The sun was up over Kensal Green; it wasn’t yet six a.m., but already it was pleasant to be out. Trees glistened, the grass shone; there were probably plenty of bees and butterflies drifting around, if I’d had the energy to notice. As it was, the only samples of wildlife I could see were the dozen or so DEPRAC officers who’d taken up residence in the excavators’ camp. I sat on the chapel steps above them, letting the fresh warmth play on my skin.
They’d brought vans in, and were using the site as a temporary incident room. Beside one vehicle, Inspector Barnes stood in animated conference with Lockwood. I could almost see his moustache bristling from afar. Outside another van, a group of medics treated George – and also Kat Godwin, Bobby Vernon and Ned Shaw, who stood together in a ragged line. As for Quill Kipps, he’d already been patched up. He sat a few steps below me; together we watched a procession of officers entering the chapel. They carried iron, silver and all manner of protective boxes, to make safe the contents of the catacombs.
Here and there on the ground below the chapel, white-coated officers picked over scraps of clothing, blood, and fallen weapons – relics of the great fight that had taken place an hour or two before.
As Lockwood told it (and as reported by many of the newspapers afterwards), the battle with Winkman’s thugs had been a desperate affair. No fewer than six assailants – each armed with club or bludgeon – had taken part in the attack. Lockwood and the three Fittes agents had been fighting for their lives. It had been cudgel against sword, weight of numbers against superior fighting skill. The battle raged up and down the chapel steps, and to begin with, the sheer ferocity of the attackers had threatened to win through. Gradually, however, the operatives’ swordplay told. The tide turned. As dawn broke over the cemetery, the thugs were driven back across the camp, and out among the graves. According to Lockwood, he himself had seriously wounded three of the men; Shaw and Godwin had accounted for two others. The sixth had thrown away his baton and fled. In the end five captives had lain helpless on the ground beside the cabins, with Kat Godwin standing guard.
Victory, however, had come at a cost. Everyone had been hurt – Lockwood and Godwin with little more than scratches, while Ned Shaw had suffered a broken arm. Bobby Vernon had been badly struck about the head, and could not stand. It was left to Lockwood to force entry into the nearest work cabin; then, leaving Shaw to find its phone and ring Barnes, he had sprinted into the chapel, where he found the open shaft of the catafalque. As I’d expected, he lost no time dropping into darkness, before hastening in search of George and me.
Getting out was easier than getting in. We’d eventually located the keys to the catacomb doors (and to Kipps’s chains) in Joplin’s pocket, and so were able to leave by way of the stairs. We reached the surface, going slowly, just as DEPRAC’s team arrived.
Inspector Barnes had come bounding up the steps to meet us. Before listening to either Lockwood or Kipps, both of whom vied to get his attention, he had demanded the mirror; it was the only thing on his mind. Lockwood presented its pieces with a flourish. Judging by the droop of Barnes’s moustache, its condition disappointed him. Nevertheless, he at once summoned medics to help us, before organizing a wider search of the catacombs. He wanted to see what else Joplin might have hidden there.
There was one artefact, however, that his officers didn’t find. I had my rucksack – and, in it, the silent ghost-jar. Arguably, the skull had saved me. I would decide its fate when I got back home.
After an early conversation with Barnes, Kipps had been largely ignored. For some time he had been sitting on the chapel steps, grey-faced, a dusty, haggard shadow of his usual strutting self.
On impulse, I cleared my throat. ‘I wanted to thank you,’ I said. ‘For what you did – in supporting me back there. And for going after George. I’m surprised, actually. After seeing you leg it from the rats in Bickerstaff’s house, I wouldn’t have guessed you’d have the bottle for any of that.’
Kipps gave a mirthless laugh; I waited for the inevitable acid retort. Instead, after a pause, he said quietly, ‘It’s easy to judge me now. But you don’t yet know what it’s like, the day your Talent starts to fade. You’ll still sense ghosts – you’ll know they’re present. But you won’t see or hear them properly any more. You’ll get all the terror, without being able to do anything about it. Sometimes nerves will simply overwhelm you.’
He broke off then, and stood, his face hardening. Lockwood was walking towards us over the sunlit grass.
‘So, are we all arrested?’ I asked as he drew near. I could think of several reasons why Barnes might be mad with us just now, me smashing the bone glass being only one of them.
Lockwood grinned. ‘Not at all. Why shouldn’t Mr Barnes be pleased? Yes, we broke the mirror. Yes, we killed the main suspect. But the danger to London’s over, which is how he sold the case to us in the first place. He can’t deny we’ve succeeded, can he? At least, that’s what I told him. Anyway, he’s got the mirror, even if it is broken; and he’s got whatever else Joplin stashed in here. Also the crooks we caught might testify against Julius Winkman. All in all, he’s happy, in a grudging sort of way. And so am I. How about you, Quill?’
‘You gave the thing to Barnes, then,’ Kipps said shortly.
‘I did.’
‘And he’s awarded you the case?’
‘He has.’
‘Full commission?’
‘Actually, no. Since we did all the legwork, but you and your team were there to help us in the final act,’ Lockwood said, ‘I suggested we split it seventy/thirty. I hope that’s satisfactory.’
Kipps didn’t answer at first. He breathed hard through his nose. ‘It’s . . . acceptable,’ he said at last.
‘Good.’ Lockwood’s eyes glittered. ‘And so we come to the matter of our bet. The deal, as I recall, was that whoever lost this case should put an advert in The Times, praising the winners to the skies and doing some general grovelling. I think you’ll agree that since we located the mirror, we homed in on Joplin, and Barnes has declared us the official winners, those losers must surely be you and your team. What do you say?’
Kipps bit his lip; his tired eyes searched left and right, hunting for an answer. At last, as forced, tiny and reluctant as an earwig being extracted from a crack, the answer came: ‘All right.’
‘Fine!’ Lockwood said heartily. ‘That’s all I wanted to hear. Of course, I can’t make you do it, and frankly I wouldn’t even want to, after fighting hard alongside your team today. Also, I know how you tried to help George and Lucy – and I won’t forget that. So don’t worry. The forfeit isn’t necessary.’
‘The advert?’
‘Forget it; it was a silly idea.’
Conflicting emotions crossed Kipps’s face; he seemed about to speak. All at once he gave a single curt nod. He drew himself up. Trailing small clouds of grave-dust, he stalked off down the steps towards his team.
‘That was a nice gesture,’ I said, watching him go. ‘And I think it was the right thing to do. But . . .’
Lockwood scratched his nose. ‘Yes, I’m not sure he’s too grateful. Ah, well – what can you do? And here comes George.’
George’s injuries had been treated. Aside from a few bruises, and some puffiness around the eyes, he looked in surprisingly good shape. Still, he seemed sheepish; he approached on hesitant steps. It was the first time we’d been alone with him that morning.
‘If you’re going to kill me,’ he said, ‘do you mind doing it quickly? I’m out on my feet here.’
‘We all are,’ Lockwood said. ‘We can do it another time.’
‘I’m sorry for causing this trouble. Shouldn’t have gone off like that.’
‘True.’ Lockwood cleared his throat. ‘Still, I should probably apologize too.’
‘Personally,’ I said, ‘I’m not apologizing to anyone. At least, not until after a nap.’
‘I’ve been snappy with you, George,’ Lockwood said. ‘I haven’t properly taken into account your excellent contributions to the team. And I’m aware that your actions today were almost certainly affected by your exposure to the mirror, and to Bickerstaff’s ghost. You weren’t quite yourself, I understand that.’
He waited. George said nothing.
‘Just a little opportunity there for you to apologize some more,’ Lockwood said.
‘I think he’s dozing off,’ I said. George’s eyelids were drooping. I nudged him; his head jerked up. ‘Hey,’ I said, ‘one thing. One thing I’ve got to ask you now. When you looked into the mirror . . .’
George nodded sleepily. ‘I know what you’re going to say. The answer’s nothing. I didn’t see anything there.’
I frowned. ‘Yeah, but listen – I almost got caught too. I felt the tug, just with a single glance. It was all I could do to pull away. And you looked right into it. Not only that, you said to Joplin that you saw—’
‘“Beautiful things”? Oh, I was making that up. I was telling Joplin what he wanted to hear.’ He grinned at us. ‘The whole thing was an act.’
Lockwood stared at him. ‘But I don’t understand. If you looked into the glass—’
‘He did,’ I insisted. ‘I watched him do it.’
‘Then how did you survive when Wilberforce and Neddles – and everyone else who looked in it – ended up dying of fright?’
For answer, George slowly took off his glasses. He lowered them, as if to clean them on his jumper, and put his finger up against the lens. He pushed – and instead of hitting glass, his finger went right through. He wiggled it from side to side.
‘When I had my scrap with Joplin earlier,’ he said, ‘we each knocked our specs clean off. Mine hit a stone or something, and both lenses fell out. I lost them on the floor. Joplin didn’t notice, and you can be sure I wasn’t going to tell him. So whatever was in that mirror might have been dancing a hornpipe for all I knew or cared. Didn’t bother me at all.’
‘You mean, when you looked at it . . .’
‘Exactly.’ He tucked his empty frames neatly in his pocket. ‘At that distance, I’m totally short-sighted. I couldn’t see a thing.’
