Doubles.

“So what century are we in now?” Asked the tweed Enright. “The twentieth or the twenty-first?” He picked up Samuel’s sword and felt the weight of it. His thugs searched for anything else. “In either case, a sword? Your weapon of choice, is a sword? The last of the dragons died long before Tuesday Midnight.” One of the thugs handed over Samuel’s broken telescope. “What were you hoping to do with this?” Enright held the wide end up to his eye. “Make me look small?”
“I like to carry it.” Said Samuel, watching Angela as her hands were tied and she was thrown into a chair. He missed how the Enright smiled but looked uncomfortable.
“The lens is cracked.” Said the Enright, to himself.
“It used to tell the future. Or the past. It broke last Halloween.”
“Hence the name!” Said the carver who called him Salt.

Samuel was left to sit on the floor. The knife held to my face withdrew, as did the warmth and breath of the man behind me. Norman was still held down, forced into the posture of a drunken evening – his eyes barely looking over his captor’s boot. On the other side of the room, a huddle agreed on their next move. I heard the name Napoleons, a paperback’s worth of fifties changed hands and then navy tie Enright walked out, taking one the carvers with him. I heard the front door slam and they didn’t come back.

“We really need to know,” said the other Enright, “if you’ve told anybody our secret.”
“Who would we tell?” Asked Samuel.
“Shhh. Don’t answer yet. We’ll be asking you one at a time. At the moment we’re just waiting for my brother to reach his alibi. In case things go too far with one of you tonight. In the meantime, I have to thank you.” He addressed Samuel. “Admittedly you’ve complicated things since, but we couldn’t have done all this without you. At the market. You came upstairs to find me there as if by a miracle and you didn’t think anything of it. Because who would think twice about a magician managing to teleport? We were slow to appreciate it, only worrying at first that you might spread the word there was more than one of us, smearing the recruitment in its infancy. But then we realised its potential. The propaganda value of illusion. So, thank you. Well done.”
“That’s not what you were created for then?” I asked. Enright laughed looking down at his feet.
“No. That is not what we were created for.” He went back to join the others. Arthur junior put his hand up, gripping the arm of his father. Or of the man I took to be his father.

After an hour, they stirred from their discussions and two of the thugs dragged Samuel from the room. Enright followed, as I expected, but I was shocked to see his son go too. We could hear the muffled questions, the kitchen chairs scraping around and then thuds.

Angela, maybe so she didn’t have to listen, started asking the carvers questions. She asked them what they were doing here, what they wanted out of Enright’s scam.
“We wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Said Nicholas Graham.
“Well is it money?” She said, angry but not shouting yet. “Because the money just went south. Literally. Alex Reeves won’t want to be associated with this.”
“You don’t know Alex Reeves.”
“Was it power?” She said. “I can see how you don’t think I get what you call power, but the power’s gone. All this Paul Daniels crap, doesn’t get you real power.”
“I trust no one in the world more,” said Nicholas Graham, “than Arthur Enright, to resolve this difficulty. Resolve this issue with the world.”
“Why’s he taken his son in there?” I asked, on the subject of people to trust. The carvers gave no answers. I don’t think they dared to try and phrase what they thought, because the words would give them away.
“His son.” Said Norman. “That boy is not fully there.” He groaned as the boot pressed down on him harder.
“I don’t get it.” I admitted. “What they’ve exposed him to. You can see that they love each other. You can see that in their eyes, but. He’s not going to be healthy when he grows up is he. That boy’s going to be damaged.”
“You think they love each other?” Said Norman. The guard told him to shut up, but he went on. “Is that the look you saw at the resurrection? You said it was a look of devotion.”
“It’s like they’re speaking.” I said. “Emotionally.”
“It’s not love. It’s deference. It’s the look you give your boss when you don’t want to get fired, hoping he likes you.”
“Shut up!” The guard yelled, stamping into his chest. I tried to weigh up what Norman was saying against the affection I’d seen in the boy’s eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was saying it hoping to psyche out the carvers.
“You think he’s afraid of his father?” I felt the grip of the man behind me tighten on my shoulder again.
“Not the boy. Enright’s deferring to him. Enright wants the approval from him. And I don’t think that’s his son.”
“But he’s…” You couldn’t deny the heritage. The first time I saw them together I thought he looked exactly like his father. “He’s Arthur Enright.” I said. I felt the hand on my shoulder loosen.
“Did you know about this?” Angela asked the carvers. “Did you know that the power you’re trailing after is still years off puberty?”
“Don’t be preposterous.” Said Nicholas Graham, but he didn’t seem sure.
“How d’you suppose it happened?” She said. “Did he get stuck like that when the wind changed?”

I could see the carvers looking to each other, realising it was true as Enright’s word’s bounced through from the kitchen – the dialogue of an actor. Then it happened really quick: Angela asked the carvers if they thought Alex Reeves knew; the carvers went to leave but with the same breath they swore denials; the guards moved to stop them from going, forgetting who it was they were guarding; the boot came off from Norman’s chest as the thug on top of him got involved, and then Norman was up. His hands were still tied, but he used both hands together like a club. He was screaming, just a noise, and then words I didn’t know. He smashed the man who’d held him down around the head, twice, knocking him to the floor, stamped on him. The two by the door were still letting go of the carvers as Norman collided with them. By the time the man who’d held a knife to me caught up, Norman had the crowbar. He broke his hand first, and then I looked away.

When I looked back, Norman was cutting the plastic strap. Angela was already free. My clothes had caught a spatter of blood. Norman said something to me in the same language he’d been yelling and headed for the kitchen. We figured out later he’d been speaking French – a language he’s never learned.

When I got to the kitchen myself, both of Enright’s thugs were laid out, while the grown up Enright was cutting Samuel free. He’d been smacked about the face again. Norman had the real Arthur Enright by the scruff of the neck.