“Those Deep Ones are not your friends.” “They only wish to claim the surface world as their own. This deal you made with them is a deal with the devil.”
“Nonsense,” said Bulwer-Lytton. “They will make us more than we are. The children we have together will live forever and ever.”
“But not as humans,” said Burton. “They will have to go beneath the waves and live as their fellow fish-folk. They will lose their humanity. What kind of life is that? Immortal or otherwise?”
“You do not know what you are talking about. I have seen our future. It will be glorious.”
“Yes, you seem to know a great deal about the future, don’t you? This esoteric knowledge, how was it gleaned?”
Bulwer-Lytton put his free hand to his face, shook his head.
“You don’t know, do you?” said Burton. “Some insight told you of the Deep Ones’ existence, but the rest was all your doing. “You made contact with them, somehow. They offered you some of their strange gold in exchange for your allegiance. By then it was too late. They demanded sacrifices.”
“Yes, yes,” said Bulwer-Lytton. “Gods yes! It was simple at first. The East End is full of scoundrels and layabouts. Cut-throats and dollymops. We gave the Deep Ones their sacrifices while ridding the streets of the worst of its criminals. The great unwashed became the key to humanity’s salvation.”
“What salvation?” said Burton, taking another furtive step closer. “The Deep Ones and shoggoths are slaughtering innocents!”
“I know,” said the Baron. “It is true, I did not foresee it ending this way, but who am I to argue with progress? The Deep Ones will help us rise to a deeper spiritual understanding of ourselves and our place in the universe.”
“Bismillah! They care not a whit for your spiritualist claptrap. They want to rule. This planet belonged to them once, them and their cosmic ilk. They want it back. And if they take it mankind is doomed!”
“I don’t believe you,” said the Baron, leveling the pistol-thing at Burton’s head. It gave off a strange vibration that made Burton’s back teeth ache.
“I’ve seen it!” said Burton, inching closer. “I’ve traveled through Time. I’ve seen the hell they made of the Earth in the distant past. This is man’s time now, and maybe we’ll make a mess of things, maybe we won’t. But we won’t get the chance to find out if the Deep Ones take London. Don’t be a traitor to your entire species, man! Help me put an end to this nonsense tonight.”
Bulwer-Lytton seemed to consider this, but still held the weird pistol at the ready, his hand shaking. Burton didn’t know what the weapon could do, or if he could duck out of the way in time, so he just stayed where he was. He hoped Abberline and Challenger would reach him soon, and the distraction of their arrival would give him a chance to overpower the Baron. A slim and dangerous chance, but it was the only way he could see to end this madness.
“You’re too late, Captain Burton,” said Bulwer-Lytton. “The cogs of war already turn. There is nothing anyone can do. Even if I wanted to. This was predicted by the spirits. They…were talking to me. But now they’ve fallen silent. No doubt because I’ve done their will.”
“You fool,” said Burton, inching closer. “Those weren’t spirits. They were potential lifetimes from other time streams. My last journey through Time caused a paradox, creating a rupture in Time. I was haunted by one of these spirits, what you would call a Dweller on the Threshold, that was actually myself from another of these time streams.”
“Rift?” said Bulwer-Lytton. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not really sure myself,” said the explorer, taking another step. “But nearest I can reason, the rupture was caused by the two of us co-existing. The other Burton sacrificed himself so that only one Burton would remain, me. Thereby closing the rift. That spiritualist chatter you think you heard was actually temporal noise coming from the wound in Time.”
“No,” said Bulwer-Lytton. “The spirit world is real. Just as real as this one. You’re just another doubter. Your apostasy is well-known, Burton.”
“Be that as it may, I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know if there is a spirit world. Bismillah, after all the things I’ve seen, you may be right. But I do know that this isn’t the way to find out. People are dying, Baron. Dying for a cause you gleaned from an Ouija board.”
There was a loud concussion, and the entire structure shook, almost knocking Burton to his knees.
Bulwer-Lytton fell against one of the wooden crates, dropping his eerie weapon. It dropped to the floor with a heavy thud and slid in between two planks to fall into the churning waters of the Thames below. Burton could see its eerie glow ebb as it was subsumed by the dank waters.
“Blast it!” said the Baron. “What is going on?”
Another concussion drowned out his words, and sawdust and cobwebs rained down on them as the pilings shook once more.
“The docks are under attack,” shouted Burton. “It’s over, Baron. We must get out of here.”
“No!” said Bulwer-Lytton. “This isn’t over.”
The building rocked again, this time dislodging one of the pilings.
Bulwer-Lytton held onto one of the crates. “But I was so close. The things in these crates. You should see them, Burton.”
“I don’t want to see them,” said Burton as the building shook again. Floorboards groaned and separated as the rear wall splintered into dust. The whole building pitched backward toward the water. Bulwer-Lytton was tossed out, falling into the dark, frothing waters. Beside him a great, spherical shell heaved up, water running down its black iron hide. Covered in lights, long black tubes protruded from it at regular intervals. In the center of the strange sphere was a thick porthole, illuminated from within. Staring through it was the bearded face of Captain Nemo, giving Burton a quick salute.
Burton watched for a moment as the strange craft submerged, dragging Bulwer-Lytton down with it. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw two fish-like forms grabbing the Baron, pulling him down into a watery hell of his own making.
The building rocked back and forth and Burton, fearful of being pitched into the sea like the Baron, turned and ran toward what remained of the shaky structure’s entrance, gravity slowing his progress. With a final leap he cleared the building before the whole thing toppled into the water. Burton turned to look at the destruction. There were fires all over the docks. Shrill whistles pierced the night as police and firemen ran forward to tackle the blaze. He saw several people in the distance get driven into the water, along with a few things that clearly were not people.
“It’s over,” Burton murmured.
“Captain Burton!” shouted Abberline as he and Challenger ran up to join Burton by what was left of the pier. “Are you all right? Blimey, I thought you’d gone down with the bloody building.”
“No, I’m all right,” said Burton.
“What of Bulwer-Lytton?” asked Challenger.
“He went down with the ship, as it were,” said Burton.
“How?” asked Abberline.
“Our friend Captain Nemo. He bombed these buildings containing the Deep Ones’ weaponry.”
“By Jove,” said Challenger. “Herbert got a message to him after all. I shall buy that little rotter a drink when I see him.”
They might never see him again. Burton couldn’t blame him if he never returned. With Mycroft Holmes threatening to take his wondrous machine, and with all of Time itself at his fingertips, Burton decided that if he were in Herbert’s shoes he wouldn’t return either.
The three men watched the fires in silence for a time, until the distant horizon flickered with the arrival of the sun.