiling between the chandeliers, looking as lifelike as if it might unfold its wings and fly away any moment.
At the sight of Xemerius, the little ghost boy widened his eyes in astonishment and hid behind Dr. White’s legs.
I would have liked to say, “He won’t hurt you. He only wants to play” (hoping that was true), but talking to a ghost about a demon when you’re in a room full of people who can’t see either of them is not to be recommended.
“I’ll just go and see whether I can find anything else to eat in the kitchen,” said Mrs. Jenkins.
“You ought to have gone home some time ago, Mrs. Jenkins,” said Falk de Villiers. “You’ve been doing too much overtime recently.”
“Yes, off you go home,” Dr. White snapped at her abruptly. “No one here’s going to starve to death.”
Oh, yes, they were! I was. And I felt sure that Gideon was thinking exactly the same. When our eyes met, he smiled.
“Biscuits are not what I’d call a healthy, well-balanced supper for children,” protested Mrs. Jenkins, but under her breath. Of course Gideon and I weren’t children anymore, but we could have done with a good meal all the same. A pity Mrs. Jenkins was the only one who shared my opinion, because unfortunately she didn’t have much say in the matter. At the door she almost collided with Mr. George, still out of breath and now also carrying two heavy leather-bound folio volumes.
“Ah, Mrs. Jenkins,” he said. “Thank you so much for the tea. Do lock up the office and go home now.”
Mrs. Jenkins made a disapproving face, but she only replied politely, “See you tomorrow morning.”
Mr. George closed the door behind her, with a loud snort, and put the thick books on the table. “Well, here I am. Now we can start. With only four members of the Inner Circle present, we don’t have the necessary quorum to make decisions, but we’ll be almost at full strength tomorrow. As we expected, Sinclair and Hawkins are not available, and they’ve both transferred their voting rights to me. Today we’re just concerned with establishing a rough plan of action.”
“We’d better sit down.” Falk pointed to the chairs standing around the table under the carved dragon, and we each took one of them.
Gideon hung his Edwardian coat over the back of his chair, opposite the place where I was sitting, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “I’ll say it again: Gwyneth doesn’t have to be at this meeting. She’s tired and terrified. She should elapse, and then someone must take her home.”
And first someone should give her a pizza. With extra cheese.
“Don’t worry. Gwyneth will only be asked to give us a brief account of her impressions,” said Mr. George. “Then I’ll take her down to the chronograph myself.”
“I can’t say she appears to me particularly terrified,” muttered black-clad Dr. White. Robert, the little ghost boy, was standing behind the back of his chair and casting curious glances at the sofa, on which Xemerius was now lounging.
“What’s that thingy?” Robert asked me.
Of course I didn’t answer.
“I am not a thingy. I’m a good friend of Gwyneth’s,” replied Xemerius for me, putting out his tongue. “You might even say her best friend. She’s going to buy me a dog.”
I cast the sofa a stern glance.
“The impossible has happened,” Falk began. “When Gideon and Gwyneth visited Lady Tilney, they were expected. All of us here can confirm that we chose the date and time of their visit entirely at random. Yet Lucy and Paul were waiting for them. It can’t conceivably be coincidence.”
“Which means someone must have told them about that visit,” said Mr. George, who was leafing through one of the folio volumes. “The only question is who.”
“Or when, more like it,” said Dr. White, looking at me.
“And why,” I said.
Gideon frowned. “Why is obvious. They need our blood to read it into the chronograph they stole. That’s why they brought reinforcements.”
“But there’s not a word about your visit in the Annals,” said Mr. George. “And yet the two of you were in contact with at least three of the Guardians of the time, not to mention the guards posted at the doors. Can you remember their names?”
“The First Secretary met us himself.” Gideon pushed a lock of hair back. “Burgess, or some such name. He said the brothers Jonathan and Timothy de Villiers were expected to elapse there early in the evening and Lady Tilney had already elapsed early that morning. And then a man called Winsley took us to Belgravia in a cab. He was supposed to wait at the door for us there, but when we came out of the house, the cab had disappeared. We had to get away on foot, find a place to lie low, and wait to travel back.”
I felt myself blushing when I remembered the place where we’d been lying low. I quickly helped myself to a biscuit and let my hair fall over my face.
“The report that day was written by a Guardian in the Inner Circle, a man called Frank Mine. It’s only a few lines long, says a little about the weather, then he mentions a suffragettes’ protest march in the city, says Lady Tilney turned up punctually to elapse, and that’s it. No unusual incidents, he adds. There’s no mention of the de Villiers twins, but they too were members of the Inner Circle at the time.” Mr. George sighed, and closed the folio volume. “Very strange. It all points to a conspiracy in our own ranks.”
“And the main question,” said Mr. Whitman, “remains how Lucy and Paul could know that you two would visit Lady Tilney’s house at that time and on that day.”
“Wow,” said Xemerius from the sofa. “All these names. Enough to make your head spin.”
“The answer to that is obvious,” said Dr. White, his eyes resting on me again.
We were all staring thoughtfully and gloomily into space, me included. I hadn’t done anything, but obviously all the others were assuming that at some future date I’d feel that I had to tell Lucy and Paul when we were going to visit Lady Tilney, for a reason so far unknown. It was all terribly confusing, and the longer I thought about it, the more illogical it seemed to me. Suddenly I felt very much alone.
“What sort of freaks are you all?” said Xemerius, jumping up from the sofa to hang head down from one of the gigantic chandeliers. “Time travel—I ask you! I’ve seen a lot of things in my time, but this is new even to me.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” I said. “Why were you expecting to find something about our visit in those Annals, Mr. George? I mean, if there had been, then you’d have seen it already, and you’d have known that we were going there that day and what would happen to us. Or is it like that film with Ashton Kutcher, The Butterfly Effect? And every time one of us comes back from the past, the whole future has changed?”
“That’s an interesting and very philosop
hical question, Gwyneth,” said Mr. Whitman, as if we were in one of his classes. “I don’t know the film you’re talking about, but it’s true, according to the laws of logic, that the tiniest change in the past can have a great influence on the future. There’s a short story by Ray Bradbury in which—”
“Perhaps we can put off philosophical discussion to some other time,” Falk interrupted him. “At the moment I’d like to hear the details of the ambush in Lady Tilney’s house and how you managed to get away.”
I looked at Gideon. Right, it was up to him to give his pistol-free version of the story. I helped myself to another biscuit.
“We were lucky,” said Gideon, his voice just as calm as before. “I realized that there was something wrong at once. Lady Tilney didn’t seem at all surprised to see us. The table was laid for afternoon tea, and when Paul and Lucy turned up and the butler stationed himself in the doorway, Gwyneth and I escaped into the next room and down the servants’ stairs. The cab had disappeared, so we got away on foot.” He didn’t seem to find lying difficult. No giveaway red face, no batting of his eyelids, no artificial looking up, not a trace of uncertainty in his voice. All the same, I still thought his version of the story lacked a certain something to make it credible.
“Strange,” said Dr. White. “If the ambush had been properly planned, they’d have been armed and would have made sure that you two couldn’t get away.”
“My head’s still spinning,” said Xemerius, back on the sofa. “I hate all these crazy verbs, using a subjunctive to get what’s happened in the future and the past mixed up.”
I looked expectantly at Gideon. If he was going to stick to the pistol-free version, he’d have to come up with a bright idea now.
“I think we simply took them by surprise,” said Gideon.
“Hm,” said Falk. The others didn’t look entirely convinced either. No wonder! Gideon had botched the job! If you were lying, you had to come up with confusing details that wouldn’t interest anyone.
“We really did move fast,” I said hastily. “The servants’ stairs had obviously just been polished, and I nearly slipped, in fact I more or less slid down the stairs instead of running down them. If I hadn’t held on to the banister rail, right now I’d be lying in the year 1912 with a broken neck. Come to think of it, what happens if you die while you’re away time traveling? Does your dead body travel back of its own accord? Well, anyway, we were lucky that the door at the bottom of the stairs was open, because a maid was just coming in with a shopping basket. A fat blonde. I thought Gideon was going to knock her over, and there were eggs in that basket, which would have made a terrible mess, but we managed to run past her and down the street as fast as we could go. I have a blister on my toe.”
