Julius and the Watchmaker (19 page)

‘Grash ak nech darh,' shouted one of the Grackacks. It was the pocketwatch still lying in full view on the table. Two Grackacks were almost coming to blows as they both reached for it. The only thing stopping them were other Grackacks making conciliatory sounds and gestures.

The squabbling grew louder and more violent. Before long, a full scale battle erupted and the three guards waded into the fray with batons flying. The Grackacks' yelling, mixed with the sound of batons knocking against heads, brought more Grackacks into the room.
Cripes, Higgins. This is worse than Bow Street.

‘Naaaagh aaaah graaack,' bellowed someone from the doorway behind Julius.

A small, wizened Grackack shuffled in holding what looked like a bishop's crosier. Two guards marched behind him, taking care not to step on the old Grackack's black robe trailing along the ground.

‘Naaaagh aaaah graaack,' he bellowed again, even louder this time.

The warring Grackacks froze in mid-assault like a tableau of some ancient battle.

Now that the old Grackack had their attention he spoke again. His voice was quieter but no less terrifying. The Grackacks resumed their seats like chastised schoolboys. They hung their heads, waiting for the telling-off to wind down.

When it finally did, the very thing that Julius did not want to happen, happened. The old Grackack looked at him, his red eyes boring into him. Foul Grackack breath wafted over him like a cloud of poisonous vapour, and a pale, thin finger poked his shoulder.

‘Ngah baa danck,' said the old Grackack, studying Julius's face. His head tilted to one side and he sniffed suspiciously.

Better hope he likes the smell of abject terror, Higgins, because that's what you stink of.

‘Ist jagack na daak,' said one of the wigged Grackacks, sheepishly holding up the pocketwatch.

The old Grackack pulled himself away from Julius and approached the long table. He picked up Shelley's pocketwatch and turned it in his long fingers. The room was silent. He took a sheaf of papers and held a page close to the end of his nose, running it back and forth in front of his eyes to read it. Then he dropped the papers on the table, pocketed the watch and made his way to the door.

‘Grech aah nisch zeeg dekk?' said one of the Grackacks, meekly.

The old Grackack stopped and faced the table. ‘Dach la,' he said as if passing sentence, then turned and exited, followed by his two guards.

The row of Grackacks looked at Julius.

Cripes, Higgins. What did the old git say?

The Grackack with the keys marched Julius along more corridors and down stairways, until he came to a chamber that smelled like a butcher's shop on a hot day. In the centre, a steel contraption the size of a large wardrobe stood bolted to the flagstones. It was encrusted with a substance that looked like black treacle. In a moment Julius realised it wasn't treacle—it was congealed blood, lots of it.

The contraption was a steel chair with a bloom of rods, gears and wires coming out from behind it. A Grackack inserted a large key into the back of the chair and began to wind it. As he toiled, various arms opened out around the chair. The sounds of gears grinding mingled with the animated voice of the key-turner talking to himself as he worked. Julius stared in horror. The opening and extending arms, all with sharp, serrated edges resembled the legs of a giant spider that was climbing over the chair in search of prey.

The guards held Julius tight and the key-turner stepped forward and smiled his rotten teeth at him, wringing his hands together gleefully. He pointed to various parts of the contraption as if he was giving a tour of the finer points of the chair's workings. Between barely suppressed chuckles and words that sounded like the grinding of the chair's gears, the Grackack lovingly stroked the contraption and pressed his cheek against it. Then he held up his finger to indicate a long brass lever at the back.

Julius tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. The Grackack pulled the lever and the clockwork mechanisms screeched into action. The cogs and wheels turned, which caused the extended arms to vibrate back and forth violently. They closed in on the chair, sawing through the air as they went. The noise was deafening, the result final. The pointed ends of the vibrating arms stabbed at the chair, leaving no doubt that anyone sitting there would be disembowelled and disembodied.

Julius's legs gave way. The key-turner cackled while he turned the key to reset the chair. He laughed even more when Julius fought, pleaded and cried while the guards strapped him into the chair. The key-turner wound the contraption up. The extended arms, straining against the springs, seemed eager to be at their gruesome work.

Then the door flew open and the old Grackack shuffled in.

‘Please, this is all a mistake,' Julius called out. ‘I can explain everything, I promise.'

The old Grackack, and the white-wigged ones who entered after him, ignored Julius's cries.

They probably hear this type of thing all the time in here, Higgins.

Then a wigless Grackack entered. To Julius's surprise, the Grackack bowed towards him and winked.

Could it be the professor?

‘If you're the professor, the old Grackack has Shelley's watch,' called out Julius. ‘It's in his pocket. I tricked Springheel into lending it to me when I came through the vortex.'

The Grackack approached Julius. He waved the guards aside as he drew closer. Julius swallowed. This Grackack wore a long black coat with a fur collar and a waistcoat of black patterned material that glistened like a beetle's carapace in the dungeon's torchlight. The gold watch-chain stretching between the pockets of the Grackack's waistcoat caught Julius's attention. The Grackack tapped the side of his nose and winked again, almost imperceptibly.

It must be the professor.

Julius recognised the jolly but regally commanding air with which he greeted the other Grackacks in their own language.

It is the professor.

The professor bowed to the old Grackack and a friendly discussion ensued between the two. Julius guessed that the conversation turned to the pocket-watch because the old Grackack happily handed it to the professor, who made a show of examining it expertly. He then handed it back as if it were not of much importance and the discussion resumed until one of the white-wigged Crackacks produced a piece of paper and held it up proudly. The key-turning Grackack started to dance. With horror, Julius realised that it was an execution warrant.

The warrant was slid across the table towards the old Grackack who dipped a quill into an inkwell while still deep in conversation with the professor. Just as he was about to sign it, a matter of the utmost importance appeared to occur to the professor. He straightened up and cried out something, and his bony finger pointed to the ceiling. He then bowed towards the old Grackack and held out his hand, saying, ‘Gnech ba?'

It seemed to Julius that the words meant ‘May I?' because the old Grackack obligingly placed the watch in the professor's hand again.

A hush fell over the dungeon. The professor walked towards Julius while he examined Shelley's pocket-watch and spoke to the assembly in general. Then the professor placed it in his coat pocket and took out a small box. Julius held his breath. The professor stopped a few paces in front of him, opened the box and made a show of leaning forward to examine the prisoner. The key-turner leaned in too, pressing his face through the contraption's workings to get a better look. The professor smiled at him, and the key-turner's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Julius's teeth clattered and his whole body trembled. He looked imploringly into the professor's eyes.

‘Please get me out of here, Professor,' whispered Julius, breaking into tears.

The professor nodded slightly as if in reply. He turned away from the prying Grackack key-turner. His long fingers removed a small pair of nail scissors from the box. The key-turner strained to press his face further into the contraption.

With the speed of a music hall conjurer, the professor snipped a single strand of hair from Julius's head, took the watch out of his pocket and tapped a tiny drawer open, all under the cover of his long black coat. He cut a snippet off the strand of hair and let it fall into the drawer, which he then closed, and the watch was returned to his pocket. The key-turner said something, which sounded to Julius like a question. The professor smiled reassuringly and said something in reply.

‘Whatever you're doing, do it fast,' whispered Julius.

The professor took the watch out again, this time in plain view, and stepped back from Julius as he made a show of fiddling inexpertly with it. Suddenly the top and bottom of it flipped out and a pale green light shot out in all directions.

‘Yes, we'll do a time-jump,' called out Julius.

The wheels sped up. The polyrhythm grew in volume. The professor looked as astonished as everyone else. His fingers tapped the correct spots while appearing to fumble. Then he spun it in the air towards Julius and let out a cry of surprise.

The watch hovered above Julius's lap. Through the green light Julius saw the Grackacks jump to their feet. Then everything fell silent.

Julius plunged into a journey through time and space. Shelley's huge timepiece spun slowly as it hurtled through the eye of a galaxy which was spinning as fast as a carriage wheel at full gallop. Julius's arms and legs flailed as he tumbled in the watch's orbit. As the galaxy receded and he careered towards another, he tried to look around for the professor.
Where are you, Professor?
Out of the corner of his eye Julius saw a comet shooting in his direction. He wrapped his arms around his head just in time. The comet struck the side of the timepiece and ricocheted off, exploding into a billion pieces. The timepiece continued to spin unscathed.
There's workmanship for you, Higgins.

Julius remembered to bend his knees but he still hit the cobblestones hard. He rolled over as skilfully as he could manage. Shelley's pocketwatch was hovering nearby in its closed position. Instinctively, he reached for it and, to his surprise, it flew to his hand. His fingers closed around and it went into his pocket quicker than a jellied eel down a docker's throat.

‘Professor. Professor,' Julius called out.

He'll be here in a moment, Higgins, don't worry. He must have time-jumped separately with his own pocketwatch.

Julius noticed his shoes—they were freshly polished. He checked his clothes. The time-jump had had a cleansing effect on his entire wardrobe. His stained and ragged clothes had been replaced by the very same outfit minus the tears, grime and coal dust from the Grackack realm. It was very pleasant to be freshly laundered once again, and his hands were completely healed and his stomach was not gnawing at him with hunger.

He looked around and smiled.
You're in London again, Higgins. Safe and sound, home and dry.
The familiar grey buildings of Cheapside towered over him welcomingly, and the dawn chill bit at his skin. He breathed in deeply to imbibe the Thames' stench and looked up and down the street.
Come on, Professor, hurry up.

Just then, he heard a rumble. It grew louder and louder until the wall behind him shook. Julius knew the sound, but for the moment he could not recall from where. Then, looking up at the sky, he remembered. The narrow street darkened as a zettmalin slowly drifted into view, blotting out the sky and rattling the buildings with its hum. It whipped up a wind strong enough to knock him over.

CHAPTER 18

Tuesday 15th July, 1840
6:14 AM

Julius pressed himself against the vibrating wall. When the airship was gone and its engine had faded to a distant hum, he took a last look around for the professor then went out into the main street. He followed it for a while through a few twists and turns to get his bearings. At Church Yard, the wide thoroughfare encircling St Paul's Cathedral, he spun around 360 degrees. Not a soul in sight. White clouds streaked across the wide open sky. He looked down Cannon Street and up at the dome of St Paul's.
This is your London, Higgins. It must be.