Gears of a Mad God Omnibus

by Brent Nichols

  Van Der Pot reddened. "No, of course not. Well, perhaps. You see, things have been happening."

  "Things?" Carter lifted an eyebrow. "You don't seem concerned by armed robbery." He shot a meaningful glance at Falconer. "What sort of things DO have you concerned?"

  Van Der Pot's eyes narrowed. "I told you, it was a misunderstanding. Mr. Falconer has explained everything to my satisfaction. Other things are happening. People in town have been acting strangely. I don't like seeing everyone stirred up like this. You and I are men of the world, Carter. We know this 'haunting' nonsense is all rubbish. But these are simple people on this island. They're upset by what you're doing. They want you to stop."

  Carter said, "Bill, are you upset by what we're doing up here?"

  "No, Boss."

  "Do you want us to stop?"

  "No, Boss. I like this job."

  "Do you think this hilltop is haunted?"

  "No, Boss, that's silly."

  Carter turned to the other diggers. "Anybody else think we shouldn't be digging here? Anyone afraid of ghosts?"

  Grins and head-shaking were his answer. Bill chuckled and said, "Looks like it's unanimous, Boss."

  "Don't call me 'Boss,' okay?"

  "Sorry, B-Mr. Carter."

  Carter looked at Van Der Pot and spread his hands in a shrug.

  The governor gave him a small smile. "Well, just between us I wasn't too keen on this little chore. Still, I had to ask. Duty and all that, you understand?"

  Carter nodded. "Of course. I would love to invite you to stay, but," and his eyes slid to Falconer, "your companion is not welcome here."

  The Englishman didn't respond to the jab. Van Der Pot just nodded stiffly. "Could I trouble you for a drink of water before I go? This damnable heat has me at death's door."

  "Of course." Carter made small talk about the weather while a digger ran for a cup of water. Van Der Pot drained the cup, nodded his thanks, and set out on the long walk home.

  When the last of their visitors was gone from sight, Maggie said, "Well, that was odd."

  "It does seem like a rather half-hearted effort," Carter agreed. "Still, they probably thought it was worth a try. I don't like this development. Falconer is much too thick with Van Der Pot for my tastes."

  Maggie nodded. "I think I'm going to step up the pace of excavation. We'll dig faster and be less careful. It isn't the proper way to run an archaeological dig, but it seems clear we won't be here for long. And as soon as we're gone, the other side is going to be all over this place with picks and shovels. So if there's going to be sloppy digging anyway, it might as well be done by us."

  Colleen returned to the donkey engine. It was just about ready for testing. She just needed to fill the water tank and build a fire in the fire box.

  That was the problem with steam technology, she reflected. So much metal had to be used to contain a fire source and a large volume of water. It made steam machinery ridiculously heavy.

  Her thoughts turned to the hot rock. Something like that could revolutionize steam. If it had really remained hot for hundreds of years, then it could replace a heavy iron firebox.

  She looked the donkey engine over thoughtfully. So many parts of it were filthy, or covered with a layer of rust. She'd scrubbed some of it fairly clean, but what she could really use was some kind of steam cleaner.

  She walked to the closest building. Among the supplies that had been abandoned seven years earlier was a fire extinguisher, still in its case. The extinguisher consisted of a cylindrical brass tank, two feet high, with a pump on the top and a hose on the front. She carried it to the side of the hilltop where a small stream meandered its way over the rocks, and filled the tank. Then she lugged the extinguisher back to the dig site, unscrewed the top, and dropped in the hot rock.

  Too late she wondered if the rock was waterproof. But it had survived being buried for ages, then dug up and dropped. It had to be practically indestructible.

  She put the top back on the extinguisher and carried it to the donkey engine. By the time she arrived the tank was almost too hot to carry, and steam was dribbling from the end of the hose.

  Pretty soon she had to move the tank by the pump handle. Everything else was too hot to touch. As the water started to boil in earnest, the trickle of steam became a steady blast. She played the jet of steam over the dirtiest parts of the machine, smiling as rust and soil were blasted away.

  When the steam died to a trickle she knew the last of the water had boiled away. She left the extinguisher to cool. After a few minutes she opened the top of the tank and, careful to touch only the white ceramic covering, lifted out the hot rock. She chuckled happily. As an improvised steam cleaner her invention was mediocre at best, but the hot rock opened up a world of possibilities.

  The familiar fog of the dream enveloped Colleen. Falconer came at her from the mist, the knife held low in his hand. Colleen felt the familiar, unnatural rage come boiling up, and she lifted the stone club to do battle. Something vast and alien seemed to laugh, the sound coming from all around her, and she hurled the club away from her.

  "I won't do it!" she screamed. "I won't play your game. I won't be your puppet!" Falconer advanced, teeth bared in a feral grin, and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. "You're not real! I'm not killing you again. I'm not playing your stupid game!"

  The knife bit into her flesh and she woke with a start. For a moment she looked wildly around the little room. Maggie slept on her pallet a few feet away. Nothing else moved.

  The thought of going back to sleep held no appeal whatsoever. Colleen rose quietly and pulled on her clothes. She slipped outside, nodding to the digger on sentry duty sitting on the front step of the red hut. Another man was out there somewhere, walking around the perimeter of the hilltop.

  She walked over to the edge of the dig and looked up at the stars. The nightmares had started when she first slept on the hilltop. She had to hope they would recede when she finally left. She shivered in the darkness. The Persephone couldn't get back soon enough.

  She heard the sound of feet scraping on rock. Someone was climbing the hillside. She saw a gleam of light from a bullseye lantern and a murmur of voices as the sentry challenged the new arrival. Then the sentry moved away and a familiar shape came shuffling across the grass toward her. It was Bill, and he gave her a weak smile as he came close, but his usual cheerfulness was gone.

  "Bill. What's wrong?"

  He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "There's nothing wrong, Miss Colleen."

  "Nonsense. You look like your dog just ran away from home. What's happened?"

  He shook his head. "I shouldn't trouble you with my problems, Miss."

  She stepped in close and took a firm grip on his arm. "You shouldn't take on a man with a gun, either, when all you've got is rocks. I still can't believe you did that. You may have saved my life, Bill. Your problems are my problems." She tightened her grip on his arm, and his eyes widened. Men were always surprised by how strong she was. "Now, are you going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to twist your arm?"

  His teeth gleamed in the darkness and he chuckled with genuine humor. "Okay, Miss Colleen, you win." The smile dropped away from his face. "I've been to see my family."

  Colleen let go of his arm. "Tell me what's happened."

  "Well, there's some strange things going on all of a sudden. We never had any church here, but most people believe in Jesus. Except, way back when, they used to worship a lady called Mira. She was a sea goddess, she used to bring good fishing and protection from storms. Or that's what folks used to believe, anyhow.

  "Some folks still worship her, not many, but a few. And some folks pray to Jesus, but every once in a while if they're out fishing and a storm is blowing in and they're scared, they might make a small sacrifice to Mira, too, just in case." He gave Colleen a sharp look to see how she was reacting. She just nodded that she understood.

  "Anyway, some people have the two of them all jumbled together,
Jesus and Mira, they think Mira is the same thing as the Virgin Mary, and some folks say that's blasphemy, and there's always been just a few who said we should go back to the old ways, that Mira looks out for us and we shouldn’t turn our backs on her."

  He fell silent, and Colleen nodded again to encourage him. He looked haggard as he continued.

  "Now, my ma tells me, there's folks going out at night and lighting big fires and burning things to sacrifice to Mira. Only it's not like it was. Now it's like they're scared of her, and everybody who goes out there gets all riled up, and some of them talk about killing all the Dutchmen and taking over the island for us."

  Colleen felt her jaw drop open. "But that's..."

  "It's crazy, is what it is," Bill said flatly. "They do something like that, we're going to have a Dutch gunboat here and soldiers with guns. It don't make no sense at all. And if you don't like the Dutchmen, you can just ignore them. Don't work for them if you don't like them. There's no reason to go and kill anyone."

  "So," said Colleen, "you said your family is involved?"

  Bill heaved a sigh. "It's my nephew Toma. He was always hot-headed. Ma says he's started running with this new crowd. Staying out all night, not telling his ma anything. Now I have to tell his pa. Then we have to figure out what to do."

  Bill went into the blue hut and emerged after a minute with a stoop-shouldered digger named Peter. Colleen watched as the two of them spoke for several minutes. Then they came over to her.

  "We're going to look for Toma," Bill announced. "We'll try to be back in time for work tomorrow."

  Colleen briefly considered going back to bed. She doubted she could sleep, and wasn't sure she wanted to. "Okay," she told Bill. "Let's go. I'm going to get my flashlight. Don't leave without me."

  They tried to talk her out of it, of course, but soon gave up. Bill had a rough idea of where the nightly bonfire was, and the three of them climbed down the hill and hiked along the beach. Half way to town they turned inland, following a narrow trail through the jungle. Colleen led the way, using her flashlight, and paused when Bill's hand closed on her arm. She looked at him, and he held a finger to his lips.

  At first all she heard was the night-time sounds of the jungle. Whining insects, leaves rustling in the breeze, the rush of wings in the darkness. Then she made out the low throb of a drum. She turned the flashlight off and they made their way in darkness, stretching their fingers into the night, finding branches and tree trunks by touch to keep themselves on the path.

  The drum grew louder, and soon they could make out chanting voices. Then a hint of woodsmoke reached Colleen's nose. A dozen steps later she saw a faint glow in the night ahead of her.

  At last they crept to the edge of a forest clearing and peered into a scene of barbaric pageantry. A bonfire ten feet wide blazed and crackled in the middle of the clearing. A dozen or more people danced and writhed around the fire, their bodies throwing grotesque shadows on the trees behind them. Most of them were men, stripped to the waist, eyes wild, chanting and stamping in unison. Some had arcane symbols drawn on their chests in ash, twisted, curving designs that made Colleen think of the carvings on Maggie's stone tablet.

  There were women among them, with swirls drawn on their cheeks and foreheads in black and grey. And off to one side a man bent low over a drum, thumping away in a staccato rhythm with the palms of his hands. The firelight gleamed on the pale skin of his arms. He was a white man, someone Colleen hadn't seen before.

  Beside the drum a tall man stood watching the dancers. He was a regal figure in a long garment like a priest's cassock, sewn from some rich cloth of darkest blue. The fire glinted on his spectacles and the bristling mustache under his nose. Falconer.

  The dancers slowly circled the fire. A slim young man in a white singlet shuffled past, his face as blank and wild as anyone else's, and Bill's hand closed on Colleen's elbow. She looked at him, and he nodded at the young man. That was his nephew, then. Toma.

  One of the dancers left the circle, stumbling to the edge of the clearing where a bucket of water sat on a stump. He lifted a dipper to his mouth, drank greedily, dropped the dipper back in the bucket, and returned to the dance.

  The three of them watched the pagan celebration for a few minutes. Then Peter drew back from the edge of the clearing, and Bill and Colleen followed. They put a dozen trees between them and the fire, and squatted down, putting their heads together.

  "We have to get him out of there!" Peter's voice was ragged with strain. "They're poisoning his mind. He's a good boy. If we can just get him away from those people, I know I can talk some sense into him."

  Bill nodded. "What do you think? We could just grab him, drag him out of there. Take him home to his ma."

  "I don't know," said Colleen. "They look almost crazed. They might not let us do it. And Falconer's there. We know he carries a gun. If he decided to shoot all three of us, I'm not sure any of them would even care."

  The three of them looked at each other. Peter's face in the distant glow of the bonfire was drawn, desperate. Bill didn't look much better. They were on the verge of doing something rash.

  "We should wait until tomorrow," she said. "It will be easier – and safer – to talk to him in daylight."

  "No!" Peter looked nearly as wild-eyed as the dancers around the fire. "I'm not leaving my boy with those people." He rose, and Colleen grabbed his shoulder and dragged him back down.

  "Okay," she said. "We'll get him. But we'll do it intelligently."

  Peter struggled against her for a moment. Then the wildness faded from his eyes. Finally he nodded. "What do we do?"

  Colleen returned to the edge of the clearing alone. She wasn't too keen on her plan, but it was all they'd come up with. Bill and Peter were sneaking around the clearing. They would hide near the water bucket and wait for Toma to take a drink. As soon as he approached the bucket, Colleen would create a distraction. The men would grab Toma and hustle him into the jungle before anyone knew he was gone.

  Simple plans are the best, Colleen reminded herself, her heart thumping. This plan seemed a little too simple. It was missing a few key elements, like what kind of distraction she was supposed to create, how they were supposed to get Toma to go with them, and how she would get away after getting everyone's attention. Still, it was slightly better than marching into the clearing, grabbing Toma, and hoping for the best.

  A dancer broke from the circle, drank some water, and returned. Then another, and another. Colleen watched, her heart in her throat, terrified that Toma would be next, and wishing he would hurry up and get thirsty so she could end this terrible tension.

  Something moved on the far side of the fire. The firelight gleamed on a dirty white singlet and Colleen stopped breathing. It was Toma, eyes glazed, skin shining with sweat, stumbling toward the water bucket. Colleen stared at him, willing herself to move, as he lifted the dipper and drank. Only when she saw Bill and Peter move in the shadows beyond Toma did the paralysis vanish.

  She stood up, stepped into the clearing, raised her hands, and shouted, "Listen to me!"

  The drums fell silent. The dancers took a moment to notice. Then their jerky dancing stopped, and heads swivelled around as they stared at her.

  Colleen pointed at Falconer and his accomplice. "Those two are very bad men! They are manipulating you, and using you, and you should all just go home."

  In the corner of her eye she saw Bill drive his fist into Toma's stomach. Then Bill and Peter dragged him back into the jungle. No one but Colleen saw.

  She put her hands on her hips. "That's all I had to say." And she turned and ran.

  Falconer shouted something and a roar of many voices filled the air. Colleen didn't look back, just ran, and feet slapped the ground behind her as the dancers gave chase. She darted around the trunk of a tree and plunged into the jungle, one hand up to protect her face from branches. She tripped, fell sprawling, sprang to her feet and kept running.

  Branches crackled behind her as they purs
ued. Colleen ran, fighting panic, breaking branches with her body, stumbling and staggering as brush tore at her legs. The jungle grew darker with every step as she moved farther from the fire. There were grunts and cries of pain as her pursuers tripped or ran headlong into trees.

  A fallen log caught her shins and she fell full-length, the breath driven from her lungs. She squirmed back against the log, worming her way as deep as she could between the log and the damp jungle floor, and held herself still.

  A bare foot slapped against the log right above her, and she saw a flash of motion in the darkness as someone vaulted the log and kept running. She lay still, trying to listen over the hammering of her pulse in her ears. It sounded as if her pursuers were spreading in every direction.

  She stood up. Not much moonlight made it through the canopy above her. She picked her way forward, choosing her steps carefully, keeping the distant glow of the bonfire behind her. Every step seemed horribly loud, with branches scraping against her clothes or breaking under her feet.

  The others were making more noise, though. She could hear people shouting and crashing through the trees on every side. She picked a quiet direction and started walking, moving as quietly as she could.

  When she found the path she didn't realize it at first. In the darkness all she knew was that suddenly there were no branches tearing at her. She knelt and patted the ground to be sure. Yes, it was definitely the trail.

  The question was, which way to go? She was completely disoriented by this time. Finally she shrugged, chose a direction, and started walking. In moments the path started sloping downward, and she knew she was going toward the ocean.

  She started jogging, hands stretched out to feel for branches, her feet nearly silent on the hard-packed earth. So far she seemed to be the only one using the path, but how long would that last?

  Not long. Colleen froze at the thud of running feet on the trail behind her. Her mind ran through a hundred scenarios in a heartbeat. She could dive off of the trail, but she would make too much noise. Better to face whoever it was, but what could she use for a weapon?