“Brothers and sisters,” the King in Yellow intoned when the curtains had fully parted, his arms spread wide. “We are at the threshold of a higher state of being. The stars are right. The time of man’s reign upon this earth is over. But we do not have to suffer man’s fate. We can ascend.”
He trod the boards like an orator, his voice rising and falling. The audience swayed to the sound of his voice, as if mesmerized.
“We will reside in the house of Father Dagon and Mother Hydra forever and ever,” he said.
The crowd clapped loudly and stomped their feet, but the King in Yellow waved his hand, silencing them.
“The way is dark, my brothers. The goal is not without challenge, my sisters. Sacrifices must be made. They will come for us, but we must not waver, we must not falter. Ours is the kingdom of Dagon!”
“Beneath the waves,” the audience droned.
“Ia Ia,” said the King in Yellow.
“Cthulhu fhtagn!” the crowd answered.
A chill fled up Burton’s spine.
“But the time for hiding in the shadows, behind masks, is over.”
The King in Yellow reached up and removed his mask, lowering his hood.
“Bismillah!” muttered Burton. “I knew it! I thought his words sounded familiar.”
“Who?” Challenger whispered.
“Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton,” said Burton.
“Blimey, what a mouthful,” said Challenger. “Isn’t he a famous writer?”
“Among other things,” said Burton.
“How did you know he is the King in Yellow?”
“I recognized certain phrases he used the other night,” said the explorer. “‘The great unwashed,’ and so forth. These phrases were famously written by Bulwer-Lytton. Combine that with his well-known interest in esoteric subjects, and…”
“This goes far beyond mere interest,” muttered Challenger. “I guess he finally snapped, eh?”
“I wish he was mad,” said Burton. “Don’t you remember Miss Marsh’s story? This is exactly like Innsmouth.”
“I know some of you are shocked to see me here,” said the Baron, removing his robes and tossing everything in a heap in the left wing of the stage. Beneath them he wore a dark, expensive suit befitting his high status. “But my years of searching for ultimate, secret knowledge are over. I have found what I sought in the pages of an ancient text called the Necronomicon. And that knowledge will imbue us with life eternal. Think of it! A world free of disease and want and class. All we have to do is take the first step.”
“I do not withdraw my original summation,” said Challenger. “He’s blinking mad. He’d give up his humanity for a few trinkets and an empty promise.”
“So it would appear,” whispered Burton. “But what shall we do about it?”
“I’ll show you what we’ll do,” said the professor. “We’ll shove these fiends into the light.”
The huge bear of a man stood and, cupping his hands over his mouth yelled, “Bollocks! Baron Lytton is a scoundrel of the first order! A right treasonous sot that ought to be hanged.”
Burton shook his head and stood, ready to bolt as things went sour.
“Who is that?” said Bulwer-Lytton. “Who dares speak such things to me?”
His eyes squinted up into the darkness.
“Yes. I know you. From the other night. I know both of you. Stop them! Don’t let them escape again!”
The audience rose and turned an angry eye toward the last row. Men and women came toward them in a wave.
“We can’t fight all of them,” said Burton, making his way toward the rear entrance.
“We don’t have to,” said Challenger, who produced a whistle from his pocket and blew hard into it. The shrill, piercing sound signaled, a moment later, the arrival of more than a dozen police.
“I alerted Abberline to your plan,” said Challenger. “He let me borrow his police whistle, and had some men stationed at every entrance.”
“Good man, that Abberline,” said Burton, grinning. He glanced toward the stage. “Bulwer-Lytton is gone!”
“They’ll find him,” said Challenger.
The big zoologist socked one fleeing cultist in the mouth as he tried to run past. The police rounded up as many as they could as they headed toward the exits. These were not East End roustabouts, but well-to-do members of London society. Followers of the Baron’s esoteric philosophy.
“We need to head back to the Tower of London,” said Burton.
“Good,” said Challenger as they headed for the door. “I’m tired of doing that scoundrel Holmes’ job for him.”
Abberline greeted them on the other side of the door. “Hallo gents,” he said with a smile.
Challenger gave him back his whistle.
“Where’s Bulwer-Lytton?” asked Burton.
“Who?”
Burton revealed to Abberline the King in Yellow’s identity.
“I don’t know. If he didn’t slip out, he’s in our custody.”
Burton looked at Challenger. “I don’t think we’re lucky enough for him to be in custody.”
“He’ll plan his attack on the city ahead of schedule,” said Challenger.
“Tonight,” added Burton. “We must warn Mycroft Holmes.”
“Attack?” asked Abberline. “What attack?”
“Just get us to the Tower,” said Burton. “As quickly as you can. I’ll explain, as best I can, on the way.”
12. A Shadow Over London
It was early evening by the time Burton, Challenger and Abberline returned to the Tower of London, and a dense fog rolled in off the Thames, full of black flecks of coal that stung Burton’s eyes and made his nose run. They waited by the Traitor’s Gate for Herbert, who arrived a few minutes later. He held out an oilskin-wrapped bundle for Burton.
“The control rods,” said the Time Traveler. “As commissioned.”
“Good. Hang onto them. You’re going to get your Time Machine out of here and get a warning to Captain Nemo.”
“How on earth are you going to do that?” asked Abberline. “Does your Time Machine float as well?”
Herbert opened his mouth to explain, but Burton silenced him. “The particulars aren’t important right now. We need to warn Mycroft Holmes of the Dagon cult’s impending attack.”
“I can help with one of those items,” said Abberline. “The Time Machine is in a storage room on the first level. I spoke with one of my men, who helped transport it here. A dreadfully heavy thing. I think they only put it where they did to save their backs. I can show you once we’re inside.”
They walked through the gate and up the path toward the large wooden doors they had entered through earlier. Light flickered faintly through the fog from high windows.
The place was just as busy as it had been earlier, and the four men managed to make their way unmolested as the navigated the veritable maze of corridors.
Abberline halted them before a set of stairs. “You’ll find it in a room down there,” said the policeman to the Time Traveler. “There’s a set of doors used for loading in supplies. If you’ve got a strong back, you can drag it out that way.”
“Thank you,” said Herbert, nodding. “Though that is hardly necessary. I intend to travel to a time in which the Tower no longer exists. Then I shall drag it to what is in our time open air. I can be back in a pip.”
“You must not let Mycroft get his hands on it again, Herbert,” said Burton. “Take it out of here and dismantle it.”
The Time Traveler looked at him, nodding once. “I wish that I had done so already.”
“Don’t forget to warn Nemo,” added Challenger.
Herbert gave the burly zoologist a half-hearted salute. “All taken care of. Good luck, my friends.”