Mark Hodder - The curious case of the Clockwork Man

The gun was wrenched from Burton's fingers and flung away.

“Leave him alone!” Swinburne pleaded as Burton was gripped by the neck and jerked to his feet. “Sir Roger! Think of your family's good name! God! My head!”

Burton launched a ferocious uppercut into his opponent's chin. His fist sank into a wobbling mass of fat. In reply, he was shaken like a rat caught in the jaws of a carnivore. His teeth rattled together. Desperately, he loosed a furious tattoo of blows into the gargantuan body, hammering it around the ribs, but he might have been punching a pillow for all the damage he did; the rib cage was buried deep beneath layers of blubber. The Claimant took the assault without so much as a groan.

Squirming out of the creature's grasp, Burton ducked under groping hands and, like a whirlwind, dealt out roundhouse punches that should have rocked his opponent on his heels. It was useless.

The Claimant lunged and swept his arms around Burton's shoulders. The king's agent felt them tighten and tried to slip downward, but the creature held him with the strength of a grizzly bear. Terrible agony shot through the explorer's chest and it felt as if every bone in his torso must splinter.

It was not the embrace of a human being. Beneath the thick jellied padding flexed the tremendous muscles of a predatory beast.

Pain exploded in Burton's back and his lower spine creaked audibly. Blood pounded in his ears as the awful constriction increased. The monotonous tone of the diamond was filling his head. His legs flopped uselessly and, when the Claimant lifted him from the floor, his feet dangled as loosely as a rag doll's.

Swinburne looked on helplessly as his friend was hoisted up over the creature's head, ready to be dashed against the wall once again.

“Tell me, Swinburne!” Kenealy said. “You don't happen to know where Sir Henry concealed that black diamond of his, do you?”

“No,” the poet whimpered. “Except that-”

“Yes?”

The Claimant swung Burton back to fling him into the air. As he did so, a spark of vitality flared in the explorer's dimming consciousness and, with a desperate effort of will, he put all the strength he could muster into a jab, hooking his stiffly held fingers down into his opponent's right eye.

The creature let loose a howl and dropped him. Burton hit the ground at the Claimant's feet.

“Except the poem,” said Swinburne.

“Poem, sir? What poem is that?”

“Algy, don't,” Burton croaked.

“The tears, that weep within My Lady's round,” Swinburne proclaimed. “Do you mind if I sit down? I have the most dreadful headache.”

“Please, be my guest.” Kenealy grinned. His glasses magnified his little red-rimmed eyes.

Jankyn strode over to Burton and looked down at him. “My goodness. He doesn't look at all well!”

“I bow to your expertise, Doctor,” Kenealy said. “Sir Roger, be careful! Don't break him! You may be defending yourself against a ruthless intruder but a charge of manslaughter would be most inconvenient at present. Tears, Mr. Swinburne?”

“I can't help it. It's the pain. My brain is afire!”

“I was referring to the poem.”

“Oh, that gobbledygook. The diamond's behind the waterfall, obviously.”

The Claimant bent to pick Burton up. The explorer quickly drew in his legs and kicked his booted feet into the fat man's face. His left heel caught one of the seven lumps that circled the bloated thing's skull, ripping open the little line of stitches.

The Claimant's head snapped back.

“Ouch! Hurt me!” he complained, clutching Burton's arm and dragging him upright.

The king's agent caught sight of a black diamond glittering inside his opponent's wound.

“Choir Stone!” he mumbled.

A massive fist crashed into his face.

He looked up at the off-yellow canvas of his tent.

The exhaustion and fevers and diseases and infections and wounds ate into his body.

There was not a single inch of him that didn't hurt.

“Bismillah!”

No more Africa. Never again. Nothing is worth this agony. Leave the source of the Nile for younger men to find. I don't care anymore. All it's brought me is sickness and treachery.

Damn Speke!

Don't step back. They'll think that we're retiring.

How could he possibly have interpreted that order as a personal slight? How could he have so easily used it as an excuse for betrayal?

“Damn him!”

“Are you awake, Richard?”

“Leave me alone, John. I need to rest. We'll try for the lake tomorrow.”

“It's not John. It's Algernon.”

Algernon.

Algernon Swinburne.

The yellowed canvas was yellowed plaster-a smoke-stained ceiling.

Betrayal. Always betrayal.

“Algy, you told them where to find it.”

“Yes.”

“Was the diamond there?”

“Yes. Kenealy reached through the waterfall. There was a niche behind it. He pulled out the biggest diamond I've ever seen, black or otherwise. It was the size of a plum.”

Betrayal.

To hell with you, Speke! We were supposed to be friends.

Is there shooting to be done?

I rather suppose there is.

Voices outside the tent. War cries. Running footsteps, like a sudden wind. Clubs beating against the canvas.

A world conceived in opposites only creates cycles and ceaseless recurrence. Only equivalence can lead to destruction.

“And final transcendence.”

“What? Richard, are you still with me?”

“Be sharp, and arm to defend the camp.”

“Richard. Snap out of it! Wake up!”

“Algy?”

“I'm sorry, Richard. Truly, I am. But I couldn't help it. Something got inside my head. I can't explain it. For a few moments, I really believed that monstrosity was Roger Tichborne.”

“Get out, Algy. If this blasted tent comes down on us we'll be caught up good and proper!”

“Please, Richard. We're not in Berbera. This is the Dick Whittington Inn. We're in Alresford, near the Tichborne estate.”

“Ah. Wait. Yes, I remember. I think the malaria has got me again.”

“No, it hasn't. It was the Claimant. That confounded blackguard beat you half to death. You remember the labyrinth?”

“Yes. Gad! He was strong as an ox! How serious?”

“Bruises. Bad ones. You're black-and-blue all over. Nothing broken, except your nose. You need to rest, that's all.”

“Water.”

“Wait a minute.”

The labyrinth. The stream. The Claimant.

The Cambodian Choir Stones!

The Claimant has Brundleweed's stolen diamonds and the two missing Pelletier gems embedded in his scalp. Why? Why? Why?

“Here, drink this.”

“Thank you.”

“I have no memory of how we got here, Richard. The last thing I recall is seeing Kenealy pass the diamond to the Claimant. The creature looked at it, then he looked at me, and suddenly that low hum that comes from it overwhelmed me. I heard a woman's voice behind me, turned, and saw the ghost of Lady Mabella. I must have passed out. I woke up here a little while ago. The landlord says we were delivered in a state of intoxication by staff from the estate. I found a letter addressed to us on your bed. Listen: Burton, Swinburne, Against my client's express instruction, which was issued through me, his lawyer, in front of witnesses, you chose to trespass on the Tichborne estate and you attempted to steal Tichborne property. Were it not for the fact that we are already preparing a complex legal case against Colonel Lushington, I would not hesitate to prosecute you. As it is, my client has agreed to let this matter drop on the condition that you make absolutely no further attempt to intrude upon Tichborne property. I remind you that the law states that trespassers may be shot on sight. If you set foot on the estate again and somehow manage to avoid such a fate, I assure you that you will not avoid the full force of the law. Doctor Edward Vaughan Hyde Kenealy On behalf of Sir Roger Charles Doughty Tichborne