At first she saw a flash in the night ahead of her, as if the sky in front of the steps was being distorted through a blurry binocular lens. Then a dark form bowled over her from behind, laying her out on the front patio before the stairs. Had they shot her? Did Mehta finally lose his restraint and decide to ravage her?
But she wasn’t hurt.
She tried to right herself but had trouble with her heavy pack weighing her down. When she was able to stand again, she glanced into the gloom. Nothing was visible on the front lawn, although she couldn’t be certain the void was empty. The starless, moonless night was not a friend to her eyes. The only thing she could pick up were sounds, a cascade of soft taps, as if someone was chopping carrots in the kitchen, or… someone was running through the grass.
“You better get back in here, Flora,” Owen said from behind her. They were all standing in the doorway, peering out as she was—all of them except Mehta.
She backed up slowly. “What happened?” she asked.
“Mehta just ran you over and then sprinted away,” Owen said.
“I think I might have seen something, or someone,” one of the Yorktown men said.
“I… I saw something as well,” Flora added, remembering the strange distortion in the darkness. “I can’t be sure what it was.”
“Come on, let’s all get inside.” Madison said.
They all retreated inside. Flora took her pistol out.
Soon they saw a form emanating from the darkness, shifting left to right and breathing heavily. A number of them trained their weapons on the shape. As it came closer, they could see it was big, and lumbering. They could see it was Mehta, and he was carrying a man dressed in black on his shoulder. He dumped the figure on the floor in front of them. The figure was hooded, with only slits visible for his eyes.
Mehta looked up at them and raised his hands.
“No need for that, Mehta. You did the right thing,” Madison said.
He shook his head. “Look behind you.” He nudged his chin toward the den doors.
When Flora looked where Mehta indicated she saw four more men creeping out, each hooded, each dressed in black, leveling assault rifles at them from the internal doorways of the foyer. They had somehow accessed the house through another entrance.
Owen, Flora and the Yorktown men swiveled their weapons around frenetically, exchanging targets with the four men.
“Arretez! Stop! Stop!!”
It was a woman’s voice Flora vaguely recognized, coming from inside the den. This woman entered the room with a pistol pointed at Mehta. She was also dressed in black but without a hood. Her hair had a faded flash of blue that Flora recognized immediately.
It was Cecile.
“What is the meaning of this?” Madison posted her cane on the ground with emphasis. “Who are you people?” Tensions remained high as weapons pointed in all directions.
“Excusez moi. Honorable Lord Banks, please forgive the rude entrance,” Cecile said, “We wanted to take some time to monitor you, to be sure about you and your friends, but it looks like our clumsiness,”—she gestured to the limp body Mehta had brought in— “has moved up our agenda.”
“Lord Banks, my name is Cecile,” she continued. “I am from Quebec, a region allied with the Spokes. I understand we have intruded on your grounds and in your house. For that I apologize. Thankfully I have people who can vouch for me.”
She turned and smiled at Owen. “Bonjour, Owen.”
Owen nodded slowly, his brow knitted in confusion. He kept his gun leveled at one of the black-clad men.
“It’s true, Owen may not fully trust me,” Cecile said. “I did disappear without explanation the last time he saw me.” Then she looked to Mehta and Flora. “And then there is Mehta and Flora. They are sure to trust me even less after our time together in the detention tower.”
Mehta just stared, while Flora made a sour face.
“But there is another one of us who you may believe more readily.” Cecile gestured to one of the shrouded men, who promptly unhooded himself, showing his face. His skin was a darker shade, and lined with scars. He had a peppered beard and a broad nose.
“Duncan?” Madison asked, squinting. “Is that really you?” She no longer looked rosy from wine. Rather she looked as if someone had just thrown a pail of ice water on her head.
“Yes, Madison,” the man said. “Please, listen to what Cecile has to say.”
Madison was casting the occasional incredulous glance at this man Duncan, but was also deep in thought. After some time in contemplation, she said, “Although Duncan and I have been in correspondence recently, it hasn’t given me much comfort in your motives. Nor have I seen Duncan in decades. And the others here, they don’t seem to hold you in the highest regard.”
“Yes, I know.” Cecile shrugged. “And we don’t know if we can trust you either. You, Lord Banks—you spent your last thirty years with bandits. And you, Flora, were once an Essentialist deputy. And Mehta, I’m not sure anyone could trust you in any circumstance, pardonnez moi. But despite all that, I’m willing to try.”
“Please do,” Madison said.
Cecile hesitated before continuing. She looked around the foyer, as if the walls laden with artifacts might give her a clue where to begin. Finally, she said, “So tell me, what do you all know about the sanctuary?”
“The infernal sanctuary again?” Mehta sounded annoyed. “As far as I’m concerned it’s a fairy tale.”
Madison spoke up, shifting her gaze between Duncan and Cecile. “They know next to nothing, but I think we can fill them in now. They wouldn’t have helped destroy the dish at the observatory if they were working for Bartz.”
Cecile raised her finger. “Yes, yes, all in good time. What is most important right now are the questions between me and Lord Banks, and possibly Flora. Only this can determine whether we have any reason to be here—whether we have reason to visit the sanctuary at all.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Flora asked. “Mehta is right… for once. I want no more of your fantasies and riddles.” She took a step toward the door. But as soon as she did the guns of the hooded figures shifted to her aggressively. It was enough to give her pause.
“Flora is frustrated,” Madison said, putting her hands up to draw their attention from her. “They are all frustrated, because they don’t understand. Why should they? I have no evidence to convince them that the sanctuary is real. I know only what I was taught, when I was young, what I was told to keep secret. And for me, I only knew because my uncle was the son of Kostas Lechky. Sometimes even I have my doubts.”
Madison turned her head to the side thoughtfully, then stood up and pointed her cane at Cecile in an accusatory manner. “So I’m frustrated as well. I see now Duncan’s letters came more from you than him, but I don’t understand why. We have wasted time dancing around cryptic questions and evasive answers. Either take your leave or tell us, finally, once and for all, why you have come all this way. Tell us now, because the longer we stay here, with guns loaded and pointed at each other, the more chance somebody will accidentally pull a trigger. I’m sure Gail would be happy with that outcome. Then there will be no sanctuary for any of us. There will only be a mortuary, here and now, in this foyer.”
Cecile exchanged a glance with Duncan. Then she smiled weakly and rubbed her brow, trying to digest some unknown variable in her mental machinery. “It is one thing to know of the sanctuary. It is another to know what I am about to tell you. If our enemies learn about this, they could use it against us. Their dominion would be complete.”