Extraordinaires 1 (18 page)

The man on the bed opened his eyes. ‘My boy,' he croaked, ‘I'm glad you've come.'

Kingsley was at his foster father's side instantly.

The old man's face was bruised. His clothing, more suitable for a night at the opera than a prison cell, was rumpled and his collar was streaked with blood. Kingsley was grimly pleased. The old man had resisted!

Dr Ward had always been a big man. His limbs were strong, he had a long and muscular trunk, his hands were large, his head was leonine. His hair was long and silver, swept back but thick. His habitual mode of speaking was the boom, and it was a sign of his travails that it had been reduced as much as it had.

Dr Ward eased himself into a sitting position, leaving his legs still covered by the light blanket. He declined offers of assistance. ‘I'm well enough,' he managed, then he saw Evadne and his dull eyes brightened.

‘How extraordinary you are, young lady. Do you know that a hundred years ago you could have been queen of Benin just because of your eyes?'

Evadne raised an eyebrow and Kingsley hastily made the introductions. ‘Father, I'd never have found you without her.'

‘I'm not sure about that.' Dr Ward chuckled, but Kingsley wasn't happy about the wheeziness of the laughter. ‘Regardless, you are most beautiful, Miss Stephens. I'm sure that in days gone by, thousands of men would have perished for a chance at your hand.'

‘Sorry,' Kingsley said to her, ‘Father does live in the past, somewhat.'

‘Hah!' Dr Ward was seized by a mighty coughing fit. He went alarmingly red in the face and hammered at his own thigh with a fist before he brought it under control. Kingsley hovered helplessly, his foster father waving him away whenever he approached too closely.

Eventually, Dr Ward gathered himself. ‘I was about to say – as you know full well, my boy – that I don't live in the past, I merely study it.' His expression darkened. ‘Which is why the brutes brought me here.'

‘Tell us later, Father,' Kingsley said. ‘Let us get you out of here first.'

Dr Ward held up a hand. ‘Always precipitous, my boy, always precipitous.' His gaze drifted upward. ‘My, that ceiling is a long way away.'

‘He's right, Dr Ward,' Evadne said, ‘we can't waste time.'

Dr Ward frowned, then touched his wrinkled brow. For a moment he was amused by the shapes it made before he gathered himself to answer. ‘Time. That's what it's all about, after all.'

‘Father?'

‘These brutes are building a time machine. That's why they wanted me. To help with their destination.'

While Kingsley rocked back at this revelation, Evadne leaned forward. ‘What do you mean?' she demanded.

Dr Ward touched his cheek. ‘My, I do need a shave. I used to have a favourite barber. Marcello. He was a maestro with a razor.' He blinked at the fierceness of Evadne's regard. ‘I'm sorry, my dear. I'm finding it hard to concentrate after their questioning.'

Kingsley was dismayed. Dr Ward had been good to him, in his vague and erratic way. He'd spent a career as a professional wanderer, often working in more than one area at once, sometimes abandoning avenues of inquiry unfinished when a new one arose. His lectures were famous for finishing many miles away from their nominal topic.

Kingsley touched Evadne on the forearm and, with a look, asked for understanding. She glanced at him, then at Dr Ward and then she bit her lip and nodded.

Dr Ward didn't notice this unspoken conversation. He continued, as if talking to himself. ‘You know, my whole career has been looking backward, really.' He chuckled. More wheeziness. ‘Further and further back, further and further.' He cocked a bright eye at Kingsley. ‘That's what they want to know, but I haven't told them yet.'

‘What do they want to know, Father?'

‘Them and us.
Homo neanderthalensis
and
Homo sapiens
. When we diverged.' He rubbed his chest. ‘They want to travel back in time and exterminate us. While there are only a few of us around. If they're successful, humanity will simply cease to be.'

Kingsley went to laugh, but he was halted by the expression on Evadne's face. ‘I'm sorry,' he said softly. ‘He's muddled. He needs care.'

‘No.' She shook her head and her silver hair flew. ‘No.'

‘Don't tell me you believe this?'

This time, Dr Ward was following. ‘And why shouldn't she, my boy?'

‘We have to stop them,' Evadne said.

‘Surely you're not serious,' Kingsley said.
Another
crusade? Evadne was a young woman of principle, but it did seem to get in the way.

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘After all you've seen, you still doubt? The Neanderthals are the greatest artificers in the Demimonde. They hate us. This is exactly the sort of scheme I wouldn't put past them.'

‘Besides,' Dr Ward said and his voice was suddenly steady and irresistibly rational, ‘think of it this way. If you act and I'm right, you've saved humanity. If you don't act and I'm right, we're all doomed.'

That was the end of the argument. Kingsley could see that he was outmatched. Evadne's knowledge of and experience with the Demimonde convinced her that the Neanderthals were capable of this extraordinary deed. She would not be shaken from it.

‘I surrender,' he said. ‘Once we get you safely out of here, Father, then we can see what we can do about this time machine.'

‘I think not,' Dr Ward said. ‘I'd say it's best for you both to leave me behind.'

Kingsley bit his lip. Had his foster father's ill-treatment addled his brain? ‘Don't be ridiculous. Up on your feet. We'll have you out of here in no time.'

‘Ah, but that's the point.' He pulled the blanket aside and gestured at his feet.

Evadne gasped. Kingsley was sickened by the black and blue, misshapen things on the end of his legs. ‘What have they done?'

Dr Ward shrugged. ‘It makes good sense, from their point of view, and it has many historical precedents. Some Viking leaders actually hamstrung their slaves to stop them running away, so I may have got off lightly.'

‘They broke your ankles? Aren't you in pain?'

‘I was, at first, but they dose me with . . .' He squinted at them. ‘I say, you've both thought that I'm losing my mind, haven't you?' He shook his head. ‘It's the opiate they force on me. I can't walk – they deposit me in some sort of wheelchair when they want to undertake another of their ghastly interrogations – but I'm in no pain. Just damnably foggy. Stupid arrangement, really. They need me to be sharp if I'm to advise them, but they did this to me. Sometimes seems like no-one's in charge around here.'

‘If they can take you out of here, we can,' Kingsley said.

‘Don't be silly, my boy.' Dr Ward reached out, took Kingsley's hand, and Kingsley was surprised. The old man had never been one for shows of affection. It had to be the opiate. ‘Leave me here and I can string them along for months, I'm sure. I've so many stories I can tell them, after all.'

Kingsley hesitated, sought for words, and decided that mawkish euphemisms were the enemy of true feeling. ‘They killed Mrs Walters,' he said. ‘They'll kill you.'

The old man's face collapsed. ‘Mrs Walters? Ah.' His closed his eyes for a moment. ‘She was a good woman, Kingsley. A fine woman.' Unfocused, he gazed into the distance for a moment, his head bobbing, before he gathered himself. ‘Quickly now. Do your tricks, my boy, lock me in and then stop these fiends.'

Kingsley swayed. He'd found his foster father only to leave him behind, in the clutches of monsters who were on their way to exterminating all humanity? He couldn't leave him, but he must.

‘We'll be back,' he said in a rush. He glanced at Evadne. She nodded. ‘As soon as we can, we'll be back.'

Dr Ward eased the blanket back again. ‘Don't worry about me, my boy. I can take care of myself. Just do what you have to and then find that man. The writer.'

‘Kipling?'

‘That's the fellow.'

‘We've already met him, Father.'

‘Good man, Kipling. Met him in India, more than once. He'll believe you – he's come across things that'd make your hair curl – and he has connections. He'll convince the PM to do something.'

Kingsley paused at the door. If his father thought it necessary to involve the Prime Minister then events were dire indeed. ‘Stay safe, Father,' he said, and his voice was grim.

He closed the door and inserted his picks. Just before the last tumbler fell, he heard his foster father's voice. ‘Kingsley?'

‘Yes, sir?'

‘I'm sorry I never came to see you perform your magic.'

F
inding their way about the Neanderthal complex was a nightmare. Any expectations about dwellings, construction or simply places where people lived were defeated by the haphazard way the lair of the Neanderthals had been put together. Some levels eschewed straight lines entirely, with corridors curving back and forth, even twisting back on themselves. Other levels were clinical in their straightness and the transition between these sections was breathtaking.

There were no standards. Ceiling heights, widths of corridors, wall colours, shape of doors, all were random or up for argument. Even the notion of level floors was arguable, it seemed, with some parts undulating like sand dunes, for no apparent reason. It was as if the entire place were put together by teams of builders who were using entirely different plans.

The levels were connected by far more lifts and stairs than were needed. They were situated right around the perimeter of the levels and presented a swashbuckling variety of means of locomotion: hydraulic lifts, pneumatic lifts and one that Evadne concluded was an electrical traction lift.

One advantage of all this was the potential for hiding places. They found many abandoned rooms, as if the population had been much greater in past times, and some stairwells were dead ends – useful as a temporary refuge, but appalling as means of access.

In order to catch their breath and take stock, they'd secreted themselves in one of the vacant suites, a chamber set in solid rock. The walls were so rough that mounds of rubble were still strewn about, behind which Kingsley and Evadne sat – but not before Evadne had confirmed that the room had three doors leading to other parts of the complex. She wasn't about to be trapped in a room with no exit. Kingsley thought it an excellent idea, especially since the main door was broken and couldn't be shut completely.

‘On the whole,' Evadne panted, ‘I'd rather be at home.'

Crouched next to her, behind something that could have been either a miniature forge or a work of modern art, Kingsley struggled to reply.

His wild self was pressing hard and threatening to burst out.

‘Somewhere far from here would do,' he said through gritted teeth.

Four Neanderthals ambled past, chatting. They carried tool chests, and one had a flaming blowtorch in one hand. His friends jeered when he gestured grandly and nearly set his own beard on fire.

‘I have an idea,' Kingsley said.

‘That's timely, because I'm baffled. This place is larger than I thought.'

‘If we're trying to find a workshop, why not follow workers?'

‘That, sir, is a fine piece of reasoning.'

‘Glad to be of assistance.'

‘Interesting and useful,' she mused. Then she pursed her lips. ‘Laurence would like to meet you, I'm sure. He's interesting and useful as well.'

‘Laurence? Don't you mean Clarence?' Kingsley climbed to his feet and slapped dust from his trousers.

‘Clarence? Of course. Just testing how alert you are.'

The Neanderthal workers were loud, making them easy to follow. The task needed stealth, however, which appealed to Kingsley's animal side.

By watching the lifts the Neanderthal workers used and timing their approach carefully so that no-one was waiting in the awkwardly shaped cubicle where the lift arrived, Kingsley and Evadne were eventually able to make their way down to the industrial level of the Neanderthals' lair, deep under the ground.

The choice of doors was made easier by the stream of Neanderthals leaving and entering the far door, from which the sounds of machinery and construction also emerged whenever it was open. The nearer door was closed, but promised proximity to the site of Neanderthal activity. A few seconds' work on the lock and they were inside.

They emerged into a high-ceilinged workshop. Twenty yards away was the far wall, which had a single door. Overhead were festoons of electrical cables and pipes, while the steam ducts rattled on the wall to their right, near the floor. Benches and tool racks lined the walls to their left, right and opposite, only interrupted by a glass-fronted cabinet that was alive with red light. Inside were dozens of tiny glass vials that Kingsley had seen elsewhere.

In the middle of the room, however, was the feature that gave Kingsley pause and prompted a gasp of admiration from Evadne.

A round raised area displayed something that could be called a machine, if one were using language to reduce rather than describe. It reached forty or fifty feet into the air. To Kingsley's eye it looked like a descendant of a funfair helter-skelter but with embellishments and additions that defied comprehension. A disc at the apex anchored thousands of golden wires that hung to the ground and nearly obscured the spiral walkway around the inner tower. When the wires rippled in the slight draught, they emitted a sweet, gentle ringing sound.

Directly in front of the machine was a brass pedestal. The base was wrought to look like a stalagmite. The panel on the top was the size of a tea tray and was a riot of crystal and glass.

Evadne took two steps forward and tried to look at the machine and the pedestal at the same time. She clasped her hands and touched them to her chin. ‘Can you lock the door?' she asked softly. ‘And do something to the lift so we're not disturbed? I want to look at this. No.' She shook her head. ‘I
need
to look at it.'

‘It's the time machine?'

‘It's beautiful.'

Working out a way to bar the lift took some time. The controls inside were basic in the extreme and impervious to tampering. He settled for jamming the door open with a length of pipe he found on one of the benches.

He was on his way to lock the workroom door when the tools on one of the benches took his eye. Impressed by the quality of the workmanship, he picked up a beautifully finished pipe cutter – and a number of things happened one after the other.

Firstly, Kingsley found himself thinking that he hadn't known that Evadne was a whistler, then a gravelly voice that wasn't Evadne's cried out, ‘Who are you?' only to be followed by a rather ominous click, a hiss, and a snap, that led to an even more ominous heavy bodily
thump
.

Kingsley was halfway around the glittering machine before he knew it to find a dismayed Evadne pocketing her dart gun and running to crouch beside a white-coated female Neanderthal who was stretched out on the floor.

‘I'm sorry,' Evadne said, but whether to him or to the young Neanderthal woman he didn't know. They made a contrasting pair, with the ruddy features and bright red hair of the stocky Neanderthal against Evadne's snow-white countenance. She looked up. ‘I wasn't thinking. I should have questioned her before shooting.'

‘I hadn't managed to lock the door yet. Stupid of me,' Kingsley admitted. ‘What's that in her hand?'

Evadne uncurled the fingers. Gently, she removed a glass capsule. Its red glow suffused her features. ‘Ah.'

She touched her spectacles. Immediately they became slightly purple. She cocked her head. ‘I thought so. Phlogiston. Remarkable.'

‘More over there,' Kingsley said, pointing at the glass cabinet.

Evadne stood. ‘I think I have a way to disrupt their plans for quite some time.'

Undoing her satchel as she went, Evadne hurried to the cabinet. The red light from it touched her features as she stood for a moment, studying the racks inside. ‘There's enough phlogiston here to make a Demimonder a king.'

With an abrupt but graceful motion, Evadne swept a hand along the racks, tumbling the vials into the open satchel until she'd emptied the entire cabinet. She buckled it up and patted it. ‘This will set them back, at least.'

‘Will it give us enough time to get help?'

Evadne put a finger to her lips and bounced it once or twice. ‘Why don't you go and make sure the door is locked this time?'

The door didn't take much effort, despite the oddity of the spring plate mechanism. When Kingsley rounded the machine, Evadne was studying the brass pedestal. She glanced at him, looked back to the panel, then held up a phlogiston vial. ‘I think this goes . . . here.'

Before Kingsley could protest, she slid the vial into an opening on the face of the panel. For a moment, nothing happened and Kingsley was relieved. Then a rapid series of rattles came from the machine and overhead a bank of lights came alive. They made the golden wires even more radiant and the whole machine shimmered. Now that Kingsley was closer he could see that the wires weren't attached at the bottom. They hung free, making the whole enclosure more of a curtain than a cage.

If we're trying to be furtive
, he thought,
we're not going about it the right way.
He ran his fingers through his hair with exasperation. ‘What on earth are you doing?'

‘I'm trying to work out if this is a time machine or not.' She scowled at the panel. ‘And, if so, how it's calibrated.'

‘By starting it up?'

‘With all the noise next door, I'm sure no-one will notice.'

‘I'm not.'

‘Oh, Kingsley, I couldn't
not
try it.' Her eyes were bright. ‘It's magnificent!'

‘We don't have time for this.'

‘It's just a test. A very careful, sensible test.' Her hand rested on the panel. Her forefinger bounced up and down, while the others remained still. ‘I'd say that most of these controls are for settings. I wonder if they keep specifications anywhere.'

Kingsley shook his head. ‘We're supposed to be destroying it, not worshipping it.'

Evadne looked stricken. ‘But it's so wonderful! We could learn so much!' Then she gathered herself. ‘Of course. I'm sorry.'

At that moment, pounding came from the nearest door. Kingsley jumped with what he hoped was aplomb. He cleared his throat. ‘Are you finished?'

A hum rose from the golden curtain. The sharp smell of ozone made Kingsley wrinkle his nose. It was like being near an electrical substation in the rain. A series of sharp snaps ran around the upper rim of the machine. Sparks curved into the air and immediately flew upward before disappearing into the mesh above the gantry.

The pounding on the doors became hammering, with angry shouts as an underscore. ‘Now,' Evadne said, ‘you're the escapologist – what's the best way out of this pickle?'

Kingsley rapidly turned over the de-pickling options, opted for the lift, but discarded this when the door of the lift edged back, then rammed forward, dislodging the iron bar he'd put in place.

The lift disappeared upward.

Now
, he thought.
That's unhelpful
. ‘How many darts do you have?'

‘A dozen.'

‘And you're a good shot?'

‘With these spectacles? I'm a marksman. Markswoman. I'm unerring.'

‘Right. We climb to the top of that machine. You keep shooting until they stop coming. Then we get out through the doorway, using your sabre and my knife.'

‘That's the best you can come up with?'

‘It's better than being eaten.'

‘All it does is put off being eaten while making them angrier.'

‘True.' Kingsley looked around, hoping to spot a secret door he'd missed seeing earlier. ‘The Basic Principles of Escapology.'

‘I know. Stay calm, take your time. You've told me.'

‘There's one I haven't shared with you.' He took her hand. ‘Come on.'

He led her up onto the platform. The time machine was rotating. An almost musical hum was coming from deep inside it.

Evadne looked at it, then at Kingsley. ‘You want to use the time machine?'

‘One of the most important Basic Principles of Escapology: when there's only one way out, use it.'