Tremor

Chapter 6

06

Emily sat on a rather uncomfortable chair, a half-drained glass of water in her hands and her umbrella at her feet as she looked around the police station, trying not to stare at one place for too long.

The trip back to the police station was a hectic one, especially since there was the matter of several cadavers in the catacombs that strictly did not belong there, and some unfortunate soul had to sort out the matter. Fortunately, the responsibility did not fall to Wallis, and so Emily found herself crammed into a motor car next to him. Emily suspected that the motor car probably had one passenger too many, but refrained from comment. After facing a knife-wielding drug smuggler, Emily didn't find herself as fazed as she thought she would have with the dangers of riding in an overcrowded car.

Lingonberry and Penny had met the bedraggled constables and the captive Weasel at the station, a long line of jars hovering behind them, following them rather like a trail of ducklings. The old man had tutted disapprovingly at Wallis, claiming that the inspector ought to have known better than to touch the amulet without taking any precautions first.

Penny had been utterly dismayed at the dark bruises starting to show on Emily's neck, and that was when she'd been whisked away by the younger girl to the medical ward of the police station where she'd been examined by the medic.

"You'll live," had been the judgement, and Penny had led Emily back to the foyer to find Wallis.

Ms Murray had stopped them and told them that Wallis was in the middle of a meeting with Chief Barker, and Emily was expected to join them.

And so, Penny had returned to the Brownstone with Lingonberry while Emily waited patiently outside the Chief's office, armed with a glass of water Ms Murray had been kind enough to present her with. Emily, with nothing else to do, took another sip and tried to make herself comfortable on the chair, and tried very hard to not eavesdrop on the conversation going on inside the office.

…

"You say that the drug has been spread throughout the water supply?" Barker was very tempted to introduce her forehead to her desk.

"Weasel claimed he did," Wallis replied, fighting the urge to pick at the bandages covering his hand, courtesy of Lingonberry. "Other than that, I have no other confirmation."

"And it is apparently harmless without magic?"

"Hopefully. Lingonberry's still running tests on the drug," Wallis idly played with one loose loop of bandaging.

"Ah, yes," Barker smiled slightly, "please thank the Magician for me. Tonight could have been worse without his help."

"Actually," Wallis pointed out, "that was the work of Miss Greene."

Barker nodded, thinking for a moment. "About that matter – what were you thinking, endangering a civilian like that?!"

Wallis didn't flinch. "You would have to ask Lingonberry that. He sent her there."

"Well," Barker continued, still upset, "you can tell him to stop sending her into dangerous situations unless she's capable of defending herself, and if he must," Barker spoke in a tone that suggested that she was all too familiar with the Magician defying the police, "keep sending her into them, then she needs to learn self-defence."

"Duly noted, chief."

Barker slumped back in her chair. "Very well, Mr Wallis, that'll be all. If Miss Greene's out there, send her in. I'm sure she has questions, considering she's probably overheard half of our conversation anyway."

Wallis smirked a little. "Yes, ma'am."

"And don't come into work tomorrow," Barker added, pulling a pile of papers back onto her desk, starting to flip through it, "you are still technically on a mandatory break. Even though I could use your help," she muttered, more to herself.

"Problem, chief?" Wallis paused at the doorway.

"No, not much," Barker waved him away, "just a little matter of a missing person report. Eleanor Moreau's gone."

Since Barker was still looking at her papers, she did not notice Wallis leaving the office very quickly.

…

"Bored?" Wallis asked Emily conversationally even as he noted her slightly guilty expression. She'd been eavesdropping after all. "Barker wants to talk to you."

"Oh-" Emily croaked, then cleared her throat, continuing on in a clearer voice. "Of course."

"I'll wait out here," Wallis took the seat Emily vacated, and Emily made her way into the office.

"Miss Greene," Barker looked up from her paperwork, "take a seat."

Emily sat. (This chair was marginally less uncomfortable than the one outside.)

"Am I correct," Barker put her papers away for the time being, "in understanding the Magician sent you to the catacombs in his place today?"

"That would be correct."

Barker nodded, as if confirming something to herself, then narrowed her eyes slightly at Emily. "And is that part of your job description as Lingonberry's assistant?"

"Well, he didn't exactly set perimeters for this job," Emily replied dryly. "I suspect given the nature of my occupation, it would be difficult to do so."

"I suppose so," Barker agreed, nodding again, as if Emily had passed some test of character. "Now, about the matter of your involvement – I understand that you were acting under Lingonberry's orders at the time. All I can say to you is a word of warning to not meddle with police affairs, unless you are willing to join the police force, or work with Wallis."

"I'm afraid I am already the Magician's assistant. I could hardly become a constable," Emily was silent for a moment. "Or an assistant to Mr Wallis, for that matter."

"You'll find that with Lingonberry, the three roles do not truly have a distinction between them," Barker told Emily a little wearily. "I'm afraid you'll find yourself in situations like tonight all too common."

Emily grimaced at the memory of Weasel. "I was afraid you would say that. Am I in trouble?"

"Hardly," Barker snorted. "Consider yourself warned. I can only ask you to take into mind the matter of your safety."

"I heard that the Magician's assistant is a…" Emily paused, thinking of werewolves, "…perilous job."

"And yet, here you are."

Emily shrugged. "And here I am. Did you have anything else you wished to talk to me about?"

"No," Barker shook her head, returning her attention to the papers on her desk, "but I ask you to consider my offer, and to consider your own safety. Oakston… Oakston can be a dangerous place."

With that warning still ringing in her ears, Emily bid the chief a goodnight and left.

…

Emily snorted in her sleep and started awake, blinking in the early morning sun streaking through the window in the room. She spent a moment staring at the roof of the room, trying to remember where she was. The memories of the previous day rushed back – the undead, Weasel and his knife, the police station, taking the walk back to the Brownstone with Wallis and the customary silence between them – and Emily frowned when she realised sunlight was streaming through the window.

The previous day, the afternoon sunlight had shone through the same window.

Emily looked at the grandfather clock sitting in the corner of the room. Well, it was definitely morning, if the clock was to be trusted. Still pondering the odd occurrence of the sunlight, Emily went about the apartment, making herself presentable for civilised society and picked a light brown full-length dress from the purchases made yesterday afternoon.

When she finally made it onto the landing outside her apartment, she nearly ran into Penny, who was lugging a suitcase down the stairs, thumping it against every step.

"Good morning, Emily!"

"Good morning, Penny," Emily replied, looking at the suitcase. "Are you going somewhere?"

"To university, of course," Penny resumed dragging the suitcase down the stairs, "I'm always away for the week. I visit the Brownstone on weekends."

"It's Monday?" Emily looked surprised at that revelation. The weekend had gone by quite quickly, but then again, one did not usually have plans to run away occupying their Saturdays and taking on a horde of undead on Sunday evenings.

"Yes, already," Penny was at the bottom of the flight of stairs, and started making her way down the next. "Time flies, doesn't it?"

"Do- do you require assistance?" Emily called down the stairs.

"No, not at all," Penny called up cheerily for someone who was going to university.

University. Emily blinked. "Hang on, aren't you a little young for university?"

"Am I really?" came the genuinely surprised reply.

Emily reminded herself that this household was not run like most households. If Penny was smart enough for university, then who was Emily to judge? "Er… Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"If you insist," Penny's voice was progressively further away. "You should really come downstairs for breakfast."

Breakfast. In Wallis' domain.

Wonderful.

…

Breakfast, surprisingly, was a tolerable affair.

Emily had found Penny waiting patiently at the bottom of the stairs, with the door to Wallis' quarters ajar. Rule of thumb, Penny had explained to Emily, was that if the door was ajar, one was welcome. If the door was locked, one would knock. It sounded perfectly reasonable to Emily, and she'd accepted the rule readily enough.

She had not been expecting to see Wallis with a newspaper at a dining table covered with assorted breakfast foods – probably prepared by the man himself. Emily couldn't quite imagine the man doing something so domestic, but she couldn't see the Magician in an apron and cooking either.

Wallis was busy perusing the newspaper, and therefore did not talk much while Penny picked up the thread of the conversation and spun it into something resembling a pleasant atmosphere. Emily thought Penny was a skilled orator.

All too soon, Penny cast a glance at the grandfather clock in the dining area, gasped, crammed the remainder of her toast into her mouth and managed a muffled, "I've got to go!"

She washed down the toast with a drink of tea, and dashed out the door with a final farewell, "Goodbye! I'll see you both on the weekend!"

And with that, Penny was gone, and Emily was left with a very quiet Wallis.

Emily scrambled for a subject – anything to keep the silence from becoming stifling. "Anything interesting in the news?"

"Not really," Wallis paused, and then it was perhaps Felix who added lightly, "besides a missing person's poster, not much."

"Missing person…?" Emily trailed off when Felix slid a page from the paper across the table, and she found herself face to face with her own picture.

"That picture does you no justice," the dressing gown-clad Lingonberry, who'd at some point entered the room, noted disapprovingly from over Emily's shoulder. "You look positively dreadful in it."

"All the more fortunate for you, Miss Greene," Wallis sipped from his teacup, "seeing as you don't wish to be found."

Emily, whose heart was still thumping at the Magician's silent entrance, recovered enough to greet Lingonberry. "Good morning, Mr Lingonberry."

"Good morning," Lingonberry took the seat vacated by Penny, and munched away on a piece of toast he snagged from the plate in the centre of the table.

Silence reigned for all but ten seconds before Wallis sighed, and folded his newspaper away. "Well?"

"Well what?" Lingonberry asked innocently.

For Wallis, this seemed to be a regular occurrence. "Aren't you going to tell us what you have been up to all morning?"

Lingonberry grinned at the invitation. "Oh, good. I was wondering when you'd ask."

Wallis rolled his eyes. "Do go on."

"I was deriving the contents of the drug."

"And?" Wallis prompted with surprising patience.

"It's made mainly of a compound involving carbon, hydrogen and oxygen," Lingonberry counted off the elements on his fingers. "Mixed in with a tiny amount of narcotics to make the victims more susceptible to control, I believe."

Wallis stared, then narrowed his eyes. "You had better not be saying what I think you're saying."

Emily looked between Lingonberry and Wallis, wondering if she was missing something important. "What is he trying to say?"

"That the drug was no more than sugar," Wallis sounded very annoyed, "and a bit of what? Cocaine?"

Lingonberry affirmed that it was indeed the drug.

"So, it was truly harmless after all?" Emily asked the room at large.

"More or less," Lingonberry nodded, before elaborating. "The amulet would have been the… the power source, so to speak, for the drug to take effect."

"Weasel was telling the truth, then," Wallis drummed his fingers against the tabletop thoughtfully. "But he doesn't seem like a Magician to me."

"I gave our Mr Wesker Leander a visit after I reported to Barker on the nature of the smuggled goods," Lingonberry admitted.

"In your dressing gown?"

"Oh, do be quiet, Felix," Lingonberry shushed the younger man. "Leander's quite a dull chap. Wouldn't be able to tell a sigil from hopscotch even if he tried. In fact, he couldn't even recognise the amulet when I showed it to him. Granted," Lingonberry pulled a glass jar from his pockets with a soft clinking sound as he placed it on the dinner table, rattling the silver pieces within, "it was quite mutilated and different from what he remembered."

"What… what happened to it?" Emily looked at the twisted mess of silver, with little brittle bits having snapped off, resulting in a tiny pile of silver pieces. It was hardly the intricate amulet she remembered seeing the night before. In fact, she remembered, she hadn't seen the object after Wallis had taken it from the pedestal.

"Felix happened," Lingonberry nodded at Wallis. "Your containment sigil was inadequate. Faulty at best. Probably why the amulet burned you."

"I was in a hurry," Wallis protested, flexing his bandaged hand slightly at the memory. "Chalk doesn't go so well on skin, you know."

"You drew a sigil on yourself?" Emily asked Wallis in surprise.

"I didn't exactly have paper at hand," Wallis shrugged. "Why else did you think I was taking such a long time for?"

"Anyway," Lingonberry brought the attention of the two back to the issue at hand, "it probably wasn't just the matter of a faulty sigil. You shouldn't have touched the amulet with your bare hands, Felix. Couldn't you feel the power emanating from it?"

"Seeing as Weasel was going to attack Miss Greene," Wallis folded his arms defensively, "I didn't have time to hesitate."

"Regardless," Lingonberry continued, "this amulet is powerful – too powerful for an amateur like Weasel to conjure up."

"Wonderful," Wallis grumbled. "So, we're looking for the one holding the pistol, then."

"It would appear so, yes, Felix," Lingonberry nodded seriously, pouring himself a cup of tea.

Emily definitely knew that she was missing something. "What do you mean by 'the one holding the pistol'?"

Lingonberry and Wallis shared a look. Lingonberry was the one to finally speak. "You'd best tell her the pistol analogy."

"No," Wallis shook his head and stood up, heading for the kitchens. He took his empty plate with him. "You tell her. Whenever I try, I always end up sounding idiotic."

"Oh, very well, then," Lingonberry let out a very put-upon sigh, then grinned and winked at Emily conspiratorially the moment Wallis turned his back. "In laymen's terms, magic is like firing a pistol," Lingonberry took a cube of sugar from the sugar bowl, and placed it on the table next to the bowl. "The bullet," the Magician tapped the sugar cube, "is the result you see, the pistol itself," here, he pointed at the sugar bowl, "is the person carrying out the magic, and occasionally," Lingonberry crumbled a part of the cube, and trickled a trail from the cube to the bowl, "you have a smoke trail that you can track to the pistol, if you're fast enough."

Emily thought that the analogy would have worked just as well with sugar.

"Sometimes, though," Lingonberry cleaned up the mess he'd made on the table, "the pistol is just a weapon. Sometimes, it's the hand holding the weapon that matters."

"You mean Weasel was working for someone else?" Emily asked hesitantly as Wallis returned from the kitchen, plate no longer in his hand.

"Yes," Lingonberry drained the rest of his tea in one gulp, "and possibly a powerful Magician at that."

"Any precautions we should take?" Wallis asked as he picked up his jacket from where it had been draped over the back of his chair.

"Not much you can do, truth be told," Lingonberry shrugged, buttering a slice of toast. "Just go on about your day as usual. If our mystery Magician has another scheme simmering away somewhere, there isn't much we can to do uncover it. We can perhaps stir the soup to upset the scum when the opportunity arises."

Wallis didn't answer, but he nodded, and left the apartment. Since Emily heard the front door slam shut, she deigned to ask, "Where's he headed?"

"Probably the basement. Or the workshop, actually," Lingonberry replied, biting into the toast. "He's working on a motor car there, during his spare time. I say it's a lost cause – it's barely suitable for spare parts."

Emily supposed that Wallis had not taken Lingonberry's advice to heart, but she refrained from voicing her thoughts. "Speaking of work, are there tasks for me…?"

"Oh, not much," Lingonberry reached for another slice of toast, "I need to head to the university today. I've got classes to teach. Well, students to teach, but that is neither here nor there."

Emily looked a little bemused.

"For today," the Magician handed Emily a small list, "this is all. It's really like this most days. The deliveries are more of a once a week affair. I shall see you later."

With that, Lingonberry, still carrying the piece of toast, headed upstairs, leaving Emily to look over the list. It didn't have much on it.

Tidy the attic.

That sounded alright.

Wash empty vials. Wear gloves.

Still reasonable.

Remind Felix to procure groceries. It's his turn.

Emily stared a little at that one. Couldn't the Magician have told Wallis just then?

Feed Ned.

Emily outright stared at the last item on the list. Then, to the empty kitchen, she asked, "Who's Ned?"

…

Emily tidied the attic. She washed all the empty vials she could find. She wore a pair of odd, rubbery gloves while washing them in the sink in the attic.

She glanced at the list.

"Right," she muttered. "I have to 'remind Felix'. And feed Ned. Whoever he is."

Since Penny was no longer around to answer her questions, Emily knew her the best course of action to take was to ask Wallis who Ned was, more importantly, where Ned was, and exactly what to feed him.

First of all, though, there was the matter of where the workshop was, and how to get there. The logical thing to do would have been to start in the foyer, and Emily did just that, and spent a good two minutes wondering if a door would magically appear.

When it didn't, Emily scaled the entire Brownstone, checking each floor carefully before coming to the conclusion, upon finding herself back in the attic, that the workshop was probably not connected to the Brownstone.

Emily sighed, leaned against one of the attic windows, and was completely caught by surprise when it swung out and open. Biting back a screech of surprise, Emily pulled herself upright, and opened the window cautiously before poking her head outside. A pigeon, startled by the sudden appearance of a human head, was sent flapping away into the sky with a flurry of feathers and frightened coos.

Blinking to adjust her vision to the bright sunlight outside, Emily found herself looking over the yard surrounding the Brownstone, still within the confines of the tall barred fence. A shed in the back of the yard sat snugly on a small hill.

Well, it looked as if it was a mildewy wooden mess that was on the verge of sinking into the hill and the weathered building could barely be called a shed, but Emily supposed that it probably served the purpose of being a shed. As far as she was concerned, that was a qualification it barely fulfilled.

It could be the workshop, Emily reasoned. It was certainly too large to be an outhouse. And besides, who needs an outhouse if there's indoor plumbing?

On that reasoning, Emily made her way to the ground floor, out to the yard and to the shed.

Up close, the shed was even less of a shed, and Emily was very tempted to call it future firewood. Instead, she fought down the urge and knocked on the door of the… uh, shed.

"Come in," Wallis' voice drifted from within. "It's unlocked."

Gingerly, Emily turned the rusty door handle and pushed the door open, grimacing at the squealing of the hinges.

The shed was quite small. A bench took up a quarter of the space, with a couple of brooms squashed into the corner while the rest of the space was taken up by what appeared to be the majority of a motor car. The bonnet of the car was open, revealing a grimy mess of engine pieces, and Emily was inclined to lean towards Lingonberry's opinion that the car was a lost cause.

Wallis himself was nowhere in sight.

"Mr Wallis?" Emily called.

"Around the other side of the car," Wallis' voice sounded muffled.

Emily carefully picked her way across the floor, avoiding the odd tools. She peered around the side of the car, and was treated to the sight of a pair of legs under the car's body. With a squeak of wheels, the upper half of Wallis appeared as he slid out from under the car on what appeared to be a board with wheels.

Wallis had long since discarded his jacket and waistcoat elsewhere, and was left in his shirt and trousers. A spot of grease was smudged against his forehead, but he didn't seem to be aware of its presence as he sat upright and pulled himself to his feet. "Miss Greene. How can I help you?"

"You- you have…" Emily gestured vaguely at his forehead, "something on your…"

"Oh," Wallis brought the back of his hand against his forehead, and only succeeded in smudging it.

"It's still there."

For a moment, Wallis looked as if he was going to attempt to wipe it off again, only to think better of it when he spotted the smudge on the back of his hand. "I'll wipe it off later. Did you need me?"

"Yes. I mean, no," Emily remembered the problem of Ned, and quickly amended, "actually, I do."

Wallis said nothing, an eyebrow rising in question.

Emily squirmed. "Mr Lingonberry wished to remind you that the groceries-"

"Groceries," Wallis nodded, and Emily was relieved to see that he knew what she meant. "Anything else?"

Emily bit her lip, feeling a bit foolish for her next question. "Who's Ned? What am I supposed to feed him?"

…

Ned, it turned out, was a hamster.

"That's Ned," Emily had meant to phrase it as a question, but she was too surprised to do so.

"Yes." Wallis' matter of fact tone snapped Emily backed to her senses.

"That's Ned?" Emily stared incredulously at the wire cage Wallis had pulled out from the fifth floor's apartment. The small brown animal inside the cage was content to munch away on a selection of seeds Wallis had dug out from a kitchen cupboard. A yellowing piece of paper labelled 'Familiar Of The Year', sat lopsidedly on the top of the cage. "Mr Lingonberry's familiar is a hamster called Ned?!"

"Certainly not," Wallis replied seriously, then Felix smirked. "Ned is a gerbil."

"Oh, very amusing," Emily scowled at Felix before she caught herself, smoothing her expression.

To his credit, Felix managed to hide the smirk by the time he spoke next. "I suppose you have nothing else to do for the rest of the day?"

"No," Emily admitted. "Mr Lingonberry did not exactly leave many things to do."

"Would you care to join me on a quest for groceries, then?"

Emily stared at Felix. The invitation was unexpected – understatement of the century – especially since she thought the man despised her. Or at least, did not want to be in the near vicinity of her.

It was due to instincts of years of ingrained politeness then, that Emily agreed. "Of course." Then, the rest of her sensibilities kicked in. "Might I ask why?"

"You've noticed that Lingonberry could have reminded me himself," Felix pointed out, and Emily had to agree there, "but yet he chose for you to tell me." Felix paused, then, muttered darkly, "Not that I needed a reminder." He shook his head, and continued, "I have the feeling he is conspiring for us to spend time together in an attempt to make us get along better."

"The notion had occurred to me, yes," Emily nodded. That, and she also wanted to see more of the city.

"In addition, I have a friend I think you will want to meet," Felix added after a moment's consideration. "I should warn you, though, she isn't exactly… gentle."