The Future Door (13 page)
But Griffin didn't have to wait very long before finding out exactly what the Moriartys were up to. For, as the train pulled away from the station, something outside the window caught his eye. And as he stared at it, unable to comprehend what he was seeing, his uncle Rupert noticed his gaze and looked out of the window too.
And for the first time, both of them were rendered speechless by what they saw.
I
t was due to the fact that Griffin possessed such extraordinary observational skills that he spotted the lettering on an important-looking building as the train sped out of the station. The sign read Moriarty Savings and Loan.
“How is that possible?” Griffin said, perplexed. “Do the Moriartys own a bank?”
Rupert shook his head. “He's been to the past,” he muttered. “And he's already changed it.”
A thrill of fear washed over Griffin.
“What do you mean?” Griffin asked. He suddenly felt very small and helpless. His uncle gazed back at him with a flat expression.
“That sign wasn't there before,” he confessed slowly. “They have obviously wasted no time using the machine. Until recently, that sign read Bank of England.”
Griffin's mind reeled. The letters on the side of the bank had appeared to be quite old, but the name of the bank had changed. If the Moriartys had seized control of the banking system, what else could they do? The implications were staggering! He'd barely contemplated the question when his eyes fell on a newspaper tucked between the seat cushions. The headline read, “Nigel Moriarty to Be Named Prime Minister.”
“Uncle, look!”
Rupert snatched the paper from his nephew and read the terrible headline.
Griffin felt a rising wave of panic. It was all happening so fast! History was changing in front of their eyes and at a pace that neither of them could believe. But then, with a start, Griffin realized that it all made sense. The Moriartys had all the time in the world. They could travel to the past at their leisure, and the changes would be instantaneous in the present.
“Unless we get the Chrono-Teleporter back and stop them, we haven't any hope at all,” Rupert said.
Griffin's observational skills suddenly kicked into overdrive. He took stock of everything in his surroundings, staring out the train window as they passed through London, wondering all the time what terrible changes had happened from the present he used to know. The worst thing about it was that there was no way for him to tell what had changed and what had always been there.
And that's when a sudden thought occurred to him.
“Uncle?”
“Yes?”
“How can you know if everything has changed? I mean, if our entire lives have been affected by changing the past, then we shouldn't know any differently. Everything would seem completely normal.”
“Ah, that.” Rupert glanced at his nephew, noting his troubled look. He smiled and said, “Good observation, my boy. But that's precisely why I invented the Snodgrass Paradox Recorder.”
“What's that?” Griffin asked.
“A microscopic machine. Roll up your sleeve.”
Feeling confused, Griffin did as his uncle asked. Rupert reached into one of his leather satchels and removed a doctor's syringe. Griffin stared at it apprehensively. He'd never liked shots!
“What are you going to do?” Griffin asked.
Rupert didn't reply. Griffin nervously watched as he squirted a bit of green fluid from the syringe. Then, before Griffin had a chance to prepare himself, Rupert swiftly injected its contents into his arm.
“OW!” shouted Griffin.
“There,” said Rupert, removing the needle. “Nothing to worry about. The Paradox Recorder will travel through your bloodstream and attach itself to your cornea. Everything will be fine.”
“My eye!” Griffin exclaimed.
“Yes, your eye,” Rupert said matter-of-factly. “I already installed one in mine. Don't worry, my boy. Your vision will remain completely intact. But from now on, you'll notice that whenever something has changed from the present that you and I are originally from, a light glow will appear around it. Not only that, but you'll be able to accurately recall your own present, no matter what tampering is done to your personal timeline.”
Rupert smiled proudly. “It is definitely one of the more ingenious things I have created.” Then he added, “Sometimes, I'm so brilliant I even surprise myself.”
The thought of one of his uncle's inventions microscopically attaching itself to his eye made Griffin feel nervous. At least Rupert could have asked him first! However, since it was already done, Griffin had no choice but to trust his uncle and hope that everything would work as described.
While rubbing his arm, he turned his gaze out the train window and back to the London streets, looking for any signs of the glow his uncle described.
The first thing he noticed was that there was an absence of constables patrolling the streets. Then he gasped. For, just as Rupert had predicted, Griffin could suddenly see that the areas of pavement where the policemen normally stood now emitted a pale white glow.
Amazed, he looked around for other signs that the past had been tampered with. Griffin noticed the countless broken shop windows on every corner. Streets that had once been filled with happy London families now swarmed with displaced children, poor and bedraggled, without any parents to be seen. The orphans seemed to be present on every corner, selling matches or begging alms.
And all of these things glowed with a strange, pale light.
Moriarty had certainly been busy!
Where are the orphans' parents?
Griffin wondered. Whether they had been killed, sent to debtor's prison, or even sent to live elsewhere, Griffin didn't know. There were too many possibilities.
As he stared at the gray buildings and scared-looking children, Griffin realized that the entire city of London had changed in a mere moment. A web of shadows had descended upon it, and the people were flies, trapped and numbed by poison.
They passed scene after scene of criminal destruction, and as the train wound near Christ Church, Griffin spotted the cemetery. As the rows of tombstones sped by, his gaze frantically sought out the one monument he hoped not to see.
Please, let Mr. Holmes be still alive
, he prayed.
A glowing tomb flickered into view. But where it had once held an epitaph for the world's greatest detective, Griffin now saw that it had been defaced. Someone had taken a hammer to it, and most of the words had crumbled away.
The train let out a long whistle as it sped from the city. To Griffin it sounded like a terrified cry. Throughout the rest of the journey to Stonehenge, he continued to beseech the Creator for courage and guidance. And by the time they finally reached their destination, his fingers ached from where he'd been clenching them together in desperate prayer.
He and his uncle hadn't said a word throughout the entire journey, and even though the trip lasted only a couple of hours, it felt like it had taken weeks to get there.
As the train stopped, Griffin and Rupert leapt from their seats. Without a word they grabbed their packs and checked their weapons. Spurred on by a sense of terror and anxiety like never before, they hurried from the train and hailed the first cab they saw, urging the driver to the ancient monument with as much speed as his horses could muster.
As they raced away into the countryside, Griffin could only hope that time would truly be on their side.
T
he ancient stones at twilight were a sight to behold. Rising from the grassy field like gigantic broken teeth, the site held an air of eerie foreboding. It was no wonder, Griffin thought, that Professor Moriarty and Nigel had chosen such a place to hide their new base of operations. There was something definitely unsettling about it, something that Griffin couldn't help but describe as feeling
evil
.
“All right, boy,” Snodgrass said. “What now?”
Griffin stared at his uncle blankly. To his surprise, he realized that he hadn't thought that far in advance.
He turned his gaze to the mammoth stones, noting how they cast elongated shadows. The ring of stones definitely resembled a watch face or some kind of ancient sundial. And as he stared at them, watching as the last ray of the sinking sun struck one of the stones, something occurred to him.
“The center stone!” Griffin exclaimed.
“What?” Rupert replied, looking confused.
“Uncle, your lock picks! Quickly!”
Using his walking stick, Griffin hurried forward as fast as he could, watching how the last beam of light traveled along a stone standing directly across from where it set.
To his credit, Rupert had spent enough time with his nephew to know that Griffin was onto something. He quickly took a bunch of lock picks from a secret pocket inside of his jacket and raced after his nephew.
Griffin bent close to the stone, studying its surface as the thin beam of light traveled along its length. He gazed intently at what looked like a row of tiny notches carved into the stone. The minute he'd thought of a sundial, the idea that there would be some kind of measuring system to count down the minutes at the end of the day had struck him.
The tiny grooves were almost imperceptible, but they were there. They occurred at regular intervals up and down the mammoth rock. He watched, holding his breath as the sunlight inched down to the final groove. Seconds later, when the beam of light touched the final mark, he noticed a tiny shadow, almost invisible, cast to the right of the final minute of the day.
“There!” he cried. “Quick, before it vanishes!”
And Rupert, who had been watching as closely as his nephew, knew what he wanted him to do. The depression in the stone was much newer than the minute markings, but so artistically hidden that nobody would have known where to look. It was a tiny keyhole. And Rupert managed to insert his lock pick just before the light disappeared.
After a few deft turns, Griffin's uncle managed to find the right combination. There was a satisfying
click
as the lock turned. But there was no evidence of a hidden door anywhere on the giant rock. Griffin and Rupert stared at each other, their pale faces looking ghostly in the gathering gloom.
“I wonder whereâ” Griffin began.
But his words were interrupted by a low rumble. Then the ground began to tremble beneath them. Griffin and Rupert stepped back, watching as the mammoth stone, a piece of rock that must have weighed countless tons, slowly turned on its axis and revealed a staircase descending beneath it.
Griffin gave his uncle a triumphant grin, his white teeth flashing in the newly risen moonlight. Rupert smiled back, feeling a surge of pride at his nephew's cleverness.
“Well done, lad!” Rupert whispered. Griffin beamed at the compliment. He'd learned to treasure words of praise from his uncle, for they were few and far between.
Rupert reached into his pack and removed a small metal box. Then he turned a wind-up key, and a faint beam of greenish light issued from it, bathing the steps below in an eerie glow.
“The Snodgrass Candleless Lantern,” his uncle said, responding to his nephew's stunned expression. “Works on phosphorus. Follow close and stay on your guard.”
Rupert turned and descended the stone steps.
And as Griffin stood at the entrance, his Scorpion drawn and at the ready, his imagination got the better of him. In the shaky green light, the pale steps resembled teeth, and the darkness ahead reminded him of the throat of some terrible, ancient monster. He closed his eyes for a moment, whispered a short prayer, and then followed his uncle down toward the blackness below.
As they went down, down, down the seemingly endless stairs, Griffin tried not to panic.
One . . . two . . . three .
. . , he counted, trying to calm himself down. But for some reason, this time the counting didn't work. Perhaps the weight of Holmes's death was too great or the thought of meeting Nigel Moriarty too frightening, but Griffin Sharpe could find no comfort in the oppressive darkness beneath the ancient stones.
