The golden glow faded, with only the crackling, sparking machine behind me to light the scene. I discovered the sword had grown red hot, the heat even now radiating uncomfortably through the leather wrapping, and I dropped the thing hurriedly. Then I crouched next to Roberta, feeling her wrist for a pulse.
"Septimus?" she murmured.
Relieved, I broke into a smile. "They're gone," I said.
"And father?"
My heart stilled, for in the events of the past few minutes I had entirely forgotten the professor. "I—I'm sorry. He—"
Roberta threw off my hand and struggled up. "He what?"
"The spirits." I hung my head. "They… took him."
"No!" she breathed. Before I could stop her, she scrambled to her feet and ran towards the professor's crumpled form. She threw herself upon him, her head to his chest, and my blood ran cold as she let out an unearthly, wailing cry.
I felt my heart go out to Roberta as she sobbed uncontrollably, her face buried in her father's chest. I wanted to approach, to offer what little comfort I could, but I knew there might still be danger lurking in that accursed warehouse. The stronger spirits had been vanquished, but lesser phantasms might be surrounding us at that very moment. The first we would know of it would be their cold, ghostly touch.
As Roberta's cries of grief rang out, I made my way to the haversacks containing our equipment. I searched them quickly and located the spectacles with the twin lenses, which I pressed to my nose. Then, with my nerves a-jangle, I scanned the gloomy interior of the warehouse for enemies. I saw Roberta immediately, her body enveloped in a vibrant aura. Then I frowned and looked again, for there was a second aura beside her, lying on the ground. I removed the spectacles, looked with my naked eye, then replaced them. There could be no doubt, it was the professor's body giving off the aura, faint though it was. I was on the point of crying out to Roberta, but then my hopes were dashed as I realised it was no more than a latent image. My face grim, I turned away to inspect the rest of the warehouse, verifying that we were indeed alone.
Or were we?
I looked towards a nearby section of floor, an area through which I knew the phantasms had carried the professor's life force. The merest hint of a glowing line protruded through the floor, a strand as thin as sewing cotton. I approached cautiously, and observed that the line led away towards Roberta and the professor. I peered over the top of my glasses at it, lest it were merely some trick of the light, but it promptly vanished. Then, using the eyeglasses once more, I began to follow the thin, winding trail. As I approached Roberta she turned her tear-stained face towards me, and that's when I noticed the terminating point of this fine strand of light. It was attached to the professor!
I dropped to my knees, hardly daring to hope. Easing Roberta aside, I pressed the side of my head to the professor's chest, listening intently.
Nothing… nothing… nothing… Thud!
I waited several seconds for a second beat, just to confirm my suspicions, and the moment I heard it I turned to Roberta, taking her hands in mine. She stared at me in confusion, and I could barely form the words as I burst out with the truth. "Your father's life force is still attached, albeit by the thinnest thread imaginable. Roberta… he lives!"
– — Ω — –
Roberta stared at me, then bent to listen for herself. "Oh, you surely are a tough old goat," she murmured lovingly, and then she stood, suddenly businesslike. "Come, we must hurry if we are to save him."
"Yes, but to where?" I asked. "They carried his life force directly through a solid floor!"
"And what do you think lies beneath that floor?" demanded Roberta.
I hazarded a guess. "A cellar?"
"If so, there will be a trapdoor."
I picked up the sword and handed it to her, and then I took the revolver from my pocket. It was useless against spirits, but I knew Edgar might still be lurking. If he tried to prevent me from saving the professor I would shoot him dead without hesitation.
Together we made our way around the perimeter of the warehouse, stepping over fallen oak beams and scattered bricks. Finally we found what we were looking for: a square trapdoor with a recessed iron handle. We lifted it, only to turn our heads as a dank smell rose from the darkness below. "A cellar, or a sewer?" I remarked.
There were wide steps below, rough stone ones, and Roberta and I descended them arm in arm. I still wore the glasses, but the glow from the sword's forked tip gave just enough light to see by. When we reached the bottom we turned left, away from the wall, and Roberta gripped my arm. "Do you see it?" she demanded.
I did indeed, for the faint trail came through the ceiling above and led away into the darkness. After pointing the way, we followed the trail for a dozen steps or more, passing several broken, rotting barrels alive with the rustle and scurry of rats. The trail seemed to grow lighter as we continued, and then it stopped completely. I removed the glasses to see a brick wall across our path, stretching from one side of the cellar to the other.
"Well?" demanded Roberta.
I turned to her, my buoyant mood suddenly brought low. "It goes right through," I said quietly. "I'm sorry, Roberta. I think… I think we really have lost him."
She snorted. "Really, Septimus? You give up so easily?"
"I do not wish to!" I said heatedly. "But you and I cannot pass through solid rock!"
"You would think so, but I have lived in this city longer than you.
