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Part Four——The Return
Chapter Twenty-One
But the Bard standing up, yawning and stretching. Then reseating himself? You’re dying to find out how.
You were watching from behind, as you were the first time you saw the trick, so you couldn’t tell whether his lips actually moved. Nevertheless, what movements you could discern were incredibly lifelike. And another thing: Reggie’s magic coat and that button trick. They definitely flew into Thomas’s hand then flew back to reattach to the doorman’s coat. Which then repeatedly changed colors. How in the world? The skits moved so quickly, no time to absorb all the effects until now.
You strain your eyes but don’t see Thomas or Penelope or any sign of Christopher and his puppy, Artie. It’s grown dark——no moon this night. There’s still a lot of activity: fiddles playing, glasses clinking, laughter and enchantment lingering in the air. Some revelers have lit sparklers and are parading around the lawn. Your friends and the pup could be anywhere out there.
Then suddenly, an intrusion. The sounds of cars at the main gate. Headlights one after another sweeping into the cul-de-sac. Horns blaring. Doors slamming. Now flashlights are on the lawn, obliterating sparklers. Muffled shouts from a gathering below——the spell is broken.
From above, a helicopter rattles and shakes into view. The chopper performs a wide, deafening turnabout over the center lawn, exposing its side. Printed clearly are the letters BBC. “Oh look!” somebody yells.
Now there’s a man with a bullhorn leaning out bellowing that they intend to land, asking where they should do it.
The outside world has arrived.
No idea what to say to it.
You seek the sanctuary of Manor House.
* * *
Nobody’s in the lobby when the massive entry door closes, stifling the commotion outside. The candlelight, the soft classical sounds, the perfect stillness … ah, it feels like home. You plan to sink into a sofa and collect your thoughts but a telephone rings. You spot the source——one of those antique phones at reception. Can’t explain why but you’re certain you should answer this; sure that it will continue to ring until you do. Thus, no need to hurry. You amble over and lift the receiver. You hear:“Good evening, this is Dennis Rollinsby. … If you know who I am, I beg you not to be alarmed. Your Uncle Arthur condones this call. In keeping with the spirit of tonight’s magic show, I have arranged to make that device you have fully operational now——that is, if you’re interested in having a go. If all that Arthur says about you is true, then I’m certain you are curious about experiencing, shall we say, a new mode of transportation. … As to its safety, we’re reasonably sure you’ll experience no ill effects, but one can never be sure, so of course the final decision is yours. … Good night and Godspeed”
The line goes dead. Your first thought is odd, unexpected: that was the most resonant, reassuring voice I’ve ever heard. Followed by: But it doesn’t belong to Stephen. Followed by: What’s he talking about? I don’t have any green controller.
No idea how to get inside the armory. But if you could get your hands on it, maybe you’d just go ahead … press that button … and whoosh. Escape all those reporters and photographers that are going to burst through the door hurling questions, demanding explanations any minute now.
Well, there is no controller to spirit you away. So barring that, you’ll seek a place to hide.
But where?
Of course, the laboratory. As far as you know, the only way there is through the cottage fireplace. Should be quite awhile before your pursuers figure that out. Holing up for a spell will give you time to think. Eventually you’ll have to face these people, but Adrienne should be able to handle them for the time being.
The cottage door is unlocked. Sitting on the nightstand is the green controller.
You pick it up at the narrow end so as not to accidentally switch it on. You’ll decide what to do after you’re settled. If BBC barges in, broadcasting live, their viewers will get more than they bargained for when they catch your vanishing act.
You reach up under the mantel to rotate the fireplace. Step inside, find the next button and press it to slide the door. Make your way into the pitch-dark laboratory. Searching for a light switch, you are comforted by the familiar click-click of the units revolving and closing behind you.
In a far corner, a computer monitor switches on, and you see the silhouette of someone seated in front of it.
“Don’t be alarmed,” a British voice calls to you. It’s familiar.
“Please, over here, if you don’t mind. … Take a seat beside me.” The voice is soothing. “Again, don’t be alarmed. Everything is going to be fine, I assure you.”
Now you’re certain: the voice from the phone. You make your way over. The aisle is narrow; you have to maneuver carefully to avoid bumping into all the worktables and chairs. Rollinsby is seated with his back to you, staring at a document on screen. His hand beckons you to take a chair near him. He swivels around to face you.
You’re face to face with Arthur Hanover.
* * *
“Good evening,” he says quietly. It’s dark, but you can see the warmth in his eyes in the glow from the screen. He’s dressed in his familiar ensemble of charcoal slacks and blue blazer. He’s chuckling.“Otsukari sama deshita.”
You can’t speak. Shake your head, indicating you do not understand.
“It’s Japanese. Translates as ‘you must be tired,’ but think of it more as a standard acknowledgement among colleagues: ‘Well, it’s been a long day, but we finished our tasks.”
Lord Hanover rubs his hands. “How about a beer? I’ve got your favorite kind.” He produces glasses and two cans labeled “Yebisu,” clearly a Japanese brand but of no significance to you. He pours and toasts: “Kampai! Taihen otsukari sama deshita .… Cheers! You must be really tired. I know how little sleep you’ve had.”
You take a sip. Very cold, especially smooth, tastes good, and somewhat familiar.
“I have something important for you to read.” Lord Hanover indicates that you and he should change places. “This place is secure. We’ll not be disturbed.”
You sit in front of the computer and your eyes adjust to the on-screen document:
My Beloved Friend,
My name is not Arthur Hanover, and what I am about to tell you may come as rather a shock: I am not a member of the nobility, nor are you. Most importantly, you are not named in my will as the inheritor of my estate, title and wealth because none of these things exist. There is no ancestral home of mine called Hanover Manor. No new life awaits you there.
In order to secure a full explanation, however, there are some documents that you must read and absorb, stories you must listen to, and others you must meet. This will not require that you travel anywhere. Because of that, I have not enclosed an assortment of vouchers good for first-class travel to any destination and onward to any estate. In addition, there is no expense cheque, since you need only remain here to learn the truth.
Why not a full disclosure as quickly as possible? You may be in such a state of utter confusion at this moment that I would not be surprised if you demanded it and then desired to leave as quickly as possible. However, if I’ve assessed your character correctly, you are neither faint of heart nor lacking in trust. I believe you will remain.
Please allow me to reveal this in my own time and at my own pace. We have important work to accomplish. What awaits you besides full remembrance is this: a complete explanation of your relationship to you. Curiosity, I am certain, is what propels gifted people like you through time.
And for additional reasons I will shortly disclose, I must urgently request that you be patient and let matters gradually unfold. It is for your own good, my friend, believe me. After you’ve read all the documents, heard everything we have to say, you may say and do as you wish.
Finally, as a reassurance that I am not who I once said, I’ve included a copy of Burke’s Peerage.
Yours faithfully,
Stuart Arthur, a.k.a. “Arthur Hanover”
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