by Nick Baker
‘What is it, man?’ Price demanded, fear rising from the pit of his stomach.
‘It’s … L-Lily …’ Albright began, seemingly lost for words.
‘What is it? Come on, spit it out, man.’
‘It’s … Lily,’ he repeated inanely, ‘she’s … she’s gone!’
22
THE STONE OF MADNESS
A Question of Parentage
LILY STARED AT THE droplets of rain clinging resolutely to the dormer window of her father’s attic study. She had slept fitfully and listened for most of the night, or so it seemed, to the incessant pitter-patter of rain striking slate as she tossed and turned amid dreams she could no longer recall.
She had breakfasted alone apart from a brief conversation with her father before he left for yet another of his interminable meetings. He had announced that he expected to be home at a reasonable time and astonished her with the promise that he would update her regarding the theft the moment he returned.
Lily wondered what had caused this change of heart but could only speculate that Cornelius’ influence lay behind it. She missed the irascible old man and had got quite used to his company during his period of recuperation after the attack. He had returned to the bookshop that doubled as his home a few days earlier, and it was no coincidence that Lily’s melancholia stemmed from that time. The disparity between the way Cornelius treated her compared with her father had only been accentuated during the time of his stay. For a start, Cornelius was always happy to listen to what she had to say without making excuses that he had to leave for nebulous reasons, but whenever she tried to talk to her father, she always felt that while he appeared to listen, he never seemed to take it in. She knew her father had important commitments, but she could not accept that they were justified reasons for neglecting her.
Lily peered through the window. The early morning drizzle had given way to a depressingly low mist that obscured the zenith of the bridge’s abutment, despite her attempts to view it through her father’s binoculars. Even with the lenses, the bridge appeared strangely incomplete, disappearing half way across its span into a stark wall of mist that obliterated the far bank of the river from view. She sighed and sat down at the desk. The mist outside mirrored her sombre mood, and the distant view of the ghostly bridge had failed to lift her spirits as it so often did.
She glanced at the debris strewn across her father’s desk and caught sight of a large book that had not been there on her last visit. To her disappointment, it was a treatise on the works of Hieronymus Bosch, an artist she knew nothing about. She flicked disinterestedly through the pages depicting bizarre images and sneezed unexpectedly from the invisible cloud of dust that spilt from the book as she snapped it shut. She looked at the clock and noted with a start that she was late, but even then, she did not rush. She was not looking forward to yet another Latin lesson with Victor Mirkstone and did not know what was worse, Classics or her boring old tutor.
Lily trundled lethargically down the stairs and entered the first-floor classroom, which was a small and rather sparse affair compared to all the other grandly furnished rooms in the house. A pair of desks sat facing one another, and with the exception of a blackboard and a couple of shelves populated with a meagre collection of textbooks, the walls were bare.
Lily felt only the slightest sense of relief when she arrived before her tutor. She sat down at her desk and lifted its top to retrieve a book she had deposited there at the end of the last lesson. Presently, the unmistakable sound of Mirkstone’s diminutive feet trudging up the stairs preceded his appearance at the door. He crossed the room and gave Lily a cursory wave before sitting down without a word.
Mirkstone was a tiny, fat man with a balding head offset by a full beard that was black around the jowls but shockingly white on the point of his chin. He always wore the same pressed, formal dark suit, starched collar and black tie, and walked with a waddling gait, inevitably reminding her of a penguin. He never addressed her unless it related to what he was teaching, and with such a lack of rapport, Lily could not fail to dislike him. Mirkstone’s attitude was in stark contrast to Anatoly Volkiev, with whom she had always enjoyed a much happier relationship, but the prospect of seeing Volkiev after lunch was little compensation for the tedious hours that lay ahead.
The morning’s lessons dragged interminably, and Lily’s mind began to wander while listening to Mirkstone’s voice as he droned on about the gerund, a grammatical concept she neither wished nor intended to grasp. History followed, which was only marginally more entertaining. After several hours of unbroken boredom, it was time for lunch, and Lily could barely hide her relief when Mirkstone gathered up his belongings and nodded dismissively to bid farewell, even if it was only for another twenty-four hours.
She made her way to the kitchen and picked up a small package of sandwiches and fruit that Mrs Brimstork had left for her on the worktop. She entered the garden and sat on an old, wooden bench, enjoying the late winter sunshine and the company of a robin that hopped brazenly towards her across the lawn in search of some crumbs.
To Lily’s dismay, her lunch break was over all too soon. She glanced towards the gate at the end of the garden and felt a thrill in the pit of her stomach as she briefly contemplated heading off in search of Aedh and Seoc. With a disgruntled sigh, she rejected the idea when she imagined how her father would react to the news that she had skived off to visit friends he would undoubtedly disapprove of. No, she was not going to jeopardise her forthcoming conversation with him, and reluctantly, she made her way indoors and up the stairs to the classroom where she waited for Volkiev to arrive.
She sat at her desk listening out for the telltale sound of her tutor’s footsteps but she nearly jumped out of her skin when a gnarled hand fell on her shoulder. Her heart was pounding when she turned to face the intruder but was astonished to see Volkiev beaming back at her as if his unforeseen approach had somehow pleased him. How he had managed to sneak up on her, she did not know, particularly as she had been learning how to discern whoever approached by the characteristic sound of their steps. After her father’s introductory lesson on the art of psychic defence, she had already begun to grasp how a seemingly insignificant sign could be used to great effect, including an awareness of who approached. Since then, she had continually practised the skill, and this only made Volkiev’s approach all the more disconcerting.
She cast aside the thought and opened her mathematics book. Volkiev smiled amiably, his lined features exuding a warmth that contrasted sharply with Mirkstone’s habitual glower. ‘Ah, Lily, how are you today?’
‘I’m fine,’ Lily replied curtly, still a little nonplussed. ‘And you, Ana?’ she added a little more politely.
‘Yes, I too am well. Now, I suggest we continue with Boolean algebra and explore its applications in electrical circuit theory. I believe this will tie in nicely with some of the more, er, practical applications you’ve been learning from your father.’
Lily briefly wondered how much her father discussed with her tutors and Volkiev’s comment suggested a level of collusion that she had previously underestimated. Nevertheless, the reference to her father sparked an increase in her concentration that carried her through the lesson in growing anticipation of his return.
Thankfully, the afternoon passed considerably quicker than the morning, and Lily was astonished when Volkiev gathered up his books in preparation to leave.
‘Okay, Lily. You’ve worked extremely well today, and as a reward, I think we can finish early. What do you say?’
Lily returned Volkiev’s smile and nodded excitedly. She jumped up from the desk before her tutor changed his mind.
‘Now, before you go, perhaps you’d be kind enough to do me a favour?’
Lily hesitated, suspecting a catch that would see the end of her burgeoning plans for what remained of the afternoon.
‘Could you drop this off in your father’s study? It’s a book I promised him,’ Volkiev said.
Lily rela
xed as she accepted a book entitled Mathematics in the Fourth Dimension. ‘What’s it about?’
‘Nothing for you to worry about, Lily. Now run along before I find another job for you.’
‘See you tomorrow, Ana,’ she said, turning quickly on her heels while clutching the book. She was surprised when Volkiev did not reply, and as she left the room, she glanced back to see that he was no longer looking in her direction. He remained seated and was staring into space, apparently lost in thought with a sad expression etched indelibly across his face. Lily promptly cast the memory aside and took the stairs two at a time in her hurry to reach the study. With her father not due home for several hours, she would still have plenty of time for a game of marbles or a cup of tea with the boys.
She burst into the attic, eager to deposit the book and get away as fast as she could, but as she crossed the room, she came to a shuddering halt when she noticed that the instruments and books on her father’s desk had been disturbed. Inevitably, her gaze fell upon the largest gadget amidst the clutter, the Historoscope, which lay askew on its stand. She instinctively reached out to reposition it, but as she did, the gold and silver veins coursing across its surface burst into life, pulsing with light. Although her father had never allowed her to use the Historoscope, she had watched him operate it, and she knew that it should not behave in this manner. She raised it off its stand and weighed it in her hands. The metal veins continued to flash, throwing off beams of light in all directions, and Lily felt a barely discernible vibration coming from the instrument that sent a thrill of expectation flowing up her arms.
Without a second thought, she raised the Historoscope and pressed the lens to her eye. She almost recoiled when a maelstrom of bright, swirling colours appeared on the screen. Even as she questioned how this could happen without the use of the skullcap, she was transfixed by the beauty of the kaleidoscopic images materialising before her. She stared in surprise at the blurred lights as they coalesced into a coherent image of her father sitting alone by the fireside. She flinched when he turned to look in her direction as if she had somehow disturbed him from the reams of paper lying in front of him. He was sitting in the drawing room downstairs, and Lily gasped when he got up from the chair, set the papers down on the armrest and made his way towards where she imagined her own ghostly image was floating in mid-air. She was relieved, however, to see him pass beyond her viewpoint and open a window. Lily knew that the scene was merely a record of a past event stored inside the Historoscope, but she could not understand how the image had appeared without her activating the machine; whatever else, this was not how it was supposed to work.
Lily watched her father return to the chair only for a gentle breeze to lift the sheaves of paper from the armrest and scatter them onto the floor. As he scrabbled around on his hands and knees to pick them up, it dawned on her that she was viewing a scene that had taken place many years ago. Her father looked much younger, his long, straight hair free from the telltale streaks of grey she had come to know so well. The furrowed brow and crow’s feet around his eyes were absent, replaced by a carefree expression Lily had rarely seen in the time since her mother’s death.
As she viewed the scene, she felt a pang of regret at the loss of the father she had once known, and mournfully realised that he had changed forever from that fateful moment, as undoubtedly, she had too. She found it absurd that, with the passage of time, they had slowly drifted apart despite the shared bond of their loss. She also felt guilty for prying on her father in such a voyeuristic fashion, but with the reassuring weight of the instrument in her hands, she realised she was watching no more than an imprint of a memory. She briefly wondered whether the scene was just an irrelevance, but when her father sat down and rearranged the papers, there was an urgent rap on the door that made her sit up and pay attention.
‘Come in,’ her father called out.
The double doors opened, and Albright shuffled into the room. Judging by the careworn expression on his habitually placid features, her father’s manservant carried the weight of some burden on his shoulders. ‘It’s Miss Schalk, sir. She’s at the door. She seems to be a little distressed.’
‘Saskia? Show her in at once, Albright,’ said Price, sounding shocked.
Lily clutched the Historoscope tightly and watched transfixed as she witnessed the events unfold. She wondered when this meeting had taken place and was greatly puzzled by the look of astonishment that had appeared on her father’s face in response to Albright’s announcement.
A few moments later, Albright ushered a figure, clad from head to foot in a long, sweeping cloak, into the room. The hood was up over the woman’s head, obscuring her features from view, but the ease and familiar grace with which the woman deported herself left Lily in no doubt that the image was that of her mother. Lily’s heart was pounding as the woman lowered her hood. She felt a sudden, unexpected rush of emotion, and gasped as she looked at the face of her long-dead mother. While Saskia appeared younger than at any time Lily had known her, she looked tired and drawn and her eyes were puffy, suggesting she had been crying.
‘Henry, please forgive me for coming here, but I … I had nowhere else to go,’ she said in a voice quivering with emotion.
Price looked at her with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. ‘You know you’re always welcome,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you. After all, it’s been a long time,’ he said, moving slowly towards her as if he was unsure how to greet her.
He stood uncomfortably a few feet away before eventually ushering her towards the chair he had just vacated. He offered to take her cloak, but she shook her head resolutely, pulling it tightly about her as if it afforded some sort of protection.
Saskia sat down and stared melancholically at the fire. ‘I know I haven’t been in touch since I left the Academy but you made it pretty obvious how you felt. I didn’t want to make matters any worse than they already were, especially as I left with Pearly,’ she said in a voice little more than a whisper.
Lily could see her father bristle at the mention of his rival’s name but just as quickly regain his composure. ‘And how’s your work been going?’ he said unenthusiastically as if he was reluctant to hear the answer.
‘Well, thank you,’ she replied, smiling for the first time since her arrival, ‘although it seems to have reached a natural conclusion.’
‘I’m not sure I follow.’
‘Pearly doesn’t need me any more. That partly explains why I’m here, but I’ll come on to that later if you don’t mind. I want to make sure I explain everything properly; it’s the least I can do,’ she added nervously.
‘Very well,’ replied Price, still looking bemused.
‘You recall that I was collaborating with Pearly at the same time that we were working together at the Academy. In retrospect, I realise what a mistake that was, but I never appreciated the depth of animosity that exists between the two of you,’ said Saskia as if she had carefully rehearsed her words.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ replied Price with a sigh, ‘but that still doesn’t explain where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to these past couple of years. I’ve not heard a thing since you left, and now you just turn up on my doorstep.’
‘I know, Henry, and I realise how it must appear, but please, hear me out. I’m sorry to barge in like this, but like I said, I know how much I hurt you.’
Price raised his eyebrows but passed no comment.
‘Don’t forget that we had completed our research, whereas my work with Pearly was only just beginning. That’s why I left with him, although I know you never saw it that way. As it transpires, perhaps you were right,’ she added bitterly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Let’s just say that things didn’t work out as I expected.’
‘What happened? Is something wrong?’
‘Far from it,’ replied Saskia with an ironic laugh. ‘The work yielded results beyond our wildest expectations.’
>
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘As you warned me, Henry, the problem is … well … Pearly himself.’
Price looked on impassively, unable or unwilling to comfort the woman sitting opposite him as a single tear rolled silently down her cheek. He sat patiently, waiting for her to expand upon the missing time since they had last met.
Finally, Saskia drew herself up in the chair and wiped away the tear with an elegant flick of a fingertip. ‘As you well know, I’ve always been interested in metals, and in particular, the fusion of metals as a means of storing information. One of the early spin-offs from this was, of course, the Historoscope. That was only the beginning as far as I was concerned, and I knew there was so much more I could achieve. You were so busy with everything else, and with your mind on other things, I turned to Pearly. I was flattered by his enthusiasm for my work. When he found out what we’d achieved with the Historoscope, he could hardly contain his excitement. He told me that he’d been carrying out similar research and wondered whether I’d be interested in collaborating with him. He convinced me that, by pooling our expertise, we’d achieve so much more together. Naturally, I couldn’t help but be bowled over by his zeal. I immediately agreed to work with him when he left the Academy.’
‘What were you working on?’
‘Pearly was studying the transfer of information into something far more sophisticated than the Historoscope. He was looking to fabricate a vessel that could retain the memories and thoughts of a living person.’
‘What! You mean by capturing the essence of a living soul?’ said Price with a look of disgust.
‘Maybe … I don’t know,’ replied Saskia hesitantly. ‘I’m not sure what he planned. I’m sorry. I was so taken in by it all. I just didn’t think it all through. I suppose I got carried away.’
