Elizabeth Webster and the Portal of Doom

by William Lashner

  In front of us was City Hall, and circling now in front of the cockeyed tower was the kettle of vultures, as if waiting for their turn with us.

  THE STURDY BAKER

  We were still talking about the attack, trying to settle our nerves, when Henry, Keir, and I showed up at the offices of Webster & Spawn. Next to the usual THANK YOU FOR NOT SMOKING OR COMBUSTING IN THE OFFICE sign was another sign with the words NO GREMLINS ALLOWED.

  I wondered if Josiah Goodheart could put that sign in as evidence.

  “You’ve come,” said Avis when she saw us walking through the door. “Your grandfather has been asking for you all day.” Then she squawked out, “Elizabeth has arrived!”

  “Finally!” my grandfather shouted back from his office. “Have her wait!”

  “He wants you to wait,” said Avis.

  “I guess I’ll wait,” I said.

  “Welcome back, Henry,” said Avis. “Anything we can do for you, dearie?”

  “Elizabeth brought me in to help her handle the gremlin,” said Henry.

  “Well, somebody should,” said Avis. “Did you bring a helmet?”

  “Helmet?” said Henry, giving me a look. “No.”

  At just that moment my grandfather burst out of his office, which for him meant waddling through the doorway with his back bent, banging his cane on the floor with each shaky step, harrumphing all the while.

  “Don’t bother taking off your jacket, Elizabeth,” he said when he saw me. “There is much to be done and we are the ones to do it. Word has come that the court is on its way to Philadelphia and the case of Moss v. Topper is on the docket. We must prepare. Hello, Henry, anything we can help you with today? Any more ghosts to eject?”

  “He’s going to handle the gremlin,” said Avis. “And he didn’t bring a helmet.”

  “A helmet would help,” said my grandfather. “And steel-toed boots. Now, who is this young man?”

  “Grandpop, this is Keir McGoogan. Keir, this is my grandfather, Ebenezer Webster the Third.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir,” said Keir.

  “My son told me all about you, Mr. McGoogan, though I must admit you look spryer than I imagined. There is much work to be done on your case. We expected you here this morning.”

  “I had to go to school.”

  “School? That’s peculiar for a man your age. Who had the deranged idea to send you to school?”

  “My stepfather,” I said.

  “He’s the patent lawyer, right?” said my grandfather. “I might have figured. They should have a separate bar for patent lawyers. In a dance studio! Elizabeth’s father is out of the office today, Mr. McGoogan, but Barnabas will take care of you. He has many questions. Now, Elizabeth and Henry, if we are to see our gremlin we must not tarry. Walk with me, Henry, and I’ll give you some gremlin pointers. First, always bring a helmet.”

  With those words, he hurried slowly out the door, with Henry by his side. The bangs from his cane echoed in the empty hallway.

  Before following, I took a moment to look past the clients in the waiting chairs and find Barnabas at his high desk, staring straight at me. He raised an eyebrow. I tilted my head toward Keir. Barnabas nodded. I smiled. He didn’t. And then, having said all I needed to say, I ran after my grandfather and Henry.

  “Where are we going, Grandpop?” I said.

  “To Topper’s house. We have a case to build. We would do it here, but Avis has put her foot down about gremlins in the office and one doesn’t ever want to get between Avis’s foot and the floor.”

  “How are we getting there?” I said as we started down the stairs. “Taxi?”

  “Nonsense. Do you know how much a taxi costs? I’m driving.”

  “You?”

  “Of course.”

  “In what? A horse and carriage?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “You keep talking about making the stables.”

  “Not making, mucking. Very different things. But I have myself a quite suitable vehicle. A Studebaker, if you must know.”

  “What does he bake?” I asked.

  “What does who bake?”

  “The Sturdy Baker.”

  “It’s not a baker, it’s a car. I’ve had it for years, decades in fact. Nothing is as solid as a Studebaker. Built like iron, with a horn to match. Pedestrians don’t stand a chance.”

  The car, parked in the basement of the old gray building, was big and black, with silver lines pasted onto its sides and a front that looked like a demented smile. Best of all, there were all kinds of levers inside, including one coming right out of the floor. As my grandfather drove the car up a ramp onto the alleyway behind the building, you could have mistaken it for the Batmobile, but only if the Batman was a bald old man whose bushy eyebrows barely reached as high as the dashboard.

  “Can you even see the road, Grandpop?” I said as we barged into the stream of city traffic amid a chorus of horns. I was sitting in the front seat, belted in as tightly as I could manage. Henry sat behind me.

  “As much as I need to,” said my grandfather.

  “Wouldn’t you want to buy something newer, Mr. Webster?” said Henry.

  “Why? This is a Studebaker. Hardy as a weed.”

  “They why don’t you buy a new Studebaker?”

  “I would, yes indeed, but they went out of business fifty years ago. Elizabeth, I think I now know why Josiah Goodheart is involved in a simple gremlin case.”

  “Red light, red light,” I said quickly, looking for another seat belt to put on top of the one I had already buckled.

  “Oh yes, of course,” said my grandfather. He slammed down both feet, the brakes squealed, the car shivered, and we stopped just short of banging into the back of a bus. “Now, where were we?”

  “Josiah Goodheart?” I said.

  “Oh yes. You remember I mentioned that Topper’s father used to be the Portal Keeper. The old man lost the position in a scandal. It turns out our Mr. Topper wants it back.”

  “Is it a good job?” I said.

  “One of the best,” said my grandfather. “Suddenly you have many friends. And there isn’t a restaurant on the other side you can’t just walk into and get a table.”

  “Are the restaurants good on the other side?” said Henry.

  “Tremendous, from what I’m told. And somehow, in the finer establishments, they are able to produce dishes from your own memories. The stew your mother made when you were a child or the fish they served at your wedding. I once had a roasted leg of lamb in Afghanistan that has haunted me ever since. That will be my first order when my time comes.”

  “What were you doing in Afghanistan?” I said.

  “Eating lamb. Weren’t you listening? Now, it turns out Topper has just recently challenged the current office holder, one Ina Brathwaite, for the Portal Keeper position before the Stygian Transit Authority. There have been grievous mistakes, he claims, and whiffs of corruption. Worst of all, he claims Portal Keeper Brathwaite is in league with Redwing.”

  “Why does Redwing care who the Portal Keeper is?”

  “Our agents on the other side have reported the troubling rumor that Redwing is looking to expand his dominion into the world of the living.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Indeed. The demon’s armies would need access to the portal, which means he would need the Portal Keeper under his one red wing. If Mr. Topper took the post from Portal Keeper Brathwaite, that would seriously upset the demon’s dastardly plans.”

  “And so,” I said, “you think Josiah Goodheart, on behalf of Redwing, brought this case to hurt Mr. Topper’s chances.”

  “Precisely,” said my grandfather. “Because the Portal Keeper often appears before the Court of Uncommon Pleas, any loss before the court could seriously damage Topper’s candidacy. That is why ensuring due process for your client is so important.”

  “You mentioned that thing before, Grandpop. Due something. What is it?”

  “Due process, my dea
r? Why, it is a cornerstone of the law.”

  “Another one?”

  “There is always another one. I understand your father gave you a book by Justice Holmes. Well, Holmes himself said it best in one of his great dissents. Due process, he wrote, is at minimum a fair trial and an opportunity to be heard. That is what you must wrestle out of that moth-eaten judge when your case is called before the court.”

  “Do we have a strategy?” I said.

  “Why are you asking me? You’re the barrister in charge. I can help, yes, but the strategy must be yours. Have you come up with anything?”

  “Well, I was looking at my father’s book,” I said. “There’s this case called Rye Bread or something about cows wandering on other people’s lawns that might be a problem.”

  “Oh yes, Rylands v. Fletcher is definitely in play. Good catch, Elizabeth. You’ll just have to figure out a way around it. And be quick about it. You need to be ready when the court arrives, the case is called, and Josiah Goodheart stands before that scallywag of a judge and gives you his grin.”

  “I remember that grin,” said Henry, “like a cat about to eat a mouse.”

  “And we all know who that mouse would be,” said my grandfather as he stomped a pedal on the floor, pushed a lever, and roared onto the highway.

  PUDDLE OF BLOOD

  Mr. Topper lived in an old white house on a plot of land not far from where Washington crossed the Delaware to beat the British all those years ago. A win for the home team, yes!

  “My father bought this property,” said Mr. Topper while walking the three of us across the lawn toward his house. “He always wanted to own a part of history. Said it belonged to us as much as anyone, since our ancestors built most of it. Just imagine, the enemy was sleeping on the other side of the river while Washington’s army was waiting for him right over there, in what is now the park. What a glorious moment it must have been.”

  “Cold,” said my grandfather. “Frostbite cold, if I remember my history.”

  “I suppose that couldn’t be helped,” said Mr. Topper. “It would have been hard to catch the Hessians napping on a bright sunny day.” “Why is that?” said my grandfather. “No better time for napping if you ask me. Where will you find me on a bright sunny day, Elizabeth?” “Napping?” I said. “I set up for tea in my father’s study,” said Mr. Topper. “Althea is looking forward to seeing you again, Miss Webster. She was quite taken with you.”

  “And I certainly remember her,” I said. “I asked Henry to come and get to know her while we talk. Henry’s good with animals and he’ll take care of Althea while we’re in court.”

  Mr. Topper looked at Henry and sniffed. “Any experience with gremlins, young man?”

  “I have a cousin who my mother calls a little devil,” said Henry.

  “Not quite the same,” said Mr. Topper. “Althea’s on the porch around back playing with her dolls.”

  “You don’t have a spare helmet, do you?” I said.

  “Why, is anyone going biking?”

  “I mean for Henry,” I said. “When dealing with Althea.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said Mr. Topper. “Althea is the sweetest thing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag filled with brown bits of something. “Just give her one of these if she starts acting up. She loves her little treats. Watch your fingers when she snatches for it. She is quite enthusiastic. But for as long as she’s chewing a treat, she’s gentle as a lamb.”

  “But not as tasty, I assume,” said my grandfather, to a look of horror from Mr. Topper.

  While Henry went around the house to make nice with the gremlin, my grandfather and I ended up in a library of the strange, where Mr. Topper had set out the pot and teacups.

  “I hear the court is on its way back to Philadelphia,” said Mr. Topper as he poured the tea.

  “It should be here any day now,” said my grandfather. “And to that end, Elizabeth has come with some questions.”

  “I have?”

  “Of course you have.”

  “Is that one sugar or two for you, Ms. Webster?” said Mr. Topper.

  “Two?” I said. Through the windows I could see Henry running crazily across the yard.

  “Althea likes half a dozen cubes in her tea, the little scamp,” said Mr. Topper as he handed me my teacup and a spoon.

  I stirred and took a sip as I looked around at the room. On the walls were paintings of demons of all shapes and sizes, each standing beside a short, round man who looked like a pudgy Mr. Topper in a bellhop’s uniform, cap included. One of the painted demons was Redwing, with his fiery horns, his burning tail, his single bloody wing. The bookshelves themselves were filled with black volumes, the word CHRONICLES printed in gold on each of the spines. And there was also a large display case with a bronze lamp, a brass helmet, a dagger made of silver, and a golden telescope all under glass.

  “So, Ms. Webster,” said Mr. Topper, “you had some questions?”

  “One thing we have to show,” I said, keeping my eye on the window as Henry ran the other way now, holding out a treat behind him, “is that you acted like a reasonable person when taking care of your gremlin.”

  “Indeed,” said my grandfather, nodding.

  “So I was wondering how you make sure Althea doesn’t leave the house at night.”

  “Every evening I lock the door and all the windows on the first floor,” said Mr. Topper. “I also latch the door to her room on the second floor after I put her into bed. Althea of course has her own bedroom. She loves to lie under the covers and watch television late into the night.”

  “Is there a window in the bedroom?”

  “It, too, is locked from the inside,” he said. “Everything is locked, not so much to keep Althea in as to keep any intruder out. Althea isn’t a danger to anyone, but one could only imagine what that devious Moss woman would do to Althea if she could.”

  “One can only imagine,” said my grandfather. The two men were nodding together when something suddenly slammed into the window.

  We all turned to look. It was Henry. The side of his face and his hands were pressed against the windowpane. He was staring at us with an expression of pure terror as he slowly slid down the glass, as if sliding straight down to his doom.

  “He seems to be getting along with Althea quite nicely,” said Mr. Topper.

  “He is just as good with animals as you said, Elizabeth,” said my grandfather. “Well done.”

  I shook the sight of Henry out of my head and returned to my questioning. “Did you do all your normal closing and latching and locking on the night the goat was killed?”

  “Absolutely,” said Mr. Topper. “Every night. In fact, when I was woken by the commotion from Moss’s property, I tried to go back to sleep but it was impossible, as you can imagine. After tossing and turning, I eventually checked on my Althea. My little lovely was in bed, snoring away, with the television on.”

  “What about the sheets?” I asked. “Were they dirty?”

  “Althea is a very clean gremlin,” said Mr. Topper.

  “Has she ever attacked another animal, or a person? Has she ever needed to be pulled off some living thing?”

  “Oh no, except maybe when she is showing too much affection. In case you didn’t realize, this was my father’s study when he was the Portal Keeper. There’s so much history here, including yours, young lady.”

  “Mine?”

  “I would think so,” said my grandfather. “These volumes must be filled with the Webster name. It is often imperative that our lawyers and clients be allowed to pass through the portal.”

  “Oh yes, the Websters are definitely accounted for, but so is the other side of your family, Ms. Webster. Your mother has a prominent place in my father’s final volume.”

  “My mother?”

  “No need to get into that now,” said my grandfather.

  “How prominent?” I said.

  “Oh, she was very much a part of what we Top
pers call the incident. We don’t like to discuss it much, but it left such a mark on our reputation.”

  “My mother?”

  “I must ask,” said my grandfather, hijacking the conversation, “is that telescope contraption in the display case what I think it is?”

  “The Lens of Fate, you mean.”

  “Precisely. They are so rare. I’ve actually never seen one before. It is extraordinary that you own such a device.”

  “My father wrangled it in his final term,” said Mr. Topper, giving me a quick glance and then turning away. “Now that it has been passed on to me, it is one of the reasons I believe I could do a better job than our current Portal Keeper. Being able to see past the border of death no matter what side you’re on can be quite useful in the profession. Portal Keeper Brathwaite cares nothing about the subtleties of the job, only her regulations, and whatever bribes she has taken from one side and the next.”

  “You don’t mean—”

  “There are enough questions raised,” said Mr. Topper, “to assume the answer.”

  As they were talking about the Portal Keeper, I looked out the window, hoping to see Henry once more, but saw nothing moving.

  “I think maybe I should check on Henry,” I said. “Which way is Ms. Moss’s property?”

  “It is the scruffy piece of land bordering us to the right if you face the river. But you should avoid that woman at all costs.”

  “I might have a few questions for her, too.”

  “Oh no, Elizabeth,” said my grandfather. “Moss is being represented by a barrister of the Court of Uncommon Pleas. That means you cannot question her except with Mr. Goodheart present. You’ll have to do your questioning in court.”

  “You can go right out this door,” said Mr. Topper. “Althea will be very excited to see you.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  I walked out of the house slowly, like I was walking into a crime scene. I remembered the way Mr. Topper had described the remains of Moss’s goat, and I feared I’d find the same kind of mess now in the yard, with Henry’s clothes scattered about and one of his sneakers sitting in a big puddle of blood. But there was no Henry, no gremlin, no blood, just a gentle slope down to the wide river.