the forehead brand of that cult,” remarked Lackridge, with an uninterested glance at Nick’s forehead, the Mark mostly concealed once more under his floppy forelock. “Sociologically interesting, of course. Particularly its regrettable prevalence among our Northern Perimeter Reconnaissance Unit. I trust it is only an affectation in your case, young man? You haven’t gone native on us?”
“It isn’t just a religious thing,” Nick said carefully. “The Mark is more of a…a connection with…how can I explain…unseen powers. Magic—”
“Yes, yes. I am sure it seems like magic to you,” said Lackridge. “But the great majority of it is easily explained as mass hallucination, the influence of drugs, hysteria and so forth. It is the minority of events that defy explanation but leave clear physical effects that we are interested in—such as the explosion at Forwin Mill.” He looked over his half-moon glasses at Nicholas.
Dorrance looked at him as well, his stare suddenly intense.
“Our studies there indicate that the blast was roughly equivalent to the detonation of twenty thousand tons of nitrocellulose,” continued Lackridge. He rapped his knuckles on the desk as he exclaimed, “Twenty thousand tons! We know of nothing capable of delivering such explosive force, particularly as the bomb itself was reported to be two metallic hemispheres, each no more than ten feet in diameter. Is that right, Mr Sayre?”
Nick swallowed, his throat moving in a dry gulp. He could feel sweat forming on his forehead and a familiar jangling pain in his right arm and chest.
“I…I don’t really know,” he said after several long seconds. “I was very ill. Feverish. But it wasn’t a bomb. It was the Destroyer. Not something our science can explain. That was my mistake. I thought I could explain everything under our natural laws, our science. I was wrong.”
“You’re tired, and clearly still somewhat unwell,” said Dorrance. His tone was kindly, but the warmth did not reach his eyes. “We have many more questions, of course, but they can wait until the morning. Professor, why don’t you show Nicholas around the establishment. Let him get his bearings. Then go back upstairs and we can all resume life as normal, what? Which reminds me, Nicholas—everything discussed down here is absolutely confidential. Even the existence of this facility must not be mentioned once you return to the main house. Naturally you will see me, Professor Lackridge and the others at dinner, but in our public roles. Most of the guests have no idea that Department Thirteen lurks beneath their feet and we want it to remain that way. I trust you won’t have a problem keeping our existence all to yourself?”
“No, not at all,” muttered Nick. Inside he was wondering how he could avoid answering questions but still get his pass to cross the Perimeter. Lackridge obviously didn’t believe in Old Kingdom magic, which was no great surprise. After all, Nick had been like that himself. But Dorrance had voiced no such scepticism, nor had he shown it by his body language. Nick definitely did not want to discuss the Destroyer and its nature with anyone who might seriously look into what it was or what had happened at Forwin Mill.
He didn’t want to dabble in anything to do with Old Kingdom magic, especially without proper instruction, even two hundred miles south of the Wall.
“Follow me, Nicholas,” said Lackridge. “You too, Malthan. I want to show you something related to those photographic plates you found for us.”
“I need to catch my train,” muttered Malthan. “My horses…stabled near Bain…the expense…I’m eager to return home.”
“We’ll pay you a little extra,” said Dorrance, the tone of his voice making it clear Malthan had no choice. “I want Lackridge to see your reaction to one of the artefacts we’ve picked up. I’ll see you at dinner, Nicholas.”
Dorrance shook Nick’s hand in parting, gave a dismissive wave to Lackridge and ignored Malthan completely. As Dorrance turned back to his desk, Nick noticed a paperweight sitting on top of the wooden in-tray. A lump of broken stone, etched with intricate symbols. They did not shine or move about, not so far from the Old Kingdom; but Nick recognised their nature, though he did not know their dormant power or meaning. They were Charter Marks. The stone itself looked as if it had been broken from a greater whole.
Nick looked at Dorrance again and decided that even if it meant having to work out some other way to get across the Perimeter, he was not going to answer any of Dorrance’s questions. Or rather, he would answer them vaguely and badly, and generally behave like a well-meaning fool.
Hedge had been an Ancelstierran originally, Nick remembered as he followed Malthan and the professor out. Dorrance struck him as someone who might be tempted to walk a path similar to Hedge’s.
They left through the door Nick had come in by, out through the opposite door, and then rapidly through a confusing maze of short corridors and identical riveted metal doors.
“Bit confusing down here, what?” remarked Lackridge. “Takes a while to get your bearings. Dorrance’s father built the original tunnels for his underground electric railway. Modelled on the Corvere Metro. But the tunnels have been extended even further since then. We’re just going to take a look in our holding area for objects brought in from north of the Wall or found on our side, near it.”
“You mentioned photographic plates,” said Nick. “Surely no photographic equipment works over the Wall?”
“That has yet to be properly tested,” said Lackridge dismissively. “In any case, these are prints from negative glass plates taken in Bain of a book that was brought across the Wall.”
“What kind of book?” Nick asked Malthan.
Malthan looked at Nick, but his eyes failed to meet the younger man’s gaze. “The photographs were taken by a former associate of mine. I didn’t know she had this book. It burned of its own accord only minutes after the photographs were captured. Half the plates also melted before I could get them far enough south.”
“What was the title of the book?” asked Nick. “And why ‘former’ associate?”
“She burned with the b-b-book,” whispered Malthan with a shiver. “I do not know its name. I do not know where Raliese might have got it.”
“You see the problems we have to deal with,” said Lackridge with a sneer at Malthan. “He probably bought the plates at a school fête in Bain. But they are interesting. The book was some kind of bestiary. We can’t read the text as yet, but there are very fine etchings—illustrations of the beasts.”
The professor stopped to unlock the next door with a large brass key, but he opened it only a fraction. He turned to Malthan and Nick and said, “The photographs are important, as we already had independent evidence that at least one of the beasts depicted in that book really does exist—or existed at one time—in the Old Kingdom.”
“Independent evidence of one of those things?” squeaked Malthan. “What kind of—”
“This,” declared Lackridge, opening the door wide. “A mummified specimen!”
The storeroom beyond was cluttered with boxes, chests and paraphernalia. For a second, Nick’s eye was drawn to two very large blow-ups of photographs of Forwin Loch, which were leaning on the wall near the door. One showed a scene of industry from the last century, and the other showed the destruction wrought by Orannis—the Destroyer.
But the big photographs held his attention for no more than a moment. There could
