James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“Mercy me! Big Ben?” Abberline exclaimed. “And he told you all of this?”

“He did. He was doing a bit of bragging, and did not know that I was a Time Agent.”

“What does he do up there in his tower?” Burton inquired.

Miss Hemlock uttered a deep sigh. “We are at war in my time, Captain. It has spread to consume the entire world, for the second time. Mycroft Holmes is known as The Thinker, and directs our war efforts as well as warns us of impending air raids.”

“Air raids?” Monckton Milnes said. “My earlier assessment was correct. There isn’t enough booze for this.” He got up and went poking through Burton’s liquor cabinet.

“Yes, air raids. I told you technology was a double-edged sword. We have machines that can fly, allowing people to traverse great distances in a matter of hours. But they have also been employed into dropping bombs. The Germans attack us almost nightly. The Thinker’s predictions about where the bombs would land have been essential in saving lives.”

“Bismillah! The conceited duffer has finally done it. He knows every major world event from now through the middle half of the next century. And he is alive—after a fashion—and in a place where he can direct these events to his benefit.”

“He has all of human history in his hands,” Abberline added. “We knew he was up to something! I followed him all of yesterday. He met with several prominent scientists and engineers. They must be building this analytic contraption you spoke of.”

“Or an early prototype,” added Miss Hemlock. “Parts are constantly being replaced and updated.”

“But who is his mysterious benefactor? And why would he give this information to the likes of Mycroft Holmes when he could simply benefit from it himself?” Abberline worried his bowler again, turning it on his knee.

“He doesn’t seek to benefit,” said Burton. “He wants to completely unravel the threads of Time itself. He’s obviously quite mad.”

“Well, whatever his motives, we need to find him and stop him from giving Mr. Holmes that map, if he hasn’t already acquired it.” Miss Hemlock glanced at each man in turn. “Can I count on your assistance?”

“Of course,” said Burton. “As I said, we are in your debt. Besides, someone is using Time as a weapon. We must stop him before everything we know ceases to be.”

“You know I’m bloody well in,” said Abberline. “What else can I do?”

Monckton Milnes hiccupped again, and regarded the woman with bloodshot eyes. “I’ll be at the Cannibal Club, Dick. The next time you want to have a normal bloody conversation, stop by.”

“I will, Richard,” said Burton. “And for whatever it’s worth, thank you.”

Monckton Milnes harrumphed again and staggered out the door of Burton’s study.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how dangerous this is,” said the indefatigable Miss Hemlock. “I’m afraid I have diverged you from your current time streams. We are tabula rasa from this moment forth.”

“We diverged long before you got here, Miss Hemlock. Whatever things come undone by this point, they are no fault of yours. We are all too familiar with the risks involved. In fact, you might be in even more danger than we are.”

Miss Hemlock shivered and nodded. “You are right, of course. But I don’t care what happens to me, so long as this unidentified miscreant isn’t allowed to meddle with Time!”

The late hour had become early morning, so Detective Inspector Abberline bid farewell and set off for home. Burton offered Miss Hemlock the use of his spare bedroom next to his study, and she took the offer.

Burton worried that people would start to talk about the mysterious woman who had taken up residence at Gloucester Place—and worse, tell Isabel—but Miss Hemlock assured the explorer she would be discrete, making use of the rear servants’ entrance for her comings and goings. “I’m a Time Agent, Captain, Burton. We are trained to blend in.” Burton didn’t know how such a flamboyant woman could blend in, especially one in such unusual getup, but he nodded and bid her good night.

The next morning, Burton sat in his study wearing his jebba and ate a hearty breakfast of eggs, sausage and coffee brought up to him by Miss Angell, who stared at Burton’s house guest crossly as she served them.

“Captain Burton,” she said finally. “Will your guest be staying long?”

Miss Hemlock looked up at his landlady and housekeeper, a huge smile on her face. “Only a few days. I am so sorry for imposing, but Cousin Richard insisted.”

Miss Angell fixed her with a flinty stare. “Cousin?”

“Distant,” said Miss Hemlock. “I came here to see the city. I’m Penelope.”

Unable to find fault with the ostensibly unseemly arrangement, Miss Angell’s mood softened. “Oh. Well. That sounds quite nice. Eat up. You’ll need your strength to keep up with the likes of him.”

At that she left the room, closing the door behind her.

“Well done,” said Burton.

Miss Hemlock giggled. “This isn’t my first time.”

“I’m sorry,” said Burton. “She can be overbearing at times, but she means well.”

“I like her. Though I wouldn’t like to get on her bad side.”

“That, my dear, makes two of us.”

They ate in relative silence for a time, Miss Hemlock making gentle noises as she wolfed down her eggs and sausage.

“Would you like some more? Mother Angell insists on keeping me fat like a prized pig.”

“No, no. This is plenty. In fact, it’s a veritable feast. Because of the war, we subsist on rations. We hardly get any meat at all, and what eggs we have are powdered.”

Burton arched an eyebrow. “Powdered?”

She smiled around a mouthful of eggs. “Please, don’t ask. You don’t want to know. It’s all due to the war, of course.”

Burton nodded. The war. The explorer had thought of little else since the Time Agent mentioned it the previous evening. What must it be like? No. He was better off not knowing. He couldn’t do anything about it, and he wouldn’t live to see it. There was that, at least. Still, he worried about those who would have to endure it. He had been a soldier, and knew the hardships involved. He doubted they had changed all that much. As he ate, he stared across the study at the wall of weaponry, mementos of death and destruction he had acquired during his travels. Guns, swords, spears. He had been stabbed in the face with a spear. What new methods of killing would man develop in the intervening eighty-one years? They already had flying vehicles that could drop bombs. He shuddered inwardly.

“So,” said Burton when he had finished his breakfast. “What is the plan for today?”

“We need to find Mycroft Holmes and see if he has the Map.” She wiped her small mouth with a linen napkin.

“You think he has already acquired it?” asked Burton.

The Time Agent nodded. “It’s a possibility. Actually, I’d prefer it, because our mysterious figure will go on about his way thinking he has succeeded.”

Burton nodded. “That way he won’t try to stop us.”

“Exactly. Now, you know the city at this moment in time, and you also know where Mycroft Holmes spends his days.”

“Well, I don’t know where he lives,” said Burton, “but he spends most of his time at the Diogenes Club. He also has an office in the Tower of London.”

Miss Hemlock nodded. “I thought as much. We’ll need to be careful. He can’t know who I am, and it would be best if he didn’t see me at all. In my time, that photographic memory of his is legendary. I don’t want him to recognize me when I interrogate him in his future, as he might not tell me what I need to know so that it is of use here.”