The Dickens Mirror (41 page)

“I think it’ll be okay.” She gave it an experimental roll, first one way and then the other. Her face was pinched. She used the back of a hand to smear away blood from her upper lip. “Another nosebleed. Is this … do you know if Elizabeth is sick? More than her …” She gestured toward her head. “You know.”

Sick?
His chest was boiling over with bright red panic. “Yeah, I’ve always thought so, though no one’s said. You … is she
bad
off?”

“I think so, yeah.” Pressing a palm to her right ribs, she winced. “Hurts more than it did before.”

She sounded wan and worn out, and he remembered what Meme had said about the other Tony.
My Tony has nosebleeds, too
. Christ, what if they were all sick with the same thing?
Yeah, but then why am I all right? Why isn’t Rima ill? Because our doppelgängers aren’t here?
But Rima’s
was
: her … her
shadow
? Existing inside this girl. “Your stitches is torn open. You’re bleeding.”
And I’m going mad
.

“Yeah.” Using the side of a hand to wipe her brow, she stared at the blood on her fingers. “Are you okay? Where’s Meme?”

“Gone. Probably to warn Kramer. But listen to the others now. It’s like they’re screaming
for
her.”
Why
had Meme become
so
hysterical?

With her pale skin and dark eyes and the blood, it was like looking down at a skull in this weird, grainy light. “How long do we have?”

“Not very.” His voice was terse, and then his control broke. “So what
was
all that?
Huh?
” God, he wanted to hit something. “You
realize
you killed a man, yeah?”

“Thanks. You think I don’t
know
that? What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“Not … bloody … 
that
!” he roared.

“Bode …”

“Shut it! Let me
think
!” Fists bunched, he wheeled away fast.
Got to get out of here, got to get out now!
His eyes fell on Weber, whose torso was half-covered with debris.
Yeah, but Bode, you got to think. You’re running now
. Cove probably had pockets full of useful things. Dropping to his haunches, he averted his eyes from the mess and quickly ran his hands over Weber’s trousers. Left pocket was crammed full: keys, a penknife, a candle stub jammed in a small brass holder, a brass match safe that was half-f, Connell’s silver flask, and a small brown bottle.
Oh, wonderful. Just what we need
. He replaced the laudanum, though he laid the flask aside. Weber’s candle stub reminded him of the one he’d dropped. Tossing a look around, he spied a straight iron finger. Miraculously, the candle was still there. Stuffing his haul into a coat pocket, he patted Weber’s right pocket and realized why the nob had transferred everything to the left.
Weber, you thieving arse
.

“So, who are you now?” Carefully tugging Connell’s scalpel free of that right pocket—at least Weber had wrapped the blade in burlap, probably so he’d not skewer his balls—he said, “Who am I talking to? You Elizabeth? Ya
Emma
?”

“Bode, you know I’m Emma. Calm down.”

“Ohhh, that’s rich.” Whipping round on his heels, he stabbed air with the scalpel. “You’re telling me to be
calm
? You
killed
a man. One hit,
one
hit woulda done, and you
know
it!” He was raging, foaming at the mouth. What was he doing, yelling at this girl? So much water under the bridge, wasn’t it?
But what did Meme see? Who?
“But no, you
beat
the man’s head in!”

“He would’ve killed
you
and … 
damn
it!” She dragged an arm over streaming eyes. Dark blood oiled down the side of the girl’s face to drip from her jaw. That forehead was a mess, like a weeping third eye. “It wasn’t
me
!”

“No? So then Meme is right, yeah? This Eric
is
a monster, and now maybe that’s what you are? Nothing but a mon—” His voice failed. What he’d been about to say evanesced from his tongue.

“Bode?” she asked. “What?”

“Emma.” Oh, but he suddenly sounded so strange. Why couldn’t he breathe? When he pointed the scalpel, the blade shook. “Look. Your blood. Emma, your blood, look how it’s …”

He heard her gasp. “Oh my God. It’s …”

She couldn’t say it either. But he saw all right. Oh yes.

Emma’s blood—that trickle of black oil from her forehead that had dribbled onto shattered rock and torn canvas—her blood, all of it …

Was moving.

Spider to the Fly

“WHY ISN’T IT
moving?” Tony’s fingers laced through Rima’s. “It’s just … hovering.”

“All around us.” Emma was crowded back against them. “Like it doesn’t want us going anywhere.”

Why? The Peculiar was perfectly still and quite dense.
Like milky glass
. Against the white snow, Rima found the effect disorienting, as if they were encased in a white sphere.

“Is this what it was like before I popped out?” Emma asked.

“It was much darker then, b-but …” Shivering, Rima nodded. “Essentially.”

“How far away you think it is?” Tony’s tone was curiously flat, too, as if the space inside this fog dome, however large it was, deadened sound.

“Can’t tell.” Maybe a hundred feet? Twice that? Until one of them actually tried walking up to the barrier, it was impossible to say. “Listen.” Rima cocked her head. “You hear that?”

“Like crackle ice, when you smash it under your boot,” Tony said.

“Or Rice Krispies. Snap, crackle, pop. Or static between radio stations. Or …” Emma’s face trembled. “I’ve heard this before. From down cellar.”

“I think it’s coming
from
the fog. Not right at the surface but inside. You know how you can look at a pond and the surface is still but underneath there are currents and things swimming? There’s a layer keeps the fog in place,” she said.

“Ohhh,”
Emma breathed. “You mean, a force field. Wow, yeah, why didn’t I think of that? It’s like on
S-Star Trek
.”

“What?” The girl was a mystery. Rima had been thinking more of hoar ice over a shallow puddle: that she always knew there was water beneath because of the bubbles and the way the water moved when she put pressure on the ice.

“All right,” Tony said. “So the fog is soft and squashy as custard and needs something to hold it in place. How does that help us? We can’t just stay here.”

“The only other choice is to see if we can walk through it.”

“Not with a force field in place,” Emma said. “Probably get zapped. But … how come you guys don’t know about this already? I mean, the Peculiar’s been here for a while, right? Has anyone ever tried walking into it?”

“From what I’ve heard,” Tony said, “yeah. They make it inside but doesn’t nobody ever come back out. Until you, that is.”

“I didn’t go into a Peculiar,” Emma said.

“That you know of,” Rima said. “Maybe, in your … 
Now
 … it’s different. You said there was a barrier between you and that square you came through.”

“You mean that the Peculiar changes depending on where it is?” Emma’s eyebrows tented. “Well … water does that; goes from liquid to solid to gas. I can buy that.” The little girl cocked
her head. “So what if the force field’s like … a one-way mirror? Whatever’s inside can see out, but you can’t see in?”

“Meaning that there’s something or someone there, watching us now?” Rima ran her eyes up and down the fog.
Perhaps Emma’s right; it’s like a carriage, a way of transporting energy from one place to another
. There was a way to know, too. Maybe.

“What?” Startled, Tony looked down when she took her hand from his. “What is …” Then he saw what she was doing and battened around her wrist before she could tug off her other mitten. “You taken leave of your senses? That is
not
an option.”

“Tony.” She said his name calmly enough, but her pulse was jumping in her throat. “You know it is. I’m the only one who can do this. If there’s something inside, maybe I can … I don’t know,
talk
to it. It’s not hurting us, just
waiting
for something.” She gave her hand, still imprisoned in his, a pointed look. “Tony, we can’t stand here forever and wonder.”

“You don’t know if it’s not the same everywhere else in Lambeth. Maybe this is the way it goes. How it …” He swallowed. “How it all ends.”

“Bet not,” Emma said.

Tony scowled. “Whose side are you on?”

“Everyone’s. But Rima’s right, and you know it.”

“Think, Tony,” Rima said. “You’re saying the fog isolates each and every person in London like this? Then what? Starves them out? Waits for them to die?”

“It could.” His jaw thrust in a stubborn jut. “Not like anyone knows for sure.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She gave her wrist a small tug. “It’s waiting, Tony.”

“Yeah? So do spiders. Spin their webs and wait for a stupid fly
to bumble in before moving in for the kill.”

“I’m not a fly.” But she could actually see a strange, unearthly spider at the center of all this:
Come to my parlor …
“You
want
to stay here? With them?” She waved her free hand at their tumble of sacks. Her old fear was back, too, rising in their throat.
You watch; they’ll get up and walk next
. She muscled that down. “Eat up whatever’s in our sad little bundle, and then what? Wait? Dig a cave? Eat each other? Tony, we’re cut off and on the
snow
. I fail to see how
I
can possibly make this any worse than it already is.”

“There’s always worse.”

“Tony.”
Emma gave him an exasperated look. “Let her
try
.”

“What is this? Five seconds ago, you’re the one worrying about getting
zapped
.”

“But we can’t just hang around,
waiting
,” the girl said. “I’ll do it, if you want. Maybe it should be me, anyway. I came from it. When I touched the square down cellar, it opened up. So maybe we’re looking at this wrong. What if it’s come back for
me?
What if this is how I get home?”

“Neither of you knows anything for sure,” Tony said. “You’re both spitting in the wind and hoping it don’t come back in your face.”

“But you don’t have a better idea.” When his eyes skipped away, Rima ducked her head to capture his gaze. “I’m the one knows how to draw. If nothing happens, we let Emma try. Tony, we have nothing to lose.”

“Rima.”
His lips were so tight the skin around his mouth was white as the fog. “If something goes wrong … say, it grabs you or … I don’t know. Don’t you understand? I might not …” Emotions chased across his face. “What if I can’t stop it taking you? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“That makes two of us,” she said.

“No.” Emma slid her hand into Rima’s chilled palm. “Three.”

HE DIDN’T QUITE
give up. “Shut it,” Tony said when she objected. “It’s either me or the rope. Choose your poison, but you’re not getting close to that without me having hold of you one way or the other.” He looked down at Emma. “Without
us
hanging on.”

“Got that right,” Emma said.

“What if it doesn’t like you hanging on?” Rima asked.

“Bugger that.” He untied the rope from their cart. “It can suck wind for all I care.”

“Fine,” she said, “but no rope. I’m not the prize in a tug-of-war.”

“All right. Then it’s me and bare hands.” Tossing the loops onto the fractured snow, he yanked a pike from where it had buried itself in snow and then took up a loose fistful of her coat between her shoulders. “Arm’s length. First sign of trouble, I pull you back, no arguments.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, though she wasn’t at all sure about that.

“Guys.” Fishing out their second pike, Emma took up a position by her side, like an armed guard. “Let’s just do this, okay?”

Judging distance was hard. But if the cart was the center of whatever odd dome or sphere they were in, then she thought they clambered, perhaps, fifty or sixty feet in a slow, uncertain shuffle, feeling for softer snow through their boots and bypassing jagged chunks. When she was five feet away, she looked back over a shoulder. “You feel that?”

“Yeah.” Emma made a face. “Tingles.”

“All my hair’s standing on end, like I scuffed over a carpet,” Tony said.

That was exactly right. She shot a glance at the cart. Why, she wasn’t sure, but nothing had changed: the sacks hadn’t budged.
Idiot. No one’s getting up for a stroll
.

“What is it?” Emma asked.

“Nothing.”
Then why do I feel watched?
She faced forward again. The fizzy sound was louder, too, and more like the buzz of an excited crowd.
People?

“This is what it sounded like down cellar.” Emma held the pike like a spear. “You should be
really
careful. When I reached in the first time, something grabbed me.”

“
Now
you’re telling us?” Tony said.

“All right,” Rima said, when she’d come within arm’s reach. “Far enough.”

“Wait,” Tony said. She heard the soft crunch of snow and felt Tony set his feet. “All right, go on. Ready as I’ll … No, Emma, you get back here, stay behind me.”

“Why? God, get over yourself. It’s not like it’s going to explode.” The girl made a disgusted sound.
“Fine.”

“Here goes.” Pulling in a breath, Rima stretched her hand. The next moment, she let out a small cry.

“What,
what
?” Alarmed, Tony gave her a tug. “Rima?”

“I’m all right. It was a spark. Like … a shock, but sharp like needle pricks? Cold too, but not terrible. Just a surprise.”

“Is it freezing cold?” Emma asked. “That’s what it was like down cellar.”

“Yes.” She
haahed
on her numbed fingers. “Surface is a little gummy, too, like aspic left out too long that’s started to dry.”

“Do you hear anything?” Emma asked. “Like a click or something?”

“No.” This time, when she touched the fog, she was ready for the sting and waited to see if it would stop. It did, but her hand wouldn’t go any further either.