by K. W. Jeter
“The ones whose attentions are fixated on the carnal realm—or carnal and ferric, in the case of Miss Stromneth’s clientele—at least have the decency to pursue their obsessions in private.” This was about the only virtue I could imagine them possessing. “Or at least they do so for the time being—God only knows how public they might make their activities in the future.” A vision entered my thoughts, no less appalling by being sunlit, of the debauched and transmogrified creatures I had witnessed at Fex, continuing their monstrous coitus on tracks running through some previously idyllic English countryside, to the discomfiture of fleeing dairy herds and horrified rural onlookers. “Whereas politicians are by necessity in the public eye.”
“Yes and no,” mused Stonebrake, obviously deep into one of his occasional reflective moods. “We would often like to think so, until we discover more about them and their doings, and then we would prefer to have been left unencumbered by such dismal knowledge.”
“Agreed.” I stepped away from the man. “So let us leave now, before you have the opportunity to show me something else I would rather have not seen.”
“For God’s sake, Dower.” The meditative state was just as easily transformed to irritation. “If you’re this fearful now, what will you be like when something truly horrendous is placed before you?”
“I see no need to discover that, either. I’ll meet you back at the carriage.”
“Come along,” snapped Stonebrake, his irascibility renewed. He took my arm firmly in his grasp, preventing me from turning and heading back toward my preferred destination. By main force, he dragged me toward the rough-hewn wooden door that terminated the passageway through which we had traveled. “Whatever courage you lack, it is more than made up for by the excess of my own.”
Voices and the hubbub of churning human interactions swept over me, as we emerged into a high-ceilinged chamber with more of the appearance of civilization about it. The crowds of which the illfavoured gatekeeper had spoken, enough to fill the building, seemed to have arrived as he had anticipated. And as Stonebrake had foreseen, their preoccupied state, as they rushed about their business, precluded any observation they might have made of us and our sudden appearance amongst them. They no more directed a gaze toward us than the fish thronging a mountain stream would have glanced through the surrounding waters at a figure who might have wandered, staff in hand, to the sandy bank beyond them. So oblivious were they of our presence, that Stonebrake took the caution of drawing me back against the darkly paneled wall, so that I might not be trampled by any of the chamber’s hurrying denizens.
As my vision adjusted from the passageway’s dimness to the more ample illumination in which we now stood, I discerned various aspects of the crowd. The sable robes of bewigged barristers fluttered behind them as they ran past us, great portfolios of pleadings and testaments and other legal documents tightly clasped under their arms. Other, less impressive minions trailed in their wake, towing wheeled file cabinets, presumably less important papers spilling from the oaken drawers. Wheedling supplicants, in every mode of garb from starched and brushed prosperity to utter tattered destitution, sprinted to keep pace with the great officials of the law, even more heedless of the others with whom they collided shoulderfirst, as they breathlessly recited their petitions and protests into the jowled faces from which they hoped to derive some indication of mercy or concern.
“Why are there barristers here?” The mingled racket was of such deafening proportions that I was forced to shout into Stonebrake’s ear to make myself heard. “Shouldn’t they be at the inns of court?”
“Different times, Dower—” He cupped his hand to the side of my head, the better to amplify his own words. “Your memories of how legal procedures were conducted, and where, are but a thing of the past. There have been other changes in your absence, resulting in a great concentration of all elements of authority in one place, advantageously beneath the oversight of those in charge.”
His explanation seemed to account for the breathless chaos I witnessed. Whatever inconvenience might have been associated with the former, archaic ways in which such matters were administered, the arrangement had at least resulted in some stately if somewhat ponderous grace in the slow, methodical dispensing of justice. It had been a situation much remarked upon, that one might grow old and die before one’s case was adjudicated, allowing one to proceed to a greater reward or a more fitting punishment in the next world than one might ever have expected in this life. That dusty, creaking realm of the law was apparently no more, as evidenced by what I saw and my companion’s explanation of it. Now all was a breathless fury of expectations and results, conducted at a sprinter’s pace. Everyone engaged in the intermingling processes hurled themselves toward unseen destinations, as though pursued by demons wielding sulphurous pitchforks, brooking no delay from their harried victims. Indeed, as I watched, judgements were rendered on the fly, with pronouncements from judges so old and grey that they required assistance from ranks of bailiffs, holding the dignitaries upright and carrying them forward, slippered feet ineffectually paddling an inch above the once polished floor. Their words were hastily scribbled by the court-clerks, the worn iron nibs of their pens spattering ink across the vellum pages of massive leather-bound ledgers. In rippling circles about them, the plaintiffs, defendants, petitioners, the odd amicus curiae or two, morbid-minded spectators, and other interested parties either boisterously applauded the judges’ verdicts or bewailed their fates, wringing hands, rending garments, or tearing hair, all depending upon what understanding they had been able to derive in the chamber’s din. The officers of the court appeared to possess no greater comprehension, seizing upon various individuals as though at random and dragging them off through the encumbering crowd, either to some squalid dungeon or the gallows, judging from the flailing, panicked reaction of their elderly, mild-aspected captives. Such events took place concurrent with swarthy brigands, obvious criminal types from their appearance, delightedly receiving the misdirected proceeds, everything from antiquated jewelry to deeds of title, rummaged from brassbound caskets that had been held by the court in escrow.
“This is madness,” I sternly informed Stonebrake beside me. “How could anyone call this a rationalization of the legal process? It’s worse than before!”
“Only in terms of outcome,” he shouted back. The swirling, yammering chaos seemed to have a salutary effect on his mood. “The courts’ pronouncements might be somewhat more variable than they had been, as far as the propagation of justice is concerned, but they are now rendered with astonishing, commendable speed. Think of it! A man might be accused, tried, convicted, and hung, all between midnight and the following hour. Surely that is a great relief to his mind, not to have to ponder over his fate for weeks or months, or even years.”
“Truth be told, I would prefer to elongate the pondering as much as possible, if there were to be a rope at the end of it.”
The unrelenting din had made Stonebrake’s words difficult if not impossible to make out, but I felt confident that I had gleaned the essential gist of them, and that his general approval of all things modern was just as continuous as before. I had expected as much from him, a member of that happy tribe who throw themselves ecstatically headfirst into the abyss of the Future, resembling those more primitive types who cast themselves into tropical volcanoes to propitiate their rude deities.
“Very well, then.” My own voice I raised as loudly as possible. “I have seen this latest hideous display— to what effect I am uncertain, unless you merely intended to oppress my spirits even further. Might we leave now?”
Now that I had become accustomed, however unhappily, to the chamber’s tumult, further details had made themselves apparent to my senses. The perfuse flush on the faces of those madly rushing past was due not alone to the stress of their exertions, but to the humid atmosphere contained within the walls. Indeed, the air was so heated and damp that finger-thick rivulets of water trickled down the dark wooden panels lik
e shimmering, translucent snakes. That degree of moisture had produced deleterious effects on the building’s aged fixtures. I saw now that virtually every scrap of wood, some no doubt hewn centuries ago from the nation’s ancient forests, had bent and warped; some of the larger panels were cracked and split from having been bent nearly double in this suffocating environment.
The source of the humidity was clearly evident, once I managed to peer beyond the hurriedly rushing human forms. Just as the coiling, hissing pipes transformed the London streets outside to environs more suitable to loinclothed Africans than England’s woolengarbed citizens, so had similar constructions made their way into the Houses of Parliament, emitting their scalding vapours to the same extent. The effect was, however, multiplied by the steam clouds remaining pent up in the building, rather than eventually being dispersed into the surrounding open air. Looking up, I saw the lofty heights of the chamber’s ceiling obscured by opaque nimbuses, as mountain peaks are often hid by roiling storms. I would not have been surprised if at any moment, great flashes of lightning had shot out amidst rumbling peals of thunder, lashes of rain falling upon the scurrying figures below.
And in actuality, such an event might have afforded a degree of succour to those ensnared in the various and simultaneous legal proceedings. The dispersal of the steam pipes’ radiated heat being stifled by the relatively close quarters through which they threaded, some lengths of them reddened with the fiery temperatures heightening within them—enough so as to endanger any who came into inadvertent contact with them. Indeed, as I watched, at least one white-wigged barrister’s robes burst into flames as their black hems brushed over a particularly flagrant steam pipe. As though he were an astronomical meteor set upon a horizontal path, he rushed shrieking through the crowd, his portfolio tossed aside, its scattered papers drifting across the heads of those others who were so intent upon their private concerns that they could scarcely be bothered to note what must have been a fairly frequent occurrence within these confines.
Stonebrake seemed equally heedless of these incendiary happenings, as though the general dampness, however sultry, precluded the possibility of any general conflagration engulfing us.
“In short order,” he replied to my enquiry on making our departure from the premises. “I rather expect that that which I have made arrangements for you to witness, and which I am confident you will find edifying, will soon take place. There is a great advantage to Steam having taken over so many aspects of human life; so many things which previously happened in a random, lackadaisical manner, just as people felt motivated or not, happen now with a commendable regularity. Surely one such as yourself, whose own existence has been so much given over to clockwork and its attendant properties, will admit that it is a considerable improvement to have placed Mankind’s comings and goings along the lines of a railway timetable.”
“Not in the least.” I would have had none of his sophistry, no matter what mood or state of exhaustion in which I found myself. “This strikes me rather as human beings serving clocks, rather than the other way around.”
“As I said.” He sailed in typical manner past my objection. “A considerable improvement. Come along. Having praised the punctuality that Steam makes it possible for us to achieve, it would be somewhat embarrassing to be late.”
He laid hold of my arm again and pulled me away from the relative security of the wall against which I had placed my spine. As might a mariner who is tossed overboard into the swirling depths of Norway’s dread Maelstrom, I involuntarily held my breath, perhaps wordlessly hoping thereby to survive the buffeting I was about to endure.
Without Stonebrake’s aid, I would have not reached the other side of the chamber, nor would I have attempted the crossing. Such maritime language is apt in this case, as I quickly discovered that great pools of tepid water had formed, some more than a foot in depth, as the floorboards had been warped by their constant presence. Thus the process of going from one point to the opposite was rendered more like fording a marsh than making one’s way through what had been at a previous time one of the grandest structures in all of Britain. The effort was made even more difficult by the press and rush of so many other human bodies around oneself, precluding any choice of the route one might take and forcing our steps toward whatever foothold we might achieve.
At last, my grudgingly followed companion achieved the destination he had fixed upon; with a strenuous effort, he pulled me out of the teeming, soggy crowd and alongside him, our backs placed near a high, vaulting doorway.
“It will be a trifle easier from here on, Dower.” He spoke as though he were one of those sturdy adventurers who guide less experienced visitors through African forests. “Much less crowded, if nothing else. We are passing from the realm of the courts, into which anyone can venture, from the highest to the lowest.” With a nod of his head, Stonebrake indicated the door close to us, in which a scowling guardsman stood, one bulky hand clutching the staff of an axe-bladed halberd, which seemed more ominously useful than merely ceremonial. “Beyond lies rather more privileged territory.”
The guardsman’s aspect was so threatening, that despite the press of the litigious crowd an empty space a yard or so in radius extended before him. I watched with some trepidation as Stonebrake stepped into this sanctum and engaged the guardsman in a discussion that initially resulted in the other’s expression turning even grimmer and more threatening, his fists tightening upon his weapon as though he were about to raise it and strike my companion’s head from his shoulders. I regarded this possibility with some apprehension. Admittedly, Stonebrake’s company was not entirely congenial to me, and I would have reckoned his death as small loss in that regard—but I had not yet profited from my association with him in the manner that I wished. To that degree, I hoped he might survive this hushed conference.
A few more words passed between them, before the guardsman’s heavy face indicated some success on the part of Stonebrake, at least to the point of not murdering him on the spot. A nod as a small packet passed to his hand from Stonebrake’s outstretched fingers, then a signal to me as the guardsman pushed open the door behind him.
“Everything is in order,” said Stonebrake. “You needn’t look so nerve-afflicted. All we need to do is nip along smartly. I imagine that certain . . . events, shall we say . . . have already commenced.”
“This is reprehensible,” I said as I kept pace with him, through the door and into the next chamber beyond. “I don’t know why, but even now I expected somewhat better of you.”
“Really?” He sighed and shook his head. “Now what is it that you’re agitated about?”
“You simply bribed that man for us to gain admittance.”
“Surely you jest, Dower. Does as small a sin as that merit your disdain?”
“Not in the slightest.” The din of the court’s chaos faded behind us as the guardsman pulled the door shut. “I am a man of the world—”
“Oh, yes; very worldly, indeed. A person of vast sophistication.”
“You’re in no position to mock. I was not referring to your purchase of our entry here—wherever it is that you have brought me to now, and for what purpose. I have done as much, on more than one occasion, when I had previously made my residence in London. Such monetary considerations, a few coins deposited in an expectant upturned palm, are but the common price of passing through one doorway or another.”
“Then what is it that you are complaining about?”
“A simple enough indictment,” I replied. “You had previously boasted that there was some element of exclusivity to our eventual destination. If this be it, I fear that I see no hindrance to anyone from the street outside making their way here, with no more expense or effort than that which you have displayed just now. It seems no more exclusive than any grogshop with a bully at the door, demanding a ha’penny before one can stumble down in some wretched den smelling of spilled beer slops.”
“You mistake the circumstances,” said Stonebrake, “b
y which we gained admittance to these premises. The money I gave to that single-headed Cerebrus would not have been sufficient by itself to have caused him to step aside for us. You did not hear what words I spoke to him in addition, what name I dropped into his ear, in order to gain his favour.”
“Lord Fusible’s name, I would expect.”
“Rubbish!” He gave an emphatic shake of his head. “You overvalue our connection with the merely wealthy. Fusible’s income from Phototrope Limited and his other entrepreneurial ventures does indeed amount to an enviably tidy sum, but on a plutocratic scale he and his fellow investors are at a very low level indeed, compared to others. Believe me on this score, Dower, that there are figures abroad in this land whose financial holdings and attendant power dwarf anything that Fusible has at his command.”
“Such as that formerly human dignitary, and now only partly so, whose lecherous activities I was forced to witness at Fex?”
“He would be one of them, yes. As both Miss Stromneth and I indicated to you there, those types of transformations are not cheaply acquired.”
“That is understood by me.” I continued walking at a brisk pace alongside Stonebrake. The space through which we passed was but dimly lit, barely enough so that I could make out the ornate details of its lofty ceiling. “And of course, the gentleman can squander his money however he pleases; it makes no difference to me how he does so.”
