“This is indeed so,” said Mr Wells. “End Time cults have existed throughout history. There have been countless false messiahs, preaching that, ‘the end is at hand’. All have been wrong, however.”
“On the contrary,” said Barry. “Most have been correct. Mankind stands teetering on the edge of destruction. It always stands teetering on the edge of destruction. Always has, probably always will.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mr Wells. “Amply proven by history. We are still here, are we not?”
“Only because of the likes of me.” Barry now moved Will’s hand towards his mouth and poured port into it.
“Oi!” said Will, regaining control of himself. “Cut that out. Just do the talking.”
“There is always some terrible conspiracy,” Barry continued. “Always some fiendish plot on the part of the forces of evil to destroy mankind and unleash chaos upon the world. Always. The likes of me are forever engaging in titanic struggle against the likes of them. We thwart their sinister plots and save mankind from extinction. Why only last month—”
“Only last month you were in Rune’s steamer trunk,” said Will, before relaxing once again.
“Chief, I can travel through time. I could pop off this moment, do things for years and years in another time and then be right back here a split second later, before you even realised that I was gone. There; I did it, then.”
“Tell us about your brother,” said Mr Wells. “I am sure Mr Starling would like to hear all about him.”
“I would,” Will agreed.
“Then just slacken that jaw and listen, chief.”
Barry continued with the telling of his tale. “I can’t do anything Without human help,” he said. “I need a ‘host’ to work with, as it were. Someone enlightened, who can actually hear the voice of their Holy Guardian. Most folk cannot. Choosing the right host isn’t easy, which is why some of my kind come to grief. They fall in with the wrong crowd, like my brother has a habit of doing, and then the trouble starts.”
“I spy a flaw in your line of debate,” said Mr Wells. “Surely everyone, according to reasoning, has a Holy Guardian Angel, be it angel or vegetable, assigned to them at birth.”
“That’s the way God does business,” said Barry. “Well, not God exactly, because He doesn’t get around to doing much of anything nowadays, but one of His operatives, in a department, in heaven, somewhere.”
“But everyone has one.”
“Yes,” said Barry. “I told you that.”
“So where is Mr Starling’s? When you moved in, did you evict the previous tenant?”
“Ah,” said Barry.
“Ah,” said Mr Wells.
“Allow me to explain,” said Barry. “Evicting the previous tenant, as you put it, is not something to be entered into lightly. It can have a dire effect on the ‘host’. Conflicting voices in the head, that kind of thing. It will be called schizophrenia in a few decades from now. It’s a tricky business. I am here at this present time because of the big trouble that is here. Mr Rune, for all his unconventional behaviour, was one of the good guys. He was dedicated to the fight against evil. I sought him out to help. But his Holy Guardian, Gavin the gooseberry—”
“What?” went Will.
“Slacken up, chief.”
Will slackened up.
“Gavin the gooseberry wasn’t having any of it. He thought he knew best. So I manifested in physical form to Mr Rune during one of his many abortive conjurations. But he didn’t trust me, and he kept me in a box. I was trying and trying to win him over and let me come inside. I could have made short work of that Gavin, sprout against a gooseberry, no contest! But however it didn’t come to pass, because Mr Rune had a plan of his own and it so happened that my plan and his plan joined together perfectly. Rune sought knowledge of future events, very possibly to lay bets upon race horses, but I’m sure also to aid the forces of good. I suggested to him that although it was a radical thing to do, I might be persuaded to bring someone back from the future; someone who would have knowledge of past events which were still future events to Mr Rune. If you understand me.”
Mr Wells nodded and sipped port.
“And this was the clever bit,” said Barry. “Rune wanted to bring back his magical heir, a descendant of his. The last of his line, in fact.”
“Tim.” Will worked his own mouth.
“Tim,” said Barry. “But, as you know, there was a bit of a balls-up and you were brought back instead.”
“A moment please,” said Mr Wells. “If you hatched up this plan with Rune, why was I brought into this?”
“You were working on a time machine,” said Barry. “And Mr Rune wanted to borrow a hundred quid. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“Scoundrel,” said Wells. “Outrageous!”
“And a terrible mistake all round,” Barry continued. “I allowed myself to be placed in that machine. Allowed my time-travelling powers to be harnessed but not under my control. The machine was stolen, and used by the forces of evil against Mr Starling, because he had found evidence that the history he had been taught was incorrect, and his returning here would have an effect on changing things back to the way they should be. It’s all rather complicated. But the point I’m trying to make, and in answer to your question about previous tenants, is this. Mr Starling turned out to be the ideal candidate, because he doesn’t have a Holy Guardian of his own. In his age there are no more Holy Guardians, because in his age there is no more God.”
“What?” went Will.
And “What?” also went Mr Wells.
“In the age you come from, chief, there is no record of the incredible technological achievements of this age, am I right?”
“You are,” said Will.
“Because history will be changed in the year 1900. Everything will change as if none of the amazing things, the electrical automobiles, the Dreadnaught, the moonship that is soon to be launched, ever happened. The human race will take an evolutionary step backwards. This will lead to terrible things happening. Amongst those terrible things, and in fact the most terrible of them all, will be the death of God.”
“God cannot die,” said Mr Wells.
“I agree,” said Will.
“You do?” said Barry.
“I do,” said Will. “He can’t die, because He doesn’t exist.”
Barry had a right royal struggle to slacken Will’s jaw once again. “Exactly, because if no one believes in Him, He effectively ceases to exist. But whether you do or do not believe in God, chief, you know that history was changed. You’re here now, you can see how things really are. You can’t deny that, can you?”
Will just shook his head, slowly and thoughtfully.
“Something happens to change it all, to wipe out all records of what really happened here. All but a tiny detail here and there, like the digital watch the chief here discovered on a Victorian painting. One or two little things slipped through the magical net somehow. And the evil ones who stole the time machine tried to put that right, destroy the evidence and wipe out all knowledge. So far they’ve failed to do that, which means that we still have a chance at this minute to save the future from being interfered with. And to save good old God too. He’s not a bad old stick; He doesn’t deserve to get the chop.”
Will would have spoken, but he was speechless. Mr Wells, however, was not.
“I recall,” said he, “that you prefaced this tale with the words, ‘You have to understand that none of this is my fault’. And you have enforced this by telling us that although you were the power behind the time machine, you had no control over where it was sent.”
“Mr Rune set the controls,” said Barry. “He worked out the equations.”
“Rune told me that,” said Will, “when I first met him. I crash-landed in a street. Rune told me the calculations were slightly out. I don’t recall you being amongst the wreckage, though, Barry.”
“Had to make a timely departure, chief. A drayman’s horse n
early stepped upon me.”
“No, no, no,” said Will. “None of this makes any sense. If you wanted to be inside me, as my Holy Guardian, why didn’t you do it then?”
“You weren’t ready, chief. You were pretty confused, finding yourself in the Victorian era and everything. And you needed time with Mr Rune, so he could teach you stuff. Prepare you for the fight.”
“He taught me a lot,” said Will. “No magic, though.”
“He taught you Dimac,” said Mr Wells, ruefully rubbing at his bandaged ankle.
Barry cleared Wills’s throat. “Can I just ask one question?” he asked. “Mr Wells, how did you know about my brother?”
“Rune told me, over a very expensive dinner at one of his clubs, which I paid for. Rune liked to pontificate, to boast of his knowledge. ‘Science is bunk,’ he said to me. ‘Do not be fooled by scientific achievement; it has magic at its core.’ I didn’t believe him then, of course. We were celebrating the fact that the time machine was completed. I did not know then that the only reason it was completed was because Barry here had been installed within it by Rune. And I had parted with the one hundred pounds. And he couldn’t resist telling me. He told me all about you, and your brother. Barry’s brother, Mr Starling, was another of God’s little helpers, but he came to a sorry end.”
“A very sorry end,” said Barry. “Got cooked in the Great Fire of London. He persuaded his host there, a baker named Wilkinson, to get the fire started to purge London of the plague. The plague would have wiped out the entire country if it hadn’t been for my brother.”
“And,” Mr Wells continued, “Rune told me that he had arranged with Her Majesty that we would demonstrate the time machine before her at Buckingham Palace the following day. When we returned here after the meal, the time machine was gone.”
“Hold on,” Will’s voice was now once more under his own control. “This all makes some kind of sense, if Rune had already set the controls, and these ‘forces of evil’ had found out about his plan. All they had to do was put their terminator robot in the driving seat and send it off on its way while you were out at dinner celebrating. Is that what happened, Barry?”
“Near as damned, chief. I’ve been trying to figure it out myself. I know I travelled into the future and back, but who was at the controls, I don’t know. If I’m not inside a human, then I can’t see through their eyes. But I do know that Rune was being constantly followed. Time and time again I warned him, but he always boasted that he was invulnerable to attack. Sadly he was proved wrong on that account.”
And Barry relinquished his hold upon Will’s vocal cords.
Fire crackled in the grate. Will rose, fetched the port, refreshed Mr Wells’ glass and also his own. He returned to his seat and sat down upon it.
“Well,” said Will.
“Well,” said Mr Wells.
“I really don’t know what to say and what to do next.”
Mr Wells dusted talcum from his hands. His port glass hovered in the air. “I do not know what to believe any more,” he said. “I am a man of science, or perhaps I should say, was. If only I could claim that I achieved this dismal state of invisibility through science, then I would argue science over superstition. But sadly I cannot. My present state of being was not achieved through the administration of a medical decoction. I fear that I hold a certain degree of responsibility for your present predicament, Mr Starling.”
“I don’t understand,” said Will.
“I brought the evil to you.”
“I really don’t understand.”
“I travelled in the time machine myself,” said Mr Wells. “Before my dinner with Rune. Before the machine was stolen.”
“You did?” said Will. “When did you go to?”
“I went forward into the latter part of the twentieth century. I only altered the date Rune had set. Not the location. I travelled forward to Brentford, and I became involved in a number of most extraordinary adventures, before I returned here. Ten minutes before Rune arrived to take me to dinner, I met two remarkable fellows in Brentford; a Mr Pooley and a Mr Omally. But I have reason to believe now that I did not return from that time alone. Someone, or something, returned with me. And that someone or something absconded with my time machine.”
“How can you be sure of that?” Will asked.
“Because that someone or something dropped something when they stole the time machine. And I found it and I used it, which is why I am now invisible.”
“And what was this something?” Will asked.
“A computer,” said Mr Wells. “A miniature computer. It took me considerable time to fathom its workings, but when I did, I discovered that it contained a veritable storehouse of arcane knowledge: certain mathematical formula, mathematical and magical formula.”
Will shook his head. “Will you show this to me?” he asked.
“No,” said Mr Wells. “I destroyed it. Cast it into the fire.”
“Why?” Will asked.
“Fear, I suppose.”
“What did it look like?” Will asked.
“It was about this size.” Mr Wells motioned with invisible fingers. “You pressed it in at its lower edge and the top slid aside. On the inside of the inner lid were a number of markings. A serial number.”
Will dug into his pocket and brought out his palm-top. “Did it look anything like this?” he asked.
Mr Wells stared at Will’s palm-top. “It looked exactly like that,” he said.
Will pressed the lower edge of his palm-top and the top slid aside. “Do you remember the serial number on the inside of the inner lid?” he asked.
“I do,” said Mr Wells. “It was 833903.”
Will studied the number embossed upon his palm-top. He really didn’t need to study it, he knew it well enough by heart.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” said Will.
21
Will had breakfast with Mr Wells. He cooked up a big boy’s breakfast, which included mushrooms, tomatoes and potatoes. He and Mr Wells enjoyed it thoroughly.
“So what will you do now?” asked Mr Wells, upon the completion of their considerable repast.
Will wiped a napkin over his mouth. “Continue,” he said. “Search for Rune’s murderer. I have sworn to do this and so I shall.”
“And for all the rest?”
“If it is connected, and I agree that perhaps it might well be, then I shall do what I can. You had my palm-top computer, which somehow came from the twentieth century, which means that I must have been there, or will be there, or something. I’m sure it will all become clear eventually. But can I ask you this? Might I rely upon your assistance if the need should arise?”
“You feel now that you can trust me?”
“I have no reason not to. I will ache for some time from the violence you visited upon me, but your port has at least cleared my hangover.”
“I thought you a potential assassin,” said Wells. “You can understand that.”
“I can.” Will rose from his chair. “I will take my leave now. Will you be all right, with your ankle and everything?”
“I will telephone for the services of my good friend Dr Watson.”
“Not the Dr Watson.”
“The,” said Wells.
“You’ll have to call someone else,” said Will. “He’s away with Mr Holmes, solving the case of the Hound of the Baskervilles. The butler did it, by the way.”
“My turn to be speechless, I think,” said Mr Wells.
“A pleasure to meet you,” said Will. “Farewell.”
“So, where are we off to now, chief?” asked Barry, when Will was once more in the street. “Chiswick, is it?”
“No,” said Will. “I don’t think so.”
“But, chief, I’ve told you everything. We’re on the same side, we share the same goals. Sort of.”
“Barry,” Will spoke behind his hand to avoid the attention of passers-by, “we will do things my way or not at all. You are free to depart whenever y
ou wish.”
“You won’t get back to the future without me, chief.”
“Perhaps I’m not bothered,” said Will. “Perhaps I like it here. I’m used to it now, and frankly, it’s better than the time I come from. Much more exciting.”
“Come off it, chief. You don’t mean that really.”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, but I won’t be bullied by you. Since I’ve put myself in charge, I’ve found out all manner of things. I think I’ll just carry on doing things my way.”
“Then we’re all doomed,” said Barry.
“What was that?” Will asked.
“I said, ‘then we’re all doomed’, as it happens.”
“We’ll see,” said Will. “We’ll see.”
Will hailed a hansom and returned to his room at the Dorchester. Here he bathed and then dressed himself in one of the morning suits from the extensive range of clothing that Barry had acquired for him. Will took up Rune’s cane, twirled it between his fingers and examined his reflection in the cheval glass.
“Very dashing, chief. A regular dandy, you are. So what do you have in mind to do next?”
“A visit to Whitechapel police station,” said Will. “We will see if any new clues have turned up regarding the Ripper murders.”
“A waste of time, chief. You know that they haven’t.”
“I can no longer trust history, Barry. I will follow the case. There has to be a reason why those women were murdered. And if, and I mean if, the same murderer killed Hugo Rune, then we’ll see what we shall see.”
“But chief, come on, the witches, the forces of darkness. The End Times at hand, the death of God, the—”
“My way, Barry. My way or not at all. If the case can be solved. I will solve it.”
“How, chief? How will you solve it?”
“By deduction, Barry. The science of deduction. I’ve read all the Sherlock Holmes books. I know his methods.”
“So you are now a consulting detective?”
Will took up the envelope of case notes. “I’m Will Starling,” he said. “Associate of Mr Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street, and out to make a name for myself in history as the man who brought Jack the Ripper to justice.”
The Witches of Chiswick Page 21
