Imperial Clock (The Steam Clock Legacy)

by Appleton, Robert

  “And they just eked out a living there, not venturing to the surface for millions of years?”

  “Not necessarily.” Sonja ran the point of her finger through midair, as if feeling out her theory. As much as Meredith admired her younger sister’s intellect, sometimes it annoyed her that Sonja was more like Father than she was, blessed with that ability to make uncanny leaps of logic while still keeping both feet on the ground. “Maybe they found a way to really thrive down there, using artificial light and some sort of hydro-electric power. For all we know, Subterranea’s a vast, teeming world, ‘eloquent of fertility’, as Wells put it.”

  “That was War of the Worlds,” Father reminded her.

  “Correct. And let’s hope that’s not what your expedition starts.”

  Father lightly wagged a finger at her, as if to say, That’s exactly what the Leviacrum Council is afraid of.

  “Okay, are you ready?” He donned his padded work gloves and shoved several coal bricks into the fuming portable boiler that powered all six projectors.

  The butterflies under her tight corset made Meredith feel six years old again, out of control, breathless. Sonja nodded for them both.

  Father opened the fumigation canister and hurried away. “Don’t worry, it’s only a steam-based gas with a light-sensitive compound.” He lit the projectors in turn. A slivery phantom figure, clutching a parasol, seeped into existence inside the columning steam. It fidgeted to one side, as real as life, making them both gasp. “I’ll leave you to her,” Father said from behind, and started his gramophone player with its familiar soft crackle. “This is for your eyes and ears only.” He left the room.

  Meredith’s curiosity wanted to lift her from the settee, while a fear of this oily apparition sank her back into the cushion; it was something she must not see yet positively had to see, as though her life depended on it either way. She linked arms with Sonja, and waited.

  “Is it recording, darling? The machine’s spin doesn’t appear—oh, good, fine—should I begin then?” Mother’s delicate voice was even more distant, even more dampened than Meredith remembered, as though she’d had a really bad sore throat as a girl and had been forced to speak softly ever since. She sat upright on her stool, gazing out from the flickering fumes. As the projector beams converged, they stretched and distorted her outline in the columning gas, denying her a completely real presence. The effect was spooky enough, but thank goodness it wasn’t photograph-real—Meredith glanced to the wall portrait and reassured herself this was only an illusion.

  “Hello, Merry. Hello, Sonja. How are you, my loves? By the time you hear this, and indeed see it—what magic!—you will have already braved your first seasons, and will, I am quite sure, have enough suitors to start your own regiments. Are any of them scientific?” She appeared to wink across the room, perhaps to Father.

  Meredith squirmed, as though Mother were gazing right through her, as though she were the translucent one.

  “We have had precious little time, my darlings. And sadly these few minutes are all I can give you now. Would that it were not so, but despite your father’s bravest efforts, my illness has no cure in this world. Perhaps it exists in another world, a lost world far, far beneath us. That, however, is for your father to discover. I will no longer be here, yet his adventures will be our adventures, maybe the most important expeditions ever undertaken, to find out where I came from, and how my people came to be. Which people, you ask? Very well. Let me start at the end of my beginning, then, and let this be the real story of Moon and Meridian.

  “I remember waiting forever in a firelit room with no windows. It may have been a cave. My feet were bandaged, and I lay on my side listening to the sound of running water overhead. The room shook periodically, as though a giant with a club was thumping the ground outside. I licked at the seepage that came through the rock, to keep myself alive, but barely. At length the fire went out and I shivered until I couldn’t tell whether I was awake or asleep. The thumps grew nearer. Louder. I thought I heard voices through the rock.”

  Meredith was four years old again, and spellbound.

  “One day the room leapt and the running water overhead became a thunderous torrent all around. I clung tightly to the book I was holding in the dark. Pieces of the roof and the wall began to collapse. One of them struck my foot and I cried out—exactly what, I can’t remember. As if in answer, a slender shoot of yellow light appeared high up above me, piercing the wall from outside. It illuminated a spot on the ground half way across the room. As I watched, the spot moved away from me, not in jerks but smoothly, slowly, until at length it climbed the far wall and turned blood red, finally dimmed and went out. It was soon replaced by a pale, silver beam that I fell asleep watching.

  “Two more cycles of the yellow light and the silver light passed before I was rescued. Two black-skinned men wearing loincloths entered through the hole above and descended by rope. I’d never seen black skin before. I didn’t understand their language but they understood mine a little. We sailed in their canoe. Outside my room was a shallow lake, which had lately been vast and deep. Their leaders had emptied the majority of it, by means of explosion, to form a new river. We finally came to their camp on the lakeshore. All the while I’d had to shield my eyes from the blinding spherical light in the sky—something else I’d never seen before—until another black-skinned man, dressed in a tan uniform, gave me a pair of dark spectacles to wear.

  “He said he’d never seen a girl with such white hair before, and when my two rescuers told him where they’d found me, he said they must be mistaken. My room had been fifty feet under the surface of the lake for thousands of years, with no other known way in or out until that day! They returned to my room, where they discovered a narrow passage leading to a network of underground rivers. One of these fell into an unfathomable chasm, they said. Several lengths of frayed rope had been left near the drop, along with numerous smears of blood on the walls.

  “I never returned to that room, to my first memory. Whatever trauma I’d suffered, involving the unfathomable hole and the smears of blood on the wall, had locked away any earlier memories. The black-skinned man in the uniform took me to his barracks in a place called Benguela, where he and his wife cared for me and nursed me back to health. I was about eight years old, they said. I didn’t know what a year was. They told me about the sun and the moon and all the other things I’d never seen above ground. They took me to see a witch doctor, to try and recover my memories of life before that room, but nothing worked. Then a mesmerist tried and failed.

  “The only things I had in my possession were the book I’d clung to through everything—it was called Moon and Meridian—and an under-belt studded with precious gems, one of them a large amethyst. If I’d been in the charge of a less honourable man, the book may have been my only legacy, but Major Bilali protected my interests fiercely. He said my existence was a miracle, and I left Africa as wealthy as I had found it, perhaps even wealthier, for I now knew two people whom I loved.

  “Later, my new foster parents, the Moseleys, brought me to live in England. Major Bilali and his wife were posted to the Congo, a hostile region they insisted I not be exposed to. I attended South Hampshire Grammar and quietly flourished in every way. My business investments, directed in trust by my foster parents, bore fruit, I made friends, and my academic results grew from strength to strength.

  “On my eighteenth birthday I made the two best decisions of my life. The first was to send Major Bilali and his wife the sum of five hundred thousand pounds, which enabled them to retire happily to Cape Town. The second was to accept a proposal of marriage by a debonair scientist whose fascination with geology and archaeology was second only to his devotion to me. He is my sweet Ralph, my heart’s one true companion, and I will love him always.”

  She blew a kiss across the room, then gave a baleful nod. “And now I must be brief. Be proud of his expeditions, my darlings. They may take him away from you for a time, but you will never be w
ithout him, as you will never be without me, all the days of your life. Let his quest be my quest, and when you are old enough, please help him in any way you can. My origins are your origins, and they are extraordinary—trust in that, and you will find them someday.

  “Goodbye, Merry. Goodbye, Sonja. I wish I could see you now, through time. Oh, how I wish it. But whatever happens, know that I love you. Your father loves you. And I’m so happy to know that you two will always have each other, just like Moon and Meridian. Be strong for each other, and try not to forget me?

  “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

  Mother rose off her stool without a fuss and, after collapsing her parasol, left the limelight bearing a quivering smile. The gramophone went on crackling, the projector beams still blazed, the gas continued to column, but extraordinariness in the room was now everywhere else, as though Mother’s spirit had passed through into reality, encompassing Meredith and Sonja, imbuing the very air they breathed.

  Neither she nor her sister cried. But they were both speechless, their gazes wandering around this newly alien living room, trying to get a handle on what was real and what wasn’t.

  Time had shuffled its deck, and they were being asked to play a new game, the rules of which were suddenly unclear.

  “I’m sorry for springing it on you like this, but I’m convinced you’re old enough now to bear our family secret.” Father brushed past and disassembled his apparatus without care. He wasn’t interested in using the set-up ever again—this was a one-time show, the keeping of an old, dear promise. “I’ve observed your awkwardness these past several years, your anti-social habits. Deep down, I think you know you’re not like anyone else in England, that you don’t belong here. Your mother was the same. We were very happy together, true, but I’d often catch her gazing off into the distance, or daydreaming during dinner. She’d always try to explain what she was feeling—a sad sort of inadequacy, a yearning for something money couldn’t buy, that England couldn’t provide. She seemed to know there was more to life than we were privy to.

  “So we began to speculate. The gems she’d inherited were purer than anything else on the market. Then there was the unclassifiable book, her aversion to bright lights, her fascination with rain, her ivory-white hair, the story of her rescue from the African cave: these all pointed to some kind of unprecedented subterranean existence. No matter how much she wanted to ignore her past, it wouldn’t let her settle. I poured all my scientific drive, and she poured much of her wealth, into proving that theory of a world deep underground. What I discovered during my trial dig in the iron mole was beyond anything we could have imagined—a gigantic network of caves and tunnels, some of them natural, some manmade, stretching for hundreds, maybe thousands of miles. A whole new ecosystem of plant life, including bioluminescent fauna, in a world far beneath our feet. Evidence of large bodies of water. And most persuasively of all, archaeological relics of a human civilization that existed there millions of years ago, long before homo sapiens.

  “Mikael Sorensen now holds the most crucial artefacts from my discovery in secret. He is also trusted by the Leviacrum Council, and is therefore beyond suspicion.”

  “But the spy in Niflheim,” Meredith interrupted him. “You were both being watched, weren’t you? You and Professor Sorensen?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So perhaps he isn’t fully trusted by the Council. I’ve learned about something called the Atlas Club. It’s some kind of fanatical branch of the Leviacrum, going right back to the original founders. What if they know everything you know, and they are—”

  Father stopped her with his outstretched hand. “I won’t tell you again. Leave it, Meredith. Leave it right there and don’t go near it anymore, do you understand? These are dangerous people. They have made princes and politicians disappear before now for sniffing around dark and uninvited places. Like I said, the only reason they leave me to my devices is because they’re hoping I can lead them to pay dirt in Subterranea. And because I don’t bother them, or question them, or even mention words like ‘Atlas Club’ or ‘the rule of eight’. Investigating won’t get you anything but investigated. Look and they’ll be watching. Speak out and they’ll silence you for good. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Father,” Sonja replied.

  “Meredith?” His stern gaze bore into her.

  “All right, Father. I’ll do as you say.” A lie, which he seemed to recognise with a tilt of his head.

  “Fine. We’ll talk some more tomorrow—no, better make it the day after, I’ve some calls to make in town.”

  “And there’s the Steam Fair,” Sonja reminded him.

  “What about it?”

  “We’re going. Or I’ll scupper your whole expedition overnight.”

  He laughed. “Why so interested in the fair? A lot of preening showmen and their flash-in-the-pan gadgets. Might be good for a laugh, though, now that you mention it. And it will give me an excuse to meet with Simeon before I depart for Africa. Hmm, I might be able to get us tickets on the late morning shuttle, have you there around two.”

  “Twelve-thirty. It has to be for twelve-thirty.”

  “Sonja?” He playfully squinted at her. “Who are we meeting at twelve-thirty?”

  “Never you mind, Father.” She blushed and left the room, trying hard to walk like a lady before a dash of energy got the best of her and she vanished with an ungainly skip.

  “Merry, who’s this mystery person?” Father finished disassembling his apparatus. “Anyone I know?”

  It pained her to admit she hadn’t been told, so Meredith shrugged.

  Soon she was alone again with the portrait on the wall. More alone than ever. All she had were questions—a hot air balloon full of questions, tethered absolutely to a ground she could no longer see. In the space of a single morning, everything and everyone she’d known was now unrecognisable. For goodness sake, she needed something of her own to latch on to or she’d go stark raving mad.

  Was Mother still watching?

  Playing with the pocket watch in her sweaty hands seemed as good a distraction as any. Better than any, in fact. For the postwoman arrived presently with a parcel from Europe—the airmail stamps stood out a mile—and Meredith now had her mystery to solve. To hell with promises.

  Like Father and his expedition, or Sonja and her rendezvous, this was something she absolutely had to see through to its end. Right now, it felt like the only thing she could call her own.

  She tore the wrapping off and clutched the well-worn, cork-bound book to her breast. The receipt card fell to the carpet, landing face-side up. It read:

  1 Used Volume – Acceptable condition, some wear to spine and cover, some notations in margins, signed by author

  Shadow Players: A Study of Esoteric Societies and Modern Conspiracies, 1893

  By R.B. Villiers

  Four pounds and two shillings...PAID IN FULL

  Regards,

  Ebony Eyes Books, 117 Rue de Saint Martin, Marseilles

  Chapter Six

  The Steam Fair

  In all the years Derek had attended the great Steam Fair in the shadow of the Roundhouse Circus, London, the air had never felt so clogged, so thick upon his chest. The absence of even a breeze didn’t help matters, nor did the sheer number of contraptions spitting out smoke—one could, from a distance, mistake them for battlefield artillery. But it was something inside the fumes this year, an unpleasant sulphurous component that struck a match on his sinuses whenever he inhaled anything more than a shallow breath.

  Mother and Father didn’t seem to notice it at all as they strode from one exhibit to the next in mute fascination, goggle straps fastened too tightly under the brims of their worst and oldest hats that hardly stood out from the other patrons’—an exceedingly rare concession for Father in particular, who ordinarily went to great pains to express his social status at these public events. He was a snob, and proud of it, saw it as his duty. The Aurics were aristocracy in everything but
name. With Derek’s imminent appointment to the Leviacrum, their hopes were set on titles—overdue titles and renown for the Auric name. Woe betide anything that might impede that...or anyone.

  Derek wiped the moisture off his goggles and scanned the rows of prototype machines for a sign of Sonja McEwan. The note he’d slipped her before they’d parted in Keswick was bold, perhaps too bold, and certainly improper. Any such advance would be frowned upon by both families; yet if the alternative was to not see her at all before his induction into the Leviacrum, well, that was unacceptable. She was sixteen, soon to be seventeen, and he had to know if she esteemed him as highly as he did her, before he made a complete ass of himself.

  If she did, and it was truly more than a girlish infatuation for her teacher, he would have to pre-empt her ritual introduction to society. With haste. The idea of London’s young dandies sweeping her off her feet while he bided his time, waiting for a permitted and propitious moment—hell, this was the propitious moment. His heart screamed it over the grinds and whistles of these rapacious metallic saplings of new industry.

  Whatever happened, he couldn’t lose her to propriety. But unfortunately, Mother and Father would never assent—her family was too notorious.

  So something had to give.

  He wryly tipped his top hat to the loose banner slung between two flagpoles. It read, Ambition Soars, The World Is Yours.

  Well, this is the age of innovation.

  She suddenly strolled into view at the head of a fresh influx of visitors—Miss Sonja McEwan, alert to the world as her lovely big hazel-grey eyes took in the wonders around her. She’d just arrived on an airship whose name he couldn’t make out through the steam cloud. Her sister was with her, as was her father—the infamous Ralph McEwan, hijacker of the discovery of Subterranea, if one believed the gossip. Derek instinctively took one step toward her, halted in the mud, then shuffled back discreetly when he realised the certain end that rash approach would bring.