James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“It worked.” He glanced at Herbert and Challenger. “Bloody hell, it worked.”

He then explained, as quickly and clearly as possible, all that he had seen and heard.

“Blimey!” thundered Challenger. “A whole council of Burtons, eh? Those Awakened won’t know what hit them.”

“We need to move quickly,” said Burton. “We don’t have much time.” He glanced in Herbert’s direction. “Or do we?”

The Time Traveler grinned. “There is always time. What we do with that time is the real issue.”

“Bloody hell, Burton?” said Challenger. “What do you have in mind?”

“You still have the plans for that queer device?” Burton asked Herbert.

The Time Traveler patted his coat pocket.

“And your Time Machine is functional?”

“Of course,” said Herbert, sounding offended. “Ready for another jaunt through Time, Professor?”

The big zoologist sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

“We just need a safe place in which to do our work undetected,” said Herbert. “We must avoid meeting anyone who knows us, especially our past selves, if we are to avoid any chance of creating another paradox.”

“I know just the place,” said Burton.

They hired a couple of burly deliverymen with a carriage and a pair of sturdy horses to transport Herbert’s brand-new Time Machine from his home in Kew Gardens to an old building at Covent Garden that belonged to Isabel’s father’s family. The place had been abandoned for years, and Mr. Arundell had given Burton the key for safekeeping. Burton knew that no one had been in the building at least during the last six months. Herbert and Challenger packed enough food and supplies for a week’s worth of almost nonstop work, along with one of his shoggoth-guns just in case and, dragging the Time Machine into the building, they closed the heavy wooden doors and went back to a point one month in the past. After seeing them off, Burton went to find Inspector Abberline.

“Burton!” said Abberline, waving to him from a cordon of police standing outside the theosophic hall. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“And I you,” said the explorer. The two men shook hands. “What’s going on?”

“We’re getting ready to move on these Awakened,” said Abberline. “Mr. Holmes is done with their meddling. His man in Yorkshire said that Nash, Whiteside, and Greensmith dug up a large black stone from a field and brought it straight back here. Whatever they are doing in there, it stops tonight. We’re preparing to turn off the gas and take a battering ram to those doors.”

“You are right about that. It ends tonight. But not like this. Frederick, innocent people will be killed, including the men whose bodies the Awakened are inhabiting.”

“I am sorry, Captain. My orders stand. Mr. Holmes believes keeping the city intact is more important than a few lives.”

Burton glowered at Abberline for a long moment, then took a deep, relaxing breath. “I have a plan in place to stop them.” He looked around self-consciously at the uniformed policemen standing around watching their exchange. “Can we speak in private?”

Abberline nodded and stepped away from the cordon. They moved a few feet away. “What are you planning? And perhaps more importantly, what are they up to in there?”

Burton explained things as best he could. “By Jove! I only wish that was the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, but we both know that isn’t so.”

“Burton nodded. “Their ritual will be completed by midnight, when this Yog-Sothoth will emerge into our world.”

“And then they’ll destroy everything.”

“I believe that’s their plan.”

“And Herbert and Professor Challenger are building a device that can send them packing?”

Burton nodded.

“Without bloodshed.”

“That is the idea, yes. If you send your policemen in there, innocent people are going to die, and I don’t think Mycroft Holmes wants to explain to the papers exactly why that had to happen.”

Abberline nodded. “All right. I agree with you. This whole business leaves a bad taste in my mouth. If we can stop this without violence, I’m all for it.”

“Good man,” said Burton, patting Abberline on the shoulder. “Now we just need to stall this ritual of theirs for as long as we can.”

“And how do you intend to do that?”

Burton regarded the building. “I’m sure something will come to me. Let’s go.”

The doors had been heavily bolted from the inside by the Awakened’s acolytes, but Burton and Abberline moved around the building until they found an unsecured window. With some difficulty they managed to crawl through it into a small room cluttered with occult ephemera left behind by the Theosophes. “There are a few of those Theosophes outside as well,” said Abberline. “Eager to get the use of their building back, I suspect.”

Burton moved to the door, trying the knob. It opened a crack. “Come on. And be quiet.”

Abberline drew his service revolver, and Burton wondered idly if he should have brought a weapon. He wanted this to have a peaceful resolution, and meant no physical harm to any of the Awakened, especially Swinburne. When all was made right, each of these men would no doubt feel no small amount of guilt for the actions of their commandeered bodies this night, and he didn’t want them to also have spilled blood on their hands.

They moved into a dimly lit hall, through which chanting could be heard.

Abberline tightened his grip on his revolver. Burton, his nerves taught as piano wires, took a deep, steadying breath. The chanting grew closer, louder.

“This Yog-Sothoth must respond well to flattery,” Abberline whispered.

“Shhh!” Burton scolded. They were at the end of the corridor now, which opened out into the wide central space crowded with black-robed acolytes, ordinary Londoners who had been taken in by the Awakened’s feats of clairvoyance, and had no idea of the doom about to befall them. He scanned the room, picking out each member of the Awakened—Swinburne, Goforth, Nash, Peacock, Greensmith, and Whiteside—who were all standing in a circle around the immense black stone, their hands joined, their bodies swaying in supplication. The black jewels on the malformed headpieces they wore glinted darkly in the gaslights.

Burton stood ready to pounce, though to do exactly what he had no idea. Abberline placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Wait until they turn off the gas.”

Burton nodded, noting Swinburne’s position among the throng. If they could knock the malignant crowns from their heads, they would decrease the influence of the Wold-Newton stones, perhaps even disrupt the ritual enough that they would have to start it all over again. He felt the eyes of El-Yezdi upon him, could feel the presence of the other Burtons. His right arm felt strange, as if it was gone, and in its place was something heavy, a thing of brass and wood where blood and bone should be. He felt something covering his left eye, though he could still see. Felt the weight of a slim scimitar on his left hip. The others were here with him, guiding him, goading him forward.