The drunks had moved on. No one else was in sight. He approached the taller apartment building, attached his cane to the custom-made loop on his belt, jumped to grab the ladder of the fire escape, and pulled himself up. A sinewy man just over six feet tall who kept himself in shape with squash and a daily exercise regimen—he was a champion cricketeer in his youth—scampering up the fire escape proved to be an easy task.
Within moments he was balancing on a short iron railing high above the street. He checked to ensure no one was watching, then leaped across six feet of empty space to land atop an ornamental parapet on the roof of the abandoned building. His foot slipped on a patch of fresh bird droppings, and he teetered precariously on the edge, but he regained his balance and dropped lightly onto the level rooftop.
He studied his new environment in the privacy of darkness. Adjacent buildings on three sides walled him in. He now realized the iron cage on top of the building enclosed a rusty ventilation system, as well as a wooden trapdoor that provided access to the roof.
He glanced down and saw a new pair of drunks staggering up the street.
Enemy spies in disguise?
Perhaps, though in recent years the Ascendants preferred more direct confrontation. Or at least he was told. He had never actually met a member of the rival organization. But it was a troubling trend that could endanger everyone.
Once the drunks had passed, Dr. Corwin checked the padlock securing the cage. Unlocked. He took that as a sign. After slipping inside, he shut the door and pocketed the lock. He didn’t want anyone sneaking up behind him and trapping him inside.
In case of trouble, he gripped his cane, which doubled as a weapon in a pinch. He approached the wooden trapdoor set into the floor and pulled on the handle. It creaked open, releasing a stale odor and revealing a spiral staircase that wound through a service shaft. Dr. Corwin grimaced at the claustrophobic passage and took out a penlight. Motes of dust floated in the stream of illumination as he tested the stairs.
He closed the hinged wooden door above him. Except for a few spiders watching from the safety of their webs, there was no sign of life as he climbed down the long stairwell. At the bottom loomed a coffered wooden door, stripped of paint and streaked with moisture stains. Dr. Corwin gently twisted the knob.
Also unlocked.
He eased the door open and found himself in a wide hallway with patches of exposed brick framed by frescoes faded to obscurity. On his left was a series of oval archways. After letting his eyes adjust, he peered inside the first archway and saw a set of carpeted steps descending into a tiered auditorium.
He checked his watch. Five minutes to midnight.
Moldy air leached out of the vast hall. The penlight was too dim to reveal the far walls or ceiling, yet with his first step onto the stairs, a spotlight flooded the auditorium, causing him to gawk at the remains of a movie theater from a grand and bygone era. The fabric had long been stripped from the seats, plaster was peeling off the walls and ceiling, and a ruined chandelier hung over the theater like a giant bag of bones. All the rot and decaying beauty left a surreal impression, like being inside a melting painting, or trapped inside Miss Havisham’s nightmarish fever dream of jilted love.
A trio of people emerged from the wings and walked onto the stage below him. All three wore full-length white robes and square beige masks that disguised their age and gender. Red markings with logographic and syllabic elements, a combination of hieroglyphs and runes, covered the surface of the masks.
The trio regarded him in silence from the stage as he walked calmly down to the first row and took a seat. He understood the message imparted by the visceral power of the setting.
You might have joined us, Dr. James Gerald Corwin, but you’re still on the bottom rung of the ladder, granted an audience in an abandoned building to a trio of faceless superiors.
An audience before a stage where all the world’s a play . . .
A stage where the curtain is thick and ancient and has yet to be pulled, and in the wings and under the deck lurk hints of secret knowledge, waiting just below the surface, layers on layers on layers.
“Welcome,” said a deep female voice, though he could not tell which of the three had spoken. “You did well to arrive here.”
Dr. Corwin crossed his legs as he eased back into the seat. “You could have made it easier, but that’s not how this thing works, is it? Is this a safe-house location? A typical meeting place?”
“It is just an old theater.”
Dr. Corwin flashed an amused grin. “Is it, now?”
An older male voice said, “Many of us are in agreement that you’re one of our most promising adepts.”
“Obliged.”
“One who, if the course is stayed, possesses an extremely bright future.”
“If I may be so bold as to ask, with how many people am I in competition?”
“There is no competition. Only collaboration,” the man said. “All will be revealed in due course, but for now, we have a task for you.”
“An extremely important task,” the woman chimed in. “You’ve heard of Ettore Majorana?”
Dr. Corwin blinked. “I’m a professor of theoretical physics. Of course I have.”
“Have you studied his work?”
“Yes and no. I’m aware of his contributions, but I’m hardly a Majorana scholar.”
“Ettore was once a member of the Ascendants.”
Dr. Corwin whistled. “That could explain some things.”
Decades ago, the sudden disappearance of the brilliant Italian physicist had shocked the world. Yet from what Dr. Corwin understood, many members of the Leap Year Society chose to withdraw from public life, or even disappear altogether, in order to fully commit
