Authors: Mark Latham
‘Doors, windows, arches and gates are more than just physical portals from one point to another,’ he said. ‘Over time they collect a psychic resonance—an imprint, if you like—from the countless people who pass through them, because they are perceived by the human mind as gateways to other places. Every time one uses a door a portion of one’s own psychical power is transferred to it, rather like a cat leaving a scent trail on table legs. The more a doorway is used, the stronger the resonance—I believe that, if Mr. James is right about the means of transportation between one universe and the next, then a large, old gateway is vital to the creation of the Othersiders’ portals. It is more than just a way of physically containing the energies involved. The crypt door in Christ Church was used for many years for funeral processions—imagine the solemnity and grief concentrated on that site over time. The gates of Chelsea Hospital are old, and have seen many comings and goings and, notably, intense emotion from patients and loved ones. These doorways are singled out, I believe, because they are fixed points, that stand in both universes, and have a resonance that can transcend physical existence. Given the age and importance of some of these locations, I imagine their use is obvious to the agents of the other universe. Other points may require certain special abilities to pinpoint. Those gifted individuals of a psychic persuasion are doubtless invaluable in this task.’
There was silence when he finished speaking. I do not believe anyone but James wholeheartedly believed what he had said. Melville could not openly ridicule a man of Sir Arthur Furnival’s standing, but the look he gave him said it all—he fancied the baronet a lunatic or an imbecile.
When the silence became uncomfortable, I broke it. ‘You said I had asked two questions, Mr. James?’
‘Oh, yes indeed,’ said James. ‘Why use gateways at all when they have the power to go back home without them? I can only deduce that when one crosses between worlds, a portal provides only one-way travel. While living matter cannot return through a single gate without something unpredictable happening, dead matter can come and go—once the Othersiders die, their bodies are transported back home, probably to hide the evidence of their visit. If they were to use their devices whilst they were still alive, I expect they would be killed—smashed to atoms or somesuch.’
‘You sound very certain.’ This time it was Ambrose who questioned the philosopher.
‘I am confident in my deductions, and have certain… intelligence to support my theories. The energy, effort and coordination required to create a new portal from our side—they would not risk such ventures if they could simply return home with a click of their fingers. Why, Mr. Melville saw with his own eyes a group of anarchists escape through Marble Arch, with nowhere to go. And yet he denies the truth of his own experience.’
‘That is because I have to believe there is another answer. What you speak of is… is… ungodly!’ Melville had come to the end of his tether.
‘I bring you evidence of the greatest wonder in God’s creation, and you call it ungodly? Why? Because it challenges your understanding of creation? You say ungodly, I say miraculous—but it is all truth, nonetheless. Our suspects are not bloody-minded throwbacks to the Fenian movement, nor are they Prussians or Austrians or any other power that we can name; they are soldiers—agents—from another reality. And, by God, we must start dealing with them as such, or they will surely accomplish their infernal mission!’
William James had snapped, and his outburst caused a general clamour. Melville leapt to his feet, pounding his fist on the table as he retorted. Ambrose threw up his hands in exasperation, decrying it all as ‘balderdash and piffle’; Sir Arthur jumped to the defence of the American, whilst Jim and the colonel talked amongst themselves, looking most grave, though I could not hear what they were saying. In the end, Sir Toby called for a recess, and invited us all to take refreshments downstairs. All except Melville and William James, that is—the Irishman and the American followed Sir Toby to his private office for further talks. The mysterious man in the shadows, however, was already gone.
* * *
With everyone gone their separate ways, Ambrose and I found a table in a corner of the members’ bar and summoned a waiter. I was determined to keep my head clear for the evening’s business, so I ordered coffee. Ambrose, true to form, was on the sherry.
‘Steady on,’ I said. ‘No doubt you’ll be expected to concentrate on more of Mr. James’ theories when we are called back in. What do you make of it all? Are we really under threat from these… “Othersiders”, as James put it?’
‘Balderdash!’
‘Yes, I believe you said that at the time.’
‘Have you ever heard the like?’ Ambrose snorted rhetorically, a little too loudly. I’d gathered that the Apollonian was unused to having its quiet dignity challenged so. I motioned a finger to my lips to hush Ambrose, and he giggled like a schoolboy, before continuing in a softer tone. ‘But really; who could believe such drivel? I find it hard enough to swallow Melville’s suggestions about scientists and acid explosions, or whatever he said. It’s just beyond the pale.’
‘Did you see that fellow hiding in the shadows at the back of the room?’ I asked, changing the subject in the hope that Ambrose would lower his voice just a little. ‘No introductions… I half wondered if it wasn’t someone from the palace.’
Ambrose snorted. ‘He certainly acts as if he is. Honestly, you really are green as duckweed at times, old chap.’
I looked at him expectantly, ignoring the slight.
‘That was Lord Cherleten. You’ll never see him unless he wants you to, and he’s rarely about in daylight hours; a regular Varney the bloody vampire. Runs the armoury, and sits at Sir Toby’s right hand in the order—under sufferance, if rumours are to be believed. He’ll be in charge when Sir Toby retires—thinks he’s in charge now, by all accounts.’
‘Why would Sir Toby stand for that?’ I asked. The baronet didn’t seem the type to put up with dissent, even from noted peers.
Ambrose shrugged. ‘Friends in high places, I expect. Word is that he goes shooting with Ponsonby of a weekend—when you’ve got the ear of the Queen’s secretary, you might as well have the ear of the Queen. He’s making a power play all right, and likes to undermine the old man whenever he can.’
‘Undermine how?’ I asked. I was annoyed on Sir Toby’s part, though I had never even heard of Lord Cherleten.
‘For a start, who do you think invited your friend Denny along tonight? Sir Toby does not share information with the War Office, the Admiralty, or any other agency until he’s certain of his facts—oh, God… speak of the devil…’
Ambrose took a gulp of sherry, and I looked up to see Jim approaching our table, mercifully without the surly Colonel Stirling at his side.
‘I apologise for imposing,’ said Jim, ‘but the Colonel’s been called in with the top brass, and I don’t really know anyone else at the Apollonian.’
‘That’s because it’s an exclusive club,’ said Ambrose. ‘Drink?’
‘No, thank you,’ Jim replied. He looked at Ambrose somewhat warily. ‘So, John, what do you think about Mr. James’ theories? I confess I am in two minds.’
‘What does Lord Cherleten think?’ Ambrose interrupted. Jim responded with a glare.
‘I’m sure I don’t know what the honourable gentleman thinks. I’m here under orders. I thought we all were.’
‘But whose orders? That’s the nub, eh.’
‘Ambrose,’ I said, ‘the representatives of the War Office are honoured guests. We must extend every courtesy, must we not?’ This drew a shrug from Ambrose, and Jim sat a little more at ease. ‘To answer your question, Jim,’ I said, ‘I think the story is so fantastical that I need to see some real evidence with my own eyes. It is true that Mr. Hanlocke and I have made little sense of the strange things we have found so far, but that does not mean that we have to embrace every theory that comes along, especially ones as improbable as this.’
‘You say improbable,’ replied Jim, ‘not impossible? You have an open mind, and if what Mr. James is saying is true, you‘ll need it! And what about you, Mr. Hanlocke—will Mr. James make a believer of you this night?’
‘I very much doubt it,’ Ambrose retorted. ‘In fact, the longer we dally here, the more bombs those dynamiters are planting out there, I’ll wager. Real bombs, not figments of an overactive imagination.’
‘That’s strange; you don’t strike me as a man of action,’ Jim baited.
‘Appearances can be deceptive, as your uniform proves. No, I’m sure our superiors know best, but if I were in charge I’d be dragging every stage magician across the land in for questioning. Mr. Maskelyne has a show on this very week. Disappearing ladies are his specialty, I’m told.’
It was clear that Jim and Ambrose were not going to get along. But before the irascible Mr. Hanlocke could launch into further wild speculation, Holdsworth appeared, summoning us once more to the boardroom. Relieved that I would not be called upon for further peacemaking, I followed Holdsworth from the room, eager to hear what William James would have to say next.
* * *
When we reconvened, the mood between the three senior figures was somewhat changed. Melville sat next to James, both to the right of Sir Toby, and although the tension in the room was palpable, it was equally clear that they had reached an accord. The mysterious Lord Cherleten was nowhere to be seen. Melville, that notoriously tough, inquisitorial Irishman, seemed strangely subdued. Perhaps I had imagined it, but I felt that he gave me the queerest look as I took my seat.
‘Gentlemen,’ Sir Toby said, ‘I apologise for our short break, but I felt that Mr. James and I had done Mr. Melville a great injustice by not disclosing certain sensitive information to him ahead of time. I have now rectified that mistake, and Mr. Melville has graciously given his agreement for the meeting to proceed.’
‘May I then ask, sirs,’ I ventured, ‘whether we are to assume that Mr. James’ earlier assertions are all correct? That we are indeed dealing with some foreign agency from… another universe?’ I could hardly conceal my incredulous tone, but at the same time I was filled with a boyish excitement. Deep down, I was hoping for Sir Toby to answer in the affirmative; I wanted to believe this incredible story, and be a part of it.
‘That is correct, Captain Hardwick. Forewarned is forearmed, so to speak, and we must begin the task of gathering intelligence on our infernal counterparts immediately.’
‘We keep hearing that word, “infernal”, gentlemen.’ It was Ambrose speaking now, and I feared what he might say after his impromptu sherry. ‘But does anyone really know their motives? If they are from some other universe, then how are we to interpret them as good or evil?’
‘How can we judge any man so?’ replied William James. ‘All men are capable of savagery for some cause or another. The difference between a good man and a bad one is the choice of the cause.’
‘Do you not consider their callous actions a greater indicator of their character?’ I asked. ‘These “soldiers” conduct themselves like villains, killing innocents and destroying swathes of our great city.’
‘Unfortunately, Captain, if they truly are soldiers fighting for a cause, then these things are surely considered collateral damage. You have seen a great deal of action abroad, I believe—none of us are so naïve as to think that you have never seen an atrocity or injustice. But all for the greater good, yes?’
I paled, and held my tongue.
‘What Mr. James is trying to say,’ Sir Toby intervened, ‘is that any man—soldier or no—can commit a barbarous act for his cause. However, we know that the cause of our opponents is a grim one, which can only be born of malice.’
‘And how could you know that?’ asked Ambrose, forgetting his place.
‘Because,’ William James replied, matter-of-factly, ‘I have been to their world, and talked to them myself.’
* * *
James had managed to stun the group for a second time that night, and the rest of the meeting continued with him telling his extraordinary tale. Supported by more of his photographic slides, William James explained how he had travelled to Alaska many years ago to view the northern lights, initially to assist in his study of magnetism.
Living in virtual isolation, James chanced upon a strange, natural phenomenon near his cabin, which he at first had thought to be some ghostly manifestation. He saw in the cold night air a hazy window open up, through which he could see people eating, drinking and talking, as real as though they were standing on the other side of a pane of glass. When it had closed, James resolved to return to the same spot and observe the phenomenon again, which he did the very next night. Sure enough, at the same time almost every night, the window opened and James was able to see into the other world. He described how, as time progressed, the images became clearer, more expansive, until he felt as if he was a part of that world. And then, one day, quite simply, he was.
‘To this day I do not know how it happened,’ James said. ‘On the night when the aurora borealis reached their crescendo, I left the small party of locals whom I had befriended and went to my place in the woods. When the window opened, it was not a hazy, clouded image in the air, but rather a portal, surrounded by a corona of golden light. I stepped forward dumbfounded, and as I did so, the people on the other side—the people I had almost come to know—seemed to look right at me. They saw me. In the next instant I was amongst them, in their world. The gateway closed behind me and there was no way back.
‘Gentlemen, can you imagine the horror of that realisation? The utter fear that gripped me was maddening. For aught I knew I had travelled to the spirit world that the new theosophy schools were teaching of. Though the people on the other side tried to calm me, their confusion and excitement only added to my own, and I think I spent days in a kind of fugue state, inconsolable at the thought that I would never see my family, or my own people, again.
‘At length the madness passed—although there are some amongst you who would surely disagree. The people on the other side were scientists, sent to study the phenomenon that had been discovered in their world long before I had chanced upon my “window”. Their early attempts to pass objects—and even animals—through the portal had proved disastrous. They believed it to be a window onto another universe, as I now do, but could not traverse it. My arrival had been like a bolt from the blue, and had confounded their greatest hypotheses. And they knew me! In their world, William James is a great scientist, and “his” sudden appearance in their midst was a doubly great shock to them. But, gentlemen, there is a price to pay for dabbling with the laws of nature.