Catherine Fisher - The Slanted Worlds

The mirror hummed. It shuddered. The air in the room gathered itself up.

But what burst open, with an abrupt, shocking crash, was the door. The guards leaped inside, halberds at the ready. Behind, striding tall in his robe of damask, the condottiere of the palazzo entered and stared.

The mirror throbbed.

It opened like a sudden vacancy in the world and took Rebecca and Lorenzo into a sudden roaring gust of emptiness.

The guards fell to their knees, speechless with terror. A halberd clattered. All the retorts on the bench shattered; Jake was flung sideways, and in the seconds it took him to stumble up and get his breath back, the signore had a knife at his throat and one strong arm tight strangling around his neck.

He saw his father stop in midstride, fling up his arms, yell, “Signore! No! ”

Jake gasped for air. His hands clutched at the warlord’s arm, but it was firm as steel, and the man’s voice was contorted with anger and fear.

“What sort of filthy devilry have you brought into my house, dottore?”

The very last ghost I ever saw was in January 1941.

I really should have given up by then, but even though I was an old woman, I could not stop hoping. My father had been so sure they would come—David or his son Jake, or their mysterious and rather thrilling-sounding friend Mr. Oberon Venn.

I had taken to keeping the mirror covered, and all those years it had been a silent presence in my room. It had never shown me anyone again but for my own sadly ageing face. Perhaps I had begun to wonder if David had ever existed. My father died, the world changed, another world war loomed over us. Food was rationed, London cowered under the Blitz.

And then, on a cold spring morning when the daffodils in the square were splitting their papery yellow buds, Janus came back.

I had long since ceased to be able to afford a maid. I had become a dusty old woman, gray and lined, but still my spirit was high. I was happy with my séances, which had become strangely popular, and my tea parties and my dear friends from the Psychic Society.

So when I entered the study that morning, the fire was unlit and the blackout curtains drawn. I opened them myself, letting them rattle in their great rings, and was gazing sleepily out into the street when he said behind me, “Hello again, Alicia.”

I turned, my heart thumping.

He had not changed by even the growth of a hair. Small and uniformed, his hair lank, his glasses blue discs, he stood on my hearthrug and smiled that twisted smile that had no warmth.

“You!” I gasped. Not my most original retort, I admit, but I was so shocked to see him out of the mirror. It leaned behind him. One of my china dogs lay smashed on the tiles of the grate.

“I hope you don’t mind me appropriating your parlor.” He waved a small hand. “I intend to meet someone here.”

I stared, astonished.

“In fact, they should be here any moment now.”

“Is it David?” I confess my voice quavered.

He smiled. “Ah yes. You have wasted all your life waiting for David. How pitiful a thing that is.”

Now, I take pity from no one. I rose, drew myself to my full height, and said, “My dear sir, I have waited for anyone who would come from the Other Side. My father and I spent many years contemplating our next visitor. And be assured, we did not waste our time.”

And with what I hope was a suitably grandiloquent gesture, I put my hand up and tugged at the lever hidden discreetly behind the curtains.

The concertinaed cage crashed down from the ceiling.

Electric wiring crackled on.

Janus stood startled and unmoving in the trap that for years had been awaiting him.

To say I felt satisfied would be too inadequate a word. I really felt rather gleeful. I turned, sat demurely upon my sofa, folded my hands, and contemplated my handiwork. A tyrant from the end of time was my prisoner. It was really rather gratifying.

Janus said nothing. He reached out curiously as if to touch the steel bars but I said quickly, “I would not wish you to harm yourself. There is a charge of twenty-five volts throbbing through that metal as we speak, enough to give you quite a nasty shock. My dear papa designed the whole apparatus.”

“Did he now.” Janus nodded, folding his arms. He looked at the mirror, safely beyond his reach. “My dear lady, I congratulate you. I really do.”

“I’m only sorry you have no chair in there. I have no wish to make you uncomfortable.”

He gazed out at me. The blue lenses of his glasses hid his eyes, and that made him so difficult to read. But with dismay I became aware that he was not as devastated as I had hoped.

So I said, “I am quite aware that you are using my séances as a cover for some fiendish device to trap me. Your men are continually watching my house. Really, it’s ridiculous.”

He looked amused. “My men? You really don’t understand anything, do you?”

I looked smug. “I have hidden all the evidence about my father’s device in a safe place. You will never find it.”

He shook his head. Then he said in a voice as silky as poison, “Alicia, you are perhaps the most foolish old woman I have ever met.”

I bristled. “Well, I’m not the one in the cage,” I snapped.

“Ah yes. The cage. So may I ask what you intend to do with me?” he asked softly.

In truth, I had no idea. We had expected David, or Jake. We had expected to be able to demand the bracelet in exchange for their release. But I merely shrugged. “I have my plans,” I said, deadpan.

His smile was fixed. “Indeed. Well, so do I, madam. And here they come.”

The mirror hummed. I leaped to my feet and stood well back, hastily grabbing the remaining china dog and hugging it to my bosom.

The whole room seemed to collapse. A terrifying vacuum opened deep in the heart of the mirror.

My hair was torn from its pins, my skirts snatched and whirled, my very soul enticed. And I saw, for one appalling second, the blackness that lies at the heart of the universe.

Maskelyne turned the pages of Sarah’s diary with his long fingers, reading silently. Behind him, Piers fidgeted impatiently against the table. “So you see? She’s been in contact with Janus all this time! And it says children . What children? Those replicants?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Well, we know what to do about that.” Piers fished a great bunch of keys out of his striped waistcoat and hurried to a small wall safe. Opening it, he brought out a cellophane-covered package and carried it carefully back. Maskelyne, hearing the rustle of the plastic being unwrapped, looked up.

Piers was holding the glass gun that could kill replicants.

“That’s mine,” Maskelyne said at once. He put the book down and took the weapon firmly from the little man’s nervous grip. “Don’t handle it unless you need to. It’s a very dangerous thing.”

Piers made an odd grimace. “Don’t want to. It makes my skin itch.” He sidled closer, watching Maskelyne check the weapon, slide open a panel in it, adjust a small glowing dial in there. “Is it still working?”

“Yes.”