‘Well, not exactly saying that; but yes, yes –I’m sort of implying that.’
‘Great! Even the queen hasn’t put a stop to people being hung for stealing!’
‘Look on the bright side,’ Apsara insists as brightly as she can manage. ‘If your parents have made such a big fuss about your childhood things going missing, they must really care for you, right?’
‘Oh yeah, yeah: that is a silver lining, isn't it? Just call me old sour face for not spotting that bright ray of sunshine lighting up my otherwise quite miserable execution.’
‘Maybe it is time to use the Ring of Invisibility,’ Apsara whispers conspiratorially.
I whisper conspiratorially back.
‘Oh, that would be the Ring of Invisibility you gave to the officer in your bag, right?’
‘Oh, yeahhh…’
*
‘Tell me,’ I say, deciding that we might as well have a decent, last conversation as we take what’s probably our last ride in the countryside, ‘what exactly was it that you hoped we’d find in this non-existent tower? This Mirror of What Might Be; would it, by any chance, be showing anyone looking into it that we’re soon to be hung?’
Apsara pouts doubtfully.
‘I can’t see that anyone would really concern themselves with such mundane things, can you?’
‘Hmn, it isn't exactly mundane as far as I’m concerned.’
‘True, true,’ Apsara says sagely. ‘But why would anyone owning the Mirror of What Might Be concern herself with the fate of two petty thieves?’
‘I’m not a thief!’ I protest irately. ‘I didn’t steal those–’
Apsara quietens my protest by simply staring at my bulging saddlebags.
‘Huh, semantics,’ I snort back. ‘You know full well what I mean!’
‘Well, look; if it really does make you feel any better, I think the Mirror of What Might Be would show that the far more likely event is that we’re not taken to be hung.’
‘Erm, now let me think; is there any way that little nugget of information might be supposed to make me feel any better?’
‘I think it says that chance is working for us rather than against us; that’s how the mirror works, see? It shows the most likely outcome of all other possibilities; to within a month’s time frame of you asking the question.’
‘It sees into the future? But only what might be?’
‘What’s most likely to be: but you can see the possibility of all other likelihoods, dependent only upon how long you have to stare into the mirror. Therefore, you can determine which actions are most likely to end up in the result you desire.’
‘And so why do you think it show there’s little likelihood that we’ll face the noose?’
‘Because – I’ve got an idea.’ She leans forward in her saddle, calling out to the soldier leading her horse. ‘Excuse me…’
The solider wearily peers back over his shoulder towards Apsara.
‘Ah, at last,’ Apsara says with a miffed sigh, as if she’s been calling the poor man for ages. ‘I’d like to speak to your officers; I have something important to tell them!’
‘Apsara,’ I hiss. ‘This had better not be–’
Before I can plead with her not to betray me, the solider pulls her and her horse out of the line up of trotting riders.
Apsara smiles triumphantly back at me as she’s led up the road towards the officers.
*
Chapter 17
The next time I see Apsara, she’s smiling even more broadly than before.
Her hands have been untied.
She’s even been given her – my – bag back.
She’s riding back towards me with one of the officers.
‘Untie this man,’ he says with a commanding wave to his men.
*
‘How’d you do that? Get us released?’ I ask Apsara curiously.
‘Well, the Royal Troop; they’ve got to have been given some sort of code word that any government spy they’ve mistakenly caught can use to make sure he’s freed. Right?
I nod.
‘I suppose so; yeah. And you knew this code word?’
‘Of course not! It would have to be secret, wouldn't it? Otherwise even a couple of petty thieves could use it to escape!’
‘I’m not a petty thi–’
I bring my protest to an abrupt halt.
What’s the point?
‘Okay, so how’d you get us free?’ I begin again.
‘I whispered the code word to their commanding officer!’
‘Which was…?’ I ask, tempering my frustration.
‘Glass!’ she exclaims excitedly.
‘That’s it? Glass? You guessed it?’
‘Not at all!’ she replies, putting on an offended expression. ‘Think about it: the tower, the mirror…’
I think about it.
I’m still none the wiser.
She detects my bewilderment.
‘When we arrive at the mirror, all we have to do is ask it to reveal the code word that was given to the Royal Troop!’
I smile, impressed by her ingenuity.
And then…something strikes me that there might be a problem with her theory.
‘That was given, you said? As in the past, you mean?’
She nods, still smiling at her own cleverness.
‘But…doesn’t this mirror reflect the future…? And besides – how do we get back in time to let us know what we've learned?’
She turns slightly in her saddle, raising a hand, a finger, as if about to confidently correct me; but then she pauses.
Her finger drops.
So does her expression.
‘Ahh…’ she says anxiously.
Behind us, we can hear the thunder of rapidly approaching hooves.
We both, as one, urge our horses into an immediate gallop.
‘This time thing’s just so bloody complicated!’ Apsara wails furiously.
*
Both Bess and even Apsara’s horse are expensive looking breeds.
We should be able to outrun what are relatively nags belonging to a group of soldiers.
Unless, of course, the officers, have purchased excellent steeds using their own not inconsiderable wealth.
They usually do, unfortunately.
Certainly, at least two of the pursuing riders seem to be gradually gaining on us, going by the sounds of the hoofbeats we can hear pounding the packed earth of the track.
As we hurtle around a sharp corner, our situation abruptly becomes even worse; for the track simply vanishes, the beaten stones of the track simply ending in what appears to be an almost perfectly straight line, as if the road’s makers had suddenly run out of money, materials, and men to construct it with.
‘This is crazy, impossible,’ I scream out in frustration as Apsara’s mount is suddenly slowed down by the hard going, the long grass hiding uneven ground. ‘We only came this way just a few moments ago!’
The hounds bound ahead, looking back in puzzlement at us, no doubt wondering why we’ve been dragged to a ridiculously slow pace; like Bess, they’re completely unaffected by the rolling unevenness of this uncultivated and uncared for land.
‘Look, look!’ Apsara yells elatedly, excitedly indicating something lying ahead of us.
It’s the tower.
A tower soaring so high into the clouds, I wonder how we could ever have missed it.
*
Chapter 18
Like the track, the thunder of hooves upon it has come to an abrupt end.
Fearing that the pursuing troops have already arrived on the softer ground of the scrubland, I whirl around in my saddle; and I’m relieved to see that they haven’t yet drawn so close.
They must still be behind us on the track that’s now hidden by the higher bushes and small trees sprouting up here and there from amongst the thick, tall grasses.
It’s only after we’ve travelled a good distance deeper into the tangle of grasses, ferns and under
growth that we finally consider that the Royal Troop has given up on its pursuit.
Unlike us, who had little choice, they don’t want to risk the health of their poor horses by dragging them through this uncared for land of prickled gorse and thorny brambles.
I finally feel safe enough to ask Apsara why they originally accepted her false code word.
She shrugs.
‘Maybe I said it with enough conviction to make them wonder if they were a little behind in receiving the latest code word commands?’
Whatever the answer is, it’s irrelevant for now at least.
We’re faced with new problems.
Like how do we scale a tower reaching up into the clouds?
‘Is it like that tower, do you think,’ I say hopefully, ‘where she lowers her hair and hauls us up?’
Apsara shakes her head. She points to a small door at the base of the soaring tower.
‘I think it’s more like that sort of tower,’ she says, ‘where you haul yourself up an apparently endless flight of stairs.’
‘Oh just great,’ I say miserably. ‘You know, rather than me dying of exhaustion when we finally get to the top, maybe you should just kill me now?’
*
Even the dogs sigh with relief when I tell them they don’t have to follow us, they can stay at the base with the horses.
The only thing we take with us is the partially formed slipper. I even leave my sword behind, along with most of my knives.
We’re carrying only the most essential items. Even so, we have to take a rest every now and again, along with a drink of water from the bottles we filled earlier and have brought with us.
When we reach the door to what must be a surprisingly small room at the tower’s ridiculously narrowed peak, I’m almost too exhausted to knock.
As I lean my weight on the door, it swings open with a pained squeak.
A woman with long blonde hair has her back to me.
She’s seated before a mirror, however, so I can see her face; she’s beautiful, young.
She’s smiling, but otherwise there’s no reaction from her as I apologise for disturbing her.
As Apsara and I cautiously enter the small room, I notice that our reflections in the mirror – unlike that of the woman’s – are incredibly hazy, multiplied countless times in a confused medley of what I presume must be all the possible moves we might make over the next few seconds.
It’s all a blur and effusion of indigo, much as you might see floating in the air around a brightly lit cathedral window.
How is anyone supposed to make sense of such confusing images?
How much more complicated must it be if you’re looking even farther into the future?
But then again, what’s the point anyway, if all you’re seeing is what’s reflected in this small room?
I would ask the young woman how to use the mirror, but I don't think she's going to be much help.
She's dead.
A dagger has been plunged deeply into her heart.
*
Chapter 19
‘What use is this mirror if she couldn’t even foresee her own death?’
‘It’s the Dagger of Brutus, or Carnwennan,’ Apsara replies to my question, studying the dagger with its hilt of violet glass. ‘The glass hilt dulls any suspicions the intended victim might have; shrouding its holder in the more indefinable shadows of a sense of wellbeing and friendship.’
At certain angles, the dagger’s hilt appears white. The glass is just a thin covering, the hilt lying beneath it being one of white metal.
‘At least we won’t have to go searching for that,’ I say with less satisfaction than I should probably feel.
Ignoring the dead woman with surprising callousness, like she’s seen this sort of thing so many times before, Apsara stands before the mirror, her demeanour giving me the impression that she intends to use it. She’s placed the partially formed slipper to one side, so she’s obviously delaying any further melding of the sections.
‘Er, didn’t you say we shouldn't drain the objects of their magic whenever we’ve brought other sections of the slipper close by?’
‘This is important; and I’ve worked out what I need to say this time.’
‘You’re not going to ask for the code word?’ I guffaw in astonishment. ‘Why?’ just to see how close you were with your guess?’
‘We might be caught again,’ she points out.
‘But how can the mirror help, when all it reflects is this small room? It’s just so ridiculously badly positioned!’
Apsara turns to me.
‘You’re thinking of a normal mirror. What does a normal mirror do?’
I frown, thinking this is a silly question to ask.
‘Reflects things,’ I say, realising even as I do that it’s an inadequate answer.
‘Reflects the world lying before it; that’s what you were implying just now, yes, when you said it was badly positioned?’
I nod; yes, that does just about sum up what I meant.
‘And that reflection – although it appears like our world to be one of height, width and depth–’
As she says this, she draws a cube in the air.
– ‘actually only gives us a flattened image we can’t possibly penetrate with our hand, or even walk around it; correct?’
I nod again; yeah, that's a fair enough description.
Better than mine, at any rate.
Apsara fleetingly turns back towards the mirror.
‘Now this mirror, it gives us a flattened reflection of the world of height, width, depth – and time.
She draws the cube in the air once more; yet then quickly draws it in another position, then another – the cube as it would appear in different positions, as if it were being moved over time.
I now what she’s saying; if the cube were real, the mirror would be capable of displaying all of the multiple positions it might possibly take over the next month – but it would doubtlessly show the most likely position as a firmer image than the rest.
Apsara indicates the mirror.
‘But the real beauty of the mirror, of course, is that within the next month the mirror itself could be possibly – no matter how improbable it is – transported anywhere that we could wish it to be: and therefore it can reflect anything we chose.’
Her explanation over, Apsara stares directly into the mirror once more.
‘What code word will the Royal Troop be using tomorrow?’
The mirror is filled with a multiple of clashing, hazy images.
The room is filled with the smells of heated horse, the sounds of whinnying and the tinkle and slap of harnesses.
Spoken words are being repeated again and again, yet like the images, they clash multiple times, making it impossible to define any particular expression, despite some of them being far stronger in their intensity than others.
With surprising confidence, Apsara places her hands on the mirror’s surface; and then she hesitates, as if suddenly unsure about what she should do next.
She glances back towards the dagger protruding from the woman’s chest, observing it warily – but then she reaches out for it with her free hand, grabbing its hilt firmly.
She turns back to face the mirror, where her other hand still rests on its glass surface – and then there is no surface, her hands slipping inside, moving as if she’s pulling her way through a crowd.
The hazier images are pushed aside, as are the weaker sounds, each move Apsara makes bringing the stronger, more repeated images to the fore.
‘Ghast…’
‘Ghast…’
‘Ghast…’
This is the word repeated far more times than any other.
The most likely of all possible alternatives.
‘Ghast – an older word for ghost,’ Apsara says with a satisfied smirk.
She turns to me.
‘No wonder they briefly accepted “glass”,’ she says with a chuckle. ‘They must have given
me the benefit of the doubt at first; each one telling themselves they must have misheard me, until they discussed it amongst themselves later and decided I had said “glass” after all!’
Her elation fleetingly seems to desert her, her bright smile briefly replaced by a perplexed grimace. Then the smile returns as if I had simply imagined its disappearance.
With one hand still on the dagger, the other still protruding into the mirror, she quickly moves the images once more until she at last seems satisfied that there is nothing more to do here.
Perhaps she realised that you can’t simply withdraw your hand from such a magical device? There must be some way, some protocol, of switching it off, as it were.
As Apsara finally pulls her hand clear of the mirror, and she turns away from it, the reflected images fade, the sounds and stenches vanishing with them. She has her back to me, but I can see that, at last, she’s reaching out for the incomplete slipper she had brought with her.
‘No, wait!’
This time it’s me who wants to delay the melding of the mirror into the slipper.
‘Shouldn’t we use the mirror to find out where we can find the next piece of slipper?’
‘It’s there,’ Apsara says distractedly, indicating one of the room’s small windows with a sharp nod of her head. ‘Besides,’ she adds with another nod of her head, this time towards the murdered woman, ‘she might not want to help me again.’
‘Help you?’
I frown, mystified by Apsara’s comment.
‘The vibrations coming from the two parts of the slipper connected me to her,’ Apsara replies nonchalantly as she brings the incomplete shoe towards the dagger’s hilt. ‘Wouldn’t you know it, but it turns out that there’s a part of her that will forever remain alive!’
No, I didn't know it.
I’m more mystified than ever.
Shrugging off my bewilderment, I hurriedly stride over to the window and peer out.
About a short horse ride away, there’s a magnificent house, surrounded by high walls. At least, they appear at first to be high walls, until I realise that most of the walls’ supposed height comes from the overgrown roses climbing up them.
Gardens which were obviously once meticulously planned and well cared for also lie neglected, and have returned to the wild. The house itself is strewn with ivy, to the extent that much of it has partially collapsed under the weight.