Catherine Fisher - Obsidian Mirror

Maskelyne grabbed her arm, and she saw the fear in his face. “Come on. Quick!”

The raw urgency in his voice made her move; before she realized it, they were running over the narrow bridge, their shadows shriveling under the solitary lamppost. In the center, down three steps, was the tiny stone lock-up, used centuries ago for drunkards to sleep it off overnight.

Maskelyne jumped down and flung himself against the ancient, gratified door; it lurched and split, and instantly he was in through the crack like a shadow, tugging Rebecca behind him.

The space was barely big enough for them both, a pitch-black, stinking hole. Alarmed, she turned, but he was already jamming the door back fiercely with a plank. “Help me! Before it gets the scent.”

She shoved the wood with her foot. “Scent? A dog?”

“A Time Wolf.”

He’d pressed back against the curved stone wall, breathing hard.

Her heart pounding, Rebecca watched the faint slit of twilight under the door. Snow drifted; then she saw a flicker of darkness.

Maskelyne’s breathing stopped. They were both utterly silent.

In the blackness only the numbers on her watch shone, a tiny circle of time. She was tense against the icy wall. Every muscle rigid.

The shadow snuffled under the door. It pawed and clawed.

Then, so close it made her jump, a voice said, “I know you’re in there.”

Jake got as far as the fallen tree before the bike’s engine sputtered out and it slewed to a stop. He whipped the helmet off and stared at the gauge.

Empty.

Unbelievable. It had been full. He was sure.

Snow fell on the glass gauge; he wiped it off, but the small red line was quite clear. Disgusted, he flung the bike over.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s called for.” Piers sat on the fallen tree trunk, ankles crossed, watching, his eyes bright as coins.

Jake stared. “How did you get here?”

“Maybe I took a shortcut.” The small man stood, his white coat dusted with snow. “Did you think I was that stupid, Jake?”

They faced each other. Then Jake breathed out, hauled the bike up, wheeled it around, and began pushing it back.

Piers grinned. “You’re learning. That’s so good.”

An hour later Sarah snapped, “Of course I’m ready.” She rinsed the potato knife under the tap and gathered the peelings into a tidy heap. Then she dried her hands, while Piers watched.

The small man scratched his tiny beard. “I know it’s a bit soon after yesterday’s scare. If it were up to me, we’d wait, but…” He shrugged.

Sarah looked past him. “Some people can’t wait.”

“Some people have waited too long.” Venn watched from the archway across the kitchen. His eyes were on her. Ignoring Piers, he said, “This will be the last time for you, Sarah. If it works, I’ll wear the snake myself. You’ll be free to go.”

The dismissal alarmed her, but she smiled. “You’re so sure.”

“Try to describe what you see as it happens. Piers will prolong the exposure as long as possible, until the web is under pressure. We won’t risk losing you in there.”

“You mean you won’t risk losing the bracelet.” She turned, bitter. “I know how much I’m worth.”

“You agreed to this,” he snapped back.

“I did. But what about Jake? It’s personal for him.”

Venn didn’t move. Then he said, “I’ll find him.”

Piers picked up the tea-towel and re-folded it neatly. “Excellency, something else. The alarms. There was someone watching the gate earlier. We should be careful. If it’s—”

“I don’t care if it’s the devil himself.” Venn turned. “Five minutes. And we test this thing to its limit.”

He went out. She stood, looking after him.

Piers said quietly, “You’ve been reading Symmes’s journal.”

It was so sudden, she couldn’t even bluster. “Yes…I found it. I haven’t gotten to the end. I gave it to Jake.”

“There is no end. It stops in the middle of a burned page. Symmes vanished too, they say.” He looked up. “If you’re not happy…”

“I’m fine.” She stared at the empty doorway. “I’m ready. It’s what I signed up for.”

The handle of the lock-up door turned softly. Rebecca swallowed a gasp. Maskelyne, an edge of shadow beside her, did not move.

The wolf growled, a low sound. They saw its claws, long and sharp, slide under the door, its nose savoring their scent. Then it was dragged away. With a crash that made her heart leap, someone kicked the door. “Is that you, Sarah? But then, how could it be?”

The voice was so close, Rebecca felt she could have touched the speaker, if the door had not been between them. It was a young man’s intrigued whisper.

“The wolf smells you. Are you some village ghost? Some echo from the delay?”

The door shuddered again. The wolf whined.

“Are you some Replicant? Or are you a journeyman, straying in time?”

Maskelyne’s fingers held her in silence.

Yelps and scratches.

The purr of a passing car.

The tiny, tiny hiss of falling snow.

Neither she nor Maskelyne moved a fingertip, because they both knew that the stranger was still there, listening, a faint dimness beyond the threshold of the door.

Finally, after a long moment, his voice whispered, “If so, my advice is to journey away and do it at once. Because this time is not a safe one for strangers.”

Then there was just the snow.

After five full minutes Maskelyne whispered, “Gone.”

He leaned over and eased the plank away. When he tugged the door open, snow gusted in, and they saw that darkness had fallen on the bridge. He stepped out, and after a moment, beckoned.

Climbing through, Rebecca saw that despite the chilly wind, the snow was thick. The bridge was white with it, the footprints of a man and a wolf rapidly filling, leading away toward the Abbey.

She breathed out. “Who was he? What was that creature?”

He shook his head. “That wasn’t a man. That was the copy of a man. It seems I’m not the only one looking for the mirror.” He turned to her, and she saw his worry. “Apart from Jake and his tutor, is there anyone else at the Abbey? Anyone at all?”

Rebecca shrugged. “Just that girl.” She frowned. “Her name’s Sarah.”

The door opened.

Jake looked up from the pages of Symmes’s journal, his mind full of the scarred man and the mirror, over the scatter of his father’s books across the carpet. Each was open, and he had out all the letters he could find, and notes, and photos, because he had begun by searching for anything about the Chronoptika and ended by just sitting and reading and remembering.

Maybe the bleak loss showed in his face as he stared up, because Venn stood silent a moment, his glance around the dark room swift with discomfort.

“We’re trying again. Now. If you want to be there.”

It was grudging. But Jake nodded. He pushed the books aside and stood up. “I’m surprised you want me.”

Venn shrugged. “I don’t. But David would.”

14

He conjured snow, he summoned ice,

he frosted lakes and rivers,

he killed the birds in the elderwood,

he blackened toes and fingers.

He said If I can never rest

then all the world will suffer.

I will destroy both man and beast

until I find my lover.