K Jeter - Infernal Devices

I raised myself, my palms pushing against the wet gravel. The space was a hollow cleft only a few feet high; the top of my head brushed the roof of the space. "I feel… terrible," I announced. Every part of my body ached as though flogged, and when I moved my left arm I felt something binding it. I looked around and saw a bandage, fashioned from my shirt torn into strips, crossed over my shoulder blade. The centre of the cloth showed a faint red from beneath.

"Of that do not worry," said the Brown Leather Man. "You were already falling when the bullet struck you; the flesh was but grazed. Your fortune it was to land in the deepest part of the river; some bruises you have, but no bones are broken." He nodded reassuringly. "A fortunate man you are."

"Hm." I rubbed my throbbing brow. "I wish I could share your opinion." An anxious thought struck me. "Where is Sir Charles now? He must still be hunting for me."

"Of that have no fear. I was concealed nearby when upon you he fired; I saw him look down from the cliff for your body. One of his men, having his panic overcome, returned. I could hear them speak;, the conclusion was made that into the sea your body was washed and there lost."

I felt a certain relief at this assumption regarding my own death. "That is fortunate," I said. "I think – I'll just rest here for a while."

"No; no, you must not." He prodded my arm. "No time is there to lose. You must go to England, as quickly as is possible."

Again I noted the overriding urgency in his voice. "But why?" He shook his head. "No explanations can there be, so great is the crisis. Go to Bendray Hall; when there you will know all."

With his assistance, I crawled out from under the bank, and stood up. He bade me follow the river, which led away from the spot where Sir Charles and his followers were encamped, and towards a small village.

"Aren't you coming with me?" I asked.

"I cannot. Much else must I do. But you will see me again." He turned and headed in the opposite direction. When I was quite alone again, I struck out, limping, for my own destination.

I made surprisingly rapid progress southward to England, given my somewhat battered state. Certainly Fortune, which had so often knocked me askew in recent days, now seemed propitiously disposed towards me.

The initiation of my travel was particularly wellomened. When I reached the small village a few miles along the river's course, I found it deserted. All had fled, leaving their valuables behind, and even their rough meals still in the trenchers upon the tables. Only one sour crone, tottering back from the well in the village square, remained behind; she waspishly informed me that the entire population had scattered to the hills upon hearing a report of Satan drawing nigh, leading a cavalry of a thousand flying dragons. She herself had a withering contempt for her neighbours' intellects.

From the inn I appropriated the sturdiest-appearing horse, a change of clothes from an upstairs room, and since all that was left in my pockets was the Saint Monkfish sovereign – a small quantity of money I found in a cupboard. I left a promissory note for these things pinned to the door, with my London address appended. On the road outside, I overtook the crone hobbling homeward, and she curtly directed me to the crossing that led to the border.

By stages, my strength renewing with every day of travel, and with every meal bought at a wayside inn – I only ordered beef, and never mutton – I made my way south to England. Reaching Carlisle, I had another stroke of fortune. A client, for whom I had restored several chiming watches built by my father, lived in the city. He recognised me from his visits to my shop in London, though he marvelled at how etched my features had become. Equally astonished was he to see me this far from my home. The most amazing reports had reached his ear from London, which he imparted to me, much to my distress. Great scandal (so he informed me) had become attached to my name. I had reputedly embarked upon a new career as a violinist – the Paganinicon had apparently found it more convenient to appropriate my identity and residence. My musical abilities were reportedly such as to have conquered the concert halls of Europe, while certain other talents generated a rapidly growing flock of female admirers. These certain attributes were apparently much whispered about in the most fashionable of salons; more than one hair-pulling duel had occurred in public, with myself gazing with wry amusement at the scene.

My chagrin was complete at hearing of these things. My informant had the charity to advance me a sum of money – bonded against my future work for him – sufficient to pay for the rest of my journey by carriage. I thus travelled the rest of the way in relative comfort. Ever gnawing at my mind, though – beyond the humiliation of the scandals being conducted in my name by my clockwork double was the urgency that the Brown Leather Man had imparted to me, to reach Bendray Hall as soon as possible. All possibility of rest was precluded by the speculations churning in my mind, as to what the emergency could be.

I abandoned the notion of first going to London, considering my own affairs to be the lesser priority. Heeding the Brown Leather Man's orders, I made direct for Bendray Hall. Once near the district in which Dampford lay, I hired a single horse and waited until the fall of night, the better to pass through the village unnoticed; I had no idea what memory the Dampford villagers might have retained of me.

In darkness, I passed through the gates of Bendray Hall, and rode up to the great building itself. A few signs of the siege by the Godly Army remained: a new door to replace the one that had been battered down, some scorch marks around the lower windows. I dismounted, climbed the stone steps, and brought my fist against the door's timbers.

A hobbling step, as of a man using a crutch, was audible from inside, coming to answer my knock. The door swung open, and the grand hallway's light poured over me, its brightness momentarily blinding me after my ride through the night. Then I heard the person's voice.

"Jesus H. Christ," said Scape. "If it isn't ol' Dower."

I blinked, and discerned his figure. He did indeed bear a crutch under one arm; he tilted noticeably towards that side. "My God," I said. "I thought you were dead."

His manic grin returned. "Can't keep a good man down. Come on in." He shouted to someone descending the staircase, as I stepped inside. "Hey – look who showed up."

It was Miss McThane, her hair considerably shorter and sections of it somewhat crimped in appearance, as if singed sections had been cut off. She smiled delightedly at me. "For Christ's sake. And we all thought you'd been snuffed."

"You – you both survived?" I said in amazement.

"Looks like it," said Scape. "We both kinda bailed out before that damned thing hit the ground." He nodded sadly. "The dog bit it, though. Never did find the little sucker."

"But what are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Where else was there to go? We figured we might as well head back here and get our old jobs back. Hey, lemme go get ol' Bendray; he'll get a kick out of seeing you again." There proved to be no need for him to fetch Lord Bendray; one of his servants had already informed him of my arrival. He tottered into the hallway. "How good of you to come, Dower." Smiling broadly, he grasped my hand in both of his. "I thought I would never see you again. But now you have returned; and all that I hoped to achieve is made possible."

"Your Lordship-" I began, but he waved me off.

"No time to talk now. Waited quite enough time already." He turned and walked away, one elbow supported by his servant.

Scape studied me quizzically. "Why did you come back here, anyway?"