John Wright - Orphans of Chaos

Nothing happened. No secret door opened.

“It must be on a timer,” Vanity pouted, putting down the pole and seating herself on her bed.

“I think you are doing it. It is some sort of unexplained phenomenon. But you cause it. Dr. Fell’s medicine must be inhibiting the effects.”

Vanity giggled, threw her arms overhead, and fell back with a soft sound onto her mattress. “Oh, I am doing it, eh?”

“Your thoughts trigger it.”

She giggled up at the ceiling. “Let me see if I have this straight. I think, Gee, there is a secret door . A special Russian-made satellite picks up my brain waves with its mind-reading radar, and beams a message back down to a waiting pack of dwarfs. Working with oh, just incredible silence and precision, the dwarfs dig a tunnel into the house, move walls and bore through solid stone, insert doors, clock panels, hinges, and floorboards. Then they spread dust and have their Soviet-trained cadre of speed-spiders weave cobwebs across the crawl space. That’s your theory?”

“Actually, I had hoped it used a more elegant mechanism, but, yes, basically, that’s the theory.”

Vanity yawned a huge yawn. “All that exercise last night… you know, it’s really nice having a warm fire here in the room…”

For purposes of storytelling, it would have been appropriate to have Vanity nod off right at that point, but she actually got up, changed into her night things, and we talked a little more before she drifted off to sleep.

It did seem sudden, though. There I was, alone in my own bed, watching the red firelight dance and jump across the walls, while Vanity breathed softly in the other bed.

But the Headmaster was right. I lived in very comfortable circumstances.

I was awakened by a tap-tapping. The embers had died in the hearth, and a cold wind was whistling in the open flue. I turned to the North window, where our star dial was, to see what time it was, and I saw the silhouette of a hunched figure pressed against the glass.

I screamed, sitting bolt upright and clutching the sheets around my throat. The hunched shape behind the glass hissed softly, “Not so loud…”

I squinted. “Quentin…? Is that you…?”

“Open the window, please. It is really quite cold out here.”

I slid out of bed, and was rewarded with the sensation of ice-cold floor stones stinging my feet. I hopped over, undid the latch, and slid the sash up.

“Well?” I said.

Quentin was hunched over on the rather large stone sill on the outside of the North window. One hand was clutching the marble grain bundles that flanked the window; in the other he had his jackal-headed walking stick. He was wearing a rather voluminous high-collared cape with a half-cloak. Beneath that he had on a T-shirt, and a pair of swim trunks. His legs were bare. No muffler, no coat, no gloves. No socks. He was wearing running shoes. He was shivering.

“Please invite me in,” he said, teeth chattering.

“W-what?”

“Please, for the love of God, invite me in. It’s freezing.”

“Sure,” I said, stepping back. “Come in.”

He slid in over the sill in a slither of huge black cloak. It was made for someone more my height than his; the hem was dirty where it trailed on the floor. The silk inner lining made a sinister hiss as it slid over the stones. Quentin crossed to the fireplace and poked at the coals with his walking stick, while I wrestled the window shut.

A reddish light leapt into the room. Quentin had stirred the coals to momentary life again. He put his stick aside in the fire iron stand and was rubbing his hands together. He crouched down.

In the red light, I could see Vanity, her lips parted, her expression soft and innocent, still asleep.

“Well,” I said stiffly, hugging myself in my nightgown. “Some people can sleep through anything.”

“Unless the medication had sleeping powder in it, tonight,” said Quentin. “Victor and Colin are out like bricks; Dr. Fell watched them take the draught.”

“And you?”

He looked up from his crouched position. The light was behind him, and all I could see was his eyes glint in his silhouette. “I always keep an empty cup from Dr. Fell’s cabinet up my sleeve. I palmed his cup and put mine to my lips. Dr. Fell is very intelligent, but he makes Victor-like assumptions.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Just what do you mean by ‘Victor-like,’ Mister Quentin Nemo?”

Quentin said nothing, but continued to look at me. I became very conscious of the fact that I was standing there in my nightgown. To be sure, it was a winter nightgown—all white cotton with a lace collar and shoulders, and the frilly hem fell past my knees—but it was still a nightgown. And I had the impression that Quentin was staring at my ankles and feet. Somehow my feet weren’t simply bare; they were nude.

I stepped back over to my bed, picked up the coverlet, and hesitated. Somehow, climbing back into bed with a man in my room would be worse. He would be there, seeing my nice bed, still warm from my body, the sheets still rumpled with the imprint of where I had been lying… and my hair spread across the pillow…

I was being ridiculous. This wasn’t a man. This was Quentin. He was three or four years younger than me. And short. He was just a child. He probably did not even know which sex I was yet.

I turned back to him. “Are you a vampire, all of a sudden?”

“I called on God without choking. No, that was just in case Mrs. Wren’s ward would interfere.”

“Interfere with what?”

Quentin had a quiet, solemn voice. “I am performing a demonstration.”

“How did you get up to the window?”

He just shook his head.

I said, “You climbed, right? Why didn’t you dress more warmly?”

“I needed lightweight things. I hope you trust me, Amelia, after all these years. None of us has any other family.”

Something in the way he said that brought a tear to my eye. I raised my hand and wiped my cheeks. I said, “I trust you.”

“I need your help. There is a weight too heavy for one person to lift. I am not sure what your Talent is, but I know it has to do with weight.”

“Mass,” I said.

“Will you come with me?” he stood up. “The Visitors and Governors are determining our fate, and one of us must be, simply must be, in a position to overhear the meeting.”

I shook my head. “I promised the Headmaster.”

“Ah…” He sank back down again and crouched before the dying embers.

I said, “You’re not going to try to change my mind?”

“Had I that power, I would have used it on you long ago, Amelia.” He stirred the ashes with his walking stick, and red flames jumped up for a moment. “Do you remember when I wrecked my bike?”

“The same summer you almost drowned.”

“I also fell from a tree that June.”

“You actually did fall from a tree? I thought you were just saying that. I thought Colin beat you up.”

He stirred the coals. “Colin does not beat me up. You all think I am a coward, when all I am is polite.”

He was silent for a moment, but he turned his head and looked at me in my nightgown. His gaze traveled up and down.

I said, “What about the tree fall? Yes, I remember that summer.”

“You were upset because I had a finer bike, a boy’s bike, even though you were older. You held my head in the sink until I agreed to let you ride it. Do you remember?”

“I am sorry about that, Quentin, but you make me so mad sometimes…”

He raised his hand slowly. “Do not apologize. Never apologize. You don’t know what you are giving away. The fact is, I did not keep my promise, did I?”