The Curious Case Of The Clockwork Man (45 page)

“Our enemy is female?” Palmerston asked.

“Yes. Her name is Helena Petrovna Blavatsky. She is a Russian, and she intends nothing less than the wholesale destruction of the British Empire.”

“The devil she does!” the prime minister exclaimed. “What’s her motive? What’s this about divination?”

“She claims to be clairvoyant. She has seen a future where Britain engages in a great war against a united German Empire allied with Russia.”

He went on to describe the prophecy Blavatsky had shared with him. As he talked, Palmerston’s pale, inexpressive face seemed to grow even whiter, his manicured fingers gripped the edge of the table, and his eyes became fixed, as if he’d gone into shock.

“Her intention,” Burton finished, “is to cause such internal strife that Britain is severely weakened in the lead-up to the war. She wants Germany to defeat us without Russia’s assistance, so that, once the victory is won, Russia might swoop upon the conquering nation.”

“But why make us the target?” Palmerston protested. “Why doesn’t she work her voodoo against the Germans directly?”

“If she does that, she will ensure the continuation of the British Empire. She wants all the Western powers on their knees so that Russia might subjugate them in their entirety.”

“Gad!” Trounce murmured. “Another lunatic interfering with time! Only on this occasion, instead of someone from the future interfering with the present, it’s the reverse!”

“Perhaps,” Burton murmured, noncommittally.

Trounce looked at him quizzically. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Burton ignored the question and lit one of his Manila cheroots. He glanced at Palmerston. The prime minister was sitting stock-still, staring straight ahead.

“We came into this affair, gentlemen,” the king’s agent continued, “at the point when Blavatsky gained possession of the Choir Stones, which are fragments of a larger diamond, one of the three legendary Eyes of Naga. She then took advantage of the Tichbornes, both to wrest control of a second, unbroken diamond from them, and to use them as a means to disseminate her call to insurrection.”

Detective Inspector Trounce frowned and scratched his head. “Theft and impersonation I can understand,” he said, “but this black diamond business has me flummoxed. What’s the connection between the stones and the public disorder?”

“The Eyes project a subtle electrical field that can influence a person’s mind, causing, in certain types, a profound sense of dissatisfaction. They can also magnify a mesmeric directive. Blavatsky used the Choir Stones to control Arthur Orton, to enhance his natural ability to sway opinion, and to entrance people into believing that he was Roger Tichborne. Once the crowds who came to see him were captivated, she used the greater power of the unbroken diamond to incite them to riot.”

“And the wraiths?” asked Trounce.

“A stroke of genius on her part. You know how obsessed the Rakes are with spiritualism and the occult. With her credentials, there was no difficulty in gaining leadership of the faction. She took control and soon had them all walking abroad in their etheric bodies.”

Palmerston took a deep breath, as if coming out of a trance, and said: “Their what?”

“The etheric body, Prime Minister, is that part of you which exactly matches your physical dimensions and characteristics but is comprised of rarefied matter. It connects your corporeal self to the spiritual realm.”

“The soul?”

“No, it is more a component of material existence. It exactly duplicates your bodily self-perception, even down to the clothes you are wearing.”

“Twaddle!”

“Many, especially those of a scientific bent, believe so. Nevertheless, there are wraiths roaming London, and they are doing so because through them Blavatsky can amplify the black diamond’s emanations.”

There came a knock at the door and Constable Bhatti stepped in. He gaped when he saw Palmerston, and gave a clumsy salute.

“I—I understand you requested my presence, sir?” he stuttered, looking first at Trounce, then at the famous explorer.

“Yes, come in, Constable,” Burton said.

“Thank you, but—um—there’s a rather extraordinary-looking chap outside. A Technologist. He says he’s here on behalf of Isambard Kingdom Brunel.”

“Ah, good! That was quick! Would you usher him in, please?”

Bhatti nodded, stepped out of sight, and returned moments later with a short, plump, blond-haired individual who introduced himself as Daniel Gooch.

“Ah ha!” Bhatti cried. “I thought I recognised you! You’re the rotorship engineer!”

Gooch bowed his head in acknowledgment. Though dressed conservatively in pale-brown trousers, white shirt, dark waistcoat, and a top hat—which he’d removed and was holding—he was also wearing a bizarre contraption slung around his shoulders and buckled over his chest and around his waist. It was nothing less than an extra pair of arms, mechanical and intricate, multijointed and with a number of different tools arranged at their ends—very similar, in fact, to Brunel’s limbs. Two thin cables ran from the harness up to either side of Gooch’s neck and were plugged directly into his skull, just behind his ears.

The metal arms moved as naturally as his fleshy ones.

“Mr. Brunel sends his regards, gentlemen,” he said. His voice was deep and gravelly. “He apologises for not attending in person, but his size rather limits his access to dwellings such as this. Besides, he’s overseeing the manufacture of the item you requested, so felt it best to send me as his lieutenant.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Gooch,” the king’s agent said. “And thank you for getting here so swiftly. Please, pull up a chair and join us. You too, Constable.”

As the new arrivals settled, Burton gave a brief recap.

Palmerston then said: “So our enemy’s motive is to change the course of the future war, and she shared with you a vision of the conflict. Just how clear was the—er—hallucination, Captain Burton?”

“If anything, it was
too
clear, sir. My brain is still struggling to process all the information. It was as if I saw events from the perspective of a person who’d lived through them.”

“And you say the war will be fought with Technologist weapons on our side and Eugenicist weapons on the other?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. And this Blavatsky woman has the ability to pull one solid object through another?”

“That’s correct. She did it with Brundleweed’s diamonds and with Sir Alfred Tichborne. What have you in mind, sir?”

Palmerston’s hands curled into fists. “The night before last, the traitor Richard Spruce vanished from his prison cell. Its door was still locked. Its one small, barred window—which was too small for him to crawl through anyway—had not been tampered with. There were no escape tunnels or any other means of egress. He simply vanished.”

“You suggest that Blavatsky yanked him out through the wall?”

“It’s likely, don’t you think? If the Germans are going to employ eugenically altered plants as weapons, then, in light of the current situation in Ireland, Spruce seems the obvious source of their future scientific knowledge.”

Burton ground his cheroot into an ashtray. He nodded.

“Yes, you’re probably right. Do you think he’s made it out of the country?”

“I fear so,” the prime minister grumbled.

“We have Eugenicists disappearing left, right, and centre, too,” Gooch added. “There seems to be an exodus under way. The Technologists have lost a lot of extremely skilled scientists.”

“Then it’s begun,” Palmerston hissed. “Christ almighty, the war against Lincoln’s Union we can just about deal with, but a war against the Germans and Russians—!” The prime minister held a hand to his forehead and sighed. “Anyway, one thing at a time. The country is on the brink. Our labourers are running rampant and the dissent is spreading fast. I’ve called in the army to protect the palace and Whitehall, but a large number of troops are absconding or becoming openly mutinous.”

“It’s the same at the Yard,” Trounce murmured. “Lord knows how many men are
AWOL
at the moment.”

“So what are we going to do about it, Captain Burton?” Palmerston asked. “How do we nip this atrocity in the bud?”

Burton rested his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers. He tapped his knuckles against his chin and said nothing for a beat. Then: “As dire as they may be, I think we can take advantage of our current circumstances. Firstly, Trounce, take one of my velocipedes and race it over to Scotland Yard. Speak to the chief commissioner and muster as many men as you’re able. They need to be in place by midnight—”

He spoke for a few minutes more. Trounce nodded, gave Palmerston a halfhearted salute, and departed.

After Burton heard the front door slam shut, he turned to Burke and Hare.

“I require something that you two have in your possession. I need you to fetch it now, without delay.”

He told them what it was.

Burke turned to Palmerston and said: “With your permission, sir?”

“Absolutely. Go.”

“And bring back another carriage for the prime minister,” Burton called after the two men as they departed.

He turned to Palmerston’s driver, who’d been sitting through the discussion with a bemused expression on his face.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“John Phelps.”

“Tell me, Mr. Phelps, can the mobile castle outside be driven with just one steam-horse?”

“Aye, sir. No trouble, she’ll just eat up coal twice as fast.”

“Then, if your employer permits it, I’d like you to drive Mr. Swinburne, Constable Bhatti, my valet, and I to Battersea Power Station this evening.”

Phelps looked at Palmerston, who nodded.

“Very well, sir.”

Burton next addressed the Technologist: “Presumably, you have your own vehicle, Mr. Gooch?”

“I drove here in my Folks’ Wagon. I’ll return the same way.”

“Very well. Before you depart, can I call upon you to assist Constable Bhatti?”

“Surely. With what?”

Burton gave a lengthy explanation—during which Swinburne started whooping with delight—and finished by turning to Bhatti: “Do you think you can do it, Constable?”

“I’ll give it my best,” the young policeman answered. “It’s a case of removal and replacement rather than dismantlement, so we should be able to avoid the dangers. As for the rest of it, I’m sure Mr. Gooch will spot any errors I might make.”

“It’s not exactly my field of expertise,” Gooch said, “but I’ll do what I can, and Isambard can check the work over when you get to the power station.”

“And what of the task I’ve set Mr. Brunel?” Burton asked. “Do you think he can supply what I need?”

“Your request was certainly unusual, Captain—especially when communicated through a foul-mouthed parakeet—but it’s not a difficult thing to design and Mr. Brunel is the best engineer in the world. He’d prefer to power it by steam, of course, but every single valve in a steam engine employs a spring, so that rules it out. Your alternative is—shall we say—
eccentric?
But it’s feasible, and Isambard had already finished a blueprint when I left him. He has all the manufacturing power of the station at his disposal, so I assure you he’ll provide what you need in good time.”

“Excellent,” the king’s agent responded. He turned to his assistant. “Algy, tonight we’re making our peace with the Steam Man.”

The poet, who’d spent the past few minutes with a huge grin on his face, now scowled. “After the way he treated me last time we met I’d rather kick the blighter right up the exhaust funnel!”

“Quite so.” Burton smiled. “But let the past be the past. For now we have to concentrate on saving the present!” He stood and paced up and down restlessly. “We have to hurry. I want to move against Blavatsky in the small hours of the morning.”

“Why then?” Palmerston asked.

“Because the human mind is at its lowest ebb during that period, sir. We know the woman is at full stretch. I want her exhausted. On which point: Algy, run up to my bedroom. You’ll find a vial of Saltzmann’s Tincture in my bedside drawer. Bring it down. We’re all dog-tired, but if you, Bhatti, and I take five drops each, it will keep us alert for another twelve hours or so.”

“Smashing!” the poet exclaimed excitedly and scampered out of the room.

Palmerston drummed his fingers impatiently. “I’ll not sit here in the dark! What in the devil’s name are you playing at, Burton?” he demanded. “Explain your intentions!”

“There’s no time, Prime Minister. As soon as Burke and Hare return, I recommend that you make a swift departure. Mr. Gooch and Constable Bhatti will be fully occupied with their project, while Mr. Swinburne and I have a great deal to arrange.”

“In other words, I’m surplus to requirements and in your way?”

“I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, sir. I would point out, however, that you are the prime minister, the country is both at war and in the midst of a crisis, yet you are sitting in my dining room.”

Palmerston shot to his feet with such suddenness that his chair toppled backward to the floor. He glared at Burton and said slowly, in an icy tone: “There are limits to my patience, Captain. You are developing an unfortunate habit of addressing me with a marked lack of respect. I was warned before I employed you that you’re an impertinent rogue. I’ll not take it!”

Phelps, Bhatti, and Gooch glanced at each other uncomfortably.

“You gave me a job to do,” Burton said. “I intend to do it. If you are displeased with my conduct, you can release me from my duties immediately and I’ll get back to writing my books while the country becomes a republic, Germany gathers her strength, and Russia waits in the wings.”

A tense silence filled the room.

No one moved.

Palmerston cleared his throat. “Get on with it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door opened and Swinburne bounded in.

“I say!” he shrilled. “I’m much more resistant to that Russian cow’s emanations when I’m drunk. Do you think I should down a few brandies before we proceed?”

The Rakes maintain that there is no inorganic or dead matter in nature, the distinction between the two made by Technologists being as unfounded as it is arbitrary and devoid of reason.