Chapter 17
First the smell of burning wood, then his favourite sensation, the warm steam wafting into his face, signalled Cecil’s machine was ready to begin its cycle. He’d calibrated the Harrison clock and its sensitive psammeticum receptor-the Cavendish-as accurately as anything he’d ever measured. If the time jump didn’t work, it would be through no fault of his own.
“You’re sure we’re standing close enough, Professor?” Verity Champlain shepherded her crewmen and women into a tighter group no more than fifteen feet from the brass clock. Tangeni and Embrey stood behind her, flanking young Billy Ransdell, who was without his dinosaur book for the first time in prehistory. Miss Polperro had insisted it be confiscated-a prudent move, even if it did make her seem even more like a horrid schoolmarm.
“Professor?” Verity asked.
“Yes, yes. Quite close enough.”
“You said the original reaction was only supposed to send-what was it? — a plant pot a week into the future?”
Cecil patted her shoulder. “Yes, a potted plant, one week into the future. The reaction was meant to be localised, no more than a three foot radius. But I know now what enlarged the time bubble-moisture, first the steam inside the factory, then the rain outside. It acted as a conductor.”
“So the whole factory’s coming with us?”
“More than likely.”
She raised an eyebrow, looked up, and then hurriedly put on her pith helmet for protection. “Well I have to hand it to you, Professor-you certainly don’t do anything by half.”
Cecil pretended he hadn’t heard that, instead turned to watch the giant pistons drive the gears and cogs into that steady, almost pulse-like, thumping rhythm. “You can shove the rest of the coal in,” he shouted to Kibo in the furnace room. “Then make sure you close the door. The boiler isn’t quite at full steam.”
“Understood.”
A minute later, the engine man jogged back into the group. He received handshakes and back-slaps from his fellow aeronauts, then took his place behind the boy. A palpable anxiety etched itself on the faces of all gathered- lip-biting, worry lines deep and damp, gazes boring into Cecil at every hiss of steam from the juddery valves. These people expected. They demanded. This was to be his atonement.
He bowed his head and thought of poor Billy, orphaned by that first reckless attempt to conquer time; of the many Whitehall ministers and gentlemen of social standing he’d condemned to unspeakable deaths; of the brave African aeronauts who would never see home again; and mostly of his new friends, without whom he would not be standing here now, challenging God for a second time.
He looked up to the rickety old walkway shrouded in steam. The chair upon which he’d whiled away so many years was now empty and uninviting, like the hub of a long-abandoned, musty web. Lisa and Edmond were no longer up there, frozen in a still image, but with him instead, willing him to succeed. He had been selfish the first time, spiting fate without regard for the world around him. But the toils of many brave men and women had wrought this, his chance to make amends. This time jump was not for personal gain. It bore the blood of friends.
“Whatever happens, I’d like you all to know,” he said, “I consider this my-”
Crack!
Blood peppered his face. Embrey careened into him and then slumped onto a secondary pipe. Before Cecil knew what had happened, he felt the hard muzzle of a rifle press against his temple.
“Don’t move, Professor! Everything is going fine.” The bastard’s voice belonged to Carswell, Miss Polperro’s number one crony. But what on earth was he playing at?
“Embrey!” Cecil reached for his friend but received a sharp kick to the back of his knee. He fell in a heap, the pain splintering up and down his leg. Verity and Tangeni backed away from Miss Polperro, whose crooked right arm appeared to point at something low in front of her. Three aeronauts lowering their rifles obstructed Cecil’s view. He quickly scanned the throng.
“Where’s Billy?” he asked.
“Don’t worry, Professor. She won’t shoot,” Verity replied.
“Shoot? What is this?”
The aeronauts stepped aside to let him see…
Billy’s tears streamed around the barrel of Miss Polperro’s revolver pressed to his cheek. She wiped the steam from her spectacles. “Drop your weapons, aeronauts! I’ll not ask again.”
How in God’s name did she get hold of him?
The crew turned to Verity, who widened her stance and placed her fists on her hips. “You’ll do no such thing, men. Keep those rifles trained on the bitch’s face. The boy ain’t no bargaining chip.”
“ Eembu, ” Tangeni stepped forward, “maybe we’d better-”
“Shut up. Step away. I’ll take her out myself if I have to.” Verity’s glare intensified.
A wry curl of Agnes Polperro’s lips signified her resolve. “By my reckoning we have less than five minutes before the machine has collected enough psammeticum to start refracting. At that point, the acceleration process is quick and exponential. So make up your minds. We either leave the boy behind as I suggested, or he dies. I’ll not have his wayward fancies governing my destination. Now,” she cocked the handgun, “decide among yourselves who stays with him. I care not.”
Verity’s furious glances appeared to take in the entire tableau in a matter of moments. She withdrew and crouched beside Embrey, whose side bled profusely. He would soon pass out.
“So you’ve thrown in with them, Kibo?” she said, sparking frantic chatter among the other aeronauts. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
What? The engine man too? Cecil’s jaw slackened when the well-dressed driver stepped forward, buttoning up his waistcoat. Had he snatched Billy for Polperro’s posse? Had he armed the Whitehall gang?
“I’m sorry, Eembu, but she’s right,” Kibo said.
Tangeni aimed his scolding glare and forefinger at the traitor. “You’re a dead man.”
“You’re wrong, brother. You’re all wrong,” the engine man replied. “Billy doesn’t deserve this but you have to think of the greater good. We have enough uncertainties as it is without a boy’s fancies dictating where we end up. We can all close our eyes, picture London and leave no doubt. But the boy is not to be trusted. The consequences are too dire to simply trust in him. You wouldn’t see reason before, when this action could have been avoided, so you’ll have to decide now instead. We’ve no time.”
Cecil slapped Carswell’s rifle away from his face and began crawling toward the Harrison clock. “I’m stopping it,” he said. “Go ahead, shoot me instead. I dare you.”
He hadn’t traversed the first pipe when Carswell yanked him back by his sore leg. “You’ll pay for that.” Cecil pulled himself the few feet along the secondary brass pipe until he reached Embrey. The butt of a steam-pistol peeked out from the young man’s jacket. Verity saw that Cecil had seen and gave him a quick wink.
Yes. Everything in our power. Let them stop us if they must.
He snatched one steam-pistol from Embrey’s belt and Verity snatched the other. Cecil spun and shot up repeatedly at Carswell, each bullet piercing his torso until the bushy-eyebrowed swine spat blood. All hell broke loose in the shadow of the machine. Verity spent most of her bullets trying to hit Kibo, but the engine man darted for cover behind old Kincaid, using him as a human shield. The elder statesman, shot through the heart, slumped lifeless.
Meanwhile, Tangeni sneaked around the back of them and wrestled Kibo.
The two officers went at it hammer and tongs. Kibo was the bigger man but not the tougher. After he ducked a huge roundhouse punch, Tangeni leapt in and jabbed his opponent’s windpipe, crushing his airway. The traitor fell to the floor and choked slowly in the grease and grime, his waistcoat torn and soiled.
Across the factory, the aeronauts and Miss Polperro’s cronies had each other pinned down, the latter group
