Day of Rebellion (16 page)

Backhouse ushered them into a row of seats before scuttling away. Once he was out of earshot Christie turned to Jack and Angus. “We’ve hit the jackpot…”

Jack nodded, “That religious experience Backhouse was talking about – back in 1830 – that’s it isn’t it?”

“Yes, I believe it is, Jack. The true Point of Divergence. It must be. As Backhouse said himself, from that night on, ‘everything changed’.”

“It wasn’t Babbage being touched by God, though…” Angus said. “It was something else…”

“And whatever happened, Babbage must have been given a VIGIL device on that night when they were at Harmwell Asylum.”

“So, we’ll have to go back again – to that night and see what actually happens. As you say, Dad, keep following the trail?”

“Right, Jack.”

“Guys, don’t look now, but I think we’ve got a problem…” Angus said and nodded surreptitiously towards the door.

But Jack did look and his heart jumped when he spotted a late guest taking his seat in the library just as Babbage strode up to the lectern.

“It’s Fenton,” Jack whispered. “He’s back on our trail. Already.”

Christie opened his hands and angled his his time phone so just Jack and Angus on either side of him could see it. The light was on.

“Time signal is available. I will set it to 1830, Harmwell Asylum in London and we’ll be good to go…”

“What, here… now?”

“No,” Christie whispered, “Too many people are too close. We should go outside…”

“Sshhh…” An elderly gentlemen in the row in front turned round and hissed at them loudly.

Babbage had just started making his introductory address,
“… Technologies that will change the world…”

“We get up and leave, one at a time,” Christie whispered.

“… Technologies that will give Great Britain insurmountable industrial power…”
Babbage continued to announce grandly from his position at the lectern.
“… Technologies that will generate new wealth for all the peoples of the Empire…”

Christie was on his feet. “Excuse me, terribly sorry,” he muttered as he squeezed his way down the line of chairs and disappeared from the library.

“You go next, then I’ll follow,” Jack said.

In a minute, Angus had sneaked out. Then Jack got to his feet. He broke from the audience and marched quickly to the library door following in the steps of his father and Angus. Jack could still hear Babbage’s self-congratulatory introduction booming out from the far end of the library, and he couldn’t help himself, as he walked to the door, he glanced over his shoulder to take a last look. His timing could not have been worse. At that moment Fenton, who was scanning the room, caught his eye. Jack felt as if he had been caught by the cross hairs of an assassin’s rifle. A shiver ran down his spine… he wanted to look away, but he found himself staring back. Initially, Fenton seemed a little bemused at the sight of Jack, but then his
brow furrowed. Jack quickened his step, the door was now only a step away – he reached out for the handle but found it difficult to turn with his sweaty palm. His legs wobbled and his stomach churned. Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder.

“Going somewhere?”

Jack swivelled round.

“That would be a pity, because I think we have a lot to talk about,” Fenton sneered in a whisper. “Like how you pushed me off the top of a Zeppelin.”

Jack tried to pull away but Fenton was strong, he opened a door and bundled Jack through. Everyone was absorbed in Babbage’s speech, so no one noticed the brief altercation at the back of the library. Soon they were on the landing outside.

Angus’s fist came out of nowhere. It connected directly with Fenton’s cheekbone, but Fenton was bigger than Angus and it was going to take more than one blow to fell him. His head came up again, his teeth were gritted and blood streamed from his face. Angus stepped out of the shadow behind the door where he had waited for Jack to leave the library. Jack saw the expression of surprise on Angus’s face – surprise that anyone could come up from such a blow. Instantly, both he and Fenton were brawling their way down the library steps, exchanging a series of vicious blows. Jack looked on, horrified, Angus was getting the worse of it and Fenton was using his greater size and weight slowly to gain advantage. They were at the bottom of the stairs now and Jack had to do something. He looked around for a weapon, anything he could use to help Angus. But there was nothing. Then he had a moment of inspiration. There it was.
The huge volume on the display lectern next to the library entrance: Sir Isaac Newton’s
Principia Mathematica
. One of the most famous and valuable scientific journals ever written. With some difficulty, Jack picked it up and looked down the stairwell. Angus was in a bad way. Fenton was on top of him pummelling his fists into Angus’s face. Holding out the book, Jack took aim and then let it go.

The very same laws so carefully defined and set out by Newton in the large tome itself, caused the
Principia Mathematica
to accelerate away from Jack’s hands and fall to earth at the gravitational constant of 9.81 metres per second per second. The weighty book connected with the back of Fenton’s head just as he was raising his bloodied fist before piling it yet again into Angus’s face. The book had not yet reached terminal velocity – the distance between Jack and Angus was not yet sufficient – but its momentum was quite sufficient to knock Fenton out cold.

Angus pushed him off.

Jack rushed down the stairs. “You all right?”

Angus groaned, “I thought I was a gonner.”

“You look like crap.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s going on?” Christie rushed back into the lower entrance from the cloister and Jack waved a hand towards the prostrate figure of Fenton. “We had a problem with a gatecrasher.”

“So I see.”

Jack gestured at the
Principia
lying nearby – “But Sir Isaac and I asked him to leave…”

“Can you stand, Angus?”

“Think so…”

“I think we might be about to lose this time signal… come on…”

They touched the time phone and, just as Jack started to get that strange tingling feeling before the Taurus transport kicked in, Angus turned and bellowed at the prostrate figure of Fenton on the floor.

“Mate – you are
HISTORY
…”

And Jack smiled.

C
hristie raised an index finger to his lips and the three of them listened intently, trying to catch the conversation between two men who sat huddled in the booth next to them in the Duke of York. The pub was only half full and near their table a log fire was spluttering to life, adding smoke but so far little warmth to the dank air. The three tankards of ale in front of them remained untouched.

Christie had navigated them to Harmwell only an hour earlier and they had taken refuge in the nearby Duke of York, waiting for 9.05 p.m. and the event when, as Backhouse put it, ‘everything changed’. He had not gone on to describe the nature of the ‘unfortunate accident’, but the notion that they might be about to witness something unpleasant had lodged itself worryingly in Jack’s mind.

On entering the Duke of York they had been astonished to see the bedraggled figures of Babbage and another man, whom they concluded must be Herschel, also sheltering from the cold fog outside, holed up in one of the wooden booths at the far side of the inn. Surreptitiously, they had positioned themselves in an adjoining booth and now Jack strained to catch the men’s conversation.

“…it is the money, John, always the money. These rumours… that the Engine won’t work, has no value, that it is a waste of
money
…” Babbage said.

“Have faith, Charles. I support you, the Royal Society supports you. You are the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics. Never forget that. I know the Treasury will support you – you will have your money,” Herschel reassured his friend. “You have already built part of the Engine… you have shown the way. And your vision…” there was wonder in his voice, “it is
extraordinary
… a machine that can perform calculations on numbers. A
machine
that’s accurate… consistently. An end to human error. It is revolutionary.”

Babbage seemed to appreciate his friend’s encouragement. “Thank you, John, I hope you are right.” There was a pause before Babbage reflected on Backhouse’s predicament. “Trust Backhouse to get himself into trouble again. Locked up in Harmwell Asylum. He is lucky he has friends like us to look after him.”

Just then, the door opened and a tall, thin man wrapped up in a large black overcoat came in. He spotted Babbage and Herschel and hurried over.

“A dismal night, gentlemen. Can’t see a thing out there.”

“Indeed. Well, is he there, Simpson?” Herschel said.

“Yes, sir. It is confirmed, Mr Backhouse is in Harmwell Asylum. They picked him up off the street yesterday – he was babbling and incoherent they say – a danger to himself and to others. Apparently he was talking about having had some sort of vision, some sort of religious experience. I have left the
carriage up the street. We can go there now, but I warn you that they are not being very helpful at the asylum.”

Babbage and Herschel got up and followed Simpson out into the night.

“Come on. We need to follow them,” Christie whispered. “Keep a safe distance.”

The street was deserted but there was no risk of Babbage, Herschel or Simpson noticing them – the three men were wrapped up well against the cold and there was a thick blanket of London fog. A little further up the street an imposing building loomed into view and as they got closer Jack noticed that the windows had bars on them. A gas lamp threw an eerie light over the entrance to the building. The three men ahead stopped by the gate and then Babbage and Herschel went through whilst Simpson carried on a little further up the street. Jack could make out the vague shadow of a waiting coach and horses through the mist.

“There!” Christie whispered.

They found a good hiding place in some bushes just beyond the gate, near the steps to the entrance. They sneaked forward and crouched down, melting into the shadows. Jack caught snippets of conversation.

“Well, let’s get on with it,” Babbage said.

Herschel banged on the door. The noise triggered a cacophony of screaming, shrieking and laughter from inside the asylum. Jack heard a scraping of metal as a hatch was opened. A gruff voice spoke from inside.

“What do you want?”

“We are here to collect one of your patients.”

“Come back tomorrow. You are causing too much of a disturbance.”

The hatch slammed shut.

Herschel grabbed the knocker, bashed it with all his might against the door and kept knocking, harder and harder and louder and louder. The shrieking and wailing from inside the asylum became more and more frenzied until finally the hatch opened again.

“What is the meaning of this…?”

Babbage was nearly shouting, “We would like to speak to your superior. Tell him that the Cambridge Philosophical Society is here. I am the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics and we have come to release one of our colleagues, Josiah Backhouse… You might wish to add that we offer a modest reward… but if you keep us waiting much longer in this miserable cold it shall be rescinded.”

It seemed to do the trick and Jack heard the door creak open. Babbage and Herschel disappeared into the building.

Christie flashed his time phone in front of Jack, “Nine o’clock…” he whispered. “Whatever’s going to happen, is going to happen in five minutes.”

But as Jack looked out from their hiding place all he could see was the weak light from the gas lamp reflecting eerily on the fog. It was difficult to imagine how some momentous event was about to happen that would change the future, forever.

Backhouse’s words flashed through Jack’s head,
“unfortunate accident…”

Two minutes later and the door of the asylum opened again.

“Here we go – they’re out…” Christie whispered.

A dishevelled-looking man appeared alongside Babbage and Herschel. He seemed thinner than Jack remembered him, but it was definitely Josiah Backhouse. The men walked down the steps from the asylum, back towards the gate.

“Thank you again, my friends,” Jack heard Backhouse say.

“It might be the last time, Josiah,” Babbage said. “I am not sure how long we can keep doing this…”

“I understand, I don’t know what happened to me…” Backhouse replied, apologetically. “These episodes… they come upon one and are impossible to control. I am lucky to have friends who understand.”

“Indeed. Anyway, it’s late and cold and we need to get out of this god-awful place. Simpson has the carriage waiting.”

Jack, Angus and Christie watched as the three men walked up the street towards the waiting carriage. A moment later they heard hooves on the cobbles as the carriage set off back down the street, towards where Jack, Angus and Christie were hiding. They watched in dismay as the carriage, ghostlike in the fog, rattled passed them and off down the street.

“They’ve gone…” Angus said, “and nothing’s happened… I don’t understand…“

No sooner had the words come out of Angus’s mouth than there was a sudden flash of white light. There was a loud thump and then a scream from the middle of the street. The horses reared and the carriage slewed violently before righting itself and disappearing at top speed into the fog beyond.

“What on earth…?” Christie said under his breath, “Look – I think there’s something in the street – there!”

They crept forward.

“It’s a body – someone was hit by the coach,” Jack said.

Christie knelt down beside the man.

“He’s dead,” Christie said. “I don’t know where he’s come from… but that flash could only have been one thing…”

“A time-travel event,” Jack said.

“Landing right in front of the carriage like that and getting mown down. Poor guy, he had no chance in this fog.”

“But who is he?”

“I don’t recognise him…”

Suddenly, Jack saw something lying next to the body. “Look!” he said.

The object was rectangular in shape but with smooth, bevelled edges. Jack picked it up. It was made of a bright, light material and fitted in the palm of his hand. Along the top there were some indentations and on the middle at the bottom there was a circular depression which looked like some sort of button. The letters on the device were difficult to make out in the dim light, but they already knew what they spelled:

“It’s a VIGIL smart device, it must have been knocked from him in the impact,” Christie said, glancing back up the street. “I think the carriage has stopped up there. They must know they’ve hit someone. In a minute, they’re going to come back down here…”

“That’s how they get the VIGIL device,” Jack said. “It must be it, Dad, Babbage is going to walk back down here, discover the body and then discover the device. This is the Point of Divergence. We’ve found it. The end of the trail.”

“But then how did this chap get hold of it?” Christie said, “He’s not a VIGIL agent. He looks like an ordinary worker.”

“If he’s a time traveller, he must have a time phone,” Angus said, “That will tell us where he’s come from.”

Christie did a quick search. “Nothing… help me roll him over. Quickly, they’ll be here in a moment.”

“There!” The unfortunate time traveller was clutching a time phone in his hand.

“Let me check the co-ordinates…” Christie said.

“It says he’s come from the future, present day… location… central London. Trafalgar Square.” Christie shook his head. “Makes no sense…”

But it did to Jack and the truth suddenly dawned on him. “I know what’s happened Dad. Trafalgar Square – that’s where I left the time phone when we travelled back to 1940. I left it up at the top of Nelson’s Column. VIGIL were planning to send an agent to retrieve it. Something must have gone wrong. I think this guy somehow got hold of that time phone from the top of Nelson’s Column, fiddled with it, and ended up being transported back here by mistake.”

“Of course – so we’re
not
at the end of the trail. We need to make another jump. Take the time phone, but leave the VIGIL device here for Babbage to find it.”

“What?” Jack said. “But…”

“Just do it, I’ll explain later.”

They crept back into the shadows and Jack looked back up the street. They could hear voices and the noise of the horses. Suddenly, Babbage emerged from the fog. He spotted the figure lying in the street. Babbage put a hand to his mouth in horror and ran towards the body.

“Herschel come here, help me!” Babbage shouted. He looked down at the body and muttered to himself, “This is dreadful.”

Then Herschel emerged from the fog.

“Look here, the poor wretch… we ran him over.”

“Just when we saw that bright flash,” Herschel said. “But I can’t explain it, there’s been no thunder. Why the sudden flash of lightning?”

Babbage frowned, “Yes, it is most strange. And the man’s clothes – short trousers and only a shirt, and his sleeves are rolled up. Like it was a hot summer’s day – not mid-winter. A most terrible accident. Go and get Simpson and Backhouse to come and help us. I will search him – maybe I can identify who he is.”

Herschel disappeared back into the fog to find Backhouse and Simpson whilst Babbage searched the man. He surveyed the area around the body to see if there were any further clues to his identity. Then he saw it. The small shiny object lying on the street. Babbage picked it up and looked at it. The object might have been some sort of mechanical device – but it was engineered in no way that Babbage had ever seen before. He was mystified. He flicked the device over in his hand and peered closer. He thought he could see some letters, but it was impossible to read what they said in the dim light. Later, Professor Charles Babbage,
Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge University, inventor of the Difference Engine and the father of modern computer science, would discover what the letters were.

However, he would never learn what ‘VIGIL’ actually meant.