Infernal Devices (25 page)

  "That loathsome little bugger," she muttered darkly.

  "–and prevailed upon them to produce the real Paganinicon. Fortunately, it was close to hand: they had hidden it in a small hunting lodge on Lord Bendray's estate. Going thither, they were surprised to find the Paganinicon – myself, that is – activated, walking about and capable of conversing. Scape, in his previous attentions to my person, had left my main and various auxiliary springs fully wound; he was unaware that all that was then necessary to set me into motion was to bring the adjunct brain – that's you, my dear Dower – within a few miles of the Aetheric Regulator contained within me. If Scape had been at my side, rather than riding in the carriage with you as it approached Bendray Hall, he would have seen this culmination of all the care he had lavished upon my poor, neglected workings – he really is very clever about mechanical matters; in a rough, untutored way, of course. It being a matter… shall we say… close to my heart, I, of course, was able to enlighten everyone in the party – Scape, Miss McThane, and the good Mrs Wroth" – he patted her hand, and exchanged smiles with her again "about a good deal of the mysteries surrounding this sudden animation of what had been silent and unstirring metal. There was little time for explanations, however, before we were joined by another bearing quite distressing news about your predicament, Dower." The Paganinicon looked at me, raising his eyebrows as if expecting me to supply the next word. "You know? Your friend – the swarthy fellow–"

  I was still struggling with the revelations made so far. "You mean – the Brown Leather Man?"

  "Is that what you call him?" the Paganinicon shrugged. "Suits him well enough, I suppose. I rather fancy he calls himself something else; unfortunately, the urgency of the situation precluded lengthy introductions. No matter; it seems the fellow had surreptitiously witnessed many of this night's events; I imagine that rather dusky hue of his is rather convenient for skulking about and spying on people. He informed us that you were in danger of being captured and killed by one or more of the various factions whose ire you seem to have aroused. This prospect was viewed with alarm, especially by me: I have more than a brotherly fondness for you, my dear Dower. Your death – more particularly the death of your brain, which serves as my own, may I remind you – would naturally put an end to my functioning as well. Thus plans were hastily drawn up, to ensure your continuing safety. By that time, the siege of Bendray Hall by the Godly Army had metamorphosed into the general pursuit of your person; the way was clear for Mrs Wroth and myself to return to the Hall, there to commandeer a carriage and driver, and set out for the
rendez-vous
which your friend, the Brown Leather Man, had appointed. Scape and Miss McThane have meanwhile gone ahead to the nearest seaport in order to arrange passage for you – just to some place where you'll be safe until things settle down a bit." The Paganinicon sat back, spreading his hands in a gesture of satisfaction. "There – you see? All perfectly simple; everything is made comprehensible, given enough time."

  I nearly retorted that the explanations he had given were neither simple nor comprehensible, but held my tongue instead. Having recovered somewhat from the exertions of my flight across the fens, I could appreciate that I was out of danger, at least for the time being. And whatever motivations my rescuers had for their actions, they did not seem to be intent upon my immediate death. The results of my own efforts at negotiating a course across the world's perilous chessboard had met with more disaster than success; I was content to be the pawn of others for a while, as long as it appeared I was being shuffled to some obscure file far from the furious checks at the board's centre.

  (Thus, having failed our trust in ourselves, we abandon that trust to others – to our cost!)

  I looked at the two smiling faces across from me, the one so uncannily like my own. "I take it, then," I said, "that you are coming along with me… to whatever destination Scape has arranged?"

  "'Coming along?' My dear Dower." The Paganinicon shook his head. "I see no need for that. After all, it's your skin for which all these people are out. I have no fear of them; I may look like you, but my accomplishments and ability will soon prove that I am another person entire." He gestured dramatically. "I have a great career ahead of me – one too long delayed."

  Mrs Wroth levelled a more intent gaze at him. "That's not all that's been delayed too long."

  "Yes, well – that, too." He shrugged. "Pity about that Guarnerius you smashed up back at Bendray Hall, Dower. Soon after I arrive in London, the first order of business will be to scout up a worthy-enough instrument; a decent Strad or some such, I think."

  Her eyes narrowed to slits as she looked at him. "I'll get you such a Stradivarius," she whispered huskily. "You wait and see."

  A thought struck me. "But if I'm sailing about somewhere, or lodged in some distant place… and you're in London – some considerable distance away – won't that rather interfere with your functioning? Being at such a remove from my brain, and all?"

  "No, no; your concern for me is really very touching, but it's no matter for concern. The medium – the aether – in which the fine vibrations of your brain are conducted to me, thereby providing a base for my own actions and reactions to be modified, is a medium completely non-spatial in nature; it exists in another dimension entirely. Rather a difficult notion to grasp at first, but I assure you it's true. Your proximity to me was only necessary to set my workings into motion; but as long as you remain alive and no catastrophe upsets the remarkably placid operations of your brain – and I honestly can't imagine what could, given your rather stolid nature; all this fright and chasing about has produced no more than a passing ripple on the surface of a deep pond, as my own undisturbed operation demonstrates – then you could be on the other side of the moon, for all the difference it makes."

  A salt breeze filtered into the carriage, signalling our arrival at the seacoast. Looking from the window, I could see the first light of dawn outlining the ocean's dull iron. A few boats, insignificant fishing craft, bobbed alongside a sagging wharf. A sailing ship of considerable bulk, incongruous among these sprats, was stationed in the deep water at the wharf's end; from its deck, a silhouetted figure had spotted the carriage and beckoned us to approach.

  The Paganinicon instructed the driver to halt. "This is where we part company, my dear Dower. Do take care of yourself, for your sake as well as mine. When at last things settle down and you get back to London – a few months from now, a year; who knows? The public's moods are so capricious – at any rate, do look me up. If I'm not touring the Continent, that is."

  He pushed open the door, and I stepped out. "Au revoir," he called as the driver whipped the horses into motion. The carriage wheeled about and headed back the way it had come. Behind me, I heard someone calling my name…

  "Ahoy, Dower!" On the ship's gangway, Scape raised his arms in an exuberant greeting. Even from the landbound end of the wharf, I could clearly see how pleased he was with himself.

  The blue lenses fastened on me as I came up the slanted plank. "Hey, catch this." Leaning over the rail, he gestured at the rest of the ship. "Pretty great, huh?"

  Miss McThane was with him. Standing on the gently rocking deck, I looked from the two of them to the expanse of furled sail and crossing lines above our heads. "What ship is this?"

  "Belongs to Sir Charles – just one of the little advantages of being rich, you know. Got a full crew aboard, supplies, the whole shot – we're just about ready to hoist anchor and go cruising."

  "All right." Miss McThane sang and swayed against him, bumping him with one hip: "Won'tcha let me take you on a sea cruise."

  Disconcerted as I was by the woman's eccentric behaviour, I was nevertheless pleasantly surprised by the sound of another voice calling my name. "Mr Dower, sir! You are alive!"

  I turned and saw my faithful assistant Creff. He grasped my arm in both his hands and gazed at me, his face bright with glad tears. About our feet the terrier Abel gambolled, barking from an excess of joy. "They told me you was alive, sir. But I didn't know as to whether I should believe them, when they promised you'd be joining us on this ship, them being such blackguards and all–"

  "Hey!" Scape, his arm around Miss McThane's shoulders, bristled at this comment. "What kinda talk is that?"

  "–but as they said you might be needing me on the long voyage you're undertaking, I thought it only my duty to come and find out for meself. And here you are, safe and sound, after all those horrible commotions! I count it rather a miracle, I do."

  I nodded wearily. "I confess I agree with you on that point. It is good to see you here, though."

  Creff stood on tip-toe to reach my ear. "I'll do my best for you, Mr Dower, but I fear as to just how much good that'll be. I've never been any sort of seagoing man, and just in the little bit of time I've been swaying around on this thing, I feel as if me lights are all up in me throat. If we were to be out at sea, and any sort of storm should fall upon us, I couldn't warrant as to being able to keep my feet under me."

  In truth, he did appear a bit green about the gills, with a desperate roll to his eyes mimicking the slight pitch of the tethered ship. "I think," said I, "that you'll do me more of a service if you go back to London, and keep an eye on the shop in my absence. No mob is going after your blood there, and you'll be able to keep the premises and contents safe from any who might bear a grudge against me."

  "Right enough, sir," he said, with evident gratitude. He leaned over and with an upraised finger instructed the dog: "It's your job to keep an eye out for Mr Dower." Abel, ears pricked, looked up at him with no apparent sign of comprehension, but nevertheless stayed by my feet as Creff shook my hand in farewell and hastened for the gangway.

  A sailor, one of several I had perceived going about their mysterious tasks in the growing dawn light, approached us. "There are cabins below," he said, respectfully taking off his knitted cap, "if you'd care to rest up a bit before we set sail."

  I accepted this invitation readily, the realization of just how exhausted I was coming over me in a sudden wave. The sailor led me down to a small, sparsely furnished but clean room. All that mattered to me was that it contained a bed. No sooner had I laid my head upon its pillow than all the words and voices circling behind my brow rose into the darkness above my closed eyes, and I fell into dreamless sleep.

  Some time later – how long I had no way of knowing I was awakened by someone roughly shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes and looked up into the face of the sailor who had shown me the way to the cabin; around me I could feel the ship's rolling motion, and hear the creak of its hull and the slap of waves against it.

  "On your feet," ordered the sailor. His earlier courtesy had gone. "You're wanted up on deck." I rolled over on to my side. "Please convey my regrets," I said. "I'm somewhat indisposed–"

  He pulled me bodily from the bed and pushed me towards the cabin's door. "Step lively! Before I lose my patience with you."

  I stumbled out on the deck and saw Scape and Miss McThane, sombre now, their hilarity diminished by the sight of a grim-faced row of sailors standing at attention. The ship was still within hailing distance of the small harbour from which we had sailed.

  The sailor pushed me towards Scape and Miss McThane, then joined his fellows. "What's happening here?" I said, baffled by this sudden change in attitude. "What's the matter?"

  Scape turned a sour grimace towards me. "I think," he said, "that we've been screwed."

  A cloaked figure emerged from one of the forward hatches and strode down the line of sailors towards us; each of the men stiffened ramrod-straight as what was evidently some chief among them passed by. He at last, stood in front of us, and surveyed us each in turn, the raised edge of his cloak concealing his own face. "Good morning, gentlemen and lady," he said softly; my heart sank within me at the words.

  The cloak and the voice together sparked my memory; this figure had looked at me once before, and rendered a harsh judgment. This was the man who had ordered the ruffians already guilty of the murder of the hapless forger Fexton, to cast my fettered body into the Thames.

  He dropped his cloak, and I found myself staring into the eyes of Sir Charles Wroth.

  My surprise, and that of Scape and Miss McThane, evoked some amusement in his features; a bloodless smile greeted us.

  "Somehow," said Scape with a hollow laugh, "I get the feeling that I'm not working for you any more."

  "Be quiet," ordered Sir Charles. "There's no time for your foolishness now. You would be better occupied setting your souls at peace with the Lord. I must inform you that you are in the hands of the Godly Army." He gestured towards the line of sailors. "These men, righteous Christians all, are under my command. Consider that the day of reckoning for your sins is at hand; there is no escape now."

  "You're shittin' me." Scape shook his head in disbelief. "Aren't you?"

  Sir Charles' glare silenced him. "Doubtless my previous masquerade had confused you; it was successful, then. In truth, I am not the effete music-lover and godless scientist for which you took me. Though the Royal Anti-Society – that heathen aggregate! – be but a fraction of what it once was, still they are sworn to secrecy among themselves, the better to guard their devilish knowledge. Through great pains, I infiltrated their number, posing as one given to such pursuits of vain arts; even my wife did not suspect my devotion to the good Puritan cause. At last, I thought the time to strike had come; it was I who gave the signal from inside Bendray Hall for the siege to begin; I also betrayed the various defences that fool Lord Bendray had organized, so that my men could enter. Unfortunately, the object of our sortie" – his eyes narrowed as he stared in my direction– "escaped in the confusion. But God makes all things right; no sooner were you lost to us, than Scape's request for my assistance in arranging a safe passage for you placed you again in our hands. So justice is accomplished."