James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“Why are you helping us?” asked Burton.

“Because the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” said Professor Moriarty. “This damned cult must be stopped. It’s eating into my trade.”

“You mean your opium trade,” Abberline said.

Moriarty smiled. “Yes. Among other things. The buildings along the wharf have been overtaken by the cult. I do not know what they are storing there. My attempts to ascertain this information was met with…violence. All I know is that large objects are being heaved up out of the Thames and stored in those buildings. Whatever this group is up to, you will find it there. But I will give you a fair word of warning: I have suspended my activities along the wharf. Do not look for a link back to me. You will not find it. Not even my nemesis Sherlock Holmes could sniff out such a connection.”

“So you want us to do your dirty work for you, is that it?” said Challenger.

Moriarty shrugged. “You are already doing Mycroft’s dirty work. I just thought I’d do you a favor and point you in the right direction. That and save your lives.”

They rode in silence for a time, the pantechnicon never once slowing, taking dangerous turns as it moved toward its mysterious destination.

At last the large wagon slowed to a stop. “This is where you gentlemen get off.”

The door of the pantechnicon flew open as if controlled by a hidden spring, and Burton recognized his home at Gloucester Place.

“How did you know where I live?”

“Oh, I know a great many things about the three of you,” said Moriarty. “You should be flattered that one such as I has taken an interest in you. Now begone. I have other business this night.”

“Now see here!” Challenger said, but Burton silenced him with a shove out the door.

No sooner had they alighted onto the pavement than the door of the pantechnicon sealed itself shut and the strange vehicle’s black-clad driver urged his two drays into motion once more. The three men watched, perplexed, as the thing rolled out of sight.

“Blimey, that was strange,” said the policeman.

Challenger shook his fist in the direction of the retreating carriage. “Damn it all. This Moriarty character is more of an effete snob than Mycroft Holmes!”

“He may indeed be snobbish,” said Burton. “But I wouldn’t go so far as to call him effete. He is far from ineffectual. In fact, he just saved our lives.”

“He’s also a criminal, and a dangerous one at that,” Abberline added. “My superiors will have my badge if they learn that I was that close to the infamous Professor Moriarty and did not make an arrest.”

Burton patted Abberline’s shoulder. “Yours is a different assignment, Frederick, and we have bigger concerns. Besides, Moriarty was right: the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Challenger barked laughter. “Quite right, Burton. Though to cast our lot with a fiend such as that…”

“I don’t like it any more than either of you do. But what else can we do?”

“I must report to Mr. Holmes,” said Abberline. “He needs to know what happened tonight.”

“Won’t you come inside?” asked Burton. “Have a drink first?”

“No. I’m still on duty. Good evening to you, gentlemen.” He tipped his hat and marched up the street and disappeared into the thick fog that began roiling in from the East.

“I’ll have a drink with you, if you don’t mind,” said Challenger. “I have no one to go home to, not really anyway. Not anymore.”

“Yes,” said Burton. “Come in. No doubt you and I have much to discuss.”

The night was already late, but Burton and Challenger sat up for the next hour in Burton’s study, drinking brandy and talking over recent events, as well as their thoughts about their journey aboard Captain Nemo’s incredible Nautilus .

Burton got Challenger up to speed on his own experiences since returning home, including his bout of madness that began after his hallucinations at the Cannibal Club. He even revisited his shock and confusion at learning Isabel had disappeared in broad daylight from Hyde Park, and his conflicting memories of recent events. Challenger nodded politely through all of this, smoking one of Burton’s finest cheroots and drinking his brandy. When Burton had finished his tale, he asked, “What do we do now?”

“In the morning I want to call on Herbert,” said the explorer. “He was not well when I checked on him this morning and seemed to be suffering under the same sort of delusion that felled me. He was trying to destroy his Time Machine.”

“And you believe his madness has passed?”

“I hope it has,” said Burton. “For all our sakes. I fear the only way to correct what has happened is by making a return journey through Time.”

“And how do you know he won’t try to destroy it again? Or make some journey on his own?”

“I have little control over the former,” said Burton. “But I do over the latter.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the control levers he had taken from the Time Machine that morning.

“Ah.” Challenger nodded appraisingly. “Perhaps this will be enough to sway him from destroying it as well. I want to go with you. Perhaps together we can snap him back into coherence, and he can once again be of use to us.”

“That would be much appreciated. Thank you. But the hour grows late. For us to be effective we should probably both get some sleep. I have a spare bedroom if you’d like.”

“Sounds splendid,” said Challenger. “I thank you for your hospitality, my good sir.”

Burton put on his jebba and climbed into bed, using a Sufi meditation technique to help him relax. His body was bone tired, but his mind whirled with recalled events and memories of that other Burton’s life their jaunt through Time had inadvertently created. Finally, he drifted off, the distant drone of Challenger’s snoring lulling him to sleep. He dreamed of tentacles in the darkness and a strange sliding sound coming from behind.

It was eleven in the morning before Burton or Challenger awoke and, after explaining to Miss Angell why she suddenly had a new house guest, he and Challenger were treated to a sumptuous brunch of eggs and sausage.

“I must say,” said Challenger after taking a sip of coffee, “there’s nothing like a hearty breakfast to make one feel like himself again. I could almost believe the events of last night happened to someone else.”

“As could I,” Burton agreed. “But we must hurry, for we have much work to do.”

Burton heard a distant knock at the door and listened. Miss Angell answered it, and in a moment Frederick Abberline was lumbering up the stairs, a tired look on his face.

“Inspector!” said Burton. “Come, sit down and break your fast.”

“No thank you,” said Abberline. “I ate this morning. I would love some coffee, if it isn’t too much trouble. Two sugars.”

Wiping his mouth, Burton got up and poured the policeman a cup.

“What did our mutual employer have to say about the events of last evening?” said Challenger with a sneer.

“He was pleased that we broke up the cult’s ritual but was dismayed that we were not able to catch their leader.”

“That is your job, is it not?” asked Challenger.

Burton handed the steaming cup to Abberline, who took a testing sip. “It is. But we have no idea who he is under that damned robe and mask. He could be anyone for all we know.”

Challenger scowled at this and impaled another sausage with his fork before jamming it into his mouth.

“He’s no doubt lying low,” said Burton, returning to his seat. “But even with his features obscured, I think we can figure out who he is. Some things he said sounded very familiar to me for some reason.”