James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“I wish he was mad,” said Burton. “Don’t you remember Miss Marsh’s story? This is exactly like Innsmouth.”

“I know some of you are shocked to see me here,” said the Baron, removing his robes and tossing everything in a heap in the left wing of the stage. Beneath them he wore a dark, expensive suit befitting his high status. “But my years of searching for ultimate, secret knowledge are over. I have found what I sought in the pages of an ancient text called the Necronomicon . And that knowledge will imbue us with life eternal. Think of it! A world free of disease and want and class. All we have to do is take the first step.”

“I do not withdraw my original summation,” said Challenger. “He’s blinking mad. He’d give up his humanity for a few trinkets and an empty promise.”

“So it would appear,” whispered Burton. “But what shall we do about it?”

“I’ll show you what we’ll do,” said the professor. “We’ll shove these fiends into the light.”

The huge bear of a man stood and, cupping his hands over his mouth yelled, “Bollocks! Baron Lytton is a scoundrel of the first order! A right treasonous sot that ought to be hanged.”

Burton shook his head and stood, ready to bolt as things went sour.

“Who is that?” said Bulwer-Lytton. “Who dares speak such things to me?”

His eyes squinted up into the darkness.

“Yes. I know you. From the other night. I know both of you. Stop them! Don’t let them escape again!”

The audience rose and turned an angry eye toward the last row. Men and women came toward them in a wave.

“We can’t fight all of them,” said Burton, making his way toward the rear entrance.

“We don’t have to,” said Challenger, who produced a whistle from his pocket and blew hard into it. The shrill, piercing sound signaled, a moment later, the arrival of more than a dozen police.

“I alerted Abberline to your plan,” said Challenger. “He let me borrow his police whistle, and had some men stationed at every entrance.”

“Good man, that Abberline,” said Burton, grinning. He glanced toward the stage. “Bulwer-Lytton is gone!”

“They’ll find him,” said Challenger.

The big zoologist socked one fleeing cultist in the mouth as he tried to run past. The police rounded up as many as they could as they headed toward the exits. These were not East End roustabouts, but well-to-do members of London society. Followers of the Baron’s esoteric philosophy.

“We need to head back to the Tower of London,” said Burton.

“Good,” said Challenger as they headed for the door. “I’m tired of doing that scoundrel Holmes’ job for him.”

Abberline greeted them on the other side of the door. “Hallo gents,” he said with a smile.

Challenger gave him back his whistle.

“Where’s Bulwer-Lytton?” asked Burton.

“Who?”

Burton revealed to Abberline the King in Yellow’s identity.

“I don’t know. If he didn’t slip out, he’s in our custody.”

Burton looked at Challenger. “I don’t think we’re lucky enough for him to be in custody.”

“He’ll plan his attack on the city ahead of schedule,” said Challenger.

“Tonight,” added Burton. “We must warn Mycroft Holmes.”

“Attack?” asked Abberline. “What attack?”

“Just get us to the Tower,” said Burton. “As quickly as you can. I’ll explain, as best I can, on the way.”

It was early evening by the time Burton, Challenger and Abberline returned to the Tower of London, and a dense fog rolled in off the Thames, full of black flecks of coal that stung Burton’s eyes and made his nose run. They waited by the Traitor’s Gate for Herbert, who arrived a few minutes later. He held out an oilskin-wrapped bundle for Burton.

“The control rods,” said the Time Traveler. “As commissioned.”

“Good. Hang onto them. You’re going to get your Time Machine out of here and get a warning to Captain Nemo.”

“How on earth are you going to do that?” asked Abberline. “Does your Time Machine float as well?”

Herbert opened his mouth to explain, but Burton silenced him. “The particulars aren’t important right now. We need to warn Mycroft Holmes of the Dagon cult’s impending attack.”

“I can help with one of those items,” said Abberline. “The Time Machine is in a storage room on the first level. I spoke with one of my men, who helped transport it here. A dreadfully heavy thing. I think they only put it where they did to save their backs. I can show you once we’re inside.”

They walked through the gate and up the path toward the large wooden doors they had entered through earlier. Light flickered faintly through the fog from high windows.

The place was just as busy as it had been earlier, and the four men managed to make their way unmolested as the navigated the veritable maze of corridors.

Abberline halted them before a set of stairs. “You’ll find it in a room down there,” said the policeman to the Time Traveler. “There’s a set of doors used for loading in supplies. If you’ve got a strong back, you can drag it out that way.”

“Thank you,” said Herbert, nodding. “Though that is hardly necessary. I intend to travel to a time in which the Tower no longer exists. Then I shall drag it to what is in our time open air. I can be back in a pip.”

“You must not let Mycroft get his hands on it again, Herbert,” said Burton. “Take it out of here and dismantle it.”

The Time Traveler looked at him, nodding once. “I wish that I had done so already.”

“Don’t forget to warn Nemo,” added Challenger.

Herbert gave the burly zoologist a half-hearted salute. “All taken care of. Good luck, my friends.”

They watched as the young inventor darted down the narrow stairs and was gone.

“Captain Burton,” said a loud voice from behind them.

The three of them turned to see Mycroft Holmes standing there. Beside him stood two black-garbed attendants.

“Go see about the Time Traveler,” he told one of the men bookending him, and he ran down the stairs.

“I told you I’d have you all arrested for treason if you showed your faces around here,” said the elder Holmes. “Arrest them. Chief Inspector Abberline too.”

“Now wait a minute,” said Challenger. “We came to warn you.”

“Warn me?” said Mycroft Holmes. “Of what?”

“An attack on the city,” said Burton. “The King in Yellow is Edward Bulwer-Lytton. His cult is planning an attack on the city. Tonight.”

“We arrested most of his cult earlier this evening,” said Abberline. “With the help of Captain Burton and Professor Challenger. But Baron Lytton escaped.”

Mycroft nodded appraisingly. “No matter. We know who the scoundrel is now, and we can round him up. But you three are still guilty of treason.”

“Bismillah!” said Burton. “It is the Baron Lytton who is guilty of treason.”

The attendant came back up the stairs, panting. “He’s gone, sir.”

“And your friend the Time Traveler is guilty of stealing government property,” Mycroft added. “Arrest these men at once!”

Challenger raised his beefy fists as the other attendant got too close, while Burton pulled away from the man who had come from the stairwell.

There was a resounding boom Burton felt more than heard, shaking the ground as it set his back teeth to vibrating. Plaster dust sifted down onto them like coal dust from the fog.

“What in blazes was that?” said Mycroft Holmes.

“I warned you,” said Burton. “Bulwer-Lytton has received esoteric weaponry from the Deep Ones. And now he’s going to use it to destroy the city.”