James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“At any rate, my name is Penelope Hemlock, but I’m afraid we don’t have time for introductions at the moment. Now where are the stones?”

“In the Tower of London,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Where he can’t get them.”

“He has a Time Machine,” said Miss Hemlock. “I assure you, he can. He probably has them already. We must hurry.”

“Who is this confounded woman?” Mycroft Holmes asked as he let himself be herded from the Stranger’s Room and into the hall.

“It would take too long to explain, Mr. Holmes,” said Abberline. “Suffice it to say she is a Time Traveler. From the future.”

“Bloody hell,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Is there no end to this temporal nonsense?”

“You should know. You were the one who caused it.”

Mycroft Holmes glared at Abberline, who returned his gaze. The elder Holmes said nothing as he let himself be ushered down the hall.

“You get Mr. Holmes to safety,” said Miss Hemlock.

“And what are you going to do?” asked Abberline.

“I’ve got to get to the Tower of London and stop Nebogipfel.”

“But you said so yourself. He’s a Time Traveler. He probably has the bloody Wold-Newton stones already.”

Miss Hemlock gave him a playful grin. “So am I.”

“But there are Morlocks out there.”

Miss Hemlock glanced toward the front door of the Diogenes Club, then back at Abberline and Mycroft Holmes. “I have to try. I’ll think of something. I always do.”

Mycroft Holmes peeked through a lace-curtained window at the chaos erupting outside. “Where the hell is Burton? He’s usually right in the thick of such things.”

“We don’t know, sir,” said Abberline. “It was our hope that you had encountered him earlier today.”

“I’ve been in the Stranger’s Room all day,” said Mycroft, arching an eyebrow. “You sent him on some errand through Time, didn’t you? To retrieve the list of future events?”

“Precisely,” said Miss Hemlock. “And while we’re on the subject, how about handing it over.”

“What?” said the elder Holmes. “I will do no such thing. The timeline is state property.”

“Hand it over, Mr. Holmes, or I’ll hand you over to the Morlocks me bloody self.”

Mycroft Holmes glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” said Abberline.

Mycroft stared into the policeman’s eyes and found nothing but cold resolve, nothing to indicate the policeman was bluffing. He sighed and reached into the breast pocket of his tailored suit coat. “Very well.” He extracted a piece of paper and handed it to Abberline, who in turn handed it off to Miss Hemlock.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now, I get to the Tower immediately.”

Abberline reloaded his revolver. “Stay inside, Mr. Holmes. Don’t open this door for man or Morlock.”

“Are you giving me orders, Inspector?”

Abberline looked him up and down. “Why yes, I bloody well am. Now stand back and let me do my job.”

For once in his life, Mycroft Holmes did as he was told. He stepped back from the portal, allowing Detective Inspector Abberline and the mysterious Miss Hemlock to exit the Diogenes Club. Then he closed the door behind them and bolted it.

From all over the city the Morlocks emerged, stepping out of dim alleyways, crawling out of sewer grates. People ran from them, screaming. Spooked horses bolted, turning over the carts and carriages they hauled, spilling out cargo inanimate and human alike. People fought off the Morlocks as best they could, with walking sticks, umbrellas and bare fists. Under the direction of Inspector Abberline, the London Metropolitan Police showed up in short order, forming a cordon around the area near the Diogenes Club, which was where the largest group of Morlocks seemed to be converging.

Miss Hemlock looked about for a way to reach the Tower of London and catch Nebogipfel before he could abscond with the Wold-Newton stones, if he hadn’t already. She knew the chances were great that he already had, but she would deal with that when the time came.

As she ran up the street, she was accosted by a Morlock, the pale brute grabbing her from behind. She screamed, twisting around to get her hand on its goggles. She yanked them off, exposing the creature to the bright midday sun. It howled in pain, shrinking back from her. She gave it a swift kick between the legs for good measure. The Morlock mewled like a wounded animal as she ran up the street away from it, reaching for her Time Machine. If she couldn’t navigate through the chaos she would move around it through the fourth dimension. She was about to activate it when a familiar voice called her name.

“Miss Hemlock!”

She looked up to see a carriage driven by none other than Captain Burton. He slowed the horses to a stop beside her. Inside the carriage was a man who looked strangely familiar, like Nebogipfel, only without the dark beard.

“What are you doing here?”

“We don’t have time to explain,” said Burton. “Where’s Nebogipfel now?”

“He is going to the Tower of London to retrieve the Wold-Newton stones.”

“Get in!” said Burton. “Herbert will explain everything on the way.”

“I will?” said the Time Traveler.

“Hurry!”

Herbert opened the carriage door and helped Miss Hemlock inside. No sooner had she climbed in than the carriage started off, Captain Burton spurring the horses into a gallop. The carriage bounced so that she feared the entire carriage would come apart at the next bend in the road.

Getting herself seated, she said, “What is going on? Why is Captain Burton with you?”

“He came to see me in the future,” said the Time Traveler. “I’m Herbert, by the way.”

“So I gathered.”

“I’m afraid my doppelganger has been running amok.”

Miss Hemlock stared at him for a long moment. “Your what?”

Herbert explained things as best he could as Burton drove them through a sea of marauding Morlocks. Outside the carriage, a few more of the fungoid beasts had been relieved of their goggles, and were being held back people brandishing burning sticks of wood.

“Heavens,” said Herbert, staring out one of the carriage windows. “The Morlocks have never had to work so hard for their supper. They bred the Eloi to come to them.”

Miss Hemlock didn’t have the foggiest idea what the man was talking about, and didn’t want to. One thing she had learned from traveling through Time was that it was possible to know too much. Herbert’s doppelganger had certainly used that knowledge for ill intent. She knew one thing: none of this was supposed to happen. There was no historical record of Morlocks invading London, and no way to keep such a large-scale event a secret. This was yet another paradox atop an assemblage of paradoxes, and she didn’t think she would be able to untangle them.

“This is all my fault,” said Herbert. “I never should have built my Time Machine.”

“No,” said Miss Hemlock. “It’s mine. I should have stopped this from happening. Your doppelganger, or whomever he is, should never have been able to come back here. He stole a Time Unit from my offices.”

“You did everything you could,” said Herbert. “He also went into the future, and brought an army of Morlocks back through Time with him, right under my nose. I should have seen it. He’s me, for God’s sake!”

“We shouldn’t be beating ourselves up,” said Miss Hemlock. “There is one person to blame here, and that is this Nebogipfel fellow. We need to find him and put an end to this nonsense once and for all.”

“You’re bloody well right, of course,” said Herbert. “But how? He’s been ten steps ahead of us this entire time!”

Miss Hemlock tapped her chin with an index finger. “What does he want with the Wold-Newton stones?”