The carriage continued on for some time, and twice Burton almost fell off as it bounced along the cobbles. Finally a door opened in the contraption’s side, and Abberline—who was closest to the portal—climbed in, followed by Challenger and Burton.
They found themselves in a plush, dark enclosure, richly appointed, that smelled of rich pipe tobacco. A wan lantern hung from a hook to their savior’s left, sputtering fitfully.
“Please, gentlemen,” said a man sitting across from them. “Have a seat.”
They sat on a padded bench opposite their host, who stared at them with a cool malevolence. Dressed in the latest fashion, he looked set for a night out at one of the shows along the Strand. He wore a black top hat and held a polished walking stick across his lap. He was devoid of facial hair save for a thin, neatly groomed goatee.
“Blimey,” said Abberline. “I know you. You’re…”
“Professor Moriarty,” the man finished for him with a tip of his hat. “At your service. I am flattered you know me by sight, Chief Inspector. There are few among the police who have ever seen me and lived to tell the tale.”
“You’re the one who alerted Mycroft Holmes about the cult,” said Burton.
Moriarty nodded once. “I am.”
“What are you going to do with us?” asked Abberline.
Moriarty gave them a bemused grin. “Well, I’m not going to kill you, if that’s what you’re intimating. If I wanted you dead, I would have left you for the shoggoths. But I didn’t want to see Mycroft’s precious assets murdered.”
“Assets?” said Challenger. “Bah!”
“How did you find us?” Abberline asked.
“I have eyes everywhere,” said Moriarty. “I heard about the commotion you caused at the old church and thought you might need some assistance.”
“Why are you helping us?” asked Burton.
“Because the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” said Professor Moriarty. “This damned cult must be stopped. It’s eating into my trade.”
“You mean your opium trade,” Abberline said.
Moriarty smiled. “Yes. Among other things. The buildings along the wharf have been overtaken by the cult. I do not know what they are storing there. My attempts to ascertain this information was met with…violence. All I know is that large objects are being heaved up out of the Thames and stored in those buildings. Whatever this group is up to, you will find it there. But I will give you a fair word of warning: I have suspended my activities along the wharf. Do not look for a link back to me. You will not find it. Not even my nemesis Sherlock Holmes could sniff out such a connection.”
“So you want us to do your dirty work for you, is that it?” said Challenger.
Moriarty shrugged. “You are already doing Mycroft’s dirty work. I just thought I’d do you a favor and point you in the right direction. That and save your lives.”
They rode in silence for a time, the pantechnicon never once slowing, taking dangerous turns as it moved toward its mysterious destination.
At last the large wagon slowed to a stop. “This is where you gentlemen get off.”
The door of the pantechnicon flew open as if controlled by a hidden spring, and Burton recognized his home at Gloucester Place.
“How did you know where I live?”
“Oh, I know a great many things about the three of you,” said Moriarty. “You should be flattered that one such as I has taken an interest in you. Now begone. I have other business this night.”
“Now see here!” Challenger said, but Burton silenced him with a shove out the door.
No sooner had they alighted onto the pavement than the door of the pantechnicon sealed itself shut and the strange vehicle’s black-clad driver urged his two drays into motion once more. The three men watched, perplexed, as the thing rolled out of sight.
“Blimey, that was strange,” said the policeman.
Challenger shook his fist in the direction of the retreating carriage. “Damn it all. This Moriarty character is more of an effete snob than Mycroft Holmes!”
“He may indeed be snobbish,” said Burton. “But I wouldn’t go so far as to call him effete. He is far from ineffectual. In fact, he just saved our lives.”
“He’s also a criminal, and a dangerous one at that,” Abberline added. “My superiors will have my badge if they learn that I was that close to the infamous Professor Moriarty and did not make an arrest.”
Burton patted Abberline’s shoulder. “Yours is a different assignment, Frederick, and we have bigger concerns. Besides, Moriarty was right: the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
Challenger barked laughter. “Quite right, Burton. Though to cast our lot with a fiend such as that…”
“I don’t like it any more than either of you do. But what else can we do?”
“I must report to Mr. Holmes,” said Abberline. “He needs to know what happened tonight.”
“Won’t you come inside?” asked Burton. “Have a drink first?”
“No. I’m still on duty. Good evening to you, gentlemen.” He tipped his hat and marched up the street and disappeared into the thick fog that began roiling in from the East.
“I’ll have a drink with you, if you don’t mind,” said Challenger. “I have no one to go home to, not really anyway. Not anymore.”
“Yes,” said Burton. “Come in. No doubt you and I have much to discuss.”
The night was already late, but Burton and Challenger sat up for the next hour in Burton’s study, drinking brandy and talking over recent events, as well as their thoughts about their journey aboard Captain Nemo’s incredible Nautilus.
Burton got Challenger up to speed on his own experiences since returning home, including his bout of madness that began after his hallucinations at the Cannibal Club. He even revisited his shock and confusion at learning Isabel had disappeared in broad daylight from Hyde Park, and his conflicting memories of recent events. Challenger nodded politely through all of this, smoking one of Burton’s finest cheroots and drinking his brandy. When Burton had finished his tale, he asked, “What do we do now?”
“In the morning I want to call on Herbert,” said the explorer. “He was not well when I checked on him this morning and seemed to be suffering under the same sort of delusion that felled me. He was trying to destroy his Time Machine.”
“And you believe his madness has passed?”
“I hope it has,” said Burton. “For all our sakes. I fear the only way to correct what has happened is by making a return journey through Time.”
“And how do you know he won’t try to destroy it again? Or make some journey on his own?”
“I have little control over the former,” said Burton. “But I do over the latter.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the control levers he had taken from the Time Machine that morning.
“Ah.” Challenger nodded appraisingly. “Perhaps this will be enough to sway him from destroying it as well. I want to go with you. Perhaps together we can snap him back into coherence, and he can once again be of use to us.”
“That would be much appreciated. Thank you. But the hour grows late. For us to be effective we should probably both get some sleep. I have a spare bedroom if you’d like.”
“Sounds splendid,” said Challenger. “I thank you for your hospitality, my good sir.”
Burton put on his jebba and climbed into bed, using a Sufi meditation technique to help him relax. His body was bone tired, but his mind whirled with recalled events and memories of that other Burton’s life their jaunt through Time had inadvertently created. Finally, he drifted off, the distant drone of Challenger’s snoring lulling him to sleep. He dreamed of tentacles in the darkness and a strange sliding sound coming from behind.