She shivered. For a moment she had the briefest glimpse of how his life must be, the precarious never-ending balance between fear and boredom. And then understanding came, and she stared at him.
“That’s why you’re here! You think the Chronoptika can get you home!”
Piers turned. “What?”
The boy’s green eyes flickered a warning. For a moment she paused. Then smooth as a snake she said, “I was saying the Chronoptika is our only way of getting Jake and Venn home. We have to do everything we can…”
“And you think I’m not?” Piers was weary and irritable. “I don’t intend to be a slave forever! Come on, let me out into the stables and lock the door after me. And you, Gideon, go back to Summer before she finds you missing. No one here can help you, and the last thing I want is her causing mayhem. I can’t deal with her. Not without Venn.”
He stood before the mirror, and they saw his warped, curved image stare curiously into its darkness. “Who may be dead for all we know.”
Wharton slammed and locked the final window. The casements were ancient, the fastenings frail with rust. It would be so easy to break in. Though perhaps the siege of the snow was more to be feared than some prowling stranger and his hungry wolf.
He turned to Rebecca. “Right. That’s the lot. Go and check the cloister, though God knows what passageways and doors there are under this place.”
“There’s an old story about a tunnel from the Abbey down into the river gorge.” She turned, eyes bright. “Maybe we should explore! It’s a way they might use to get in.” Her eyes were wide with excitement. She’s acting, Wharton thought.
“What about your family? Won’t they be worried about you?”
For a moment she just stared. Then her eyes flickered and she said, “Oh no…. that’s okay. They won’t worry.”
“Phone them.”
“No signal.”
He nodded at the landline. “Use that.”
She seemed reluctant. But when she picked it up she put her ear to it only for a moment and then held it out to him, and even before he took it he knew what he would hear.
Silence.
He turned, worried. “Go on. Check the cloister. Quick.”
When she’d gone, he crossed to the study and rummaged in the mess on the shelves till he found an object he’d glimpsed yesterday, a battered ancient transistor radio. There still seemed to be some life in the battery; he tuned it carefully, noticing with a shock how his breath clouded. With the power off, the house was rapidly getting colder. And he desperately needed to find out what was going on in the outside world.
Suddenly a local voice blurred out of static.
…whole of the West country. Blizzard conditions have forced the closure of the M3, and all major roads across Dartmoor are severely affected. Motorists have been forced to abandon their cars and…
The voice faded.
“Blast.” Wharton rubbed his numb fingers and tried again.
…emergency services. Police have advised…in outlying areas…not to leave home unless their journey is absolutely necessary…
“Great.” It was clear they were trapped here. The drive would already be knee-deep.
…Other news. A young woman…
His hand went to the off switch and stayed there, paralyzed.
…missing for two weeks from the Linley Psychiatric Institute in Wintercombe, Devon, has been found. Sarah Stewart walked into a police station in Truro yesterday, and…memory loss…she has…iving…uncle in Penzance…
He swore, grabbed the radio. Shook it, stared at it.
In a final dying whisper it said,…Today in Parliament the prime minister…
Silence.
Wharton sat back and breathed out a cloud of astonished breath. Then, to two of the black cats that sprawled on the desk, he said, “What the hell is going on here?”
The cats blinked back at him.
As soon as she was alone, Rebecca slipped through the cloister to the small outer gate and dragged it open. The snow was already falling heavily, every crack and crevice dusted with it; it blew horizontally into her face and the cold stung her eyes to tears. She wore a woolen hat pulled down over her ears, but still the blizzard sounded like the hissing of endless static.
“Where are you?”
She dared not shout. Wharton was too close. Beyond the gate was nothing but snow, all the overgrown lawns lost in it, the very trees invisible.
And then he was there, a darkness darting out of that blinding white world, and he helped her drag the door shut and click the icy padlock, Rebecca dragging the bar across.
Maskelyne leaned against the wall, coughing.
He looked half frozen, hunched up with shivering, his lips pale blue with cold.
She said, “Sorry. I couldn’t…”
“What’s happened?” He hugged himself, numb. “You were so long.”
“It’s all gone wrong! You wouldn’t believe! Venn and Jake have…journeyed. Isn’t that what you say?”
His scarred stare was so stricken, she had to look away.
“Where? When?”
“About half an hour ago.”
“No I mean when? What interval of time?”
“No one knows. Piers is scared stiff.”
So was he. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, the thin fingers clutching the lank dark hair. “Rebecca this is unbearable. To be so close, and to…”
“You can still take it. The mirror. I’ll help you.”
“The mirror is no use without the bracelet.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe…”
“Rebecca?” Wharton’s yell made them both jump.
Maskelyne turned like a cat. He slipped out into the cloister and ducked behind the low wall just as Wharton ran through the inner door.
“All secure?”
“Yes. Fine,” she said, breathless.
“Good. We need to get back. I want to talk to Sarah.” He turned, abruptly and so tense with agitation, she said, “What’s wrong?”
“Apart from everything, you mean?” He shrugged, and she realized suddenly that even this big, bluff man was scared. Scared and angry. “I want answers, Rebecca. Because this whole bloody charade is getting dangerous. And I’m worried sick about Jake.”
He stormed into the house and she followed, glancing back at Maskelyne, who rose out of the cloister and watched her like a ghost.
I am desperate to make my first public demonstration of the machine, but I must be so careful! I must do nothing until I am sure of its powers, or I will look such a fool. There are plenty of mule-headed bigots in the Royal Society who would scoff at my claims, so I must proceed with utmost care, and not ruin my triumph by impatience.
Five times now I have managed to create the vortex in the mirror. I have had to supply a vast amount of voltaic energy, and create a magnetic field so powerful, its effects can be felt streets away.
I have also destroyed two rooms in my house as the result of explosions and a recent fire. But wonderful things have happened.
First, there is a terrible compulsion to enter the mirror. Rather like Odysseus, I have resorted to tying myself down in my chair before beginning the experiment and fastening the chair itself with chains to a pillar in the basement. Even so the drag yesterday snapped the ropes and I was hurled forward with such force, I bloodied my head, and only my hand leaving the controls saved me.
Who knows in what time or place I would have found myself?
I see such things in the obsidian glass!