Julius and the Watchmaker (24 page)

Mr Flynn knocked four times on the attic door. Outside church bells and cathedral bells were ringing out across London. Aggie's grubby little face poked out of the door and smiled.

‘Mr Flynn!'

‘Hello there, Aggie, may we come in?' he said.

‘Yeah, sure fing.'

Julius was surprised to find the attic all but deserted. Emily was sitting reading at the table. Aggie ran and climbed up on a chair to sit beside her. Harry was pacing up and down with a book in his hand.

‘Where is everyone?' said Julius.

‘They're out thieving, ain't they? It's Sunday after all,' said Emily incredulously.

‘It's the pious crowds going to church and for a Sunday stroll in the park, young fella,' said Mr Flynn. ‘They offer many opportunities for the conscientious dipper.'

‘Oh, I see.'

‘It's only a temporary measure, as you might say, Mr 'iggins,' said Emily putting on the airs of a lady. ‘Until our dividends comes through from our h'estates in the Bee-harmas, don't ya know.'

Aggie giggled and Julius reddened.

‘Harry,' said Julius, trying to sound commanding. ‘Mr Flynn tells me you're an expert in making anything clockwork.'

Harry's eyes lit up. ‘I sure am. From when we nicked all the books and clocks from Springheel's lodgings. We decided not to sell 'em but do something useful with 'em.'

‘We had a vote on it,' said Emily, standing up and stepping closer to Julius. ‘We put them to good use, we did. 'Arry can read, see. His old man was a clerk in the bank, til 'e died wiv 'is lungs.'

‘Yes, Harry's a fine young fella, and no mistake,' said Mr Flynn, patting Harry on the shoulder and taking the book from his hand. ‘
A Guide to the Design and Construction of Automatons
,' he read from the spine.

‘I taught 'em all to read, wiv Springheel's books,' said Harry, glowing with pride. ‘Wasn't long before we started tinkering wiv the clocks and wot-not. Before we knew it, we was making toys. Aggie's daisy is naffing. You should see some of the stuff we've made.'

‘Oi,' said Aggie.

‘Well, it's not,' said Harry.

‘Oh, that reminds me, Aggie. I er—'

‘John 'arrison 'imself would 'ave been proud of us,' interjected Harry.

‘You know about Harrison?' said Julius.

‘Course I do. Greatest watchmaker in 'istory. I've got 'is very own personal diary, I 'ave. Werf more than a stack of gold 'n diamonds.'

‘You've got Harrison's diary? But how?'

‘Nicked it from Springheel's desk just before the 'ole building came down. We was clearing out everything what wasn't nailed down, and some wot was, and I jemmied the drawers in 'is writing desk.'

‘And Harrison's diary was there?'

‘Yep.'

‘So Springheel had Harrison's diary all along?' said Mr Flynn.

‘Er, did you find anything useful in it, Harry?' said Julius, hurriedly.

‘It don't make much sense. I've read it loads of times. The watch he was making in the diary, it wasn't just a watch. It was something else. He talks about “super-light speed” and “intra-temporal progression” and…and I don't know what. It's very confusing.'

Julius took Shelley's pocketwatch out and spun it in the air where it stayed bobbing like a cork on water.

‘Cor,' said Emily, despite herself.

‘
This
is the watch that Harrison made,' said Julius, proudly. ‘It's a time-machine.'

‘I knew it!' said Harry.

‘Mr Flynn and I have a plan to use it to rescue the professor. I'm going to sail to Australia on the
Bountiful
, and I'm going to go to the professor's cell and he's going to show me how to use this pocket-watch to time-jump us to freedom,' said Julius.

‘'Ow you going to get to 'im in the first place?' said Emily.

‘That's where you come in. I'm going to make friends with the clockmen on board so they will let me into the professor's cell. I need clockwork toys to give to them as gifts.'

Julius tapped the side of the watch with his finger and a pale blue light shone out all around it. He watched their amazed expressions.

‘First, Mr Flynn and I will need to speak to an old friend of Springheel's. And Emily, I'll need your help, when the time comes, to persuade a naval cadet to give me his place on ship.'

‘'Ow am I gonna do that?' said Emily suspiciously.

‘By smiling at him.'

CHAPTER 21

Monday 21st July, 1840
11:05 PM

Mr Flynn and Julius walked across Blackfriars Bridge and turned left. They came to a tavern on Commercial Road. The sign said
The Queen Bess
and had a painting of Queen Elizabeth underneath. Her red painted hair was cracked and peeling, and her skin was as grey as a Grackack's.

‘This is where he spends his time these days, Julius,' said Mr Flynn, pushing the door open and stepping inside. The smells of cheap tobacco and damp clothes hit Julius straight away, making his eyes water. The interior was large and full. Somewhere in the crowd a fiddle was being played, rather badly, and a terrier was barking in time with the tune.

Mr Flynn edged through the crowd to the bar. Julius stuck as close behind the champion bare-knuckle boxer as he could. The barman eyed the two suspiciously. ‘Yes, gov?' he said, before spitting into a glass and polishing it with his apron.

‘I'm looking for Clements.'

‘Who?'

Mr Flynn looked at the barman but said no more. The barman swallowed and nodded his head to one side. ‘In the snug.'

‘Much obliged to you. We'll take a couple of ales, if you'd be so kind,' Mr Flynn said, then tossed a couple of coins on the bar and walked in the direction of the barman's nod.

The snug was a small room with curtained booths for those who wished to drink in private. It was markedly quieter and emptier than the main room. In the dim lamplight Julius could make out the rotund pawnbroker, Clements, in one of the booths. He sat alone and motionless, slumped over an empty glass and enveloped in his own cigar smoke, like an out-of-work genie waiting for better times.

‘Clements, you old rogue,' said Mr Flynn, in a friendly tone.

Clements jumped. ‘Mr Flynn?'

‘How's life treating you?'

‘Oh, you know…not so bad,' replied Clements fearfully. He made an attempt to get up but sat down again quickly when he realised he was cornered.

‘What a pleasant…er…surprise.'

‘It is indeed, it is indeed. And I have an old friend of yours with me,' said Mr Flynn, slipping into the bench across from Clements and leaving Julius standing by himself at the end of the table.

Clements gasped. ‘Higgins? It's you. I thought you were done for. Out on that roof…'

‘Hello, Clements.'

‘It was an accident, I promise you. You saw me trying to pull you back in? Springheel worked for hours trying to fix the oscillation problem. We…we did everything we could.'

‘I know, Clements,' said Julius, sitting down beside Mr Flynn.

‘You do? Good. It's…it's good to see you again… you're exactly the same as I remembered you. Isn't that strange.'

‘Yes.'

The barmaid brought two tankards of ale.

‘Are you having a drink, Clements?' said Mr Flynn.

‘Oh, yes, indeed, very kind of you, Mr Flynn. I'll have a brandy, if I may.'

‘A large brandy for Mr Clements,' Mr Flynn said to the barmaid.

Mr Flynn took a long drink of his ale. Julius took a sip of his and gagged; it was the first ale he had tasted. His grandfather served wine on special occasions. The brandy arrived and Clements knocked it back.

‘How's that other rogue, Springheel, these days?' said Mr Flynn.

‘Springheel? How should I know? Don't talk to me about that cove, Mr Flynn, it agitates my liver. I read about him in the newspapers, now, like everybody else. Why, you see the circumstances I am in? We were supposed to be partners. We were going to be as rich as kings, richer. But he cast me aside, he did, as soon as he got what he wanted. There's no loyalty anymore, Mr Flynn, no loyalty.'

‘You're right there, Clements.'

‘It was all his doing, you know. He brought them here. He opened that portal above the Houses of Parliament.'

‘I know, I know, Clements. It's a terrible business, but what's to be done?'

‘He should be horsewhipped.'

‘Aye, indeed he should. But before we do that, Julius here wants to know about the clockmen.'

‘
Springheel's Synthetic Anthropoids
, you mean, not that anyone ever calls them that. All his invention, you know. He'd had the idea since he was a boy, when he was working for Mr Shelley. He was furious when Mary Shelley wrote that dreadful book of hers. “That was my idea, I gave it to her when she couldn't think up any monster stories of her own,” he said to me many a time. Well, he's vindicated now, I suppose. His creations roam the streets of London while her creature prances on the London stage.
Modern Prometheus
, indeed.' Clements stared at his empty glass.

‘Do they really have the brains of executed criminals inside them?' said Julius.

Clements chuckled. ‘You want to know, do you? Makes me shudder when I think of it. But they were murderers, so what can they expect?'

‘How is it done?'

‘He found a way of bringing life back to the dead brains. He used this new-fangled galvanism to do it. The reanimated brains can think and act and control the contraptions they are trapped in…but…but…'

‘But what?'

‘They're not human anymore. At least not that I can see. There is something dark and ignorant about them, something base.' Clements sucked philosophically on his cigar and coughed.

‘But what of their emotions?'

‘They have none. No finer feeling. That's why they slink away to Mr Flynn's boxing bouts. Er…no offence, Mr Flynn.'

‘None taken, Clements. Please, go on. This is most interesting. Will you have another brandy?'

‘Most kind of you, Mr Flynn, most kind.'

Mr Flynn caught the eye of the barmaid and gestured towards Clements's glass.

‘Now, where was I? Oh yes. They have no emotions. The reanimation process, it pickles them somehow. You've seen their eyes? Dead things looking out at the world. Ghastly.'

Clements became thoughtful again. Another brandy was placed in front of him; and he stared into the copper liquid. ‘I wish I'd never met Springheel,' he said to himself. ‘I didn't mean for all this to happen.'

‘We have a plan to put things right, Clements,' said Julius.

The man's little eyes regarded Julius across the rim of his glass. ‘Oh yes?'

‘There is one thing we need to know if we're to succeed—when and where exactly did Springheel make his first contact with the Banshees?'

‘That's easy, Higgins. It was Sunday 9th July, 1837, outside the British Museum. In the early hours of the morning. I don't recall the exact time.'

‘One more thing, Clements,' said Mr Flynn. ‘Who do you know in the Navy Office, these days? We need to know which cadet is posted on the
Bountiful
.'

‘Nothing easier,' said Clements.

Emily and Julius walked along the Deptford and Greenwich Road on the Isle of Dogs. They were on their way to find navy cadet Edgar Sedley to convince him to give his place on the
Bountiful
to Julius.

Julius was nervous. If Emily was uneasy, she wasn't showing it. She had scrubbed her face and plaited her hair. The new dress she was wearing was chosen to make her look like a respectable shopkeeper's daughter.

The Thames was to their left, stinking even worse than usual, thanks to the low tide. Behind them, hundreds of ships were moored on the water or in dry dock in the shipyards. Ahead of them was a grey wasteland of abandoned warehouses and open spaces under an equally grey sky. The mud banks were strewn with the flotsam and jetsam of ships and sea. It was as if they had come to a place drained of colour, abandoned and lifeless.

A small distance ahead, a group of boys about Julius's age were throwing stones at an injured seagull. Julius swallowed and pursed his lips.

‘One of them must be our Edgar Sedley,' said Emily, practising her correct pronunciation. They had called first at Edgar's mother's house only to be told that he was out somewhere ‘down the Dogs wiv 'is cronies, getting up to no good'.

Julius's heart began to pound as they drew closer to the boys.

‘Hello, there,' he said, in a commanding tone with what he hoped was the right touch of nonchalance.

The boys turned around suddenly. They had been too intent on avian torment to notice anyone coming up behind them. Their foreheads were furrowed and they held onto their stones, just in case.

‘We're looking for Edgar Sedley,' said Emily, politely. ‘Would any of you gentlemen know where we might find him?'