I was filled with despair. I had done this; I had done this to my brother.
It was my last glimpse of the world as a living man.
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
Monday, September 17, 1888
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, butof coursethat 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 timesshehad been pursued by stones, but she shook her head. It was maddening! Grieving or not, shehadto 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.