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By Root 715 0

featured but a single illustration, revealing a precarious structure of rods and fabric, propellers and motors. I took their recent success, in circumstances most trying, as emblematic of the indomitable human spirit. It was, by rights, already Christmas Day, and I should excuse Torby his suggestion that behind the creative mind of man there must lie yet another creative impulse. I am afraid to say I somewhat shocked the man by stating that the only birth that I hoped to celebrate this day is that of Sir Isaac Newton, a scientist of rare insight and genius. I meant my comment but as a jest; I could see that I had stung Torby more than I meant. To give the fellow credit, he reminded me of Newton’s own faith in the Christian God; I considered telling young Torby of Newton’s well-attested interest in alchemy and other occultic matters doubtless proscribed by the Mother Church, but this time bit my tongue. I did not want to be the one to destroy, still yet question, this man’s faith; I also realised that our relative standing made true and honest discourse hard.

I was about to say something to placate and reassure Mr Torby when I heard what sounded to all the world like a wounded animal whimpering somewhere in the bushes that edged the churchyard. I asked my companions if they had heard anything – none had – and I set off at once across the mounded grass and headstones. I hoped that Grant had returned to me – injured, perchance, but with untellable tales of chasing rabbits and baffling freedom from con-straint. However, though I stood like a fool calling into the pitch-dark air, I received no reply, and no evidence of what I had heard. I thought I heard a snuffling from time to time – a choked sound of distress and pain – but I could not be sure it was not my imagination.

I trudged back to the others, already beginning the walk down the road to 59

the village and back to their homes, just as Craig came haring towards us all, hollering and gesturing wildly. (Indeed, I did not immediately recognise the man, so pained and extraordinary did his expression seem.) I strode to the front of the knot of open-mouthed men that now surrounded him and challenged him to give an explanation of himself

‘Sir, sir,’ he repeated over and over while striving to gain control of his faculties. ‘There’s something in the woods!’

‘There may indeed be many things in the woods,’ I reasoned, ‘birds, scurrying mammals. . . ’ I admit I gripped Craig firmly by the lapels. ‘What you were doing there? You were in charge of Mausolus House, at least until my return.’

‘There is great evil there!’ he repeated, as if he had not heard my rebuke in the least.

‘Pull yourself together, man!’ exclaimed Fern, whose patience was yet more finite than my own.

‘And. . . And. . . ’ There was clearly some other matter bothering Mr Craig but he seemed unable once more to speak the words clearly; I watched him breathing deeply and desperately gathering his wits.

‘It’s Samuel Sands, sir,’ he eventually exclaimed, looking from my own to face to that of the others, as if wondering at the response of each. ‘He’s dead.’

Craig’s eyes widened still further. ‘He died of fright.’

60

Seven

I’ll Be Your Mirror

(Reflect What You Are)

Laska woke with a start. Disorientated, head swimming with unreality, she tried to establish who she was, what she was doing, where she found herself. Her eyes furiously processed and passed on what information they could: magnolia walls hidden by posters ( Betty Blue, Amnesiac); a dark quilt covered with papers; a telephone, so useful when her mobile refused to work (which was often); a bedside lamp still switched on. She’d obviously fallen asleep reading the diaries and documents, and now. . . For a moment she considered retreating back under the covers, but as her eyes blinked against the light –

the lamp, the slots of brightness that edged the window and curtains – she realised that it must be morning. She glanced at her bedside clock – 8.39 –

and could not believe she had slept straight through.

Laska shook her head, trying to clear