by K. W. Jeter
Scape nodded with satisfaction when I pointed this out to him. "Chicken-shit bastards," he said as he prodded the small burn on his palm.
"Jee-zuss," said Miss McThane. "You idiot." She gave Scape a final glower before adjusting her wrap about her shoulders and resuming her interrupted slumber.
When the morning light broke over the horizon some time later, there was no longer any sign of our pursuers; they had vanished as though they had been but animate fragments of the ebbing darkness. From the carriage's window I looked out on to a passing landscape of remarkable cheerlessness and foetidity. The rising sun glinted red across weed-choked marshland. At irregular spacing though these fens, the rounded hillocks of high ground supported a few stunted, crookbranched trees and decaying hovels. Thin-shanked pigs rooted though mud distinguishable from the surrounding countryside only by intervening walls of rough stone, shaggy with ancient moss. A figure in the distance, blurred by the mists drifting up from the stagnant waters, toiled with stick along one of the muddy paths winding through the mires.
The thick, musky odour of rotting vegetation prompted me to draw my head back into the carriage. Scape looked at my appalled expression with some amusement. "Great place, ain't it?" he said with a thin smile.
I made no reply. The carriage slowed down, and I saw that we had entered a small village. Low buildings, some appearing to have subsided so far into the muck that their thatched eaves nearly touched the ground, squatted around an open space. At its centre, marked by a well that was little more than a circle of stones outlining a crumbling hole and a slanting cross-beam with bucket and rope attached, a ragged cluster of the locals stood about.
"Where is this?" My spirits, already drained by the rigours of the long journey, were further oppressed by this picture of rural squalor.
"The scenic village of Dampford," said Scape. "These poor slobs are all Bendray's tenants. His Hall is just a little further on."
As I gazed out, the carriage's wheels spattered mud across the backs of the clustered villagers. Some of them turned, tugging at their caps in respectful deference. I saw their faces and fell back against the seat, horrified. "God in Heaven!" I faintly heard Scape's and Miss McThane's mocking laughter.
The faces of the Dampford villagers were the same exophthalmic, slope-browed visages as those of the residents of that London borough called Wetwick.
The piscine physiognomies swam in my vision, those from out of the memory of that nocturnal ordeal in the city's depths merging with their apparent brethren gaping after the carriage. There could be little doubt that I had been transported to the native soil – or marsh – from which this enigmatic and ugly race had sprung. And what of Bendray, their landlord? He was not of their blood, yet he maintained some manner of proprietary concern over their cousins in distant London – I had noted the paternal expansiveness in his welcoming of them to the church of Saint Mary Alderhythe. A shiver descended the vertebral ladder between my shoulder blades as I mulled over these affairs – the faces of the Wetwick and Dampford broods had become inextricable fixtures of my nightmares, and here I had found myself amongst them yet again.
The squalid village fell behind as the road began to ascend. I pressed myself into the corner of the seat, my thoughts obscuring the sodden view as I grimly contemplated the possible explanations for my journey hither.
"Dower – how good of you to come. Yes; yes, most welcome. There's so much we have to discuss. Much, much… indeed."
Lord Bendray himself had come down the wide stone steps to the carriage in order to greet us. He clasped my hand in both of his and held it with the tender, if trembling, regard due to a long-lost relation. His rheumy eyes peered at me without benefit of the lenses of the complicated magnifying spectacles pushed up on to his brow; he had evidently been engaged in some scientific endeavour when his manservant had brought the news of our arrival. A similar pair of spectacles had been found by me in my shop's workroom; I could recognize my father's craftsmanship in these adorning Bendray as well.
"How was your journey? Uneventful, I trust?" He took my arm, supporting his own age-feebled steps as he drew me towards the Hall. Its vine-encrusted walls loomed above; the crowning turret of one wing had been amputated at some time in the past, to accommodate a brass sphere, now discoloured with verdigris. An articulated opening in the metal curve revealed the polished barrels of various astronomical apparatus.
I looked behind me to see Creff officiously supervising the unloading of my trunk from atop the carriage, while Scape assisted Miss McThane in alighting. Beyond them, the approach to the Hall slanted down through elaborately terraced gardens, or to be precise, the remains of such. The sculpted ponds were filled with stagnant green, the silent fountains in their midst choked with dead leaves. On either side of the formally laid paths, the topiary hedges had grown vague, their previous shapes lost beneath the unrestrained new growth. The state of decay seemed due more to inattention than to that discreet poverty into which the landed gentry so often decline; Lord Bendray appeared to have no lack of household staff. A pair of grooms were leading the unharnessed carriage-horses to the stables; at the Hall's entrance I could spy a rank of butlers and other servants awaiting us.
I turned my attention back to my host. "There were some men, your Lordship. Riders-"
His other brown-spotted hand made a gesture of dismissal. "Yes, yes; the Godly Army. Tiresome lot. Think nothing of it."
"Here, you – where do you think you're getting off to with that? Personal property of Mr Dower, it is."
We turned about at the sound of my assistant's raised voice. Creff had arrested Scape in mid-stride, grasping him by the lapel of his coat. Under one of Scape's arms was the weighty cabinet that held my father's device.
"Capital!" shouted Lord Bendray. His smile deepened the wrinkles in his face. "Is that it? You've brought the Regulator? Well done!" He beamed at me and Scape in turn; a wave of his hand sent one of his liveried staff over to relieve the other of the burden. "Take that to the laboratory; there's a good man." As he was instructing his servant, he did not observe the silent glare that Scape trained upon Creff. The desire that he had manifested for a closer examination of the device had been frustrated once more. For his part, Creff returned the angry look, seconded by the dog Abel held against his chest.
Lord Bendray's arm linked with mine pulled me up the stone steps. "Great things will be accomplished now, my boy. Your father's creation – the Aetheric Regulator – marvellous thing!" He lapsed into an excited muttering, his eyes brightening with the contemplation of some interior vision. "Yes, yes; your father was a genius, no doubt of that… great things, great… yes; and with the Regulator – and your assistance – the culmination of my researches! You'll see!" His claw-like grip tightened on my arm, his withered face peering eagerly into mine. "Great things!"
We had arrived by this time in the foyer of Bendray Hall, with the train of attendants, Creff, Scape, and Miss McThane following after. Underneath the domed ceiling, I halted, having come to a decision. My various pretences at knowledge, and of membership in the conspiracies surrounding me, had not served to enhance my safety. Indeed, the masquerade had only embroiled me further into hazard and, as evidenced by my hasty flight from London, disrepute. I thus resolved to make a clean breast of my ignorance; I could not envision how it could possibly place me in difficulties greater than those which I had already endured.
I withdrew my arm from Lord Bendray's, and placed myself directly in front of him. "Your Lordship – I must confess – I have absolutely no idea of the matters whereof you speak. I fear I have been introduced into your confidence under false pretences-"
Scape had overheard me; he quickly came up behind me, grabbing my arm to pull me away. "Sorry; guy's a little over-exhausted from the trip, I think." He gave Bendray a strained smile. "Nervous type, you know…" He brought his mouth close to my ear and whispered: "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
I shook him off and renewed my address to L
ord Bendray. "It's true; I am in complete ignorance of these things-"
"Don't pay any attention to him! He's flipped out!"
The vast interior of Bendray Hall, with its colonnaded, marble staircases, seemed to wheel about me as I spun about on my heel with hands upraised. "I don't know for what purpose you've brought me here; what you expect me to be able to assist you with – and this thing you call a Regulator… Granted, my father may have constructed it, but what it is, and what it does, are subjects beyond my comprehension!"
"Indeed?" Lord Bendray greeted this revelation, not with the outrage that Scape had apparently expected, but with a quizzical smile. "My dear boy – why didn't you tell me this sooner?" He took my arm again, solicitously patting it with one veiny hand. "There should be no secrets in matters of Science. My word, no; I forgot that you had not the opportunity to spend time with your late father as I had. A brilliant man, he was – yes; yes, indeed; brilliant." He drew me on, his tottering steps leading into one of the Hall's wings. "You shall know all; that I promise you-"
I looked over my shoulder and saw Scape, palms upward, shrugging mutely at Miss McThane.
"Ah, here's the port. That will be all." Lord Bendray dismissed his servant, but retained the bottle from the silver tray. I took the offered glass and followed after him. He had guided me down several flights of stairs, the walls mouldering with damp and age, to reach his laboratory beneath the Hall.
He swallowed the contents of his glass in a single go, head thrown back and the cords of his thin neck tightening around the wobbling bob of his Adam's apple. The dark port brought a diluted spot of its colour into his grey cheeks. He sauntered beneath low stone arches, the bottle angling in his hand, appearing the model of a London roue entering some haunt of dissipation.
I looked about the space as I sipped from my own glass. It stretched as far as I could readily see; from the aspect of the walls and ceiling, it appeared as if the various chambers beneath the Hall had been knocked into one, leaving only the great stone pillars to support the weight of the house towering above. Rows of gas jets provided illumination; several of these had lens and reflector contrivances to magnify and focus their light upon the various workbenches and racks of equipment strewn through the area. Everywhere the glitter of polished brass reflected into my eye. Again, my father's craftsmanship; more of it than I had ever seen before in one place, including the workroom of his that I had inherited with the shop. Some of the items I recognised as duplicates, albeit in better preserved condition, of those in my possession. Others were unrecognised by me, and of unguessable function, in form as varied as what seemed an articulated spider taller than a man, or a simple pocket watch with dial calibrated into unknown hours. The latter I picked up as I passed the bench it lay upon; the motion of my hand triggered some internal mechanism; a soft bell-like chime sounded. The note stopped only when I realised it was counting out the measure of my pulse, and I dropped the device with a sudden unreasoning panic. I hurried after Lord Bendray as he progressed through this clockwork Aladdin's Cave.
"Great things…" Lord Bendray's wavering voice echoed from the limits of the subterranean space. The level in the bottle had gone down by several measures; his spirits were correspondingly elevated. "The man was a genius…"
"Your Lordship – perhaps you had better rest a bit." We had come far from the stairs by which we had descended; looking about, I could not even see in which direction they lay, so confusing were the interlacing arches and pillars. Alone as we were, I was concerned if the elderly gentleman should meet with some accident due to excitement and inebriation. "You said… explanations – careful, your Lordship"you shall know all" were the words, I believe… Oh! Are you all right?"
In his increasingly unsteady progress, he had stumbled over the edge of one of the flooring stones. I rushed to his assistance, but he sat up unaided and held the intact bottle triumphantly aloft. "Sit down, my boy." He patted a raised section beside himself. "Sit; and let us talk… about…" He swayed gently from side to side as he stared in front of himself, "… great things…"
I did as he instructed. "Are you all right?" I asked again.
"Never better," he said brightly, snapping a wideeyed gaze around to me. "My dear boy – we are on the verge…"
"Of great things?" I suggested.
He nodded, raising a skeletal finger for emphasis. "New worlds," he spoke in a quavering whisper. "We… are not alone."
I looked around the cavernous laboratory, but saw no one else. "Beg pardon?"
His finger jabbed towards the ceiling. "Up there… no, not in the Hall, you doll… Beyond! In the skies! The stars! Intelligences – not like us, you understand, different; and much more advanced… marvellous stuff. Makes us look like children in the nursery. Whizzing about…"
"Whizzing about in the nursery?" I grew even more concerned about the effect of the alcohol on his enfeebled constitution. Perhaps this was the explanation for some of the other lunacies generated by him.
"No, no; in the skies! Between the planets – and the stars! I've seen them," he concluded with decisive finality.
"I'm not sure I understand…"
Lord Bendray sighed and poured himself another drink. "Evidently not. Your father did, however; what insights that man had! The Cosmos was an open book to him. Mind you, I had long suspected their existence. But your father proved it! Showed them to me!"
"Showed who?" A display of interest on my part seemed to have a calming effect on the old gentleman. To myself, I was debating whether it would be better to drag him along in search of the stairs leading out, or abandon him and seek some helpful member of his household staff.
"Them! Who else? Creatures of worlds not our own, intelligences far greater than ours." He leaned closer to me, his voice dropping to a secretive pitch. "Mark you, my boy – the earth is the subject of scrutiny by beings from other planets." He straightened up, maintaining a wobbling dignity. "I – myself – have seen them," he announced.
"You have?" It was worse than I had thought.
He nodded. "Not here – though I've tried; bloody fortune in telescopes and what-not up on the roof. They seem," he mused, "to prefer isolated locales for their occasional forays into our atmosphere. On Groughay that's where I saw them. In one of their great celestial vehicles."
"Where's that?" Perhaps if he talked out his mania, a measure of sanity would be restored, and we could return to the Hall proper.
A bony hand waved towards some vague distance. "A little island – Outer Hebrides. Ancestral seat of the Bendrays. Godforsaken place; nothing but rock and seaweed. Nothing wrong with seaweed, mind you. A lot of money to be made from seaweed. That was the first commission I ever gave your father… seaweed."
He appeared to have drifted off into some recess of memory. Oblivious to my presence, he gazed abstractedly in front of himself.
I prodded him: "Seaweed, you say…"
"Seaweed?" He turned his fierce glare one me. "Bugger seaweed; filthy stuff. Keep your mind on the important matters. We can contact beings from another world – think of it! The things they could tell us: Science; the Secrets of the Universe… and more, perhaps! We have but to signal them. And they'll come to us."
"Who will?"
He rolled his eyes at my obtuseness. "I've told you: those beings from other worlds. Who already have observed our puny, earthbound comings and goings, in the lenses of their powerful observatories and close at hand. I tell you again: they are but waiting for our sign."
I at last perceived the general outline of his obsession. "Yes… well, your Lordship… that's really quite interesting. A sign from us, you say? Hm. I don't suppose a rather large banner would do?"
"Certainly not." He got to his feet, the dregs of port sloshing in the bottle. "Come with me, my boy. You shall see… all."
Lord Bendray led me further into the laboratory's reaches. "Steady on, there," he cautioned after a few minute's wavering progress.
"Pardon? Christ in Heaven!" I lea
pt back from the edge of a circular chasm; another step would have precipitated me into its inky depths. A fragment of stone fell from the stone lip; no sound came back of it reaching bottom.
Lord Bendray stationed himself before the hole. It curved round in either direction for some distance, appearing large enough to have swallowed a small village such as the loathsome Dampford beyond the Hall's gates. The far edge was hidden from view by rough stone pillars that descended into the pit, their lower ends lost to sight in the darkness. Above them, an intricate arrangement of cross-beams, great geared wheels taller than a man, chains thick enough to suspend houses by, and other machinery looped and dipped to make connection with the pillars.
My host gazed raptly at the stone. "They go down," he pronounced solemnly, "straight to bedrock. And beyond – hundreds of feet." He looked back at me. "Your father's last creation. Such a tragedy that he died before this – his masterpiece – could be set into operation."
I held myself well away from the chasm's edge. My eyes travelled across the massive beams and chains. "What is it?"
"Soldiers, my boy…" Lord Bendray's vision went straight through me and on to his private contemplations. He took a swallow directly from the mouth of the bottle. "Marching soldiers…"
Behind me, I could see the glitter of the brass devices on the distant workbenches; the supportive arches intertwined confusingly. The prospects of my finding my own way out appeared dismal.
Lord Bendray's eyes focussed on me again. "Soldiers marching across a bridge – ever see that?" I shrugged. "I suppose so, your Lordship. A military parade, or some such."
"Good." He waggled a finger at me in schoolmaster fashion. "Now, this is fairly common knowledge – I suspect you've heard of it – but very often, when a troop of soldiers is crossing a bridge, the men are ordered to break step. Not left-right, left-right, all together; but every man going along, out of step with those next to him. Until they're all safely on the other side; then it's off they merrily go again, left-right, left-right in unison. Now, then; why is that? Eh?"
