– — Ω — –
"Wait here," said Roberta urgently. "Father must see this, for he alone will know what to do."
She left me there, and I found myself looking left and right into the darkness. What if I slipped away now, before I was forced to explain my part in all of this? I could find somewhere to spend the night — a hedgerow if necessary — and then make for my parents' house in the morning.
Then I cursed my cowardly thoughts. I was the cause of this latest madness, and I would face my obligations however onerous they might be.
Roberta returned soon after with the professor in tow. By the time they reached me, another pair of spirits had appeared, and the professor watched in silence as they passed through a house on the opposite side of the road. Moments later there was a bright flash of lightning, followed by a rumble of thunder.
"You see? It's almost as though your attractor is still operating," said Roberta at last.
The professor gave her an aggrieved look. "How can it be, when it lies in pieces?"
"Regardless, it was not powerful enough for this. Why, you'd need a machine ten times larger."
"Or one hundred," said the professor slowly, and he turned to look at me. "Mr Jones, I recall you asking many questions about just such a machine. Something scaled up to six feet in height, you said."
"But sir, the power requirements would make such a thing impossible. You told me so yourself!"
"Indeed. It would require the power of a thousand locomotives. Why, you could never hope to concentrate such an enormous amount of energy into one single location."
There was another flash of lightning.
"Is it my imagination," said Roberta, "or is each lightning bolt striking in the exact same place?"
Flash!
This time there was absolutely no doubt, for the unimaginably powerful fork of pure energy was sustained for several seconds, twisting and crackling violently before it finally disappeared.
"Oh, Mr Jones," groaned the professor, after the deafening peal of thunder finished beating upon our ears. "Whatever have you done?"
Chapter 32
We were seated around the dining table, with Roberta and the professor opposite me like judges at a court-martial. I only hoped they did not have black caps to wear after the process was complete, although I was not optimistic.
"This is your one chance, young man," said the professor, his face like stone. "You must speak the truth so that we might undo your deceitful actions."
"Father," began Roberta. "Perhaps we should tackle the—"
"Silence!" The professor banged his fist on the table. "I will have the truth, Mr Jones!"
I could see no way out, and so I recounted everything, from my first meeting with Sykes to my very last. I spoke tersely, summarising heavily, for frequent lightning flashes glared through the closed shutters and I knew time was pressing. The professor sat silently throughout, not making a single comment, but it was Roberta's reaction that tore the heart from my chest. Rather than suppressed anger, or dismay, she merely regarded me with pity.
By the time I had finished the sorry tale, barely ten minutes had passed.
"Right," said the professor, his voice abnormally calm. "I will deal with you later, but first Roberta and I must find out what hellish device you have unleashed on the world. And then we will put a stop to this Mr Sykes, and his machine along with him."
"Sir, I beg you… let me help!" I pleaded. "I know I've let you down, but—"
"Let me down?" demanded the professor. "Let me down?" he cried, his voice rising. "You have not just let me down, you have stolen my secrets and revealed them to my competitors, and you still had enough bare-faced cheek left over to attempt to ingratiate yourself with my daughter!"
Embarrassed and mortified, I sat shrouded in misery. No matter what I did, I knew the professor would sack me and Roberta would never speak to me again.
"Father, you are being unfair," began Roberta. "Mr Jones did try to fool this Sykes fellow, after all."
"No! Do not stand up for him."
"And as for ingratiating himself, nothing could be further from the truth. Mr Jones has been the model of respectability, and you can have no complaints in that direction."
Briefly, I recalled the moment when I'd disrobed in front of Roberta, the lightning illuminating every curve and sinew of my body. If she brought that incident up, I suspected the professor would take up a poker and run me through on the spot.
"I will not have you defending him," said the professor sharply. "My mind is quite made up."
"Of course," said Roberta soothingly. "But Mr Jones knows the design of this monstrous machine, and he could at least serve as an observer."
"Well…"
"And he alone is able to recognise this William Sykes."
Given Sykes had a vicious scar, easily visible, I felt this argument carried little weight. But the professor merely nodded, and I realised he was genuinely considering enlisting my help. I was about to plead my case once more, but Roberta saw me preparing to speak and gave me a tiny shake of the head. Then, master of controlling her father that she was, she continued.
"We shall need quite a lot of equipment, and Mr Jones can carry it for us."
"If he doesn't make off with it, so as to sell it to the highest bidder," muttered the professor, but his protests were symbolic now, and it was clear he'd already given in.
"Come, Septimus." Roberta stood. "Let us collect our things, and then the three of us will face this new challenge together."
The professor did not object, and so I followed her from the room. Once outside, I turned to offer my apology, only to stop dead when I saw her look of contempt.
"Do not speak to me," she hissed
