6

6

December 27, 1880

G OSNOLD RETURNED TO THE parlor and gave a little bow. "Your Grace, the blue lantern has been placed in the window, as you requested."

D'Agosta saw Constance's hand tighten on the little leather notebook. His head now finally clear, he spoke. "So what's your game, Diogenes?" he asked.

"The stolid policeman gets right to business," said Diogenes, drawing on the cigarette and leaning his head back to blow the smoke upward. "I'll recount my activities since arriving; you'll find them interesting. I watched that hired scientist, Ferenc, as he sprang that half-baked plan of his. He knocked out Proctor and used the machine himself. I was there; I witnessed it all—and on impulse I jumped through the portal after him. That was a rash action I may still regret. I tumbled into Longacre Square and a pile of horse manure—an appropriate welcome to the nineteenth century. And that is when I made a mistake: I did not kill Ferenc on the spot. Instead, I followed him to a bank, where he tried to obtain some rare coins but botched the thing, caused a fuss, and claimed he was from the future. Naturally he was bundled off to Bellevue, where, I regret to say, Leng found him."

He took another drag on the cigarette.

"Leng took Ferenc out of Bellevue to his lair in the Five Points. One can imagine what happened there. Suffice it to say, the good doctor now knows all your secrets: the machine, the location of the portal, the real reason for your presence here—the works. His first reaction was to race up to Longacre Square and try to use the portal. Without success, I'm glad to say—can you imagine Leng, unleashed on the twenty-first century? That was Ferenc's only good deed: overtaxing and, apparently, burning out the device so Leng cannot make use of it. Of course, neither can we."

He gave a dry laugh that made D'Agosta's skin crawl. He glanced over at Constance and saw on her face a frozen mask.

"You still haven't explained why you're here," said D'Agosta. "Why help us?"

"The truth? Very well. Perhaps my use of the portal was not quite as impulsive as I've implied. When, in spying on my brother—my primary pastime these past few years—I saw the marvel of that machine, I also saw a curious opportunity. The world back there—" he flicked ash over his shoulder, as if the future lay in that direction— "is filled with nothing but grotesque memories. Here is a new world, where I am not known and have no history."

At this, D'Agosta shook his head—gingerly.

"It was only after the fact that I realized I have another purpose in this place—Leng. I wish to remove him. He murdered the sister of one I held dear—" this was said with a glance at Constance— "and kidnapped her doppelganger. On top of that, Leng is the vilest of the Pendergasts, a blot on the family escutcheon. Finally, and I am saddened to point this out, but you, Brother, have failed. Your meddling here has brought disaster and tragedy. It seems only proper I be the one to set things right."

"So what exactly is your plan?" D'Agosta asked. "He's got Binky—and any move on him will risk her death. Look what he did to Mary."

Constance suddenly stood, still clutching the leather notebook. "Gosnold, please bring Joe down here to me."

The butler left and returned a moment later with Joe. The boy had a scared look in his eyes but was fighting to keep his expression steady. D'Agosta wondered just what he'd heard and seen; he was holding so tightly to himself that it was hard to tell.

Constance knelt in front of the boy, taking his hand. "Joe," she said quietly, "I can't explain everything that's happened—because I still don't know myself. But you know enough already. Something unexpected, something very bad, has happened. Now I have to put things right. I may be back soon, or… I may be gone for some time."

She paused. Joe's face retained its stoical expression.

"These two men—" she gestured toward D'Agosta and Pendergast— "are reliable. You can trust them completely. Féline, too—and Mr. Murphy. These four—and no one else."

The boy remained expressionless.

"That one's name is Pendergast. The other one is D'Agosta."

The boy glanced silently from one to the other.

"Hello, Joe," said D'Agosta, unsure what else to say. "You can call me Vinnie."

The boy didn't react, his jaw merely tightening.

Constance gently grasped his arm with her bandaged hand, and for a moment some iron entered her voice. "Do you understand, Joe? Whatever Pendergast and, ah, Vinnie ask you to do, please obey. They have your best interests at heart."

Joe nodded curtly.

"And now—" she kissed him on the top of his head—"I must leave. I know you will be strong—for your sister, and for me. Mr. Pendergast was my own guardian… once. He, along with Vinnie, will be your guardians while I'm gone."

A hesitation, then another nod.

Constance rose. "Gosnold, please get my traveling cloak and send Murphy around with the carriage." D'Agosta saw her slip the small leather notebook into her pocket.

Gosnold bowed and withdrew, and a moment later returned with a heavy cloak, which she took from him and threw around herself. A few minutes later, the carriage came around from the back, Murphy at the reins. Gosnold held open the door for her.

D'Agosta looked at Pendergast, but the man remained perfectly silent, his face like marble. Why didn't he say or do anything?

"You're not going to Leng, are you?" D'Agosta finally asked Constance.

Constance turned to him, eyes smoldering. "Naturally."

"But his instructions about the lamp… This is crazy."

"Perhaps." She exited the outer door with the swirl of her cloak, then descended the steps to the carriage. As Gosnold was shutting the door behind her, D'Agosta heard her call out to Murphy, "The Post Road…"

The door closed.

"What the hell?" D'Agosta turned to Pendergast. "We can't just let her go like this!"

Pendergast finally spoke. "I'm afraid we've got no choice. She's bringing him the Arcanum."

D'Agosta looked from Pendergast to Diogenes and back. "You're both okay with this?"

"No," said Pendergast.

"But you let her go!"

"Are you under the misapprehension she could be stopped?" Pendergast arched an eyebrow.

At this, Diogenes chuckled. " Frater , you and I know the nature of that woman."

"But—" D'Agosta swallowed. "After all your careful plans, after all that we've… What is she thinking ?"

"Vincent," said Pendergast wearily, "she is not thinking. But we must let this act, however rash and impulsive, play out. We owe her that. It is bound to be unsuccessful. And when she returns—if she returns—she will be in a state none of us can imagine. What happens next will be anyone's guess." He took a deep breath. "We must prepare for the storm."