“Lord Garrett Embrey. Considering which way best to murder you, you pompous son of a bitch!” With his free hand, he drew his steam-pistol and thrust it in Reardon’s white face. “Do you realize what you’ve done? This is Leviacrum work, isn’t it? Those evil-”
“No, old boy. It is most assuredly not.” Reardon neither flinched nor batted an eyelid at the eight inches of brass trained on his temple. His calm words unnerved Embrey. “I meant no harm to anyone, and I mean none now. This was all an accident beyond my control.”
“Time travel? What madness-”
“Mine and mine alone. And God willing, if my machine has not suffered too much damage, this madness may yet be undone. Embrey-” the lunatic lowered the barrel with his finger, “-this can wait. Let us help the injured.”
Clearly mad-he didn’t seem fazed by the weapon or the cataclysmic events around him-Reardon also had to be the most disarming fellow Embrey had ever met. Pomp without passion, reserve without fear, manners without guile. It was as though he’d jettisoned all but the most skeletal qualities of what made an English gentleman and then spread his own persona thin over the emptiness inside. The result was distant but oddly endearing. Embrey reckoned that if he didn’t owe the man a bullet, he might grow to like Reardon. At the very least, the fellow had kept a cool head, and that was nothing to sneeze at in such a dire situation.
“Come with me.” Embrey holstered his pistol and began picking his way through the fallen bricks at the north side of the factory. “And by the way, you managed to bring down an airship,” he shot back. “I seriously doubt you can undo that. ”
“Doubt needs no blusher-” Reardon tripped but kept his balance, “-to leave the race red-faced.”
Embrey rolled his eyes and fingered his holster. Don’t tempt me, lunatic.
White steam columned from the ruined eastern portion of Reardon’s factory. The area grew hot as they clambered over the collapsed bricks and girders. “This section was a steelworks.” Reardon shielded his face from the heat. “It adjoins a larger set-up in the next building. I tell you, the steam cloud-it almost cooked me when the floodwater hit the molten steel. You’ve never heard a racket like it.”
“What exactly do you do, Reardon?” Embrey spied several dark-skinned men busying about the airship’s deck. The vessel had to have flown in from Africa.
“I own a few industrial properties in London, one in Liverpool.” The man caught up and tossed his dinner jacket around the boy. “There. That’ll help keep him dry.”
Embrey removed it, handed it back. “The sun will dry him quickest.”
White, stencilled letters on the iron airship’s bow read Empress Matilda. One of the massive twin balloons flew well enough but its sister bobbed low on its rigging, perhaps suffering a slow puncture. The vessel itself lay beached in the mud, a section of the stone embankment having collapsed onto its starboard side, pinning it down. It would not be difficult to free, however. With a little elbow grease and provided the crew could repair and refill the sagging envelope, the airship should be able to fly again.
“If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, old boy, then yes, we ought to have ourselves a nice little surveillance bird before long.” Reardon retrieved a pipe from his breast pocket and began filling it. “Anything they lack, we will undoubtedly find here in the factories.”
“If it ain’t all wrecked,” the boy argued in a broad Lancashire brogue. Embrey kept a reassuring hand on the youngster’s shoulder.
“Sharp lad. You’ll go far,” the professor said. But that notion made Embrey shiver coldly. Unless they could reverse this awful happening, neither the youngster nor anyone else in fractured London would be going far at all. At least not in society. Perhaps…in lieu of an official criminal sentence, some malign supernatural force had incarcerated Embrey here instead, a place so remote that no telegram or ship-in-a-bottle might ever reach another soul.
His face ached from an incessant scowl. He adopted his severest tone. “Reardon, when is this? How far have you flung us, and in which direction?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Good God, man. How can we find out?”
“With observation and deduction.”
“And you’re certain you can undo this thing?”
“Not certain, no, but my machine will have stopped on the last differential sequence. It might not have located 1901, but I have finally found the chronometric settings to enable large scale time travel. My dear Embrey, this is, however heinous the pun, a watershed event for science. Many have died, yes, but consider the import of this misstep. I have conquered time, and without the Leviacrum’s meddling. We have done this ourselves, myself and those before me upon whose work I owe a debt. This is-”
“Before you start polishing your laurels, professor, I must remind you that we are survivors, not pioneers. These people will not consider themselves privileged-however you spin it-and nor do I. So tread softly, sir. For the love of God, tread softly. If anything should happen to you, we’ll be stuck here.” Embrey glanced behind him. “And Big Ben will never strike again. You understand?”
“Completely, old boy. I shan’t break the news until things have settled.”
“See to it.”
The African aeronauts lowered a steel ladder for Embrey and his companions to climb on deck. It was a fairly big ship, about a-hundred-and-twenty feet long, with large metal tail fins mounted on each of the four rudder propellers at the stern. A diligent, athletic officer who introduced himself as Tangeni gave the orders. Personnel to and froed between the central, arched-fore-to-aft storehouse and a makeshift hospital area at the bow. Over a dozen men and women in blue British Air Corps uniforms were being treated for injuries. Among them, unconscious on a generous bed of windproof jackets, lay a striking redhead. She was Caucasian, around twenty-five and wore a midshipman’s uniform. Her damp strawberry hair, cropped to little more than a bob, made her look somewhat tomboyish, and the baggy clothes certainly didn’t do her figure any favours.
Embrey cocked his head to one side as he gazed at her, and asked Tangeni, “Who is she?”
“Who? Eembu? She is captain of the Empress Matilda. Everyone on board owes his life to her. She and I, we make promise to eat ice creams on Piccadilly after the storm. That was…before God stepped in.”
“Captain, eh?” He’d never have guessed it. Eembu more resembled a stowaway cabin girl than a Gannet skipper.
“What are your names, gentlemen?” Tangeni removed his tunic and shirt, revealing a wiry, muscular body bearing many scars. He splashed his face with fresh water from the drinking cask.
“I am Lord Garrett Embrey, this fellow is Cecil Reardon, Professor, and our young friend here-well, I don’t believe I heard-”
“Billy Ransdell.”
Embrey smiled to himself and ruffled the lad’s hair.
“Any of you know what happened?” Tangeni asked.
“As much as you, I’m afraid, old boy.” Embrey had always had a strong poker face, and he put it to good use under the African’s scrutiny.
Tangeni nodded, threw Billy a wink and then motioned across the deck. “You must stay aboard the Empress, of course. From what I see, it is the safest place in London.” He tossed one of his crewmen a length of cable. “Until Eembu wakes, I am in charge and you are my guests. But she is not badly injured.”
“And when she wakes?” Reardon asked.
The acting skipper shrugged.
“We understand.” Embrey offered his hand and Tangeni shook it firmly. “Thank you for your hospitality. Where might we find something to eat? I heard Billy’s stomach rumble a moment ago.”
“On the deck below. Ask for Djimon. Tell him you are friends of Tangeni.”
“Much obliged. Oh, and one more thing-” Embrey eyed the intriguing redhead again, “-what does Eembu mean?”
The helpful officer smiled, baring his perfect white teeth. “ Eembu short for eembulukweya. In Oshiwambo language it means ‘trousers’. Lieutenant Verity Champlain-she get many affectionate nicknames in Africa. But it is unusual for omukulukadi — woman-to wear trousers, so that name stayed. It was given to her by a former medicine man now working for the British in Benguela. As he is held in high regard, the name brings her great honour. She is Eembu, and she did amazing things today.”
