36. Sam The Portal
Sam: The Portal
Some years ago in one of my lectures, a student asked me if rope, rather than armor, was not the most important element of an enchanter’s equipment.
I reminded the student that for centuries rope was not even utilized.
Men entered the realm with their armor and their sense of conviction.
It is only in the last one hundred years that rope has become a commonplace assistance.
—Ernest L. Throckmorton, Armor in the Realm
In the late afternoon, Clementine sat in the Oliver Street apartment.
Maxwell had seen her home; he’d sent a messenger for Wister; and once Wister arrived, he’d gone back out to oversee the transfer of Rosetta’s body to the city morgue.
Now he returned to find Clementine and Wister sitting in silence in the apartment.
He let himself in, put his hat and truncheon on the table by the front door, and sat down beside Wister on the sofa.
Clementine sat in her yellow chair, staring at nothing.
She’d hardly spoken while Maxwell was gone.
I had sent her as much consolation as I could, but I knew it was useless.
Even if I’d been there in person, what comfort could I have offered? None.
I could see that Maxwell would have preferred a thousand other unpleasant tasks to the one that lay before him, but he leaned forward and took a deep breath, determined.
“Miss Quinn,” he said quietly. “Let me repeat how sorry I am for your loss, and how sorry I am personally that I was unable to prevent it.”
Clementine nodded and cast her eyes down to the floor. “Nor was I able to,” she said.
“You expect too much of yourself,” Wister said firmly.
“It’s true,” Maxwell agreed. “These attacks are orchestrated from afar, Miss Quinn, and it makes them impossible to avoid. What I must try to do is prevent the next one. I hope you’ll help me by telling me anything of significance that you observed in the last few days.”
Clem raised her eyes briefly to Maxwell. “You were right. You mentioned to me the woman who followed a dead relative into the woods. A few days ago my sister told me that she’d seen our father outside the window. But our father is deceased. I believe that must have been the lure.”
Heavenly spirits! Of course! I hadn’t made enough of Rosetta’s words, but of course that must have been what she saw. No figment of the imagination, but a cruel enticement.
Maxwell nodded. “I see.” He paused. “Anything else?”
I waited for Clem to mention the multiple times she had been pursued by stones, but she shook her head. It was maddening! Grieving or not, she had to tell Maxwell what she’d seen. I implored her to speak in her own defense. She sighed.
“There is one thing,” she said.
Ah, finally!
“I’m reluctant to speak of it,” she said. “And I’m not sure it’s pertinent.”
“Please cast a wide net,” Maxwell said, his expression hopeful.
“Well, it occurred on Saturday. We were at the house of Jane and Norbert Trench, and their son, Simeon Trench, tried to—” She put a hand to her forehead. Her breath shuddered. “He tried to take advantage of my sister.”
Maxwell’s face grew very still.
Wister stood up, her nostrils flaring with fury, and paced across the room to the window.
“I’m sorry to have to ask,” Maxwell said. “Was she hurt?”
Clementine shook her head. “Not physically. He has been tormenting her for a long time, and this was only the most egregious instance. I believe it’s almost a game for him.
But for Rosetta it was torture. She dreaded seeing him, dreaded being close to him.
I don’t see how he would gain anything from Rosetta’s death, but I do feel compelled to say that he’s the only person I could ever imagine hurting her. ”
“Thank you for telling me,” Maxwell said. He glanced at Wister. “The Trenches will likely have learned of Rosetta’s death already, but I’ll speak to Simeon personally to determine if he could have been involved.”
A silence fell over the room. Wister remained by the windows near Rosetta’s desk. She glanced down at the papers that had been left there, tidied into a neat pile, held down with a stone for a paperweight. She looked away.
“Though it’s another difficult subject,” Maxwell said gently, “I was hoping you could tell me something more about the matter you alluded to when we walked together to Keel House. The death of your mother.”
Clementine leaned back in her chair. “How does it pertain to this?”
“You said an enchanter was responsible. An enchanter was clearly responsible for Rosetta’s death. I can’t overlook the connection, even though the attack upon Rosetta seems to be part of a very distinct pattern. Perhaps even your mother is part of the pattern.”
For a moment Clementine was silent. Wister turned away from the window slowly and looked at her student with compassion. She had wanted to hear this story, but I’m sure she hadn’t wanted to hear it in this way.
“Very well,” Clementine said. “Seven years ago, when we were still children, Rosetta had an asthmatic attack while we were on an outing. The area was quite isolated, and we had no way to help her. I believe it was brought about by her anxiety at seeing a horse that was injured. In any case, a man arrived on horseback just as Rosetta’s condition reached a critical point.
He addressed my father by name. Without explanation, he dismounted and placed his hand upon her chest. My sister began breathing again.
Naturally, my parents expressed their tremendous gratitude and wished to know the man’s name.
He wouldn’t say, but to all of my parents’ offers of repayment he said only that he would someday return to accept recompense.
As it happens, that day came only one year later.
As we were journeying westward to visit one of my father’s former tutors, we were stopped in the woods by the enchanter and his thew.
The enchanter had come to collect; the payment was a life—Rosetta’s life.
My mother wouldn’t allow it, and she gave her own life instead. She died one week later.”
“How terrible,” Maxwell said, his voice heavy. “I’m very sorry.”
“Horrific,” Wister said grimly. “There are far too many enchanters in the commonwealth who play with life and death, who seem to think they are minor gods among us petty humans.” Her voice was rising with fury.
“They do as they like with impunity. The authorities are useless. What is the Office of Criminal Enchantment for, if not to curb such excesses? Instead it wastes time arresting insignificant people such as me for easing pain and poverty, and the men who engage in genuine wrongdoing are instead revered by all as pillars of society.”
Maxwell had risen to his feet as well, and he joined Wister at the window.
Curiously, he seemed entirely unoffended by this diatribe.
He only sounded sad. Terribly, terribly sad.
“It is their power that protects them, Miss Amsel. Not as enchanters. Their power in the world. But we are close to breaking it. Very close.”
Wister was silent for a moment as she stared hard at Maxwell. “If only it had been a little sooner,” she said quietly.
“Yes.” Maxwell turned back to Clementine. “It does seem to me that there is a possible connection, Miss Quinn. If this enchanter seemed to think Rosetta’s life was his to claim, then he may well have continued to think so. Did you ever learn his identity?”
“No.” Clem shook her head. “Father spent his remaining years attempting to discover it. He failed.”
“I see.” Maxwell crossed his arms. “In the coming days I may trouble you with some questions about these events. I apologize in advance, but I believe that knowing as much as possible about that man may well assist the investigation.”
“I know very little, but I’ll tell you what I can.”
Maxwell sat back down on the sofa. His expression was pained. “And now, I’m afraid I must convey some bad news.”
Clementine looked at him dispassionately. “I can’t imagine that there is any additional news at the moment that will seem like bad news.”
Maxwell nodded. “I understand. Nonetheless it’s very bad news.” He took a deep breath. “Somehow, between Washington Square and the city morgue, it appears that we’ve lost Rosetta’s body.”
“What?” Wister stormed back across the room and stared down at Maxwell. “You lost her? How is that possible? Was she not conveyed by coach?”
Maxwell looked inexpressibly weary. “She was. By closed coach, with a driver and an attendant. Nevertheless, by the time they opened the coach to remove her body from it, the coach was empty. It’s possible,” he said, wincing, “that they left the coach unattended while they went into the morgue for a moment to notify them of their arrival. Or so I understand. That’s when I believe the body was taken. ”
Clementine stood up. “Who would take her body?” she asked. “Why? To what purpose? What more do they want from her?”
“I don’t know,” Maxwell said. “It hasn’t happened with any of the other victims. We’re doing everything possible to discover what happened and find her.”
“This is intolerable,” Clementine said. “I can’t even bury her?” She put her head in her hands. “I can’t believe this.”
“I think you should go,” Wister said to Maxwell. “Try to discover where she went.”
Maxwell rose to his feet. With an expression of deep regret, he took up his hat and truncheon.
Clementine was pacing back and forth beside the yellow chairs.
It was exceedingly painful to watch. “I’ll tell you as soon as I have news,” he said quietly.
He gave Clementine one last, apologetic glance before stepping out onto the stairs. Wister closed the door behind him.
“It’s intolerable, Wister,” Clementine repeated a little wildly. “I can’t let this happen.”
Wister looked aggrieved. “Tell me, Clem. What could we possibly do?”