The Chronological Man: The Monster in the Mist

by Andrew Mayne

  “Are you OK?” he asked.

  The voice was familiar.

  “Smith?” said April as she tried to see the figure in the smoke.

  “Who else?” He helped her off the gurney.

  “What are you?” The glowing red eyes, the dark cloud of smoke, the door ripping off its hinges, something Lindestrom said was beginning to nag at the back of her mind. For the first time she was afraid of Smith.

  “I’m very upset right now. We need to get out of here.” He pulled her into the hallway.

  There was smoke everywhere. April couldn’t see past her nose. She could hear shouting and footsteps and orderlies and nurses trying to get patients back into rooms.

  “Take my hand,” said Smith. “Um, no, better take the other one. It’s the safe one.”

  Smith walked down the hallway with April holding his left hand. She couldn’t see anything other than the red glow his eyes made in the smoke. Heavy footsteps ran toward them, most likely an orderly. There was a flash of light and she saw the outline of Smith touching his hand to the man’s chest before she heard a thud on the floor.

  Smith guided her around the body. Patients and nurses walked past as they clung to the walls to avoid the smoke and frightening red eyes. Finally, they reached the stairwell at the end of the ward. April heard the sound of the door crashing as Smith reached out toward it.

  He pulled her up the stairs.

  “Up?” She couldn’t tell what he was or how he was doing the things he was doing. She just followed along closely.

  “Yes,” said Smith. “It’s the fastest way. I’d call that ‘Bedlam’ back in there, but that’d be rather redundant.”

  He helped her up the stairs in the darkness. They reached the landing that led out to the roof. Smith touched the door and it flew off its hinges like the others.

  They stepped onto the roof, and Smith pulled an umbrella from his side. “Hold on to me, Miss Malone.”

  She stood there, confused. She still couldn’t get a clear view of his face or body. “I don’t understand.”

  His left arm pulled her into his chest as his right hand opened the umbrella and held it over their heads. “I’ll explain everything. Just please, hold on to me.”

  April wrapped an arm over his shoulder. She could feel some kind of leather and metal armor plating. There was a loud pop as flames shot out of the open umbrella from five points. Sparks and smoke cascaded around them as they were lifted off the ground.

  She looked down and saw the roof grow smaller. They were flying. April thought for a moment that she was dreaming.

  “Just another few seconds! Want to get some distance!” hollered Smith.

  Too terrified to say anything, April clung to Smith and looked at the buildings below. The fog made the streets look like canals. She could see gaslights and carriages move about beneath them. In the distance she heard the sound of the fire wagon bell as its horse team pulled it toward the hospital. Police whistles and klaxons sounded in the distance.

  The umbrella began to sputter black smoke.

  “Don’t worry. Almost there, Miss Malone,” shouted Smith.

  They began to descend to a rooftop. April noticed that there were four tall sides to it forming a large facade that hid the actual roof from view.

  “Bend your knees,” said Smith.

  They landed a little fast. Smith held on to April to keep her from falling over. He used both hands to turn a knob on the umbrella. He set it aside.

  April pulled away from Smith. He was adjusting various switches on his suit. The black smoke faded away. He pressed another button and the red eyes went dark. He undid the neck strap and pulled the helmet free. He gave her a broad grin. “Well, that was exciting!”

  April resisted the urge to slap him. “What is this all about?” she demanded. “For a moment I thought you were ... you were ....”

  “What, Miss Malone?”

  “Never mind,” she said as she looked at the leather and plate-metal armor he was wearing. He looked like a combination of a deep-sea diver and a medieval knight. There were brass metal loops on the shoulders that led to some sort of battery pack on his back. The umbrella by his side was still smoking.

  She was still taking in his gadgets when Smith pulled her to the exit on the roof.

  Chapter 12

  Smith led April down a flight of stairs to a large attic. He turned a switch on the wall and an electric filament lit up the room.

  “What is this?” said April as she looked around in the shadows. Crates and trunks were everywhere filled with clothing, machines and various gadgets. Some of them looked weather beaten and faded.

  “A safe house of sorts.” Smith walked over to a brass-lined trunk and opened the latches. He pulled out a large black coat and threw it over the armor. “You can stay here until tomorrow. I’ll get word to your aunt that you’re all right.”

  “Where are you going?” asked April, her eyes still probing the dark recesses of the attic. It seemed to go and on, filled with trunks and strange metal objects.

  “Down to the seaside.” He pointed to her pocket. “She picked the one marked ‘2,’ didn’t she?”

  April looked down. “The vial. Yes. What is it?”

  “No. 1 was embalmer’s fluid. I thought perhaps we had some ghouls roaming the streets picking up people for nefarious purposes.”

  “What convinced you otherwise?” asked April.

  “The map you made, for one, and the fact that the resident ghoul has a surplus of dead bodies. So many that they were willing to spare a few to shove into my basement to make me out to be the maniac.”

  April put her hand to her mouth. “My word. Dr. Lindestrom?”

  “He’s part of it, but he’s certainly not all of it.”

  “Miss O’Mallory said she saw a serpent. How could that be?” she asked.

  Smith leaned against a trunk. His armor suit made a clanging sound as it hit the metal edge. “I think she may have seen part of something. Maybe serpent, but I think there’s more to it. That vial contains a substance not exclusive to a particular animal but definitely of the sea.” Smith looked down at a light on his suit. “The charge is running a bit low.”

  Wanting to take her mind off sea serpents, April walked over to take a closer look. “How does it work?”

  Smith held up his right glove. There was a large wedge-shaped piece of metal that stuck out an inch past the top of his hand. “That’s a spring-loaded piston with about 2,000 pounds of pressure. An electric motor pulls it back into position and rewinds the spring. A pneumatic would be faster but would take up more space.” He turned over his hand and showed the palm of the glove. There were several copper studs. “This is what delivers the current. It’s set at 10,000 volts — enough to knock a man down.”

  “I saw,” said April, thinking of the orderly she saw illuminated by the flash.

  Smith picked up the umbrella at his side and handed it to her. “There’s enough rocket powder in there for another launch for one person, maybe.”

  It felt heavier than it looked to April. She noticed a brass cylinder just above the handle.

  “You turn that to start it and to give it more fuel.”

  April reached to touch it.

  “Not in here, Miss Malone.” He hung the umbrella on a clip at his side and then rummaged through another trunk until he found a bag for the helmet.

  “Who is he? Dr. Lindestrom?” asked April.

  Smith looked up from the trunk where he was sorting through different gadgets. “He’s an apothecary. Actually, a member of a group of them who call themselves the ‘White Apothecarians’. I assure you there’s nothing ‘white’ about their deeds. They sell fake remedies and cure-alls in search of the real thing for their own purposes and their wealthy clients. They’ll do some unspeakable things to get what they want.”

  April sat down on the edge of a trunk. “What kind of unspeakable things?”

  Smith threw the bag with the helmet over his shoulder.
He put two hands on either of her shoulders. “Ghoulish things, Miss Malone. Ghoulish things to a young woman like you. Or a man like me.” He let go of her shoulders and walked over to a window.

  “Lindestrom said he’d like to dissect you,” she said.

  “I’ll bet he would. He thinks I’m some kind of supernatural creature. He’s in for a disappointment.”

  Questions boiled in April’s mind. “What are you? What are you really?”

  “I’m just a man with too little time, Miss Malone. Sometimes a clever man but not clever enough. There are a few of us who try to set things right in whatever small way we can. Each of us in our own way.” He looked through the window into the street outside and then checked his watches.

  “What’s out there?”

  “A creature that doesn’t belong here. Something the fool Lindestrom and his cohorts brought back from god knows where. I’m going down to the wharf to ask. I think one of the men on the John Jackson, the late Mr. Carnegie’s whaling ship, might know.”

  April got off the trunk she was sitting on and started looking through it for something to wear. “I’m going with you.”

  “You most certainly are not, Miss Malone. You’re staying here. I’d take you home now, but I’m afraid Lindestrom might send one of his goons by for you. This doesn’t involve you.”

  “It most certainly does,” she said, parodying his tone. “When they sent that fool David to my drama class, they crossed a line. Now help me find some trousers and give me some privacy for a moment.”

  Smith looked at her piercing blue eyes. They didn’t waver. Her small full lips were pursed in determination.

  “All right. If I’ve learned one thing, there’s nothing to be gained in the long run from arguing with a woman.” Smith opened up a trunk at the far end of the attic. “There are some mountaineering trousers and a jacket in there.” He looked at her for a moment. “I don’t think they’ll hide your curves very well, though. No matter, we’ll throw a jacket and hat on you.”

  Smith walked toward a flight of stairs that led to the building below.

  “Where are you going? You’re not running off, are you?” she called out, eyeing the dark attic.

  He poked his head up from the stairwell. “And miss your company, Miss Malone, not a chance. I have a modified velocipede below we can use. My alternate means of egress from here may not be safe.”

  “I think you mean ‘bicycle’, Smith.”

  Smith placed a hand on the floorboards and thought for a moment. “No. I think it’s a modified velocipede. Or a moto-cycle as my machinist called it. Either way, it’s faster than walking and should keep us out of reach of the creature.”

  Chapter 13

  April held tightly to Smith as he raced the moto-cycle through the streets of Boston. A red light on the front of the contraption penetrated the fog several yards, giving them some warning when they were about to run into people, horses, carriages and, in one instance, a very lost-looking cow. Fortunately for the residents of Boston, the streets were mostly deserted by that hour. The fog and the rumors of the monster or maniac in the mist had compelled people to stay indoors, saving them from one more untimely fate.

  “It’s rather fast,” shouted April over the sputtering of the motor as Smith barely dodged a street lamp.

  “Yes! Wonderful isn’t it!”

  Frightening was the word April was thinking as Smith drove up onto a curb and on the sidewalk to avoid a parked carriage.

  “One day we’ll all ride these!”

  “Good lord, I hope not!” said April.

  “What was that?” asked Smith, trying to keep his eyes on the foggy road in front of them.

  “I said, good lord, I hope so!” April lied. She didn’t want to make him regret taking her.

  In the attic, he’d shown her how to use a few of the gadgets and gave her the umbrella to hold on to. He explained that it would lower her to the ground before it ran out of fuel. Probably. Most likely. He then insisted she not actually use it.

  They neared the South Boston wharf. Smith slowed the moto-cycle down and steered into an alley. He helped April off and then covered it with a tarp he removed from under the seat. April thought the fog in the alley so thick, the tarp seemed hardly necessary.

  “Let’s find the first saloon and ask the barkeep if he can steer us in the right direction.” He swiveled April so she was facing him.

  He bit his lip as he examined her. The thick peacoat helped hide her feminine curves. While the hat concealed her long hair, wiping off her makeup did little to hide her striking looks. “You’re a bit tall to be called ‘boy’ but I doubt anyone here will care, Miss Malone.”

  “April.”

  “Pardon me?” said Smith.

  “April can be a last name. I was named for an uncle on my mother’s side who was a Capt. April. You can call me April if you like.”

  “Fair enough, Miss Malone. I’ll call you April. This way, if you please.”

  The wharf was one of several piers in South Boston harbor. The masts of ships poked out from the fog, backlit by the moon. Deck bells rang in the distance and the sound of creaking boards and ropes being stretched taut could be heard from everywhere. April looked out toward the water. The glow of lanterns could be seen on dozens of ships. Along the pier, gas lamps formed the outline of buildings.

  Voices of men could be heard from all over. Dogs barked and horses pulled cargo along the wooden boards of the pier, their hoofs making knocking sounds as they trotted along. Even at this hour she could see the pier was still active as ships were being loaded and unloaded.

  She wrinkled her nose. Besides the smell of the ocean, there was the rot of dead fish, coal smoke and the stench of whaling vessels rendering whale fat nonstop. She smelled a black smoker or two in the distance.

  The first saloon they entered was called the Blue Turtle. A piano could be heard playing from outside. April noticed Smith resisted the urge to hold the door open for her and just walked in first.

  Inside were six tables and a bar. Only two of the tables were occupied. Both had men who looked half asleep as they stared into their glasses. The bartender was pouring a shot for a man who looked like a clerk. This close to the town, April assumed some of the clients wouldn’t be sailors.

  Smith walked over to the bar while April waited at the door.

  “What have you?” asked the leather-faced man.

  “I’m looking for some crewmates of ours. From the John Jackson. You know where I might find them?”

  The bartender looked over at a spot near the piano and then back at Smith. “Lots of people been asking about them lately.” He scrutinized Smith. “You a whaler?”

  “I am what pays me. When you say people have been asking, what do you mean?”

  “I mean people is all. Been rather slow and all with the fog. What’ll you have?”

  Smith fished a fifty-cent piece from his pocket and set it on the counter. “Would two of those people have been a man with a gray mustache and a real brutish fellow? Maybe call themselves Flintwick and Dobbins?”

  The bartender slipped the coin into his apron. He looked over at April trying to blend into the corner. “Friends of you two?”

  April did her best to act mannish, which consisted of remaining stoically still and avoiding putting a hand to her hip.

  Smith shook his head. “Most certainly not. I’d rather not make their acquaintance again.”

  The bartender leaned over the counter and whispered. “They’re coppers, you know.”

  “I’d heard.”

  “Then if you want to avoid them, I’d avoid the Seawitch down the pier. That’s where they’re heading. Looking for some of the other folks from the John Jackson.”

  “Oh really? What for?”

  “I think they’re trying to recruit them for some nasty work. One of them said something about cleaning up a mess.”

  Smith thought about that for a moment. Literally or metaphorically, that could mean bad n
ews for the men from the John Jackson. “Thank you. We’ll catch up with our friends another time.” He nodded to April and they left.

  “What was that about?” asked April outside. She’d only gotten bits and pieces of the conversation.

  “Lindestrom’s men are trying to round up the remaining crew members of the John Jackson.”

  “What for?”

  “Either to get rid of witnesses or to send them on a fool’s errand that’ll have the same effect.”

  They walked farther up the pier until they saw the sign for the Seawitch. The outside of the bar was covered in netting, crates and other ship junk. Men were walking in and out of it. To April, it sounded like a full house. As the door opened, Smith caught a glimpse of Flintwick standing in front of the bar.

  “This way,” he said as he pulled April into an alley behind the bar.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her eyes nervously looking around the dark corridor. She could smell unpleasant things back there.

  “Looking for rats leaving the ship,” said Smith as he threaded them between several crates. They came to the back of the bar where several barrels were stacked next to boxes filled with empty bottles.

  April jumped when she heard a bottle clink in the shadows.

  “We’d like to talk to you for a moment,” said Smith in a hushed tone. “We’re not with the two apes inside there.”

  There was silence from the direction of the clink. April tried to make out a shape in the shadow. She could smell a strong odor of alcohol and sweat.

  “I’ll pay you for information,” said Smith.

  Nothing stirred.

  April had an idea. She reached into her pocket and handed Smith a glass cylinder.

  “Good idea.” Smith shook it and tossed it into the shadows.

  The green light illuminated the puffy weathered face of a man cowering in the corner between the wall and crate. He looked down at the light, frightened. He held up his hands.

  “Please don’t take me. For the love of god, not me.”