by Will Thomas
“You can go out on your own pins,” the man said, “or you can be carried out.”
Neither McKeller nor O’Casey had brought their bata sticks, and that was probably a good thing or the public house would have been torn apart and the three of us thrown in jail. It didn’t seem fair, I’ll admit, but tempers were running high in London at the moment, and those two men were the actual cause of it.
We crawled back up into the cart, and with a rough lash of the reins, moved off. McKeller was seething and O’Casey trying to calm him down.
“As you can see, Penrith,” O’Casey said drily, “being Irish isn’t all shamrocks and singing.”
“I’ll blow this town to smithereens!” McKeller vowed. He was so angry, he was almost choking on the words. “I’ll raze it. I’ll tear it down to bricks, then I’ll grind them into dust. I’m not leaving London till I’ve seen that publican’s blood spilt! You mark my words!”
“Take it easy, McKeller,” O’Casey soothed. “We’ll each buy you a pint at the Harp.”
McKeller uttered threats and curses all the way back to Seven Dials.
Once there, O’Casey stepped inside the Crook and Harp and found Colin and Padraig Bannon, who came out and unloaded the cart while we went into the pub. Here, we were accepted, but there was more to it than that. Here, we were welcome, even revered. We ordered two pulls of the tap and O’Casey’s water, and tried to get McKeller to calm down.
As I was listening to McKeller’s litany of complaints against the English, I happened to look over his shoulder, where I spotted a familiar face. At the far end of the room, Soho Vic was seated, leaning against a wall, a pint in front of him. He was engrossed in trimming his nails with a pocketknife and seemed not to notice we were in the room.
My spirits rose. One of Barker’s watchers was in residence, and I hoped the police were nearby waiting for a signal. Thanks to the publican at the Arms, the Irish were now demoralized. I almost felt sorry for poor McKeller being tossed out of the public house. Now all we needed to do was build up a few fake explosives, let them get caught by Scotland Yard with them, and that was that. These faction members would be in Wormwood Scrubs and we’d be safe at home.
A hand suddenly came forward and patted my shoulder.
“Hello, Mr. Penrith. Fellows. How are things?”
It was Niall Garrity. I could feel my blood suddenly run cold. It appeared Barker and I would not be making bombs alone after all.
25
Garrity was here. My head began spinning with the implications. Was Dunleavy in charge or was Garrity? Or was Seamus O’Muircheartaigh manipulating us all like puppets?Eamon O’Casey himself seemed capable of running a faction all by himself. More important, Garrity was here and would no doubt insist on helping us make the bombs. How could we be sure they were all inert with him watching? Certainly, his presence here had one effect: it made me nervous, which is not a good thing when about to prepare explosives.
“Fergus,” Garrity said, noticing McKeller’s red face and angry look. “What’s eating you?”
“Me blood’s up. One of them nose-in-the-air publicans refused to serve us because we’re Irish. By Gor, I’d like to bowl one o’ them bombs right in through his front door.”
Garrity put a finger to his lips. “Don’t be spreading it all over town, or the game’ll be up before it starts. Penrith, Colonel Dunleavy is here, conferring with Mr. van Rhyn. I think they want to see us.”
The four of us went upstairs to the makeshift laboratory. Dunleavy was seated at a table talking, and Barker sat across from him, listening, making adjustments in our plans as the information tumbled forth. It was rather like watching a couple of chess masters at play, only the board was the city of London.
Colin and Padraig Bannon came wandering in with the last of the packages from the cart, and we all sat down to a meeting.
“Everything has arrived safely, Colonel Dunleavy,” O’Casey told their leader.
“Good!” he said, flashing one of those grins of his. “Mr. van Rhyn, provided you have all the necessary equipment, how long will it take you to create the bombs?”
“Several hours, since Mr. Penrith and I shall be making the nitroglycerin ourselves. Let us say five hours, to be safe, sir.”
“Very well. Prepare your infernal devices tonight. Tomorrow evening at six o’clock, we shall set London on its ear. Remember it, gentlemen. Thirtieth June, 1884. It shall be a day of celebration in Ireland forever.
“Niall Garrity has returned from Dublin and is anxious to lend a hand,” Dunleavy said. “He hopes to pick up some experience under your tutelage, Mr. van Rhyn.”
“I’ll help with mixing the nitroglycerin,” Garrity put in, “and with setting the timers. You have no objection, I trust, if we test your explosives to make certain they work?”
“None in the least,” Barker said. “Blow up the building if you wish, though it might alert the local constabulary. It makes no difference to me.”
“We’ll leave the Harp intact, thank you,” Garrity stated with a dry chuckle. “There is a tunnel below where we can test your explosive. It is of stout stone and there is nothing to damage. Shall we prepare?”
An hour later, Garrity, Barker, and I were dressed in guttaperchalined aprons and rubber gloves that reached almost to our elbows. All our supplies were spread out across the tables, and carboys and a large block of ice were on the floor near us, so we could get to them. There was no turning back now. I opened the windows and slowly moved some materials around to cover up what I was really doing, which was praying. I thought it an odd way to spend the Sabbath day, building bombs.
“You may still leave us if you wish, Mr. Garrity,” Barker told the Irishman. “It is not necessary for you to be here during this process. Nitroglycerin is unstable, and even an old bomb handler such as I can still blow the roof off a building.”
“No, I trust you,” Garrity answered. “I would like to work with a master like you. I’ll stay.”
“Mr. Penrith, will you keep a constant eye on the thermometer once we begin?”
“Yes, sir. I will watch carefully,” I stated. “Should it get above freezing, Mr. Garrity, the nitroglycerin will either explode or form a heavy gas that will kill us all.”
“I see,” Garrity said. “What can I do, Penrith?”
“For now, start chipping ice for all it is worth. Oh, and I’m afraid we shall all have headaches for the next day or so. It is an unfortunate side effect of the process.”
Garrity took the ice pick and began chipping away at the block.
“Fill this bucket with ice almost to the top,” Barker instructed.
“We’ll need to get to it quickly.”
The Guv removed the lid of the nitric acid bottle and decanted the red liquid slowly into a beaker. He then settled this glass container into the bucket of ice, and as it chilled, carefully opened the carboy of sulfuric acid. With Garrity’s help, I filled a larger beaker half full of the deadly chemical. This I pushed down into a second bucket of ice.
“Keep chipping,” Barker ordered. “The temperature will rise sharply when I mix these two together.”
Slowly, he poured the nitric acid into the beaker of sulfuric acid.
“The temperature is rising,” I warned.
“More ice, Mr. Garrity, if you please.”
The Irishman quickly packed ice around the large beaker. I noticed he was already perspiring freely and the ice was melting as well. It was the twenty-ninth of June, and the weather was warm. If we ran out of ice during this operation, we’d also run out of time.
Barker opened a container of glycerin and poured it into a new beaker. Picking up a medicine dropper, he squeezed the rubber bulb and drew it full of the pale liquid. I realized I was holding my breath.
“This is it, gentlemen,” Barker said. “I fear there is no turning back now.”
Drop by drop, he began covering the acid mixture with the glycerin, which floated.
“The temperature is ri
sing again, sir,” I said, tensely.
“Yes, it is nitrating and producing heat. More ice, quickly, Garrity, or we shall all perish.”
“Twenty-six degrees, twenty-seven, twenty-eight,” I said, reading the mercury as it rose.
“If it reaches over thirty, we are done for.”
“I’m chipping as quickly as I can, gentlemen!” Garrity cried, stabbing the pick into the block repeatedly.
“Almost done,” Barker said. “Mr. Penrith, will you scoop out some of the water? Dash it on the floor, if you wish. We need room for new ice. And time me with this watch of mine, please.”
Finally, he had a thick layer of glycerin floating on top of the acid mixture. Gingerly, my employer inserted a glass pipette and stirred. I could see the nitration occurring, the bubbles dancing in the acid. This was the most critical stage of the process. Barker had to stir for ten solid minutes, and if he stirred too quickly or too slowly, we wouldn’t live to tell of it.
“Ohhh.” My head began to throb. Garrity made a face, and even Barker turned his head uneasily.
“How is the temperature?” he asked.
“Twenty-eight and steady,” I answered. “You’ve been stirring three minutes.”
“Keep chipping, Garrity. We’ll need yet more ice.”
Gamely, he chipped away. Barker stirred, and I scrutinized the thermometer. I watched the glycerin at the top of the beaker slowly becoming nitroglycerin through the chemical process. It was a filmy, yellowish substance that looked rather like liquid wax. One would think we were making candles or soap instead of explosives.
“Five minutes,” I intoned.
I could see Barker’s arm was getting tired, but I dared not interrupt to take over stirring. At any moment, we could cease to exist, atomized by the chemical reaction. In a detonation, the reaction releases gases that rapidly expand and give off energy as they ignite. The effect is so fast it is nearly instantaneous. There is no time for pain. One second one is there, and the next one is not.
“Two more minutes. The temperature is twenty-nine.”
“Ice!” Barker thundered. “We dare not gain another degree.”
There was a twitch in his shoulder. I felt as if he’d been stirring for an hour. Perspiration was sticking the shirt to my back, and I could have poured the sweat out of my rubber gloves.Fifteen seconds … ten seconds … five.
“Time!” I cried, and we all three exhaled at once. “The temperature in the beaker is twenty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.”
Barker filled a bowl with water from a pitcher, and slowly poured the nitroglycerin into it. The nitroglycerin, instead of rising again, formed a sediment on the bottom. With my aid, Barker carried the bowl over to an empty carboy, inserted a funnel, and slowly poured the water and acid mixture into it, leaving only the sediment on the bottom. Gently, very gently, I set the bowl on the table.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “we have our nitroglycerin. There is enough here to pull down three streets. You can finally stop chopping now, Garrity. Could you mix me some of this bicarbonate of soda in water?”
Garrity did as requested. “What is the soda water for?”
“It neutralizes the acid and stabilizes the mixture.”
Garrity poured the soda over it, and we watched the compound fizz until it was done. Then, finally, with a spoon, Barker transferred the nitroglycerin gently to a beaker.
“Shall we test it?” he asked us. Grimly, we nodded.
Barker took the dropper and set a single drop on a bar of iron we had collected for the occasion.
“Mr. Garrity, would you do the honor of igniting it? If I have mixed the compound correctly, it should burn with a blue flame.”
I heard the scratch on the Irishman’s matchbox and he lit the small drop. A clear flame of the deepest blue danced atop the bar, like a fairy light. A very lethal fairy light, it was, too.
“It is good,” Barker pronounced, and we all shook hands, as if we’d done something clever, rather than having just created an engine of destruction.
“What do we do now?” Garrity asked. “How do we add it to the silica?”
“We must pour it slowly into the tubes full of kieselguhr,” Barker said. “Ach, my poor head! We must fill each tube, add the cap and fuse, then lay them on this oilcloth to set.”
“Thank you, gentlemen. It has been an honor to work with you,” Garrity said. “After this is finished, I’ll stand you both a pint downstairs. If you’re going to have a headache, anyway, why waste it?”
“Danke, Herr Garrity,” Barker responded. “I am certain we could use a pint to steady our nerves. I shall start assembling the devices now, while you gentlemen pour the nitroglycerin into the tubes of kieselguhr.”
My hope was to distract Garrity while Barker incorrectly assembled the clocks and primers. Since Garrity had already been unsuccessful with two bombs, I hoped we could pull the wool over his eyes. The last thing we wanted to do was to put live bombs into the hands of these terrorists.
My employer began wiring the first pistol to the clock.
“When shall we set the devices?” Garrity asked.
“Tomorrow, just before they leave. The first batch will be set for six-thirty, the next for seven o’clock, and the last for seven-thirty,” Barker said. “We must give the boys time to get to their destinations and back again. It would be easier if they set the timers when they put down their satchel, but unfortunately, that is when they have the least time and the most mistakes are made.”
“Let me help you wire the primer to the cap.” He looked closely at the device that Barker was working on. “Mr. van Rhyn!You have set up the primer incorrectly!”
Barker looked over his shoulder. “Surely not,” he said. “That is how I always set them.”
“I have spent my time in Paris studying explosives manuals, trying to learn more about the art. The way you have it, the bullet will miss the primer entirely. This way the bombs shall be inert.”
“Surely, it will not miss,” Barker said, looking affronted. “I have been building bombs for decades.”
“No,” the Irishman said. “I insist. The primer must be shifted over against the barrel. Come, take a look at this, Penrith.”
Reluctantly, I came forward. We were in a fix, thanks to Garrity’s recent studies in Paris. I pretended to look carefully, but I was watching Barker out of the corner of my eye. He lowered his chin just a fraction of an inch, then raised it. He was right. I had to agree with Garrity or raise the bomber’s suspicions.
“I’m afraid he is right, sir. You have wired them too far to the right.”
“My apologies, meine Freunde, my eyesight is not what it was.Danke, Garrity, for checking over my work. I would not like to have come all this way, and waste time and your brave countrymen’s money, only to build bombs that will not explode.”
“We all make mistakes,” Garrity said with a shrug. “I’ll rewire them. Won’t take but a few minutes.”
Within ten minutes I was looking down at my first completed infernal device, with enough explosive power to blow up a small building. Garrity set an identical one beside it, and soon there were three rows of them in front of us. My stomach hurt, as well as my head, and I was idly thinking that it might be better if I did something now to make these bombs explode. We’d lose our lives, of course, but even Barker might agree it was better to leave this small section of London as nothing but a large crater, rather than allow this mission to scatter satchels like deadly seeds throughout London. Perhaps Barker could overpower Garrity, and we could find a way to get these bombs out of here without attracting attention. While we were at it, I thought bitterly, perhaps we could grow fairy wings and carry the bombs out the window.
“Nice work, gentlemen,” Garrity said, surveying the bombs. “It has been an honor working with you.”
“The honor has been ours, Herr Garrity,” Barker replied with a Prussian bow. “I can only hope in our small way, we can help your countrymen attain their freedom.”
&n
bsp; “Shall we test one now?” Garrity asked.
“Let us put the devices into the satchels first, gentlemen, before we test the bombs.”
Twenty-nine bombs were gently eased into the unmatching satchels. From the thirtieth, I cut one of the sticks of dynamite away before inserting it into the last bag.
“Here is your test bomb, Garrity,” I said. “We have run out of clocks. I hope you do not mind an old-fashioned fuse.”
Garrity opened the door for us. “I don’t mind at all, provided it is a long one. Shall we go?”
I followed both of them out into the hall. Garrity inserted a key in the lock, while Barker turned to me and held out his hand.
“Stay here, Penrith, and keep an eye on that door. I hope to return shortly,” he rumbled, “but nothing is absolute with explo-sives.”
He shook my hand. Being taller than I, his arm was higher. I felt something slide into my sleeve from his.
“Good luck, gentlemen,” I told them. Garrity gave me a casual wave and led my employer down the staircase.
Once they were out of sight, I fumbled about with the betty for a few moments before the lock finally clicked open.
I stepped in quickly and closed the door behind me.
I knew I didn’t have time to diffuse all thirty bombs, but I could possibly get half. I seized the first one, then thought better of it. Garrity might come back and check it. I moved toward the middle, and tripped a latch on one of the satchels. I took one of the empty cardboard tubes and began ripping it open. I tore a small piece off, eased back the hammer of the pistol, and inserted the piece into the chamber. When the clockwork pulled the trigger, the hammer would land only on the cardboard and the gun would not go off. I closed the satchel and moved on. I did a second, a third, a fourth.
I was at work on the fifth, when the building suddenly shuddered. For a moment, I felt like I was on a ship in the middle of a storm. The walls moved and groaned in protest.
I hurried, knowing I hadn’t much time. Finishing four more, I reasoned that my time was up. I closed the satchel and ran to the door, looking back to make certain all was in order. I stepped out into the hall and relocked the door before pocketing the skeleton key. I hurried to the end of the corridor and was leaning and staring out the window when who should I see staring up at me but Soho Vic. He looked up from the alleyway and thumbed his nose at me before walking away. I heard feet on the stair and turned away from the window, just as the two men returned. “Lovely view you get in London,” I stated, “if you like red brick. How did it go?”
