Chapter Nine

In the excitement of the past few hours I forgot my own considerable troubles, but now they are brought home to me with all the violence of a sledgehammer hitting my skull.

The cup and saucer fall from my nerveless fingers onto my lap and thence to the floorboards, making (or so it seems to me) a lot more noise than it has any right to. "As I told you yesterday – don't do that!" I sputter, picking up the cup and saucer and setting them rather roughly on the tea tray. At least the cup was empty; I didn't have the additional woe of spilling tea on myself.

Simon ignores the teacup catastrophe. "You couldn't have thought I'd overlook it. I let it go until now because we had other concerns, but the time has come for an explanation – and you are not leaving this room until I hear it." Through the harshness of his words I can hear his difficulty in saying them, as if he finds it as difficult to confront me as I will find it to confess.

My heart tries to scramble up and out of my throat. Having this subject brought up so abruptly is disorienting, to say the least. I tear away from Simon's transfixing gaze and cover my face with my hands, creating a cover of darkness under which I can collect my thoughts. I knew we would have this discussion, but I'm completely unprepared for it. Not only that, but telling Simon the truth may sunder us forever. How can I bring myself to do that? Lord help me, I don't know what to do.

No, now that it's come down to this, I know exactly what I should do. I should tell Simon the truth, because I owe my partner nothing less. Let him think of me what he will – at least I'll have done the best I can by him. Not only that, but I feel that I have to tell him for the sake of my own sanity. Danik can just bugger off if he disapproves.

I drop my hands from my face, clasp them and place them on my knees. I keep my eyes closed. Where to begin? "It's…a very long story," I begin, my voice weak. Thinking he might take that the wrong way, I hasten to add, "I mean that as a warning, not an excuse."

"So noted." Simon crosses his legs and settles his interlaced hands on his knee in a manner eerily reminiscent of Danik's.

"When I…before we…oh, drat!" I shake my head, gritting my teeth. "I always intended to tell you the truth someday, but this is too soon, and I'm afraid you're going to hate me for…"

"Emma." Simon takes my hands in a surprisingly reassuring gesture. The way he looks at me makes me a little uncomfortable, and yet I don't find it unpleasant. "You would have to do something unspeakably heinous to make me hate you, and I very much doubt that whatever you did or will do is as horrible as you think." After a moment he seems to remember himself. He lets go my hands and withdraws his own, looking away for a moment. When he looks back at me his expression is serious and attentive, but whatever I saw a moment before has vanished.

"All right." I take a deep breath. "First, you should know that what I have told you about my past until now is true."

"You merely omitted a significant detail or two," Simon supplies.

I could say the same thing about you, Simon. Actually, with you it was rather more than 'one or two.' "Until recently I was not at liberty to share those details with you. Or with anyone else, for that matter." Folding my hands in my lap, I turn a steady gaze upon my partner. "If I recall correctly, I have never begged you for anything in all the time we've known each other. Please take that into consideration when I say that I beg you not to pass judgment on me until I have finished." That came out better than I expected – I have managed to go against the grain of my pride without losing my dignity.

Simon nods slowly, perhaps re-evaluating his assertion that what I did and what I am about to do are not as bad as I think, and certainly not bad enough to make him hate me.

Going on from here requires a momentous struggle: to get the words past my lips it seems I must first drag them up a mountain. And a steep and treacherous mountain it is.

At last I take the plunge and begin. "As you know, some of my friends from university started up a travelling vaudeville troupe after they graduated, and I joined them. We did fairly well, and I enjoyed it a great deal – which no doubt makes you wonder why I left and came back to Partington."

"Something connected with your powers, wasn't it?" Simon guesses.

I look down at my hands. "Yes, it was." When I started I thought I would have to force out every word, but as I go on I find it easier to continue. Where before I was scaling a mountain, I am now tumbling down it, and could not stop if I tried. "There was a certain man in our troupe – I'll call him Geoffrey – who was quite fond of me. I think he was in love with me, or at least he fancied that he was. The feeling was not mutual, though he was a decent enough sort and I liked him as a friend. Since I didn't want to hurt his feelings and I had no idea how serious they were, I did not tell him as much outright until he proposed to me." I reflect with some embarrassment upon the naïveté and foolishness that made me think I was being considerate, when in fact it would have been kindest to be direct at the outset.

"Neither of us said anything about the proposal to our friends, which maybe we should have done. Geoffrey became rather low after that. I thought he'd get over it without trouble if we never brought up the subject again.

"A few weeks after the incident he said he wanted to talk to me, in private. He made the appointment a few hours ahead of time, so I had a while to consider it. I had begun by then to think that my rejection of him might have been hasty, because though I wasn't wildly in love with him, I liked him and thought he might improve on me over time. So I thought it best to talk with him after all, and say that I might eventually change my mind. The fact that I considered this a good idea is a testament to just how stupid I was back then."

Simon raises an eyebrow at me. "That sounds like a sensible course of action to me."

I surprise myself with a brief, ironic laugh. "It wouldn't if you were a woman, or if you'd ever been in love."

"Well, since neither circumstance has or ever can apply to me," he says, with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I shall simply have to take your word for it." Upon realizing that this bit of lightheartedness is rather out of place, Simon straightens up and clears his throat. "Never mind. Go on."

I give him a brief smile to assure him that I haven't taken offence – and, to be honest, to put off telling the next part of the story as long as possible. "I don't know what Geoffrey intended to say. When I met him, he was obviously quite drunk, and he tried to…." I cannot complete the sentence: I feel as if I have hit a wall. Part of me can't believe that I'm even trying to tell this to Simon. I turn away from him, close my eyes and put a hand to my forehead, trying to work away the sudden lump in my throat.

"He tried to take advantage of you?" Simon finishes quietly, with an undertone of anger in his voice.

That's not exactly the right term for it, but it's close enough. I nod. "If I'd been then the way I am now, I would have realized that I could have easily fended him off. No, I should have been able to even then. Geoffrey was absolutely foxed, and he wasn't that big or strong, so I could have gotten away even if he were sober. But I was frightened, and my wits were scattered. Geoffrey grabbed my arm: when he touched me I felt as if I had been dropped into a forge. Everything around me glowed and wavered with intense heat. And I…it's difficult to describe. I used that heat to push him away from me, without so much as thinking about it. Geoffrey was thrown like a rag doll – he hit the wall, and was knocked out. The impact also broke his arm, as I found out later."

Somehow I've managed to get over that difficult part; I can continue without shame closing my throat. "I ran away, tried to collect myself, and thought about what I should do. Geoffrey wouldn't have tried such a thing, I was sure, if he had not been drunk – although I'm less certain of that now than I was then. I thought perhaps that I should run away, because Geoffrey knew about my powers, but he'd been very drunk and might not remember. If he did remember, he couldn't say anything without implicating himself, and he was smart enough to know that. I decided to keep quiet. The next day, when I saw him again, he didn't recall anything. At least, that's what he claimed, and as far as I can tell, it was true. He thought he'd simply been too deep in his cups to walk straight, and he'd taken a bad fall…."

"Why didn't you tell anyone what really happened?" Simon interrupts. "True, he may have been drunk, but he'd have deserved whatever he got."

"Because I was afraid," I shoot back, hitting the desktop with my open hand. "I was reasonably certain that he didn't even remember the incident. An accusation might have reminded him of what I'd done, and then what would have happened? I was in mortal terror of anyone finding out!" I realize that I've been shouting and that I'm halfway out of my chair; feeling chagrined and suddenly drained, I sit back in silence.

Simon is startled, or at least unnerved, by my vehemence. "Then I suppose I cannot fault you for keeping silent," he concedes, quiet and – I almost can't believe it - apologetic.

Feeling ashamed for raising my voice to him, I clasp my hands together in my lap and fix my eyes on a knothole in the floorboards. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…."

"No, I had no right to…" Simon falls silent as I look up at him. He clears his throat. "Never mind. Go on."

It occurs to me that we've never had a serious discussion (even a case-related discussion) go on as long as this one without it dissolving into our usual banter or degenerating into an argument. Something tells me that Simon's aware of this too.

"I was…anxious around Geoffrey after that," I continue. "It wasn't that I was afraid of him, so much as I was of doing whatever I'd done a second time, with worse results. I decided to go back home to Partington, where I hoped to find work at the university (which, as you know, I didn't). So I parted with the troupe and boarded the next available train.

"There were a fair number of empty seats in the car I boarded, but I happened to pick one close to the middle. There was a man sitting in the facing seat, gazing out the window. I didn't really look at him until I sat down. He looked very familiar, though I couldn't remember ever seeing him before. And he wasn't the sort of person I could easily forget – even sitting down he was obviously much above the average height, he had flame-red hair and light amber eyes – almost yellow, in fact."

Simon's furrowed brow and geste de pense make it evident to me that he is trying to puzzle something out of my story. For some reason that bothers me. His eyes flick in my direction, and he seems to notice my discomfiture, for he straightens up, interlaces his fingers and returns his attention to me as if it had never been anywhere else.

I consider asking him what he was thinking about, but decide against it. "I didn't think he'd noticed me. After the train started moving again I kept looking at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to place him. Of course he caught me at it, but he didn't seem annoyed. Instead he greeted me by name and said that he'd been waiting for me."

"Always a bad sign," Simon mutters.

"That's what I thought at the time. But I also found it more curious than alarming, and somehow I was certain that this man meant me no harm. I asked him who he was, how he knew me, and how he could have known to wait for me here. He replied that his name was Danik – no 'mister,' by the way, just Danik –that he had been watching me for some time, and that he knew beforehand where I would sit."

"Did you purchase your train ticket in advance?" Simon asks.

Though I think it a strange thing to ask, I confirm his guess with a nod.

"Then if he had been watching you, as he said, that explains how he knew what train you would take. But I'm at a loss as to how he could have known anything more specific than that."

"He'd watched me long enough to know that I had a habit of riding in the last car and taking a seat close to the middle. I figured that out pretty quickly, and I've tried to pick my seat at random ever since.

"It goes without saying that I was unsettled, but I was more curious than concerned. For some reason I didn't think that Danik meant me any harm. I questioned him further. He said he had noticed my 'gift,' as he called it, and that he could teach me how to use it." I think it best not to tell Simon exactly what Danik said: You could be so much more than you are, Emma.

"After what had happened with Geoffrey, I could not resist the offer. By the time the train pulled into Partington I had signed on as Danik's willing student. He said that one day he would ask me to do something for him in exchange for his tutelage. I was at least smart enough to make him swear that whatever he made me do would not be immoral or unethical. He made me promise that I would never tell anyone of this arrangement, and that I would only use my powers in a desperate emergency – and be sure not to reveal them to others. But circumstances have changed since then. You know about my powers, and I no longer have them."

Simon nods, looking as if he is trying against all his instincts to believe me. "I assume this Danik has been teaching you for the past four years?"

I realize that I'm clenching my hands very tightly, and with some effort I loosen them. "Yes and no. We met for lessons during the twelve months between my coming to Partington and your bumping into me."

"I beg to differ," Simon interrupts. "You bumped into me."

"Crashed, really, but let's not quibble over details. Danik taught me to do a few things with my power, but he has not taught me everything yet. Far from it."

And now I must tell you about the wager. I hope you can forgive me. "After you asked me to be your assistant, Danik came to talk to me. He said there were certain things I had to learn on my own before my training could continue, and this was a perfect opportunity to learn them. It would be…." I cover my face with my hands and swallow the sudden lump in my throat. "A test. A wager between us. If I won and proved myself worthy of further knowledge, I would get it. If I lost or forfeited, I'd lose my powers and my whole life as I knew it." Now for the worst part. "I was supposed to…"

"I think I can guess what your object was," Simon interrupts in a low voice. He doesn't sound angry – instead he sounds sad, dissatisfied, as he did when cataloguing his errors on our latest case. "I believed you were trying to reform me because of misguided good intentions, or perhaps annoyance. Not that you were doing it for some test."

Lowering my hands, I look at him again, meeting a gaze that pricks me with shame. "No, it isn't like that anymore. At first I tried to help you for Danik's sake, but somehow I ended up doing it for yours. I came to consider you a friend, Simon. I just hope you can say the same of me…now that you know the truth."

A rather long, uncomfortable silence ensues. Simon finally breaks it. "If it hadn't been for Danik – if you'd never even met him – would you still have become my assistant and stayed with me as long as you have?"

"I became your assistant because the notion appealed to me, not because of any wager. And I have not once regretted my decision since then. So the answer is yes." After what Danik told me I think he would have gotten me together whether we wanted it that way or not, but I can be proud of the fact that Simon thought I was talented enough to work with him, and that I did so willingly.

A smile creeps across my partner's face. "Even though I drive you to distraction, as you so often remind me?"

The combination of unexpected humour and relief makes me chuckle. "I knew I would have to deal with that from the beginning. I've grown accustomed to it – though not inured."

He nods in acknowledgement and acceptance of my answer before some dark thought crosses his face, banishing his smile. "Did you lose the wager?" he asks me, his voice quiet and numb. "Is that what this is about?"

I shake my head. "No, I won it – barely. If I'd lost I would not still be here." Sighing and pushing some errant strands of hair off my face, I prepare to break the news to him. "I also learned…certain things."

And then I tell him everything about my conversation with Danik.

The effect on my partner is terrible to watch. Simon's familiar pride and self-possession seem to peel away, layer by layer, leaving him ashen-faced and uncertain. From time to time he tenses as if bracing for a blow. Whenever I pause in my narrative, thinking that I can no longer bear tormenting him this way, he bids me to continue.

"Danik said I should tell you whatever I thought was best," I conclude, my voice quiet with shame, anguish and weakness from long use. "I know the truth wasn't so much the best thing as it was the lesser of two evils, but it was all I could do." I turn my gaze to my left arm where it rests on the desk, so I won't have to look at my partner. "Please forgive me."

A few seconds of terrible quiet pass before Simon abruptly stands up from his chair, recollecting something of himself in the process. I watch as he walks slowly to the study's great window and stands there, hands linked behind his back, looking out on the city below. If you don't say something soon…

"He lied to you," Simon says at last. "I am almost certain that he's concealing a number of things from you, but one thing he said I know to be a lie."

The Prism. I knew Simon wasn't being honest when he said he had no memory of how he survived the wound dealt him by Lightbourne and the conflagration in the Museum Obscura, but I never demanded that he tell me the truth. Now I don't have the heart to press him for it, though the fact that Danik concealed it from me makes me all the more desperate to know.

It also points to a disturbing conclusion: either Danik was confident that I would not tell my partner the truth, or he was sure that Simon was so unwilling to speak of the matter that he would not expose Danik's deception. Or, as Simon supposed, there may yet be some part of Danik's agenda that he has not revealed to me.

Simon turns to face me, his countenance detached and implacable once more – but there is a light in his eyes that almost makes me cringe. "If Danik had planted the Enigmatic Prism in my cane as he said, I would have destroyed it a long time ago." He lowers his eyes and turns them away, towards the window. "He took me to safety and healed me, yes, but in exchange for my promise to safeguard the Prism."

Safeguard the…no wonder you wouldn't talk about it. I clutch at the desk to keep myself from falling out of my chair. Despite a swimming head and weak knees I stand up, using the desk as a support, and slowly make my way to the window to stand beside my partner. He keeps his eyes downcast instead of looking at me.

"I was too desperate to refuse," he says quietly. "After I woke up in the sanatorium I thought it had been an hallucination or a nightmare: I had been…" – he pauses to draw a shuddering breath – "I wasn't myself for a while after the incident, and when I had recovered somewhat I believed I had been confused about what really happened. Until they showed me the cane, which had been found with me.

"I had given my word, and I thought I had been assigned guardianship of the Prism for some greater purpose, so I kept it hidden. To tell the truth, I also feared the possible consequences of breaking my promise. I thought I could protect myself against it, and that was why it had been given to me. But after everything that happened during the past few months – Malcolm, the Baroness and the loss of the Prism – I realized that I was not immune to its effects, and it was even more dangerous than I had first supposed. It had to be destroyed, no matter the consequences to me or whatever grand plan necessitated my keeping it." He shakes his head slowly. "It seems the grand plan was for me to destroy it after all," he mutters.

I lay a cautious hand on my partner's shoulder. "Simon, you couldn't have known. I can't blame you for making that bargain with Danik. You had no choice." Neither did I, but not for the same reasons I thought.

Gathering courage, Simon manages to glance sideways at me. "When he appeared to me he didn't look at all as you describe him. He had a vaguely human shape, but he seemed to be made out of light." He falls silent for a moment. "Danik didn't put the Enigmatic Prism in the cane himself. From what you've told me, I think that doing so would have harmed him, perhaps even killed him. He directed me to conceal it, and I did." Simon turns away again and squeezes his eyes shut. "It seems we each made a pact with the same devil, Emma."

I wouldn't call Danik a devil – or, at least, I don't want to. But I know what he is to Simon. Though he may not hate me for knowing about my association with Danik, he will never be able to trust me fully again. By telling him the truth I have done irreparable damage: we can't really be partners now. Or friends. I let my hand fall from Simon's shoulder. "What shall we do?" I ask him, myself and the universe at large. The calm detachment in my voice surprises me.

Simon turns to me, his face now set in that imperturbable and intensely thoughtful expression I know so well. "When are you supposed to meet Danik?"

The question takes me the rest of the way from uncertainty to confusion. "I – I was supposed to meet him as soon as possible, after taking my leave here. But…"

"Would it upset him if I went with you?" Simon asks, allowing me no space in which to plan my answer or figure out where he's heading with the question.

I've seen him use this interrogative strategy too many times to be taken in by it myself. "I imagine he would be," I answer with some asperity. "But how can you assume that I'm still going to join him after what you just told me?" Though I can't stay here, either. Not now.

"Emma," he says warningly, "I have a few theories about the true nature of Danik's experiment, and if any one of them is correct, you won't have a choice in the matter."

"Why? What do you think he's doing?" I'm not sure whether I ought to feel more irritated or alarmed.

Simon's geste de pense tips the balance significantly towards the former. "I'm not sure which theory, if any, is correct – and you know my policy on doing a summation before I have all the facts."

"Seeing as I have a vested interest in what's at stake here, to say the least, do you think you could make an exception just this once?" I snap at him.

"Absolutely not," he replies with a glare and a tone that brooks no argument. "I have no desire to cause you unnecessary confusion and alarm…"

"Really? Well, you certainly had me fooled."

Simon frowns at me. "Perhaps I should rephrase that: I don't want to bias you one way or the other. In most cases I find it counterproductive, and in this case it may even cause you harm. Just believe me when I tell you that the best thing you can do is meet with Danik as you had planned. If I'm wrong – and I hope I am – there will be no harm in it. If I'm right, then confronting Danik and uncovering his real agenda is the only chance you have of taking control of this situation."

"How exactly am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know. I only know that avoiding Danik would almost certainly be imprudent and undoubtedly impossible. That is why I intend to go with you."

I take a few moments to let this sink in. "There's another reason, isn't there?" I say quietly. "You want to know why he gave you the Prism."

Simon does nothing to confirm or deny this, but he does not break away from my gaze.

"I don't know what you expect to accomplish," I say. "There's no way you can make him tell you the truth. Or do anything else, for that matter. And I'm not sure that he'll have any scruples about hurting you, if you confront him."

"I'm aware of the risk," Simon murmurs, looking out the window.

"Then you should see the sense in letting me go to Danik alone," I say firmly. "If you accompany me you will have only an infinitesimal chance of obtaining the truth and practically every chance of getting yourself hurt or killed. It's not worth the…"

Simon turns on me with ferocity burning in his eyes. "The truth is always worth the risk. Especially now." He calms himself down somewhat before continuing in a softer voice, "This is a truth I would take any risk for. Danik can't do anything worse to me than he's done already."

"Even if he kills you?"

"Even if he kills me," Simon repeats, turning the question into a conviction and chilling me with implications that are no less terrible for being vague. "I would rather that than live out the rest of my days knowing I didn't take this chance when I had it – however small it may be."

It's not a small chance, it's no chance. "You may think it's worth the risk, Simon, but I don't." Feeling tears gather in my eyes, I turn away so he won't see them. I wish I had found some option other than telling him the truth; while going along with me may be his foolish notion, it will still be my fault if something happens to him because of it.

"Emma, there is another reason why I want to accompany you." He puts a hand on my arm and gently turns me around to face him. "Should you end up leaving" – as if he could possibly prevent it from happening – "it's only proper that I be there to see you off."

I can't find the words to respond to that, much less argue against it.

After a short and exceedingly uncomfortable silence, Simon looks away for a moment and clears his throat, switching our stalled conversation onto another track. "What must you do to prepare?" he asks, sounding like the very essence of practicality.

"I'll have to find a way to explain my departure," I say. Because, whatever Simon may think, I will probably end up going with Danik. And because he is currently in disfavour with so many in the city, he would get in a lot of trouble if I just vanished.

"I can help you with that," he assures me. Being the kind of person he is, he can provide me with invaluable assistance in this regard. "Do you need to pack, or bring anything?"

"Not where I'm going," I say quietly. I neglected to explain that completing my training with Danik meant that I would become like him. Fortunately I don't have to say it – by the look in Simon's eyes, he understands what I mean. "I don't need anything."

Pause.

"Not even that ridiculous makeup case?" Simon asks, almost hopefully.

My smile is as sad and desperate as his attempt at humour. "No, Simon." I'm going to miss you.

"Then let us attend to the task of covering for your departure," he says in a subdued tone.

Simon and I proceed to develop a plan for how we will explain my sudden departure. As far as everyone else is concerned, I will have learned that my maternal aunt (a fabricated aunt, of course) has fallen gravely ill, and I must go immediately to attend her. Her illness will prove fatal, and she will have left the care of her young children and the management of a considerable property to me. Of course that means I will have to stay there, but I can visit from time to time, and of course send letters.

In the event that I am prevented from returning here – which, if Simon is right, is the more likely situation – he will say I have met with some fatal accident. I prepare other letters that Simon will date and send appropriately, to complete the illusion. All of this takes us until late into the night to complete, and throughout it all Simon acts as if we are coming up with a contingency plan, not a way of cleaning up after the inevitable (or almost certainly inevitable).

Even though this elaborate deception is deadly serious business, I can't help but find it rather ridiculous. Simon and I used to foil these kinds of plans all the time. I suppose that means we've exploited enough mistakes to know how to make a foolproof plan. That provides me with some small comfort, at least.

Meanwhile I formulate my own plan, which I implement after Simon has gone to bed. I don my black travelling dress and silk hat, an outfit which may not be appropriate for the weather, but is singularly appropriate for long journeys and funerals – and this stage of my odyssey, I think, is a little bit of both. I write Simon a letter, fold it and leave it on the desk in the study, where he will be sure to find it tomorrow morning.

Resourceful though Simon may be (and Simon's the most resourceful person I know), he is no match for Danik. I can't let him come with me. I've done enough damage already without getting him killed into the bargain. Since I have resolved to protect Simon against his wishes – the only meaningful course I can resolve myself to, at this point – I feel oddly calm. Whatever my future life may hold, I can face it with courage now.

I slip out of the Residence through a back door. Every night for the past week has been only marginally less sweltering than the day that preceded it, but tonight there is a cool breeze in the air. Perhaps the heat wave is breaking. In a moment of conceit I half-believe that this change is somehow connected to my own. It passes soon enough.

After one final look up at the Residence, I slip away through the darkened, deserted streets, towards the ruins of Miranda's mansion and my own destiny.