And If Thou Wilt, Forget

Like he had when they first started working together in the Archives, Tim took the first week he was back to assess and reassess, to work out where he stood and where the rest of them stood, to figure out how to move forward and who to move forward with. Most importantly, he wanted to work out who he could trust. While there was an outside chance Gertrude had been gunned down by an actual Hunter, that was by no means certain and honestly not particularly plausible. Far more likely she’d been confronted by someone who otherwise wouldn’t have been able, or at least not likely, to hurt her and that she’d therefore let her guard down enough to be taken unawares. Or at least let herself be distracted, since Gertrude was always on her guard.

And like when they had first started working together, he quickly realized he couldn’t trust any of them.

Well. That was a bit of a simplification. He trusted Martin; the man was a lot more sensible and capable than he’d let on at first, and he was the only one who’d bothered to check up on Tim, which meant he was probably someone who could be relied upon. But it only took a couple of days for him to realize that Martin had a protective streak almost as long as Tim’s, and that that extended to Jon as much as it did to Tim and Sasha. Tim tried not to resent him for that, but it did mean he didn’t feel comfortable taking him fully into his confidence. Not until he was sure he had enough proof that he could convince Martin not to immediately hand it all over to Jon. He refused, refused, to leverage what he knew about Martin’s background and job history to convince him to keep his secrets. That was bullshit and he wouldn’t do that to the man he’d somehow come to think of as a surrogate younger brother.

He wasn’t sure he could accurately say he trusted Sasha, but he at least didn’t think she would betray him. At least not deliberately. Her methods were…unorthodox, though, even for the Archives, and Tim had to admit that he was worried that if he let her in, let her help, she might risk getting him caught in a way he didn’t want to be. She was too likely to draw the wrong sort of attention, and more importantly she was too likely to be incautious when she was truly curious about something. Martin might put himself in danger if Jon told him to, or he thought Jon wanted him to, but Sasha would sell her soul to Satan for a single corn chip just to see what would happen if she ate it. Even Gertrude hadn’t been that dedicated to knowledge. Besides that, she was having some sort of trouble with her laptop, and that seemed to be taking all of her concentration. She wasn’t even interested in Mister Megabytes anymore.

And Jon…

Well, Tim had known before he even came back that he couldn’t trust Jon. He’d maybe entertained, for the briefest of possible moments, the possibility of Jon not being the murderer…but deep down, he was pretty well convinced. It just…made sense. Jon had never been qualified for the position. He had no training in library science or administration, no experience running a department, and he was the youngest person in the Archives, so it wasn’t even like he had tons of experience the rest of them didn’t. He certainly wasn’t going to get any kind of position of responsibility anywhere else. And the fact that he’d selected Sasha, who’d also applied to be the Archivist, as an assistant felt an awful lot like bragging. He was too reluctant to take suggestions, too stubborn to accept help, and too easy to manipulate by invoking Gertrude’s name for Tim not to believe he’d been gunning for the job. Probably literally.

He still didn’t have any proof, which was the only reason he still had any doubts, but he was keeping his eye out.

He’d also spent the time working out Jon’s habits. The most charitable word for them might be “irregular”, but after careful observation, Tim was able to ascertain that they weren’t what you’d call unpredictable. He spent his days more or less holed up in his office, unless Martin dragged him out for food or coaxed him with a cup of tea, but he was also staying late pretty much every day, well past the time the rest of them left. It took Tim a little longer to work out what he was doing.

Not going through the statements. Investigating the tunnels.

Tim was interested in those tunnels, too. For a lot of reasons. Partly he wanted to be certain there wasn’t anything else making use of the space—if anything else got into the Archives and went after Martin, he didn’t know what he would do—but he also wanted to see if he could find Gertrude and, more importantly, her tapes. He didn’t know, and hadn’t asked, if the police had been able to find her again, but even if they had, they might have missed one or two. Also, he hadn’t forgotten about the Unknowing coming up, and if there was a chance that something down there could help in turning it back, he was all for it. The problem was that he had to figure out how to get into them…and more importantly, how to get into them without Jon knowing he was doing it. They were too disorientating, too hidden—if Jon was the murderer, and he found Tim down there, disposing of him would be easy. No need to even put effort into hiding the body. Martin would never have found Gertrude if there hadn’t been a crisis, after all.

“How about a good old-fashioned stakeout?” Gerry suggested finally, as they were lying in bed wishing they didn’t have to get up and start the day. “The Institute uses security guards instead of cameras for a reason, right?”

“There are cameras on the upper levels, just none in the Archives. The statements, plus all the wards Gertrude set up, interfere with them and you can’t get a clear picture. The stuff upstairs isn’t great—it’s why they haven’t been able to get anything on who might’ve come down here the day Gertrude died—but it’s still there.”

“Makes sense. Anyway, the security guards don’t come down into the Archives, so all we have to do is watch until Jon leaves, then go in ourselves. You’ve still got the key to the Archives, right?”

Tim nodded slowly. “Jon’s been fussing about changing the locks, but Elias keeps telling him he’s just being paranoid, and anyway locks didn’t stop Jane Prentiss. I think he just knows I have keys and doesn’t know who else might have them, but for now, they’re still good.” He mulled over Gerry’s idea for a moment. “It’s probably the best shot we’ll have. Better leave the dog home.”

It was a Wednesday, probably not the best day of the week to be doing this, but hell, Tim had gone to work on less sleep before. It was also the September equinox, the first day of autumn and the night the dark began to win out over the light, so Tim was betting on Jon not spending too long down there. He put in the workday as normal, walked with Martin and Sasha to the Tube station, rode with them both as far as their paths converged, went home, took Rowlf for a run, and ate dinner. Then they got in the car and drove back to the Institute.

Jon had driven in, too, so it was a simple matter to park a bit down the street from him facing his car, shut off their own, and hunker down to wait. They’d dressed in all black again, and Gerry had once again done Tim’s makeup—Tim was really going to have to learn to do it himself, but Gerry was better at it—so they were as prepared to sneak in as they possibly could be. From that point, it was just a matter of waiting.

“So what if he doesn’t come out?” Gerry said quietly after they’d been there for what felt like ages but was probably less than an hour. “What if he stays down there until late—or comes out and spends the night in the Archives?”

Tim shrugged. “Then we try again tomorrow. He’s got to come out eventually.”

“I can think of worse ways to—wait, what’s that?”

Tim sat up straighter for a moment, then scrunched down into the seat. He reached over and took Gerry’s hand. “Jackpot. Here he comes.”

It was hard to make out the details of the figure, but it couldn’t have more obviously been Jon if he’d been wearing a neon sign. He crept out of the courtyard, looked back and forth along the street—Tim ducked down lower—then got into the car and started it up. It probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he waited until he was almost level with them to switch on the headlights, but it was a miracle he didn’t crash in the meantime.

Gerry craned his neck for a moment, looking behind them, then dropped back down and gave a single nod. “He’s gone. Operation Undermine Authority is a go.”

“I kind of hate you for coming up with that.” Nevertheless, Tim got out of the car.

At this point, their techniques for sneaking into the Archives after dark were almost down to a science. They slid across the courtyard like oil over a blacktop at midnight, slipped down to the door, and unlocked it, then filed in one after the other. Tim relocked the door, took Gerry’s hand, and led him a few steps before clicking on the torch.

“I brought extras,” Gerry whispered, patting his oversized pockets. “The one we took to Hither Green, for starters. I figure if it stood up to the Dark, it’ll stand up to whatever’s down there. Which…might also be the Dark.”

“Yeah, I thought of that,” Tim admitted. “Good thinking on the torches. Do you want to stay here or come with me?”

“Where are we going?”

“The key to the trapdoor is in Elias’s office. Jon filches it and puts it back when he’s done. I think he used to keep it in his own office, but he was worried about Elias getting suspicious, so he put it back.”

“Would’ve been nice if you’d warned me about that.” Gerry gnawed his lip for a moment, then shook his head regretfully. “I’d better stay down here. Two of us together are more likely to get caught, and you’re an Institute employee, you can make something up if you get caught.”

“Your vote of confidence is overwhelming.” Tim gave Gerry a quick kiss. “Back in a flash.”

It turned out to be easier than even Tim had expected. Obviously Elias’s office wasn’t locked if Jon was able to steal the key with as much regularity as he did, so that had never been a concern, but even getting to it wasn’t much of a challenge. The cameras hadn’t been laid out well—there were plenty of blind spots if you were quick and careful—and the extra security Elias had hired while Martin was living in the Archives had been let go, leaving only a single guard who was easy to elude. There was even enough ambient light on the upper floors that he didn’t need the torch. Tim made it to Elias’s office, lifted the key gingerly, and made his way back to the Archives inside of ten minutes.

Gerry stared at him when he reappeared at his side. “Okay, I will never doubt your Rogue skills again. Let’s go do a dungeon crawl, then.”

“You know, if it turns out Jon isn’t trying to kill us, once we turn back the Unknowing we really need to start a campaign with these guys. I bet Martin would be great at it.” Tim swept the torch over the floor and located the trapdoor. “Right. Let’s get this thing open, baby.”

The handle was concealed, but it was the work of no more than a second to figure out how to raise it and unlock the door, then lift it. It opened easily, almost silently—Tim remembered it hadn’t creaked when they’d opened it to escape either, but he’d been too busy worrying to focus on it then—and released a kiss of dry, cool, stale air. He gripped Gerry’s hand, murmured the novena to Saint Lucy, and headed down the steps.

The tunnels were much as Tim remembered them, save that they were dry and free of worms and dust alike. He swept the area with his torch. “Elias sent a cleaning crew down here. I guess it was partly for the worms.”

“Only partly?” Gerry raised an eyebrow. “What other reason could he have had for sending a cleaning crew down here?”

“Honestly, probably because he knew Jon was going to come down here to investigate and wanted to make it as difficult for him as possible.” Tim turned to face Gerry seriously. “If there was dust or dirt, he could follow his footprints and figure out where he was, where he was going. Whereas if it’s perfectly clean, well, all these tunnels are going to start looking alike after a while. Easy to get him lost, right?”

“That’s…a disturbingly good point. In that case, how are we going to figure out where we are and where we’re going?”

Tim shrugged. “It’s just counting steps. I usually do that anyway.”

Gerry stared at him. “You do? Why?”

“When your favorite grandmother’s way of measuring time and distance is by beads on a rosary, you learn to compensate. And before you ask, no, it’s not OCD, it’s just a habit.” Tim angled the torch down the tunnel. “Let’s see what’s down here.”

He remembered, vaguely, that there’d been a good stretch with no turnoffs before he and Jon had found the trapdoor, and he also remembered they’d turned left to find it, but that didn’t actually help much. They weren’t necessarily trying to retrace their steps, he told himself. This was just…reconnoitering. They were just trying to get an idea of what was down here, what Jon was doing. Maybe what Gertrude had been doing, but for this first one it would be enough to just get the basic shape. They could worry about the finer details later.

“You don’t know how long you walked?” Gerry asked when Tim explained all of that.

“Respiratory acidosis, remember? I was doing good to remember how to walk at all. And on top of that, Jon was having a hard time walking, so my count would have been off anyway.” Tim shrugged. “We’re starting from scratch.”

“Joy and happiness.”

The first thing Tim noticed, after only a few feet, was how…still it was. Not just the absence of worms. There was something else missing, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Like a song that had been playing in the background for his entire life, a song he was so accustomed to it had faded into the background and he never noticed It, had suddenly ceased playing. Something that should be there, regardless of how he felt about it.

“All right,” he murmured to Gerry. “What am I missing?”

“About sixty-two cumulative hours of sleep and your common sense?” Gerry suggested.

“This was your idea,” Tim reminded him.

“Yeah, and you agreed to it. That’s how I know you’re missing your common sense.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. Can’t you feel it? That…stillness?”

Gerry paused, and listened. “Yeah…yeah, now that you mention it, there is…” He shook his head. “I dunno. Maybe it’s the ambient sounds of London? Even in the Archives you can at least hear…pipes hissing and electronics buzzing and whatnot. Most places you hear traffic or the hustle and bustle of a city. Maybe we’re just deep enough that ambient noise can’t get down here.”

“Maybe,” Tim said uncertainly. That didn’t quite feel like the right answer, but it was enough to go on for the moment. He found himself reaching for Gerry’s hand as they proceeded.

From the way Gerry clutched it, he was probably feeling some of the same apprehensions.

Tim shone the light on the ceiling overhead. “I don’t know if it’s actually Millbank, although I think that’s our best bet, but this is definitely Smirke’s work. His early work, mind you, before he started really working with wrought iron, but still.”

“I’ll take your word for it. So what does that mean for us?”

“Well, it means it’s probably drawing the paranormal, which we knew. It also means there’s going to be some kind of balance to it. Smirke was a master of subtle stability, so even when it seems not to make sense, it will.” Tim frowned at the wall ahead of them. “Or at least it should. That shouldn’t be there.”

Gerry stopped dead. “Tim, you’re starting to scare me a little. How do you know that?”

“No, not—it makes sense for this to be either an L or a four-way intersection. Which means that the way Smirke designs, it should actually be a T.” Tim swept the torch over the wall. “The stonework matches, but…it’s not right. Either someone modified the plans during construction, or someone took a lot of care in bricking it up later.” He paused. “Or someone’s been moving the walls around.”

“Is it weird that I feel like that actually might be the most likely option?”

“If it were anyone else but us, yes, absolutely. Since it is us, I think you’re right.” Tim pursed his lips. “Okay. Left or right?”

Gerry hummed. “Are we trying to trace Jon’s steps, or Gertrude’s?”

Tim hesitated and thought, really thought, about that. Finally, reluctantly, he said, “Jon’s.”

“In that case, is he right or left-handed?”

“Right, why?”

“Then go right. When people aren’t thinking and are going on instinct, they tend to turn towards their dominant hand.” Gerry smirked. “I know things, too, Stoker.”

Tim couldn’t help but laugh. It sounded oddly muted. “Do not put your faith in a cape and a hood?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Right tunnel it is.”

They turned down the right tunnel and immediately discovered that it was shorter than the previous one. They also discovered a jagged, workmanlike arrow chalked onto the wall, pointing back the way they had come. Tim scowled at it. “I guess Jon was marking his path after all.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Gerry pointed out. “It means we can follow him and figure out what the fuck he’s doing. We just have to look for the arrows when we get to intersections.”

“Yeah, but…Jesus. I can’t decide if it’s bravado or stupidity.”

“What do you mean?”

Tim set off down the corridor, his hand still twined with Gerry’s. “He’s broadcasting his movements. Either it’s because he doesn’t expect anyone else to come down here and attempt to follow them, or because he doesn’t realize anybody else might be making use of those marks. And I can’t decide which one I’m hoping for.”

Gerry was quiet for several minutes as they followed the twisting corridors, turning every time they came to a mark on the wall. It looked to Tim like he was just randomly taking whatever turn looked good; it wasn’t even always the right turn. He was about to bring this up when Gerry said quietly, “I wonder if you’ve considered another possibility.”

Tim stopped and looked at Gerry. “What other possibility?”

Gerry put his arms around Tim’s neck and pressed their foreheads together, which sent a chill down Tim’s spine. It meant Gerry was genuinely scared by whatever it was he was about to suggest and wanted to be close. “Your theory is that Jon killed Gertrude in order to take her position as the Archivist, yeah?”

“Yeah?”

“And Gertrude’s whole thing was disrupting rituals, right?”

“Right…?”

“Did she ever mention anything to you about an Eye ritual?”

“Not specifically, but—” Tim froze as the pieces fell into place and he got what Gerry was implying. “Oh, no.”

Gerry nodded seriously, closing his eyes as he moved, somehow, still closer to Tim. “Maybe Jon knew the Eye’s ritual was coming up. Maybe he killed Gertrude to keep her from disrupting it. Or worse…maybe he killed her to use her remains in a ritual.”