3 wanderer

8/3/2019 3 Wanderer

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Wanderer

A Longest Journey Tale

by Joanna Berry

I

The tiny bar was greasy and smelled of the docks outside, but it was the only place in Calcuttawhere Brian would drink. For one thing, the liquor didn’t taste as if it was distilled from

petrol, as it did in that godawful place across the bay. For another, the owner kept the lightsdimmed down to conserve electricity, making it a good place to meet if you wanted to keep atrace of anonymity.

Sipping his whiskey, he took another glance around, then checked his watch. He wasused to his sources making him wait, but this one was almost two hours overdue. There were

just the usual characters: someone with a fragrant cigar in the corner, dock labourers arguingover a card game, a couple of ex-servicemen by the bar. No sign of a new face, even throughthe haze of cigarette smoke.

With a sigh, Brian finished his drink, counted off a number of bills from the roll in his pocket and tucked them under his empty glass, before heading out into the night. The air wascool and smelt of the ocean, bringing back a wash of old memories. You’re not a kid anymore, Brian… He smiled to himself, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. From down thestreet he could hear people singing raucously, probably dancing the dances that were stillscandalous in Boston.

“I thought you were never going to come outside,” came a voice from behind him.“India seems to make Englishmen into fools and Americans into drunkards.”

Brian turned. Someone was standing underneath the broken lamppost outside the bar,arms folded.

“Who’re you?” he asked.“I’m sorry I’m late. I was unavoidably delayed.” The figure walked forwards andBrian realised the speaker was a woman, most likely the ‘source’ he had been waiting for. Shewas slender, dressed in slacks and an old jacket, with a delicately boned face and honey-coloured hair. He took the gloved hand she extended. “My name’s Miss Wolfe. Miss EmilyWolfe.”

“Brian Westhouse, but you already know that because of this.” He pulled thecrumpled note from his pocket and waved it at her. “A note pushed under my door with justinitials for a signature? Maybe you read too many mystery novels.”

“And perhaps you don’t read enough of them,” Emily replied smoothly. “I understandyour reading habits lie in other areas, which is the main reason I contacted you. You must bethe only journalist in this country who keeps a copy of The Key of Solomon in his desk.”

Now she had his attention. “You said you had a story for me.”“I do. One tied to your particular interests.”Brian took out his notebook and flipped to a new page. “What does it concern?”“Two things. A theft, and a murder.”His pen paused mid-word. “Now just a second. Have you spoken to the police?”“The murder was committed, investigated and solved last year. The theft will take

place in a week or so, but the item being stolen has no value.”Brian lowered his notebook. “What’s going on here?”“Be patient and pay attention. The man who was killed was murdered by his stepson,

who tried to make it look like an accident and claim the life insurance policy.”“This was last year?”“Yes. But the legal wrangling over property has only just been resolved. Mr Dawson,

the deceased, left the bulk of his valuables to his friends. Amongst those valuables was a particular item, which will be stolen within the next week, the next fortnight at most.”

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Brian drew on his cigarette, then looked at her. “You said this ‘item’ was worthless.Why do you think I would find this so fascinating?”

Emily slid her hands into her pockets. “I said it had no value, which is different, Mr Westhouse.”

“You haven’t answered my question. Why come to me with this? Why should Icare?”

“Because the object did not come from this world.”Down the street, someone was leading a group of people in a bawdy song, thankfully

in another language to spare the details. There was still an argument going on in the bar aboutthe poker game.

Brian was aware of the lengthening ash on his cigarette. He tapped it away, trying toseem casual, while his heart was pounding.

Emily was still waiting there, hands in her jacket, watching for his reply. If she had been a cowled figure, hissing cryptic prophecies and beckoning with a bony finger, Brianwouldn’t have believed a word of what she had just said. But the sheer ordinariness of her seemed to give her words more credibility.

“Another world?” Brian asked carefully, ignoring the voice that was screaming in his

mind, the voice that he had spent more than twenty years stifling, the one that still whisperedto him sometimes that all the books he had read – written by Dee, Crowley, Levi, Rosenkreuz – spoke the truth, of demons and worlds beyond all the horizons he had travelled.

She smiled. “You speak like a journalist but I see the adventurer’s look in your eye,Mr Westhouse. I know it. I’ve seen it before. You believe me but your profession demandsthat you be sceptical.”

“Do you mean another country?”“No, Mr Westhouse. I mean another world, another place that is outside and beyond

this one.”“And this item came from there.” Brian rested his pen on the page. “So…how did it

get here?”“It was brought here. May I have a cigarette? It is getting a little chilly out here.”

He gave her one and lit it for her. “Brought by whom?”Emily held the cigarette as if she was smoking at a London ball. “The cigarettes here

are ghastly. You must have a secret supply.”“Brought by whom, Miss Wolfe?”She shook her head, checking a slim watch on her wrist. “I cannot tell you any more

tonight. As I mentioned, I was delayed and I have stayed longer than I had planned to. I mustleave.”

Brian took a step forward, agitated. “At least tell me more about this item – what it is,where it is, who is planning to steal it -?”

“The object is in the vaults of the local museum. I cannot answer your other questions just now.” She took a card from her purse and borrowed his pen, scribbling on the back. “Weshould meet here, tomorrow afternoon. You can buy me lunch.”

Brian took the card, barely registering the name of the café which she had written,still shocked by what she had told him. “And what about you, Miss Wolfe? What is your connection to this?”

“I was a close friend of Mr Dawson. And I have other interests invested in this matter which do not concern you.”

“I should escort you home. This is no place for a woman to travel by herself.”She laughed, lightly. “How do you think I arrived here, Mr Westhouse? And besides,

there are better ways of protecting oneself than using a gun.”With that she turned and walked away into the darkness, only visible by the red speck

of her lit cigarette, leaving Brian standing there, his mind in turmoil.

1934, a strange time. Brian had been in India for two years now, working for a smallnewspaper, after leaving France. He liked Europe, especially travelling there, though the

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economic situation in Germany had curtailed his wanderings a little. But his pay had onlytaken him as far as Lithuania before he had wound up broke. He had found a job fixingautomobile engines – a cinch after working on the heavy cargo freighters that went from theEast Coast to Europe – and bought passage east on a wheezy train that might have been builtin the days of Queen Victoria.

After that he had been stuck for a while in a Russian waystation, until he had met anold friend working at a Russian newspaper who had offered him the chance to write somearticles, enough to pay his way. Brian had found he had a talent for the work, relishing thechange to intellectual rather than manual labour. It wasn’t long before he had earned enoughfor a new train ticket: it wasn’t as if he had to pay any cargo charges. His luggage wascomprised of a change of clothes, a toothbrush, a bottle of Jack Daniels and a battered

passport. Brian had rarely owned more than that since he was seventeen years old.Emily Wolfe was right. He was an adventurer. But he was frustrated, and he had been

for years. Brian knew with a clear, cool certainty that he was looking for something,something wondrous and marvellous.

He had looked for it in books, in tales of encounters with demons, rituals conductedin hidden places, and secret societies. He had envied the explorers of the last century, to

whom Africa was indeed another world, hiding mysterious tribes and ancient temples with brooding heathen gods. He lived in a more practical time, freed from its self-indulgence bythe Great War, and there was no mystery any more. The magic had gone out of the world.

Yet he still travelled, to India, seeking something, anything. He had learned a lot from books, and more from his travels, but Brian was still left cold. He wanted more. He wantedthe worlds he had dreamed of.

And then, out of the blue, this woman, this mysterious Miss Wolfe, had come to him,with words that had sent an electric shock through him, waking up his old dreams.

But as he lay awake that night, staring up at his ceiling, Brian forced himself to seethis from another angle. Miss Wolfe knew a great deal about him, more than made himcomfortable. And if she knew that much, she knew that there was no way on earth he couldturn away from this. Whether he liked it or not, she had him hooked.

Brian turned over, looking towards the window. He was an investigative journalist,and he was aware that the job brought a certain amount of risk. He needed to know more

before he jumped in with both feet. But he could already feel himself being consumed by burning need, need to know more.

He turned over again, knowing he would not be able to sleep well tonight. Twoquestions were overwhelming: what was this object? And why had it been brought here?

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II

The morning was warm and bright, but Brian had no interest in the things he usually took pleasure in: the children laughing and chasing each other, the vendors, a hundred different people walking and riding down the streets, going to work or any one of a hundred other places. Dressed in his usual wool trousers and white shirt, already beginning to sweat a littlein the heat, Brian could only think of his appointment that afternoon, of the scribbled note onthe business card tucked safely in his wallet. He wove through the throng of people on his

bicycle, which was old and creaky but well cared for, barely paying attention to where he wasgoing.

The newspaper office was tucked into a little office on a courtyard, which shared itsspace with a tailor’s and a stable. Brian parked his bicycle in one of the stalls, as usual, andheaded into the office.

His desk was littered with papers, as usual. There was a stack of letters, which hethumbed through with disdain while he lit a cigarette. The newspaper was his permanentaddress, as he moved around a lot, and most of them were bills. Water bill, electricity bill -how could he focus on something so mundane as bills on a day like this?

“Westhouse.” Stephen Moors, the newspaper’s editor, was a calm, looming shadow beside him. Brian respected Moors because the editor gave him more or less carte blanche towrite what he wanted. The paper mostly catered to resident English nobility, Indianaristocracy and bored American travellers with more money than sense, and Brian had aknack for hitting just the right note with them. Moors knew he could trust him.

“I hear you’re on the scent, Westhouse,” Moors was saying. “I hear you had a juicysource last night.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m following it up.”“Well, follow this up.” Moors thrust a sheet of paper at him. Brian read it: a mundane

thing about a political rally that morning. “Head down there and get something good. I want anice piece to spark off some debate. We’re becoming too pedestrian these days. Give mesomething with bite: the nerve of these people to rally when such flawed issues dog their

manifesto, blah blah blah.”“What party is it?”Moors laughed. “Damned if I know. On your way.”Brian went on his way. The rally was what he expected, a crowd listening raptly to a

series of speeches he didn’t follow too well. He took notes and tried to pay attention, but theheat of the day was gathering and the thought of his appointment was weighing too heavily onhis mind for him to be able to concentrate. He was glad when he could get away.

Back at the office, he indulged his curiosity and went down into the cellars where back copies of the paper were kept. Hunting through dusty boxes, he finally found what hewas looking for: a year old edition with a piece on the Dawson murder.

Brian sat on an old stool and began reading. He hadn’t covered the Dawson case, buthe vaguely recalled the details. The column filled in the blanks, as did the subsequent editionsas the story emerged. Richard Dawson, English businessman and entrepreneur, was founddrowned in his bathtub. It looked as if he had slipped and struck his head, then fallen face-first, unconscious, into the water. A doctor’s examination had revealed the wound toDawson’s head had been inflicted by a blow, not a fall. After that they had followed themoney, finding a trail leading to Dawson’s stepson, whom he had apparently doted on.

Once that had been uncovered, the case had been wrapped up fairly quickly, butDawson’s wife had begun a legal battle over the will to try and recall some assets. The storyhad dropped out of the public eye after that, and there was nothing more in the back editions,not even a mention of why Mrs Dawson had stopped the legal battle.

Brian put the papers back in the box, deep in thought. Dawson had been a collector and a traveller. No doubt he had some eyebrow-raising items in his collection. If thisotherworldly object was at the museum, he had no doubt donated it in his will. That didn’texplain, however, how he had acquired it in the first place, why he had donated it, and whysomeone would want to steal it.

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Suddenly he realised he had been down here for a while. Checking the time, hehurried up the stairs and back into the bright of day.

The café was, thankfully, cool and shady. Brian ordered a gin and tonic and sat back in thechair, fanning himself with his hat, impatient even though he was half an hour early. Outsidehe knew the sultry morning was turning into a furnace.

He knew, acutely, that if she didn’t turn up, he had no way of contacting her. He hadno idea where she lived or what she did for a living, or even if Emily Wolfe was her realname. If she didn’t keep this meeting he would never know the truth. Anguished, he finishedhis gin and tonic too fast and ordered another, brusquely.

Brian was halfway through his third drink when she arrived, dressed in a light blouseand a broad hat. He rose abruptly to greet her, but she paid no attention to his outstretchedhand. “Miss Wolfe.”

“Mr Westhouse.” She made no move to sit down.He drew his hand back, feeling uneasy. “Is there something wrong?”“I’m afraid I cannot keep our meeting.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I will have to

talk to you another time. I know how to contact you.”Brian felt the blood draining out of his face. She was already moving away. “Please, Ihave to know what –“

“I’m sorry.” Emily turned and began walking quickly through the café. Not caring that people were staring, Brian swept up his jacket and ran after her,

catching her arm. “Miss Wolfe, you have –“There was a loud explosion from the street outside the café. Instinctively Brian threw

himself down behind one of the tables, pulling Emily with him. He heard screams and atinkling noise as something made of glass shattered.

“Dear god!” he heard her whisper. She began to struggle. “Mr Westhouse, let me go!”“No, it isn’t safe!” Brian had no idea what it could be. If he had been in Europe he

would have thought it to be an old mine or mortar left over from the war, but –

Emily struggled harder. “Mr Westhouse, please!”Then, a new sound. A soft noise that nevertheless sent ice-razor shivers down Brian’s

spine. There were fresh screams and cries from outside the café. Distracted, he eased his gripon Emily and a second later she was heading through the café as fast as she had fled throughit.

“Emily!”Consumed by the thought of losing his only link to this mysterious other world and

the whole conundrum, Brian ran after her. The café was a shambles: the blast had blowneverything across the room and strewn broken crockery across the floor. The other customerswere peeping out from behind their tables, and he could hear someone weeping. Emily was atthe door now, standing still, trembling slightly as she saw the scene outside.

Brian caught her shoulder. “You need to get away, it isn’t safe h-“ And then he sawwhat she saw.

In the middle of the street was a scorch of black soot that ran out in a rough star, burnt into the mud. The dust cloud from the explosion was still hanging in the air, billowingto and fro but not dissipating. And within that dust cloud was a huge shape, as if made fromthe dust and debris; a mysterious, shifting shape that looked something like a shadow andsomething like a beast. Then, impossibly, it turned – turned and faced them, and Brian sawclearly two burning eyes, a maw of teeth, hooked claws, and he did the only thing he couldthink of even though he had never been so terrified. He pushed Emily aside and stood in frontof her.

The Beast let out a terrible sound, the same noise that he had heard in the café; not aloud noise at all, but all the more awful for that. Brian could feel cold terror sweat but he wasalso riding a terrific wave of excitement and adrenaline. It was as if he had fallen asleep in thecafé and woken up in one of his adventurous fantasies, facing down a monster...

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Then the Beast growled again, more a snarl of annoyance, and slashed out at him.Three razor sharp claws caught him in the flesh of his arm and knocked him backwards.Blood spattered onto the ground and pain flashed through his body. Brian yelled, and grabbedthe doorway of the café even as Emily took a step forwards. He realised she was holding a

book in one hand and was holding the other out, palm and fingers flat. Her voice rose in thehush, speaking strange words in a language he had never heard before, a language that wasmore music than anything else. And somehow Brian knew the undercurrent of what she wassaying, knew in his bones that she was speaking words of binding and banishment.

The Beast let out a new sound, of uncertainty and pain, even as a strange wind beganto blow, coming from nowhere and going nowhere. It ruffled their hair and the pages of Emily’s book, even as she read to the end of the page and ended with, “ In nomine Patri, et

Fili, et Spiritus Sancti! Get you gone, creature of darkness!”She slammed the book closed. There was a scaling howl from the Beast as the wind

picked up. Blue light glowed briefly but fiercely around it, and Brian had to raise a hand to protect his eyes.

And then it was gone.Papers and dust settled slowly, spiralling down, as the wind died. A bystander peered

over the wall he had been sheltering behind.Emily shoved the book into her bag. “Quickly.” She grabbed his hand. “We shouldget away from here.”

Dazed, his arm running with blood, Brian ran after her. He glanced over his shoulder,once, at the scene. There was no Beast, no cloud of dust. There was no sign that there hadever been.

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III

Emily proved to be a capable if rough nurse: she washed and dressed his wounds with skill if little care for her patient’s comfort. Brian cheered up considerably, however, when she gavehim a large whiskey and soda, and told him it was for the pain.

The hotel room was small, and stuffy until Emily opened the window. Sound fromoutside filtered in, the usual hum of daily life in Calcutta. Brian could scarcely believe thatordinary life was going on out there, that somewhere the newspaper was still going, that therewere still children in school.

When she had tied off the bandage Emily got up to wash her hands. “That’s going to be sore for a few days,” she said over her shoulder as water splashed into the tiny sink.

Brian just watched her as she towelled off her hands and took a packet of cigarettesout of her bag. “I think you need to tell me now what you were going to tell me in the café.”

“Do you have a light? I seem to have misplaced my matches.”He had a lighter but made no move to hand it to her. “Miss Wolfe – Emily. I know

what I saw. I trust my eyes. You have to start giving me something more than shadows.”Brian was still touched by the excitement and horror of the encounter. Mention of

another world, convincing though it was from such an unlikely source, was just a word or two: his imagination and need had done the rest. But he could not deny what he had seen, in public, in broad daylight. There had been a creature, a Beast, like nothing he had ever seen. Ithad attacked him, and Emily had banished it. If he could explain everything else away, hecould not deny the claw marks on his arm, which drew and ached. It had happened.

She smiled, somewhat sadly, and sat on a chair beside the bed where he was sittingup. “You must understand that there are many things I can’t tell you. For your own safety, if nothing else.”

“Then just tell me what you can. What was that creature?”“I don’t know what it’s called. I’m not even sure it has a name.”“But you knew what to do?” Brian’s readings about magic told him that it was a

complex and dangerous process, involving carefully followed procedures and particular

magical items. Most important was knowledge of the forces and entities you were dealingwith. But he was starting to suspect that much of his reading was defunct.

“Yes, I knew what to do.” She was fiddling with her cigarette. “May I please borrowyour lighter?”

Brian dug in a pocket and handed it over. “You are a very infuriating woman, MissWolfe.”

“And you are an exasperating man. What on earth possessed you to try and stand upto it?”

Brian shrugged. “Basic chivalry?”This was meant as a joke, but it seemed to irritate her. She got up and wandered

around the room. “Chivalry. Chivalry is for knights, long poems, and fools who read toomany romances.”

“You seem determined to comment on my reading habits.”“Promise me that if you ever see anything strange like that again, you will run. You

could have been killed.”Brian was stung by this. “I have been to sea, you know. And I’ve been travelling

since I was seventeen. I’m not some country bumpkin.”Emily laughed, but it was humourless. “Oh, my brave Mr Westhouse, you have no

idea of what dangers there truly are in this world. Or outside it.”This was the subject he had been aching to hear more of. “Tell me more about this

other world.”“I shouldn’t. Your association with me is putting you in harm’s way as it is.”Brian sat up, agitated, not caring that his arm and shoulder hurt. “Damn it, you can’t

just wave this in front of my nose and not expect me to be curious. You already know somuch about me, can you begrudge me even a few words in return?”

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Emily stood silently, smoking her cigarette, for a long, frustrating moment. Then shetook his empty glass, and refilled it from the whiskey bottle before seating herself again.“Very well, Mr Westhouse, as you insist on putting yourself in danger. What do you wish toknow?”

He was lost for a moment, sipping at his drink. “What do you call this other world?”“It has several names.”“What do you call it?”“For myself? I think of it as the Arcanum, where the arcane originates. One of my

colleagues is something of a classicist and refers to it as Arcadia. But my background is Latin,not Greek.”

Arcadia. The Arcanum, where the arcane originates. Brian felt the words settle in the back of his mind. For some reason they seemed to resonate peculiarly. “What’s it like?”

“What is the Earth like, Mr Westhouse? Or the cosmos? The Arcanum is not another country, it is another world. ” Her voice was coming to him clearly, but with a slight echo, likethe toning of a bell. “It has its high and low places, its seas and deserts, its cities…”

And he imagined them as she spoke, seeing something like great Russian castles andGreek temples, but in silver and crystal and glass…

“There’s an opiate in this drink, isn’t there,” he heard himself saying.“You need to rest, Mr Westhouse, and let your arm heal.” His vision was becominghazy, and Emily seemed to be speaking from a long way off, her voice gentle. He wasn’tangry, strangely enough, just resigned to the fact this woman always seemed to be a stepahead of him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Have you been there?”“Pardon?”He made an effort to speak clearly. “The Arcanum. Have you been there?”It seemed a vitally important question at the time. But if she replied, he was fully

asleep before he heard her answer.

When he woke he was alone in the room.Brian sat up slowly, feeling his head clear. He tried moving his arm and winced when

it ached, but it had stopped bleeding, at least. He swung his legs off the bed and lookedaround. “Emily?”

There was no sign of her.As he put his hand on the bedside table to get his balance and stand up, his fingers

touched something cold. There was a gun lying there, a scratched old revolver. He picked itup: it was well oiled, heavy, reassuring. Underneath the gun was a note.

Mr Westhouse:

I apologise for leaving so abruptly but I have been called away on urgent business. I should return before 8:00pm unless I am otherwise detained. If I do not return, you will need to

speak to a Mr Philip Antilly. He works at the British consul. He has knowledge of the matterswe discussed this morning and he will help you.

I regret being forced to leave like this but there are matters that demand my attention. Mr Antilly will expect you at around 9:00pm but I hope I can arrive before then. I have left a

sidearm with this note in the event your preclusion to chivalry strikes again. It should afford you some defence.

Regards,

E.W.

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There was an address written on the back of the note for a P. Antilly. Brian memorised it andtucked the note into his wallet. Then he turned his attention back to the revolver. He hadhandled guns before, but when he looked at the rounds this one was loaded with he got asurprise. They looked to be an odd colour, as if they had been left underwater for a time, butthe gun was otherwise well cared for and clean. He mentally chalked up another question for the mysterious Miss Wolfe.

Brian had no intention of sitting here waiting for her, however. After washing his faceand drinking two glasses of water, he checked the time. Five in the afternoon. He had plentyof time to do a little digging on her background. He had some answers concerning the worldshe had mentioned, and now he wanted to know more about the source of those answers.Leaving the hotel, he headed down the street in the direction of his little rented room, and thedrawer where he kept his address book.

“Hello, Sunny? It’s Brian. Brian Westhouse? Yes, from Laurie’s cocktail party…I remember,mmhm…listen, Sunny, I need a favour. Do you still have that cushy job in the localimmigration office? –Great. I need you to look up a woman named Emily Wolfe, with an ‘e’.She’s about five-eight with sort of brown-blond hair, green eyes. –I don’t know, she might be

English but she’s not American…it’s for a story, of course. I don’t usually do backgroundchecks on dames. I want to know if she’s a reliable source. –About an hour. Okay. Thanks,Sunny, I owe you big time for this. Thanks.”

He hung up and began pacing his apartment slowly, thinking and smoking until ahaze of smoke and cogitation filled the room. When he had given Sunny her description hehad realised just how little he knew about her. For all he knew she too was a product of theArcanum. He had no idea how she knew so much about him, even to what he kept in his desk at work.

When the phone rang Brian grabbed it. “Yes.” Then he drew his notebook towardhim and started scribbling information down.

It turned out that there was a record of a Miss Emily Wolfe in the employ of Mr Richard Dawson, the man who had been murdered by his stepson. She had been his secretary

and curator of his extensive collection, and come to India at the same time as the Dawsonfamily. Sunny had delved a little deeper, and spoken to a friend of a friend at the policestation. After Dawson’s murder, Wolfe had assisted the executor of his estate to value anddistribute his collection, but as soon as Dawson’s wife had begun contesting the will, she hadvanished into thin air and had not reappeared since. Her bank account was untouched and her

passport unused.“Why did Dawson’s wife stop challenging the will earlier this year?” Brian wanted to

know.“Unless she was going to use a ouija board I don’t think her wishes would have made

much difference,” Sunny replied.“She’s dead? How?” Brian hated himself for the suspicion that leapt up in his mind.“No foul play. She died of malaria.”Brian thanked Sunny for the information and hung up.So Emily had worked for Dawson. Why hadn’t she mentioned it? That opened up a

whole new perspective on the theft of this ‘object’.If not for the Beast, Brian would have dismissed her story out of hand, guessing that

she was stringing him along. But the creature had been real. And Emily’s saving of him had been real. The pain in his arm was a constant reminder of that. That lent greater weight to her story of the Arcanum. But he was no longer as dead set on trusting her as he had been. Shewas keeping secrets, more than he had imagined.

The hotel room was empty when he returned at seven, with no fresh notes or information. Byeight fifteen, he knew she wasn’t coming back.

With trepidation Brian tucked the revolver into the small of his back, then opened hiswallet and removed the address she had left for him.

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IV

Phillip Antilly’s house turned out to be typical British colonial style, with white walls and ared tiled roof, lit by candles as well as electric lights. Inside Brian was shown into a pleasantlydecorated drawing room, served coffee, and asked to wait.

As he sat on one of the sumptuous chairs, relishing the rich burnt-toast taste of thecoffee, he realised he could hear sounds of an argument from another room. Brian listenedcarefully, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. There seemed to be two voicesarguing, and another trying to calm the situation. He sat back, stirring a touch more sugar intohis coffee, and tried to wait patiently. A moment later he heard doors opening and closing, anew voice speaking. The argument stopped.

The door to the drawing room opened and a man strode inside. He had immense presence, an almost audible personality, and Brian, rising to his feet, knew at once he was theowner of the house. He had a scrub of dark brown hair, deep set eyes, and skin tanned byyears under the sun. He was dressed in loose but well tailored trousers, a silk shirt and jacket,and his left arm was carried in a black sling.

“Brian Westhouse? Phillip Antilly.” Brian accepted the handshake, putting his coffee

down on the table. “I hear you’re a friend of Emily’s.”“I’m a journalist.” He named his paper. “Emily came to speak to me regarding a story but…she had some interesting things to say.”

“I imagine she did.” Antilly ushered him through into the house.“Is she here?”“I’m afraid not.” Antilly looked sidelong at him, and Brian knew he had been caught

looking at the black sling. “Wounded in the damn Great War. Shrapnel cut a nerve in myshoulder, and now there’s no feeling in this arm.” He chuckled. “Looks as if you’ve had ascrape or two yourself lately.”

“I had a close encounter.”Antilly chuckled again. “ ‘Close encounter’. Emily said you’d tried to be a damn

hero. Let me give you some advice, Mr Westhouse: the difference between adventurers and

heroes is the amount of dirt covering them. Adventurers have a roguish veneer, heroes havesix feet of it.”

Brian smiled, deciding he liked Antilly. “I’ll bear that in mind.”“But if stupid heroics are your forte, we might have something for your particular

talents.” Antilly opened a set of double doors, revealing a long dining room. The table was setfor a meal, but it seemed to already have been eaten. A man was sitting at the table, moroselydrinking what looked like a glass of sherry. Beyond him, a woman was standing at the other end, her arms folded.

“Hannah, David, this is Mr Westhouse, Emily’s friend,” introduced Antilly.“Brian,” Brian prompted, wanting to get off on the right foot with these people.The woman, Hannah, appeared unimpressed. “You’re not wriggling out of this,

Phillip. We still haven’t decided what to do yet.”“But surely Mr Westhouse’s arrival is propitious,” said Antilly, taking the bottle of

sherry and pouring himself a glass.“He’s not one of us,” said David, setting his glass down sharply. “And I refuse to

allow any more exposure to threaten us. Who knows what’s happened to Emily?”Brian stepped forward. “Look, I’m actually in the room. Now, what’s going on?

What’s happened to Emily? And just who are you people?”“We,” said Hannah, “are members of a secret society that has nothing to do with you.

As for your other question, Emily was sent on a task and we haven’t heard back from her insome time.”

“But there’s something else going on, isn’t there?” Brian asked.There was a brief pause while the others looked at each other.“How much did Emily tell you?” queried Antilly.Brian swallowed. “She told me about the Arcanum. And about an object from there

which is in the local museum vaults, that someone’s planning to steal soon.”

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“Tonight, actually,” said David.“What?”“The museum vaults are perfectly safe,” explained Antilly. “But the museum curator

planned to put the item on show. The exhibition was to begin in a week or so, but theschedule has been changed and now the item is already in the museum proper, where securityis, frankly, appalling. We were only given notice a few hours ago. And we think the thief isgoing to make his move tonight.”

“So Emily went to reconnoitre,” David went on. “But we haven’t heard anything back from her. She should have returned or contacted us hours ago.”

Brian was acutely aware that Hannah was looking at him with a hard, calculating eye.“So that’s it, then? Emily’s vanished, the object is going to be stolen and you’re just sittinghere?”

“Emily was the one with the…expertise to safeguard the object,” said David. “Andnone of us can go in her place. If the thief captures any one of us, we know too much. Wedon’t have sufficient defences and there’s no time to construct them. Emily was the only oneof us right for the job.”

“Yes, so she involves a journalist ,” said Hannah, scornfully. “What was she thinking?

She knows better than to risk our exposure.”“Whoa.” Brian held up his hands. “I’m not interested in exposing whatever societyyou belong to. I just want to help.”

“See?” said Antilly, cheerfully. “Emily chose well. Which brings me to my proposition, Mr Westhouse.”

“This is insane,” said Hannah, turning away towards the table.“Our only chance now is to steal the object before the thief gets anywhere near it,”

Antilly told Brian. “And I’m afraid you’re the only one of us cut out for the task. You aren’t amember but you’re trusted by one; you’re a journalist and a civilian. And if he catches youthere, the thief won’t be expecting you and he won’t harm you. It is most important that thisobject falls into no other hands but ours.”

Brian’s head was spinning. “You want me to break into the museum, and steal this

thing first?”It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. But the thought of adventure, of being trusted

by a secret society with links to a whole other world – the Arcanum, he added mentally,thinking the syllables like a prayer – was too tantalising to resist. Then there was Emily, her fate unknown…

And there was Hannah, still watching him. Brian wondered, uneasily, what wouldhappen if he refused and walked away from this, with all he knew. Civilised as these peopleseemed, he guessed their secret was worth going to extreme lengths to keep, and they mighttake action to keep him quiet.

“I’ll do it,” he said, cheerfully.“Good man!” Antilly slapped him on the back. “You’ll have all the equipment you

need, of course.”“I don’t like this,” said David, shaking his head.“Don’t be such a wet blanket,” Antilly told him.“The Sentinel is not in the business of shanghaiing outsiders, Phillip!” snapped

Hannah. “We are here to guard and protect, not go off on foolish capers!”“If you have a better idea,” said Antilly, “speak up.”Her mouth set in a tight line. “Fine. But don’t blame me when this goes straight to

hell.” She turned and strode out of the room.Brian watched her go. “I hope I didn’t upset her.”“She’s temperamental,” said Antilly. He slapped Brian on the back again. “Now. We

need to get you ready.”

The streets of Calcutta came alive after dark, with bars and bordellos open for business. Mostof the people drinking the night away were foreigners, travellers, people who wandered

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between countries as the whim took them. Brian had once counted himself amongst them, butnow he fancied himself on a greater mission. Having never been a soldier, he could onlyimagine if this was how a serviceman felt, the sense of being a small but vital cog in a vastmachine.

He headed through the streets, cat quiet, dressed in dark clothes and carrying the bagAntilly had given him, running over his instructions again in his mind. Climb the fence at the

back, break the lock on the back door of the museum, then head inside. Down the hall to theroom at the end, remove the glass case, place the object inside the pouch he had been given,and get out as fast as possible. David told him a car would be waiting two streets down to takehim back to Antilly’s house.

“But what is this object?” he had asked.“It’s very precious,” David had told him. “It’s called the Aoelen. An ancient scroll

case, made of metal, sealed at both ends. But on no account must you open it.”“Why not? Is it dangerous?”David had shaken his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking. But it would be very

unwise.”Brian took a deep breath as he turned down the street with the museum at the end. It

was a large, classical structure, another product of the British colonial administration. Duringthe day it was probably imposing and welcoming, but at night it was high and gloomy.He steeled himself before heading around the side, hoping and praying nothing would

go wrong. As he found the fence he needed to climb he couldn’t help but remember Davidmentioning ‘defences’, and Emily being the only one fully equipped for the task. Whatexactly could he need defences against?

Brian dropped noiselessly onto the ground on the other side of the fence and lookedaround for the back door. There: a dark blue break in the white walls. He padded over to it,every sense alert. As he reached into the bag for the crowbar to break the lock, he nudged thedoor and was startled to find it swing noiselessly open at his touch.

Someone else was inside.Brian thought quickly. If he left, the object would certainly be lost and he would have

failed miserably. But if he carried on, he still had a chance. Perhaps the thief was searchingthe museum, whereas Brian knew exactly what he was looking for.

He went inside.The air was cool and musty as he headed down the hall. Doors led off to left and

right, to various collections. He was focused on the door at the end. Quickly, Brian headed for it, bracing himself for what he might find. But through the glass panel in the door he couldsee that the room was empty. He might still be in time.

Opening the door with the aid of the crowbar, Brian slipped inside, listening keenlyfor anything unusual. There was only the sound of his feet on the tiled floor. He listened amoment more, decided he was alone, and turned his attention to his search.

At the end of the room on the right, Antilly had told him. Brian looked through theglass cases, trying to find what he was looking for. There seemed to be a mishmash collectionof ancient Greek and Roman artefacts, a Sumerian helmet, pottery from Crete –

There.On a stand in the middle of the room, was the Aoelen, just as David had described it.It was a cylindrical case perhaps a foot long, apparently made of beaten silver. It

rested on a velvet stand, inscribed with whorls and symbols, the pattern highlighted by twoengraved silver serpents spiralling down it in opposite directions.

Brian’s breath caught. He had never seen anything like it. Enthralled, he reached outto the case.

Someone rose up from behind the stand.Brian froze, as did the second man. Then instinct took over. The crowbar clattered to

the floor as he reached around and grabbed the revolver Emily had left for him. “Stop!” hecommanded, bringing the gun to bear.

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The second man raised his hands. “Easy there, my friend. I have no quarrel withyou.” Brian couldn’t see him clearly: it was too dark in the room and the light was behind theother man.

“Step away from the case!” Brian ordered him.“No,” said a new voice, “you first.”He whipped around and a bright light blinded him. He brought up a hand to shield his

eyes and someone pulled the gun away from him. He glimpsed uniforms, a rifle aimed at him,and groaned inwardly. The police, more coming into the room now.

The other man, from behind him, let out a small, amused laugh. “One of us has beenclumsy.”

“You’re under arrest for breaking and entering,” said the officer holding the torch.Then he added, “Both of you.”

Brian felt his arms being pulled behind his back and his wrists handcuffed as he wasspun around. As another officer turned on his torch, he got his first look at the thief. He wasan older man, older than Brian, dressed like a local but with a bandanna around his neck and alarge hat. He was strikingly handsome, with bright, interesting eyes and a lively air, and hewas smiling, even as another officer handcuffed him. “Well, my friend, it appears we are

being arrested together. And we haven’t even been properly introduced!”“Westhouse,” Brian muttered, feeling utterly despondent. “Brian Westhouse. Andyou?”

The older man grinned. “I am Chavez. Manuel Chavez – but please, call me Manny.”

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V

The cell was barely long enough for Brian to lie down in, but his legs were already achingfrom pacing it. He had never been arrested before and he had no idea what to expect. Horror stories from fellow journalists kept running through his mind.

He could see Chavez sitting on his bunk in the cell opposite, his hat tilted over hiseyes, apparently asleep if it were not for the cigarette he was smoking. Brian was half convinced he was smoking tar from the smell: he knew the odour of Turkish cigarettes andstayed well away from them.

He was still not sure what to make of Chavez. Antilly and the others had hinted thatthe thief was some kind of menace to them, some sort of enemy, but the man seemedharmless enough, sitting there, smoking peacefully. He didn’t even seem to be that concernedthat he had been arrested. Brian returned to pacing anxiously, wondering what to think, whatto do.

“Ah, sit yourself down, my friend,” came the soft, accented voice from beneath thehat. “You are making me seasick.”

“I can’t, I’m too nervous.”

“You’re too young to worry so much. Worries are for the old, like me.” Chavez pushed the brim of his hat up with his thumb and blew out a cloud of smoke.Brian sighed. “Look, just who are you?”Chavez smiled. “I’m nobody.”“Why were you trying to steal the Aoelen?”“I could ask you the same question, Mr Westhouse.”“I was helping out some friends.”The other man stretched. “Then we have another thing in common.”Brian was tired of this already. He took a sip from a cup of water the guard had left

for him. Then something occurred to him. “Did you have anything to do with Emily Wolfedisappearing?”

Chavez’s hand paused halfway to his mouth, cigarette between the fingers. “So

you’re a friend of Emily’s.”“I’m a journalist. She was giving me a story. Then she –“ Brian stopped. He had

almost said too much.Chavez blew a perfect smoke ring, and then turned to look at him. “Did she tell you

about Arcadia?”Brian concealed his surprise that Chavez knew about the Arcanum. “I asked you if

you know what happened to her.”“I didn’t know that anything had. I’ve known Emily for a while. It’d be terrible if

anything has happened to her.”“You know Emily?” Brian was standing at the bars to his cell. “How? What do you

know about her?”“I know of her. I know she’s a wonderful, intelligent girl, my friend, and one day

she’ll be a very talented Shifter.”“Shifter?” Brian was already confused. “What’s a Shifter?”Chavez threw the butt of his cigarette on the floor, through the bars of the cell, and

tilted his hat back down. “They’re the waking dreamers, my friend.”Brian tried to ask more questions, but Chavez didn’t answer. He appeared to be

asleep.Consumed by worry, Brian finally lay down on the bunk to take some weight off his

feet. Despite his anxiety he must have dozed for a few hours, because the next thing he knewthere was someone standing at the door to his cell, and there was wan light shining throughthe narrow window.

“Come on, it’s time to go,” a familiar voice was saying.Brian blinked. “Stephen?”“No, it’s Brunhilde the Valkyrie. Get up, I’ve paid your bail.”

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Brian let his editor lead him out as the guard held the door open. As he passedChavez’s cell he turned to say goodbye, but there was no sign of him.

“Hey, where’d he go?”“Who?”“The man in this cell.”Stephen shrugged. “It was empty when I came in here.”Brian looked at the bunk. It had been freshly made and there was no sign that anyone

had been in there. Then, on an impulse, he looked down. The cigarette butt Chavez hadthrown between the bars was still there. He picked it up and peered at it.

“Hey. Brian. Mate.” Stephen was looking worried. “You feeling okay?”“Yes.” Brian placed the cigarette butt in his pocket.“You sure? No truncheons to the head?”“I’m fine.” Brian’s mind was already working. “I just need to get home.”

Once there he poured himself a stiff drink, took a few minutes to clear his head, then pickedup the telephone and called Emily’s hotel. “May I speak to Miss Wolfe in room 34?” he asked

politely. There was a pause, and a rustle of papers. “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have anyoneof that name staying here.”

“What?” demanded Brian. “I was there yesterday afternoon! I talked to her!”“One moment. Let me check.” There was a longer pause and even more shifting of

paper. “It appears she checked out late last night, sir. I’m sorry.”Brian hung up and leaned his head on his hands. So she hadn’t returned to the hotel.

She was still missing.Every lead seemed to be vanishing into thin air. He thought of the Beast outside the

café, his solid touchstone to the fantastic: made of dust and debris, billowing as the windchanged, only to vanish with a few words. He had a cigarette butt, memories of conversations,a note or two, nothing more. The Arcanum danced just out of reach, painfully colourful and

bright.He decided to head back to Antilly’s house and speak to the people there, the – the

Sentinel. And this time he was going to demand answers, rather than being fobbed off withshadows and lies. Whatever had happened to Emily, he had to help her.

As he was picking up his jacket, the telephone rang and he pounced on it.“Westhouse.”

“Can’t do anything right, can you?” Stephen Moors’ voice was half angry, half amused. “You go off on some half baked story, end up being arrested for trying to steal someold relic, and then it gets stolen by some Johnny-come-lately.”

Brian’s heart clenched. “The Aoelen has been taken.”“Yes, if that’s what it was. Taken about an hour ago. And the police are, apparently,

flummoxed as to how it was done. All they know is that they had two suspects in custody andthey were both released this morning. Unless you’ve got a cast iron alibi for the past twohours, you’ve just become a prime suspect, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve been at home. Alone. Damn.” Brian thought quickly. He couldn’t be arrestedagain. “Stephen –“

“I know. I know you’re onto something. Do you need any money?”“I’ve got plenty of cash.”“Then find a nice deep foxhole and stay there until they figure this out. Take care of

yourself.”As soon as he hung up Brian grabbed his old leather pack that had crossed continents

with him and started stuffing his belongings into it. He could only think of getting to Antilly’shouse.

It only took him a minute to pack, and shove Emily’s revolver, which had beenreturned to him after being bailed, into his belt. He took one, brief, regretful look around hisroom, then left. As he stepped out of the elevator downstairs, he saw two of the local police

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speaking to the man behind reception and ducked away, leaving out of the side door. He heldthe door open a crack after going through it, and saw them taking the elevator he had just left.He had just been in time.

Brian turned away from the door, his heart pounding. All he could do now was hopehis luck held out.

“Antilly!”Brian knocked hard on the door again. But deep inside he knew it was useless: he had

been knocking for five minutes with no answer. He turned away, dispirited. This had been hislast chance.

Then it occurred to him that there might be something in the house that could givehim a clue. Maybe they had left him a message. He smiled at the irony as he realised hewould probably have to break in to find anything useful.

Going around to the back, where he found a perfectly manicured garden and lushlawn, Brian noticed, to his surprise, that one of the large glass-panelled doors leading into thehouse had been left open. The past few days had taught him to be cautious: he took a grip on

the revolver as he stepped up to the open door and peered into the house. It was dark, andcool.“Hello?”Perhaps they had been forced to flee as he had, he wondered, but it seemed unlikely,

unless something else had happened to make them leave.Brian walked slowly down the main hallway to a sweeping set of stairs at the end,

listening carefully as he went. But there was no sound of anyone in the house. He startedopening doors, looking for anything helpful. There was the dining room, no sign of dishes.Here a small living room. And then a library, with perhaps half a dozen bookcases.

Brian lingered in the doorway a moment, then gave into temptation and went inside.Each bookcase was laden with books, some of them heavy tomes. He read their spines,familiar with most of the works, which were natural philosophy, psychology, and some

popular novels. He was beginning to lose interest when he saw a smaller bookcase tucked intoa corner where the books looked different, somehow.

He went over to take a look, and ran his finger along the shelf, a new wave of excitement rising as he read the titles. A History of the Sentinel, Volume II. Brief Notations onthe Use of Harmony and Melody in Magics , the ‘brief notations’ filling a book almost four inches thick. The Founding of the Port of Marcuria and Its Impact on the Northlands. Acrossthe C’hangangriel Desert. Riddles from the Draic Kin…

Brian pulled one of the books down and realised it was relatively new, not threadbareand dusty as he had somehow imagined. Someone had put a new cover on it. He flickedthrough it and saw that it was in another language, with extensive notations in English. Atranslation... He read the unfamiliar characters, breathing how he imagined they might sound.He could scarcely believe that he was holding a book written under otherworldly skies, in alanguage whose origins and speakers were steeped in mystery.

Fascinated, he leafed through the book, and came across a line drawing. Brian turnedthe book around and stared at a sketch, a drawing of some kind of winged creature with

broad, bat-like wings, large soft-tipped ears and intelligent eyes. He ran a finger across the page, as if he could slide his hand through the drawing and touch what it depicted.

He was beginning to turn the page when he heard a sound from upstairs. Startled, heturned, sliding the book back onto the shelf, listening. It came again, a quiet thud.

Leaving the library Brian headed across to the stairs and listened. For a second hewas tempted to call out, but some inner instinct warned him against it. Taking hold of hisrevolver, he placed one foot on the bottom stair, then quietly advanced towards the secondfloor.

He was approaching the landing when there was a loud cry, a cry of pain. BeforeBrian could react there was a crash and someone was thrown through a door on the right hand

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side, falling in a heap. Brian ran forwards but as he reached the top stair there was a deepsnarl from behind the broken door, a familiar noise that clenched his throat and heart.

“Westhouse –“ Hannah was lying on the carpet, trying to get up. Blood was runningdown her face and her blouse was stained. “Westhouse, run-!”

The snarl deepened into a roar and Brian saw, in the room beyond, a great mass of dust and teeth and rumbling terror as the Beast he had seen at the café came towards him. Itseemed bigger this time, more potent, more present – and the terrible eyes that turned his wayand narrowed were filled with recognition.

His breath coming hard and fast, Brian realised he had no idea what to do. Last time itwas Emily who had banished the creature…

Emily. He remembered the revolver she had left for him, the strange bullets it wasloaded with. He had no idea if it would work but he had no time to think about it: the creaturewas already coming towards him. He raised the revolver and fired three times.

The result was nothing like he had expected. There was barely any recoil from thegun, just a strange, thin, foaming sound as three straight blue lines like lightning were etched

briefly into the air. The projectiles splashed into the Beast, leaving three glowing patches like blue stars. The creature let out an angry hiss, rearing back, and then, abruptly, dissolved into

nothingness. Nothing was left but a few dust motes floating midair.Brian lowered the gun, wary, before a choking cough from Hannah drew hisattention. She was holding her chest and coughing deeply. As he knelt beside her she doubledup, her breath catching in her throat.

“Hannah. Where are you hurt?”She threw her hair back and he saw a rivulet of blood running from her lips.

“Everywhere…”He let her lean back against his arm. “What happened?”“The creature…it was set on us. David’s dead…killed him first. It’ll be back, you

only drove it off…it’ll be back. You have to leave.”“Who set the Beast on you?”Her vision seemed to clear, and for the first time she smiled at him without scorn. “It

was Phillip.”Brian couldn’t believe his ears. “Antilly?”Hannah nodded weakly. “He’s an infiltrator. A Vanguard agent –“ She gripped her

chest again and let out a low moan.“Vanguard -?”Hannah took several deep breaths. “The Sentinel…guards the Balance in the

Arcanum. The Vanguard…twin to the Sentinel...they are the guardians here in this world.They are the…enemy…and not.” She coughed, hard. “What they seek is…not what we seek.They are our brothers and our destroyers…”

Brian let her lie down on the carpet. He understood little of the specifics of what shehad told him, but the meaning was clear – a traitor in their midst. “And Emily?”

“A Shifter, her powers aren’t fully trained…she’s an innocent. Antilly…used her.Used us. You too. He…tried to manipulate her to steal the Aoelen. Told us the other thief wasVanguard…when he was really on our side.” She laughed, sardonically, seemingly heedlessof the blood now running from her mouth.

“Hannah, the Aoelen is gone from the museum.”Her laughter faded. “Emily. Must have been. She doesn’t know what Antilly is…or

she’d have died before helping him.”“Where can I find her?”“Antilly kept her…out of the way when…she got…you involved. Had some of his

pets keep her occupied while…while you tried to steal the Aoelen…told her it was theVanguard trying to stop her.” She let out a sound of pain. “He told us everything before heleft us alone with that thing. Lousy bastard!”

“Hannah, where is Emily? ”She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t…” She was shaken by another fit of

coughing, the worst yet. When it was over Brian could see a deathly pallor stealing over her.

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“I’ll call you a doctor.”“I’ll be dead by then.” Her voice was becoming calm, distant and clear, as Emily’s

had been when Brian drank the opiate. “Feels like…passing through already. I can…” She letout a tired sigh. “I can see. So many things…the Tower. I wish I had seen the Tower, justonce...”

Brian held her hand. He could smell blood, coming stronger now. “You’ll see it,Hannah.”

She turned her head and looked at him. “Get away, Brian. The Beast will return.And…”

He waited for her to finish her sentence. After a time he realised she was dead.Weighed down by sorrow, Brian gently closed her eyes, and began making his way

downstairs, leaving her on the landing, bloodied, hands folded over her chest like a martyr.

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VI

The second Brian set foot outside Antilly’s front door, two things happened in quick succession. Firstly, he saw one of the dusty automobiles the local police used turning thecorner of the street. And secondly, someone clamped a hand over his mouth and yanked himinto the shrubbery beside the front door.

Brian managed only a squawk of noise before he was shoved down into the narrowgap between the shrubbery and the wall. The hand was still over his mouth: then it wasremoved and he saw the owner of the hand, crouched beside him. It was Manny Chavez.

“You?” hissed Brian. “What the hell are you doing here?”“Saving you from incarceration, my friend,” Chavez whispered back. “Stay low.”With that he slipped out of the shrubbery and away. Brian was tempted to leave then

and there, but in the end he decided to hold back. Chavez was his one remaining link toEmily, his last chance to find her, not to mention the Aoelen. His conversation with Hannahwas burned into his mind. He wanted to find Antilly more than ever, but now it was for a

particular and painful purpose.After a few minutes of waiting, there was a mere rustle of leaves and Chavez

reappeared, his movements surprisingly smooth and quiet for a man his size. “It seems theyhave decided to pay the owner of the house a visit.”Brian gulped. “There’s at least one body in there.”Chavez nodded, as if this didn’t surprise him. “Then it would be wise if we were not

found here.” He looked through the leaves. “Hmm. Just three of them. How fast can yourun?”

“Fast enough.”“Good man.” Chavez beckoned him closer and pointed through the shrubbery to a

small house across the street, with a narrow alleyway running alongside it. “Run for therewhen I tell you.”

Brian listened to the police speak to each other about Antilly’s open door, then to themovement of their footsteps. An instant later he felt Chavez’s hand clap him on the shoulder

and he burst from the shrubbery, sprinting across the street, past an astonished street vendor as he did so, never slowing until he was skidding to a halt in the alleyway, catching his breath.

Chavez was at his shoulder a moment later. “We should be safe here for themoment.”

Brian looked up at Chavez, who was patting his pockets and drawing out a packet of cigarettes. The man was wearing the same clothes from last night, but this time he wascarrying a large pack with an assortment of items tied on it, and wearing sturdy walking

boots.“Who are you?” Brian asked.“I told you. Manuel Chavez, Manny to my friends.” Chavez drew on his cigarette as

if he was smoking the elixir of life.“You know about the Arcanum. And…‘Shifters’.”Chavez shrugged. “Knowledge is a valuable thing.”“Oh, really. Did you know Antilly was a Vanguard infiltrator?”“Not until an hour ago. But what is more pressing here and now is knowledge

concerning the whereabouts of Miss Emily Wolfe and the Aoelen.”“Do you know where to find her? She’s checked out of her hotel room.”“Oh, Miss Wolfe will be headed out of the city by now. And she’ll be with Phillip

Antilly…willingly or otherwise.”Brian felt cold. “My god. She’s in terrible danger. If she finds out who Antilly is and

what he’s done, he’ll kill her.”Chavez shook his head, throwing the end of his cigarette on the ground. “No, my

friend. Antilly needs her alive. For now, anyway.”“Then we have to find her!”

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“Which makes it a good thing I ran across you, my friend, a very good thing.” Chavezreached into his pack and brought out a compass that was badly battered and scratched. Heshook it experimentally. “Hold out your hand.”

Brian eyed him suspiciously. “How do I know this isn’t part of another doublecross?”

Chavez sighed. “Mr Westhouse, I am a talented man, but I need your help. I give youmy word as a gentleman that I am here to assist you. But I feel I must point out that if youcannot bring yourself to trust me, then Emily Wolfe will be dead within a matter of days.”

Brian swallowed. He was loath to trust anyone after discovering how Antilly hadduped him, and what horrific events it had led to. But there was nothing else he could do.Time was running out. And if it all went to hell, there were still three rounds left in therevolver.

He slowly held up his hand, palm flat.Chavez laid the compass on his hand. “Now, hold an image of Emily in your mind.”He closed his eyes and visualised the first time he had met her, standing under the

lamppost, smoking, a delicate honey-blond woman who told a magnificently wonderful tale.Chavez begun saying something under his breath, a soft run of words that were kith and kin to

the ones Emily had spoken to banish the Beast.Sudden warmth on his palm made him open his eyes, and he gasped with shock to seethe compass glowing a bright, vibrant blue, the colour of lightning. As he watched, awestruck,and Chavez continued whispering, the compass slowly levitated from his hand, hovering likea firefly. The needle was circling, the tip burning white, until it finally stopped, pointingroughly east.

“Hmm.” Chavez reached out and took hold of the compass. The light faded at onceand it was just an old army compass again.

Brian found his voice. “The train station is in that direction.”Chavez put the compass away and hoisted his pack more comfortably. “Then it

appears we have a train to catch.”

The train station was crowded as usual, the smell of dust and sweat and animals envelopingthem as they came closer. Brian saw smoke from one of the antiquated trains rising over thewaiting room, and picked up his pace. Emily could be on that train.

“Right, my friend,” said Chavez, as they dodged out of the way of a group of goats being herded away towards the city. “You take a look with that journalist’s eye and see if youcan pick them out in the crowd. We’ll meet -” He pointed to a battered tin sign in French thatwas nailed to a telegraph pole. “Under there. Ten minutes.”

“And what are you going to do?”Chavez grinned. “Mingle.”Brian gave up, and headed into the station. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he

scanned the mass of people, meeting, greeting, arguing, shaking hands, bartering. He tried toshut out every face but Antilly’s seamed smile or Emily’s delicate features, but there was nosign of either of them, no one with honey-blond hair or a black sling.

But as he wandered towards the sign nailed up on the telegraph pole, he saw Chavezwalking briskly toward him. “Ah. We have a sighting. Mr Antilly and a female friend. Theyleft about an hour ago, heading north.”

“Then we’d better get a move on. I’ll get the tickets.”Like a magician doing a trick – and, Brian reflected, such phrases would always make

him wonder from now on – Chavez produced two tickets from the inside of his jacket. Briancouldn’t help noticing the notations on them. First class tickets. He supposed nothing aboutthis man should surprise him any more.

“No time to waste,” was all he said, with a nod.

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First class turned out to be shabby, but comfortable. And, to Brian’s relief, it was quiet. Hisexperience of travelling on trains was generally of third class, or, when he was really hard up,the cargo trucks. Alone, he would probably have been travelling with the animals. But insteadhe had Chavez as a travelling companion.

A mysterious companion about whom he knew nothing, currently sitting there on theseat opposite, fanning himself with his hat.

As the train began creakily pulling out of the station, Chavez reached into a pocketand pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. As he began drawing one out, Brian reachedover and plucked it out of his hands. “Whatever’s in those makes my head spin.”

Chavez watched as Brian tossed the packet on the floor. “Oh, it is a hard heart thatdenies an old man his comforts.”

“I don’t think you’re that old, Chavez.” Brian offered one of his own cigarettes, a peace offering. “Not that it really matters what I think. These days most of my ideas seem to be wrong.”

“Rest easy, Mr Westhouse. Antilly had all of us fooled.” Chavez puffed awaycontentedly. There was a companionable silence while the train drew away, heading out of the city.

Brian put his feet up on the seat opposite and leaned back. “Tell me about theArcanum.”Chavez let out a long sigh. “Mr Westhouse, such a question!”“I know, it’s another world not another country. Emily told me the same thing. But…

I have to know.” Brian saw Chavez’s expression and ploughed on. “There were books, inAntilly’s house. About…oh, I don’t know. Places in the Arcanum like –“ He tested his

pronunciation. “Marcuria. The…C’hangangriel desert.” He watched Chavez’s face but theman was looking out of the window. He tried another tack. “They talked about the Sentinel.And Hannah…she mentioned something else. The Balance?”

Chavez was still smoking, silent.Brian began losing his temper. “Damn you, I’m not some hapless bystander any

more! I’m in this, up to my neck, and, god help me, I’ve never felt so alive! You’re not

dragging me along, I’m running at your shoulder. I want answers. Just – draw me a map or something! Give me some sort of explanation!”

Chavez’s eyes were glinting. But he finished his cigarette, leisurely, then opened his backpack and drew out a paper bag. Brian watched in confusion and annoyance as he openedit and took out a nice, plump orange.

He held it up, and spoke as if reciting something. “In the beginning was the Earth, aworld where both magic and science held sway. There was great learning and great peace.And then it was broken, by treachery, by prejudice, and by greed.”

He took out a flick knife and cut the orange in half. “The wisest decreed that theworld be split in two.” He held up one half of the orange. “A world of science.” Then theother half. “And a world of magic.”

Brian blinked. Chavez nodded. “Yes, it is confusing. To make this a true example,there should be two oranges rather than two halves. Twin worlds, Mr Westhouse. Not someotherworldly plane. The Arcanum is an echo and a reflection of this world – but whole andcomplete in itself.” Chavez balanced the halves in his palms, like scales. “And they areseparated by what it called the Divide, held in Balance. What happens in one world affects theother.” Gravely, he offered one half of the orange to Brian.

He took it and peered at it. “So…when we had the Great War here, there was a GreatWar in the Arcanum?”

Chavez appeared to contemplate this. “Perhaps not. But some great event, or manysmall ones, just as devastating.” He bit into his half of the orange. “Mmm.”

“And the Sentinel and the Vanguard…they…what? Watch over this Balance to makesure nothing goes wrong?”

“In a way.” Chavez nibbled the last of the flesh from the orange and dropped the peelon the floor. “Enough for now.”

“But I –“

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Chavez held up a finger. “Mr Westhouse. I am not a young lion like yourself. Irequire sleep, especially after the events of the past few days. And as you have deprived me of my cigarettes, I must refresh myself in other ways. Wake me when we reach the next station.”

Brian watched as Chavez tipped the hat over his eyes and appeared to doze. Therewere a dozen questions churning in his head, but he tried to shove them aside for now.

Someone had left a newspaper on the seat beside him, but it was written in Cyrillic.Tossing it aside, Brian looked inside his pack to see if he had brought anything to read. Hisheart rose when his hand found a book down in the bottom, which he must have left in therefrom his last trip. When he brought it out, he was looking at an old copy of Aleister Crowley’s The Satanic Bible.

Brian looked at it. Once he had read it voraciously, drinking in stories of demons andmagical ceremonies. It was dog-eared, annotated, a well loved volume.

He stood up and went to the window. The mechanism was stiff and he had a timeopening it without waking Chavez, but he was able to open it sufficiently to draw his arm

back and fling the book outside. Then he sat back down, his elbow propped on the sill, andsettled down to think.

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VII

The train pulled in at a tiny, dusty way station after several hours of travel. While most of the passengers left to squabble and fight over supplies in the local store, Brian and Chavezcornered one of the locals and asked about Emily. After several such conversations theylearned that a man with his arm in a sling and his travelling companion had indeed stoppedthere, but taken the next train out.

“We should not be too far behind,” Chavez consoled Brian.Before catching their train Brian went into the store, which had been cleaned out by

hungry passengers, and bartered like a rug dealer, coming away with some decent cheese and bread, two bottles of whiskey – Glenfiddich, no less; Brian didn’t lessen his glee by askingwhere it had come from – and a map. Brian looked at the route the railway was taking. Indeedit was heading north, out of India in fact.

What the hell, I’m wanted for jumping bail anyway, he told himself, and folded themap up again, heading out into bright sunshine to find Chavez. The man was forever wandering off. He eventually found him on the platform, talking animatedly with the bored-looking ticket clerk.

He came away from the conversation looking grim. “My friend, we may have sometrouble.”“Like we don’t have enough already.”“Antilly was asking about how the weather is in the north. Toward Tibet. He asked if

the passes would be open.”“Tibet?”“Yes. You forget how late in the year it is, this Indian weather. True Indian summer,

hmm?”“Why would Antilly be going to Tibet?”“Who knows?” Chavez spoke with a shrug, but Brian caught his expression as he

turned away, and knew that Chavez had an idea.But he wasn’t daunted by the idea of travelling so far. After all, travel was his life.

And, it seemed, Chavez’s. Both of them were at home on the road, for whatever reason.

“Tell me more.”Chavez was reading what looked like an Egyptian newspaper, of all things, that he

had got somehow or other at the last station. “Ah, more warmongering rubbish. You’re a journalist, is there no other news but war in the world? Where is the good news?” Hesmacked the paper as if to chastise it for its bad choice in world events.

“Please. Tell me more about the Arcanum.”Chavez lowered the newspaper, a small smile on his face. “Were you the child that

always asked, Papa, why is the grass green or Papa, how does the sun work?”“You told me Emily is a Shifter. Hannah said the same thing, and that her powers

were untrained. What is a Shifter?”“I told you. The waking dreamers.” Chavez raised the paper again.Brian wanted to scream with exasperation. “And that means -?”“Shifters. They Shift between.”“Between…you mean, between here and the Arcanum?”“Yes. Matre de dios, look at this. Stock market collapse…” He tut-tutted. “This is

American overconfidence, you see.”“You mean that Emily can travel between worlds?”“Of course. How do you think the Aoelen got here in the first place?”“What, Emily –““No no no, not Emily. Another Shifter. Dead now, so sad.” Chavez lowered the paper

and tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. “Bad choice in stepsons. Let that be a lessonto us all.”

Brian drew in a ragged breath. “Dawson. Richard Dawson was a Shifter?”

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“Yes. Tricked into bringing the Aoelen, I might add. A good man, but aging andlosing his abilities, otherwise he would have taken it back. As it was he did the next bestthing. He had a good eye for Shifters, hired Emily to keep an eye on it until her powers could

be trained. And donated it to the museum in the meantime so she could get it at her convenience.” Chavez looked at Brian. “Forward thinking, you see. Dawson was a man wholiked planning. But Shakespeare…he had something to say about well-laid plans. Mostexcellent bard. Have you ever seen Titus Andronicus? ”

“No.”Sensing Chavez’s desire to change the subject, Brian played along while he chewed

over these new titbits, discussing Shakespeare, proceeding from there to women and romanticescapades – of which Chavez seemed to have had an endless supply – and on to other matters.

North.They stopped at every station to ask about Emily. And every time they got the same

answer: she and Antilly had stopped for a while to stretch their legs, bought supplies, and thengone on, the same route, always just a few hours ahead. After three days of such

investigation, Brian grew tense and irritable, dipping into the whiskey one night andregretting it deeply in the morning. Every jolt of the train was like a slamming vault door.After that he was careful to drink in moderation.

The air was becoming crisper and cooler, which both of them relished after India’ssearing heat. It did, however, bring to their notice that they needed thicker clothes. Briantraded for warmer coats in one of the little towns they passed through, but cold wind started tocreep through gaps in the slats of the train nonetheless, especially at night. Brian took tosleeping with his feet on the seat.

“Ah, a thin blooded Southerner,” Chavez laughed one morning, at the sight of Brianshivering as he washed his face under a pump.

“I’m from Boston and I once lived in Russia. It’s from staying in one place too long.”Brian dried his face, the scrape reminding him he needed a shave. “Don’t think I didn’t notice

you buying wool socks two stops back. Where are you from?”Chavez chuckled again and fixed his cigarette between his teeth. “Everywhere, my

friend.”And it might well have been true. Chavez was a good travelling companion when it

came to diversions. He knew about everything and had a soapbox for each subject. Brian wasshocked by the man’s mind: it seemed to soak up knowledge like a sponge. He could quote

page after page of Shakespeare and Middleton, speak in several languages and read at leastfive, discuss philosophy and politics, and in the same breath start an argument about the bestway to cook an omelette. He was also an accomplished chess player, to Brian’s delight, andthey had an ongoing game – on paper – which swiftly turned into an epic struggle when thelandscape was dragging by.

The only subject he was less than voluble about, and seemed to have little interest in,was the Arcanum or anything related to it. Brian was reduced to prying details out of himwith the particular patience and memory of a journalist, doggedly asking and asking again.Chavez either replied cryptically or ignored him, which drove Brian out of his mind withcuriosity and frustration.

But one evening, when the train was pulling slowly through the darkness, Brianlooked through the window and saw the lights of a village in the distance, and sighed at thesight of it. “God, I love seeing new places, even like this. The first thing I’ll do in theArcanum is find somewhere high and just drink it in.”

Chavez peered over the book he was reading. “Ah, Mr Westhouse. The inveteratewanderer. But sadly some places are not for you to wander.”

Brian turned from the window. “What are you talking about?”“To reach the Arcanum, one must pass through the Divide, yes? But only a Shifter

can pass through the Divide.”It was like the bottom dropping out of his world. “- Only Shifters?”

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Chavez nodded solemnly. “And no free rides, I’m afraid.”Brian swallowed and turned back to the window. Then to Chavez again. “How does

one become a Shifter?”“Unlike so many other things in this world, Shifters are born, not made, my friend.”

Born, not made…The spines of the books in Antilly’s library, words that burned in his soul. Emily’s

voice, driving off the Beast. Chavez’s whispers that levitated the compass, magic burningabove his hand like living light.

Glimpses of a world whose doors had just been slammed in his face forever.“Why…why didn’t you mention this before?”Chavez’s voice was gentle and sympathetic. “I thought you understood.”A lifetime of yearning. Then a week with every day littered with miracles. Magic

existing, Shifters walking the earth, great Beasts that roared, true heroes.And finally to graze a new world with the tips of his fingers, and have it snatched

away.Oh god, no.“Is there any other way?”

“No. Oh, Brian, my friend –“It was the first time Chavez had addressed him as such and something cracked insidehim as the full realisation sunk in, that he was doomed to walk the earth forever exiled fromthis place, forever shut out because he had been used, drawn in by his desperate need. Andthen cast away, his dreams destroyed. A last and most horrible failure, to have the one thinghe wanted more than anything yanked away…

Chavez was speaking but Brian couldn’t hear what he was saying. Covering his facewith his hands, he felt the dampness on his unshaven cheeks and abruptly knew what it meantto truly despair.

His depression sank in like a blade and he barely spoke for the next day and a half. He read

concern in Chavez’s eyes but he didn’t care. The next station was in a large town that had asizeable bar. Brian took his remaining cash, ditched Chavez, and went on a binge.

He drank incessantly for several hours until the world became more and more fuzzy.He ended up slumped over a table, stretching his hand out for his latest whiskey through acrystal forest of empty glasses – perhaps they had such things in the Arcanum? but he wouldnever know – until he felt something tugging at his collar. He ignored it and concentrated allhis will on taking hold of the glass.

Then something new. Cold air. His glass was gone. He struggled feebly but the boozehad made him weak as a kitten.

Icy cold water closed over his head and Brian was suddenly aware he couldn’t breathe. He began fighting hard, and the water swam down and he could gulp in air, and thenhe was plunged back down. He thought he was dying. When he was dunked for a third timehe mustered enough strength to break free. He fell and hit solid ground, painfully, tastingearth. Brian turned over and more water hit him in the face like a slap.

“Sober yet, my friend?”“Chavez, you son of a bitch. Just leave me alone.”“I told you I needed you, and I still do. This foolishness does no one any good.”“It does me good!” Brian struggled up on his elbows. “You don’t know what I’ve

lost. My whole life…”He was grabbed again and his face shoved back in the icy water. This time, when he

got free, he took a swing at Chavez, only to have his fist swatted aside by a strength he wouldnever have guessed from the older man.

“Get the hell off me.”“You listen to me, you young idiot. You listen to me. You’re in pain, I respect that.

But no more of this self indulgence when we have hard work and a long road ahead.”Brian looked up at him. “You bastard, I…I rue the day I ran into you.”

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“Brian –““You destroyed me, you bastard, you hateful bastard!”Chavez bent down and grabbed his jaw. The fingers were like steel springs. “One

more word, my friend, and I swear by the Balance and by the Kin I will drown you. Now shutup and listen to me.”

Brian knew he was fully capable of doing it, too. He let the water drip out of his hair and down his neck.

“It is hard for a man to lose his dream. Trust me, I know. I have lost many things inmy life. And I will lose many more. It is hard to give up what you love. And I know you seek to lose yourself, to excise that part of you which hurts and cast it away, like a surgeonremoving a limb. But do that and you are worse than dead. You are a strong man, BrianWesthouse, and this weakness does not become you.”

“You don’t understand what I feel,” Brian whispered.“What, to never be able to set foot on Arcadian soil? To never feel its breezes, see its

wonders…” Chavez’s face softened. “I understand what it is to be barred from a place youdesire above everything else. Trust me on that.”

He sat down beside Brian and sighed. “But the worlds are stranger than we can

imagine, my friend. There are advances in this world that continue to surprise me. Who cantell what the Arcanum holds? Perhaps there is a way. We can only seek, and hope.”Brian looked at him. “…there might be a way?”“I have never heard of a non-Shifter passing through the Divide. But…there must

always be explorers, must there not? Pioneers? Men…and women…who dare what others saycannot be done?” Chavez clapped him on the shoulder. “You seem to me to be a singular man, Brian.” He chuckled. “And a damnably stubborn one, if nothing more. You strike me asa man keen to make a mark on uncharted territory.”

Brian managed a smile. “Aren’t we seeking enough already without me adding to our search?”

“Ah.” Chavez made a dismissive gesture as he stood up. “We must always havesomething to spur us on. For example, the damsel we have set out to rescue?”

He extended a hand to Brian. After a moment Brian slapped his hand back down intoit and let himself be drawn up. “Thank you…Manny.”

Chavez grinned widely. “Don’t thank me yet.”Away from the bar, Chavez took a bottle out of his pack, mixed some drops from it in

a beaker of water and made Brian drink it down. It was ferociously bitter but Brian swallowedit all, punishing himself for losing time. After that Chavez dosed him with bitter coffee andherbs, and finally forced him to get some sleep.

The sunlight assaulted his eyes the next morning, but Brian felt relatively clear headed, and calmer. He could barely meet Chavez’s eye, but his friend was jovial as ever,chatting about nothing and everything as if the night before had never happened. They caughtthe earliest train, knowing Emily and Antilly had a good start on them, and continued their chess game for much of the journey.

Once, Brian looked out of the window at the rising sun, over the peaks which weresteadily growing steeper the further they travelled, watching golden radiance seep over theworld, igniting the snow, filling the world with peace and light. He breathed in a deep breathof the crisp air, feeling as if he had died last night and been reborn.

At their next stop they received grim intelligence.“Ah, the young lady and her friend,” said the woman they spoke to, asking the

questions that had become routine. “Yes. They were here. Then they speak to a man in thevillage, about going into the mountains. They leave this morning.”

She left with a smile and a sheaf of Brian’s money. He looked at Chavez. “So.”“So. Onward and upward.”

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VIII

The mountains of Tibet were high, practically inaccessible, and bitterly cold, even for earlywinter. Brian and Chavez were told by the local guide that if they were planning to tryexploring them – foolish foreigners! – they would need a multitude of equipment, plus mules.

“Maybe they’re just going for one of the mountain villages,” Brian suggested, butChavez shook his head, confirming his suspicions that Chavez knew more than he was tellingabout where Antilly and Emily were going.

“We’ll take the best you have to offer,” Chavez told the guide. Brian sucked in a breath when he heard the price, but Chavez patted the guide on the shoulder and launched intoa short monologue in a language Brian didn’t understand. The guide clearly did: he blanchedslightly, distinctly complimented Chavez on his command of the local tongue, and halved hisoriginal offer.

Both of them were smiling as they started loading up their mules.“What on earth did you say to him?” Brian asked, in a low voice.“Ah, nothing. Just a few questions about his family. His parentage, especially.”They left the village laden down with provisions, enough food and water and

firewood to last them a long while. They made good time and were ten miles out of thevillage by nightfall, questions along their route leading their way.As Brian built up the fire and Chavez prepared a meagre meal, Brian could feel one

question rising in his mind, one which hadn’t really occurred to him before.“-Manny.”“Yes.” He was lighting a cigarette with a twig from the fire.“What is the Aoelen, and why is it so important?”Chavez drew on his cigarette, then took a sip of water, offered the canteen to Brian.

“Ah.” He settled back. “The Aoelen. Do you recall the orange?”Brian nodded. “Twin worlds.”“So.” Chavez drew a bread roll from their bag of provisions, dug in his thumbs and

broke it in two. “One Earth, twin worlds. The Arcanum and ours. Split in ancient times. But it

is prophesied –“ He put the two halves together, so they fitted. “One day, when humanity iswiser and gentler, as it once was, but better.”

“There will be just one Earth, then? Magic and science together?”“Just so. And the time is drawing near. –Well, geologically speaking,” Chavez added,

seeing the look on Brian’s face. “Not in this century, unfortunately.”“I understand. But what does this have to do with the Aoelen? I mean, I know it’s a

scroll case, but what’s in it that is so important? David warned me not to open it, on anyaccount…”

“Wise man, God rest his soul.” Chavez smoked peacefully. “The Aoelen contains thescrolls detailing the magics and scientific theorems necessary to unite the worlds once more,when the time comes.”

Brian sat in silence, absorbing this for a moment. Not just a random artefact fromanother world, then, but something gravely important, vital to future endeavours.

“Why does Antilly want it?”“In the Arcanum, the Sentinel guard the Balance, tell the stories, remind the people of

the events of the past. But here the Vanguard, the brothers of the Sentinel, have a differentview on the teachings. They believe the worlds should be reunited, now.” Chavez tapped ashfrom his cigarette. “But the worlds are not yet ready.”

Brian imagined it: unicorns running down Fifth Avenue, sea monsters in theMediterranean, mages and wizards debating in Parliament. “I see what you mean.”

“Humans…we humans…need to learn responsibility. There will be…lessons, Ithink.” Chavez sighed. “Hard lessons.” He glanced at Brian. “We will learn. But we have notlearned yet. And the Vanguard does not accept that. With the Aoelen, they could reunite theworlds…”

“But surely – there must be some kind of fail-safe. To stop them doing it.”

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“Just so. The Aoelen can only be opened by two people: a member of the Sentineland a member of the Vanguard, acting in peaceful accord. Balance, you see. It holdseverywhere. Had you tried to open it alone…”

Brian twitched at the unfinished sentence. “Then we’re safe.”“Not necessarily. Emily is a member of the Sentinel, remember, though she is not a

Minstrum, and Antilly is most likely a high-ranking member of the Vanguard. If Emily stilltrusts him, it is possible they could open it. But I doubt they could use what is inside.”

Brian stood up and wandered around a bit, thinking. “But that doesn’t make anysense. They could have done that in Calcutta.”

“Had it not been for my presence. Antilly no doubt guessed, correctly, that I wouldhave got to Emily and convinced her of Antilly’s intentions. I have to confess, I don’t knowwhat Antilly is planning. He is taking her to–“ Chavez broke off to puff his cigarette back tolife. “He has taken her away from civilisation, up into the mountains. Perhaps he intends tofinish her training and send her to Arcadia, to ransom the Aoelen. Or maybe he has somethingcompletely different in mind.”

“All the more reason to get to her quickly.” Brian crouched down beside the fire,looking into it.

“And now I have a question for you, Brian.”He turned, surprised. “Go on.”Chavez watched him with a steady gaze. “Are you in love with Emily?”Brian let out a slow breath. “That’s…some question...”“Oh, come now, my friend. I have been a good sport in answering yours.”He was silent for a long time. “She showed me the Arcanum. That’s something I can

never forget, a gift I can never repay. And she’s…she’s beautiful, and she saved my life. Idon’t know if I love her. But I don’t want anything bad to happen to her.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Chavez, but Brian tossed and turned for a while beforehe could sleep.

Onward and upward, then.Brian never got to enjoy riding the mule. It was a docile beast, and friendly enough,

but somehow Brian was more at home with bicycles and trains. Plus he was so tall that hisfeet barely cleared the ground when he was riding. Chavez, predictably, looked likesomething out of a novel by Cervantes, but nobler and more cheerful. He sang much of thetime, in a robust baritone, and Brian joined in enthusiastically once he learned the words,switching to the songs he had learned at sea and making Chavez laugh.

The mountains were getting more rocky as they began leaving the scrubby farmlandwhere hardy goats grazed far behind, and headed up, up and up toward the peaks they saw inthe distance. Brian liked to watch them at sunset despite the bitter cold, liked to see themountains dissolve into gentle pastels as the light faded. But he was not a complete romantic.He knew well that if they had to travel that far, they would need to be well prepared. Themountains would be punishing.

One night they made camp under a stand of trees and Chavez left to get freshfirewood while Brian rummaged in the provisions bag. A call from Chavez got his attentionand he followed the sound, one hand on his revolver in case of predators.

But it wasn’t what he expected. Chavez was standing deeper in under the trees,stirring the remains of a campfire with his boot. “Fresh.”

“It must be them. We’re getting close.”Chavez nodded. “We are making good time.”

A tiny farmstead on the outlands of the remotest village yet was their stop for supplies. It wassnowing hard, bringing darkness early, and Chavez got permission from the farmer to sleep inthe shelter used for the animals. Using Chavez as an interpreter, Brian asked about Emily,expecting the usual pointed finger and explanation of how long they had been gone. But to his

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surprise, the farmer nodded wisely, smiling. “Ah. The soldier and his lady friend. Beengone…an hour, perhaps?”

“An hour!”Chavez spoke rapidly to the farmer, then turned back, grimly. “He says they went up

the pass.”“Tonight? In this weather?”“He thinks they may have been arguing. Brian, we need to decide what to do.”Brian looked at the snow, now falling steadily, and at the darkening sky. But Emily

was out there too, with Antilly. And if they had been arguing, she was in even more danger than before.

But if he and Chavez got lost in the pass and froze to death, where would she be? Outthere alone with Antilly, no rescuers – that’s a laugh, some rescuers. An aging adventurer and an erstwhile journalist on the run…

“We may never have such a good chance to catch them in time, before they –““Before they what?”The farmer was eyeing them curiously, unable to comprehend the English.Brian looked Chavez in the eye. “There’s something you’re not telling me. About

where they’re headed.”“Sorry, my friend, I can’t discuss it.”“Manny, if I die out there in the snow, I don’t want my last thought to be ‘Now, what

the devil was Manny not telling me?’ If it’s important, then for goodness’ sake, share it. I’mnot risking my life over your reticence.”

Chavez took his elbow and gently took him aside. “Very well. There’s a place, asacred place, up in the mountains. There’s a monastery close by, the monks keep watch over it. It’s the site of the very first Shift between worlds. Shifters have extraordinary power there.”

“And you think Antilly is taking Emily to this place.”“Yes.”“For the love of – And you never thought to mention this?”

“I was hoping we would catch them first. But it makes little difference, as Emily’s powers are still untrained.”

“Unless Antilly is up to something.”“My thoughts exactly.”They regarded each other warily. Finally Brian rubbed a gloved hand over his eyes,

scrubbed his hair. “We can’t take the chance.”Chavez nodded once, solemnly. “I’ll saddle the mules.”

The weather was terrible. The snow was a white wall that blasted over them like icy grit.Brian wound his scarf around his mouth and nose, just leaving enough room to see where theywere going. Bundled up like an Arctic explorer, Chavez ploughed on ahead, leading the waywith his superior sense of direction and eyesight. Over one broad shoulder, Brian caughtglimpses of the shotgun Chavez was carrying, an aged beauty he had produced from his pack at the farm. Brian had no doubt, somehow, that Chavez was a crack shot, but he ferventlyhoped they wouldn’t need to find out.

Every step was hard. Shivering, Brian could feel his legs turning to ice, his hair freezing. The wind, tugging insistently at them, drove them mercilessly off course. Slowly,they left the farm behind and continued up the pass, deeper into the frozen silence of themountains. At any other time the sight of great peaks rising either side, up into frosted cloudand soft ash-grey sky, would have been awe-inspiring, but Brian found himself unable toappreciate it.

They trudged on, into the snowstorm and the gathering darkness.

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As night fell, and Brian was deciding he had been walking on through the freezing nightforever and his life before that was just wishful thinking, Chavez called a halt. First hesensibly shared a drink of brandy from his flask, then pointed with a gloved hand, forced toshout over the wind. “Down there!”

Brian squinted through the snow. They had been gradually cresting a rise for a while,and the pass sloped down and rolled away from them. And down there, in the deepening dark,he could see a black moving speck against the white. No – two black specks. And a flicker of

blue light he had come to recognise as characteristic of magic.Chavez looked at him. They both knew they had no element of surprise, and their best

hope now was to get them to stop. He held up a hand. “When I count to three!” He tuckedfingers down, one by one.

As the third finger was folded, Brian sucked in cold night air and released a cry,somehow amplified – no doubt Chavez’s doing, somehow – a cry that echoed down the pass,cutting through every other noise, a cry that didn’t sound like his voice, more like that of awarrior issuing a challenge.

“Annnn-tiiiilll-yyyy.”

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IX

As Brian and Chavez descended the pass, soaked and chilled to the bone, their mulescomplaining hoarsely, they could see Emily and Antilly more clearly. Brian could tell Emilywas pinched with cold, despite being wrapped up, laden down with backpack and her other equipment that Antilly, with his ruined arm, couldn’t carry. Antilly himself was shroudedunder an army greatcoat and thick wool clothing, barely visible in the gloom. The blue lightwas a little spark bobbing just ahead of Emily, presumably to light their way.

Brian had been fully expecting a gunshot, but he was not expecting it to come fromEmily. The round zipped past his mule’s head and the poor unprotesting soul, terrified out of his mind, reared. Unable to balance, Brian was dumped unceremoniously into six inches of snow, landing awkwardly.

“You shouldn’t have followed us!” Emily’s voice sounded clearly over the howl of the wind.

Chavez was off his mule in a second and helping Brian up, shotgun at the ready. “Areyou hurt, my friend?”

“No.”

“Phillip!” roared Chavez. “Enough of these games! Hide and seek only works for solong!”Antilly’s reply came out of a translucent world of snow and darkness. “And the

Vanguard know all about hide and seek, don’t they, Chavez! Or whatever you’re callingyourself!”

“Emily,” Brian shouted. “Emily, listen to me! Manny isn’t the Vanguard agent!Antilly is! He killed Hannah and David!”

Her reply was saddened. “Brian – I never thought they’d get to you!”Another gunshot flew over their heads. Chavez pushed Brian flat but it missed them

cleanly.“You’ll never have the Aoelen, you Vanguard bastards,” Antilly yelled, and a third

shot came their way. Brian heard a squeal of pain from Chavez’s mule and swore.

“Enough of this,” said Chavez, angrily, and stood up. To Brian he was a target thesize of a billboard for Antilly but he didn’t seem to care. He brought the shotgun to hisshoulder and fired twice. The report barked out through the mountains and Brian heard Emilycry out in shock. “Phillip, they’re armed –“

“Not for long,” Brian heard him reply grimly. Chavez dropped flat as Antilly firedagain. Brian scrabbled for his revolver and brought it to bear, but Chavez knocked it aside.“No, my friend. Save your ammunition, you’ll need it later.”

“But –““Chavez!” Emily’s voice came out loud and clear. “The Aoelen is ours! The

Vanguard will never lay hand on it before I breathe my last!”“They already have!” Chavez replied, but as soon as he spoke the snow kicked up

with another shot. His voice had betrayed his presence.“If Antilly is a member of the Sentinel,” Brian shouted, his voice hoarse with

shouting and the cold, “why does he need the Aoelen so badly?”“We’re taking it back to the Arcanum, where it belongs! Where you can never get at

it again!”“For the last time, we are not your enemy! The enemy is standing beside you, waiting

to stab you in the back like he did Hannah and David!”“He saved me! We had no time to save the others!”“Antilly killed them to control you,” Chavez shouted. Brian could barely see him in

the thickening weather despite him being only a few feet away. “Convenient, isn’t it, the onlyShifter in the local Sentinel is the only survivor!”

There was a pause. Brian thought he could hear Antilly speaking, urgent, persuasive.“ –never, ever hurt you or the others. I know this man, he’s a skilled liar, and –“

“Liar, am I?” Chavez’s voice was rich and loud. “This from a man with greatknowledge of them. Tell me, maestro of deceit, is this a lie?”

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As he spoke, Brian had completely lost sight of him in the storm. But at the end of thesentence, a great light welled up in the dark, not blue but rich red, like burning roses.

It was blindingly bright, and Brian was forced to shield his eyes. He could only hear Emily’s gasp of surprise and fright at whatever Chavez had revealed to her, and then Antilly’shoarse, angry roar -

“No! Never!”- and then two sounds that turned Brian’s heart, along with the rest of him, to ice: first

the crack of a gunshot and then Chavez’s grunt of pain as he was knocked back into the snow,the light fading as if it had never been. There was only his friend, lying in the snow, bloodseeping from a ragged hole in his leg, steaming gently in the cold.

“Jesus. Manny!”Chavez was clutching at the wound, but he was watching Brian with a calculating

eye. “Help her, my friend. She needs you far more than I…” His face clenched for a moment.Brian clamped a hand on his shoulder, unable to speak, then turned and plunged on

into the dark, hearing the sound of blows, of Emily screaming with terror.“He’s one of – He’s no Vanguard agent. Oh god, Phillip, you did it, you killed them!

Everything you ever said to me was a lie, a fucking lie!”

“Balance forgive me, I had to lie to you!” Brian heard the fury and desperation inAntilly’s voice. “I had to. None of you would understand. The worlds are crippled like this.We need the Aoelen…it’s time, Emily –“

“Shut up! Shut up! Save your propaganda!”Brian broke through the snow and saw them, Antilly crouched in the snow, unable to

balance with one arm. Emily was standing over him, trembling, her gun pointed at Antilly’shead.

“Emily, don’t!”She turned to him, her eyes wild. “You have no idea, Brian. No idea. What he

deserves…”“Emily, put your gun down. Please.” God, her hands were shaking so badly. She

could easily shoot him by accident. “Emily, for god’s sake, put it down!”

“And I helped him!” she screamed. “My compatriots, my friends – they died becauseof me! Both of us! He fooled me – talked to me about my powers…said…so many things. Somany lies…” She stared at Antilly. “So many…”

Brian loped closer, through the driving snow. “He would have done what he didwithout you, Emily. He used you. Don’t let him use you again to get off easily. We’ll takehim to justice.” His voice was softening. “You and me, and Manny. We’ll get out of here.There must be punishments for such as him. Come on, Emily. Put the gun down.” He waswithin a few feet of her, could see fresh blood running down Antilly’s face where she had

pistol-whipped him. “Come with me. You’re a sacred one, a Shifter. Not a killer.”He watched her, saw her shoulders soften slightly. “…Not a killer.”“No, no.” He stretched out a hand and laid it on the gun, steadied it, drew it aside.

“Come on. Let’s go home.”Emily let out a soft breath, a sob. “Home.” She lowered the gun.Antilly reacted like a striking snake. One booted foot slammed out and knocked

Emily off her feet. She fell back before Brian could catch her. Between one breath and thenext, Antilly was up and running off into the night.

Brian helped Emily sit up. “Are you hurt?”She winced. “No, just sore –““Emily. Does Antilly have the Aoelen?”She shook her head, unbuttoning her jacket just far enough to show him a glint of

serpentine silver.“Then go back and help Manny. He’s hurt.”“But –“ She looked bewildered. “Where are you going?”“I’m going after Antilly. This isn’t finished.”

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Snow blew down the pass in drifts, flakes stinging Brian like angry white bees. He could barely see. All he had to follow was Antilly’s ragged trail as he fled, deeper into themountains.

Brian had no intention of losing him now. Part of him wanted to believe he couldreason with Antilly yet. And something in his soul rebelled at leaving the man out there onthe mountain, in the dark, to die in a snowstorm.

After twenty minutes, Brian realised it was increasingly likely that he, too, was goingto die out here. His clothes were sodden and he was freezing cold. There was little feeling inhis feet any more, but he kept going, forging ahead.

“Antilly!”He cried out at intervals, but there was no reply. His voice grew increasingly thick

with the cold, until he was unable to speak at all, making only gasps as he went on, throughthe snow and the dark.

Finally, he stopped, in snow up to his knees, and tried to catch his breath. He had lostall track of time, and, worse, he had lost all sense of where he was or how far he hadtravelled. Brian looked behind him and saw, with a kind of tired acknowledgement, that hisown trail was filling with snow.

No way back.“No way back, Brian.”Antilly was a wavering shadow up ahead. Brian raised his head, wearily.“Phillip.” His tongue was a weight in his mouth as he tried to speak. “Listen. If we

stick together we can –““I’m sorry, Brian. I’m sorry you got dragged into this. But it has to end. It has to end

here and now.”With that, Antilly fell silent for a second and then Brian heard his voice again, rising

and falling, speaking strange words that seemed to jar together like striking flints. Then hekicked the snow, as Brian had in Boston streets during winter, when he was a boy, sending icecrystals up in a spray. But the spray swirled and coalesced as it never had in Boston, and drewsnowflakes and sleet and the icy cold into a vortex, a vortex that swelled and billowed, rising

up above Brian.The Beast, composed of ice and air, larger than he had ever seen it, opened eyes

burning like moonlight and let out a deep, throaty snarl.Brian backed off, as much as he was able, adrenaline shocking him out of his torpor.“Phillip, look, all I want to do is help you. Call it off.”“Can’t.” Antilly’s voice was dead and empty. “It’s all that works any more. Magic

and science…”The Beast raised a paw the size of an anvil, and swiped at Brian. He ducked, just in

time. Claws like stalactites of ice sliced the air an inch from his face.“Phillip!”The revolver. He could drive it off as he had before. Brian fumbled for it, but the cold

had seeped into his fingers and he dropped it. The Beast came at him before he could grab it,knocking him over with terrible force. Brian was flung back seven feet and was swamped bysnow. His muscles protested, even as the Beast swiped at him again. This time the paw hithim and knocked him over.

It was like being hit by a truck. He thought he felt something in his side give way.Brian struggled to his feet as the Beast roared, a blast of icy air that chilled him to themarrow. He tried to get to the revolver again but the Beast blocked his way and bared itsteeth, advancing.

“Antilly, call it off !”“A creature of nothingness. Nothingness. I tried to tell them, tried to show them how

much magic would benefit this world. No more Great Wars. Magic could bring us peace. Nomore horrors.”

Through a haze of grey, Brian watched the Beast as it rushed at him, claws slashing.He barely got aside in time, falling into a drift of snow as the Beast billowed around, an icestorm with teeth, looming over him.

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“But they wouldn’t listen.”The Beast pounced. Claws sank into Brian’s side, like frozen steel. He let out a long,

loud cry of agony. As it drew back momentarily he collapsed, feeling blood seeping out intothe snow, exhausted and knowing he was running on his last reserves.

He looked up and saw that the revolver was an inch from his fingers. Desperately hereached for it, closed his nerveless fingers on the stock. Turning, he saw the Beast coming athim. He fired twice, the rounds streaking away and striking the ghostly form as they had

before. But this time there were no lingering blue stars. The power of the bullets wasdissipated. The Beast let out a maddened roar and struck out again. Brian was tossed back again, the revolver knocked out of his hands.

His vision was failing. He knew he was going to die.Two huge, burning eyes swam before him, above a maw filled with icy teeth.

Through the Beast’s insubstantial body, Brian could see Antilly, a shadow amongst shadows.Almost curiously, the man reached down and picked up Brian’s revolver.

“Millions dead, Brian. Good men. The Vanguard could stop it all. Stop the nightmare before it begins. We’ve seen it. War on land, on sea, in the air. Nightmare upon nightmare.Waking dreamers in a sea of nightmares.”

He raised the revolver. Brian had only a moment left. He spent it in a prayer of thanksthat he would be shot before the Beast had a chance to tear him to pieces.“But I choose to finish dreaming.”The Beast leapt at him.There was a shot.And snow pattered down on Brian’s face, gentle as a kitten’s paw, as Antilly fell to

the ground, blood running down, the revolver sliding away from his temple.The wind blew the snow into fitful patterns, but there was nothing but white flickers

in the night.Somehow, Brian found the strength to stand.“I forgive you, Phillip.”Somehow, he began walking, one hand pressed to his side, wading through snow up

to his armpits, his throat closing up, walking on into the dark, completely lost. Somehow hewent on, and on, until the dark was finally complete, swallowing him up and dragging himdown.

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X

“Brian.”He stirred, then started, convinced he was back in the snows with Antilly. As soon as

he moved, the claw marks in his shoulder and the fresh wounds in his side forced him to keepstill.

“Shhh. It’s all right.”“Emily,” he managed.“It’s me. It’s me.” He felt her holding his hands. “You’re safe.”“Where -?”“A monastery up in the mountains. You need to rest.”“No, Manny, we need to be going,” he said quite distinctly, then lay back again.

When he woke the second time, he felt more awake, enough to take a bleary look around. Hewas in a long dormitory, the walls whitewashed, lying under warm wool blankets. The bedwas incredibly comfortable. Out of one of the low windows he could see snow falling.

There was a cup of water and a pitcher on a low table beside him. He managed to pick up the cup and drink half the water before he began feeling weak. As he lay back, hetried to decide whether he had really spoken to Emily or dreamed it, but he was asleep beforehe could decide.

“Good, you’re awake.” A man Brian didn’t recognise was checking the bandages on his side.“How do you feel?”

“Exhausted.”The man sat beside the bed. He was wearing homely grey clothes, with a white

overshirt. His hair was cut short and he had pleasant eyes. “I’m the doctor here. My name isLeir. You’re making a good recovery.”

“What happened to me?”“You were out in the snows. You almost died. Your friend Chavez pulled you out of

a snowdrift. He saved your life, without a doubt. He and a young lady, Miss Wolfe, broughtyou here.”

Hadn’t Manny been shot? Brian tried to remember, but it was mixed up with horrificimages of snow beasts with teeth and a man covered in blood.

“Is he all right?”“A little worse for wear, a leg injury, but he should be all right. He’s a tough one, and

so is Miss Wolfe.” Leir smiled. “And yourself, Mr Westhouse. You’ve been banged about,haven’t you?”

“Something like that.” He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Antilly’s face, theeyes lost and empty like the snow covered passes of the mountains.

Brian recovered gradually. It emerged that he had suffered a sprung rib, several badlacerations, acute hypothermia and a bad chest infection as well as a touch of frostbite in onefoot. To his shock he was told that he had been at the monastery for more than a week,recuperating, spending most of it sleeping.

One day he was visited by Chavez, who was limping but looked as cheerful and bright as ever. “Ah, my friend, my good friend!” He grabbed Brian in a powerful hug. It madehis chest and ribs ache, but Brian didn’t care: he was just glad to see Chavez was all right.

“I thought none of us would make it out alive.”“Such pessimism. Shocking in one so young.”Brian grinned as Chavez produced his flask of brandy and poured him a measure.

“Thank god. I need a drink. And a cigarette.” He tasted the brandy. It was like drinkingessence of autumn leaves.

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“Yes. To steady the nerves.” Chavez drank from the flask, then looked back at him,his eyes solemn for once. “What happened to Antilly? We couldn’t find him.”

“ –He shot himself.”Chavez nodded, once.Brian settled back against the pillows. “He really believed in what he was doing,

Manny. He thought magic could save mankind. That it could stop the Great War ever happening again. And…I can’t help wondering if he was right. Wondering if the human racewill just hate itself to death before anyone has a chance to put it straight.”

“The human race has guardians other than the Vanguard. Powerful guardians. TheVanguard…mean well but their methods are misguided. It will not happen the way they wantit to, but, some day, the worlds will be as one again.”

Brian let out a short laugh. “And put all the Shifters out of business.” He took another sip of brandy. “That reminds me. Where’s Emily?”

“Ah, Emily. She is in the library, researching.”“Researching what?”Chavez smiled as he got up to leave. “Ancient documents which you may find

intriguing. I haven’t forgotten what I told you back at the bar, my friend.”

Emily came to see him that evening. She was wearing clothes similar to those the doctor hadworn, and carrying a large book in her hands. Her hair was plaited down her back. She sat onthe chair beside the bed and took his hand.

“How are you feeling?”“Better, much better.”She smiled. “That’s a shame. I was hoping you’d be miserable so I could cheer you

up.”Brian couldn’t repress a smile of his own. “Manny said you’d been researching

something.”Emily nodded, and held up the book. It was the oldest tome Brian had ever seen. “I

had to get special permission from the abbot and delve into the archives to get it.”“What is it?”“A copy of a journal, kept by one of the monks here close to a thousand years ago. If

the copy’s in this state you can imagine what the original looks like by now. But theimportant part is here.” Emily leafed gingerly through the old pages.

“Important why?”“Because it appears to mention a man, a non-Shifter, passing through the Divide.”Brian felt a jolt like an electric shock. “Oh please, don’t be joking.”Emily shook her head, running her fingertip down the page. “This is no joke, Brian. It

took place further up in the mountains, in a sacred site built thousands of years ago. It’s wherethe first Shift took place. There are plenty of places where the Arcanum is – closer, and this isone of them. It’s very powerful.”

“How did he do it?”“Apparently he was a very holy man. There aren’t many specifics, but I’m still

looking. The point is, if it’s been done, it can be done again. You can see the Arcanum, after all.”

Brian gripped her hand more tightly, overcome. “Emily…I can’t thank you enoughfor this. You’ve given me so much already.”

“No more than you’ve given me.” She looked away, as if embarrassed. “Chavez toldme that you practically came riding up on a white horse to save me.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t stupid heroics again. Antilly had something to say about that…”Her face darkened at the mention of Antilly. “God, I was a fool.”“Emily, no.”She shook her head. “The Aoelen could have been lost or destroyed. The hope of

future generations lost over my carelessness and stupidity.”

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“But it’s safe. You came through in the end.” He paused. “What will happen to itnow?”

“What should have happened in the beginning. I’ll take it to the Arcanum, to theSentinel there. They have wards and guardians for it, enough to last a thousand lifetimes.Chavez has promised to help me Shift there. My powers aren’t quite developed enough yet.”She looked him in the eye again. “Brian, there is something I should tell you. In my reading…as far as I can tell, going through the Divide will be a one-way journey. There will be no way

back.”Brian contemplated this. “I’ve spent my life seeing this world, Emily, and the whole

time I was looking for a doorway into another one. I won’t be sorry to say goodbye to it.Except for my friends, of course.”

Emily nodded, as if she understood.

He recovered slowly, but after a month he was back on his feet, exploring the monastery. Itwas set halfway up the mountain, in the lee of the terrible winds. There were not many monksthere, but the ones he met were calm and polite. Most of them spoke English, to his surprise.

“They speak many other languages as well,” Chavez replied when Brian mentionedit, a note of teasing in his voice. “Every one of them is a seasoned traveller. They could just aseasily chat to you in French or Hindi.”

It made his life easier. He quickly became accustomed to life in the monastery: rise atdawn, prayer and study in the morning, exercises, then a swift meal before work in theafternoon. He took to going to prayers with the monks, the lilting words in praise of theInfinite a calming influence. At first he helped out with chores, but the monks were careful to

point out he was a guest, so he soon switched to discussions with Chavez instead; debates,often over their chess game, which seemed to run on and on.

The rest of Brian’s time was spent in the library, researching with Emily. There wereseveral hundred books there, mostly concerned with history. The monks seemed to beconsummate historians. Brian was tempted to stray off into one thread or another, the annals

of Alexander the Great, or of Rameses the Second, or maybe a treatise on the Italian Wars of the Renaissance. But he was able to resist temptation and concentrate on his own search. Hewho had never been a soldier was already tired of war stories.

It turned out that Emily’s book was probably the best source they had available.There was little else concerning the events that had sent this unnamed man, this pilot of theunknown, into the Divide. There was even less known about his fate after that.

“Don’t worry,” Emily consoled him. “I’m sure it’s safe. There’s nothing in the Riftthat can harm you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I’d rather die trying to reach the Arcanum thanfrom a motor accident here, or something like that.”

“You have the oddest way of making yourself feel better about the risk.”“I’ve seen too much in the past few weeks to be much afraid of anything any more.”Brian read incessantly, seeking even an echo of a scrap of a clue. The library was a

deep well of knowledge, and he kept sending his bucket down, but he never seemed to drawup the fish he expected.

He had been at the monastery for two months when Chavez, after a long, private discussionwith the abbot, emerged from behind closed doors, came into the library and spoke to Emily.

“The Aoelen should not remain here any longer. The monks are well defended here, but there is concern about Vanguard agents –“

“Oh yes, of course, once misled always misled,” Emily snapped back.“I’m sure they don’t mean it like that,” Brian soothed, knowing Antilly’s deception

still smarted.

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Chavez nodded. “Of course not. But the Aoelen is a sacred object, Emily, and it doesnot rightly belong here. It belongs in Arcadia, where the Sentinel can keep it until theappropriate time.”

She nodded, calmer now. “All right. When?”“Tomorrow.”So soon…The night before, they were sitting up in the library as usual, researching late. But

Brian could barely concentrate.“You’ve never Shifted before. Are you nervous?”“Not with Chavez. He knows what he’s doing, though I can’t imagine how.”“Yes, he is a dark horse, isn’t he?” Brian remembered something. “What happened,

out there in the snow? I saw some sort of red light, and that was when Antilly lost it. That waswhen you started to trust us.”

“Oh. That. -It was nothing. I just…saw…past all the deception…to the truth.”Brian knew she was hiding something. But she had an odd expression on her face as

she read the book before her on the table that warned him away from the subject. “At leastyou won’t have to worry about the Aoelen any more.”

“I’ll probably worry about it for the rest of my life. I still don’t know what Antillyhad planned for it, not really. I know we were headed up here, towards the sacred site, where Imight be able to Shift on my own, without being fully trained, but I don’t know what hethought would happen once it was back in the Arcanum. I know the Vanguard have alliesthere…allies they might have given the Aoelen to, for leverage over the Sentinel.” Sheshrugged. “It’s my best guess. But we’ll never know now.”

As Brian watched her, turning the pages, this woman he had only had a brief time totruly befriend, he acknowledged with regret that there were now many things he would never know.

At dawn the next morning, Brian met Chavez and Emily outside the monastery, shuddering

with the cold. Emily was wearing her warm jacket, carrying the Aoelen in a leather satchel.As the two of them watched, bemused, Chavez took a piece of chalk from his pocket and

proceeded to draw the crude shape of a door on the nearby wall, “to aid the journey,” he said.Brian embraced Emily, not caring if his ribs still ached. She surprised him by kissing

him on both cheeks and then on the mouth. “All the luck in the world, Brian.”“Safe journey, Emily.”Chavez gave her a hug of his own. “ Vaya con dios. ”She smiled, but Brian could see her anxiety. “I’m ready. Show me what to do.”Chavez placed her hands on the chalk drawing, gently repositioning them. “Now

concentrate.” He laid one hand on her shoulder and the other on the drawing.Emily closed her eyes. Brian watched silently, unable to help, willing her to

succeed…while trying not to imagine the possibilities in the event she failed.After a moment of concentration, Chavez knocked, deliberately, three times, on the

chalk drawing. On the third knock, the wall simply wasn’t there; instead there was a liquidshimmering, a bright blue glow like stained glass, beckoning, a doorway. Brian took a stepforward, eyes wide at his first glimpse of a gateway between worlds.

Her eyes still closed, Emily drew in a deep breath and stepped through. There was a bright white flash, and then there was nothing but chalk on a wall. There was no sign of Emily, nor the Shift, and no sign that either had ever existed.

Brian swallowed, feeling a sense of loss he had barely anticipated. He lost more thana teacher and friend. It was as if some bright star in his world had dimmed and gone dark.

There was only Chavez, dusting off his hands. He gave Brian a sympathetic look and patted his shoulder. “She is safe, my friend. Even now the Sentinel will be greeting her.”

Brian nodded. “Maybe I’ll see her again. In the Arcanum.”Chavez looked at him sagely. “But first, we must find you the way there.”

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XI

After Emily had gone, Brian didn’t have the heart to go back to the library for several days.Instead he took to roaming the mountainside, this time with a torch and a stout stick: he hadlearned his lesson and would not go out unprepared. The ancient, remote beauty of thelandscape touched him deeply, but he was left somehow unsatisfied.

He felt as if he was on the brink of something magnificent but wasn’t powerfulenough to reach out and grasp it.

He slept deeply and often, and had vivid dreams. When he woke he would either gowalking or spend time playing patience with Chavez’s pack of cards, his mind working dayand night. He knew Chavez was concerned about him, and he did his best to put his friend’sfears to rest, but he could barely articulate what he was feeling. He tried to overcome it by

jokes, by swapping tales of his travels around Europe, but it was like whistling in a cathedral.One afternoon, he was sitting in one of the upstairs rooms, drinking some of the green

tea the monks made from a bowl. Outside the narrow window, the snow was falling softly,like the weather on an English Christmas card.

“Mr Westhouse.”

A man, unfamiliar, was standing in the doorway, wearing the homespun clothes of the monks. He had iron-grey hair and small glasses, a muscular man with an aura of calmconfidence.

Brian placed the clay bowl on the sill. “Hello.”“I don’t believe we’ve met. I am the abbot here. My name is Gordon Mishir.”They shook hands.Mishir looked out of the window, his arms folded. “I hear you’re a journalist, Mr

Westhouse.”“I was.”The abbot nodded, his eyes still held by the view outside. “I was a war correspondent

in Paris. When the war ended I found my way here. All manner of strange sights abound inthe world, but…” He sighed. “Here, as we guard the sacred site, I cannot help but think we

live on the very edge of things.”Brian did not speak, sensing a kindred spirit in this man.“I am told you wish to try to pass through the Rift.”“That is true.”Mishir’s sharp green eyes shifted to him. “You are an outsider in this, Mr Westhouse,

drawn in by outside forces. But I think your soul has long belonged to the worlds beyond.”“I can’t deny it. The second…Emily…mentioned the Arcanum to me, I couldn’t think

about anything else.”The abbot sighed. “Ordinarily, outsiders would never be permitted near the sacred

site. But you are not an ordinary man. Because of you the Aoelen is safe. And you are a friendof Manuel Chavez.”

Brian rolled his shoulders slightly. “Who is Manny? Really? I know he’s not all heappears to be.”

Mishir smiled. “I just know he is a truly good man. And he has vouched for you.”“He’s a good friend.”“Yes.” Mishir’s eyes were drawn out of the window again. “I feel like you’re a man

we can trust.” He paused. “So there are things I can tell you. Things that will help you, if youreally mean to pass through the Divide.”

“How would you know that?”“I have spent the past fifteen years here, alone with my thoughts, travelling to the

sacred site, meditating in the temple. Books are not the only way to knowledge, Mr Westhouse.” Mishir laid a hand on his shoulder. “But I think this is a lesson you’ve learnedalready.”

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Two days later, Brian carried his pack down to the little animal shelter where his mule had been contentedly munching hay for the near three months he had spent in the monastery. Itwas a beautiful, clear morning. As he tightened the girth, he realised he could see for hundreds of miles. Clouds like wreaths of smoke softened the lines of the mountains.

“Brian!”Chavez was walking toward him, his limp barely noticeable, his boots crunching on

the fresh snow. He was dressed for travelling, with his hat shoved back on his head. “I heardyou’re leaving, my friend.”

“The abbot has told me what I need to do.” In the bundle he was strapping to the mulewas a large brown paper package Mishir had given to him, with careful instructions. “So…I’m heading out.”

“Well, if we expect to reach the sacred site by nightfall we need to pick up our feet.”Chavez put a boot up on a nearby post and began redoing the laces.

Brian blinked in surprise. “You’re coming with me?”Chavez raised his eyebrows. “Of course! Unless you’d rather go by yourself?”“No, no!” He had been seeing the way ahead as one he had to walk alone, as he had

gone after Antilly alone, but the prospect of making it with his friend cheered him up

considerably. “No, please, come along. There’s just the one mule, though.” Chavez’s mounthad died of its injuries after being shot by Antilly. “You might want to ride, with your leg likeit is.”

Chavez shrugged. “It is as it is.” He finished the laces on one boot and started on theother. “I’m a curious man, Brian. And I like stories. The problem is that you have to see themthrough to the ending.”

And so they set out again, the mule between them as they walked out across the snowfields,the whiteness and clearness of the world dazzling them. After a while Chavez began singing,not a bawdy tune this time, but some sort of folk song in French. The rich, lilting syllablesrolled across the landscape. Brian was content to listen, breathing crisp chilly air that tasted

like champagne.Halfway up the crest of a hill Brian offered his stick to Chavez, but the older man

refused it, despite the fact he was now limping markedly. “No worries, my friend. I’ll be allright.”

Brian was encouraging the mule onwards. “You know, for someone who must be agood ten to fifteen years older than me, who’s just suffered a gunshot wound in the leg,you’re moving very well. What’s your secret, grapefruit juice?”

Chavez laughed. “Adventuring. Makes the blood circulate, strengthens the body andthe mind. Keeps you young!”

And with that he scooped up a handful of snow, squeezed it into a ball, and threw it atBrian. He was taken totally by surprise and the snowball hit him full in the face, giving him amouthful of ice. Brian laughed and crouched down to make a snowball of his own, feelingridiculous, feeling alive.

They walked for hours, steadily, as the sun moved overhead. Sometimes they talked: other times they just strode forwards in silence. At midday they took a break, giving the mule timeto rest. Brian unpacked the food the monks had given him, sharing flat bread and dried meatwith Chavez, in return for brandy from his friend’s flask poured into a tin cup.

“What do you think it’ll be like?” Brian asked, tearing a piece off one of the smallloaves. “The new world, I mean. When magic and science are back together, as it was

before.”“I don’t know, my friend. But I think it’ll be a sight to see. Humanity at peace with

itself…with all the possibilities in the universe at its hands…a world cleansed of anguish andhatred.” Chavez raised his flask. “To one Earth.”

Brian clinked his tin cup against it solemnly. “And to Emily.”

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Slowly, the sky was darkening to the purest indigo Brian had ever seen. Soft blue shadowsfollowed them as they strove on. But there were already clouds beginning to gather, and asthe sun sank behind one of the great peaks, flakes like feathers were settling on Brian’s jacket.

Finally, Chavez halted. They were standing at the apex of a slope, seeing thelandscape stretching out below them. Brian, leading the mule, was about to descend. He

peered back at Chavez, curiously. “Manny, what’s up?”The snow was falling silently between them. Chavez smiled sadly. “This is as far as I

go, my friend.”Brian looked at him.Chavez placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think this story is over, for now, at least for

me.”He was at a loss for words.“I have something for you.” Chavez reached into his jacket and placed something

cold into Brian’s hand. He looked at it. His gift was a pocket watch, scratched and weighty.The metal was a dull gold colour. He opened it and looked at the face, marked with Romannumerals. The hands weren’t moving. He looked up at his friend, grateful but confused at the

same time.“When my heart starts beating again, I’ll know,” Chavez told him. “It will be like…amessage in Morse code.”

Brian felt a smile settle on his face, gentle as the snow. “Manny, you’re just about thecraziest man I’ve ever met.”

“I give him a present and he calls me a madman.” But Chavez was smiling. “Justkeep it safe, my friend.”

“I will. I will.” Brian put it inside the deepest pocket of his coat, feeling the weightreassure him. Without needing to be asked, he took his pack and bundle off the mule andhanded the reins to Chavez.

“Just keep going straight ahead. You’ll be there soon.”Brian nodded soberly. He extended a hand and was not at all surprised when Chavez

pulled him into a brief hug.“To eternity, Brian Westhouse.”“To eternity, Manuel Chavez.”Brian couldn’t bear it any more. He walked away, descending the slope, going into

the darkness, vision blurring, feeling truly alone.He glanced back once. Chavez was a grey shadow on the top of the ridge, one hand

raised in salute. And then a flurry of snow was kicked up by the wind, and Chavez was gone,as if he had never been.

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XII

Alone, Brian went on, into the snowy night.The weather was kind. Although the winds were still cutting, the snowfall seemed to

be lessening. He was in uncharted territory now, deep in the mountains, stone and ice risingaround him like cathedral walls.

Until he saw something impossible.Pausing, he shielded his eyes and peered ahead. It was unbelievable, but he could see

a great circle, picked out by stones maybe two or three feet high, and there was no snowfalling inside it.

He didn’t trust his eyes until he was within a hundred yards of it, but he was indeedseeing the impossible. There was a circular patch of ground, bare earth, ringed round bystones, and although he was liberally dusted with snow and there was at least a foot settlingeverywhere else, there was not a flake within the circumference of the stones.

Brian knew he had found the sacred site.He approached cautiously. As he stood just outside the circle, he decided to

experiment and, wincing, held out his arm over one of the stones. It was like putting his arm

high over a stove: it was several degrees warmer inside the circle. The snow on his sleevestarted to melt.Trusting in what the abbot had told him, Brian stepped inside and immediately sighed

with relief from the biting cold. There was no evidence of any magic: snow just wasn’t fallingthere. After a few minutes, during which he stripped off his jacket and gloves, he stoppedthinking of it as strange, and then laughed at how blasé he had become when it came to theextraordinary.

“Manny, you should be here to see this.”He sat for a few minutes, resting after the journey. Then he opened his bundle and

took out the large paper-wrapped package the abbot had given him. He removed the woodthat was in it – wood that smelled strangely fragrant when he held it up to his nose – and asmaller paper package.

As the abbot had told him to do, Brian built a fire with the wood, lit it, and thenopened the second package. It contained several bundles of herbs, apparently carefully

prepared. He was no stranger to exotic seasonings, but though he sniffed each one and tasteda couple, Brian couldn’t identify any of them. He put them into his tin cup, filled it withwater, and put the cup near the fire to heat up and steep the herbs into a tea.

It would take a while for the water to boil. As he put his canteen back into his pack, past his revolver – along with a box of ammunition the abbot had said was left over from hiswar days, asking him to take it away with him – Brian let out a whoop of delight as he founda packet of cigarettes, crumpled and shoved at the bottom, but with one smoke left. He lit itfrom the fire and then sat back, smoking, looking at the sky.

The clouds were clearing, and beyond he could see the stars. One constellation in particular was gloriously sharp, Cassiopeia. Brian looked at it, and the thought occurred hewould never see Cassiopeia again. After tonight he would live in the Arcanum for the rest of his life.

He finished his cigarette and dropped the butt in the fire.Carefully, wincing as the heat caught his fingers, Brian drew a stick from the fire and

blew out the flame at the end. When he was sure the charcoal at the end was cold, he rubbed ituntil he had a point and began marking his hands with the symbols the abbot had drawn for him on a scrap of paper. Then he drew the charcoal across his forehead and down his face,feeling like a tribal warrior marking himself for battle.

The water was steaming and bubbling gently.Brian drew it away from the fire, and let it cool enough to drink, fishing the herbs out

and tossing them on the fire where they hissed and sizzled, finally let up plumes of scentedsmoke.

As he put the cup to his lips he hesitated.

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The culmination of a life’s longing, vain dreaming and endless hope. The promise of a better world…

Phillip Antilly. Emily Wolfe. Manuel Chavez. I toast you all.Brian drank. It took him two swallows to drink it all, but he managed to keep it down

despite the eldritch taste. And then he was sinking to the ground, the cup rolling from hisfingers.

He turned over and stared up at the sky, his eyes finding darkness slick as black glass before he was drawn down into the profoundest sleep he had ever known.

Between the worlds is the Divide, the realm of dreams.Dreams. Antilly spoke of nightmares, nightmares of death, but there is no pain where

he is, no horror. He is falling, light as the snow that surrounds him, falling through thedarkness, down toward a spark of light like a star, like the compass Chavez enchanted.

And the light consumes him, becomes him.We dream between waking and not waking, between reality and fantasy. We dream

and we touch the Arcanum with the tips of our fingers.

He is walking now, a path like glass that rises up to meet his footsteps, surrounded bythe void on every side. He can see a billion points of light, stars, then they swell and comealive, fireflies burning all around him, and the path he is walking is through a forest. Leaves

brush his face, translucent as glass.Only in dreams are we truly human, heir to the fantastic and the mundane in equal

measure. Only in dreams are we linked to both worlds, where we belong, before thecataclysm, before the wrongdoing that split the Earth in two.

He glimpses something between the trees, that seem to be stone and living wood andice and glass at the same time. Then more movement. Fantastic beasts are keeping pace withhim, barely visible between the trunks, and then he runs too, delighting in stretching his legs,and he is a beast himself, scaled and feathered and clawed, crying out in ecstasy at the chase.

He is running the path but it splits now and he is human again, falling in the space

between paths, tumbling endlessly away from the forest, then solid ground under him oncemore. Cobbled path with water running between the stones. And then they are steppingstones, water gushing over his feet. The stream splashes down from a waterfall, and as helooks up it becomes a glass tower, surrounded by towers, metal and crystal as he has dreamedit, flying shapes moving between them like fish, like the beasts. Entranced, he turns towardthe city.

But it has its dangers.“No. You must stay on the path.”A great white being rising before him, a serpentine head and wings spreading to block

his way, eyes infinitely kind.“Stay on the path.” And the being becomes Emily, lithe and beautiful as ever. She

comes toward him and draws his face to hers, and kisses him longingly. He reaches for her but she is already running, down the path, glancing back, beckoning to him, showing him theway. He turns from the city and goes on, seeing her always ahead of him, until the path turnsand he is running down a paved street, concrete. A ruined city, barbed wire and clouds of dust. A cry arises all around him, a wordless cry of pain. Then a bomb streaks down, explodesin a cloud of fire and smoke, and he is moving through smoke, then mist, billowing in thewind.

In dreaming we touch great power and great mystery. We may see what hashappened or what will happen, we may be drawn to the mystical or incredible. But there thetemptation lies: to lose ourselves in dreams, to never come back to reality.

He is in mist, then the mist is water and he is walking through it, letting out bubblesof air, while fish flicker brightly around him. He sees one fish, a monstrous beast with teethlike knives, opening its mouth to swallow him whole, then nothingness, he is walking into thecrushing darkness of the ocean’s depths, and battles are raging overhead. Wars on sea and inthe air. In the Arcanum and back home. Home, he thinks, and he is in Boston again, on the

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sidewalk leading past his old house, but it is overgrown with vines. There is a terrible light upahead and he shields his eyes, even as an explosion tears the world apart in a monstrous cloudof fire that kills cities. The path is only ashes, but he follows it, going on as he must go on.

The temptations are there. Yet even in dreams, neither the past or the future exist.Only the present exists, the path we take now. The choice we make now is all that is real. It leads us from reality to reality.

A billion images. Chanting figures in a circle, a man with a rifle. Fire and glass. The beasts dance their dance in the forest, life and death. A woman, made of golden light,stretches out her hand.

Endless, they threaten to overwhelm him. But he must stay on the path. Emily hastold him to stay on the path.

The path descends into an abyss of vivid blue light, swirling gloriously below him.He jumps, and it is as if he has wings, falling gently as an owl descending. He is falling asslowly as if he were diving through deep water, falling into the light. It is blinding, and yet hecan see.

can see

can see grass and smell salt air

Brian fell heavily onto solid ground and lay for a long moment, trying to catch his breath.Above him, he could see the last of the blue light flickering and fading away. Just before itvanished, his pack dropped out of it and landed beside him.

Then it faded into nothingness.After a long time he managed to gulp down enough air, managed to shut out the

images shuttering through his mind. Carefully, he sat up, rubbing his eyes, and then realisedhe was sitting on grass.

He could smell and hear the ocean.Slowly he got to his feet and stood up.

He was standing on a hill, looking down over what looked to be a bustling port. Theocean, glittering in a bright summer morning, lapped at a sandy shore, gently rocking thehulls of the most amazing ships he had ever seen. They rose out of the water spined andfinned, fabulously decorated, their sails bright and proud in a stiff breeze.

Beyond them the spires and towers of the city rose, houses and temples visible evenfrom here. Brian could see thin trails of smoke from chimneys, see people walking andshopping and arguing, see a rowboat coming in from one of the ships.

And it was like no city he had ever seen.His heart was bursting with gratitude and love and overwhelming, paralysing,

unspeakable joy.Finally he couldn’t bear it any more. With a shout of triumph and happiness, calling

countless blessings down on Emily Wolfe and Manny Chavez, he snatched up his pack andran, ran like a madman down to that wonderful sight, unable to waste another moment beforeexploring his new home.

3 wanderer

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