by Tim Hehir
‘Watch where you’re going,’ said Baines.
‘It nearly had me, that time,’ said Rapple. He shook the rat to subdue it, then poured some of liquid from the bubbling bulb into a beaker.
The praying mantis creature turned the birdcage over and over in its claws, looking at it from every angle.
Julius wiped the clean circle a little wider. By the light of Baines’s candle he could see Abigail clearly now.
She was almost twice as tall as a man and unlike any creature he had ever seen. One claw was made of kitchen forks and the other of knives. Her head was shaped like the muzzle of a dog. It was made of razors laid over each other like the scales of a fish. Her mouth was filled with razors too, forming long sharp teeth.
For eyes she had the casings of pocketwatches. Red light glowed behind the glass. Her head was fixed to a long neck of kitchen taps, washers and lengths of pipe. The creature turned the birdcage around, checking it minutely. Another claw came up from behind the table. It was topped with five small mirrors, which flicked open, like a hand stretching its fingers, and fanned themselves around the cage.
‘She likes it, Mr Rapple,’ said Baines with relief.
Rapple was not listening. He picked up a knife from the table.
‘We might as well use this one,’ he said, looking at the rat hanging from his gloved hand.
He swung it by the tail, hitting it against the edge of the table. Then he sawed its head off and held it over the bubbling beaker. Blood poured from the rat like wine from a bottle. When it stopped Rapple wrung the carcass out like a dishcloth to get a few last drops. Julius felt his stomach lurch.
‘All done,’ said Rapple, as he tossed the dead rat into a bucket under the table. The liquid in the beaker frothed and steamed for a few seconds then became still. Rapple held it up to the light and swirled the blood mixture inside.
‘It’s a good batch, Mr Baines,’ he said, admiring his gruesome work.
Baines was not listening. He stepped closer to Abigail, watching her examine the birdcage. Her red eyes flicked from one mirror to the next.
With the candlelight nearer to her, the shadows on the wall showed more of her form: a long curved backbone with four long, leg-like appendages, bent at the knees and all jagged and haphazardly made of any piece of iron, tin or brass you could find in a kitchen or a tool shed.
A movement on the table brought Julius’s eyes to a much smaller creature. It was scrabbling on a chain nailed to the table. It was too far away for him to be sure, but Julius thought it might have been made from carpentry nails and shards of tea tins. It made a clinking sound as it strained and squirmed on the table. This appeared to annoy Abigail. She rattled one of her claws. Her muzzle loomed close and her red eyes glowed brighter. The little creature tugged madly at its chain.
Abigail’s claw of forks balled into a fist and slammed down on the creature. When she lifted her claw the creature struggled again, though not as energetically this time.
She slammed her claw down again and again, pounding the table until the creature was still.
Julius flinched with each blow.
Then Abigail stopped and watched the flattened creature, her claw held ready in case it stirred again. It dangled from the chain when she held it up for inspection. Then she began to pull bits off it as if she was plucking the wings from a moth.
Baines shuddered. ‘Charming.’
‘She’s getting worse,’ said Rapple.
‘We should tell Mr Tock.’
‘You tell him, I’m not.’
‘Why should I, then?’
Abigail turned her attention back to the birdcages.
‘At least she’s stopped adding to herself. I wouldn’t want to see her get any bigger,’ said Rapple.
‘Thought any more about where we’ll go when Tock lets them loose?’ said Baines.
‘Yeah. I had an idea.’
Baines looked at him. ‘What was it, then?’
‘An island in the Pacific.’
‘An island? I like that. We’d be safe on an island.’
They paused a while, as if imaging sea breezes and flower-filled hills.
‘What a couple of specimens,’ whispered Mr Flynn.
Before Julius could reply, the wall near the table began to bubble, like milk boiling in a saucepan. The bubbles fanned out into a circle as high as a door.
‘Here he comes,’ said Baines.
CHAPTER 7
Friday 19th January 1838
11:43 PM
Baines straightened his hat and faced the bubbling wall.
Rapple stood to attention, still holding the beaker.
Julius stared in disbelief. ‘It’s as if the wall’s dissolving,’ he said. ‘I can see through it. How could that happen?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Mr Flynn.
Julius stared through his cleaned bit of glass at the bright circle on the wall.
‘There’s light coming through, like sunshine,’ he said. ‘It looks like the shape of rooftops. There’s someone there.’
Mr Tock stepped through the bubbling wall. He was carrying a small wooden box, which he snapped shut and put in his inside jacket pocket. Then he raised his wide-brimmed hat and bowed. Behind him the wall resolved itself into peeling plaster.
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen. Are you well? Are you? Are you?’ he said.
‘Very well, indeed, Mr Tock, sir,’ said Baines.
‘Yes, very well, sir,’ said Rapple. He raised the beaker. ‘Just fixed up another batch of blood-and-bone fertiliser.’
‘Excelentísimo,’ said Tock. ‘Allow me.’ He took the beaker and blew on it to cool it a little.
‘Which of my darling soulcatchers would like to be fed first?’ He appeared to be talking to the caged orchids.
‘He called them soulcatchers, Mr Flynn,’ whispered Julius. ‘Like in Darwin’s diary.’
Tock went to the lowest-hanging cage and stooped to hold his face close to the bars.
Julius started, expecting the soulcatcher’s tendrils to shoot out towards him. But they remained still, as if Tock were not there.
‘What a wise little soulcatcher you are,’ said Tock. ‘You know I have no soul for you to catch.’
‘What did he…?’ whispered Mr Flynn.
‘He said he has no soul, and that the soulcatcher knows it,’ whispered Julius.
‘You like your food still warm, don’t you? Don’t you?’ said Tock. He poured some of the liquid from the beaker into the soil around the orchid.
‘Grow strong, my friend. Grow strong,’ said Tock. ‘And capture all those souls.’
‘What did he say?’ said Mr Flynn.
‘He said it’s going to capture souls,’ said Julius.
‘The man’s insane,’ said Mr Flynn.
What the Hell is going on, Higgins?
Tock suddenly spun around to face the dark corner.
‘Abigail, my dear,’ he said. ‘Are you well? Are you? Are you?’
He beckoned to the metal creature, who climbed cautiously over the table and lowered her head for him to pat.
‘You’ve been a good girl? Have you? Have you?’ he said, stroking her gently.
Abigail nuzzled Mr Tock’s side, making an almost-melodic metal scraping sound.
‘Oh, she certainly has, Mr Tock, sir,’ said Rapple. ‘Never a peep from her, sir.’
‘Such a beautiful creature, don’t you think? Don’t you? Don’t you?’ said Tock, as he patted her razor-blade snout.
A movement near his foot made him look down. ‘What have we here?’ he said, stooping to pick up a wriggling object.
Rapple cast a furtive glance at Baines. ‘Oh yes, Mr Tock,’ he said. ‘Er, we’ve been meaning to tell you…’
‘Tell me what?’
‘It’s Abigail, sir. She’s been making things again,’ said Baines.
Mr Tock peered at the object he held between his fingers. From where Julius stood it was just a squirming black dot.
‘Abigail,
my dear,’ said Mr Tock, in a singsong voice. ‘What did I say about making little things? What did I say? What? What?’
Abigail hung her head low. A metallic sound rattled around the interior of the house as she began to tremble. Mr Tock put the squirming thing in his pocket. Everyone was silent, even the rats. Abigail became still too.
Julius blinked.
A moment passed.
‘Come closer, Abigail,’ said Tock.
Abigail pulled back an inch.
‘Abigail,’ said Tock. ‘Do I have to repeat myself ? Do I? Do I?’
She raised a foot and took one step closer. Then she lifted her face towards his. Tock stroked her snout.
‘There, there,’ he said. ‘Nothing to fear, my dear, nothing at all.’
Abigail’s body loosened.
Then Tock took a hold of her head. Abigail flinched. Her knees buckled slightly.
‘I am the Maker, not you,’ said Tock. ‘Do you understand? Do you? Do you?’
Abigail nodded her head.
‘Good,’ said Tock. Then he stabbed his finger through her eye.
Baines jumped. Abigail shrieked, making the glass in front of Julius’s face vibrate.
Tock held her head firmly and pulled his finger out. Shards of glass fell to the floor.
‘Shall I blind you? Shall I? Shall I?’ he said, like a spoilt child, furious with his tin soldier. Abigail trembled as he held his finger over her other eye.
Cripes, Higgins. The man’s deranged.
‘I think I’ve seen enough,’ whispered Mr Flynn. ‘Let’s go.’
Julius and Mr Flynn crept across the yard. Mr Flynn edged through the gate first. Julius opened it a little wider.
It creaked.
Julius froze. He and Mr Flynn listened. There were no sounds.
That was close, Higgins.
Julius turned his head to look at the house. Tock’s pale face appeared at the window and smiled at him with his too-small teeth.
‘Run,’ said Mr Flynn.
He grabbed Julius by the shoulder, and hoisted him into the dark fog. They would have to use memory to find their way back, there was nothing else to help them.
Julius held tight to the flap of Mr Flynn’s coat pocket. He concentrated on Mr Flynn’s sounds and movements, as he could barely see him.
A sharp hiss cut through the darkness behind them, like a hundred Lucifers being lit at once.
Then another.
Julius looked back as they ran. Through the fog he saw two pale yellow lights rise up as if they had been thrown. They hissed over their heads and landed on the ground between them and the way out of the wasteground.
‘They’ll see our position if keep going that way,’ whispered Mr Flynn.
The gate groaned. Another light ignited and hissed, then another. They landed to the left and right.
They’re making a cordon to cut us off, Higgins.
Julius heard running feet across the boggy ground—heavy footsteps and light ones, and the sound a giant creature might make if it was made of metal.
More lights ignited and flew through the damp fog. A single red light glowed dimly, showing Abigail’s position.
A dark figure ran at them. Mr Flynn jumped aside and Julius heard the crack of bare knuckles against bone, immediately followed by a grunt and the thud of a limp body hitting the ground.
‘Julius,’ hissed Mr Flynn.
Julius stepped three paces towards his voice. He found Mr Flynn crouched over Baines and extracting a meat cleaver from the fallen man’s hand. Baines’s face was splattered with blood.
‘Over here,’ called out Baines weakly, before Mr Flynn hit him with another bare-knuckle blow.
Julius grabbed Mr Flynn’s coat and they hurried into the darkest corner of the foggy night.
‘Mr Baines? Are you there,’ called out Rapple’s rasping voice.
‘Over here,’ came the muffled sound of Baines trying to speak through broken teeth.
Another light ignited almost directly in front of Julius and Mr Flynn. They froze. Mr Tock stood smiling at them, his blue eyes glowing. He held a giant Lucifer in his hand, apparently unconcerned about the meat cleaver in Mr Flynn’s.
‘How nice.’ he said. ‘Have you come to call? Have you? Have you?’
A sound behind Julius made him start.
Where’s Abigail, Higgins?
Baines groaned out in the fog somewhere.
Mr Flynn held the cleaver ready.
‘Why? It’s our young friend from the bookshop,’ said Tock. ‘Mr Rapple, are you there? Are you? Are you?’
‘Yes, Mr Tock, sir. I’m right here, sir,’ said Rapple.
Rapple emerged from the fog, wielding a machete in one hand and a giant Lucifer in the other. Julius heard the metallic sound of Abigail moving closer.
‘Step aside and let us pass,’ said Mr Flynn, in a voice that would normally have produced obedience from even the most hardened bruiser. It only made Tock smile wider.
‘We can’t do that,’ said Tock. ‘Can we, Mr Rapple?’
‘No, we can’t, Mr Tock, sir,’ came the reply.
Julius saw the red light of Abigail’s remaining eye through the fog.
Mr Flynn swung around so that he had both Tock and Rapple in his sight. Rapple was as tall as him, but Tock barely came up to his watch chain. ‘I’ll not say it again,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘Step aside or I’ll be the one who’s chopping limbs off.’
Tock chuckled.
Julius prepared to duck behind Mr Flynn.
‘Did you like my gift? Did you? Did you?’ said Tock to Julius.
‘Your what?’ said Julius.
‘The orchid,’ said Tock. ‘Did you give it away? Did you? Did you?’
How does he know, Higgins?
The red spot of light was coming closer.
‘Why are you spying on me?’ said Tock. ‘Tell me. Tell me.’
‘I’m not,’ said Julius. ‘I just—’
‘That’s enough,’ said Mr Flynn.
Julius tightened his grip on Mr Flynn’s coat tail. He instinctively knew Mr Flynn’s plan—go for Rapple, floor him, then run across the wasteground to Bermondsey.
‘Kill them,’ said Tock.
Rapple threw the light at Mr Flynn, and lunged at him with the machete raised.
Mr Flynn was too quick. He dodged the light and sidestepped his attacker. Julius leapt out of the way. Rapple checked himself and turned back to strike. But Mr Flynn was quicker still. He swung the meat cleaver and the blunt side caught Rapple squarely on the cheekbone. Rapple’s legs buckled, and the machete fell.
Mr Flynn jumped aside as Abigail came towards them. Julius fell and rolled over, colliding with Rapple who reached out to grab him. But Julius kicked out madly, and his foot connected with Rapple’s chin. The man cried in pain. Mr Flynn grabbed one of Abigail’s claws and smashed the sharp edge of the meat cleaver into the side of her head, shattering what remained of her broken eye and leaving a deep gash in the razor scales.
Abigail let out a screech of metal grinding against metal and fell back.
Julius scrambled to his feet and searched for the machete.
‘Come on,’ said Mr Flynn, reaching past the fallen Rapple and grabbing Julius by his shoulder.
‘Do call again,’ called out Tock, as they ran through the cold fog, using the faint lights still burning about the wasteground to find their way.
At the Bermondsey rookery Mr Flynn tossed the meat cleaver over a wall. Julius’s body was like a blancmange on a merry-go-round—quivering and fragile.
‘That was one frightening customer,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘I’ve never met a man I couldn’t put the wind up if I put my mind to it.’
‘He was completely without fear.’
‘How did he know you gave the orchid away?’ said Mr Flynn, leading the way through the dark alleyways.
‘I don’t know,’ said Julius. ‘At least he doesn’t know who I gave it to.’
‘Aye,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘Let
’s keep that way.’
‘Tock walked through the wall,’ said Julius. ‘One minute it was there and the next it like some sort of liquid.’
‘Aye.’
‘Do you think he came from a parallel realm, like the Grackacks?’ said Julius.
‘If he did, he’s found a doorway between the realms.’
‘That’s not very reassuring,’ said Julius. He shuddered when he recalled the Grackacks’ realm and his terrifying time there. He wondered what Tock’s realm would be like. Would it be full of short, frightening people with staring blue eyes?
‘The soulcatcher orchid didn’t go for him like it went for Rapple,’ said Julius. ‘What did he mean when he said he didn’t have a soul?’
‘Damned if I know,’ said Mr Flynn.
They arrived at the bank of the Thames and stopped. Across the river Julius could see the faint silhouette of the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral.
Mr Flynn took the jar containing the orchid from his pocket. He shook it lightly and held it up to catch what light there was. It wriggled and writhed behind the glass.
‘It certainly wants to get at you, Mr Flynn,’ said Julius. ‘But the one in the birdcage didn’t even know Tock was there.’
‘But it made Edward Rapple flinch like a shepherdess,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘And what was that he said about getting away when they’re let loose?’
‘What if Tock’s planning to release the soulcatchers in London?’ said Julius. ‘There was a painting in Mr Darwin’s diary of a them growing out of a man’s mouth and nose and eyes. It looked like he was screaming in agony. We can’t let that happen here.’
‘Let’s hope that was just a painting,’ said Mr Flynn.
‘The Watchmakers will want to know about this,’ said Julius. ‘I think we should get the pocketwatch, Mr Flynn.’
Mr Flynn put the jar away. ‘You’re right, Julius,’ said Mr Flynn ‘It’s time to get the pocketwatch.’
A spasm of new life ran through Julius, as if someone had called out his name in a crowded room. His skin tingled as if fireworks were going off inside him. He was going to hold the pocketwatch again.
‘Do you think you could summon the Watchmakers with it, Julius?’
It took Julius a moment to realise he was been spoken to. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sure. I saw the professor do it.’
