The Emperor of All Things (48 page)

The bone-white gears turned smoothly, soundlessly, meshing as if they were not pieces fitted together by hand but instead organic parts of a single whole; the chains slid past the narrow opening at varying rates of speed, here a silvery blur, there a measured inching. Behind them, deeper in the recesses of the prosthetic, Quare could make out other gears, other chains; the impression was of constant, complex motion. It dizzied him to look at it. Yet he could not tear his eyes away. Twined through the cluttered insides, as out of place as worms in a watch, were thin red threads that shone against their pale surroundings, seeming to pulse with vitality: veins, Quare registered with some distant part of his mind, or something analogous to them. Then a nearer, more visceral part of him rebelled against what he was seeing, against the wrongness of it, and he lurched to his feet and out of the belvedere, where he spewed the contents of his stomach upon the green lawn of Lord Wichcote’s garden.

By the time he returned to the belvedere, Longinus was once again wearing his hose and slipper. The tool kit was tucked away. He stood gazing at Quare with a look of concern. ‘Are you quite all right, Mr Quare?’

Quare managed a nod. ‘I-I’m sorry, my lord,’ he stammered.

‘Nonsense,’ his host replied, waving away both the apology and, it seemed, the offence that had prompted it. ‘You have seen something I have shown no one else, not even Magnus. Something that by all rights and reason should not exist. It would be a wonder if you did not have a violent reaction to it.’

‘But …’

Longinus raised a forestalling hand. ‘And none of this “my lord” business, if you please, sir. We have been over this already. You must get into the habit of calling me Longinus, for it is imperative that my true
identity
remain unknown to our enemies – whom we shall soon enough be facing.’

Everything was happening too quickly for Quare to process. ‘I…’

‘Come, Mr Quare,’ Longinus said, gesturing towards the house. ‘Let us go inside. I shall have this mess attended to. But there is more I must tell you. Much more.’

Quare allowed Longinus to shepherd him back into the house. They entered by the same door through which they had gone out some hours ago. The room where they had breakfasted was now arranged for dinner, but the sight and smells of the rich food that had been laid out upon a sideboard left Quare feeling as if he might become ill again.

Alert to his discomfort, Longinus led him through a side door and into a sitting room plainly used by Lord Wichcote and his male guests for card-playing, pipe-smoking and drinking. As with all the rooms in the house, and the belvedere as well, a variety of clocks were in evidence, none showing the same time, the soft, hollow clatter of their ticking like a gentle rain falling against the roof of an empty house.

Quare took the seat that Longinus indicated, watching as his host crossed the room and poured out a glass of brandy. This he brought back to Quare. ‘Drink it down, sir. You will feel better for it, I assure you.’

The warm burn of the brandy settled his stomach and rallied his reason. Longinus, meanwhile, went to the door, where a velvet bell pull hung; this he tugged, then opened the door to speak to someone Quare could not see: a servant, presumably. When he was done, he returned and seated himself in an adjoining chair. Quare observed closely as Longinus walked but could see no evidence that he favoured his false foot over the other; had he not witnessed it with his own eyes, he would never have guessed that the man was crippled in any way. It was extraordinary. He said as much to Longinus, who seemed to take his words as a compliment.

‘Whatever else, Wachter was a craftsman of the very first order. Not once in all the years I have worn this appendage has the mechanism failed or even faltered. In that time, it has caused me pain but twice. The first time was the same night I discovered it, when in my revulsion I thought to have the thing removed. Amputated. Repelled, I swore to
myself
that I would have it cut off as soon as I returned to London. I felt I should prefer a block of dead wood to such a monstrosity! But the mere idea of it so racked my body with agony that I never again considered it. And the same thing happened again some time later, back in London, when I made an attempt to probe the workings of the mechanism, to learn its secrets. In both cases, the prosthetic defended itself, you see. Just as the great clock in Märchen had done. Like that clock, Mr Quare, my appendage is not simply alive in some sense: it is
aware
.’

Quare could not suppress a shudder.

Longinus chuckled. ‘Oh, it does not speak to me, sir. I should be a fine figure of a man were I to engage in conversation with my foot. No, speaking with my footman is as far down that road as I care to go. And yet it does communicate after a fashion. It connects me to the realm Corinna spoke of: the Otherwhere. Some men sense changes in the weather by the ache in their bunions. I sense perturbations in that dreamlike dimension, which lies, I am convinced, just alongside our own, separated by a barrier thinner than the thinnest veil yet impossible for humans to cross unaided. That barrier, Mr Quare, is time.’

‘Time?’

Longinus gestured, indicating the gossipy assemblage of clocks. ‘What I have deduced over the years, through trial and error, and from my memories of Märchen, is that time is as much an artifice as the clocks that purport to measure it. It is not some intrinsic property of the universe, an extension of the mind of God or a manifestation of the natural order. It has been imposed upon the world – upon us. Indeed, we have been infected with it, like a plague. Or, rather, we
are
the plague, for we are not separate from time, Mr Quare. We are its very embodiment.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Quare confessed.

‘Time is foreign to Corinna and her kind. So she told me, and so I have come to believe. It is something strange and terrifying to them. Unnatural, as it were. Yet beautiful, too. It attracts them. Draws them like moths to a flame. And then burns them. Being immortal, they do not die of it. They do not age, as we do – for what else is aging but a slow burning, a fire that consumes itself in the end? Mortality is the fire
in
our veins. It feeds on us, swells and gutters over the course of our lives, leaving naught but ashes. But it spreads, too, does it not, that fire? Through procreation, we pass it on to our progeny, who do the same in turn, ad infinitum. Do you not see that we are mere vehicles for its expression? We are like lumps of coal endowed with mobility and reason, yet ignorant of our true nature. But not Corinna and her kind. They know what we are, what we carry. And do we not make tribute of it for their sake? Recall the effect that the townsfolk of Märchen had upon me. I was helpless to resist the demands of their desire, whether openly expressed or not. I spilled my seed at their whim. I employed the metaphor of fire, yet you might also think of us as bottles of wine, Mr Quare. We must age a bit to achieve our full potency. But then we must be drunk. And a true connoisseur of wine does not drain his bottles at a gulp. No, he sips them. Savours them. So it is with these connoisseurs of time. They sip at our mortality, at the wine of time that has matured within us. And they do not perish of it, as we do. No doubt that is why the taste of us is so sweet to them, Mr Quare – sweeter than we can imagine. That is why they are fascinated by us. Why they long for us … yet hate us, too. We are their laudanum. Their weakness. They are addicted to us. Addicted to time.’

Quare made an effort to marshal his thoughts. ‘You said imposed. Imposed by whom? And for what purpose?’

‘As to whom, why, Doppler, of course – that is, Corinna’s father, whatever his true name may be. It was plain to me, as I thought back over the circumstances of my escape from Märchen, that Herr Doppler, not Wachter, was the real power in that place. Corinna had told me, you will recall, that the Otherwhere was shaped by strength of will, and that her father’s will was the strongest of all. Wachter, or Immelman, rather, seemed a pathetic creature, frightened, his spirit broken. He claimed to be as human as I. No doubt he had been brought across the border much as I had. They had need of him, just as they had need of me. Indeed, Corinna said that I was meant to replace him. But for what purpose, to what end, I do not know. Only that it must have had something to do with time. With clocks and time, Mr Quare.’

‘What, then, of the watch that Corinna gave to you? What is
its
purpose?’

‘I cannot say for certain. But I have some ideas. It is plain that Doppler does not rule over his realm unopposed. Clearly, there are factions among his kind. Some, like Adolpheus, are loyal, while others are engaged in a rebellion of sorts. Corinna went in search of the rebels at the end, to join their fight. Why, if the hunter were some powerful talisman, would she entrust it to me, rather than take it with her? The answer must be that it is too dangerous for them to employ, or even to possess. Thus I deduce that it is a weapon of awesome destructive power. And what is it that these creatures seem most to fear … and most to desire? Why, time, of course. The watch, then, must be a kind of bomb, Mr Quare. A time bomb, if you will. Now, let us consider what the effects of such a bomb might be, were it ever to be triggered.’

‘But it
has
been triggered,’ Quare interjected. ‘In Master Magnus’s study, when it killed his cats in the blink of an eye. And again, when it took Magnus’s life, and somehow spared my own.’

Longinus nodded. ‘Unquestionably, the watch – how shall I put it? – intervened at those moments. I say
intervened
because it seems obvious to me that the hunter, like other, similar artefacts attributed to Wachter – and for all I know, they were in fact crafted by him, but, if so, at Doppler’s direction – at any rate, the hunter, too, is in some sense alive. Aware. It can choose how and when to act. Perhaps it can even decide the moment of its own detonation. But neither of the instances you have mentioned rises to that level. The proof of it is that the watch still exists … as do we, and everything around us. The world goes on, Mr Quare. Time passes as it always has. But in those effects, can we not see, in miniature, clues to the ultimate purpose and greater effect of the bomb? For what else could be the purpose of such an infernal device but the obliteration of every living thing in a sudden and catastrophic release of time? And yet that cannot be all, for it did, as you point out, spare your life. Therefore that, too, must be part of its design. The hunter is both a destroyer and a preserver of life. But which life will it destroy? And which preserve? I find it unlikely in the extreme that Doppler, whose will is supreme in a place where that is the measure of ultimate power, would create, or cause to be created, a device capable of causing his own death. No, it is far more likely, is it not, that he would instead create a weapon to cow his enemies – his allies, too, no doubt –
and
maintain his own pre-eminence. That, if my suppositions are correct, is the true purpose of the hunter. To destroy all life – not just mortal life, but immortal, too, for why else would Corinna and the others so fear it? – while preserving Doppler’s life. To return every living thing – save himself – to the primordial state from which it was born. Perhaps, after such an apocalypse, he might, as the sole survivor, begin again, crafting new worlds, new lives, out of the malleable stuff of the Otherwhere.’

‘You speak of him as if he were a god.’

‘What better word is there to describe him, or any of them? There was something that Corinna said to me as we were fleeing – a remark I little noted at the time but have had years to reflect upon. I confess it is behind all that I have told you.’

‘What remark?’

‘I referred to Corinna and her kind as fallen angels. She was quick to correct me, Mr Quare. “Not fallen,” she said. “Risen, rather.” She called it their crime, their original sin. Imagine, Mr Quare, that spontaneously, as it were, out of the primal stuff of the Otherwhere, creatures arose that possessed self-awareness, intelligence, and, most of all, will – that is, the ability to shape the Otherwhere to their own purposes. Now imagine that after untold eons of existence, in which each of these creatures was effectively equal to the rest, one of them, filled with ambition and desiring to rule over the others, to set himself above them and impose his will upon them, created something never before seen or even imagined: time. Thus, I believe, was our world brought into being, and every living thing in it, ourselves included. We exist to serve as receptacles for time.’

‘But what advantage would that give to Doppler?’

‘Why, the same advantage that accrues to any man in control of a substance prized or, indeed, required by others. Do you not see? I have told you that time is a drug, Mr Quare. I meant it as no mere metaphor! Doppler created time, and then addicted his fellow gods – to use your word, if I may – to that drug. No doubt it began with worship, with prayers and sacrifices. It must have seemed harmless enough! A new diversion amidst the stale pleasures of eternity. But now they are in thrall to it, to him. And, in a sense, to us as well, for we humans are,
after
all, the ultimate source of the drug. In us, it reaches its greatest potency, perhaps because we, of all mortal beings, possess self-awareness, the knowledge of our own inevitable death. Certainly that must confer an exquisite piquancy to the drug!’

‘But this is sheer speculation,’ Quare protested. ‘Pure fantasy … if not madness!’

‘If you can supply a more cogent explanation for the facts at hand, I should be glad to hear it,’ Longinus answered. ‘You have seen my prosthetic. You have seen the hunter – and experienced for yourself its uncanny power.’

‘I do not dispute any of that,’ Quare said. ‘But you go too far, surely, in your suppositions! What place is there for the Christian God in your system? Indeed, sir, you have turned Christianity upon its head, and made the Almighty into a very devil! I am no Bible-thumper, yet neither do I subscribe to rank atheism … or worse.’

‘Perhaps it is Christianity that has turned things topsy-turvy, not I. Yet some shred of the truth, however distorted, can be discerned in the gilded trappings of that religion, and of other faiths, or so it seems to me. But that is beside the point.’