“Cocksure, isn’t he?” Shakespeare whispered to Conan Doyle.
“Not really,” Conan Doyle replied. “If he said two, that means he can do it in under one. Some of us got our reputations because we wrote good books or had clever publicists. He got his reputation through sheer hard work.”
As if to underscore his colleague’s sentiments, the double doors under the eaves of the house swung open on silent hinges and Houdini leaned out, winking at the others.
“See?” said Conan Doyle. “That’s why he’s my best friend. Never a dull moment.”
The three men entered the house, prepared for a fight—but they met almost no resistance, not even the perfunctory kind, done for show. The house was practically empty—not even the servants were moving about.
Passing one gallery, Houdini noticed a former friend, and he paused. “Gilbert?” he said. “What are you doing?”
“Having a drink, for these are trying times,” Chesterton said, not moving from the chair where he was sipping some sort of drink out of a small crystal glass. “Also, I wish to defect. I’m more of a strategist, not a fighter.”
“Really,” said Houdini. “What strategy are you advocating now?”
“Joining the winning side,” Chesterton replied, “obviously.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Conan Doyle said as he ran past with a blunderbuss. “I’ll secure the south side, Ehrich.”
As it turned out, without Dee driving them, not many of the Cabal were willing to put up a fight. Some, like Chesterton, who still possessed his own shadow, offered to join the Caretakers. Others, like Lovecraft, refused to even come out of their rooms. Even Tesla was finally cornered and subdued, overcome by sheer numbers. There were many Caretakers, and few members of the Cabal. From start to finish, it seemed to be a fool’s errand. It was as if the entire effort to move the House on the Borderlands to the Nameless Isles was . . .
“A distraction,” said Twain. “It was all just a distraction.”
“I agree. I don’t think the Cabal was prepared for this, at all,” said John. “Other than Tesla, with his contraptions, and maybe Crowley, none of the rest of them seemed prepared for an assault. I think Dee brought them here without telling them anything about it at all.”
“You don’t think they might have been trying to storm Tamerlane House?” Bert asked. “There’s a lot here that I know Dee would love to get his hands on again.”
“This simply doesn’t make any sense, Bert,” John said to his old mentor. “They’re just too outmatched. What can Dee possibly hope to achieve by literally bringing the fight to our doorstep?”
“I agree,” said Twain. “There’s some larger plan in the works here. Otherwise, he blows a few ventilation holes in Tamerlane, we eliminate a few of his Deathshead servants and knock Lovecraft and Crowley around for a bit . . . and everything remains as it is. No, there is something he can only get access to here, and we must discover what that is.”
“The house is as secure as we’re going to get it,” Hawthorne said, grimacing as he joined the others near what remained of Shakespeare’s shop. Tesla had gotten to it before he was subdued by Hugh the Iron and William the Pig, who were the only residents of Tamerlane House large enough to literally rip the engines off his back. “Any sign of Dee yet?”
“There aren’t that many places to hide in the Nameless Isles,” said John, “and we’ve already re-secured the access to Shakespeare’s Bridge, so really, where can they go?”
“Did you notice?” Twain asked. “Dee has no shadow.”
“I have some experience being shadowless,” said Jack. “What I’m wondering about is that threat he made to smash the bridge.”
“Be glad he didn’t,” said Twain. “I’m all but certain that would have thrown us straightaway into the realm of the Echthroi.”
“That’s my point,” said Jack. “We’d be at the mercy of his masters. So why not do it? And if Rose and the others do manage to restore the keep, then the Echthroi would be driven out of the Archipelago. So isn’t that a huge loss for him?”
“He has his own versions of our watches,” said Twain. “He would have seen the same resetting of the prime zero point that we did.”
“That’s why he’s here!” Jack cried. “He knows that it’s about to happen. So where is he?”
“I’m just wondering,” said Shakespeare, “but has anyone thought to check the boathouse?”