Chapter sixty-three

John’s House, Kinspit

 

Mr Hardacre had left strict instructions: she was to contact Owen as soon as she could, via mail paper and if that didn’t work then to try to reach him through the twins. He had to come to Kinspit to help block up the wormhole into Helios. The two servants had had a hurried conversation when Hardacre had realised that he would have to make for Ortia immediately; he had insisted that Bentley write everything down, but her notes were inevitably confused – she’d just have to try the best that she could.

Bentley sent three mail papers all saying approximately the same thing Mr Hardacre requests that you come to Mr Ismay’s house immediately on a vital mission. Hardacre had told her, counter intuitively, that she only need write Owen Floyd, Hybitor Council and it would get to him. These was new findings of Dr Fielding, apparently, although it was odd time to be conducting original research.

New findings or not it didn’t seem to work; so after waiting a few hours after she had sent the last mail paper, she had gone into Mr Ismay’s study and chalked out a pentangle on his hard parquet floor.

A mist formed across the floor. Out of it protruded a face.

‘Who’s there?’

‘I is I, Miss Bentley, Mr Hardacre’s deputy’

Gwyneth frowned.

‘What on earth do you want?’

Bentley’s heart sank. She had really hoped that it would be the other twin who answered.  This one was as abrasive as the other was gentle.

‘I have an important message from Mr Hardacre’

‘Oh’ said Gwyneth, softening slightly

There was a pause, as Bentley expected some other instruction.

Irritation lit up Gwyneth’s face again

‘Spit it out then. We have a lot on our plate here’

‘Mr Hardacre has had to attend to urgent business in Ortia. He instructed me to contact Mr Floyd, but I have been unable to reach him’

Gwyneth smiled the coldest possible smile.

‘That’s not surprising. He seems to have disappeared altogether. We have no idea where he is either’

‘Oh no’ said Bentley, ‘Mr Hardacre had hoped that he could block up a wormhole to another world’

The creases in Gwyneth’s forehead multipled alarmingly.

‘What other world?’

‘A place called “Helios” apparently. He didn’t have time to explain’

‘Yes, that’s known to us’ Gwyneth confirmed, crisply.

Bentley wondered where she could go from here. She assumed her most polite voice.

‘Is there someone else who could block up the hole, madam?’

Gwyneth thought for a moment and then shrugged.

‘Miss Angharad Protheroe, I imagine; but she can irritatingly hard to find too. It doesn’t help that she builds things that keep out magic…’ 

For some reason Bentley felt herself staring through the mists, as if looking for something or someone else. She found her own behaviour very odd and entirely distracting. Sometimes she felt that her worst enemy was herself. She so envied Mr Hardacre’s iron control.     

‘How can I reach her?’ she asked abruptly

‘Do you have any mail paper?’

‘Yes’

‘Well, then try that. And if that doesn’t work come back to us. Right now, though, I need you to smudge your circle. We’re busy’

Bentley murmured ‘yes, ma’am’ and did as she was told.

No more than a minute later the image reappeared, but this time it was Bronwyn that loomed out through the mists.

‘Miss Bentley’ she said, ‘I can help you find Angharad’

Bentley smiled in relief and Bronwyn smiled back. For a moment that was the only communication that they seemed to require. Bentley frowned. This is a bit unprofessional. 

‘I thought you were too busy, madam’ she continued in a clipped tone.

Bronwyn turned her head away slightly, breaking the eye contact.

‘No, not for…’ Bronwyn paused, ‘… for something so important’

‘You’re very kind’ said Bentley

‘I’m happy to help’ murmured Bronwyn and lifted her hand up.

A helping hand thought Bentley, how nice. Suddenly, and completely unbidden, Bentley‘s unruly mind lifted her hand up as if to reach out and hold Bronwyn’s. It was all very odd. When Bronwyn saw the proffered hand she coloured slightly. I’m embarrassing her, thought Bentley, and after she so graciously volunteered her help. She must think me very strange.  She dropped her hand.

‘Well…’ she said, ‘I should be going….’

There was a flicker of something across Bronwyn’s face but it was hard to say what it was. For some reason Bentley’s heart was now racing. She clumsily scraped her foot across the chalk circle, but failed to wipe off the line. They stood there for another moment, with Bronwyn looking confused.

‘Aren’t you still there?’ she said, staring straight at her.

‘No’ blurted out Bentley, ‘Not quite… I mean… almost never…’

She looked down and forced her heel across the chalk marks. Bronwyn disappeared. Bentley was mortified. She had acted in the weirdest possible way and nothing had really been decided. Would Bronwyn contact her again soon? She now rather doubted it. She was ashamed to have been so maladroit.  Why had she been trying to shake hands through a Enchanter’s Window?  It was particularly distressing as Bronwyn had seemed so pleasant and was being so helpful. Miss Preece she corrected herself, I’m only calling her “Bronwyn” because there’s two of them.  

She sat down on Mr Ismay’s armchair and stared into space. Her good sense reasserted itself. All she could do now was wait.  

 

Half an hour later there was an unexpected rap on the open study door.

‘Simkins?’ Bentley enquired

‘No’ said the scruffy woman at the door, ‘I’m Angharad. I let myself in… And you are?’

Bentley scrambled up. She essayed a hasty bow.

‘Councillor’ she murmured, ‘my apologies’

Angharad examined her warily.

‘For what? Mistaking me for Simkins? Why would that worry me when you clearly hadn’t seen me? Is Mr Simkins particularly unappealing in some way? I don’t understand’

Bentley shook her head gravely. She tried to explain.

‘Just for not showing you more respect, madam. I seem not to have offended you, however and for that I am grateful’

Angharad pushed the tangle of black hair back from her eyes.

‘Am I in the right house?’ she asked, ‘I was expecting Laurence’s deputy, a man called Bentley’

‘That’s I’ said Bentley nodding, ‘Miss Bentley’

‘Fair enough’ accepted Angharad, ‘Anyway, the twins sent me. They said it was something urgent concerning interstitial space’

‘I suppose it is’ agreed Bentley, ‘you need to plug up a tunnel made between two worlds…’

‘Right, so I understood.’ Angharad grinned, ‘it sounds fascinating’

Bentley’s eyes widened.

‘You don’t even know where it is…’

‘True’ said Angharad, her eyes creased with sudden worry, ‘but I’m sure you do though, don’t you?’

Only vaguely thought Bentley, but I won’t allow myself to let Mr Hardacre down.

‘Yes’ she said, ‘of course’

Angharad looked back past the open door; Bentley had only just realised that there was another person there, almost entirely hidden from view.

‘Let me introduce Nigel – my assistant.’

Standing just the other side of the door was a huge man with an enormous backpack. The backpack lay open on the floor.

‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Bentley’ he growled, nodding once slowly. His voice was the deepest she’d ever heard. He looked a lot more like a bodyguard than an assistant.

‘He brings my equipment’ explained Angharad, and then added, entirely superfluously, ‘he’s exceptionally strong’

Nigel smiled broadly. He also looked like he was unusually easy to please.

Bentley turned back to Angharad. She tried very hard to keep the scepticism out of her voice.

‘So you have equipment with you to block up an extra-dimensional tunnel, do you?’

Angharad nodded at Nigel. He pulled an object out of the backpack. It was a disc, the size and shape of a dustbin lid, with a long wooden handle. It had a narrow metal cone protruding from the middle of the convex side, wider side downwards. It smelt very strongly of magic.

‘It’s an ontological plunger’ explained Angharad, as if that were any explanation at all.

Bentley stared at the object. It didn’t look particularly impressive.

‘Like a sink plunger?’

‘Yep,’ said Nigel ‘it blocks up holes’

Bentley shook her head.

‘But that’s the opposite of what a plunger does, isn’t it?’

Nigel smiled again; Angharad looked completely unconcerned.

‘It’s just called a plunger because it looks like one; the thaumatology behind it is very different, so I’m told. I just apply the equations’

‘Right’ said Bentley, cautiously, ‘but you know that it works, yes?’

Nigel nodded

‘Like a dream’ he said, contentedly, ’like a bloody dream’

‘We use it all the time’ explained Angharad, ‘whenever we’re dealing with folded space. It’s good for cleaning up after extra-dimensional botching’

That didn’t sound good at all to Bentley but she had little choice; Mr Hardacre had given her a task and now she needed to do it. She nodded politely and then pressed on.

‘Is there anything else you need?’

The two engineers shook their heads. Nigel put the plunger back in the sack and hoisted it, with one fluid motion and an appreciative grunt, on to his shoulders.

‘In which case, Councillor Protheroe, Mr…umm…. Nigel. Let us go’