#concealment

“So how do you know this is going to be at the—what did you call it? The House of Wax?” Martin had a pair of pencils and a bit of twine he’d found somewhere in the Archives and was staring intently at it as he worked up what looked to Tim like a rather complicated stitch. Obviously the project wasn’t going to be something anyone in their right mind would wear, but he was obviously just keeping his hands busy on the drive so he didn’t twitch himself to the moon. “The Unknowing, I mean. How’d you figure it out?”

“Gerry did. My partner,” Tim added for Melanie’s benefit. “He goes by Gerry Delano these days, but his mum raised him using her last name, Keay. Anyway, he knows about all this and he used to work with Gertrude some too, so we’ve been working on this together. Martin, you remember how the thing that wasn’t Sasha claimed it—she—had a boyfriend?”

“Tom. I remember.” Martin paused in his knitting and looked up, his face a mixture of understanding and dread. “He worked at Madame Tussauds, she said.”

“Exactly. Gerry reckoned that was important.” Tim gave them a brief rundown of the connections Gerry had made.

Melanie’s eyebrows in the rearview mirror looked skeptical. “How sure are you that you’re right?”

“One hundred percent positive. I know.”

“No offense, but what’s your proof?”

Tim jerked his head in Jon’s direction. “Him.”

“Jon? How did you figure it out?” Martin glanced up at Jon briefly, then went back to his knitting, seemingly intense.

Jon flushed and looked away. Tim frowned at him, dread swirling in his stomach. He’d told Martin to give him space, but damn. “Did you tell him you’d been kidnapped?”

Martin dropped the pencils, his head snapping up and all color draining from his face. “What?”

“I—I’m sorry, Martin, I should have…” Jon swallowed hard and bunched the fabric of his trousers up in his hand, then took a deep breath. “Orsinov—Nikola Orsinov—she’s, she’s sort of the center of the Unknowing, it’s…complicated. Anyway, she had Breekon and Hope snatch me off the street. I didn’t…exactly know where I was being held, but if Tim says it was the House of Wax, that’s where it was.” He took a deep breath. “After all, he’s the one who found me.”

Tim could feel Martin boring holes into the back of his neck through the seat with his eyes, but he kept his attention firmly on the road. It was Melanie who finally broke the somewhat charged silence that had sprung up in the car. “How did you know he was there?”

“Occupational hazard,” Tim said automatically.

“For you or for him?”

“Both? Things wanting to kill you is very much an occupational hazard of being the Archivist. Gertrude had just got in the habit of staying alive, which was why I never fully believed she was dead until you dragged out her corpse. As for me, sometimes I just…know things without knowing I know them until I say them. A lot of that is to do with whether Jon’s in danger or not.” Tim changed lanes to pass a car older than he was going well under the speed limit. “I got a feeling something was wrong and tried to call him, but I was too far away to do anything at the exact moment. And Gerry stopped me from chasing down Breekon and Hope’s van without a plan for what I was going to do if I caught it. He’d already started working out about the wax museum, so we narrowed it down further, drove up there in the dead of night, and stole him back.”

There was a rustling as Martin bent to retrieve his ersatz knitting. In a voice of studied calm, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I tried,” Tim reminded him. “Seemed like every time I opened my mouth there was a phone call or someone came down to give a live statement or Research tried to bury us under twenty tons of paper. Once we figured out where Jon almost definitely was, I reckoned getting him out of there quickly was a higher priority than taking time to gather and debrief everyone. The longer he was there, the more likely something would happen.”

“Not that I’m necessarily advocating for this, mind, but why didn’t they just kill you?” Melanie asked.

Since Tim had been wondering that himself, he glanced at Jon out of the corner of his eye. Jon was huddling in on himself a bit, rubbing compulsively at his hand. Finally, he said quietly, “They wanted my skin.”

“What?!” Melanie and Martin said in unison.

“Not originally. There’s, there’s a gorilla skin—you remember, from the statement about the Trophy Room? That’s what they actually wanted. I spoke to Sarah Baldwin…well, two weeks ago, I suppose…and she said they were sure Gertrude had it. Orsinov said the same. But since I didn’t find it quickly enough, she changed her mind and decided to use mine instead.”

“Stop doing that.” Tim reached over and gently seized Jon’s wrist, pulling his hands away from one another before he hurt himself. “I know they need a lot of skin for the, er, ‘corpse de ballet.’ And yes, I know that’s not how the phrase is usually pronounced, but Gertrude spelled it that way in her notes. I suppose the gorilla skin is for something more important, though.”

Jon swallowed visibly. “Orsinov said she wanted to ‘wear it to dance the world anew’.”

“Ah, the principal’s costume. Naturally. It would have to be more impressive than the rest of the dancers.” Tim shook his head. “Well, it’s not going to happen if we can help it.”

“Do you think that’s what Gertrude meant when she said the key to disrupting the Unknowing was in this storage unit?” Melanie asked. “That this gorilla skin is in there?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Tim let Jon direct him the rest of the way to the storage unit and pulled around the back. He glanced up at the roof, looking for the blind spot in the cameras. Just as he was pulling into a spot, though, Martin sucked in a sharp breath. “Tim. Tim, l-look out, there’s—o-over there, look!”

Jon tensed, and Melanie’s head shot around. Tim followed their looks and saw the Breekon and Hope van, parked off to one side. He cursed under his breath. He really should have thought about that before they came out here, but he’d sort of hoped either they wouldn’t notice or Gerry would have parked it somewhere less obvious. Then he realized the van that had been there before, the one they’d borrowed the spare wheel and the body bag from, was gone from the spot next to it.

“I’m not getting any sense of danger from it,” he said as reassuringly as he could. “But…look. You three stay right here. I’ll go check it out.”

“You’re not going alone,” Jon protested.

Tim hesitated for no more than a split second. “Fine. Melanie, you’re with me. Back in a flash.” He got out of the car before anyone could protest.

Thankfully, Melanie followed him, shutting the door behind him. “Why me?” she asked in a low voice.

Tim glanced at her sideways. “Not because I think you’re expendable.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. And I don’t need the Ceaseless Watcher to know it, either. It’s because I think you’ve got a lot of pent up rage in you, so if something is hiding in that van, I give you permission to rip its head off and use it as a football.” Tim raised an eyebrow. “If there’s not, you are not allowed to rip my head off because you think I lied to you, because the record will show that I told them there was probably nothing to worry about.”

Melanie considered for a moment, then nodded. “I accept those terms.”

They approached the van carefully. Tim knew before they’d even reached it that it was empty and harmless, but he kept up the facade of care as he approached it. Then he noticed the rear tire. Score one for Gerry—he’d replaced the rotten tire, and presumably put the good one back on the missing van. He exhaled and nodded. “Look. This thing hasn’t moved in a month of Sundays.”

Melanie kicked the tire, which gave significantly under her boot. She looked almost disappointed, but nodded. “Yeah. It was a legitimate company at one point, wasn’t it? Probably they got a flat and the driver went to get a spare, and then…what, got fired?”

“Or eaten. Come on, let’s get the others and go see what fresh hell awaits us within.”

Martin was definitely hovering around Jon and trying not to make it obvious. Jon, for his part, seemed to be trying to pretend nothing was wrong as he led the way to the front door, a bag slung over his shoulder. He checked briefly at the number pad, stared at it for a moment while worrying at his lip, then sighed and turned to Tim. “I hate to ask, but…I don’t think I should try to, uh, force any knowledge right now.”

“You are correct. You really shouldn’t do that anyway, but you’re definitely too tired for it at the moment. Luckily, it’s easier for me to Know this particular bit of information without much effort.” Tim leaned over and punched in the correct number combination. The door once again gave its cheerful beep-beep, and there was a clunk as the interior mechanism unlatched. He opened it and bowed. “After you, boss.”

Jon nodded and headed in. Melanie shot Tim a look. “Was that because you knew Gertrude, or for some other reason?”

“A bit. A bit because whatever is in there is key to keeping the Archivist safe, and that’s my job.” Tim waited for Martin to step through the door, then shut it behind them. “A bit because of why Gertrude picked those particular numbers as her key code.”

Martin narrowed his eyes briefly. “260147?”

“Martin, what an ear.”

Martin shrugged, but he looked at least faintly pleased with the praise. “So why did she pick them?”

Tim hesitated, but…well, the ring was loose enough on his finger right then, they should be safe enough. “It was her sister’s birthday.”

Jon stopped dead; Melanie almost ran smack into him. He turned to look at Tim. “Gertrude has a sister?”

“Had. Past tense. She died in 1963.” It occurred to Tim for the first time that Lou might know what had happened, and he made a mental note to ask her the next time he had a chance to talk to her. He wasn’t sure how long she and Gertrude had known each other.

Jon’s shoulders slumped, just slightly. Martin reached out and hesitantly touched his arm; he leaned into it for just a moment before shaking himself and heading down the corridor again.

The storage unit was right where Tim had left it, tucked in the back corner of the facility. The ring tightened slightly on his finger as Jon fished the key out of his bag and unlocked the unit, and he frowned. Surely Jonah…well, he rationalized, there was no guarantee it was Jonah spying on them, after all, the ring just warned him that someone was watching. He’d need to be cautious and alert.

Seemingly oblivious, Jon opened the storage unit. “There.”

Martin blinked. “Huh.”

“What?” Jon twisted to look at him.

“I just…I thought it would be less…” Martin waved vaguely at the unit. “I don’t know, crowded.”

“Oh, you know Gertrude.” Tim echoed Gerry as he stepped past Jon and clicked on the light in the unit. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth…digging through two dozen decaying unmarked boxes.”

“So, what are we looking for?” Melanie asked again.

“I’m…not sure.” Jon looked questioningly at Tim.

Tim shrugged. “We’ll know it when we see it, I think.” He crossed himself and rattled off the novena to Saint Anthony of Padua, for all the good it would do. “Let’s get on with it.”

They began looking through the boxes. Tim chose one of the quadrants he and Gerry hadn’t looked at before, more out of curiosity than anything, but also to let one of the others make the actual discovery. For several moments, they were quiet as they looked.

Martin was the one who broke the silence first. “How many others do you know?”

“Hmm?” Tim glanced over his shoulder at where Martin was rummaging.

“From the statements,” Martin clarified. “I mean, I—I’ve met your Gerry and I didn’t realize he was, you know, Gerard Keay. I was just—have you met any of the others?”

“Independent of doing the research, you mean?” Tim shook his head. “Gertrude liked to keep the different aspects of her life as separate as possible, so if there was anyone she knew, she did her best to make sure I never met them. I was never supposed to meet Gerry, if it comes down to it. He came home early from a trip to hunt down a Leitner for her and dropped by the Institute to see her. He figured nobody else would be there, since it was a Saturday morning. She happened to be out and I happened to be napping in Document Storage.”

“Why?” Martin asked with a frown.

Tim glanced down at his hand. “She’d sent me on an errand…there was an artifact she wanted me to track down, at a place called the Night Market. I made a statement about it, it’s in the Archives somewhere.” A lie. He didn’t think she’d ever written it out, and the tape was safely in his closet. “Anyway, I got back just after sunrise the next morning, and she didn’t think I ought to risk trying to get home as exhausted as I was, so she let me use the cot.”

“I should have realized it was hers first,” Jon murmured. “Uh, found anything yet?”

“Er, er…bunch of…eyeless paintings,” Martin said hastily, nudging one of the frames.

Melanie opened a box and said in a falsely cheerful voice, “Snap! Eyeless dolls! Oh, and just a lot of shredded newspaper.”

“Same.” Jon stared, obviously disappointed, into a cardboard box.

The cardboard lid of the box Tim was investigating disintegrated in his hand as he tried to unfold it. He coughed the dust out of his throat and stared into it. “I’ve got…poisoned dragon’s liver.”

“Poisoned dragon’s liver?” Jon repeated incredulously.

“Did she poison the whole dragon, or just the liver?” Melanie asked, her accent thickening in a very deliberate and sarcastic sort of way.

“Ooh! Ooh! There’s a book in this one!” Martin said excitedly, reaching into the box.

“Don’t—touch it!” Jon sprang across the floor to grab Martin’s arm.

“Ooh—oh! Oh, right, yes.” Martin looked flustered.

Jon exhaled. “Let’s…not touch any books we don’t know.”

“It’s fine,” Tim said absently, shifting through the various jars in the box. “If it were a Leitner, or a book of power anyway, she’d have burnt it.”

“You’re sure?” Jon looked over at him anxiously.

“She wasn’t stupid, Jon.”

“Yes, I know, I…” Jon reached for the book and carefully opened it, then sighed in obvious relief. “It’s just a notebook. I think…um…”

Martin, too, sighed. “What’s in it?”

Jon flicked lightly through the pages of the notebook. “Not sure, er…names, locations, dates. I’ll, I’ll check properly later. Doesn’t seem to be anything to do with the Unknowing, I don’t think. Tim, what do you have there?”

“I’ve got the heart of a lion, and a lifelong ban from the San Francisco Zoo.” Tim pulled out the paper in question and squinted at it. “Uh, dated 1972 and made out to someone named Alvin Shaffer. I don’t think I want the story behind this one.” He tucked the paper back in with the jars and closed the box as best he could. “Nobody break those jars. They won’t smell pleasant.”

They all went back to their search. After several moments, Martin again broke the relative silence. “Did you go?”

“Go where?” Tim frowned at Martin.

“The San Francisco Zoo. When you were in America. I mean, I know it’s a big country and all, but you said you were there for…” Martin trailed off. “Never mind. I’m being silly.”

“You’re not being silly. I was in America about four months.” Tim tossed Martin a quick smile. “I never actually made it to San Francisco. Not this time around, anyway. I went once when I was a kid, but we really just went to Fisherman’s Wharf. Nearest we got this time around was Los Angeles.”

“How was it?” Martin looked up from what he was doing. “I never got to do much traveling really.”

“It was nice,” Tim said slowly. “I mean, I went to some…pretty dark places, but at least I wasn’t alone. And there were definite highlights. Spent Christmas in New York City, which was…an experience.”

“Were you there for New Year’s too?” Melanie asked. She actually sounded interested, even as she kept furricking through the boxes. “You see the big party in Times Square on television every year and…”

“No, we left a couple days after Christmas. We were actually in Boston for New Year’s. You want to talk about places that lean into their rebellious history…Boston, Philadelphia, and Williamsburg. All three of which we hit up.” Tim picked up a moth-eaten greatcoat and studied it for a moment. “A lot of what I did over there was make connections, which is how I got information on some of those trickier statements. Never underestimate the power of ‘I know a guy.’”

Jon let out a small, bitter laugh. “Don’t suppose you know a guy who can help us deal with our Elias Bouchard problem.”

Tim hesitated. “I…might have an idea or two.”

At that, Jon and Martin both looked interested. This time, Jon was the one to speak first. “I don’t suppose you’d like to—”

“Uh, Jon?” Melanie said urgently, bending over a space between two boxes.

Jon whipped his head towards her, instantly alert. “Yes?”

“I…I think I found that gorilla skin you were talking about…”

“Perfect!” Jon actually smiled. “Er, now if we could just—”

“Or, I’m afraid…” Melanie grimaced and held up a scrap of slightly charred black and grey fur. “Uh, what’s, what’s left of it.”

Jon deflated. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Melanie let the fur fall from between her fingers.

“So…she did destroy it.” Jon spoke almost as if to himself.

It was Melanie who answered, though. “Apparently.”

Tim straightened, pressing on his lower back to alleviate a bit of pressure. He noticed Martin frown at something and then reach for it, and he knew what it was. He was already hurrying over as Jon said, still in that half dreaming voice, “So if that’s…not what we’re looking for…”

“J-J-Jon, Jon!” Martin interrupted.

“What?” Jon, obviously derailed and instantly worried, whipped around. Seeing Tim rushing towards Martin seemed to increase his worry.

Martin’s whole face was alight. “I think I found it!”

Jon blinked. “Wh-what is it?”

Tim looked over Martin’s shoulder and laughed. The hard plastic case he’d seen the last time he was here was open, with a pristine, seemingly untouched layer of grey plasticine blocks nestled beside a bundle of charges. Gerry had known what he was doing. “I think you’re going to want to see this.”

Jon joined them and looked, then drew back in shock. “Good Lord! Is that—?”

Melanie, too, stepped up to his side. “Looks like it.”

“Where the hell did she get this? I—” Jon began, then broke off. “Martin, don’t touch it!”

“Sorry!” Martin drew his hand back as though he’d been stung.

“Is it…stable?” Jon asked uncertainly.

Melanie scowled at him. “How should I know? I don’t even know what kind it is!”

“It’s fine. See those?” Tim nodded at the bundle off to one side. “Those are the charges. Without that, it…probably won’t blow. Just keep it away from open flames. And don’t touch it!” he added sharply as Martin, his curiosity overcoming Jon’s admonition, reached out to test the surface of the block again.

“Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” Martin stepped back, looking thoroughly chastened.

“Just—you don’t want that on your hands. Use gloves, for Christ’s sake.” Tim exhaled, then noticed something behind the plastic explosives. It looked like another note. Suddenly worried that Gertrude had left him yet another missive he would have to hide from the others, he reached for it.

“What’s that?” Of course Jon noticed it.

“Not sure.” Tim tugged it gently free. It came away cleanly, and he studied it for a moment. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the salutation was not. “Looks like a letter from…whoever she got this from.” He turned the pages over and pursed his lips at the signature. “Adelard Dekker. I should have guessed.”

He handed the letter to Jon, who took it and turned it over briefly before looking up at Tim. “Did you ever meet him? I know you said Gertrude kept you separate from most of the people she knew, but…”

“No. Gertrude mentioned him once or twice, but that was about it.” Tim decided not to mention the look she’d always got when she did bring him up. He didn’t think their relationship had been romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but he suspected he and Gerry weren’t the only people she’d cared about since Cat’s death. “I got the idea that…things…finally caught up to him not long before I started at the Institute.”

“So what is that?” Martin cocked his head at the letter. “Is it a receipt or a point of origin or—”

“Guys!” Melanie suddenly interrupted sharply.

“What?” Jon, Martin, and Tim all asked in unison.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Martin asked, frowning.

Tim’s ring suddenly tightened a bit more. He started to look over his shoulder, but as he turned his head, he caught it too—the faint, unmistakable whirring of a tape recorder. “Oh.”

“It’s like…” Melanie frowned at Jon’s bag.

“Oh, goddammit…okay.” Jon sighed.

“Is, is that…”

Jon unzipped his bag and reached into it. To Tim’s complete lack of surprise, he pulled out the smaller backup tape recorder, which was cheerfully recording away.

“What were you thinking, bringing that along?” Martin demanded. He sounded angry, which was a bit of a surprise.

“I just—I mean—I forgot!” Jon stammered.

“You forgot?!” Melanie cried.

Tim didn’t think he had. He thought about all the times the recorders had turned themselves on without his intervention—or Gertrude’s—connected it with the warning that they were being spied on, and gritted his teeth.

“Turn it off!” Martin ordered.

“I am! Just give me a second—” Jon fumbled with the recorder.

Through clenched teeth, Melanie hissed, “Turn it off!”

“Give it here!” Tim barked, lunging forward. He snatched the device out of Jon’s suddenly slack fingers, turned, and flung it as hard as he could at the opposite wall. It struck a fold of the corrugated iron wall just right and shattered, spraying bits of plastic everywhere.

In the sudden silence, Tim’s ring slid down his finger, and he caught it with the fingers on either side and shoved it back over the knuckle.

He took a deep, steadying breath, closed the case, and latched it. “You want to bring this with us or leave it here? I think it’s pretty obvious this is what we’re here for. And you will read that statement as soon as we get in the car, you hear me? You need the energy.”