Julius and the Watchmaker (23 page)

‘Do men win many bouts, Mr Flynn?'

‘None so far.'

The match umpire called the opponents together and they faced one another with fists ready. The umpire dropped his handkerchief and ducked out of the square as the clockman delivered a lightning-fast punch to Stan's jaw. A roar went up as Stan reeled back into the arms of the crowd. They did not throw him back into the fight like they would at a fairground mill; instead, they supported him while he gathered his senses. Brass Nimrod waited. After a few seconds Stan pulled himself to his feet and shook his head to settle his brain into place. He ducked his head behind his brass knuckles and with graceful footwork he glided to Brass Nimrod's left side. Before the automaton could turn, Stan landed one of his hobnail boots into the back of Brass Nimrod's knee, preventing him momentarily from taking a step. Then Stan swung his right hand, delivering a brass-knuckle blow to the back of the automaton's head. The crowd was in a frenzy. Disorientated, Brass Nimrod lifted his left elbow and crunched it into Stan's billycock hat, knocking the man to the ground.

The bout carried on through three more rounds, until Stan Atkins was knocked out by a jaw-shattering upper cut. The crowd cheered as he was dragged to one side to have brandy poured between his bloodied lips. Money changed hands in accordance with wagers, and the bout was dissected blow for blow between lords and footmen, costermongers and soldiers.

Julius watched Christian Machine from across the square. Brass Nimrod returned to his two companions who held the automaton's hands and appeared to speak a word or two of congratulation.

‘We'll ask him at the end of the night,' whispered Mr Flynn into Julius's ear.

As Julius watched, Christian Machine tilted his head to look at him. Julius stiffened.

‘I don't think we should risk it,' said Julius. ‘You saw what Brass Nimrod did to Stan Atkins.'

‘I don't see what choice we have. I'll ask him in a round-about way. I'll pretend I had a bet with a friend about a Grackack being on the
Justitia
.'

‘It's still too risky.'

‘Do you have any better ideas then, Julius?'

‘Yes. We'll do the Tyburn Twist—it's an old book dealer's trick.'

‘How does that work then?'

‘Easy,' said Julius. ‘It's a way of finding out a secret by telling the person guarding it that you already know it.'

CHAPTER 20

Thursday 17th July, 1840
3:00 AM

Outside the King's Arms, the swells and soldiers, boxers and costermen weaved and stumbled through the surrounding streets, patting one another on the back and waking the neighbours with their raucous singing.

‘That was a fine night's sport. Thanks to you and your friends, Mr Machine,' said Mr Flynn as he shook the automaton's hand at the door. It was time to try the Tyburn Twist.

The two other clockmen were already walking away. Christian Machine's telescope eyes were looking at Aggie's brass daisy.

‘I see you're admiring Julius's buttonhole again,' said Mr Flynn.

‘Yes,' replied Christian Machine, after a pause.

‘You can look closer, if you wish,' said Julius.

He pulled the brass flower from his lapel and offered it to the automaton. Christian Machine held it between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it higher to catch the light. Mr Flynn glanced at Julius.

‘I'll wind it for you, sir,' Julius said, gesturing towards the key at the end of the stem.

The clockman looked at the key, then at Julius, and then, finally, he nodded. Julius wound the key and stood back. The music began. The petals opened and the clockman tilted his head a little to one side. When the music ended Christian Machine continued to stare at it in silence.

‘Er…you can have it if you like, sir,' said Julius.

The clockman turned to look at his companions disappearing into the night. It was a furtive, almost boyish gesture. Then, he looked back to face Julius, his eyes pointing straight at him. Julius tried to maintain a carefree countenance.

The clockman's inner workings whirred.

‘Thank you,' he said.

Julius breathed again.

‘Oh, by the way,' said Mr Flynn. ‘I had a bet with a fella tonight about that Grackack prisoner you're guarding. He's bound for Australia on the very next convict ship, the fella said. I was wondering—'

‘He
is
going, Mr Flynn,' interjected Julius. ‘Heard it from someone in the Admiralty who was here too. It's a secret though—you're not supposed to talk about it.'

‘Oh, indeed. Thank you for telling me, Julius,' said Mr Flynn, putting a finger to his lips. Then he turned to Christian Machine. ‘I'm sorry to have bothered you, in that case.'

The gears in the clockman's neck joints whirred as he turned his face to Mr Flynn. Julius's legs began to tremble; Mr Flynn remained the picture of innocence and calm.

‘Well, good night to you, sir,' said Mr Flynn.

Christian Machine remained still. Julius began to count in his head. Was it the clockman's normal pause before speaking, or had he realised that he had just been duped by the Tyburn Twist?

‘Good night,' said the clockman at last. He turned his head to nod to Julius and then followed his companions down the street.

Mr Flynn let out a long, slow breath.

‘Well done, Julius,' he whispered.

‘Works every time, Mr Flynn—accidentally let slip that you know something secret. If what you say is correct it will not be denied, because denials are too late—silence is all the confirmation you need. If you are wrong, the person will say so because there is no risk of giving anything away. If there is no Grackack on the prison hulk and no Grackack sailing to Australia Christian Machine would have said so.'

‘The next ship to the convict colony in New South Wales is the
Bountiful
,' said Mr Flynn.

‘We'll have to rescue the professor before it sails.'

‘The
Justitia
is like a fortress and the clockmen will kill anyone who comes near it. But the professor will be out of our reach forever if we miss our chance.'

They walked home in silence while Julius thought.

‘Julius Caesar would have known what to do,' he said after a while. ‘The
real
Julius Caesar, I mean.'

Mr Flynn looked down at Julius.

‘You don't say?'

‘Yes, Mr Flynn. Many times he snatched victory from the jaws of certain defeat. He always found a way to win the day. He could think up ideas that no one else would imagine in a thousand years.'

‘For instance?' said Mr Flynn.

‘Well, let me see,' said Julius, quickening his pace to catch up. ‘There was one occasion in the war against Pompey's army. He was outnumbered and bound to lose by all the rules of military strategy. There was no way out, no way in the world.'

‘But he found one?'

‘Yes, it was so ingenious, so ridiculous, so brilliant.'

‘What did he do?' said Mr Flynn.

‘He knew his enemy. He knew them very, very well. He knew that there were many raw young officers from high-ranking families in Pompey's army. They were there for easy victories, out to get a name for themselves in battle. Caesar knew that these young men were vain, untested in battle and ill-disciplined. He ordered his legionaries on the flank opposite the officers to lunge their lances towards the young men's faces when they came galloping into battle.'

‘What good would that do?'

‘The young men were terrified of getting scars on their beautiful faces and because of their inexperience they could not think of a way to deal with the unorthodox fighting style. They turned tail and galloped back to their own ranks to complain to Pompey about Caesar's army not fighting fair.'

‘And? What happened then?'

‘The young officers got in the way of Pompey's advancing troops and caused mayhem in the ranks. The real troops could not advance and seeing the officers retreating they thought they were about to be routed and they turned tail and ran too. After that, Caesar had the battle all but won.'

‘And all because of a few vain young men.'

‘Yes, Caesar saw a weakness that no one else could see and he used it. All it took was one small thing.'

‘Hmm,' said Mr Flynn. ‘So what we need is to find that “one small thing” and work out a way to take advantage of it.'

‘Precisely.'

‘Do you have any ideas, young fella?'

Julius's head was swimming. ‘I think I do, Mr Flynn. I think I do.'

‘Go on.'

‘Christian Machine has human eyes. He looked at me…he spoke to me…how can a machine do that?'

‘He's not a machine. Not in the way you mean.'

‘What is he then?'

‘I'm not sure there's a word for what the clockmen
are
, Julius, apart from an abomination. They have the brains of executed prisoners inside those brass heads.'

Julius stopped.

‘They're machines driven by dead brains—seeing with dead eyes, Julius. They're not alive.'

‘But he liked Aggie's flower.'

‘Yes…he did.'

‘Which gives me an idea, Mr Flynn.'

‘Oh yes?'

‘Do you think we could toss a coin to decide who tells Aggie that I gave her daisy away?'

The next evening Mr Flynn and Julius made their way to Woolwich again, but this time they walked along the southern bank. The full moon was shining through a gap in the clouds. Waves lapped gently, a background rhythm to the moans and groans of the timbers and riggings of the ships moored along the dock. Distant ships' bells sounded from time to time marking the loneliness of the night. The docks and surrounding streets were empty but for the occasional constable on his rounds.

Julius and Mr Flynn ducked into a doorway close to where the
Justitia
was moored offshore. Julius could hear, but not see, the clockmen's brass feet clanging and scraping along as they made their rounds on the deck and pier. Mr Flynn pulled a telescope from his coat and snapped it open. He scanned the prison hulk through the eyepiece.

‘There's precious little to see, young fella. They have machine cannons mounted fore and aft, though, I can see that much,' he whispered.

He handed the telescope to Julius who inexpertly squinted into it. When he managed to home in on a clockman all he could see was a set of movements and reflections in the moonlight.

‘Look up there,' whispered Mr Flynn, nudging Julius and pointing to the figurehead.

Julius repositioned the telescope and peered through it. Crouching on the figurehead was a clockman. He seemed to be mesmerised by the river's surface.

‘That's Christian Machine, young fella, I'd wager a guinea on it.'

‘How can you tell?'

‘After a while you get to recognise them without having to read the name plates screwed to their heads. They're all constructed slightly differently, but as well as that there's a difference in their posture, the way they walk.'

Julius and Mr Flynn watched Christian Machine watching the river. Julius took his eye from the telescope and looked up into the dark shadow of Mr Flynn's face.

Mr Flynn took the telescope, collapsed it and returned it to his pocket. ‘They're monsters, Julius. They obey without question. They kill without a thought; they feel no hunger or cold, no remorse; they don't tire; they fear no one but their makers. They are the perfect weapon, the perfect soldier.'

‘That's ghastly.'

‘Yes, it is. Springheel's factory is making them as fast as they can execute the criminals. In a few years there'll be an army of the abominations. The Grackacks will use them to control the country and then, who knows…the world?'

Christian Machine stood up to full height and climbed back down from the figurehead.

‘Have you seen enough, Julius?'

‘Yes, Mr Flynn, I think so.'

‘And now…?'

‘And now we talk to Harry. We need an expert on automatons if we are to use our lances against them.'