In time, he was on his side again. He sipped once more at his tiny corner of air. Easy, he told his heart, no need to run away. Easy.
All was quiet. All was still. Kingsley existed until he knew it was time.
Move.
He opened his eyes, saw nothing but blackness. He found the hacksaw blade in his sock. He used the pry bar to ease the staves apart and he slipped the saw between them. He cut the chime hoop, the one nearest the base, then the quarter hoop. He was halfway through the bulge hoop when the barrel gave way. Kingsley spilled onto the floor in a tide of green split peas.
I did it.
Lying on the floor, surrounded by dried legumes, Kingsley breathed freely and counted his aching muscles. Then he revelled in his triumph. He’d succeeded. He’d kept death at bay simply through his self-control. His will had overridden his body’s natural impulses and he’d survived.
He rolled over, aching everywhere, and regarded the ceiling, accepting what had happened. He needn’t shy away from anything again. He could keep his wild side leashed. He could attempt the most dangerous escape. He could approach life squarely.
He rolled to his feet. He made a fist and shook it, bubbling with the triumph that came from success, but also from the exhilaration that came from understanding a little bit more about who he was.
Something ran into his boot. Kingsley looked down. He almost kicked at the furry shape before he realised it wasn’t a rat but one of Evadne’s myrmidons.
The creature circled at Kingsley’s feet, chasing its tail, then it sat up on its back legs and blinked at him. At least, two of its eyes blinked.
Kingsley went to his knees, curious. The myrmidon must have followed the delivery, but what had Evadne been thinking?
The myrmidon dropped to all fours, then it wriggled. A tremor passed along its length, then it hunched and opened its mouth wide.
The creature shook its head, then spat out a tiny vial. It looked up at Kingsley, then it nudged the vial with its nose.
Kingsley picked it up. The vial was half the size of the phlogiston vials and it was dull grey, not glowing at all. He tilted it to the light and made out fine script etched along the side.
Anti-phlogiston.
Breaking in was a great deal like breaking out, Kingsley decided as he listened at the door he’d just slipped through. He’d kept the pry bar with him after freeing himself from the barrel. While he was ready to use it as a weapon, it was mostly for reassurance – and for some quick ingress when he had no time to pick a lock.
After so long being shuttlecocked around, it was good to be fighting back.
The Neanderthals’ complex was even busier than the last time he was there. Anyone he’d seen was carrying tools or materials – and hurrying. The whole place had an air of urgency that Kingsley wasn’t at all happy about.
However, this activity did mean that the focus of the Neanderthals was on things other than expecting an intruder.
With something approaching confidence, Kingsley called on his wild self, hoping that its wariness would be helpful. He crept around the disconcerting corridors, halls, chambers and galleries; on several occasions he sensed the approach of Neanderthals and hid just in time.
Meanwhile, his civilised self noticed the patterns of movement and gave him a destination. By and large, the Neanderthals were all moving in one direction, along corridors or via stairs and lifts.
The great project of the Neanderthals was drawing them all together.
The True People, Soames had said the Neanderthals called themselves. Kingsley wasn’t surprised. Hazily, he remembered his wild upbringing and knew that there were only two sorts to the pack: us and others. Strangers were to be feared.
So many of the world’s ills could be attributed to that sort of attitude. Kingsley wished that the Demimonde had a magic to change it.
Increasing pandemonium and an industrial cacophony of steel and steam told Kingsley that he was approaching the major workshop.
He waited, patience itself, watching eager, chattering workers come and go. He recognised one, the red-haired female Evadne had rendered unconscious with her dart gun. She spoke expansively to her colleagues, flinging her arms wide in her enthusiasm.
Inside his jacket, his fingers found the pocket watch and phlogiston device that Evadne had given him. In Soames’s warehouse she’d used jeweller’s tools she’d brought from her refuge and constructed it with dazzling speed from her own pocket watch and some wire. He remembered how her juggler’s hands had moved with grace and precision.
Listening intently, alert for any presence, Kingsley slipped into the workshop that was the home of the time machine.
He stared. The machine had changed.
The inner spiral was still present, but the disc from which the golden wires had hung had been removed. An airy framework was in its place, made of exceedingly thin wires radiating from the central tower, joining to an equally thin hoop supporting the golden curtain. The tower was now connected to the ceiling by a complicated arrangement of pipes and cables, all of them a bright silver that flashed in the light.
Near the control panel, had been Evadne’s instruction. Directly underneath the control panel struck him as close enough, so he used the wire to lash Evadne’s device around the pedestal, up high, as close to the underside of the control panel as he could make it. He took a step back and it couldn’t be seen; not unless someone dropped on hands and knees and peered upward. He couldn’t imagine the humourless Neanderthals engaging in a spot of leap frog or shamble-my-toe, so he congratulated himself on an optimum solution.
He went down on all fours, then reached up for the two loose copper ends and twisted them together. With the device securely anchored and well hidden, he stood. He straightened his jacket, then his tie, and had a wistful moment regretting that he had no gloves to straighten and thereby complete the set, ready for the next part of his performance.
Trapped deep underground, at the very furthest reaches of the Neanderthal lair, surrounded by brutish people who would soon have their cherished dream of revenge snatched away from them, he had one hour to perform his greatest escape while rescuing his crippled foster father at the same time.
He had to do it. He was not going to miss having tea at the Savoy with Evadne Stephens.
Soames watched as his underlings wheeled the cart through the doors of the warehouse and into the night. The men were reluctant and it was only Soames’s liberal payments that overcame their nervousness in taking the delivery to the crypt where the Neanderthals were waiting.
He was amused by the girl’s damp sentimentality as she watched it disappear, and he decided the time was right to do something about the awkward situation. He cleared his throat. ‘Now, my dear, I’ll have to report to the Immortals soon.’
She didn’t respond. She still had his pistol in her hand, but her attention was on the night beyond the doors.
‘I imagine I’ll have to concoct a story to account for the non-appearance of the boy,’ he continued, hiding his irritation. ‘Blaming the Neanderthals should work, but it will be difficult.’
At that moment, a rat scurried through the doors. Soames recoiled a step or two, but then became alert. The filthy thing might frighten her enough to drop the pistol.
She astonished him by reaching down to the rat. Soames couldn’t believe it. The vermin was actually pleased to see her, running in circles and rolling over to expose its belly.
He was about to express his incredulity when she swivelled. Her face was ghostly, but calm. She began tossing the Bulldog from hand to hand.
He backed away. ‘I say. That’s a dangerous thing to do, my dear.’
She advanced, the pistol still looping from one hand to the other without her even looking at it. He collided with a stack of crates. He licked his lips nervously. Had the girl gone mad
? Cuddling rats and now juggling firearms?
‘Now, let me have it, there’s a good girl.’
With a twist of her wrist, she spun the pistol at him.
Soames gasped and fumbled for it. The next thing he knew the girl had taken two steps and driven her shoulder into his throat, then cracked him under the chin with a sharply rising elbow.
With his skull ringing and his lungs empty, Soames had no choice but to slide to the floor of the warehouse. He lay there, whimpering.
When he was capable of making sense of what he saw, he realised he was looking at his Bulldog again, back in her firm and unwavering hand.
‘Now my friend isn’t here to stop me,’ she said, ‘you’ll take me to the Immortals’ lair and do what I tell you, otherwise I’ll blow your head off.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Don’t mistake me, Soames. My seriousness is of the deadly sort.’
Soames swallowed. ‘Strangely enough, I’m quite convinced of that.’
‘Now, hand over your pocket watch.’
Had the girl gone mad? Soames had heard about albinos. Could her condition be affecting her mind? ‘You’re robbing me?’
‘Take it out and throw it to me.’
He ached. His watch was a Dent quarter repeater with offset seconds; one of a kind, since he’d commissioned its building himself. It had a mirrored inner case and he’d trained himself to tell the time backward so he could know as soon as he cracked the case what time it was. An affectation, but he enjoyed it.
He lobbed the watch to the girl. She took it easily, glanced at it and tossed it up so it flipped over and landed in her palm. ‘A Dent? Good.’
‘I’m glad, my dear. Shall we go now?’
‘We shall.’ She gestured with the pistol. ‘And one more thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m not your dear. Not unless you have a desire for a permanent limp.’
They eventually reached the grotto in Greenwich. Soames paused just before the girl told him to stop. ‘Here –’ she added.
He turned and cried out to see his watch looping through the air towards him. Never good at games, Soames lunged and managed to catch the watch in both hands. He immediately froze. ‘What have you done to my watch?’
‘I’ve wired a special vial to it,’ she said. ‘It will explode if you tamper with it.’
Fear opened a trapdoor for Soames to fall through. ‘What?’
‘It’ll explode in an hour anyway, but don’t fiddle with it. You can’t defuse it and you’ll only make it go off.’
Soames liked a good watch, but an exploding one wasn’t what he was after. He held it at arm’s length. ‘I’m afraid that I’m not in favour of anything that could result in my being blown to pieces.’
‘You can’t imagine how much that pains me, but a certain level of risk on your behalf is part of my plan.’
‘I’d rather you spoke plainly, my d–’ Soames winced at the Bulldog, which was looking far too eager for his liking. ‘– preference lies in that direction.’
‘That vial is going to explode in an hour,’ she said, with a touch more patience this time. ‘All you have to do is to make sure it’s near the Immortals’ phlogiston stockpile when it does.’
Soames’s jaw fell. ‘But all that phlogiston! Greenwich will be destroyed!’
The girl cocked an eyebrow. ‘They have that much?’
Soames saw he may have made an error. ‘They have a considerable amount,’ he allowed. ‘Enough for it to be a disaster.’
‘In deference to my absent friend, I’ve actually considered this eventuality. If this particular substance is released, it will seek to unite itself with any phlogiston nearby. It will dissolve vials and the harmless compound will then rejoin the atmosphere. With only a moderate explosion.’
‘Not before I souvenir an armful or two, I should hope.’
‘You’ll have to be at a distance. A few hundred feet at a minimum.’
Soames was working this through, and he wasn’t altogether unhappy with what he was concluding. ‘They depend on phlogiston to power their manipulators. They’ll be powerless if it works as you describe.’
‘That’s part of my plan.’
‘And the other part?’
‘Is something that I’ll keep to myself.’
‘I take it you won’t be coming with me.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘What’s to stop me discarding your little device and confessing all to the Immortals?’
‘I’m sensing that greed outweighs loyalty by a substantial amount in you.’
He bowed, slightly. ‘I don’t find it a weakness to admit to that.’
‘You have the chance of assembling more wealth in your pockets than you could in a year.’
‘A convincing argument.’ He studied the explosive device gingerly. He was sure he could find a way to dispose of it once he left the girl.
She sighed. ‘Greed and trustworthiness don’t sit well together. I can see that you need another incentive to adhere to my plan.’
Soames was immediately cautious. ‘I don’t think so. You’ve been very persuasive.’
‘Perhaps. But I have the feeling that once you’re out of range of this delightful little pistol, all my persuasiveness will be for naught.’ She reached into the pocket of her jacket and took out a glass disc the size of a sovereign. ‘You’ve had some practice, now. Catch.’
Soames was growing tired of the demand, but this time he managed to bring both hands together and clap the disc between them. He held it up and immediately his poor, abused stomach lurched again. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘Never mind.’
Soames couldn’t take his eyes away from the image. Small though it was, he could clearly see himself in earnest discussion with Damona, the chief of the Neanderthals.
‘Here’s another.’
Soames hardly looked at the disc winking its way to him, so horrified was he by the evidence of his double-dealing. Without thinking, he caught it single-handedly and brought it to his eyes.
Another image. Soames and the Neanderthal crew alighting at the Greenwich wharf.
His stomach rolled over, complained, and made a tentative push up his oesophagus. ‘I take it that you have copies of these? And they’ll make their way to the Immortals if I don’t cooperate with your scheme?’
‘Spoken like an experienced blackmailer. Of course, I won’t just stop at the Immortals. I shall make sure most of the London Demimonde sees them. You’ll never do business again.’
He blanched. ‘Never do business . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘And if I do cooperate, you’ll destroy the plates?’
‘My quarrel is with the Immortals, not you.’ She peered at him over the top of her spectacles. ‘I think.’
Instantly, Soames was very glad not to have this alarming young woman as an enemy, but he couldn’t help himself asking: ‘And what is your quarrel with them?’
‘Of no concern to you, is what it is.’ She gave him another thoughtful look that convinced him not to pursue this matter any further – nor to reveal anything about his more unpleasant business with the Immortals.
His shoulders slumped. ‘It appears as if I’m about to do something dangerous.’
‘It would seem to be the best option, but before you go, one last thing: why are the Immortals interested in the Olympic Games?’
‘Hm?’ Soames blinked. He’d been so careful. How had he ended up in such a position? His planning, his care, all outmanoeuvred by this upstart girl. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Time’s wasting.’
Impertinence. ‘It is as I said. I was instructed to emplace devices in the stadium, but for what purpose, I have no idea.’
‘You didn’t ask?’
‘I’d like to s
ee you confront the Immortals, missy. It might bring you down a peg.’
‘Oh dear.’ She sighed. ‘“Missy?” You really haven’t come to terms with me yet, have you? I think it best that you go on your way.’
Soames took a step, then stopped, his fists clenched, teeth grinding. ‘Those photographs! How did you get them? We were alone!’
‘Let’s just say that someone ratted on you.’
Soames was a salesman at heart, his mother used to say. In fact, it was the last thing she said before he sold her at the slave market.
With the girl’s photographic discs heavy in his pocket, he was able to face the Immortals. He spoke with all the sincerity he’d learned to dissemble over his years of duping, cheating and betraying.
‘And of course you understand how stubborn the Neanderthals can be, don’t you?’ he finished.
Augustus narrowed his eyes. ‘Those animals. Once we finished our experiments on them, we should have eradicated the whole lot of them.’
‘We learned all we could from their wildness,’ Jia said absently. She was having difficulty jotting in a small notebook. ‘So we still need the boy. The way he unites the wild and civilisation is useful to us. Get him from them.’
Soames pricked up his ears at that, but decided it wasn’t the time to pursue this hint at the Immortals’ interest in the boy. ‘Twenty or thirty more vials should do the trick,’ he said. ‘I’ll have him for you later today.’
Forkbeard grunted, then swivelled so he was looking over his shoulder. He barked a few words in a language Soames didn’t recognise.
The cube of the Materials Manipulator glowed green. It began to rotate faster. A few seconds later a flash of green light burst from it and lanced at Soames, who automatically threw his hands up to ward it off, and the leather case he held in his hand struck him on the forehead.
The Immortals laughed. High, shrill giggles, child-like but with an edge of ancient mirth that was as far from innocence as could be.
Soames tried to adopt a dignified posture as he rose. He didn’t touch his brow, despite its throbbing. They would pay. Once the phlogiston was gone, once they were helpless in their haunted hall, he’d send in his underlings. The more vicious the better.
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