Clockwork Universe

by John W Dennehy

  But the big man’s dark, squinty eyes didn’t reveal his actual position. Kevin heard the slender man talking, but couldn’t make everything out, and then the conversation ticked up a bit.

  “Sure, it’s a serious situation,” the big man agreed.

  “Sounds like they’re taking the right precautions.”

  “The 10th Royal Hussars have been deployed to Boston,” the big man explained.

  “Excellent,” the man said, adjusting his spectacles. “I’m sure they’ll have things under control forthwith.”

  “Afraid not.” The big man disagreed.

  “Why the heavens not?”

  “This really isn’t a military exercise,” the big man said.

  “Oh.”

  “It is more of a hunt.”

  “I see,” the slender man intimated. “And you don’t think that the 10th are up to the task.”

  “They are a fine outfit,” the big man said. “But for something like this, you need a big game hunter.”

  “Someone like you?”

  “Certainly, that’s why the Honorable East India Company retained my services.”

  “So, I guess you’ll have the chance to be a big hero.”

  “Not after heroics,” the big man chuckled. “Just here to do my job. A job that I must point out came recommended by the Corps of Royal British Engineers.”

  “That so,” the man said. “Interesting, very interesting indeed. Why, you must know some important people.”

  “Not at all, my good man.”

  “Really?”

  “There were some concerns that the beasts had gotten into the infrastructure around Boston,” the big man explained. “Someone got the notion that it will take a hunter to track them down.”

  The man across the aisle nodded, seeming to follow along. “And how exactly did you come to be involved?” he said.

  “They decided to put together a list of the top five big game hunters.”

  “And you were number one?”

  “Heavens no,” the big man cackled. “The top four were all too busy.”

  The slender man smiled at the joke, and then nervously adjusted his glasses.

  Reaching over, still grinning, the big man smacked the slender man on the shoulder. “The top four were busy,” he repeated, continuing to chuckle at the joke.

  Kevin didn’t understand the discussion. At first, he considered why the British would have any interest in the local affairs of Boston, and then he glanced around at how everyone was dressed. He pondered if the discussion were merely part of a charade.

  Wondering if people on the train had changed clothes while he slept, perhaps participating in a sort of costume event, Kevin’s attention was diverted to the slowing train. He could feel the chugging, mechanical spurts, far smoother than when it had departed from Haverhill and other stops along the way.

  A stream of sooty, black smoke whisked by his window. The train continued to lunge forward, as the locomotive churned steel rims over iron rails; an occasional sleeper gave way under the weight of the train, jostling the passengers, and then heaps of smoke rhythmically released in unison with the engine’s forward progress.

  Leaning toward Sarah, he lightly tapped her shoulder. “Did we change trains while I was asleep?”

  “Don’t be silly, Mr. Barnes,” she responded, rolling her eyes. Sarah smiled and then turned back to her computer, which hummed and spit as she worked the odd keyboard.

  Kevin felt another twinge of panic race through his veins.

  He saw the tall conductor headed his way.

  “What’s going on?” Kevin asked.

  “Headed into North Station,” the conductor replied, matter-of-factly. His countenance didn’t reveal any concern whatsoever, but Kevin didn’t breathe any more easily.

  ****

  When the train slowed, everything seemed like business as usual to the other passengers.

  Kevin glanced out the window. A huge water tower lingered over the outbound tracks. Although he’d never seen it before on his trips into the city, the tower didn’t appear to be new construction. Beads of rust ran from the rim of the cistern, and thick soot coated the fill-pipe.

  Beyond the water tower, an immense platform jutted toward the track. Prodigious heaps of coal mounded on broad planks, turned grey from coal dust. The platform abutted a small building. Shovels were pegged on the façade, and a sign hung over the door, reading: East India Company Line.

  Kevin shook his head in disbelief. He had a sinking feeling, as anxiety and panic swept over him.

  As the train eased into the station, passengers rose from their seats. Sarah deposited her laptop into a leather satchel, which zipped closed like a doctor’s bag. Then, she stood in the aisle, and tossed the bag over her shoulder. She reached for a bonnet from the overhead.

  Others packed up and pressed into the crowded aisle. Kevin noticed most passengers wore Victorian garments. He wondered again if there was a costume event. He decided to sit tight and wait for the passageway to clear out.

  The train lurched to a halt.

  A moment later, car doors creaked open, and cool air rushed inside. Conductors assisted passengers alighting from the train. Although people swarmed out to the platform, the aisle remained jam-packed. Many people fiddled with their belongings. Kevin noticed Sarah holding things up.

  “Well, Mr. Barnes,” she said, patting down the sides of her dress. “Aren’t you going to escort a lady off the train?”

  He stood up quickly and reached for the attaché. But instead of grabbing hold of a smooth metal handle, his grasp lay on comfortable leather. Looking down in shock, Kevin saw the briefcase was now an old leather portmanteau.

  “Hurry it up, Mr. Barnes,” Sarah barked. “You’re holding up the line.”

  “Sorry,” he replied. “Sorry, miss.”

  Kevin nervously scurried into the aisle, and while doing so, caught a grin on Sarah’s face as she impatiently stood by.

  “My, what has gotten into you, Mr. Barnes,” she said, mischievously. “Suddenly all bashful. Where’s that confident young man I met?”

  Trying to figure out what’s going on, he thought.

  They stepped onto the platform and followed a herd of people headed into North Station. A group of passengers walked in the opposite direction beyond a row of columns. They were similarly dressed to the people getting off of his train. Everyone wore extraordinary Victorian garb, or wool suits from the early 1900s, except Kevin.

  He glanced at the passengers boarding the outbound train, and spied the magnificent locomotive. An enormous black engine with a smoke stack, it had a large cylindrical boiler. Prodigious bolts protruded from the engine, and the locomotive had large steel wagon wheels, painted black like the engine, joined by a shiny metal bar. Behind the engine, a car overflowed with shiny chunks of coal; and following the coal car were a number of ornate passenger cars. The thick metal cars were painted red. And the windows were all ornamented by plush curtains. The antiquated train was pristine and looked new.

  Glancing back at the train he’d disembarked from, Kevin noticed it was as grand as the one people were boarding nearby. He found the trains unsettling. It was easy to comprehend a bunch of people gathering for a costume event, but swapping out the dilapidated silver commuter cars for posh steam trains seemed a little over the top.

  Walking along the platform with Sarah by his side, Kevin gently swung the portmanteau, ever so slightly, marking the cadence of each step.

  Most of the passengers got off the train and traipsed toward North Station, but a few were unloading belongings from the storage compartment underneath the train. The doors to the bays were levered open, revealing the belly of each car beneath the posh travel compartments. Steam trunks, leather suitcases, and oversized leather bags were hauled onto the platform.

  Kevin and Sarah confronted a pile of baggage blocking their path. They went to move around the obstacle when the big man with the walrus mustache stopped them.


  “Do you mind lending me a hand?” he said to Kevin, a tone of official business.

  “What do you need, sir?” Kevin replied, diffident.

  “Just some help getting my belongings through the station,” the big man replied. “I have a ride waiting.”

  “Sure, sure thing.” Kevin didn’t understand this strange environment, so he just went along with the customs, trying not to upset anyone.

  “Much obliged,” the big man said. “I’m Silas Cunningham.”

  “Kevin Barnes.”

  They shook hands.

  “And this is my friend, Sarah,” Kevin added.

  “Glad to meet your acquaintance,” Cunningham said, slightly bending forward. He held a safari hat in hand.

  Cunningham seemed to notice Kevin’s clothing for the first time. And Kevin observed Cunningham’s safari hunting outfit; his shooting jacket had a brown recoil pad on the right shoulder. Cunningham also wore safari pants and brown boots, laced almost to the knee.

  They stood there for a moment looking each other over.

  “I’m a big game hunter,” Cunningham explained. “There are a couple of monstrous animals on the loose, ravishing the city.”

  Kevin nodded, understanding the outfit, but the comment sent a chill down his spine. Monsters. He found himself in a strange world and pictured giant killer beasts taking buildings down. A daunting thought.

  “What about you?” Cunningham said after a moment. “By the look of your outfit and that hairdo, I’d say that you’ve just returned from the Orient.”

  Kevin shook his head.

  “Where do you hail from?”

  “New Hampshire,” Kevin answered. “Just over the border.”

  “A fine colony,” Cunningham said, bending over to grab a few bags. “But you’ve certainly been to the Far East. Seen others that have gotten bitten by that culture.”

  Kevin thought the comment presumptuous, but didn’t pay it much mind. “So, what do you need?” he asked.

  “These here bags are mine,” Cunningham said, pointing.

  Kevin grabbed hold of a steam trunk fitted with wheels. He noticed the wheels were attached to the trunk with fine brass hardware. With his free hand, he hefted a long wooden box, and grasped it tightly along with his portmanteau.

  “Be careful with that one there,” Cunningham said. “It’s holding my Weatherby .460 and a Springfield thirty-ought-six.”

  Kevin looked at him wide-eyed, thinking about gun laws in Massachusetts.

  “What troubles you, my lad?”

  “Do you have a license for bringing guns into the city?” Kevin said.

  “License?” Cunningham retorted, shaking his head. “Never heard of such a thing. Sounds like some sort of plutocratic restriction.”

  “Well, I am not comfortable with—”

  Sarah placed a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “Sorry to trouble you, sir. My friend seems to enjoy a lecture, but we’re happy to help with your belongings. What can I carry?”

  A scowl slipped away from Cunningham’s face. “This bag here should do it,” he said, pointing at a burlap duffle bag.

  She smiled and heaved the duffle bag over her shoulder. Cunningham turned toward North Station and plodded along the platform. The hunter quickly pulled ahead of them. Kevin was busy jockeying the large steam trunk, portmanteau, and long wooden rifle case, while Sarah got weighed down by her small workbag and Cunningham’s travel bag.

  Kevin looked at her and shook his head.

  “What is it with you… Barnes?” Sarah said.

  “We could get into trouble for carrying unlicensed weapons in the city,” he said. “And I’m not keen on getting arrested.”

  “The only thing requiring a license is the practice of law, and running a saloon.”

  He looked at her perplexed.

  “Just tote the bags and be a nice boy.”

  “I’m not a boy.”

  “Have you served overseas?” said Sarah. “The older generation tends to mark a man by his service. Quite sure that you’ll find Mr. Cunningham was once in the Army.”

  “Not so sure that I agree with your position,” Kevin said, straining to haul the trunk and rifle case. “What about artists, writers, and poets?”

  “The greatest poets came out of service in the Great War.”

  He shook his head, defeated.

  They continued along, falling further behind Cunningham as the hunter pressed forward. People tended to clear the way as he approached, barreling along; his immense bulk cast shadows over passengers headed into the station.

  The doors to the station were propped open, and the window panes were painted dark green.

  Stepping inside the station, Kevin barely recognized the building. He watched as sundry travelers traipsed across the shiny plank flooring; the hems of intricate gowns skimmed over the wooden floor. Men wore tightly tailored suits, many of which had tailcoats. Most everyone carried a hat or bonnet; others who had their hands full with luggage took the burden as legitimate reason to don their hat. The station seemed to be an extension of outdoors, unlike entering a professional office or church.

  Kevin’s heart fluttered from fear of what was going on. The charade seemed far too elaborate, and so he began to wonder if he’d lost this mind.

  Wooden benches were set around the station. Along the far wall, ticket windows protruded above oak-paneled walls. Nowhere did Kevin discern the remnants of the modern station he had come to know. The cement floor covered in commercial tile, replaced by polished hardwood; plastic trashcans swapped with mesh wire baskets, and the drop-down ceiling with foam panels had changed to cherry bead-board. And the walls were painted in a light, misty green, appearing dense as though constructed from plaster and lathe.

  Trailing Cunningham through the station, Kevin wondered if he was having a complete mental breakdown. Anxiety consumed him, and he broke out in a sweat. The entire experience from the time he’d awoken on the train was surreal. It didn’t seem to register with anyone else. Stepping through another set of double French doors, Kevin felt the cool autumn air whisk over him.

  Chapter Four

  Outside, the sun shined bright and people ambled about their business. The first thing Kevin noticed was the dirt road, congested with work wagons slowly moving down the street in either direction, each wagon being pulled by a dray horse.

  Some of the wagons were flatbeds, loaded with supplies and provisions. Others were enclosed, similar to the wagons peddlers used in the old west, except these were stenciled with the names of local businesses. A wagon hauled newspapers, and another brought ice to customers around the city.

  A steam lorry made its way down the road. It was a cross between a steam locomotive and stake-bed truck, with a cylindrical boiler and smoke stack on the front, and a long flatbed with fixed rails on the back. The driver’s compartment resembled a pickup truck, only driven on oversized steel wheels.

  Some wealthier folks headed to the curb from the train station, climbing into Hansom Cabs drawn by stout thoroughbred horses. Kevin noticed an occasional steam buggy bop along the road, two-seaters mostly, because the rear served for coal storage.

  The steam buggies resembled early Ford Model-A automobiles, equipped with seats propped high above the floorboards. They had big wagon wheels encased in thick rubber. Oversized fenders covered each wheel to help prevent mud from caking the passengers. Each steam car was adorned with brass lamps, a brass steering wheel, and rich leather seats.

  Kevin felt beside himself viewing the scene outside North Station. His heart pounded from anxiety, and, despite the brisk weather, he suddenly felt extremely hot, almost feverish.

  Shock had settled in, and his stomach churned. He felt like throwing up.

  Taking a deep breath, Kevin noticed Sarah plugging along beside him. She seemed content, smiling pleasantly. Cunningham barreled down the sidewalk, intent on his destination without losing a moment.

  The destination appeared to be a vehicle parked farther down th
e curb. As Cunningham approached, the driver got out and waved. He was also dressed in safari garb. The vehicle resembled a Range Rover, except for the roof rack, loaded with a coal bin. The rear storage compartment appeared to house an apparatus for burning coal, and a hot water tank, and then piping led to the steam engine under the hood.

  A spare tire was fastened to the hood, and a small exhaust pipe jutted through the center of the wheel. The vehicle rumbled, idling curbside. Puffs of black smoke emanated from the little pipe.

  Hurrying over to Cunningham, the driver grabbed a bag from him, and then headed back to the Rover. He opened the back door and shoved the bag inside. Cunningham tossed his luggage into the vehicle and turned back up the sidewalk.

  Even though Sarah handled her baggage well, and Kevin struggled with three items, Cunningham relieved her of the burlap duffle bag. He placed it on the seat. Then, Cunningham waited by the door for Kevin to hurry it up. When Kevin reached the Rover, Cunningham took the rifle case and gently placed it inside. Then the two hunters hoisted the steam trunk onto the roof.

  Cunningham tipped his hat to Sarah, and then reached out to Kevin.

  Kevin shook the hunter’s meaty hand.

  “Much obliged,” Cunningham said.

  “No problem.”

  “By the way, this is my colleague Niles Barton,” he said, pointing.

  Niles smiled and nodded.

  “Can we repay your gratitude… by giving you a lift?” Niles said.

  Sarah and Kevin looked at each other.

  “Where are you headed?” she asked Cunningham.

  “My quarters are up on Beacon Hill, I’m told.”

  “Not far from my parent’s house,” Sarah said. “We would love to join you. In fact, we’ll help you unload.”

  Cunningham grinned widely. “Why, you certainly have the absolute manners of a lady.”

  “Is there room for us?” Kevin asked. “I mean with the baggage and all.”

  “You’re not all that big, young man,” Cunningham quipped.

  Niles smirked at the comment. “Let me arrange things back there, and the two of you can squeeze in.”

  As Niles busied himself adjusting the luggage, Kevin took another look around. He checked for signs of the city as he knew it. The streets appeared to be laid out the same, only dirt or cobblestone. Scanning the buildings in the distance, the brick and limestone office buildings seemed the same. He couldn’t quite place what was different, but something was extremely peculiar.