Free The Kings of Eternity by Eric Brown

managed to push such thoughts to the back of my mind. Now they returned to haunt me. I tried to sleep a little more, but unsuccessfully.
    We breakfasted in the library, Carnegie seemingly none the worse for his excess of the night before.
    As Vaughan and I helped ourselves to kippers, Carnegie excused himself and told us that he would be back presently with something we might find of interest.
    When he had departed, I asked, “What did you make of all that talk of other worlds and times last night?”
    Vaughan smiled. “I could say that he’s been reading too much Wells and Vaughan,” he said. “But, coming as it does on top of whatever he’s brought us here to look into...” He gestured with a corner of toast. “We’ll no doubt find out in due course.”
    Two minutes later Carnegie returned with what looked like a portfolio tucked beneath his right arm. He cleared a space on the table and laid it before us.
    “I would like you to take a look at some photographs, gentlemen, and see what you make of them.”
    Intrigued, we leaned forward as he opened the cover of the portfolio like some vast trapdoor to a magical underground kingdom.
    He shuffled through a pile of perhaps a dozen large, glossy photographs, then handed us one each. I stared at mine, attempting to make sense of the image. I passed it to Vaughan, raising my eyebrows in mystification. Vaughan gave me the photograph that he had been studying, evidently with the same perplexity as I felt myself.
    The first picture showed what appeared to be a flash of light, surrounded by darkness; the second displayed much the same, though in this one vague shapes in the surrounding darkness could be discerned.
    We considered each of the dozen pictures; they were very much alike, all showing the ubiquitous light upon a dark field, with the light varying in intensity from one photograph to the next.
    “Well,” Carnegie said, glancing from Vaughan to myself. “What do you think?”
    I exchanged a quick look with my fellow novelist. “Hm,” I began. “Interesting, but what are they?”
    Carnegie beamed. “That, my friends, is what I too would like to know.”
    Vaughan leaned over the photographs now spread upon the table-top. He pointed to one or two. “In the darkness here, and here, I can make out shapes - they almost look like branches. Trees.”
    Carnegie was nodding. “They were taken at night in Hopton Wood,” he offered.
    “And the light?” I asked.
    “Look more closely at the light, especially in these two photographs.” He pushed two images across the table towards us, and Vaughan and I bent to inspect them.
    “Can you make out shapes, outlines? There, and there...”
    Now that he mentioned it, I could discern the very vaguest of patterns upon the print. In the bright explosion of light upon each photograph was the faintest shadow.
    “Do the shapes suggest anything to you, gentlemen?”
    I frowned, and glanced at Vaughan; his perplexed expression must have mirrored my own. He shook his head. “I suppose, if one stretches one’s imagination... one might almost convince oneself that they could be faces. But, then again, they might be many things.”
    If I squinted, and employed sufficient imagination, I could almost make out nebulous, ghostly visages.
    “Faces,” Carnegie declared. “Exactly. That’s exactly what I thought!”
    “I take it you took these photographs yourself?” Vaughan asked.
    Carnegie tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his waist-coat and leaned back in his seat. “I set up the equipment to take these photographs, but I was not in Hopton Wood at the time they were actually taken.” He gathered the pictures together and closed the portfolio.
    “If you would care to explain...” Vaughan began.
    “That walk I mentioned last night - after breakfast we’ll take a stroll over to Hopton Wood. There is something there that I think you might find of interest. Stout boots will be in order.”
    Vaughan had brought a pair, but I