Bryant dug out his reading glasses and checked the number. “It reads 162338.984. It’s out by just one notch, but the gears have magnified the error. The whole thing’s turned in on itself. A bad case of Chandler’s Wobble.”
“What’s that?” asked May.
“It’s the movement in the earth’s axis of rotation. It causes the latitude to vary. That’s what’s happened here. The vibrations from the demolition have thrown the calibrations out. It’s made them incorrect by a single notch. The effect has been augmented through the device. The clocks no longer correspond, so the tontine is selecting the wrong people.”
“I knew the blockage in the river drain was a problem,” said Rand. “Every time it rains, the room gets a foot of water, and it takes hours to go down again. I wondered if it could cause a mechanical malfunction. This is an electrical device. It could be quite dangerous.”
“It’s not that,” said Bryant. “I’ll bet vibrations preceded each rainfall because the demolition crew was working to beat the rain. That’s why the calibrations matched the water levels.”
“Come on out from there, Arthur,” called May. “We have to find a way to turn this thing off.”
“How on earth do we do that? Where does the electricity supply run from?”
“We are not on the main circuit,” answered Rand. “The supply here comes from an independent generator. The running costs are billed to the Watchmakers.”
Bryant was still inside the device when one of the outer rings clicked another notch, causing an electric spark to crackle in the central housing of the machine. “The wiring duct goes straight down into the floor,” he said. “We need to get this shut down before the twenty-eighth.”
“What’s the time now?”
“Somewhere approaching midnight.”
“Can’t you be more accurate, Arthur?”
“Not really, no. I’m wearing a Timex.”
May checked Rand’s wristwatch. “According to this one, we have about twelve minutes left in which to do something.”
“Obviously the damned thing needs to be unplugged.”
“It is not that simple.” Rand sloshed through the water toward them. “There are a great many wires.”
“Then we’ll have to jam it,” May, picking up the sledgehammer he had leaned against the wall. “Arthur, you’ve finally got your chance to do some damage to the British aristocracy. Have a bash about with this.”
He passed the hammer through to Bryant, who hefted it like a cricket bat, gauging its weight. “Not bad.” He swung it against one of the inner brass rings with a reverberating thump. “The Victorians really built this thing to last,” he said admiringly.
It took six healthy strokes to dislodge a single section of one of the globes. As the metal band buckled and dropped, it jammed against the outer arms, seizing the rotational segments of the sphere firmly in place. One of the outer sections tried to move, but was prevented from doing so. The ticking suddenly stopped.
“I’d get out of there, Arthur. There’s no telling what it might do when the pressure builds up.” Even as May spoke, there was an agonized rasp of metal and the structure shuddered, attempting to shift once more, like tectonic plates pushing towards an earthquake. This time, however, the globe succeeded in moving a single notch. As Bryant clambered between the jammed sections, propping the sledgehammer between the rings, there was a loud click and the central mechanism emitted a series of cracking electrical sparks. Two of the clocks crashed to the floor.
“It’s sending out orders,” cried Rand. “That sound was the electrical connection being made.”
“How many orders?” asked Bryant, trying to untangle his scarf from the machine.
“I don’t know,” said Rand. “Two, ten, twenty, it’s hard to say.”
“Isn’t there any way of checking, anything that we could – could somebody help me out of this damned contraption?” Bryant was wrenching at his scarf, which had become threaded between the inner and outer globes. May ran over and tried to pull him free.
“I know, wait a moment.” Rand splashed back to his room, peered around the corner, and returned. “This transmission did not go overseas.”
“How can you be sure?” asked May.
“Each signal is annotated according to its destination. This one has a London telephone code.”
“John, it’s sending out another blasted death command.” Bryant gave up wrestling with the scarf, looped it free of his neck and abandoned it to the astrolabe. A horizontal arm of the inner globe attempted to move forward, but was restrained by the scarf. There was a sulphurous pop and sizzle as something shorted out in the central housing.
Bryant was just stepping free of the sphere when the cable-filled central core blew its ancient ceramic fuses and burst into flame. A second explosion followed as the electrical cables touched water.
All three men started as a low voltage shot around their ankles.
“The river will put out the fire,” said Rand, pushing them back in the direction of his office. “I have never seen it this high before. You must hurry, you have no time to waste if you wish to stop the command from being fulfilled.”
“We have to find out where the signals went,” said Bryant.
“Sometimes they go all around the world,” said Rand. “Not just to India, or to people who owe debts to the guild, but to those who have gained from it in the past.”
“It’s too late to stop the weapon being primed, but we can get to the targets first,” said May as they climbed the stairs. “Luckily the whole family is still under one roof.”
“No, it’s not. Christian Whitstable and his daughter are recuperating in the Royal Free Hospital,” Bryant pointed out.
“And Peggy Harmsworth’s still being cared for there too. I’ll go there; you take the house. I can drop you off on the way.” The time was now twelve seventeen a.m.
“Arthur, do you have your bleeper?” asked May.
Bryant patted his pockets. “Er, no, I must have dropped it.”
“What do you do, sell them? We have to call out every unit we can rouse. I have no intention of going into this without backup.”
Weary and wet, covered in spiderwebs and brick dust, the pair returned to the main hall. At the reception desk, May placed a call to Sergeant Longbright.
“We need everyone you can get hold of,” he explained. “Tell Raymond Land what I’ve just told you. You’ll have to explain that there’s no way of knowing how many assassinations we’re dealing with. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear that. And I need you to bring in Charles Whitstable.”
“But we already let him go.”
“This time you can arrest him.” He replaced the receiver. “Let’s get going,” he told Bryant.
¦
“I’ve been trying to puzzle something out,” said Bryant as he turned the Mini back towards King’s Cross. “I’d rather you concentrated on your driving,” said May.
“You must agree that Rand is only guilty of crime by association. He’s merely carrying out the duties he was employed to undertake.”
“I suppose so,” agreed May.
“Then who on earth killed Alison Hatfield? She’s the only victim who couldn’t possibly have been targeted by the astrolabe. As Leo Marks pointed out, she was an outsider.”
“I think you’ll find there are other custodians who know about the system, apart from Mr Rand,” said May.
“And I don’t suppose they’re all so agreeably disposed. Maybe they realized she was interfering in the guild’s business, and arranged to have her punished.”
“There has to be at least one other overseer,” said Bryant. “Whoever was appointed the task of eliminating Christian and Deborah Whitstable must have had help getting that damned tiger into their house. There are others around. Their ancestor seems like a man who would have covered every option. I’m willing to bet we’ve had spies following us since the day this began. I woke one in the cellar of Bella Whitstable’s house. Jerry Gates was warned off by another at the Savoy Theatre. They’re probably just paid help. The machine telegraphs assassins. Replacing
