The professor paid him, and we clambered down with our bags. There were two knapsacks, and Roberta took one and silently handed me the other. The professor led the way down a narrow alley, carrying his weapon with the forked tip. Halfway along, a spirit appeared without warning from within the grimy brick wall, and he thrust at it with the weapon. Sparks flew, and the spirit fled instantly. "Did you see that?" cried the professor exaltedly. "These mindless phantasms are no match for my scientific prowess."
We continued down the alley until we reached a large warehouse. The hair on my head felt like it was standing on end, and I jumped as a tremendous bolt of lightning flashed down. The noise was indescribable, like a ship's broadside at close range, and I clamped my hands to my ears.
"What's that up there?" shouted the professor, pointing at the roof.
We all saw it: a metal pole extending skywards, with a thick cable leading down from the lowest end before vanishing through the brick wall. This cable glowed with heat, and no wonder as it was carrying repeated bursts of energy from the lightning. The bricks around the mounting were seared and blackened, and I wondered how long it might be before the structure was destroyed by the unfathomable power.
"We must get inside quickly," said Roberta. "It's far too dangerous out here."
Knowing what might await us inside, I felt it might be equally dangerous within, but I said nothing. In the meantime Roberta had found a door, and she opened it without hesitation, leading us into the large building.
I'm not sure what I expected to see, but the sight that met my eyes was like nothing I'd experienced before. The interior of the warehouse was a large, empty space, apart from the huge machine sitting in the dead centre. This machine was a copy of the professor's attractor, only built to a far larger scale. It stood over six feet tall, with an outer cage of thick oak beams and an inner fashioned from a framework of iron. In the middle, supported by this heavy cage, an orange-segment rotor was spinning so fast the very air hummed. I could just make out a large piece of glass twice the size of my fist at the very core of the machine, and even now the first vestiges of darkness were beginning to reach out from the heart of the machine. This spreading darkness was shot through with flashes of red and purple, which bathed the interior of the warehouse with unholy light.
"It's a copy of my attractor!" cried the professor. "But heavens, what a size!"
Then a figure stepped from the shadows, and my heart near stopped as I recognised the scar-faced man. Sykes seemed amused at our presence, laughing to himself as he saw our haversacks and the professor's sword weapon. "You poor fools!" he cried. "Do you think to stop me with such trinkets? Why, my machine will tear the very soul from your bones!"
I expected a robust reply from the professor and Roberta, but instead they seemed completely dumbfounded. Rooted to the spot, they stared at Sykes as though in a daze. The man's scar was vivid in the unearthly light from the machine, but that was hardly terrifying enough to affect them so. For an instant I wondered whether some property of the machine had frozen them, but then the professor suddenly came alive.
"No, it cannot be," he declared, stirring himself at last. "It's impossible!"
Roberta seemed even more surprised, and she barely managed a strangled cry. "Cousin Edgar?"
Chapter 33
Of the four people present I think I was the most surprised of all. The scar-faced man, William Sykes… he was Roberta's cousin Edgar? The man who used to work for the professor, and who attempted to steal his secrets? The man who went mad and scrawled KILL THEM ALL right across the ledgers? The man who sneaked into the house at night and left a bloodied dagger inside the very desk he once used? No wonder he'd known where my study was, for it was once his very own!
Then I frowned, for something had occurred to me. The professor and Roberta had both told me Edgar was dead. Clearly this wasn't the case, so why had they lied to me? And why had Sykes himself—Edgar, rather—told me he'd been confined to an asylum?
I was still puzzling over this when I heard an unexpected sound. It was the professor, and he was laughing.
"Edgar, you're a complete fool. Why, you could barely tie your own shoelaces without making a complete hash of things, and you will never convince me you built this… this contraption by yourself. Who are you working with, eh? Who's really behind this?"
"Oh, you'd like to believe that, wouldn't you?" said Edgar coldly. "Once, you belittled me at every opportunity. You treated me like a wayward child, and would not entrust to me a single one of your secrets. And then, when I sought to branch out and learn on my own, you accused me of theft and set the police upon me! Well, look upon my creation now! See what I have constructed with my own two hands!"
The professor did look, and he did not seem particularly impressed. "Shoddy workmanship. Inaccurate joints. Rough-hewn timbers, more suited to roof beams than the purpose to which you've put them. Yes, maybe you did build this thing after all."
I groaned, for the professor was engaging in his favourite sport: needling his enemies. But surely this was the worst possible time?
"Mock me all you want!" cried Edgar, a light of madness in his eyes. "You enjoy catching spirits, do you not? Why not try your hand at the horrors soon to emerge? Do you think that feeble weapon of yours will hold back the powerful phantoms about to descend on us? Why, you will scream and scream with impunity
