James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“Heavens no,” said Burton, pocketing the card. “We just need to ask you some questions about those two men and the item they purchased from you. I apologize for our previous subterfuge. We must keep a low profile.”

“Oh yes, I understand,” said the old man, winking as if he understood very well. “The item doesn’t have a name, at least as far as I know. They came in a few weeks ago and asked me to build it. They gave me these plans.”

He puttered around a cluttered workbench behind the counter and hefted two sheets of paper. Drawn on them with almost machine precision was a set of plans. He passed them over the counter to Burton. He examined them with Herbert.

“They paid me an enormous sum,” said the old clocksmith. “Five hundred pounds.” He whispered this last, as if it were an obscenity he feared would be overheard.

“Remarkable,” said Herbert.

The old man nodded. “They paid half then, and the other half just now.”

“Do you know what this device is supposed to do?” asked Burton.

The old man threw up his hands. “No idea. I was just happy to have the work. Business has been slow of late. No one comes down to these shops anymore.” He stared wistfully past Burton and Herbert toward the shop’s front window and the empty street beyond.

“Well, I appreciate your cooperation,” said Burton, rolling up the plans. “May we keep these?”

“Yes, I suppose. Mr. Swinburne and Goforth didn’t care to have them back. So why not?”

“You’ve been most helpful,” said Herbert, opening his wallet and handing over a twenty-pound note.

“Oh, no. I can’t accept this,” said the old man.

“Please, your time today was more than worth it.”

The old man graciously accepted the proffered money, and Herbert and Burton turned and left the shop. Challenger greeted them in the street, the flame-thrower evident under his bulging coat.

“Well?” the Professor rumbled testily.

“They had the clocksmith make this,” said Burton, showing him the papers. Challenger scowled over the schematics before eying Burton. “So? I’m a zoologist, not a bloody engineer. What the deuce is it?”

“We have no idea,” said Burton. He glanced at Herbert. “I suppose you should hang on to these. The mechanical is your purview, and these plans might yet come in handy.”

“If you say so, Captain.” Herbert took them and folded them carefully before putting them in a pocket of his coat. “But it appears we are at somewhat of a dead end. We didn’t even follow them to see where they went.”

“Where they are going is no mystery,” said Burton. “No doubt they are returning to the Theosophic Society meeting hall to hold another of their psychic sessions. And this time we are all going to be there.”

The Theosophes meeting hall was filled almost to capacity by the time Burton, Herbert and Challenger arrived. Every seat was filled by expectant people hopeful for a glimpse into a past or even a future life. Challenger remained near the doors in the shadows, his shoggoth gun still hidden under his greatcoat, wary for any sign of the foul protoplasmic entities.

“Wait here,” said Burton as he entered the crowded hall, where people in black robes muttered in hushed tones.

Herbert and Challenger started to protest, but Burton ignored them as he wedged himself into the crowd. He received a few vacant stares, but no one questioned his attendance. He watched Swinburne, Whiteside and Goforth enter a room at the far end of the central space, beyond the huge black stone standing at the room’s center. A circle of candles sputtered around it, illuminating the garish glyphs carved into it so long ago they had almost worn away.

Burton entered the antechamber where Swinburne and the others were commiserating before their presentation. Swinburne looked up at the explorer and grinned. “Richard! So good of you to come.”

“Might I have a word, Algy?”

Swinburne looked at Goforth and Whiteside, who exchanged wary glances, and nodded to them. The two other members of the Awakened left the room.

“What is it, Richard? Why so serious? Are you ready to explore new realities? I have learned so much since my awakening, as the papers are calling our shared experience.”

Burton lunged for the poet, grabbing him by his lapels and slamming him against the wall. “No more games, whoever you are. I came here for answers. Who are you?”

Swinburne’s expression hardened. “Now Captain Burton, is that any way to treat the body of one of your contemporaries? One of your closest friends? I’m not sure his diminutive frame can take much of a beating.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Burton. “Now what are you? What are you? Because one thing was immediately clear the minute you recovered. You are not Algernon Charles Swinburne.”

Swinburne pushed Burton off of him with a strength the explorer didn’t know the poet’s tiny body could muster. “So the jig is up, eh?” He straightened his lapels. “I do enjoy the clever turns of phrase the naked apes of this time period employ. I suppose our ruse must fall apart sooner or later. So be it.”

“Who are you?” Burton asked again.

“My name is unpronounceable to human lips, tongue and vocal chords,” said Swinburne. “But my kind call themselves, with no small amount of hubris, the Great Race. We hail from a distant world we call Yith.”

“How did you get here?” asked Burton. “And why are you here?”

“We are explorers much like yourself. We escaped cataclysm on our world by leaping through Time and into the bodies of beings that inhabited this world in the deep past. Using these new bodies, we built a wondrous library city on what you now call the continent of Australia.”

“And what happens to the minds of those whose bodies you commandeer?”

The Swinburne-thing shrugged. “They switch places with us and inhabit our old bodies until we are ready to return to our own time.”

“Bismillah! You switched places with Algy.”

“Exactly,” said the Swinburne-thing.

“So that’s where Algy is now. In the deep past. Is he…safe?”

“Perfectly safe. And he has been gifted with sights few other human minds in history have ever seen, and through him our kind learn an inordinate amount about your species, as well as this marvelous time period.”

“What do you want?” Burton asked. “Why here? Why now? Why not journey farther into the future? Surely there is a more technologically advanced time.”

“We do not care about your pitiful technology. We have glimpsed wonders you soft pink apes couldn’t dream of. Besides, greater sophistication leads to earlier detection of our activities. This age is still superstitious enough to believe in demonic possession. When the truth is far more mundane.”

“It is funny what you consider mundane,” said Burton. “Now release my friend.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Our plan is not yet complete.”

“And what is that plan?”

Swinburne uttered a screeching laugh. “Are you really that ridiculous to think that I will just lay out the particulars of our endeavors? Ho ho, Richard. I’m surprised at you. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“What is that black stone for?”

“That? We dug that up in a field in Yorkshire. We knew right where to dig too, because in your year 1684 one of my compatriots, who now inhabits the body of your William Nash, buried it there.”

“Why?”

“For safekeeping, of course. We had no use of it at the time, the stars were not right. And we couldn’t risk its relocation or outright destruction.”

“Ah,” said Burton. “So timing is important to you, for some ritual you wish to complete, and you need that black rock, and the Wold-Newton stones, to help you do it.”