Elementary (19 page)

I glanced down and saw dark spatters on the floor a few dozen feet into the hall. I knelt where I could see them more closely, and then removed my glove to touch my fingers to one drop. It proved to be blood, as I surmised. I gathered that it must have fallen from the bag held by the thin man. I wiped my finger clean on my handkerchief and returned it to my pocket.

I followed the blood trail, passing in front of several doors, until it abruptly ended alongside a piece of blank wall. I looked up and back, then passed my flaming ball from my shoulder to my hand and examined the wood on both sides of the hallway. I moved the flame closer still and peered closely at what appeared to be a narrow crevice to my left. The flame's tip danced as though brushed by the slightest movement of air. I focused just there, and saw the tiniest of cracks where a section of wall did not perfectly match the others.

I felt around the wood, my naked hand sensitive to the slightest of rises that marked the door's edge. It proved well concealed, so much so that I might have patrolled the hall a hundred years and never found it. That thought froze my blood a moment.

The feeling grew in my breast that the two men had lured me here, a revelation that gave me both pause and hope. Pause in that while I might now escape the trap, this was still the surest route I had to finding him. Hope in that my epiphany would possibly give me an advantage and allow me to turn the tables. I was slightly built, this was true, but I could yet surprise. Had not Dr. Holmes learned that to his chagrin?

Bending, I found a nail head protruding slightly from the wood. I depressed it, and it gave a satisfying
click
. The hidden door opened a trice, enough for me to insert my fingernail and prize it far enough for me to slip through.

Behind lay a stonewalled staircase, leading steeply down to a lower basement. Smelling the damp and wet, I reasoned that this cellar lay not yet far enough from the Thames to be immune from its effects. I moved down, stepping carefully to avoid a fall that might bring injury, or worse luck, noise.

The stairs gave way into a large, dark room, large enough to swallow the flame from my solitary light. The far end of the room, perhaps sixty paces away, revealed a thin sliver of yellow light, perhaps a door cracked with a lantern beyond?

My nostrils filled with the smells of dank earth and mildew as I stepped onto the dirt floor. I lifted my small flame upward, seeing a wooden floor overhead supported by pillars and rafters. The pillars appeared to be a uniform, square-trunked forest, with trunks spaced every ten feet or so. The room appeared bare except for open barrels scattered around in what appeared to be a random fashion. I glanced quickly in one and saw oil-sheened water, old smelling and unsavory.

I snuffed my light and listened carefully. Was I pursued? Had I been detected? I heard no evidence of either. I waited a few moments more to steel myself, then crossed the open room to the nearest pillar. Somewhere I had lost my glove, so my uncovered hand brushed rough splintery wood, dry as dust. I moved thus, with short staccato steps from pillar to pillar, pausing to listen as I went.

I judged I crossed midway through the room when lamps attached to every pillar burst into flame at once, an exercise requiring more strength than I possessed. The gesture spoke volumes to both a sense of power and a flair for the dramatic. Blinking in the sudden glare, I beheld a figure dressed entirely from head to toe in dark robes marked with suns, comets, and stars. It appeared a richer variant of the fashion worn by sideshow conjurers and comic-opera villains. He lacked only a conical hat with
Wizzard
picked out in silver thread to complete the costume.

My eyes adjusted, and I knew I had found my brother. He looked to be in no great distress, standing easily in a conjuring circle some thirty paces away. His hands appeared unshackled, at least as far as I could see from below the hems of the voluminous sleeves. His face seemed as beautiful as ever, and he appeared sleek, well fed, and untroubled.

The frights and discomforts I had suffered in traveling to his side only to find him so well kept made me testy. I made as if to pick a piece of lint from my coat, using my play at nonchalance to mask my distress and fear.

“You said you needed me,” I said, not bothering to conceal my irritation. “I came.”

“Obviously.” His voice, deeper and richer than I remembered, stretched out each syllable, employing them to make me feel small and stupid for stating the obvious.

Stung by his response, yet endeavoring not to show it, I retorted, “I saw your lodgings. You've fallen a long way, then, or has your last conquest cast you aside?”

He flashed his perfect teeth at me and shrugged. I knew him well enough to see he both acknowledged my sally and demonstrated his indifference to its effect.

“Those are not my lodgings,” he replied in his quiet voice. “I needed to send you someplace close by where you would be easily found. The rooming house served its purpose.”

The fear that I had banked under my irritation flared back to life. I gestured at his comic-opera costume, “Your appearance suggests prosperity, if not common fashion. You said you required my help. Why am I here?”

“You misread the telegram,” he answered in the same calm and reasonable tone that drove me mad as a child. “I don't need help. I need you.”

“Me? Why?” I replied, startled.

“When you escaped the Chicago Chapterhouse with the ritual incomplete, certain of my fellows wondered if I had aided you.” He shrugged. “My commitment to the Cause has been questioned. My order required me to offer a gesture of redress. So I agreed to bring you here in order to restore myself in their eyes.”

My mind reeled under the hammer blows of his four short sentences. The memory of being bound naked to a board and screaming while pincers tore my skin burst forth from the locked place where I kept it. I struggled to keep other terrors, as bad and worse, confined in their dark places, lest I be overborne. My brother had known of the torments I suffered in Dr. Holmes' dungeon—had acceded to them, and had brought me here to continue them.

The completeness of the betrayal nearly broke me. I grappled enough with the fact of his treason, but could not fathom the reason for it. “Why?”

He spread his arms, palms toward me, showing me the robe's symbols. “In the ancient days, we were not confined to the one natal Element but could establish Mastery over others, beyond those of birth and sire. That is what this is, these robes adorned with those Elements under command . . . Star for Fire, Moon for Water, Comet for Air, and Diamond for Earth. Those ancient forms, debased by sideshow magicians and fools, now restored to their proper role.”

I felt a glimmer of comprehension. “And you've found a way.”

“Yes,” he replied. “The essence is drawn out of the Master and stored in a vessel. This may then be drawn off by another, if the spells are known.”

He reached into his robes and drew forth a cluster of amulets, all on slim chains around his neck. He extended his other hand toward the ground, his beautiful face furrowed in concentration. “And so . . . Earth.”

I saw an amulet glow in his hand, shining through his flesh as it brightened. The ground slowly shifted and grew, a small mound that resolved itself into a golem's shape, perhaps knee high, that turned to regard me with an eyeless face.

“Air.” A swirling vortex formed around me, entirely free of dust from the dirt below. It battered me, whipping my hair, and driving me to my knees. I tried to stand, and it struck me again, forcing me down. When the buffeting settled, I tried to move and failed. Air, as strong as bonds of iron, held me in place.

“Water. The sign in opposition.” His eyes closed in concentration as water from the nearest barrels formed into an arching spout that moved from one barrel to another. The effect proved clearly the hardest and least impressive. Sweat poured from his face, as the last portion of the arc collapsed and fell, a few feet short of the receiving barrel. Had I felt a weakening in his bonds of Air as he struggled with Water, or did this serve only my desperate imagination?

He freed me then, allowing me to my feet, as he mopped his face with his free hand. His other hand grasped the amulets around his neck. His hand, glowing with the energy within, faded.

He both impressed and frightened me by his use of the other Elements, but less than he might have. Fire had come so easily to him that watching him struggle here had been a revelation. He had limits. I had never seen my brother work at anything before, neither in his Mastery, nor in his ability to live on others' fortunes. It diminished him in my eyes. My brother and his ilk had found a way, certainly, but it proved foreign and difficult.

One piece didn't fit. “So, the sending outside was yours, then. A spell of phantasms to ward the building.”

He looked askance at me, perplexed. “No. I know naught of that.”

Curiouser and curiouser . . .

“Then what need of me?” I asked, striving for a calm I did not feel. I knew the answer before he spoke.

“Masters are the grist for our mill,” he replied, in a voice as indifferent as if he were ordering fish for dinner. “The rituals draw the eternal essence, the spark of the divine, or soul, if you prefer the base term. We bind the Elemental energies thus released in order that we may draw from them later. The resonances deplete quickly, so we require steady replenishment.”

It confirmed both what I previously suspected and my current suspicion that I had well and truly trapped myself. He was stronger, but I was faster. Could I make it serve me to escape?

I gathered my Will, drawing flame and fuel from the nearest lamps, then sent it hurtling toward him, hoping to catch him off stride. He made no effort to move or evade. Instead, my lancing flame arced away from him, toward one wall where it simply vanished. A sigil there glowed red, then leaped from symbol to symbol around the room, racing at intervals as it picked up my energies and gave them around. In a second the walls glowed, red and hot as embers.

He smiled then, a splitting of his mouth that did not extend to his eyes. “The ritual is begun, and you are still connected to it. The more you cast from yourself, the faster this will proceed.” I hurled another ball of flame at him, and watched it arc away and be drunk. The sigils glowed redder still. I saw then that they had not been etched on the wall, but written on some kind of plate or shield that hung there.

“Our investigations have shown that we carry all of the Elements within us, weaker perhaps, but which can still be extracted,” he said, speaking as if behind a lectern and I had not just attacked him. He gestured, and I gasped as the air was leached from my lungs. My head reeled, and I collapsed to my knees again, unable to draw breath. Over his shoulder, I saw other sigils light, dimmer blues and greens and whites, less defined, but still glowing. My heart raced, and blood pounded in my veins. My sight darkened as I looked up and saw him make a small plucking gesture with his hands.

The feeling of being pulled through a sieve gave way at once. I fell forward onto my face, hot tears washing away the dust on my cheeks from the dirt floor.

“Pathetic.” he stated, his disdain piercing his calm demeanor. “You still represent my family. At least attempt to comport yourself with a modicum of dignity.” An amulet glowed, and he raised me to my feet.

I reached my hand into my coat without thinking, and my fingers touched the butt of my father's pistol. I slid my hand around its heavy weight. It gave me a small hope.

“Is this how it ends?” I tried to sound contemptuous, but I suspect my voice merely betrayed my terror.

“No,” he answered, again calmly, as though discussing the weather. “I have been given the task of preparing the engine. My trust is not yet restored, so others must complete the ritual.”

My voice shook as memories swelled, rushing up from their dark places again. I could neither help the tremor, nor what I said. “Please,” I begged. “Please, not that.”

His eyes stayed me from further remonstrations. They held no pity. Not a glimmer of concern, or regret, or even embarrassment at what he proposed. His free hand gestured behind me, and I turned to see. Two men, the one tall and the other stout, came into my view and approached me, gliding or on marionette strings, each according to his nature.

I pulled the pistol from my coat, using my turned body to hide the gesture. I then faced him, holding the pistol in both hands as I had practiced on the
Campania
. Using both thumbs, I drew back the heavy hammer.

“Let me go,” I said.

My brother's expression remained unconcerned. An amulet glowed in his hand. “I would not, even if I could,” he replied.

We stood a few dozen feet apart armed with pistol and amulet. The men's voices cut across us both.

“Do we intervene, Mr. Blue?”

“No, Mr. Grey. These minor dramas will add spice, more piquant for being a sibling squabble. The fear will keep the engine powered for now. This tableau will resolve itself shortly, and then we may proceed.”

A key turned a lock in my head, and the germ of an idea formed. Mine would be a desperate act, drawn from two statements of unknown provenance.

I pulled the trigger. The horse pistol jumped in my hand, shocking me with both its recoil and the loud report in the confined space. Acrid smoke flooded my nostrils and obscured my vision. My ears rang as the gray cloud slowly cleared.

The bullet hung in the air just short of my brother, locked in a wall of Air at the edge of his conjuring circle. It dropped to the ground, the soft lead nose crushed in. He stood poised, ready to defend himself again.

But the first shot had only been a ploy to distract him. Pivoting a quarter-turn, I discharged the remaining shells at the closest of the fiery sigils. One struck, shattering its backing like a dropped clay pot, and destroying the glowing symbol in a burst of flame and energy.