THE INDUCTION CEREMONY
The next two days passed without incident. David had not yet returned from the hospital, though apparently his surgery had gone well and he was expected to be transferred to the infirmary by the end of the following week—more than enough time for Marion and Bill to figure out what to do with the map.
The apprentices’ duties and training went on as usual, though Marion was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with the workload. She and Bill were required to complete several extra shifts in the Gadgetry Department that week to make up for the box of knotted Twister Rope they’d failed to get back to on Monday evening, and the Distracter they were yet to fix. All this had to be completed before the end of the week, when the long-awaited third-year Induction Ceremony was to take place. In addition, Marion hadn’t come close to finalizing the Tucker character profiles, and with Amanda desperate to prove she still deserved her position as assistant case file manager, shifts alongside her in Intelligence and Filing were now more unbearable than ever.
All the while, the atmosphere in Miss Brickett’s shifted from acute fear to that of guarded, chronic unease. Life for the Inquirers and apprentices had certainly changed since Michelle White’s murder—gossip and hearsay still shrouded the hallways—and yet the cogs of the agency still seemed to turn, if somewhat more rigidly than before.
But that was the thing about death, as Marion knew so well. No matter how much the deceased were loved, life did not wait for the grieving. Though on the inside everything would change and what used to matter fell away, the routine and ordinary remained unchallenged.
She could remember the feeling so well. She’d found her mother hanging from the ceiling of her bedroom at 12:21 on a Thursday afternoon seven years ago. But life didn’t care. The sun still set that dreaded day and the rain came down just as it had the night before. There were dirty dishes in the sink from Alice’s last meal. They would have to be washed and stacked away. The bucket on the staircase, positioned perfectly beneath two large leaks in the roof, was full again; it would have to be emptied. And as much as she resisted it, eventually Marion would have to shower and wash her hair. She’d have to be Marion again. At least on the outside.
Now again, as the days ticked on after Michelle White’s death and the incident with Bill and David beyond the Border, Marion found herself falling back into rhythm.
And then the whispers began.
“What do you mean they know who did it?” she asked Maud as she, Bill, Amanda, Jessica and Preston sat down for lunch that Friday afternoon. Marion was eager for a change of subject—even one as grim as this—because, just minutes before, they’d been discussing David’s injury, Amanda questioning Bill and Marion on exactly how it had happened, and looking as if she didn’t believe a word of it. Overall, the conversation was beginning to feel awkward. It was obvious the group realized Marion and Bill were hiding something, and thus Maud’s revelation was a welcome relief, instantly wiping the previous topic from everyone’s mind.
Maud nodded earnestly as she served herself a plate of ham salad from the canteen. “They figured it out this morning. Heard Nicholas and Gillroth talking about it over breakfast.”
“Well, who is it, then?” Marion snapped, irritated that she even had to ask this question. She looked at Bill; he raised an eyebrow. David?
Preston grinned irreverently at Amanda. It was extraordinary how he managed to breeze through life untroubled by almost everything. Marion would have to ask him for tips one day. “Come on, Mands,” he teased. “Confess.”
Not even Maud laughed this time and Amanda shot him a stern glance. “They’re not going to tell anyone, including the accused, until the council’s deliberated. That’s how it works,” she added, filling the silence that followed. “You’d all know that if you bothered going through the Regulations and Policies Booklet they gave us in January.”
Marion had read it. Every last word multiple of times. She decided not to mention this, however.
“The what?” said Preston, holding a coffee inches from his lips.
“Hold on,” Jessica said, cutting Amanda off before she could repeat herself. “You’re saying that the council knows who murdered Michelle and they’re just letting that person roam free until they’ve deliberated? Surely not?”
“I didn’t say they know who did it, that was Maud,” Amanda said. “But yes, if they do know, they can’t do anything until the council’s held a formal deliberation.”
“How do you know they haven’t already had a deliberation?” Maud asked, seemingly unmoved by the news.
“Because you just said they only identified the suspect this morning. Jesus, Maud. Do you ever—”
“And then what happens?” Jessica cut in once more. “Once they’ve deliberated. What happens to the accused?”
Silence followed. No one in the group seemed to want to answer.
The Holding Chambers.
Maud got up after a long pause. “Well, thanks for the lovely chat, everyone. See you at the ceremony.”
Marion and Bill rose next and together made their way into the foyer outside the cafeteria.
“Do you think it’s true?” she asked once they were alone. “That they now know who did it?”
He sighed. “I’d hope so—it’s been a week.”
Marion looked past him, her attention drifting to the cafeteria entrance. The broad-shouldered, bright-clothed stranger—the one she’d seen in the library bar the other day—stood, arms crossed, leaning against the door frame. He was staring at them with intensity.
Bill turned around, frowned. “Him again.”
“You’ve seen him, too?”
“Everywhere,” Bill said with rancor. “Why’s he looking at you like that?” He moved a step to the left, blocking the stranger from Marion’s sight, or vice versa.
She retuned her focus to Bill. “Are you going tonight? To the Induction Ceremony?”
“I thought it was compulsory.”
“Right, yes. It’s just with a killer on the loose—”
“Or still in the hospital.” He inclined his head knowingly. “Look, Mari. Remember what we said about moving on, forgetting? Don’t think about it. It’s not our problem.”
She nodded. He was right. Not our problem, she repeated to herself.
Marion stood in front of the ladies’ bathroom mirror as she fixed her silver badge, with its engraved A, to her chest. She’d polished it that afternoon, as she had every other Friday, but it gleamed now more than ever and she was reminded of her first day at the agency, how Frank had pinned the badge to her chest for the very first time, how proud and elated she’d been.
Jessica appeared behind her in the mirror. She rested her chin on Marion’s shoulder. “Two years and we’ll be pinning an I to our chests instead.” She came to Marion’s side, tapped her own badge and smiled, a glint of silver reflected in her deep green eyes.
“Hopefully,” Marion said, making it sound like a joke, though that wasn’t exactly how she felt. Even if life at the agency was slowly returning to normal, it was difficult to forget that just three days ago she’d crossed the Border, entered a deceased staff member’s office without permission and helped Bill and David cover up a host of further transgressions.
Hopefully was the right word.
She fixed a thread of brown hair behind her ear, applied a line of red lipstick, attempted to curl her lashes and even gave herself winged eyeliner. Usually she wouldn’t have bothered with all the effort, but somehow she felt she needed the distraction now.
“You look lovely,” Jessica said as she fastened a crystal-studded bobby pin into her perfectly rolled golden hair. “But that watch strap...” She eyed Marion’s old leather watch strap, frayed, faded. “I can lend you one of my bracelets. It might go better with your earrings—”
“That’s all right, thanks,” Marion said quickly. She pulled her sleeve down over the strap, an easier thing than explaining how the old leather, its familiar roughness and encompassing strength, was the only way she could still feel her mother with her. And lately she was finding she needed that comfort more than usual.
Jessica smiled. No doubt she registered the sensitivity behind Marion’s words and knew better than to demand an explanation, which made Marion regret her reaction. Jessica really was a rare class of friend. “Of course, but if you change your mind...” She jangled a black silk pouch in the air, then slipped it into her purse.
Amanda and Maud emerged from the stalls behind them, Amanda eyeing Maud’s outfit of gray trousers and white blouse with obvious distaste. “You can’t wear that,” she snarled.
“It’s our uniform,” Maud said, admiring herself in the mirror. She always knew how to hit a nerve, and while Jessica was her primary target—mostly because she guaranteed a reaction—Amanda and the others were fair game, too.
“No, that’s the men’s uniform. We wear skirts.” She pointed at Marion, Jessica and herself. “Skirts, not trousers.”
“Been promoted to assistant wardrobe regulation officer or something?”
“It’s just common sense,” Amanda chided.
“You really are a git,” Marion said, then turned to face Maud. “You look lovely, by the way.”
“I agree,” Jessica said. “Trousers are the in thing for women, anyway.”
Maud struck a theatrical pose in the mirror—hands on her hips, her right leg splayed to the side. “That’s right, ladies. I’m a trendsetter.”
Marion and Jessica roared with laughter. They each took Maud by the arm and pranced from the bathroom in unison, leaving Amanda—now twice as irate as before—to primp her hair and apply her makeup alone.
The wide circular ballroom, with its towering ceiling and copper-colored Corinthian-style columns, was by far the most opulent room in the agency. Tonight it was filled with groups of white-clothed tables and a long purple carpet that extended from the entrance to a small stage that had been erected on the other side.
Above the stage hung a purple-and-silver silk banner with the words Miss Brickett’s Investigations and Inquiries, Induction Ceremony of 1958 stitched in an elegant arch. Silver ribbons were draped from the ceiling and hundreds of soft white, diamond-shaped lights filled the room with a crisp glow.
While Maud and Jessica collected drinks, and Amanda stalked off to sit with a group of second years, Marion settled at a table near the stage. Bill joined a little while later, just as the lights dimmed and Nancy stepped onstage.
She was dressed in her most formal pantsuit, solid black silk, her cat’s-eye spectacles and a roll of parchment in hand. Marion watched her carefully as she surveyed and studied the rows of tables and chairs before her. Her eyes then passed to the ballroom entrance; she nodded and then looked away.
Standing just outside the doorway was Mr. Nicholas, twirling something that might have been his pocket watch between his fingers. Something large and scaled slithered behind him into the shadows. She hoped it wasn’t what she thought it was.
She shuddered and turned quickly back to the stage.
“Good evening and welcome to the Induction Ceremony of 1958,” Nancy said, unfurling the roll of parchment. “The five apprentices here tonight have worked incredibly hard over the last two and a half years to learn the particular and intricate craft of what I like to refer to as Shadow Inquiry. I started Miss Brickett’s ten years ago with the intention of creating an agency that would serve the public in a way that was not violent, politically motivated or biased. I could never have dreamed of how large and industrious we would become. I have tried to hire individuals who I believe best represent my vision. And I’d like to say thank you, for all of you have lived up to this standard, if not surpassed it.” She drew a breath.
“As you know, though, tonight marks the end of your two-and-a-half-year training course, but the next six months may well be the greatest test of all. You will be expected to work tirelessly in your selected departments, proving to us that you are capable of a long and fulfilling career here at Miss Brickett’s. I do hope that you keep this in mind.” She looked back down at her notes. “There is just one other quick announcement I’d like to make before we begin,” she said, her voice the tiniest fraction less assured than usual. “Among the third years graduating from apprentices to Inquirers tonight, I will be handing out an honorary Inquirer badge to someone who will be joining us from New York to assist with some of our more complex investigations. It is my honor to introduce to Miss Brickett’s, former private investigator at Hilton and Associates, Mr. Kenny Hugo.” She motioned to the front row.
There was a clamor of mutterings around the room. Marion looked over to where everyone else was looking, a table right next to the stage where Frank and Professor Gillroth were sitting. It was the stranger from earlier—a man possibly in his late-twenties. He got to his feet and made his way onstage. Dressed in a bright yellow shirt, gray trousers and slick white leather shoes, he waltzed onto the stage as if he’d done it a thousand times before. He smiled at the perplexed crowd, displaying a row of perfectly aligned, bright white teeth.
Nancy shook his hand and pinned to his chest an Inquirer badge.
“Congratulations, Mr. Hugo,” she said, “and welcome to Miss Brickett’s Investigations and Inquiries. I hope your time with us will be long, productive and enjoyable.”
Mr. Hugo smiled again, then gave the silent crowd a short bow before climbing back down to his table.
Marion turned to Bill. He shrugged.
“Right. Professor Gillroth, will you assist with the others?” Nancy said. “Apprentices, when I call your name, please step onto the stage to receive your badge.” Nancy looked up. “Armstrong, Dora.”
The room, which was only then beginning to recover from Nancy’s unexpected announcement, clapped unenthusiastically as Dora made her way toward the stage.
“Allan, Marcel.”
More applause.
“Baxter, Heather.”
“Castle, Patrick.”
The cheers and excitement eventually grew louder as the room forgot about Mr. Hugo and by the time the final call came—Yon, Howard—the applause was positively deafening. Marion looked over to the third-year table and watched as Howard opened the small purple velvet jewelry box and admired his gleaming Inquirer badge before pinning it to his chest. A solid silver square with rounded edges and four small five-pointed stars, one in each corner. Inside the square lay an unfinished black circle that wrapped itself around an elegantly scripted I. The date was carved into the silver at the bottom of the badge, as was the name of the wearer.
Though it felt like she’d been at the agency for ages already, Marion was now forced to remind herself that she still had two years left of proving herself. Would she one day be up there on that stage, receiving her own badge? She knew that was what she wanted more than anything. Would Bill? Would David?
As Nancy announced that a quick dinner service would soon commence, and most of the apprentices dispersed throughout the room, Marion made her way to the drinks table and poured herself a glass of wine, observing the crowd before her.
Mostly people were gathered in groups chatting, some dancing, laughing. She spotted Maud and Jessica standing together near the buffet table talking to Dora Armstrong and a hulking young man with a rough face that Marion vaguely recognized as Roger from maintenance—Jessica’s “friend.” On the other end of the room, Edgar Swindlehurst was weaving aimlessly through the crowd, as if searching for someone. He paused near the stage. Aida Rakes emerged from a door that led into the staff bathroom. She approached Swindlehurst and immediately the two commenced an obviously heated conversation. Swindlehurst gesticulated madly. Rakes looked ready to knock his lights out. Marion was pretty certain their argument had to do with Amanda’s complaint form and the consequent case presentation Swindlehurst was expected to perform in front of Rakes.
She felt a twinge of compassion for Swindlehurst and the situation he’d found himself in the past year—with Rakes taking over his position as head of Intelligence. Rakes was sharp, efficient, confident—an obvious leader. But as far as Marion had heard, Swindlehurst had always been a dependable, untiring employee, and with his experience as an operations manager for the British Army, it seemed strange that Nancy had decided—after allowing Swindlehurst five years at the helm—that Rakes was suddenly more suited to the job. But then, Nancy had made many seemingly bizarre decisions at Miss Brickett’s that turned out to be well-considered, once you knew the full story—such as the reasoning behind David’s recruitment.
Marion leaned up against the ballroom wall, her eyes unfocused as her mind eventually wandered from the scene in front of her, her focus lost. For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, it was as if she were standing on a shifting sheet of ice, everything unstable, breakable. She thought about David and Bill and about all the odd things that had happened since White had been murdered. For the first time since the week began, Marion thought of Frank and his unannounced visit to Number Sixteen Willow Street. Something she’d forgotten to ask him about during their last conversation.
She scanned the ballroom and there, seated at one of the only remaining tables, was Professor Bal and Frank. Their eyes met. Frank nodded in acknowledgment, whispered something to the professor and started toward her.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked as he arrived at her side and poured himself a whiskey from the drinks table.
Marion examined his soft features, his sallow complexion, and his pale gray eyes creased at the edges. “I’ve been trying to. Though it’s rather conflicting, a celebration like this less than a week after what happened to White.”
He smiled weakly. “Yes, I agree. Though the show must go on, as they say.”
Marion twisted the cuff of her blouse. “I heard the news, of course. About the murderer.”
Frank’s face remained unmoved. “Just a rumor.”
“So you don’t know who did it?”
“My dear, I don’t know a thing. Though I believe Nancy has her theories.”
Despite the disconcerting subject of their conversation, Marion found comfort in the familiar rhythm of Frank’s voice—slow and deliberate. He placed a hand on her forearm. She looked at his left hand and noticed—strangely for the first time—a gold ring on his fourth finger. She didn’t think he’d ever been married, but then again, Frank hardly ever talked about his private life.
“My father’s,” Frank said, glancing at his ring. “He died last year. Silly to wear it, I know, but I suppose it keeps him close.” He glanced at her watch. He’d been there when Alice had given it to her. Did he know she wore it for the same reason he claimed to wear his father’s wedding ring? “It’s odd to think everyone down here has another life up there, other people they interact with.” He pointed to the ceiling. “Away from the dark and unnatural. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, in a way I suppose it is.” She finished her wine and considered Frank’s words more closely. She thought of the people she knew aboveground: her grandmother, a few other distant relatives, Mr. Smithers? She wasn’t sure they constituted another life. At least not one she wished to associate with. “But there isn’t really anything else, not for me.”
Frank nodded. “I used to feel that way, too, when I started here.” He paused, his eyes drifting to the distance, slipping into an old memory or some lost part of himself. He shifted back into the present. “But I’ve come to see how unhealthy that can be.”
“How do you mean?”
“We all need a bit of normality now and then. Some sunlight, someone to talk to who doesn’t know what goes on down here.”
“Someone like Dolores?” Marion laughed, but it wasn’t with joy. More like pity. “Do you still have anyone on the outside? Or did you, other than your father?” She was coaxing him as usual, hoping he might speak of Alice, of what they’d meant to one another, or whether he missed her as much as Marion did. But, as always, he didn’t budge.
“Only my sister, Mae, and her family. They live in Amsterdam,” he said instead. “I visit every few months. It’s never enough, of course.”
Marion nodded. She rubbed the band of her watch as a familiar heaviness descended on her chest. She’d have to change the subject before the feeling overwhelmed her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something actually, about the day you visited Dolores—”
Something cool brushed the back of Marion’s neck. She turned around, only to see Mr. Nicholas just a few yards away.
Frank followed her gaze. “What about it?” he asked. He placed his glass on the drinks table. Mr. Nicholas was now staring directly at them.
“Well, what you were doing there.”
“I already told you, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but... I...” Her skin prickled. She wanted to say she didn’t believe he’d come there for Dolores to sign some arbitrary next-of-kin forms, as he’d told her. But somehow, the idea of suggesting Frank was lying seemed wrong.
“Listen, Marion—” he spoke quickly now “—we can discuss that another time. But there is something I need to tell you. Something more urgent.”
“What?”
“Not here. Not now.” He gripped her wrist. Mr. Nicholas was striding toward them. “I’d like you to go home to Dolores as soon as possible tonight. Will you do that?”
She frowned.
“If you come back on Monday, meet me in my office at ten to eight that night. I will explain everything then.”
Marion took a minute to process what she’d heard. “What...what do you mean, if?” she stammered.
Frank was no longer paying attention to the conversation, but rather to Mr. Nicholas, who was now trailed by his vile clockwork serpent.
“Frank,” Marion said urgently, “I don’t understand—”
“Ten to eight,” Frank said. “Not a minute later.”
“Mr. Stone,” Mr. Nicholas said, reaching their side. He placed his right hand on Frank’s shoulder, then turned a dial on his pocket watch. Marion backed away as the snake slithered to Frank’s side. “Shall we?”