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“I think not,” the Oracle said gently.

“I beg your pardon, ma'am?” Toby's eyebrows shot up. “Would you like us to come back tomorrow?”

Mrs. Tray must have caught something plaintive or worried in Toby's voice, for she lifted and lowered her bejeweled fingers as if feeling something in the air. “Tomorrow, lad. I should very much like to meet your friend. When the Tower clock chimes half after eleven o'clock, bring her here to me. Now, what else can I do for you?”

“The lass is with me. Standing by my side.”

“She's not, Tobias.” There was the sound of a dog barking in the distance, or perhaps the faint roar of a lion from behind Traitors' Gate.

“Ma'am . . . ?”

“Bring her tomorrow, there's a good lad.”

The old woman's words sent a chill up Katie's spine.

“But she's here, Mrs. Tray! Right here. Perhaps you can't sense her because she's not a Cockney. I should have thought of that.”

The old woman's sightless eyes flickered around like darting pinwheels as if trying to locate Katie. “Tobias, my son. There is no one here but the two of us. I would sense a third person, see their aura . . . whether they be friend or foe, Cockney or no.”

The silence that followed these puzzling words was finally broken by Toby's firm, insistent voice. “Begging your pardon, ma'am, but Miss Katherine is standing next to me, as real as you or I.”

“I . . . think . . . not . . . Tobias,” the Oracle said softly and with great hesitation.

The color drained so swiftly from Toby's face, Katie reached out to him. She wondered if Mrs. Tray knew the effect she was having on him.

“You think Katherine's not here?” he said doggedly, sharply.

“There's nobody here, Tobias. Nobody at all.”

“As I live and breathe, ma'am,” Toby sputtered defiantly. “Her name's Katherine and she's alive and present as the moon and the stars.”

“Not a bit of it. Whoever she is, she's not real, my lad.”

“
Let
'
s go
!
” Katie whispered, shrinking back into the shadows.

Toby stood rigid. “Do you mean to make a riddle of this, Mrs. Tray? Are you saying Katherine's not real and never will be to me because of our different stations in life? Or are you saying she's not long for this world?”

“If one be alive or one be dead . . . yes. Is she very pretty, then? This imaginary friend of yours?”

Toby uttered a small, harsh laugh. “She's not imaginary, ma'am.” He turned to Katie. “Say something.”

“Hello, Mrs. Tray. It's a pleasure to meet you.” Something scraped above on the sloping wall. A raven black as night, with a wing span as wide as an eagle's, flapped noisily.

“I'm from Boston,” Katie continued. “I'm visiting the Twyford family. Toby has been kind enough to help me. Show me the sights.” Katie babbled on until, with a startled realization, she whispered, “You can't hear me, ma'am, can you?”

“Not feeling well today, Mrs. Tray?” Toby asked, a desperate note in his voice.

“Perfectly well, Tobias. Thank you.”

“You really can't see or hear her?” he demanded.

Mrs. Tray's wrinkled lips compressed. “There's nobody with us, Tobias. I promise you, lad. There's no draught. No sense of another human being. We're alone.”

Katie had an idea. “Toby? If she can't hear me, try this. Tell her I've recently come from the London Stone. Just do it, Toby.
Mention the London Stone
!
”

“Now look here!” Toby bristled. “The two of you are talking gibberish.”

“Toby,
please
. Tell her I arrived from . . . or rather, I've touched the Raven's Claw fissure in the London Stone. I'll explain everything later.”

When Toby did so, Mrs. Tray's hands clamped over her heart. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear!” Her voice rose with shattering loudness, then fell away. “Oh, dear me. Tobias, I feel bound to warn you—”

“Warn me?”

The old woman's eyes, though sightless, gleamed like shards of splintered glass.

“This girl is not who she claims to be. I've encountered this before. Terrible ordeal. Terrible.”

“She's an impostor? Is that what you're saying?” Toby's face hardened.

Katie gasped. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. “
Toby, please, let
'
s get out of here
!
”

“Mrs. Tray?” Toby asked, blinking suspiciously at Katie. “What do you mean? She's not who she claims to be?”

“She's just not from our world.”

Toby sighed. “That's right, ma'am.
Katie
'
s from America
.”

“Not this world, Tobias. Not
our
world.” Mrs. Tray's words fell with a heavy, chilling weight.

Toby thrust out his jaw and began to argue. “ 'Course she's not from our world, Mrs. Tray. She's from across the sea, but that doesn't mean Katie's not alive and present. Just means she's not from here.”

The Oracle of Traitors' Gate shook her head. “Not from here. Not from there. Not from anywhere. Mind your step, Tobias. Mind your heart. Protect yourself, my lad. I was very young when first I encountered a person of the Stone. I sense danger, Tobias. Hidden danger darting along my nerves.” Her voice quavered.

Katie felt an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia. Flickers of sunlight slanted across the wet stones at the bottom of the Tower wall. Tentacles of light picked out iridescent slime and moss on the rock formations.

In the distance a train whistle shrilled and echoed and died away. Katie had a strong feeling of déjà vu, almost as if she were back inside Madame Tussauds. She glanced up at the vines clinging to the brickwork below the battlements just as a peal of bells rang out, startling her.

“A pity about Dark Annie. Such a horrid way to die,” came Mrs. Tray's church organ voice, which sounded to Katie surprisingly like the hologram woman at Madame Tussauds. She peered closer at the old woman. With her white hair tucked under a lace cap and her soft skin wrinkled like an apple, Mrs. Tray was the spitting image of the hologram woman from the museum!

“What did you say, Mrs. Tray?” asked Toby. “Did you say Dark Annie? She's going to die? I asked you about her yesterday. I wanted to know where she lived. Is that why you spoke of her just now?”

Katie grabbed Toby's sleeve and yanked. “Ask her if she knows anyone named Llewellyn.
Mrs. Llewellyn
.” That was the name of the hologram woman.

Toby turned grimly toward the old woman. “My friend from America is asking if you know a woman by the name of Mrs. Llewellyn.”

“Gracious me!” cried the Oracle. “How extraordinary! Ask your young friend why she would inquire after Amanda Llewellyn.”

Katie said quickly to Toby, “Tell her a woman from my world . . . er, sort of . . . looks almost identical to Mrs. Tray. It can't be a coincidence.”

“What is she saying, Tobias?” insisted the other, staring in Katie's direction, breathless with wonder as if looking up at the moon. Or through the moon, from the cloudy formations in her sightless eyes.

“Katie says you resemble a woman named Mrs. Llewellyn. She's wondering if it's a coincidence.”

“Oh, my, how delightful!” beamed Mrs. Tray. “Amanda Llewellyn is my sister. And do you know, Tobias? It's been years since anyone commented on the resemblance. Oh, this tickles me to no end. Amanda was a great beauty in her day. But, Tobias, is my sister involved in anything unsavory? She's married to a bothersome, swaggering man, the police surgeon Dr. Ralph Llewellyn, but still . . . I shouldn't have thought that Amanda would be mixed up with a Stone person. Oh, Tobias! Ask your friend. Is Amanda in any danger?”

Toby blinked several times. “
But you
'
re the bleeding Ora—
!”
The fierce defensiveness in his voice died away. “Er, excuse me, ma'am.” He swiveled around to glare at Katie. “Answer the question.”

Katie shook her head and raised her shoulders up and down. “Dunno. I don't think so.”

“There
are
two of you!” Mrs. Tray clapped her hands together. “I feel it now!” She peered at them through foggy eyes. “Yes. It's clear to me. One of you has traveled a great distance to get here. So great a distance I couldn't perceive it at first. Not from our world, to be sure, but here nevertheless.”

Toby sighed as if frustrated that they were going around and around in a circle. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Tray. But I think we'd best be getting on. Good day to you, ma'am.”

“Tobias, wait! When people come from the Stone, it's always about death.
Always about murder.
”

“People . . . from a stone? I don't understand.” Toby scratched his temple. “They come
from
a stone? What does that mean? Are you saying Katie's not human? Not real?”

“People—?” blurted Katie. “How many others?”

“Quite real, I'm sure,” answered Mrs. Tray. “They always come here with the intent of doing good deeds, righting despicable wrongs. But often they are misguided. Misaligned, as it were.”

“So I should have nothing more to do with the lass?” Toby demanded.

“I can't tell you what to do, Tobias. I can only caution you to tread carefully. Your friend may have good intentions, but the road to the underworld is paved with such intents,
hmm
?”

“I'll cast her out, then. Tell her to go to the devil.” Toby's hand closed around one of the spikes of the iron gate.

“Not a bit of it, Tobias. Follow your heart. She is here, but she can change the course of events only with the help of someone from this world.
Our world
. She can't do it herself.”

“
This world?
What are you saying? There's another world other than ours?”

“My dear Tobias. There are infinite worlds. Yes. I believe you must help her, because I sense that you
want
to help her. But be cautioned, young Tobias. Beware of what you wish for,
what she wishes for!
In the end it may all come to naught . . . or perhaps this time destiny
shall
be altered. We can only hope, for the sake of those poor girls—”

“What poor girls?”

“The ones about to be slaughtered.”

“So there really is a mad man out there? Someone about to butcher innocent girls?”

“Tobias. Hear me well. I can only know what you know. I can't predict the future. I see what you see, I feel what you feel. Everything I ascertain is because I pick up the feelings, the senses, the ideas from . . . you. Somewhere inside you, you believe that a mad man will begin to slaughter innocent women. I'm discerning this from you as strongly as a vibrating, pulsing heartbeat. And if it's true, I hope that you and this young lady from the London Stone will try to stop the carnage. It's your destiny.”

Toby's eyes blazed at the mention of destiny. “Just for clarification, Mrs. Tray. You believe that Katie is an impostor, not of our world, and though she has good intentions, the outcome she wishes to see—that of stopping a man named Jack the Ripper from murdering women—is not altogether possible?”

“Everything is possible, Tobias. Follow your heart. But treat everyone as if they would do you harm.”

“
Especially Katie
? Is that what you're saying?”

“People from the Stone mean us no harm, Tobias. I don't believe she would hurt you or anyone else. Stone people rarely do.”

“What the deuce are you saying? That she has a heart of stone, perhaps? Is that it? Is that what you're trying to warn me about?”

“A person of the Stone. From the Stone. Through the Stone. She doesn't belong here. She's not real.” Mrs. Tray raised her jeweled hands, and the rubies and emeralds winked in the sunlight. “Most men to their credit—or discredit—fall in love with an imaginary someone, rather than a real someone, Tobias. The real is often rather gritty. Stone people
do
have that advantage.”

Mrs. Tray whispered something in Toby's ear.

Katie tugged at Toby's sleeve “Toby. Ask Mrs. Tray how many others have been here before me?”

“I won't.” Toby shook his head stubbornly. “To do so would be to admit that you're from another planet.”

“I promise you, Toby, I'm from
this
planet, just like you. I'm not an alien from Mars. I've traveled a great distance to get here, that's all. The one thing I can tell you, though, with my hand on my heart, is I'm alive. I live and breathe. And I'm real in the here and now.”

“That's not
all
you're going to confess to me, lass. When we leave here, you're going to explain yourself.
You
'
re going to
tell me everything!
Even if I have to hit the great bloody London Stone over your thick skull, I'll have answers!”

“Oh, dear me. Dear, dear me. Tobias. Such a temper. There shall be no hitting of stones upon anyone's head. Is that clear, young man?”

“Crystal clear, ma'am,” Toby said through gritted teeth.

Chapter Thirty-five

Steam Coal and Fame say the Bells of Mark Lane

“
A
ll right then
,” Toby said, a harsh edge to his voice. His mouth was drawn down, his eyes fixed on Katie. “We can walk several miles back to Twyford Manor, or”—his face broke into a twisted, almost devious smile—“we can take the Underground Railway
.
”

From the way Toby was glaring, Katie knew he was challenging her. She remembered reading about the first subway trains in London and how people were frightened to ride them. Was that it? Was Toby trying to scare her into telling him who she was and where she came from?

Katie raised her chin. The last thing she was afraid of was the Metro System. She'd ridden the Tube so often she could almost do it blindfolded. How difficult could it be in this century? If Toby expected her to cower, he was mistaken.

“Let's take the Underground!” she said breezily, and by the surprised look on his face, Katie knew she'd been right. Proper young ladies probably wilted dead away at the thought of traveling below ground. She bit back a smile. Toby was so transparent.

“Are you
sure
, luv?” A hint of disbelief, or was that derision, in his voice?

“Of course.” Katie pulled an innocent face.

“Most twist 'n' swirls are afraid to go down into the subterranean bowels of Hades.”

“Not me.” Katie smiled sweetly. “Won't bother me one bit.”

Toby definitely had something up his sleeve. Katie could sense it. But if he was planning on frightening her into revealing what she knew about the London Stone, it wasn't going to work. She'd offer him a portion of the truth. She had to. But as far as she was concerned, Toby was on a need-to-know basis, and he didn't need to know. At least not everything. Mrs. Tray had said that people from the Stone could not change the course of events by themselves. Which was why Katie needed Toby's help. But Katie also knew, with the razor-sharp certainty of a dagger at her throat, that if she told Toby she had traveled back in time, he'd think she was crazy. What's more, he might even try to thwart her efforts to stop Jack the Ripper.

No, Katie couldn't risk it.

After leaving Traitors' Gate, Katie and Toby hiked back along the River Thames, with the southern side of the Bloody Tower on their right. Passing the Warders' Hall, they traversed a wooden bridge over the moat and made their way toward the location of the Tower Hill Tube Station.

When they crested the hill, it wasn't there. Instead, across the cobbled avenue was an ornate glass archway with a mosaic-tile sign: “Mark Lane Underground Railway.”

The Tube stations must be different here,
Katie thought, sweeping her gaze across the street, searching for the Roman Wall, but couldn't find it either. Maybe the famous fortification hadn't been excavated yet. One sign pointed the way to the Corn Exchange and another to Billingsgate Fish Market.

Toby bought penny-fare tickets at the kiosk and together they descended the granite steps to the polished platform to await the train. The terminal smelled of acrid smoke, making Katie's eyes water. She tried hard to remember what she'd read about the early days of the Underground Railway.

“Um . . . Toby?” she ventured. “The trains . . .
are
. . . electric . . . aren't they? I mean they have electric motors, right . . . ?”

He shot her a look. “Not a bit of it. They run on steam. Not to worry, luv. This line has ventilation shafts for all the foul-smelling fumes. You won't die of asphyxiation like some earlier passengers.”

She pursed her lips. Was he kidding? People had actually died of asphyxiation down here? She swiveled her gaze, trying to take it all in. The platform was tiled with shiny mosaics and lit from above by an enormous sky-lighted arch, like a giant greenhouse. Running parallel was a similar arched roof but with steel girders that covered the entire length of a ditch below where train tracks stretched as far as the eye could see into a dark tunnel.

An ear-splitting blast, followed by an explosion of gleaming metal, burst from the train tunnel. A steam-engine locomotive roared toward them, chugging and whistling, then ground to a screeching halt. Six linked carriages, like coachman carriages, came to a jittering stop. Doors rattled open, and men smoking cigars poured out. There were no women that Katie could see.

Toby took Katie's elbow and steered her toward the last compartment of the train, which was half empty and didn't resemble any subway car Katie had ever ridden in. The inside was decorated with ornate mirrors, purple tufted seats, and oil lamps. It was as if they were stepping into someone's front parlor. The walls were padded in maroon leather. And the windows were hung with curtains!

Toby guided Katie to a row of seats that looked like sofas nailed to the floor in matching rows of eight. Diagonally across the aisle, a mild, peering little man wearing a silk top hat sank into his seat and tugged a small candle out of his pocket. Placing the candle into a brass holder on the windowsill, he struck a match, lit the wick, and began to read his newspaper.

The candle confused Katie because oil lamps jutting out from the walls blazed sufficiently to read. Several more passengers, all men, took seats across from one another at the rear of the car, pulled out their own candles, and settled them in metal holders on the window ledges.

Katie stared around, awestruck. “
I
'
m sitting in one of the first underground trains in the world
!
” she thought, feeling goosebumps prickle up her arms. Or did New York City have the first subway system? Katie wasn't sure. But this was so cool! Her cousin Collin back home would have loved this. He was a total train junkie. Collin and Aunt Pru collected railway timetables from all over the world. Katie tried not to show her excitement,
but this was amazing!

“You won't be smiling in a minute, luv,” Toby said through gritted teeth. “Especially if you don't relish being shut in.” There was a fierceness in his voice.

“I'm
not
claustrophobic. Never have been. This doesn't bother me a bit. I've been on plenty of”—she was about to say subway trains—“underground places. Like caves and . . . tunnels . . . and . . . um . . . stuff,” she ended lamely.

“Well, then, this'll be a Noah's ark for you.”

“Noah's ark? A walk in the park?”

Toby shook his head. “A lark.”

“Yes. It will be a lark,” Katie agreed.

Across the aisle, a heavy-jowled, grizzled man with a bristle-brush moustache plunked himself down next to the man in the silk top hat. His shrewd eyes traveled slowly about the compartment, taking in the other passengers, and when his gaze settled on Katie, a flicker of a wry smile formed below his bristly moustache.

The locomotive lurched, then rattled, then thundered away from the platform with a sound like the deafening backfire of a dozen motorcycles. Katie didn't exactly bounce in her seat, but she was definitely joggling to and fro as if she were sitting on a power lawn mower.

“So?” Toby said, watching the heavy-jowled man from the corner of his eyes. “I need you to answer my questions with the utmost honesty.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die. I won't lie to you, Toby. Ask away.”

The gas lamps winked on and off, sputtered, and went out completely. They were bumping up and down in near darkness, with only the jiggling candles on the window ledges for illumination.

“Are you a spy, Katie?”

“A sp—? No.”

The heavy-jowled man across the aisle tugged out a cigar, lighted it with a sweep of a matchstick against the heel of his boot, and continued staring at Katie.

“Are you the Duke's goddaughter?” Toby asked in a harsh whisper that emanated from deep within in his throat.

“No. I mean, sort of . . . but not exactly.”

“Don't feather and hay me, lass. If I find you've deceived the Duke, you'll go down on your knees and beg his forgiveness.”

The cigar man cut his gaze from Katie to Toby and back again.

Katie coughed loudly. The tobacco smoke, combined with the acrid smell seeping into the carriage from the belching steam engine, was making her gag.

“Coal dust,” Toby whispered. “Like I told you. You won't die from the fumes, but it's not pleasant. I've a mind to travel around and around, back and forth on this underground line, until you tell me the truth. It will get far more disagreeable than this. Some say it's like taking a trip into the cauldron fires of Hell.”

Katie gritted her teeth as a fresh wave of nausea hit her full force. She turned toward the rattling window and stared outside, trying desperately to set her gaze on something stationary. But it was black as pitch, and the only thing she could discern was the reflection of the cigar stub, like a gleaming red eye.

“Mrs. Tray says you don't exist. Are you a ghost, then?”

“A ghost? No,” Katie sputtered. The air inside the carriage billowed with noxious fumes.

“An angel, then?”

“No, Toby. Not an angel. Nothing surreal or supernatural.”

“You're here, but not here. Not of this world. That makes you either a ghost, an angel, a demon, or . . .
Are you in some sort of secret society, Katie?
That's it, isn't it? There's been talk of subversive social orders trying to do good, but doing ill instead. You're in some sort of society involving the London Stone, aren't you? The stone is probably used for initiation rites.”

The man across the aisle leaned forward as if straining to hear what they were saying. He slid his cigar from his mouth and knocked ashes onto the floor, a wrinkle of concentration creasing his beefy forehead.

“No. Absolutely not! I'm not from any secret society,” Katie whispered, taking deep breaths to calm her queasy stomach.

“We are twenty feet below ground, lass. Above us is solid, packed earth. There are those who come down into these tunnels who never come up again. I've a flask of tea and brandy in my pocket. It helps calm the stomach. It's all yours if you tell me who you are and why you're here. What's your game? What are you playing at?”

“No game, Toby, I swear.” Katie concentrated on watching swirls of smoke curl upwards to the roof of the carriage.

“Mrs. Tray believes you've deceived me, Katie. Deceived the Duke.”

“Not deceived . . . exactly. At least I never
intended
to deceive you. Look, Toby. I'm as confused by this as anyone. More so, probably. I don't know why I'm here other than to stop Jack the Ripper.”

“So you
are
from a secret society sent here on a mission? Which is tantamount to being a spy. An American spy. That's punishable by swinging from the gallows.”

“I'm not a spy! I'm closer to being an alien from a different . . . er . . . time, than a spy.” Katie could feel the rapid race of her pulse. She tried to calm herself by taking long, slow breaths, but the air was so smoky and sulfurous all she could do was sputter and gag.

“If we stay underground long enough, asphyxiation from the fumes plays cruel tricks on the mind and the stomach. What's it to be? Tell me the truth, or we stay down here all day. I'll wager you're not clairvoyant either, are you?”

“I'm not clairvoyant. But I
can
predict the future. Sort of. At least where it pertains to those girls who are about to be murdered.”

“Was it a parlor trick with the stuffed vulture?”

“Sort of.”

“A hoax to deceive me?”

“I guess.”

“How did you know what was written on the parchment?”

“If I told you, Toby, you wouldn't believe me.”

“Try me.”

“I can't.”

“Can't or won't?”

“I can't risk it.”

He gave a snorting laugh. “The way I see it, Katie, you're a liar and a cheat. Are you a thief as well?”

“Only of time,” Katie said under her breath, but he'd heard her.

“A thief of my emotions and of my time. A liar, a deceiver, and a cheat. All in a day's work, eh, lass? Well, I'm washing my hands of you. This is the end. I'll not do your bidding, nor speak to you, nor squire you about. The Oracle of Traitors' Gate was right. You don't exist. Not for me. Not any more.”

“Toby. What if I told you I haven't been born yet, would you believe me?”

He turned his back on her.

“What if I told you I don't belong in your world. I belong in
mine
, which just happens to be in another century?”

He continued to ignore her.

“There, you see? You don't want to know the truth! You wouldn't believe the truth if it bit you in the ass! What if I told you I've met your great-grandson, who's also named Toby? Or that I was at Madame Tussauds waxwork museum with him in the twenty-first century?”