by James Palmer
“I don’t want to hurt you, Burton,” said the Baron. “But I will.”
“I don’t want to fight you, Baron,” said Burton. “But this madness has to end. Those fish-fiends are killing people. Your people.”
“Everyone must make way for the new and glorious coming,” said Bulwer-Lytton, adjusting his grip on the pistol-thing. His hands were sweaty. This is good, Burton thought. The man was unsure of himself. He could insight people to great violence, but he was no killer. Burton edged closer.
“Those Deep Ones are not your friends.” “They only wish to claim the surface world as their own. This deal you made with them is a deal with the devil.”
“Nonsense,” said Bulwer-Lytton. “They will make us more than we are. The children we have together will live forever and ever.”
“But not as humans,” said Burton. “They will have to go beneath the waves and live as their fellow fish-folk. They will lose their humanity. What kind of life is that? Immortal or otherwise?”
“You do not know what you are talking about. I have seen our future. It will be glorious.”
“Yes, you seem to know a great deal about the future, don’t you? This esoteric knowledge, how was it gleaned?”
Bulwer-Lytton put his free hand to his face, shook his head.
“You don’t know, do you?” said Burton. “Some insight told you of the Deep Ones’ existence, but the rest was all your doing. “You made contact with them, somehow. They offered you some of their strange gold in exchange for your allegiance. By then it was too late. They demanded sacrifices.”
“Yes, yes,” said Bulwer-Lytton. “Gods yes! It was simple at first. The East End is full of scoundrels and layabouts. Cut-throats and dollymops. We gave the Deep Ones their sacrifices while ridding the streets of the worst of its criminals. The great unwashed became the key to humanity’s salvation.”
“What salvation?” said Burton, taking another furtive step closer. “The Deep Ones and shoggoths are slaughtering innocents!”
“I know,” said the Baron. “It is true, I did not foresee it ending this way, but who am I to argue with progress? The Deep Ones will help us rise to a deeper spiritual understanding of ourselves and our place in the universe.”
“Bismillah! They care not a whit for your spiritualist claptrap. They want to rule. This planet belonged to them once, them and their cosmic ilk. They want it back. And if they take it mankind is doomed!”
“I don’t believe you,” said the Baron, leveling the pistol-thing at Burton’s head. It gave off a strange vibration that made Burton’s back teeth ache.
“I’ve seen it!” said Burton, inching closer. “I’ve traveled through Time. I’ve seen the hell they made of the Earth in the distant past. This is man’s time now, and maybe we’ll make a mess of things, maybe we won’t. But we won’t get the chance to find out if the Deep Ones take London. Don’t be a traitor to your entire species, man! Help me put an end to this nonsense tonight.”
Bulwer-Lytton seemed to consider this, but still held the weird pistol at the ready, his hand shaking. Burton didn’t know what the weapon could do, or if he could duck out of the way in time, so he just stayed where he was. He hoped Abberline and Challenger would reach him soon, and the distraction of their arrival would give him a chance to overpower the Baron. A slim and dangerous chance, but it was the only way he could see to end this madness.
“You’re too late, Captain Burton,” said Bulwer-Lytton. “The cogs of war already turn. There is nothing anyone can do. Even if I wanted to. This was predicted by the spirits. They…were talking to me. But now they’ve fallen silent. No doubt because I’ve done their will.”
“You fool,” said Burton, inching closer. “Those weren’t spirits. They were potential lifetimes from other time streams. My last journey through Time caused a paradox, creating a rupture in Time. I was haunted by one of these spirits, what you would call a Dweller on the Threshold, that was actually myself from another of these time streams.”
“Rift?” said Bulwer-Lytton. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not really sure myself,” said the explorer, taking another step. “But nearest I can reason, the rupture was caused by the two of us co-existing. The other Burton sacrificed himself so that only one Burton would remain, me. Thereby closing the rift. That spiritualist chatter you think you heard was actually temporal noise coming from the wound in Time.”
“No,” said Bulwer-Lytton. “The spirit world is real. Just as real as this one. You’re just another doubter. Your apostasy is well-known, Burton.”
“Be that as it may, I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know if there is a spirit world. Bismillah, after all the things I’ve seen, you may be right. But I do know that this isn’t the way to find out. People are dying, Baron. Dying for a cause you gleaned from an Ouija board.”
There was a loud concussion, and the entire structure shook, almost knocking Burton to his knees.
Bulwer-Lytton fell against one of the wooden crates, dropping his eerie weapon. It dropped to the floor with a heavy thud and slid in between two planks to fall into the churning waters of the Thames below. Burton could see its eerie glow ebb as it was subsumed by the dank waters.
“Blast it!” said the Baron. “What is going on?”
Another concussion drowned out his words, and sawdust and cobwebs rained down on them as the pilings shook once more.
“The docks are under attack,” shouted Burton. “It’s over, Baron. We must get out of here.”
“No!” said Bulwer-Lytton. “This isn’t over.”
The building rocked again, this time dislodging one of the pilings.
Bulwer-Lytton held onto one of the crates. “But I was so close. The things in these crates. You should see them, Burton.”
“I don’t want to see them,” said Burton as the building shook again. Floorboards groaned and separated as the rear wall splintered into dust. The whole building pitched backward toward the water. Bulwer-Lytton was tossed out, falling into the dark, frothing waters. Beside him a great, spherical shell heaved up, water running down its black iron hide. Covered in lights, long black tubes protruded from it at regular intervals. In the center of the strange sphere was a thick porthole, illuminated from within. Staring through it was the bearded face of Captain Nemo, giving Burton a quick salute.
Burton watched for a moment as the strange craft submerged, dragging Bulwer-Lytton down with it. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw two fish-like forms grabbing the Baron, pulling him down into a watery hell of his own making.
The building rocked back and forth and Burton, fearful of being pitched into the sea like the Baron, turned and ran toward what remained of the shaky structure’s entrance, gravity slowing his progress. With a final leap he cleared the building before the whole thing toppled into the water. Burton turned to look at the destruction. There were fires all over the docks. Shrill whistles pierced the night as police and firemen ran forward to tackle the blaze. He saw several people in the distance get driven into the water, along with a few things that clearly were not people.
“It’s over,” Burton murmured.
“Captain Burton!” shouted Abberline as he and Challenger ran up to join Burton by what was left of the pier. “Are you all right? Blimey, I thought you’d gone down with the bloody building.”
“No, I’m all right,” said Burton.
“What of Bulwer-Lytton?” asked Challenger.
“He went down with the ship, as it were,” said Burton.
“How?” asked Abberline.
“Our friend Captain Nemo. He bombed these buildings containing the Deep Ones’ weaponry.”
“By Jove,” said Challenger. “Herbert got a message to him after all. I shall buy that little rotter a drink when I see him.”
They might never see him again. Burton couldn’t blame him if he never returned. With Mycroft Holmes threatening to take his wondrous machine, and with all of Time itself at his fingertips, Burton decided that if he
were in Herbert’s shoes he wouldn’t return either.
The three men watched the fires in silence for a time, until the distant horizon flickered with the arrival of the sun.
Isabel and the Time Machine
Dawn broke over a smoldering East End. Black, noxious smoke filled an early morning sky tinted pink with the promise of a new day. Richard Francis Burton, Chief Inspector Abberline, and Professor Challenger surveyed the damage near the docks.
Burton was bone-weary, his face covered in soot. Edward Bulwer-Lytton was dead, pulled underwater by some contraption built by a man who should not exist. The things that had attacked the city had all hopped, loped or crawled back into the water, hopefully never to be seen again.
Mycroft Holmes appeared, flanked by attendants, an angry scowl marring his features. In his hand he held a crumpled piece of paper.
“I demand to know the meaning of this,” he snapped, tossing the paper onto the charred ground.
Burton bent and picked up the paper, unfolding it to read.
Dear Mycroft Holmes,
While I am flattered that you are impressed with my Nautilus, and I admire your dedication to the British Empire, I must regretfully decline your dubious “invitation.” Herbert told me everything. The Nautilus is not a child’s toy for you to take apart and guess as to its operation. Nor does the world need an entire fleet of such vessels traversing the globe making trouble.
However, I am a friend to mankind, and will always provide what assistance I can to the noble cause of humanity’s survival. In that regard, I hope my specially designed torpedo machine stopped the latest incursion by our mutual enemies, the Deep Ones.
Yr. Faithful Servant,
Captain Nemo
Burton laughed and passed the letter to Challenger, who started reading it.
“It arrived this afternoon, but I only just now discovered it,” said Mycroft Holmes. “I demand an explanation. Where is the Time Traveler? And how did he get a message to Captain Nemo aboard his Nautilus?”
“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” said Burton.
Mycroft paused, considering this. Then he reached into his coat pocket and produced another piece of paper. “This arrived a short while ago.”
Burton took it and read it. “Meet me in Hyde Park near Alexandra Gate, 2am. Herbert.”
“Hyde Park?” said Abberline. “What in blazes is he doing all the way out there?”
“We shall find out soon enough, said Mycroft Holmes. “For the hour is almost two. I’ve provided transportation for all of us. Let’s be off.”
Burton’s heart raced along with the fast-thumping hooves of the horses that carried them through London’s night time streets. Tired now, the rush of adrenaline from all that had transpired was starting to ebb. He intended to sleep for a week when this was all over.
When they arrived at the appointed place, Mycroft’s men spread out, scanning every inch of Alexandra Gate for any signs of movement.
A furtive movement to Burton’s right caught his attention, and he looked just in time to see the Time Machine flickering into existence. It was soundless as it grew into solidity, and Burton saw someone with Herbert, sitting awkwardly across his lap.
“Oof!” the figure said. “Calamitous contraption! Don’t think for a second I’m getting back on that thing.”
“I’m very sorry, my lady,” said the Time Traveler. “I never considered building it for two.”
The group ran toward the Time Machine, Burton taking the lead. The person with him was so familiar…
Burton stopped in his tracks as she spun around.
“Isabel?” murmured the explorer. “Isabel!”
He rushed up to wrap her tightly in a warm embrace. She returned it, holding it for a long moment before pulling back. “Richard! But you look positively dreadful. Have you been visiting brothels with that Swinburne sot?”
“No, my dear,” said Burton. “Just…” He searched his friends’ faces for an answer and, finding none, settled on, “Saving the world?”
Challenger bellowed laughter that boomed throughout the park, setting a distant dog to barking.
“Who are all these people?” said Isabel. “Why is it night? And where is that burning smell coming from?”
“I think I should explain,” said Herbert, coming forward to stand beside Isabel. “I rescued Lady Arundell here and brought her back with me, to my own time.”
“Your own time?” said Isabel. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“It’s a long, complex story, my dear,” said Burton. “If you will just suspend your disbelief for a moment, our friend here will try to explain.”
“He had better,” said Mycroft Holmes, glaring at the Time Traveler.
“Yes, well,” said Herbert. “I was afraid of creating more paradoxes, you see. I remembered what Captain Burton had told me about Lady Arundel’s disappearance. She went missing October fourth, last seen in Hyde Park near Alexandra Gate.”
“But it is August fourth,” Isabel protested.
I’m sorry, my dear,” said Burton, taking her hand. “But it is October twenty-third.”
“What?” Isabel’s face grew deathly pale.
“After I took back my Time Machine,” Herbert continued. “I went far into the future, when the walls of the Tower of London had long since crumbled to dust, and moved the machine to a spot where it would no longer be within the Tower’s confines once I returned to the past, er, present.”
“What on earth is he talking about, Richard?” asked Isabel.
“Darling, please,” Burton soothed. “Just listen.”
“It was tough going,” said Herbert. “I really should have put wheels on the confounded thing. Anyway, once that was done I hopped back on the Time Machine and went back through Time, to a point shortly after we returned from our undersea voyage.”
“How did you get a message to Nemo?” asked Mycroft Holmes.
“I’m getting to that,” said the Time Traveler. “I went to the telegraph office and dashed off—pun intended—a few missives to English language newspapers in or around the South Seas, even the southern coast of Africa. There I placed ads in each of those papers, worded so that the details would only make sense to Miss Marsh and Captain Nemo.”
“Telling them to arrive here by this night and time,” said Burton. “Thereby avoiding further paradoxes.”
“Exactly,” said Herbert, who was grinning from ear to ear at his own ingenuity.
“What about Isabel?” said Burton. “How did you bring her back to me?”
Herbert held up a finger. “That took some doing. As you know the Time Machine travels perfectly well through Time, but does not move in similar fashion through Space. After securing the advertisements, I had to hire a pair of large men with strong backs and a pantechnicon to move the thing out here to Hyde Park. I had to pay extra so that they would keep their mouths shut. Then I went back further still, to the day of Lady Arundell’s disappearance.”
“I was just taking a stroll through the park while visiting the city,” Isabel said to Burton. “I missed you, you big oaf. I neglected to bring along a chaperone. I was minding my own business when this, this ruffian accosted me. He told me he was a friend of yours and that I was in terrible danger. He practically dragged me to that queer gizmo of his, and made me sit on his lap! Before I could climb off the blasted thing, we were here, with all of you, and it was suddenly night. Would someone please tell me what is going on?”
“He just did, my dear,” said Burton, trying hard not to laugh. “You, Isabel Arundell, have just become the first Englishwoman to travel through Time.”
Challenger laughed. Herbert giggled. Mycroft Holmes uttered a snort of derision.
“Oh,” said Isabel. “I see. I’ve simply gone mad.”
“No, my dear,” said Burton, kissing her hand. “You have not gone mad. It was I who was mad with worry as to what had become of you. Now I know it was just Herbert mucking about through Time.”
“Yes, it appears I was the cause of her disappearance all along,” said Herbert. “I’m sorry about that, but if I hadn’t abducted her, or returned to an earlier point to tell you she was safe and sound, I would have created yet another awful paradox. I had to fix the damage we caused during our first jaunt, without causing any more.”
“I understand, Herbert,” said Burton. “And I thank you. You have brought my Isabel home safe to me. That is all that matters.” The explorer and the Time Traveler shook hands.
“All right,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Enough chatter. The Time Machine is property of the government. I want it under lock and key.”
Mycroft’s men moved to surround the Time Machine.
“Now wait just a minute,” said Herbert, but Burton pulled him back.
“No,” said the explorer. “He is right, my friend. This is too much power for one individual to command. It should be used for the good of the Empire. We should give Mr. Holmes the control rods for safekeeping. Here.”
Burton leaned over the Time Machine, gripping the crystalline control levers. Instead of unscrewing them, however, he pulled both of them forward and backed quickly out of the way as the Time Machine’s dish spun into furious motion and the device became intangible as it hurled itself into futurity.
“Burton!” said Mycroft Holmes. “Do you have any blasted idea what you have done?”
“Yes, I do,” said Burton with a leering smile. “As I stated, the Time Machine is too much power for one individual.”
“I shall arrest you for theft of government property,” said Mycroft Holmes.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind, for I have stolen nothing. Merely placed it out of your reach. Now if you’ll excuse me, the Lady Arundel and I have some catching up to do.”
