The Vorrh

you are speaking to the wrong person.’
    Sidrus was astonished at the effrontery of these lies; Williams saw the eaten face shift into the same expression of the spectral vision from the slip of vanishing paper. He understood it as a warning and held his bag closer to him.
    ‘You can trust me; I have done much to protect you.’
    ‘So you keep saying, but why? And from who?’
    Sidrus only enjoyed games of cat and mouse when he was undeniably the feline; this display of churlish arrogance was beginning to annoy him, but he played along, the act of ignorance not distracting his sights from the end goal.
    ‘You have enemies and adversaries who did not want you passing through the Vorrh again. Your previous colleagues branded you a deserter, a murderer and worse. They wanted you dead or banished, not wandering through the lands of uprising. A bounty was put on your head; all manner of scum have tried to slay you and collect the reward.’
    Williams realised that this man’s disease had gone deeper than his face; it must have chewed at his brain. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
    ‘About the Possession Wars?’
    Williams shook his head, writing disbelief and disinterest in deep marks around his eyes.
    ‘About the Vorrh?’
    ‘The what?’
    ‘The Vorrh. The great forest.’
    ‘What forest?’
    Sidrus’ face could no longer be described. In fury, he pointed behind Williams, who turned, looked and irritably slumped back.
    ‘I see no forest.’
    * * *

    He was a world-famous celebrity; now others were taking photographs of him. His vast portfolio of human movement had been a colossal success, and he knew at last that it had all been worthwhile: his place in history was assured. The century was turning, and his work was on the crest of it.
    That night he was lecturing again, and he could hear by the muffled roar that every plush seat had been taken. His new evening suit creaked as he combed his titan beard, which dazzled white against the lustrous blackness of the fine cloth. He checked the mirror again: ‘justified’. The stern dignity of science rested on his strong shoulders.
    He strode upon the stage to waves of applause. He had the newest batch of movement photographs ready to project, as well as some old favourites, which he had turned into glass slides that he was looking forward to seeing projected large for the first time: everything from elephants to studies of dancing girls, modelled in classical poses. He had made lantern-slides of all of his studies to share with a wider audience, and to advertise the desirability of purchasing the published works. He felt the vast audience sway closer and closer; sensed their appreciation and wonder as tangibly as one feels heat or smells the sea.
    Looking out across the hundreds of faces staring at the screen behind him, he could watch their concentration without being seen. So fixed were they on his magnetic images that he became invisible. He saw his fame in their wide-eyed wonder, heard his applause in their startled sighs. They were all his devotees, his prisoners of illumination.
    And then he saw the impossible, sitting in the audience and staring directly at him, ignoring the screen and its changes of animals and humans: Gull. He was supposed to be dead. The doctor’s demise was supposed to have coincided with Muybridge’s last departure from England, wasn’t that what everyone had told him? Had everyone he trusted lied to him? Even the fellow he paid to read the British newspapers?! He did not have time to read every bit of tit and tattle the papers printed; the man had been instructed to scour newspapers for articles about him, or letters of his that had been printed. He had been provided with a list of men of interest to spot; he had reported Gull’s passing two years ago! Even the hospital had said so, yet here he was, large as life, his dense, rectangular face flickering in the projection light.
    In more private circumstances, Muybridge would have had a few things to say to the good doctor: questions about the use of his machine instantly sprang to mind. But the animal slides had finished; he was on. He had a short time to fill with explanation as the next set of pictures was loaded. The spotlight moved to him and he could no longer see the audience or the doctor. For a moment, he was lost and forgot what he had to say. There was an uncomfortable shuffling; murmurs could be heard. He coughed and hummed, spluttering the flywheel into