by Peter Oxley
“That’s ’im,” shouted a man. “The demon!”
I flinched and looked around before noticing the fingers pointing at N’yotsu. Any relief I felt was short-lived as the mood quickly soured, the jostling and muttering becoming even more pronounced and threatening. I felt the runic sword’s presence in its scabbard strapped to my back, an almost tangible hot itch as it longed to be unsheathed and put to work. I clenched my hands into fists and resisted. My turning into a demon before their eyes would almost certainly be the final push they needed to descend into all-out rioting.
The soldiers around us redoubled their efforts, shouting and pushing back with the butts of their weapons. I caught a glimpse of Morley in the background, watching with interest and making no effort to order his men to assist us, but he was soon lost in a mass of scowling, shouting faces. I looked to my friends and companions to make sure that they were all right and shared nods with each of them. N’yotsu was as inscrutable as ever, while Kate was her usual unflappable self, almost seeming to enjoy being the centre of attention. Joshua and Lexie were slightly less sanguine: presumably this was the first time that they had been in such a situation. They clung to each other tightly, Joshua trying to put a brave face on things for the sake of his younger sister, although to her credit Lexie appeared to be making the best of things, glaring defiantly around while her brother stared fixedly ahead.
I put a hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “All will be fine,” I shouted. “Captain Pearce has got us out of much tougher scrapes than this in the past!” I looked more to Lexie than Joshua as I spoke in an attempt to spare his feelings, but he looked back at me with the desperation of one who wanted to believe every word.
I straightened my back and walked taller, putting on a show of confidence for our younger companions, my physical comportment at complete odds to how I really felt. While I tried to focus on the sturdy backs of our military escort, I could feel my breath shortening as my body tensed in claustrophobic resistance to the masses pressing in on us. I wanted to beat my way through and then run as fast as I could away from this madness, and it took all of my energy just to keep me walking slowly and steadily along with my companions.
Everything blurred into a narrow tunnel as I forced myself to stare ahead and not look round, lest I be panicked by the reality of what I would see there. At the same time I focused on keeping my face fixed in an expression of steely but relaxed determination; I knew that the mob wanted to see us weakened by their antics and I was damned if I would give them the satisfaction.
Wilford Street gave way to a short bridge, which merely served to press the crowd closer around us, in spite of the soldiers’ best efforts. We made it to the other side of the River Trent, Wilford Street turning into the wider and longer Wilford Road. In the distance ahead of us I could see the puffs of steam that marked the railway station: maybe we would make it in one piece after all.
Eventually the crowd started to thin in front of us and I looked up to see another line of soldiers ahead, with the redoubtable Captain Gilbert at their centre. Once we had drawn the crowd away from the castle, he had taken a number of soldiers on a swift jog round the back streets, flanking our progress and forming up mid-way along Wilford Road, effectively forming a bottleneck to deny the mob the chance to easily pursue us as we made a last dash towards the railway station.
Gilbert grinned at us as we approached. “Prepare yourselves for some gunshots,” he shouted. “As soon as you hear them, start running. The station’s 100 yards down the road.”
“They’re going to shoot at them?” asked Joshua, shocked. “That’s not—”
“Don’t worry,” I cut in. “It will be warning shots over their heads, just to discourage and confuse them and buy us some time.” We were through Gilbert’s line now. “Get ready,” I said.
The words were no sooner out of my mouth than the deafening peal of gunfire erupted around us. We broke into a sprint, urged on by our escorts, as another volley cracked the air.
I counted the steps between each burst as my feet pounded the paving stones, noting how the pauses in between were punctuated by shouting and screaming from the mob behind us. The station drew closer and I saw with relief a strong column of steam reaching into the air from somewhere in the building: a train was ready and stoked. Whether it was in a position to leave just yet was irrelevant as we planned to force the issue.
We raced through the station building and onto the platform, past startled travellers who pinned themselves to the walls to avoid being knocked down like skittles. Pearce sent three soldiers to the engine to ensure that the drivers would comply with our accelerated timetable, while the rest of us bundled into the front-most carriages.
A number of civilians had already settled themselves in their seats and they watched us pass with a mixture of shock and annoyance. I smiled and doffed my hat to a couple of elderly ladies before throwing myself into a seat: a heavy-breathing, perspiring lump.
“You are out of shape,” observed N’yotsu as he smiled at me from his seat, a study in calmness in spite of our situation.
“It’s all that ale and wine,” said Kate. “I said it was no good for you.”
“Bugger off,” I replied, turning to watch Pearce marshal the rest of the soldiers onto the train while he stood on the platform guarding against any last-minute attackers. As the train started to move, he jumped on board, him and his men keeping their muskets trained on the platform as we pulled away from the station.
I forced myself to my feet and walked over to Pearce. “Will Captain Gilbert and his men be all right?” I asked. “I still think they should have come with us: the city is lost.”
“While I agree with you, someone has to hold the rear and protect our backs to certify we are not pursued.” He paused as he caught sight of me. “Are you all right? You look a little… red.”
“I am fine,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow. While the sword gifted me with wonderful powers and stamina while I was using it, when it rested it was incredibly stubborn in refusing to assist me.
“In any case,” continued Pearce, “they have horses and will join up with us a little way down the line. As you say, the city is lost. In any case, after them opening fire on the mob, I suspect Morley will stop at nothing to hound them out now.”
“Yes… Morley.” I said, my mind whirling again at the mention of the man’s name. “I am intrigued as to the nature of the authority he claims to be acting under.”
“As am I,” said Pearce. “Hopefully someone in London will be able to assist us in that regard.”
Chapter 8
The air was noticeably warmer back in London than it had been up north, and for that I was grateful. I was, however, relieved by the approaching autumn, for that year’s summer had been particularly sticky and unpleasant, not helped by the cloying fog created by the various peat and coal fires that still burnt unabated in those areas of the city where humans dared not tread.
We had only been gone just over a week but I still found myself drinking in the sights, the bustle of pedestrians and traffic and the familiar landmarks we passed. There was a certain vibrancy about the city that I had missed on our travels, a liveliness and intensity that none of our other stops had been able to match. And, of course, not being the subject of a lynch mob certainly helped my positive frame of mind.
We swung round the side of Trafalgar Square, staring absent-mindedly at the fountains that were already stained and mottled thanks to the city’s smoke and dirt, in spite of being just 20 years’ old. The plumes from the fountains played merrily at the front of the columns framing the entrance to the National Gallery. Rounding the corner, we were met with the wide thoroughfare of Whitehall, the ornate and brown brick buildings lining the route down past the Admiralty and Horse Guards towards Westminster Palace and Westminster Abbey.
Our carriage drew to a halt right next to the Admiralty building and opposite Scotland Yard. We stepped down to the pavement outside the relatively unremarkable do
or to 24 Whitehall, the location of Maxwell’s latest residence-cum-laboratory. Its proximity to so many centres of operation for military and policing was supposedly for our protection, although I sometimes wondered whether the true reason was to keep an eye on us. To that end, I had steered clear of The Clarence, a tavern that was conveniently close to Maxwell’s laboratory but no doubt also home to any number of prying eyes and flapping ears.
The soldiers guarding the doors watched us closely as we approached, nodding as they recognised us and standing aside only when we confirmed the bona fides of our new companions as well.
We passed through another couple of checkpoints until we finally entered the building proper. Moving beyond the entrance lobby, we made our way through a series of locked and guarded doors until we reached a tall spiral staircase, again guarded by two men at the top and bottom. Joshua turned to me as we descended. “What is in this building that warrants such security?” he asked.
“Max and his inventions, for the most part,” I said.
“There’s a lot of guards here for just one man,” Lexie said.
“He’s not just any man,” I said. “He’s a prime target for the demons: probably the most vulnerable and important man in the Empire.”
“The demons still want him? But surely now that they are through from the Aether, and portals are becoming easier to create…?”
“Ah,” said N’yotsu. “But we currently—for the time being at least—live in a scientific age. A sustainable portal to the Aether is not yet possible without scientific assistance, and creating a linking portal through to another realm is harder still. Maxwell and his knowledge and experience is a rather unique asset, and one that the demons would do anything to get hold of. Hence our precautions to protect a very valuable person, whose knowledge could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.”
“And presumably also the obsidian stone containing what is left of Andras?” asked Joshua.
“Safe and secure,” snapped N’yotsu. “And not here.” He marched off ahead in a way that very firmly informed us that the conversation was over.
Joshua looked at us questioningly and Kate grinned. “Word to the wise, mate: if you ain’t figured it out already, don’t mention the ‘A’ word around N’yotsu. He don’t like to be reminded of that side of himself. To tell the truth, none of us do.”
We walked through a long, low corridor, taking care to bend our necks and walk in single file so as not to brush our hair or clothing against the clammy walls. I had implored Maxwell to find somewhere less damp and dingy to live and work than this upmarket sewer but had been met with firm rebuttals each time; not just from him but also N’yotsu and Kate, who were less swayed by Maxwell’s obsession with the array of facilities available than with the simple fact that this was probably one of the most secure living/working quarters in the country. While I shared with them a concern for Maxwell’s safety, I also worried about the impact on his welfare and sanity of being cooped up like a common prisoner with no sunlight or fresh air.
N’yotsu reached the door to my brother’s laboratory and knocked. Kate elbowed him aside and pushed open the door without waiting for a reply. As we followed her inside our noses were assailed by the usual heady mixture of stale sweat and astringent chemicals that signalled Maxwell was in residence and hard at work.
The room was shrouded in a dim light from a handful of lanterns dotted around the central workstation, which was in turn filled with an alarming number of contraptions all lying around like a toddler’s wildest playtime. The outskirts of the room’s meagre lighting suggested yet more chaos spreading out towards the edges, lost in the darkness around us. In the centre of this sat Maxwell in his wheelchair, scowling up into the light from behind us.
“Kate, how many times do I have to tell you to wait until I respond before entering?” he said in a rasping voice.
“Well, I tried that once and you kept me waitin’ for ages,” she said, already bustling around him and lighting more lanterns.
“That’s because I was busy: I am in the middle of some very intricate and potentially dangerous experiments. The very slightest disturbance could be fatal.”
She stopped and crossed her arms. “So what you workin’ on now then?”
He blushed and looked down at the table in front of him and the pot and cup in his hands. “I was making tea. But that is not the point, you did not know that.”
“Stop being so grumpy,” she said. “You should be pleased to see us; it’s been a while.”
“Has it?” he asked. “It can be difficult to tell the passage of time down here.”
I shot N’yotsu and Kate a look that shouted: ‘I told you so,’ but they both ignored me.
“We have brought you a couple of guests,” said N’yotsu.
“A couple?”
“Yes. Joshua Bradshaw, as requested, and his sister Lexie.”
Joshua darted forwards and thrust out his hand in greeting. “Such a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr Potts,” he said.
Maxwell stared at the young man’s hand for a moment before realising that it would be impolite to decline the greeting. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said slowly, shaking Joshua’s hand before dropping it like a dead fish. He looked back at N’yotsu and me. “But I do not recall requesting that you bring me the entire family.”
“It was a condition of my Mother’s,” said Joshua. “I will make sure that she does not get in the way…”
Lexie elbowed him aside. “I believe our work may be of mutual interest,” she said. “I am a keen student of mathematics and in particular the works of Ada King, Countess of Lovelace.”
Maxwell looked at her for a long moment. “At what level of advancement are your studies?”
She pulled a thick pile of papers from her satchel. “This is my commentary on Lovelace’s Notes.”
“The translation of Menabrea’s article?” asked Maxwell, taking the papers and thumbing through them.
“Yes,” she said. “I found it a most stimulating introduction to the principles behind Babbage’s work.”
Maxwell looked up at her. “How old are you?”
“I am 18,” she said. “Not that that matters in the slightest.”
“No, no, not at all.” While anyone else would have been flustered by her forthright tone, Maxwell seemed to have hardly noted it. “I am merely fascinated by the fact that you have understood so much in such a relatively short time. When did you commence studying Lovelace’s work?”
“Mother has had me learning about her since I was a child. But these notes, well, since I was about 14 years old.”
“The Analytical Engine is a concept I have had a great deal of interest in for some time,” said Maxwell. “In fact, the mechanisation of calculations could greatly aid my studies by helping me to work through the variables that comprise the boundaries to the Aether.”
“I thought as much,” said Lexie, just as excitedly. “With a few tweaks to the design it could very easily make the computations that would be required to identify the particular resonances unlocking individual worlds, and by inference which ones could close the barrier to our world once more.”
“My thinking exactly! I have mentioned the concept to Charles Babbage on a number of occas—”
“You know Mr Babbage?”
“Of course. I can introduce you to him at some point; he would no doubt be fascinated to find one cut from the same cloth as Ada was.”
“Looks like true love,” I commented dryly and Joshua turned to glare at me. “Of course,” I said softly, then louder: “Max, remember that you do have two guests here, and Joshua has been very keen to collaborate with you on… erm… magical stuff.”
“But of course,” said Maxwell. “This could be the perfect combination: the prodigies in mathematics and magic, aligned with the knowledge and experience of myself and N’yotsu. I believe, my friends, that not even the sky is the limit!”
Kate sidled over to me. “Where does that
leave us then?”
“We, my dear, are the blunt instruments,” I grinned, patting the hilt of my sword.
“Speak for yourself,” she muttered.
“Failing that,” I said, “we will get irresponsibly drunk and invite trouble.”
“Now that,” she smiled, “is more like it.”
N’yotsu put his hand on my shoulder. “There will be time for that later. In the meantime, you and I should pay a visit to Downing Street.”
After a short walk up Whitehall we turned right into Downing Street, stepping around the puddles, potholes and piles of horse dung as we made our way to Number 10. A pair of policemen casually watched us as we headed down the surprisingly run-down street, which was the official residence and office of state of the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.
In the entrance hall we encountered a group of bickering functionaries, who glared at us before returning to their business. A flustered official extricated himself, rushing towards us with an outstretched hand. “Mr N’yotsu, Mr Potts. We received your letter. Please follow me and I will see if he can fit you in.”
“Hang on a moment,” shouted one of the people from the other side of the room. “I have been waiting here for hours, and these two just wander in off the street and are taken straight upstairs? This is an insult, sir!”
I turned my shoulders so that the hilt of my sword became visible. “Important matters of state,” I said. “I am sure that you understand.”
The man’s eyes widened as he finally registered who we were. “Of course. My apologies.” He turned away, red-faced.
I grinned back at our official, who had watched the exchange with disguised amusement. “Shall we?” I asked.
“Thank you,” he said as he led us up the grand staircase. “Some people do not seem to understand simple English.”
