The Return of the Discontinued Man (A Burton & Swinburne Adventure) (25 page)

“Gents,” Penniforth said. His voice was so deep it sounded like an avalanche. He touched his fingers to his temple. “Pops is still with us, but he don’t get around much no more. Has a spot o’ bother with his hips. He sends his best.”

“Good old Monty!” Swinburne exclaimed.

“And finally, from the old crowd, we have Robert Crewe-Milnes, the first Marquess of Crewe.”

The marquess, a handsome man with a wide moustache and a military bearing, said, “My father was Richard Monckton Milnes.”

Unexpectedly, Burton felt overcome by emotion. The muscles to either side of his jaw worked spasmodically. He blinked at Crewe-Milnes, who gave a sad smile of understanding and said nothing more.

Swinburne sniffed, pulled out a handkerchief, and blew his nose.

After a moment’s silence, Honesty said, “So that is nine of us, all descended from the original Cannibals, with the exception of Mr. Brabrooke, who
is
an original. However, as you can see, we are twelve in total. We have three new recruits, who we felt could contribute much to our cause, they being inclined toward considerations of the future, as well as possessing admirable insight into the present. The first is Mademoiselle Amélie Blanchet.”

A rather coarse-featured, overweight and ostentatiously dressed woman of about fifty years murmured, “Welcome aboard, gentlemen. Bonjour. Bonjour.”

“She wields considerable influence in high society. Few people better comprehend how an undercurrent of idle gossip influences cultural and political movements, and no one hears more of it than she.”

The woman gave a somewhat sardonic smile.

Honesty went on, “Then we have Erik von Lessing, who has many connections in the German government.”

Burton acknowledged the white-haired and smartly dressed man, who returned his nod with a sharp bow.

“And last but by no means least, our resident visionary.” Honesty indicated a tubby little chap who was no taller than Swinburne. “Mr. Herbert Wells.”

“I feel honoured to meet you, Sir Richard,” Wells said. His voice was high-pitched and childlike. “And you, too, Mr. Swinburne.”

Burton frowned. “Herbert Wells? Herbert
George
Wells?”

“Yes,” Wells responded. “You’re no doubt remembering the fellow Abdu El Yezdi wrote of in his account entitled ‘Expedition to the Mountains of the Moon.’ We are pretty certain that he was me, albeit a different me in a different version of history.” He shuddered and added, “And thank goodness for that. My poor counterpart suffered the dreadful world war we ourselves have avoided.”

“Perhaps, then, I should say it’s nice to meet you
again
, Mr. Wells,” Burton said, with a wry curl of his lips.

Wells chuckled.

“Shall we get to business?” Honesty asked. “Practicalities first?”

Burton nodded. “Let’s. The
Orpheus
?”

“Penniforth and von Lessing are our resident experts in engineering. Gents?”

“Aye,” Penniforth rumbled. “Airships ain’t changed all that much since your time. The
Orpheus
can just about pass muster if no one looks too close, like. But we’re goin’ to fit her with a telemobiloscope afore you set off again.”

“A telly-mo-billy-whatsit?” Swinburne enquired.

“Invented by a German,” von Lessing put in. “Christian Hülsmeyer. It can detect other ships in your location through means of reflected radio waves.”

The poet threw out his hands in a helpless shrug. “Radio?”

“Wireless telegraph signals.”

“Good Lord!” Burton exclaimed. “Useful!”

“We even transmit entertainment shows through ’em,” Penniforth added. “Music and suchlike. We ’ave a radio unit ready to add to the
Orpheus
. It will make it easier for the future Cannibals to contact you.”

“Excellent. And what else?”

“There ain’t much else.”

“Really? Am I to take it that progress has slowed?”

Edward Brabrooke interjected, “Yes, it most certainly has. These youngsters refer to our time as the Steam Revolution, Richard, and rightfully recognise Isambard Kingdom Brunel and old Charles Babbage as the geniuses at its heart. You’ll doubtlessly recall that Isambard ceased to function in 1860?”

“For us, it was just a couple of months ago,” Burton noted. “He never recovered?”

“No.”

“What became of him?”

“He was declared dead. There was a magnificent ceremony at St. Paul’s Cathedral to mark his passing, and a stone was laid bearing his name, though there was no corpse to bury beneath it. His mechanical form is exhibited in the British Museum. As for Charles Babbage, he went into hiding for half a decade and—I’m sorry, but this is necessary information—lost his mind. They say he died a raving lunatic, though no one is sure exactly when.”

“Why the uncertainty?”

Brabrooke shrugged and made a gesture that incorporated the room. “Perhaps his close association with this endeavour has cast the same veil over him that confounds our post-1860 memories of you.”

“Odd.”

“It is. The sixties are regarded as a mysterious period. Significant events were left unrecorded, were hushed up, and have been inexplicably forgotten. Whatever occurred, it marked the end of the Steam Revolution, and those few who knew him generally agree that Babbage was somehow at the heart of it. All I can tell you for certain is that, on the twenty-eighth of September, 1861, he destroyed all his prototypes, all the devices he had in his possession, and incinerated his every plan, blueprint, and diary. He left no trace of his work at all, other than the Mark Two probability calculators that occupied the heads of existing clockwork men, and as you know, those calculators were notoriously booby-trapped, so any unauthorised infiltration caused them to self-destruct. Very few of them still exist. Put simply, we lost Babbage and his knowledge. It was the death-knell of the Department of Guided Science. By the 1880s, it had been incorporated into the Department of Industry and all the great names associated with it were gone.”

Swinburne said, “What about the blueprint for our time mechanism—the Nimtz generator? Didn’t he give it over to the Cannibal Club?”

“Destroyed,” Brabrooke said. “We don’t know how it works. We’ll never be able to reproduce it, or modernise it, or even mend it if it breaks down.”

Burton murmured, “Then I must depend on Daniel Gooch.” He frowned. “Twenty-eighth of September, ’sixty-one, you say? Why does that date ring a bell?”

Herbert Wells answered, “You read it in ‘The Strange Affair of Spring Heeled Jack,’ Sir Richard. That date, in El Yezdi’s native history, was when your counterpart first encountered Edward Oxford.”

Burton murmured, “Ah yes, of course.” He raised a hand to his head and ran his fingertips through his hair, feeling his scars and the grittiness of the diamond dust etched into them. It was becoming a habitual gesture. “Charles placed great faith in El Yezdi’s obsession with timing and coincidences. Perhaps that explains the
when
of his actions, but it doesn’t explain the
why
.”

Wells said, “His motive remains a mystery, but his actions certainly slowed our progress, as did our lack of participation in the wars.”

Burton frowned at him. “Wars, Mr. Wells? Did Abdu El Yezdi fail to avert the disaster he predicted?”

The little man shook his head. “No, no. If, in all the other histories, a worldwide conflict has broken out, then we have, thanks to his efforts, been spared it. In our world, the conflict has for the most part confined itself to Russia and China.”

“In what manner?”

“It started with Russian expansionism. In 1877, that country declared war on, and obliterated, the old Ottoman Empire, advancing westward to occupy a number of Eastern European territories. In 1900, it turned its attention to the south and ventured into the northern provinces of China, sparking a fierce war with the Qing Dynasty. Initially, this didn’t go so well for the Russians, and five years later its people rose in revolution and overthrew the ruling aristocracy. They united under a new leader. A man Abdu El Yezdi encountered.”

“Grigori Rasputin.”

“Yes. Under his mesmeric leadership, Russia renewed its assault on China, which by now was weakening rapidly due to the trade embargoes inflicted upon it by our own empire, they being a legacy of the bad relations caused in your time by the actions of Lord Elgin. The situation reached crisis point three years ago, when the Qing Dynasty collapsed. China is currently re-forming itself as a socialist republic. As for Russia, it received a terrible blow earlier this year when Rasputin suffered a brain haemorrhage and died.”

“Ah. I was curious to know whether that would happen.”

Swinburne said, “And the British Empire, Mr. Wells?”

“Now known as the Anglo-Saxon Empire. It’s steered clear of conflict and continues to consolidate its strength. It has now incorporated all of Western Europe, most of Africa, India, the Caribbean, and Australia. We also have a strong economic alliance with the United States.”

“The united states of where?” William Trounce asked.

“America,” Wells said. “The year after your departure, a civil war erupted between the North and South of that country. It lasted from 1861 until 1865. The North won. The U.S.A., as it is commonly called, is currently expanding its manufacturing infrastructure and rapidly growing in power. I fear we are being left behind. As I mentioned, without the incentive of battle, where the sciences and engineering are concerned, the pace of change has become ever more sedate in the A.S.E.”

A.S.E.
, Burton thought.
Anglo-Saxon Empire. U.S.A. United States of America. Just as Edward Oxford’s grandfather mentioned, the world is being abbreviated.

Henry Bendyshe took a thick binder from the sideboard and handed it to Brabrooke, who then passed it to Burton, saying, “Your brother left this for you. It covers all the principal developments in every field of endeavour.”

Burton gave a snort of amusement. “Typical of the minister. He thinks that, because we’re travelling three hundred and forty-two years into the future, I’ll have plenty of time for reading.”

Brabrooke laughed. “You’ll be getting another such file at your next stop. We intend to chronicle world events for you. When you return to 1860, you’ll have a guide to the future.”

“Which may well become an extravagant work of fiction the moment we act upon the information in it,” Burton mused. “Nevertheless, useful. Thank you.” He put the book down and patted it thoughtfully. “So, to the most pertinent question. What of Spring Heeled Jack? We know 2202 is his ultimate destination, but is the Oxford intelligence influencing history as he moves forward through it?”

“We have no evidence to suggest so,” Brabrooke replied.

Burton considered the back of his hands for a few moments. He looked up at Brabrooke, said softly, “Thank you, old friend,” then met the eyes of each of the others in turn. “My gratitude to each and every one of you. Your predecessors were my friends. I have no doubt they would be proud of you. Much as I’d like to remain here and get to know each of you, the fact is, my companions and I are on a mission, and I feel it necessary to press on. It’s an incongruous sensation to know that all the time in the world is at our disposal yet to also feel that time is pressing.”

James Honesty said, “We quite understand, sir. There are two points of business remaining before we get to work modernising the
Orpheus
. The first is that, during the months before Mr. Michael Faraday passed away, when it was obvious that we could no longer rely on Mr. Babbage, he created a device for us. It is a beacon that can signal to your ship while it is speeding through time. We know your next scheduled stop is the year 2000. However, if the beacon functions as he promised, then the Cannibal Club can summon you to an earlier date should we deem it necessary. If we detect any sign of Edward Oxford, and if you now give us permission, we shall do so.”

“Permission is enthusiastically granted,” Burton said. “That’s an excellent development.”

Honesty continued, “The second matter is this, Sir Richard: we feel it wise that a member of our group join you. We all have half a century’s worth of knowledge that you and your associates lack. What you encounter and may not understand at your next stop might be somewhat more familiar to a person from the year 1914.”

Burton pondered this. “I can’t disagree, Mr. Honesty. Whom have you elected?”

Herbert Wells stood up. “Me, sir.”

“Then welcome aboard the time machine, Mr. Wells.”