By night, the Bridge was under curfew, the mighty gates sealed and guarded at both ends, a precaution against fire, thieves, the Dutch and, most worrying of all (besides the Dutch), drowning: almost no-one in London could swim. Water was for drinking (if it was clean) and avoiding (if it was not). Besides, London Bridge’s residents were an exclusive bunch, proud of their privacy. Thus, after dark, the Bridge was likely the safest place in the city, outside the yeoman-and-spaniel-patrolled grounds of St. James’ palace itself.

Getting through the gate was the easy part. It seemed sometimes like absolutely no-one could say no to Jerry. A whisper in the guard’s ear was all it took. For some reason, Clive was reminded of Nell Gwyn. Nell... she was another who could bend steel seemingly by force of will alone. She and Jerry were well-matched. A damned shame the King had swooped in and stolen her from right under Jerry’s nose. It was good to be King; but it might be even better to be Jerry.

Getting onto the Bridge was one thing; getting into Nonsuch was quite another. Nonsuch had no doors as such. None. Not even a catflap. And the windows on the first two floors were fixed glass blocks and could not be opened. All in all, it was a burglar’s worst nightmare. Oddly, Jerry did not look overly worried.

Isabella led them to the sheer wall inside the tunnel that bored a path through the towering architectural xenogevaarte that she called home. She insisted on blindfolding them, strips torn from the hem of her dress revealing yet more pale skin to Clive’s wa/ondering eyes. The cloth about his nose smelt like warm lavender.

Under her instruction, and a certain amount of less-than-patient shoving, they leant back against a section of the wall...

“Ready, boys?”

Jerry was clearly grinning beneath his blindfold. “Born so!”

“Remember not to scream...”

Clive hesitated. “Actually, I think maybe–”

There was a grating sound of a concealed lever being pulled, and suddenly they were tipping backwards, sliding, falling, but upwards, their scalps and underwrists sliding across coarse stone, then smoothest marble, and then skidding to rest across a ridged count of tiles.

Clive’s mouth was open, but fortunately he had been too winded to utter any sound. He tore at his blindfold. He was on his back, staring up at a vaulted ceiling marked with a map of the constellations. They were not ones he recognised.

Jerry beside him ripped off his blindfold and jumped to his feet. Isabella was already standing. She offered Clive a hand.

“Phew!” said Jerry. “Say what you want about your father, Issy, but he sure knows how to make an entrance!”

Clive looked around. There was no obvious sign of how they had arrived. The onyx wall was smooth and uninterrupted. There was some kind of light emanating from the cornices, but, again, the source eluded.

Isabella shushed. “Not so loud, Jerry! And, believe me, you’ve seen nothing yet! My bedroom’s this way. Through the lab.”

“Course it is! Where else would it be?”

“Father should be abed by now. He’s a heavy sleeper... but let’s not push our luck?”

“Lead the way, fair maid of the West!”

Once more, Clive spectated Jerry’s easy manner with the fairer sex with a mixture of awe... and not a little jealousy. Despite knowing that Jerry had pies in other fingers (reverse that) there was more than a whiff of competitive jus in the air. Clive was damned if he was going to play third fiddle to Jerry on what was supposed to be his first real date with Isabella (forgetting that he had neither asked her to the pub, nor arranged this tryst at her house, nor could even claim to have seen her first). Were Jerry and Isabella just friends, or was it something more besides?

He followed them as they walked along the protracted corridor, hardly noticing the model boat, or the pentapedal rabbit, or the circle within a triangle within a square outlined on the floor (at least until he stubbed his toe on the ridge).

“Keep up, Clive!” shout-whispered Jerry.

“It’s much bigger than you think, isn’t it?”

The corridor finally ended with a set of ingenious folding wooden doors. The lab lay beyond. Isabella checked the coast was clear through a crack, and put a finger to her lips again before sliding back the panels. The glide was almost soundless.

Isabella sealed the door behind them.

Clive had never seen an alchemist’s laboratory before, and had exactly no frame of reference (the closest he had ever come to chemistry had been his relationship with his family’s prize cow). What lay before him was part kitchen and part library. And it was huge. Long workbenches were hooded with gaping vortex extractors that gasped and hawed most unnervingly in time with every unseen river gust outside. The unsourced red glow picked out the iron edges of fire tongs and bellows, and workbenches bubbled with a glassy foam of pregnant alembics and cucurbits, helical condensers and ceramic crucibles. But it was the books, piled on every surface, held splayed by stands, bookmarks lolling, precariously close to fire hazards, that really dominated. At the far end, a mighty pipe organ, too large for even this space, more befitting a cathedral or basilica, thrust through the ceiling to unseen floors above. But then Clive saw the vista of windows stretching right the way across the left wall, and all else was forgotten in a swim of churning vertigo...

Oh, the city at night was breathtaking enough, twice so from this kingly position at the centre of the Bridge. There was little street lighting, per se, but inhabitants were encouraged to keep their street facing windows lit at night, a kind of illuminatory civic crowd-sourcing. Other lights were in motion, bobbing along the streets on long poles, the glowing spores of hired lantern bearers for those who needed, and could pay, a little more.

All of this, Clive could appreciate. He just couldn’t handle it being upside down... The dark city was hanging bat-like from the sky! Mauve clouds skidded along the ground above the deepdove moon below the glittering waters of the river above that just did not fall.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Clive made the sound of an expiring toad, and tried to stand on his head.

“Steady! Steady...” Isabella and Jerry were beside him, each grabbing a leg, trying to demast him back to the ground. Clive gagged, but did not hurl. For the second time tonight, he took Isabella’s hand and allowed her to help him to his feet. “It can have that effect, the first time. I’m sorry, Clive, I should have warned you. I’m just so used to it, I totally forgot!”

“It’s– it’s–” Clive was jabbing towards the window...

“Inverted. Yes. Well, we are, actually. The world outside is just fine. It’s Father’s idea of planning ahead. I am sure it will all make perfect sense if he ever gets the submersion screw working.” She smacked Clive hard on the back, as if helping him rid his lungs of water, and looked at Jerry in surprise. “You seem very unimpressed, Jerry. Have you been here before?”

“Me?” Jerry pointed to his chest. “Course not! ’Ow could I?”

Isabella’s eyes narrowed, but she said no more of it.

“Come on! My room’s this way. Try not to look at the windows, Clive. You do get used to it... eventually.”

She led the way to an unassuming door in the wall opposite the window, sandwiched between a human skeleton in a cage and a stuffed wildebeest (whatever that was). She opened the door. Jerry and Clive made to follow (in that order).

Rounding on them, Isabella raised a finger, as if training greyhounds. “Stay! Some things are not for the eyes of mortal men. Or the other kind, before you say anything.”

She vanished inside. There came the sound of furniture being upended, glass smashing and an animal scream that sounded like a vixen in heat.

She emerged, wiping a single rather charming bead of sweat from her brow. “Here we go! Found them!” She held a pack of cards triumphantly in one hand. “Come on! Let’s find a space!”

Space, as in clear space free from clutter, did not exist, so, in the end, they sat on the floor between two of the long workbenches, between the piles of books and sacks of charcoal. Isabella threw a luxurious silk red bed sheet over the tiles in the manner of a picnic, and pushed stubby tallow candles into a couple of the larger unused bubble flasks to create soft globes of light. The omnipresent glow dimmed of its own accord, and the large room shrank to something more intimate and secret. Clive even managed to block the gravity-twisting view from the windows from sight and even mind.

Jerry and Clive took their places, and Isabella arranged herself on the sheet. She had taken off her shoes, and her feet and ankles were bared, despite the prohibitive length of her skirts. She clearly was blissfully unaware of the effect this had on Clive. She had donned a black diklo patterned with roses over her head and shoulders, and gold twinkled from her ears and wrists. “It was my mother’s,” she explained, seeing the looks from the boys. “In Romania, married women cover their hair to show they are taken. I guess my father does much the same with his hood. Different kind of ‘taken’ in his case, but...”

Jerry nodded. “Got that right!”

“So, ready for the reading?” She placed the pack of cards down in front of them.

“I know I am, oh gypsy soothsayer!” said Clive enthusiastically. He was really getting in the mood for a bit of occult roleplay. He reached towards the cards, “Ooh look, Jerry! They’ve got pretty pictures on them...”

Isabella slapped him on the wrist. “Don’t touch those! They’re not a toy!”

“Sorry!”

“Now, first I need you to clear your minds. I want you to look deep into my eyes... Perhaps not quite that deep, Clive!”

“Oh – Sorry!”

“Now. Jerry! You first... Shuffle the deck, please. Now, tap the deck three times.”

Jerry did so. “I prefer knocking on wood.”

“Don’t be a heathen! Now, draw three cards.”

“Why three?” asked Clive.

“One for the past, the present and the future, of course!”

“You read the past too?” Clive queried. “But, don’t we already know that? Seems a bit easy...”

Isabella sighed. “Just draw the cards, ok? We haven’t got all night! My dad’s an early riser.”

Jerry nodded. “I’ve been up at the crack of Dawn myself a few times. She’s never complained yet.”

Isabella rolled her eyes.

Jerry drew three cards.

Isabella looked. “Death, Death, and... oh, Death.”

Jerry was outraged. “Death!”

Isabella frowned. “Wait a minute – that can’t be right! There aren’t even three Death cards in the pack...”

Jerry made warding motions towards the cards: “Death!”

Isabella tried to make him lower his voice. “Alright, Jerry!”

“Thanks a bunch, Issy. I was hoping for some good news!”

“Um, the Death card isn’t always bad, Jerry – reversed, as this one is, it can also foretell a change in your fortunes. Obviously a very great change in your case, but, still, the cards never lie. Besides, what was your job again?”

Jerry’s expression changed. “She has a point! Like I always say: ‘Death’s in the cards, profit’s by the yard-s!’”

Isabella looked unimpressed. “Actually, I don’t remember you ever saying that before. How about you, Clive? Still want to risk a reading?”

“I may as well – it can’t be much worse than Jerry’s!”

“Oh cheers, Clive!”

Isabella handed him the deck. “Very well. Take the cards and shuffle them. Now draw the three. Good. Turn them over!”

Clive blanched. “I don’t like the look of this!”

Isabella was all business. “Hmm. The Devil – that’s interesting, it foresees greed and despair...”

“Perfect!”

“The Fool–”

Jerry nudged Clive in the ribs, “–Well, we knew that already!”

Clive shot him a dirty look.

“…and the Star. Oh, that’s good! It’s the card of hope, inspiration and also generosity!”

Clive tried to reach a summation. “So I’m going to be an unhappy, but generously greedy fool who inspires people?”

Isabella threw up her hands. “I did say I was rusty! But you were very generous to those beggars, Clive–” something of that earlier look from the pub had returned. Clive felt his sebaceous glands warming.

In an effort to stop staring at Isabella, he picked up the Devil card. A goat-headed figure with bat wings, throned above a man and woman in chains. “Is this my past, present or future?”

Isabella looked grim. “I’m sorry, I read them back to front. You actually drew the reversed Fool first – that’s your past. The less said of that the better, I should imagine. The Star was second – so that’s your present. So, I am afraid, whatever the Devil foretells, it has yet to occur.”

“But the Devil can be good, right? Like Jerry’s Death card?”

“Not so much... if it were reversed, perhaps it could mean that you will gain freedom from the constraints that bind you. If it were reversed, that is.”

“Grand!”

“‘Legatus nec laeditur,’ Clive!”

“I don’t speak French, Issy.”

“It means: ‘don’t shoot the messenger!’”

Jerry leaned in to Clive and whispered behind a hand, “That’s why I always choose a town crier when I need a human shield!”

Clive couldn’t contain his sarcasm. “Oh, that’s very useful to know, Jerry! Thank you!”

“I’m telling you: that could save your life, one day!”

“Boys!” Isabella warned, “What are you talking about? It’s rude to whisper! My father always says–”

And it was just then that the folding wooden door slid open... for speak of the devil, and he shall appear!