Cillian, he could see, was also hesitating. He had his feet set in a wide stance, planted flat. His head was turned towards his flailing employee Wigmore, whose face had become red and was slowly darkening to a shade of purple with Frenz’s arm around his neck. The loyal servant had both hands clawing frantically at Frenz’s forearm, desperately trying to relieve the pressure on his airways. Wigmore momentarily released one arm from its futile efforts and reached an outstretched hand towards his employer, pleadingly. His eyes were bulging from his sockets, veined and bloodshot. His lips moved but only a faint wheeze escaped them. He might have been trying to say ‘Please,’ or perhaps ‘Help,’ but whichever the case, Cillian’s mind was made up. Fear gripped Wigmore more acutely when he understood his employer’s true nature.
Cillian spun away from Wigmore and scurried in the opposite direction towards the gun. Before Will was able to reconcile the situation in his own mind, Frenz shouted out to him once more, ‘Go! Now!’ This time there was more desperation in his voice as he struggled with Agent Wigmore. Will looked Frenz in the eyes and saw resolve there and he gave what seemed to be a nod of forgiveness or at least understanding. Will reluctantly turned and broke into a sprint, grabbing the small card that had been ejected from the large machine before heading for the metal staircase at the back of the underground chamber.
Will pumped his legs as hard as they would go, taking two or sometimes three steps at a time. As he neared the top, his legs were burning and he stumbled up the final few steps. He had almost made it to the top by the time Cillian had recovered his weapon. At the top of the staircase Will encountered a white-painted metal hatch embedded in the arched brick ceiling. It had a hefty circular locking mechanism in its centre. The whole assembly resembled a rotating dog lever that you might find on a submarine door, and it occurred to him that – given they were in fact under the River Thames – the comparison was particularly fitting.
To reach the hatch Will scaled a smaller set of black metal steps that were bolted to the sand-coloured brickwork of the far wall. Once at the top, he turned around and pressed his back against the cold bricks for leverage. As he reached up and grasped the circular lever in his hands, a shot suddenly rang out from below. The bullet hit the metal hatch and Will felt vibrations surge through his arms as the bullet ricocheted off it. Before Will was able to duck for cover, another shot rang out: this time the bullet hit a section of the metal staircase below, diverting the bullet up past the side of Will’s head, grazing the base of his skull. The pain was instantaneous and brought about a deafening high-pitched ringing in his ears. His vision then seemed to blur erratically, as if his head was being shaken violently from side to side.
Will took cover, lying flat against the solid metal floor at the top of the metal staircase with his head in his hands. The ringing slowly subsided and his rattled vision stabilised. He wasn’t sure whether to think it a stroke of luck that he hadn’t been killed or simply unlucky that of all the places for the bullet to ricochet, it was towards his head. The pain was intense, but Will knew he couldn’t linger so he forced himself back to his feet. He held the wound, which was just below his ear, and felt blood slowly trickling through his fingers. He listened out for more sounds of gunfire but instead heard the metallic thudding of feet on the steps below. Cillian was climbing the stairs and would be upon him soon.
This was Will’s only window of opportunity. He could feel the impact of Cillian’s feet on the steps below vibrating up through the whole structure. He expected the pace to slow and for the old man to weaken as he climbed, but this was not the case. If anything, his pace seemed to quicken.
Cillian was now directly beneath him several flights below and had no clear shot. Will climbed the small set of steps and pressed his back into the wall once more. He held the circular wheel and attempted to turn it anticlockwise, giving it all he had. His right hand was slick with blood and he found it hard to grip; his hand slipped, leaving streaks of red on the faded white paint of the wheel. The footsteps seemed louder, closer and more rapid now. Time was running out.
He could see movement below him through the narrow gaps in the steps. Cillian was perhaps three flights of stairs away from his quarry now. Will had to get the hatch open now or it was all over for him and for Abigayle. Just the thought of her seemed to give him strength and renewed determination. He had to think fast and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out his one remaining faux-leather glove. He wasn’t quite sure why he was still carrying the thing around, but at that moment he was thankful for it. He quickly slipped the glove over his bloodied hand and now, with the grip he needed, gritted his teeth, pushed with his left arm and pulled with his right. The handle rotated ever so slightly at first and then layers of paint, dirt and grime around the base cracked and fell away. With the seal broken, the wheel was moving more freely. Will started spinning the wheel as fast as he felt possible, all the while the footsteps below grew ever closer. Below him he could see Cillian’s white hair flashing past the gaps in the steps. He was closer than ever now.
Only one more flight away from his quarry.
The wheel spun and spun before Will felt some resistance. He gave the wheel one final push and felt a metallic clunk as the internal mechanism engaged and released the lock. Will then stood from his crouched position at the top of the small set of steps and pushed the heavy metal door upwards. It creaked and resisted, and more old paint cracked and flaked away around the seam of the door. In front of him Will could now see the back of Cillian’s head as he ascended the final few steps. At that moment he let out a roar of effort and gave one final push upwards, his arms, back and legs all working in unison. The pulsing in his veins seemed to make the pain in his head more acute and he felt as if he might pass out. The door angled upwards and tipped away from him, resting against a wall above. Cillian rounded the metal banister at the top of the stairs and began to turn towards Will, his gun leading the movement. Will reached above him into the new opening and hauled himself upwards. Another shot rang out, narrowly missing Will’s leg, instead bedding into the wall, sending chunks of powdered brick soaring into the air. Will lifted his legs clear of the opening as another shot rang out, creating another cloud of dust below him.
He emerged into a narrow space no larger than a small car. Before properly surveying this new space, he reached over the opening and grabbed the metal hatch. Cillian’s face was a picture of pure rage as he came into view below, just as Will slammed the hatch shut. The look in Cillian’s eyes was a truly unsettling sight and gave him chills. He looked around the room and saw that the walls were low and constructed from large, grey, rough stone blocks. At the base of the walls were various building supplies, from buckets, used paintbrushes, bags of concrete and plaster to ladders. At the far side of the room, there was a narrow set of stone steps and a low wooden door. Will grabbed a heavy sack of concrete and pulled it over to the hatch. He couldn’t lock the hatch from this side, but hopefully the weight of the sack would do the trick.
With that done he rushed over to the ancient wooden door. Painted a dark reddish-brown, it was reinforced by black metal framework. Will tried the handle, but it was locked fast. The door may have been old but was certainly still as sturdy as ever. He looked around frantically and could see no other option but to climb the stairs.
The steps spiralled upwards in a clockwise direction. They were narrow, and the stone walls closed in tight on either side. He began to climb, and after a dozen steps the walls opened out and were replaced with metal banisters. Leaning over the waist-high banister and looking up, Will could see almost all the way to the top. It seemed to go on forever and darkened before he could see the summit. It was only at this moment that Will realised where he was. The base of Elizabeth Tower.
Looking around at the scattered building supplies, he remembered that the clock tower had been closed to the public and was undergoing renovations. The walls of the stairwell were being redecorated, something that unearthed a period in Will�
�s past that he’d rather not be reminded of.
The works were only partly finished; the lower levels had new smooth plaster on the walls. They also had a fresh coat of magnolia paint with a deep red accent running along the bottom of the walls. The walls of the upper floors – the area Will was currently ascending into – had the old, cracked plaster, along with more building supplies spread haphazardly on the stairs.
Will had hoped to find alternate means of escape farther up the tower, perhaps one that might lead him to the scaffolding that encased the entire structure. From there he might be able to climb down, although he didn’t savour the prospect. He had climbed close to a hundred of the more than three hundred steps of the tower when he realised he was now too high for that to be a realistic possibility. He stopped and looked down over the edge of the banister and decided to attempt to force the old door at the base of the tower again. Maybe there were tools down there he could use to break the door open. He began to descend, cursing himself for so hastily abandoning his efforts on the door initially. As he hurried down the steps, he heard a distant creaking sound from below, followed by the sound of metal dashing against stone.
The hatch had just been forced open.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
May 19th, 1984, 11:14
Will didn’t know how he’d managed it, but Cillian had somehow forced the hatch open. Continuing with his descent was now out of the question. Instead, he turned and began climbing the steps once more. The spiralled stairs seemed to go on forever, and after a hundred or so steps a voice echoed up from below: ‘It’s over, Mr. Wells… There’s nowhere left to go!’ Cillian’s voice sounded weaker and laboured. He was trying to disguise it, but it was clear he was taking long gulps of breath between sentences.
Human after all then.
Will said nothing in response and continued to climb when a volley of gunshots rang out, narrowly missing their target. At least one bullet must have struck a can of paint somewhere above because thick red paint began trickling over the steps, dripping past Will. Having already felt the sting of one of Cillian’s bullets, he pressed his back against the outer wall of the stairwell for the remainder of the climb to reduce the chance of being struck by another. It slowed his progress but was safer at least.
Cillian spoke once more: ‘Is that your blood… I can see dripping its way down here? If you’re not already dead, why not… make this easy on yourself, Mr. Wells. Give up now… and I’ll spare our mutual friend, Miss Abigayle Ward.’
Hearing her name leave Cillian’s lips hit Will harder than any bullet he could have fired his way. Will did his best to keep his voice even. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Oh, what a shame… not dead after all. Soon, though, I assure you of that.’
‘You’re just trying to get into my head and it’s not going to work.’
‘Mr. Wells, surely you’ve figured this all out by now?’
‘You’re lying.’ Will threw back his response unconvincingly.
‘Come now, you know it’s true. She’s my brilliant… historical researcher whom I spoke so highly of. Who do you think… uncovered Frenz’s elaborate escape plan? And who do you think found Frenz’s little shop?’
‘She would never work for a man like you!’
‘Really? Tell me, who was it that suggested… that you visit that particular area of London last week? Who mentioned that particular… alleyway you just happened to come across that day?’
Will couldn’t face the idea that Abigayle had worked for a man like Cillian Gander. Could he have been so naive as to not see it all this time? Could the woman he loved really be responsible for sending those men to kill Frenz? After all, Cillian had said at least one thing that was truthful: it was Abigayle who had suggested he visit that specific area of London. If the rest of what he said was true, then surely she would have known that he would find Frenz’s shop and that he would return with the Timepiece. And it was this part of Cillian’s story that didn’t quite hold up: if Abigayle already knew what the Timepiece was before Will came home with it that day, then why would she do something so reckless as to activate it and allow herself to go astray? He couldn’t explain why she’d done what she had, but he refused to believe that Abigayle was working with a monster like Cillian Gander. Whatever the case, he resolved to ask Abigayle himself when he found her. He pushed Cillian’s taunts out of his mind and continued to climb.
Several minutes later Will had finally reached the top of the tower, emerging into a bright open space with a ceiling some ten metres above his head. On his right stood one of the four breathtakingly large clockfaces, glowing white, illuminated by the fading sun. Viewed from the inside and from this proximity, he couldn’t fail to be impressed with the grandiose example of craftsmanship before him.
He skirted the length of the first clockface and passed through a narrow, arched doorway in the corner of the tower. This doorway led into an identical space with another identical and equally impressive clockface. He passed through two more similar spaces before heading up another short set of steps that led into the room housing the great clock, ticking away once every other second. Although he couldn’t linger, Will couldn’t help but steal a glance at the giant pendulum that rocked back and forth on the far wall, complete with its famous pennies stacked on top. The clockkeeper would add or remove pennies to help keep the pendulum swinging in time. If the clock was becoming too slow, more pennies were added; too fast and pennies were removed. Even though his whole notion of time was forever changed, he was still struck by the charming simplicity of these pennies that kept all of London running on time.
Turning away from the grand clock, he hurried through another narrow door on the opposite side of the room, which led up yet more steps. As he climbed, he suddenly felt a chill in the air. The reason for this became clear as he stepped out into the belfry; the imposingly large chamber at the top of Elizabeth Tower that housed the great bell, Big Ben. The bell itself was suspended from the tall, vaulted ceiling. The whole structure was supported by a series of hefty arched girders, each of which had dozens of sizeable bolts running along its edges. The outer walls of the belfry were open to the elements via seven elaborate, Gothic tracery windows. Each wall was also lined with a sturdy chest-high metal railing. Will could feel strong gusts of chill wind rushing into the space and swirling around him. Beyond the open windows he could see the large metal poles of the scaffolding that currently surrounded the tower. Resting on them, scaffold boards lay level with the top of the chest-high metal railings. Giant tarpaulins were bound to the outside of the metal structure, rippling and stretching under the strong winds like sails on a grand ship.
Will had hoped that he could use the scaffolding as a means of escape but hadn’t intended to attempt it at such altitude. He wasn’t exactly afraid of heights, so long as he felt relatively safe, but had a very real fear of falling when he didn’t. He surveyed the room, looking for the easiest route out onto the scaffolding. On the other side of the belfry there seemed to be a works access ramp. Will hurried around the outside of the room, along the walkways surrounding the great bell. Now on the opposite side of the room from the entrance, he scaled the paint-stained wooden ramp. Once he reached the top, he found himself standing level with the giant bell. As he prepared to head out through the window, he heard footsteps coming towards the belfry entrance. He looked back through the window and braced himself to step out from the safety of the sturdy stone tower and onto what he considered to be a rickety metal frame with uneven and loosely stacked planks of wood. As soon as he passed the threshold, he made the mistake of looking down, catching a glance of the ground below through one of the disturbingly large gaps between scaffold boards. Will paused for a moment, briefly considering the prospect of talking Cillian Gander down and leaving via the stairs instead, but that approach was made untenable as more gunshots rang out from the other side of the belfry.
Cillian had stepped into the room and without saying a word fired anot
her volley of bullets in Will’s direction. At least one bullet had pinged off the side of the giant bell, causing it to ring violently. The sound was deafening and sure to attract some attention. The other bullets shattered into the stone window frame where Will was standing.
The time for thinking and contemplation was over, so Will ducked out onto the scaffolding, stumbling and falling to the floor. He gasped audibly as he crashed into the wooden boards. The whole structure seemed to shake and sway. The wind also appeared to have increased in strength, whistling in his ears, and was even more chaotic and unpredictable than it had been inside the tower.
Will picked himself up and carefully stepped away from the access window towards the corner of the tower to his right. He had to keep low to avoid giving Cillian a clean shot through one of the many open windows. As he walked, he couldn’t help but look down at the giant clockfaces below him. There was something wildly unique about seeing Elizabeth Tower from this vantage point; not many people would ever see the intricate detail of its outer walls quite like this. There was also something masochistic about the regularity to which Will found himself glancing down through the gaps between the scaffold boards to study the walls of the tower, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Although the gap wasn’t wide enough for him to fall through, it did send a chill to the pit of his stomach and an involuntary tightening of his sphincter every time.
His legs had turned to jelly as he stepped across the scaffolding, the adrenaline leaving his system and his heart rate increasing. The winds were continually buffeting him as he moved, and he stumbled more than once before reaching the corner of the tower. He stood fully upright and placed both hands flat against a large, cool cornerstone. Positioning himself with half of his body around the corner, he moved his face close to the stone so that his nose almost touched it. With one eye peering around the corner, he studied the access window, waiting for some sign of Cillian Gander emerging from it. Will had waited there for what felt like an eternity and still there was no sign of him.
The Timepiece and the Girl Who Went Astray: A thrilling new time travel adventure Page 27
