Mirror Sight

  Silk espied T.C. Stamwell dismantling his curtained image trapping space, and on impulse Silk set off across the ring. When he arrived, Stamwell paused what he was doing and bowed.

  “How may I help you, Dr. Silk?”

  “Miss Goodgrave . . . Did she pick up her portrait before she left?”

  A strange expression fell over Stamwell’s face. “No, sir, she did not, nor did Mr. Harlowe. It’s probably just as well.”

  “Explain.”

  “Her image, well, it came out poorly. The young man’s quickened just fine, and so did every other portrait I trapped tonight, but not hers.”

  “How so?”

  “Let me show you.” Stamwell climbed up into his wagon and rummaged around. He soon returned with a small portrait in each hand. “This is Mr. Harlowe’s.”

  Silk took it and gazed hard at the image of Josston’s protégé. In Silk’s vision, the image was dim, but Cade Harlowe was defined well enough for him to make it out, and the image probably appeared as it should to people with normal vision. He discerned a strong, if disapproving, face. Harlowe was still young and inexperienced, but Silk did not doubt he’d be a force to be reckoned with one day, considering who his mentor was.

  Stamwell then handed him Miss Goodgrave’s portrait. He could not make it out. Her dress and shape appeared defined well enough, but her face . . . He squinted. He perceived little of her features, like they were rubbed out.

  “What happened?” he demanded.

  “I wish I knew. She did not move during the exposure, I’d swear to it, and it’s not as if her face is blurred. It’s more like it’s, well, mostly faded out.”

  “Some flaw of your image trapper or the quickening process.”

  “I don’t think so, sir. I handled her portrait as I have every other this night. It’s . . . it’s an anomaly. And there is something else.”

  “What is it?”

  Stamwell shifted uncomfortably and produced a magnifying glass from his pocket. “Look there, look real close at her shoulder.”

  Silk took the magnifying glass and moved beneath one of the lamps Stamwell had not yet removed. He gazed at the picture from top to bottom. Miss Goodgrave’s dress remained solid but not her face.

  “I can see the backdrop through her face,” Silk said in surprise.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Silk scrutinized her shoulder. It was grainy, and very light, but he could make out what looked like a ghostly hand resting there, where her likeness was most faded, as if that hand had absorbed her image so it could not be captured by Stamwell’s box. He glanced again at Harlowe’s portrait, and saw no sign of anything unusual.

  “Very strange,” he murmured. “It must be your equipment. Some mistake. Such things happen with image trapping, do they not?”

  “Yes, sir, images can be superimposed if you use the same plate, but that was not the case here.”

  Stamwell knew better than to argue with him beyond that point. Silk returned Cade Harlowe’s portrait, but decided to hold onto Miss Goodgrave’s. He had truly wanted to see what she looked like, but all he’d gotten was a ghost. Stamwell had botched her portrait. Or had he?

  As Silk crossed the circus ring once again, it occurred to him that the image trapper had actually managed to capture some true aspect of Miss Goodgrave. It was an interesting notion, one that he’d toyed with for some time, but just then Howser entered the big top and strode rapidly toward him, really almost at a trot. Seldom did the big man move that fast. Silk wondered what urgency propelled him.

  “What is it?” he asked when Howser reached him.

  Howser, in too fine a physical form to be out of breath, replied, “A message, sir.” He pulled an envelope from an inner pocket of his coat and passed it to Silk. “A courier from the palace just brought it.”

  Silk immediately recognized the handwriting on the envelope as that of his father’s secretary. He tore it open and removed the missive inside. There was no salutation, no niceties. His father had long ago abandoned wasting effort on his short-lived issue. The simple fact he’d sent any message at all showed that he held at least some esteem for his son, if no affection.

  The letter contained only three words carefully inscribed by his father’s secretary: She has spoken. At the bottom was his father’s official seal.

  Silk calmly folded the note and slipped it back into the envelope. He knew exactly what the three words meant, and they evoked both fear and opportunity.

  The last time the emperor had awakened, he’d purged much of the empire’s governing body. That event was remembered as the “Bloody Session,” for it had been done right in the main council chamber and much actual blood had been shed. Silk imagined that, as the news spread, politicians and bureaucrats alike would be shaking. Resignation would not preserve them from the emperor’s wrath if he decided to repeat the “Bloody Session.”

  He tucked the envelope into his pocket. With the emperor awakening early, opportunity had come early. He would start working the drill in the Old City all day and night. He would commandeer more slaves if he had to. And he could present the Eletian to the emperor all that much sooner with less chance of someone, like his father, stealing all the credit.

  His footsteps sounded hollow on the wooden floor as he exited the ring past animal keepers rolling the caged lion away and slaves moving chairs. The emperor’s awakening was a time to fear, but Silk’s mind filled with plans and possibilities. This was his opportunity to find favor with the emperor, to be offered eternity, just as his father had once been. But why, why was the emperor awakening early? It had never happened before. It was as odd as—as discovering an Eletian in a world where there were none. He halted. Coincidence? Had something in the world altered? Were they on the verge of some great change?

  On impulse he glanced at the portrait of Miss Kari Goodgrave. Her image remained as transparent as when he’d first looked at it. Was it a coincidence she had suddenly appeared in Josston’s household?

  He shook his head, smiled, and resumed his walk, at last passing from the big top and into the night. He did not have answers, but he was fond of puzzles.

  A WAR OF SECRETS

  The professor was home by the time Karigan and Cade arrived, and between his greeting and asking about their evening in jovial tones, he indicated, through a series of whispers and gestures, that they should meet in the library for an excursion to the old mill at one hour.

  In the intervening time, Cade presumably headed home, wherever that was, the professor retreated to his office, and Karigan ate leftover chicken and biscuits in her room. Lorine asked about the evening while she helped Karigan change into her nightgown, and Karigan was just as glad to tell her about it to keep her mind busy so she did not dwell on Lhean’s plight.

  “Was there dancing?” Lorine asked, carefully folding Karigan’s gloves and laying them in their box.

  “Dancing?”

  “Yes. Did . . . did you and Mr. Harlowe dance?”

  Karigan flashed not to the party, but to their sword practice sessions, which was dancing of a sort, and lingered in her memory causing a half smile to form on her lips. Recalling herself, she removed the smile from her face and cleared her throat. “Er, there was no dancing. I can’t imagine dancing to that awful music steamer, anyway.” She could not quite read the look on Lorine’s face. Hope? Did she wish to ask questions of her mistress that one of her class was not permitted? If Cade remained steadfast in his desire to be a celibate Weapon, Lorine’s interest in him would only lead to disappointment.

  Karigan went on to describe some of the circus performers and exhibits, but Lorine seemed only mildly interested unless Cade’s name came up.

  When all was done and Lorine left, Karigan lay in bed waiting for the bell to ring out one hour, haunted by the specter that had been Lhean. Where had he been hiding all this time? Had he known she was here, too
? If so, why hadn’t he come to her? Had it really been him? Yes, Cade had seen him. Everyone had seen him.

  The tolling of one hour startled her awake. Somehow, despite the events of the evening and her concern for Lhean, she had managed to doze off. She made her stealthy way to the library where the professor and Cade awaited her. As they began their descent into the underground, she lingered behind to change into her black swordswoman’s garb and then hastened down the steps to catch up with them.

  As they walked through the underground, each of them bearing a taper through the dark passage, Karigan and Cade told the professor about their evening, their voices ringing against the deserted storefronts and buildings of the Old City preserved beneath the foundations of the new.

  “That’s remarkable,” the professor said when he heard about Karigan’s sword on exhibit. “I knew about the survey of the Imperial Preserve, but very little was ever disclosed about it.”

  Cade related the part about the image trapper. “We left in a hurry,” he said, “and failed to retrieve the portraits.”

  “That is unfortunate,” the professor said, “but probably not a significant problem. Silk already knows what you look like, Old Button, and I cannot imagine there is much he will gain from seeing our Miss Goodgrave’s image. It will but sate his curiosity about her appearance. You were better off appeasing him rather than intensifying his suspicions.”

  It was much as Karigan had thought, but it was a relief to hear the professor thinking along the same lines.

  They continued their description of their evening, and when they mentioned the hummingbirds, the professor’s expression darkened. “Yes, Silk has always been drawn to the rare and exotic, and has accrued a collection I can only guess at. I’d warrant he doesn’t feed just pig’s blood to those birds.”

  Karigan shuddered.

  By the time they reached the second floor of the mill, they had gotten to the part about Lhean.

  “My word!” The professor halted in the middle of the room. “An Eletian? In this day and age? I’d heard Silk was hunting a ghost in the Old City, but I never imagined . . . My word.”

  “He was one of my companions on the Blackveil expedition,” Karigan said.

  “One of your companions? He came through time with you? I think I need to sit down.”

  So they moved on to the library sitting area, the professor sinking into one of the armchairs rather than sitting behind his desk. Karigan remained standing.

  “To see an Eletian, a real Eletian. How fantastic. And you saw him, too, Cade?”

  Cade nodded.

  “He needs help—to be rescued,” Karigan said, “before Silk—before Silk has him stuffed or something.”

  The professor shook his head. “No, no, my dear, he wouldn’t do that. The Eletian is a great find, a creature of etherea. Much too valuable to be sacrificed as a specimen for the Imperial Museum. No, Silk will use him to his advantage.”

  Karigan folded her arms and shifted her stance. That did not sound much better. “How?”

  The professor shrugged. “Take him to Gossham, I suppose, where he can be shown off, and Silk can impress the Adherents. It would help remove him from his father’s shadow.”

  Karigan paced rapidly back and forth, back and forth, then halted. “He and I have to find a way home. I mean to go home, and I’m not leaving him behind.”

  At first the professor looked confused, then he said softly, “You mean, return to your own time.”

  Karigan nodded.

  “Well, now, how do you propose to accomplish that?”

  “I do not know,” she admitted, “but I feel Lhean is part of the answer. You must help us—please.”

  “I was thinking this was your home now. That’s why I was a little taken aback.”

  “You have been very kind to me,” Karigan said. “You’ve kept me hidden, but my home is in the past.”

  “I see.”

  Did he? Did he understand what it was to be ripped away from everything you knew, everyone you loved? And there had been so much left undone. The professor’s features sagged. She hadn’t meant for her words to sadden him, and she hadn’t meant to blurt out her intention, but best he hear it now so there would be no surprises later. She would, she knew, miss him, as it appeared he would her.

  Cade stared off in the distance, his gaze unfixed. Was he sorry she wanted to leave?

  “Will you help me?” Karigan asked the professor. “Help me free Lhean?”

  The professor’s bushy eyebrows shadowed his eyes. “What you ask is difficult—it could bring down the opposition. As much as I long to see an Eletian for myself, stealing Silk’s prize would provoke retaliation on a grand scale. I need to consider it, think about the consequences and how they might be avoided. I must consider if his rescue is even achievable. I’m afraid it may already be too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, depending how soon Silk sends the Eletian to the Capital, once he is there, he is beyond our reach.”

  “Then we must help him now.”

  “No.” The forcefulness of the professor’s voice stilled Karigan. “You must promise me you will not go off on your own. This requires thought and planning.”

  “But—”

  “You requested my assistance,” the professor said sharply. “I have not granted it, but I may. I definitely will not help if you don’t allow me to consider the problem in my own time. That is my final word on the matter.” Then he softened his voice. “I realize you fear for your friend and are homesick, my dear, but please realize that there is much more at stake here. I need at least a couple of days to mull it over, to gather information.”

  Karigan knew that pushing him would not help, but to wait would be agonizing. Rescuing Lhean on her own would be difficult—she knew so little of this world—and if she made the attempt without the professor’s leave, he would see it as a betrayal of his trust, and she could lose his protection. He would never allow her to endanger the opposition. She dropped into one of the chairs with a heavy sigh.

  “How was your meeting with the board this evening?” Cade asked the professor.

  “Not nearly as interesting as Silk’s party, apparently.” The professor chuckled and something of his jovial self returned. “The board members were brutal in their questioning, but I have secured our funding for another year.”

  As the two men discussed the affairs of the university, Karigan sank deeper into her chair and rested her head on her hand, wondering how they could go on and on about the inane politics among their fellow scholars at the university when much more important issues were at hand. She thought again about Lhean and decided the consequences of aiding him, even on her own, did not matter. She simply could not allow him to be hauled away for whatever torment awaited him in the Capital. She had to try. He was part of the answer to her way home, she was sure of it. And, he’d been her comrade through all the horrors of Blackveil. They’d been through much together. She was sure he’d aid her if their positions were reversed—not something she could say of all Eletians. It wasn’t just a matter of honor but of friendship.

  “Lights, eh?” the professor said.

  Karigan shook herself back to the present. Had she missed something important?

  “Yes, making their way up the road,” Cade replied.

  “I wonder what he’s up to. Perhaps we should take a look.”

  “Can’t imagine we’ll see much.”

  The professor shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”

  The two men rose and Karigan looked uncertainly at them. “What are you doing?”

  “Going up on the roof,” the professor said. “Cade saw some activity in the Old City when he came over tonight.”

  “Oh.” Karigan rose, too.

  “Wait for us here, my dear. I would feel better with fewer of us up top this night. And I sh
ould like to speak privately with Cade.”

  Karigan watched after the two men with a frown. Were they going to discuss Lhean? What didn’t the professor want her to hear? Perturbed, she tapped the armrest of her chair. Well, let them go, she decided and stood looking around the expanse of the mill room. It was odd being there alone, empty. She wasn’t going to idly wait for them, she decided. There was another way she could occupy her time. She strode for one of the stairwells, grabbing a taper as she went.

  The lights streaming up the road coalesced on the summit of the Old City at Silk’s worksite. In the still of night, the distant sounds of tools and voices carried all the way to the roof of the mill. After watching for some time, the professor signaled that he and Cade should descend back into the mill.

  When they had done so, and it was once again safe to ignite a taper and speak, the professor said, “It appears our act of sabotage slowed Silk down even less than I thought. Now he is going at his work at night. I wonder why.”

  Cade offered no answers, so the professor went on. “Whatever the reason, it can’t be good, which means we should probably call a gathering of our brethren. As much as I should like to lay eyes on that Eletian and aid him, I cannot help but think Silk’s activities in the Old City are more important to us.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Cade replied.

  “Why not?” the professor asked, surprised.

  “It is an Eletian. An Eletian here and now when they have been, to our knowledge, extinct for a very long time? The singularity of such an event . . . I don’t know, it just seems he is worth putting forth our resources to rescue.”

  “Bringing the empire’s forces down upon us,” the professor countered, shaking his head. “I’d rather we prevented Silk from finding that dragonfly device, or that we found it first. To me, that is where we should focus our time and energy, though my niece—I mean, our Green Rider—would not like it.”

  “No, she would not,” Cade agreed, his expression troubled in the light of the taper.