James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

Burton’s head dipped toward the floor. “I’m afraid that is my fault. “I was brought before a gentleman named Mycroft Holmes yesterday, who knew of our little adventure. He said he was also a member of the Shadow Council and recruited me for another endeavor. He asked me several questions about your Time Machine, and I answered them. I figured he knew so much about us already, what could it hurt? Now I am afraid I have been played the fool.”

“Mr. Holmes must have had a good reason for taking it,” said Abberline. “I can’t imagine he would use it for evil ends.”

“He may not have evil intentions for its use,” said Challenger, but its use clearly causes more problems than it solves, hence our current predicament. I told you before, Captain Burton, that Time would make for the ultimate weapon. And now Mycroft Holmes has it. What can’t the Empire do that can strangle the despot in his cradle, or stop an enemy invasion before it is contemplated?”

“Good heavens!” said the Time Traveler. “Trying to untangle such events before they happened would cause a paradox.”

“How so?” said Challenger.

“Well,” said Herbert, rubbing his stubbled chin. “Suppose you went back in Time to kill your grandfather before he met your grandmother and conceived your father. Well then, you never existed.”

“And if you never existed, how did you go back in Time and kill your grandfather?” finished Challenger.

“Exactly,” said Herbert. “We must have done something similar to alter our familiar course of events.”

“Bismillah,” said Burton. “We’ve got to get the Time Machine back.”

“Does this Micron Holmes fellow know how to activate and use the machine?” asked Herbert.

“My croft ,” Burton corrected. “And yes, he does. But fortunately for us, he does not have the means to do so.”

Burton reached into his coat pocket and produced the two crystalline control rods he had removed from the Time Machine the previous morning.

Herbert gasped. “You remembered what I told you, then. About the machine’s operation.”

“Yes,” said the explorer, handing the rods to Herbert. “Without those, your Time Machine goes nowhere. Uh, no when .”

“He can’t substitute them in some way?” asked Abberline.

“No,” said Herbert. “The crystals in these control rods are essential to the machine’s operation. No other material will do. But by careful reading of my notes, he’ll be able to fabricate new ones. My notes! That loathsome devil took everything.”

“Now see here,” said Abberline. “Mycroft Holmes has done more for the Empire than you will ever know. I grant that he took your property without due course of law, but you will not disparage him.”

Burton placed a hand on the Chief Inspector’s shoulder. “My dear Frederick, I understand and respect your loyalty, but even you must admit that there is something strange afoot. Are you saying that, after all this, you still fully trust your employer?”

Abberline stared at Burton wide-eyed. His mouth opened, closed. Opened again. At last he said, “I must. Honor and duty require it. But in deference and respect to you, after all we went through last night, I will demand a full explanation from him right this very afternoon.”

“Good enough,” said Burton. “I must also ask that you do not breathe a word about these control rods to Mycroft Holmes.”

Abberline considered this, then nodded slowly in agreement.

“I should like a word with this Mycroft Holmes as well,” said Herbert, standing up. “If you will allow me to get dressed, I will accompany you.”

“Certainly,” said Burton. “We just have one more stop to make. It appears you are once more a member of the Shadow Council.”

Burton handed the rods to Herbert. They clinked together softly in his palm.

Herbert nodded. “This time I had best learn the secret handshake. Make yourselves comfortable. I shan’t be a moment. Mrs. Watchett?”

The poor housekeeper moved from where she had stood, silently quivering in the corner by the door, to follow her master up the stairs.

The front door opened, and the policemen who had been ransacking the place earlier entered to resume their vandalism.

“You’re done here,” said Abberline. “Pack up and move out.”

The three officers exchanged dumbfounded looks before the highest ranking-policeman and departed.

Burton and Challenger gave him surprised looks.

“Well,” said Abberline. “I think the poor fellow’s been through enough, don’t you?”

The four of them crammed into the police carriage en route to the Cauldron, Herbert fidgeting, crossing one leg over the other, then switching, all the while making perturbed noises.

This rankled Professor Challenger to no end, but to his credit he held his peace, and before long they were moving through the grimy streets of the East End, dirty street toughs glaring bleary-eyed at them as they rolled past.

The carriage trundled through the labyrinthine streets until at last coming to a stop before the still smoking skeleton of the church Burton, Challenger and Abberline had barely escaped with their lives hours earlier. They hopped from the carriage to join a group of police officers who were busy gathering whatever paltry evidence to be found and scaring away looters.

“By Jove,” said the Time Traveler while Abberline had a word with the ranking officer. “Did you gentlemen do this?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Burton. “Not that we’re proud of it.”

“Speak for yourself,” declared Challenger, leaning over to yank a wet, filthy cultist robe from under a singed wooden beam, only to toss it away a moment later in disgust.

Herbert studied the damage in silence. They had filled him in on what happened on the way over, but he still looked unable to come to grips with it. Or maybe he just worried about the fate of his Time Machine. Burton couldn’t tell which.

Abberline turned to them when he was done conversing with the leading duty officer. “Only one body found. That bloke you shot, Professor Challenger. Burned to a crisp, of course. No way to identify him. It seems everyone else got out.”

“What about the tunnel?” asked Burton.

“Some men followed it back to the old house,” said Abberline. “No one there but some street urchins what bolted as soon as they saw the coppers come through that hidey-hole. No signs of any regular occupants, and no trace of this King in Yellow.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Burton said irritably.

“He’s still around somewhere,” said Challenger, his dark eyes scanning the surrounding buildings. “Probably watching us right now, laughing at us.”

“But where?” asked Abberline. “How?”

“Remember Professor Moriarty’s carriage?” asked Burton. All eyes turned to him.

“Something struck me about it this morning. It was designed for not only security, but comfort. Like Captain Nemo’s Nautilus.”

“Odd’s Bodikins!” declared Challenger. “The blackguard lives in it.”

“Perhaps,” said Burton. “At least some of the time. Maybe our King in Yellow has a similar setup. He’ll want to stay mobile yet remain close to his operations here in the East End.”

“And he no doubt has a small legion of people helping him,” said Abberline. “Keeping him hidden. And we’ll never be able to pry his whereabouts from them.”

The four of them thought on this for a while.

“Ho!” the Time Traveler called from amid the blackened rubble. “What’s this?”

Burton, Challenger and Abberline stepped carefully through the ruins toward their companion.