James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“His office is in the White Tower,” said Abberline, veering to the right. “This way.”

They went through a labyrinth of hallways and corridors, past a veritable warren of rooms, many of them dark and empty and piled high with old, dusty furniture, until they came into a vast open space surrounded by curving stone columns. This was St. John’s Chapel, its original religious purpose giving way to the needs of the Intelligence Ministry. Desks took up the center of the chapel, where clerks sat busily copying things from one ledger into another, sorting paperwork, or consulting strange-looking charts and muttering to themselves.

“This way,” Abberline said again, and they moved on from the chapel into another maze of hallways. At the far end of one was a black wooden door. Abberline knocked three times and opened it.

Mycroft Holmes hunched like an enormous toad behind a wide wooden desk in a windowless room. His look told Burton that he was not in the least surprised to see them.

“Where’s my Time Machine?” said Herbert.

“What a pleasure, gentlemen,” said Mycroft Holmes in mock sincerity. “Would you care for something to drink?”

“Sod off,” said Challenger.

“What have you done with Herbert’s property?” said Burton. “And what else do you know about the King in Yellow?”

The elder Holmes glared up at them from behind his massive desk. “Are we so full of questions that we have forgotten our manners? How sad.” He steepled his sausage-like fingers and heaved a sigh of exasperation.

“Damn your civility,” said Burton. “We demand answers.”

“You are in no position to demand anything, Captain Burton. What I do, I do for the good of the Empire.”

“But sir,” said Abberline, squeezing between Burton and Challenger. “Even you have to see this is highly irregular.”

“These are irregular times,” said Holmes. “They call for irregular measures.”

Burton glanced at the wall to their left. Tacked upon it were a series of engineering diagrams. The largest appeared to be Holmes’ best guess as to the dimensions of the Nautilus, and he was not far off. The other drawings were all of Herbert’s Time Machine, showing the machine from different angles in precise details.

“It’s a remarkable machine,” said Holmes to the Time Traveler. “I’m sure you are proud of it. My best engineers have been practically frothing at the mouth wanting to take it apart to see how it works. I told them to hold off until I had spoken with you. There is an element missing, isn’t there?”

“What do you want with it?” asked Burton.

“Such an invention could be put to great use for the good of the British Empire,” said Holmes. “It is much too powerful to be in the hands of one man.”

“You’re wrong,” said Herbert. “Better it be in the hands of one rational man than that of a hundred fools!”

“I assure you I am no fool,” said Mycroft Holmes, an edge of anger seeping into his voice. “And I see many noble uses for your Time Machine. And the Nautilus as well, once we capture and reverse engineer it. Imagine, a whole fleet of such submarine vessels plying the seas. The greatest Navy in the world would become even better, unstoppable. None could stand against us.”

“You sound as if you are preparing for war,” said Burton.

“No,” said Holmes. “I am preparing to prevent one, and to make war itself obsolete.”

“What war?” said the Time Traveler. “We’re not at war.”

“Not yet,” said Holmes. “But we will be. It is years hence, but it is coming. The signs of its coming are as clear as the scar on Captain Burton’s face. You have no doubt seen glimpses of it during your first journey forward through Time.”

Herbert’s mouth fell open.

Mycroft Holmes smiled. “I’ve been reading your copious notes. Yes, a rational, forward-thinking fellow such as yourself could not resist using your new invention to travel into the future, to see if your naïve ideas about the glories of mankind were true. I suspect you returned disappointed. I intend to change all that.”

“You’re a fool!” declared Challenger. “Your attempts to change one thing will inadvertently alter another. Tell him, Burton.”

“He’s telling you the truth,” said Burton. “Our journey back through time changed something. This current world is not the same one I remember leaving. In that original world, my Isabel was safe and sound, and spiritualist mediums were going mad all over the city. Something changed, just by going into the deep past.”

“We won’t be flying blind,” said Mycroft Holmes. “The same guides who told us that war is coming will help us build a new tomorrow, one in which the British Empire will shine forever.”

“What the blazes are you talking about?” said Challenger, his face turning red, hands clenched into fists.

Mycroft Holmes placed his hands flat on his desk. “You are aware of the recent interest in esoteric knowledge? The Akashic Record and the legend of Agartha?”

“Bismillah,” said Burton. “You’re one of those hollow earthers, aren’t you?”

“I am,” said Mycroft Holmes evenly. “And I’d watch that tone if I were you. I have seen and heard things you could scarcely fathom.”

“Or believe, I’d wager,” said Burton, his eyes locked with Mycroft’s.

“These esoteric sources only confirm what an astute observer such as myself can glean from history,” said Mycroft Holmes. “They tell us that a great war is coming that will overtake the entire globe. Every nation will take sides in the conflict. It is my duty to make sure that the British Empire emerges the victor, so that we may fashion a new world order. An order in which war is no longer necessary.”

“You’re mad!” said Herbert.

“I’m a visionary,” said Mycroft Holmes. “War is always inevitable. It is a release valve for man’s innate hostility. The pressure comes to a head, and then…”

He balled his hands into fists, then spread them out again, an implied explosion.

“The only difference is, now we know when it is coming, and with your Time Machine, my dear Herbert, we will know the how.”

“You will change whatever you attempt to observe,” said Herbert. “We learned this the hard way. The war you witness by skipping ahead will not be the same one that engulfs you.”

Mycroft blinked, saying nothing.

“That’s not all, is it?” said Burton.

Mycroft slowly shook his head.

“The Dagon cult,” said Challenger. “An irritant, certainly. A wild card. But something more.”

Mycroft Holmes nodded.

“The docks,” said Burton. “Whatever the cult has stored there, you think it’s a cache of esoteric weapons. Weapons you can use to build this new world order of yours.”

“I knew I had chosen you gentlemen wisely,” said Mycroft Holmes. “You are worthy of the Shadow Council.”

“I don’t know what sort of fellow your brother is,” said Challenger. “But his sibling is blinking mad.”

“Careful,” said Mycroft Holmes. “You have been of great assistance to me, but I will not cotton any disobedience. I can have you arrested for treason.”

“On whose authority?” said Burton.

“On mine!” shouted the elder Holmes, smacking his palms on the desk. “Detective Abberline, get these men out of my sight before I lose my temper.”

“With all due respect, sir,” said Abberline. “Sod off! I’m resigning my commission effective immediately and returning to my rightful place in the police force. If you want them to leave you can damn well give them the heave-ho yourself.”

Mycroft Holmes glared at them each in turn for a long moment.

“Where’s my Time Machine?” Herbert said again.