Mirror Sight
Page 104
He dismounted the steps of the wagon and bowed to Dr. Silk. “You are wishing another portrait, sir?”
“No, T.C., but this boy and this lady wish to have theirs done.”
“Oh, very good. Together, or singly?” He gazed at Karigan and Cade as if attempting to establish their relationship.
“Singly,” Dr. Silk replied. “The boy first, so the lady can see that it is painless.”
T.C. Stamwell clapped. “Ah, new to image trapping, are we? Come with me then. It is a fascinating process that preserves the captured image forever.” He prattled on about wet plates, emulsion, and salt solutions as he led them behind the curtained area. There, they discovered a small stage set with a painted pastoral scene as a backdrop. An empty chair stood in the center of the stage.
A wooden box sat propped atop a three-legged apparatus in front of the stage, a spyglass-like protrusion aimed at the chair. T.C. Stamwell directed Cade to sit in the chair and adjusted his pose, using an armature with a neck brace and headrest behind to hold him still.
“The key, Mr. Harlowe, is to maintain that pose without moving. Keep your face relaxed. Do not speak, laugh, or sneeze. But you can be easy for a minute more while I get ready.”
Cade looked nervous, Karigan thought. She still did not understand what was supposed to happen.
Stamwell aimed three bright phosphorene lamps at Cade, who squinted in the light.
“What is the light for?” she asked.
“It brightens his image so we may capture it,” Stamwell replied. “You see, we are painting with light and shadow.”
His reply did little to answer her question. Perhaps if she’d been born of this time she would understand.
“Now, Mr. Harlowe, please hold your position as we discussed. Tilt your chin up. That’s it.” Stamwell gazed through a hole in his wooden box, then lowered it a little by winding a wheel crank on the apparatus that supported it, and twisted the spyglass protrusion he referred to as the lens. When he was done, he said, “I am going to begin image trapping now.” He removed a cap from the lens and flipped an hourglass on a nearby table.
Karigan fingered the handle of the bonewood, waiting for something to happen. If the image trapping showed signs of endangering Cade in any way, she’d make short work of that wooden box and T.C. Stamwell. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Cade sat there stiffly, unmoving, his face expressionless. She found herself holding her breath along with him.
“Hold steady, Mr. Harlowe, you are doing just fine.”
Karigan’s muscles tensed as if she were the one who had been told to remain still. When all the sand emptied into the bottom half of the hourglass, she guessed only half a minute had elapsed, but it had felt much longer.
Stamwell covered the lens with the cap and said, “All right, Mr. Harlowe, we are done. I will take the plate into the wagon where the chemicals will quicken your image and preserve it.”
Cade sighed loudly in relief, and Stamwell chuckled as he removed the “plate” from a slot in the side of the wooden box and headed up the steps into his wagon.
That was it? Karigan wondered. That was how an image was trapped? It did not seem so bad. Did the image trapper hold captive some essence of a person? She gave Cade a sideways glance, but he appeared wholly unaffected. She examined Stamwell’s wooden box. There was not much to see, but when she gazed through the viewing hole from behind, she discovered the now vacated chair and stage were upside down. She jerked back in surprise and saw that outside of the box, the world remained upright.
“You see?” Dr. Silk said. “Perfectly harmless. A mirror within turns the view upside down.”
She gazed through it once more and started again. Not because everything was upside down—no, she was expecting that—but because the dim form of Yates the ghost sat in the chair sketching away. She took in a hard breath, choking back his name lest she shout it aloud in Silk’s presence. Then he simply faded from her vision. She stepped back from the wooden box, shaking. She hid her hands behind her back so the men would not see them trembling.
Cade, unaware of her distress, examined the box. “A modern wonder,” he murmured.
“Exactly,” Silk said. “I believe the emperor will be most intrigued by it when he next awakens.”
Karigan shook herself. It was not the first time Yates had appeared to her, but it was so unexpected to see him here. Yates, what are you trying to tell me? He did not look alarmed or agitated in anyway. He’d shown no awareness of her—just kept sketching. Perhaps she would never know. Perhaps his spirit was just as restless as he had been in life.
Stamwell returned wiping his hands with a towel. “The image came out very well, and now it is fixing.”
Fixing what? Karigan wondered.
“Miss Goodgrave,” Stamwell said, “it is your turn.”
“Miss Goodgrave is a modest lady,” Cade said. “I do not think she will wish to remove her veil in front of a gentleman who is not family.”
“T.C. Stamwell is an imperially licensed image trapper,” Dr. Silk said, “and he is legally permitted to trap the faces of ladies as well as gentlemen.”
Dr. Silk, Karigan thought, seemed a little too eager to see what her veil concealed. If she allowed her image to be trapped, who would see it besides Stamwell? Dr. Silk? Mr. Hadley? Dr. Silk would then know her face and perhaps somehow use it to his advantage, and Mr. Hadley might recognize her as the animated corpse that had stepped out of his sarcophagus, and cause trouble.
“No, T.C., but this boy and this lady wish to have theirs done.”
“Oh, very good. Together, or singly?” He gazed at Karigan and Cade as if attempting to establish their relationship.
“Singly,” Dr. Silk replied. “The boy first, so the lady can see that it is painless.”
T.C. Stamwell clapped. “Ah, new to image trapping, are we? Come with me then. It is a fascinating process that preserves the captured image forever.” He prattled on about wet plates, emulsion, and salt solutions as he led them behind the curtained area. There, they discovered a small stage set with a painted pastoral scene as a backdrop. An empty chair stood in the center of the stage.
A wooden box sat propped atop a three-legged apparatus in front of the stage, a spyglass-like protrusion aimed at the chair. T.C. Stamwell directed Cade to sit in the chair and adjusted his pose, using an armature with a neck brace and headrest behind to hold him still.
“The key, Mr. Harlowe, is to maintain that pose without moving. Keep your face relaxed. Do not speak, laugh, or sneeze. But you can be easy for a minute more while I get ready.”
Cade looked nervous, Karigan thought. She still did not understand what was supposed to happen.
Stamwell aimed three bright phosphorene lamps at Cade, who squinted in the light.
“What is the light for?” she asked.
“It brightens his image so we may capture it,” Stamwell replied. “You see, we are painting with light and shadow.”
His reply did little to answer her question. Perhaps if she’d been born of this time she would understand.
“Now, Mr. Harlowe, please hold your position as we discussed. Tilt your chin up. That’s it.” Stamwell gazed through a hole in his wooden box, then lowered it a little by winding a wheel crank on the apparatus that supported it, and twisted the spyglass protrusion he referred to as the lens. When he was done, he said, “I am going to begin image trapping now.” He removed a cap from the lens and flipped an hourglass on a nearby table.
Karigan fingered the handle of the bonewood, waiting for something to happen. If the image trapping showed signs of endangering Cade in any way, she’d make short work of that wooden box and T.C. Stamwell. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Cade sat there stiffly, unmoving, his face expressionless. She found herself holding her breath along with him.
“Hold steady, Mr. Harlowe, you are doing just fine.”
Karigan’s muscles tensed as if she were the one who had been told to remain still. When all the sand emptied into the bottom half of the hourglass, she guessed only half a minute had elapsed, but it had felt much longer.
Stamwell covered the lens with the cap and said, “All right, Mr. Harlowe, we are done. I will take the plate into the wagon where the chemicals will quicken your image and preserve it.”
Cade sighed loudly in relief, and Stamwell chuckled as he removed the “plate” from a slot in the side of the wooden box and headed up the steps into his wagon.
That was it? Karigan wondered. That was how an image was trapped? It did not seem so bad. Did the image trapper hold captive some essence of a person? She gave Cade a sideways glance, but he appeared wholly unaffected. She examined Stamwell’s wooden box. There was not much to see, but when she gazed through the viewing hole from behind, she discovered the now vacated chair and stage were upside down. She jerked back in surprise and saw that outside of the box, the world remained upright.
“You see?” Dr. Silk said. “Perfectly harmless. A mirror within turns the view upside down.”
She gazed through it once more and started again. Not because everything was upside down—no, she was expecting that—but because the dim form of Yates the ghost sat in the chair sketching away. She took in a hard breath, choking back his name lest she shout it aloud in Silk’s presence. Then he simply faded from her vision. She stepped back from the wooden box, shaking. She hid her hands behind her back so the men would not see them trembling.
Cade, unaware of her distress, examined the box. “A modern wonder,” he murmured.
“Exactly,” Silk said. “I believe the emperor will be most intrigued by it when he next awakens.”
Karigan shook herself. It was not the first time Yates had appeared to her, but it was so unexpected to see him here. Yates, what are you trying to tell me? He did not look alarmed or agitated in anyway. He’d shown no awareness of her—just kept sketching. Perhaps she would never know. Perhaps his spirit was just as restless as he had been in life.
Stamwell returned wiping his hands with a towel. “The image came out very well, and now it is fixing.”
Fixing what? Karigan wondered.
“Miss Goodgrave,” Stamwell said, “it is your turn.”
“Miss Goodgrave is a modest lady,” Cade said. “I do not think she will wish to remove her veil in front of a gentleman who is not family.”
“T.C. Stamwell is an imperially licensed image trapper,” Dr. Silk said, “and he is legally permitted to trap the faces of ladies as well as gentlemen.”
Dr. Silk, Karigan thought, seemed a little too eager to see what her veil concealed. If she allowed her image to be trapped, who would see it besides Stamwell? Dr. Silk? Mr. Hadley? Dr. Silk would then know her face and perhaps somehow use it to his advantage, and Mr. Hadley might recognize her as the animated corpse that had stepped out of his sarcophagus, and cause trouble.
