Robert Appleton - Prehistoric Clock

A serious dilemma faced the camp, and every person would have to decide it for himself; trust Reardon’s machine would work properly this time and return them to the twentieth century, or remain in prehistory forever, find a measure of solace in…whatever one found solacing in a world of bees and dinosaurs.

Her gaze set upon Embrey. He sipped his brandy. A distant roar silenced the cheers below.

It felt strange after all these years of practising clandestine science to be giving an open tutorial on the inner workings of his Harrison clock, but even his friends had started to doubt his ability to return them to their own time. Today he would inspect every millimetre of the device and determine what, if anything, he needed to adjust in order to instigate a second time jump. Embrey’s and Verity’s objections were simply foolish. For castaways to remain stranded when they had a chance of returning home-whatever the risk-made absolutely no sense. They’d prefer to scratch a living among the deadliest predators the world had ever seen? Devolve into human scavengers? He’d give them a matter of weeks, at best.

No, the Empress Matilda had served her purpose in letting him identify the current geological era. Billy’s book had also helped. Pinpointing 1908 A.D. after a 110–120 million year misfire might appear a far-fetched proposition but he believed utterly in the mechanics of his machine. Somethin g external had affected the refraction process-some contaminant he’d overlooked, perhaps an atmospheric anomaly endemic to a storm environment. Had the charged air that night exacerbated the psammeticum reaction somehow, catalysed some kind of exponential energy shift?

It sure as hell wasn’t random, as the others had conjectured. Science did not subscribe to randomness, and this machine was his masterpiece. The only way to determine the cause of the disparity was to repeat the experiment until it worked according to plan. And if it didn’t…well, maybe it was God intervening after all. Maybe the Almighty could not allow him to unpick fate’s cruel tapestry. Maybe his Lisa and Edmond could never… maybe, maybe, maybe…

He gritted his teeth and shook all doubt from his mind. A sickly whiff of burnt rubber and petrol made him gag as he led his entourage around the side of his factory to the front entrance. Embrey and Verity, both armed and alert, followed close behind. Six other aeronauts carried rifles.

When he reached the loading bay doors, a short man wearing a fancy waistcoat stepped out. “Ah, there you are, Professor. We’ve been waiting for you.” Cecil recognized him from Agnes Polperro’s retinue. He’d visited the factory for the inspection shortly before the time jump.

“Excuse me?” Thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, Cecil approached. “What the devil do you mean, skulking about inside my workplace? For God’s sake, man, this place has to be off limits. Tell him, Verity.”

She stepped forward with three of her men and stood akimbo. “He’s right. I told you not to interfere in any way with Professor Reardon’s machine. Now who’s with-”

“Lieutenant Champlain,” a woman’s curt voice shot out from the shadowy interior, “nice of you to visit.” Agnes Polperro marched past her doorman, drawing her retinue of twelve well-dressed men with her onto the concrete outside. Verity faced her while looking askance at the men’s vexed expressions. What on earth were they doing here? Why the unanimous frowns?

Embrey and the remaining aeronauts strode forward to even the odds.

“Miss Polperro, can we help you with something?” Verity adjusted her pith helmet. “I thought I made it quite clear this factory is under my jurisdiction.”

“I daresay things have changed somewhat in your absence.” The unpleasant schoolmarm nodded and whispered to Carswell, one of the drunken politicians who’d tried to hang Cecil that first night.

Cecil’s lungs tightened. He gasped for air. Reliving those awful moments he’d endured at the end of a rope-throat warped shut, toes tingling, head swelling like a balloon-he began to shake. But the idea of his worst enemies invading his private sanctuary, the place he’d invested so much of himself these past six years, his dear and bittersweet perihelion, sparked his fury. “You bastards can all rot in hell!” He lunged for Verity’s pistol and would have murdered Agnes Polperro and Carswell and anyone else whose face he recognised, had Verity not snatched the weapon away from him.

Embrey restrained him from behind. “Easy, Reardon. Take it easy, old boy. Now’s not the time.”

“ Right. You’d better explain yourself in a hurry.” Verity stepped toward Miss Polperro, their sharp gazes clashing like rapiers.

“Gladly. But I’d suggest you keep that crazed lunatic on a leash. He’s a liability to himself and everyone around him.”

“On the contrary, it’s you who put those murderous thoughts in his head. All of you.” Verity pointed angrily at the Whitehall gang. “You’re bloody lucky I don’t put the lot of you on trial for what you did to him. You snivelling pukes. Either step aside right now or give me good reason not to slake the professor’s vengeance for him. Starting with you, Carswell, you pompous scum. I’ve a mind to put one between your rat eyes just for the hell of it.”

Carswell’s bushy eyebrows dropped and formed a V in the middle. He bared his teeth. Cecil felt oddly relieved that it wasn’t quite himself against the world. With strong allies like Verity and Embrey at his side, maybe he could afford to calm down and rethink things a little.

“You’d better come with me.” Miss Polperro crooked her finger.

“What for?”

“It changes everything. You’ll see. But tread carefully-there is something extraordinary taking place here.”

What could she mean? Something more extraordinary than his machine? The Whitehall gang parted while Miss Polperro led Cecil, Verity and Embrey into the heart of Cecil’s creation-the giant, dormant cogs and the five cylinder steam engine, the Hillary magno-abacus resembling a miniature silver pipe organ, and the differentiator’s U-shaped brass casing one could only reach from underneath whilst the machine was in motion. At least no one had found his Harrison clock yet.

The insufferable woman guided them into the work shed, through a maintenance door and into a corridor running eastward, adjacent to the machine. Wire mesh fencing provided no protection from hot vapour, and as the machine had been operating almost continuously for four years, Cecil hadn’t ventured into this particular corridor during that time.

They walked another thirty feet past the final steam exhaust before Miss Polperro halted them at a secluded, bare-brick alcove he was certain he’d never seen before. “Well, here it is,” she said. “Can any of you explain it?”

Cecil squeezed past her to gain an unobstructed view of…

“A spider’s web?” Lord Embrey groaned. “You’ve found a glow-in-the-dark spider’s web? Well, I think I speak for everyone here when I say, sod the tuffett and bugger the curds and whey.”

Miss Polperro adjusted her thick-rimmed spectacles, then ran her fingers impatiently along the brick wall, over and over the same spot, clearly waiting for someone to cotton on to…whatever she’d seen in the web.

Verity shrugged and admitted she was at a loss. “I remember a lilac glow emitted in the run-up to the time jump… This web has the same colour. Unless that has some scientific significance…”

Confused, Cecil inspected the web at close range. Yes, the lilac coating was abnormal; no, it didn’t worry him unduly. Residual energy traces lined various nooks and crannies higher up in the factory as well. So what on earth had Miss Polperro seen that he Wait. That can’t be. No spider could…