Fleming dashed out his cigarette and prepared himself another. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”
“Because it will end badly!” Burton declared. “Crowley is meddling with forces he cannot possibly understand. I’ve seen this before. There are things beyond the veil that are neither god nor devil but worse than either! Whatever Crowley is trying to bring into this world is better left where it is.”
“Even if that were true,” said Fleming, blowing a ring of blue smoke, “We cannot possibly disturb him now. His working is at a crucial juncture, and the balance of the war is at stake. We’re getting hammered, Captain Burton. And the Yanks just got into things. It could go badly for us before they’re able to make a dent in Germany’s war machine.”
“I can’t tell you how to end this war,” said Burton. “All I can tell you is that what Crowley is up to is very dangerous. The entities he is trying to summon will destroy you all. Humanity is a nuisance at best to them, and a bloody pestilence at worst.”
Fleming tapped his right foot on the carpeted floor. “I don’t know…”
“At least let me speak with Mycroft Holmes. Whatever is left of him. Perhaps he will give me a clue to the Map’s whereabouts back in my time. If I can convince him what a fool’s errand this has all been, maybe he’ll help me undo it.”
“Tell me this,” said Fleming. “What happens to me when this is undone? What happens to everything?”
“I do not know,” said Burton. “The moments of your life will rearrange themselves into their original course, with you none the wiser. Beyond that…I don’t know.”
Fleming shrugged. “That is enough, I suppose. I miss my work with the Navy. I’m tired of this bloody war. You go and have your chat with the Thinker, not that it will do you much good, I’m afraid.” He glanced at the door before continuing. “Holmes, what’s left of him, is blinking mad.”
“Thank you,” said Burton as he turned to leave.
“Good luck, Captain Burton,” said Fleming.
Burton paused at the door and nodded once toward the other man before exiting the room.
It was an hour’s walk to the Westminster Clock Tower. Burton looked up at it to see that it had been altered. No longer did a clock face on all four sides of the tower greet his eyes, but an enormous green sphere like a huge leering eye looked down on fog-shrouded London.
“Bismillah!” Burton swore and went inside. He was surprised to see no attendants, no guards, as he walked up the flight of steps that led into the clockwork heart of the tower the world at large mistakenly called Big Ben. When he reached the top, Burton was surprised once more. The interior of the structure had been gutted of clockwork. In its place were banks of dusty metal components with large glass tubes jutting from them. An old man with parchment-like skin huddled over a large tome in the far corner, muttering to himself.
“Richard. Francis. Burton.”
The explorer looked around. The voice, which sounded like air being forced through a gigantic bellows, seemed to come from all around him.
The old man, whom Burton surmised to be Aleister Crowley, scowled in his direction. “No visitors!” he said. “I told Fleming on no uncertain terms, no bloody visitors. I am at a crucial juncture.”
“I need to converse with the Thinker,” Burton said. “He and I are old friends.”
Crowley scowled at him some more, then stepped around the wooden dais which held the book from which he was reading. “It can’t be! Oh, but it is. Explain this, Mycroft.”
“It. Is. Captain. Sir. Richard. Francis. Burton,” the machine intoned. “He. Traveled. Here. Through. Time. Just. As. I. Was. Told. He. Would.”
Crowley laughed, which came out as a phlegmy cackle. He rubbed his bald head with talon-like fingers. “This is an auspicious occasion. The signs are in our favor. I am a great admirer of yours, Burton. It is an honor to meet you.”
Burton nodded. “What are you doing, Mr. Crowley?”
“That’s Minister Crowley, if you please. And I am opening the veil. Summoning the elements. Putting the balance in our favor. This damnable war ends tonight.”
“You are mad,” said Burton. “You must stop what you are doing. You are inviting entities into this world that only want our destruction.”
“They will destroy our enemies.”
“They will destroy everyone,” the explorer corrected.
Crowley gave him a dismissive wave. “I haven’t the time to deal with this just now. Speak your peace with Mycroft the Thinker and begone. You do not belong here.” The old man hobbled back to the dais and began his arcane muttering once more.
“What. Do. You. Want?” the machine said.
“I’d just like to know,” said Burton, “was it worth it?”
“Was. What. Worth. It?”
Burton gestured to the machinery around them. He smelled dust and ozone. “All of this. Losing your humanity to become a difference engine, a calculation machine.”
“That. Is. Not. Why. You. Came. Here.”
Burton realized then that he was hearing Mycroft Holmes’ actual voice, but reedy and thin. “How are you speaking with me?”
“Wax. Cylinders. I. Recorded. My. Voice. Long. Ago. Common. Phrases. Numbers. The. Alphabet. I. Use. Them. To. Speak.”
“Bismillah,” said Burton.
“You. Came. Here. Because. Of. The. Map. Of. Time.”
“That is correct. I need to know where it is, Mycroft. Nebogipfel used you as a pawn to change history. You’re not some overseer of Time. Every moment you influenced changed Time’s original course. You’re barely staying ahead of any of it, are you?”
“I. Am. Timeless. Burton. I. See. All.”
“For what purpose? You’re bodiless. You’re wax cylinders and clockwork. You sit here helpless while Crowley is about to destroy you all.”
“You. Are. Tiresome. I. Don’t. Owe. You. An. Explanation. But. You. Are. Correct. I. Have. Grown. Weary. I. Have. Saved. Lives. But. History. Is. Vastly. Different. Than. The. Map. Originally. Revealed. Constant. Corrections. Are. Needed.
“And they’re still not enough, are they?” said Burton.
The machine rumbled. “No.”
“Nebogipfel has played you for a fool. Help me stop him. You have the gift of hindsight. Tell me where I can find the Map of Time after he gave it to you, and I can put an end to this nightmare history.”
“It. Is. Too. Late.”
“No, it isn’t. Time is malleable. Time is mutable.”
“I. Thought. So. Too. Once. Too. Unpredictable. You. Would. Make. My. Same. Mistake?”
Burton raked a hand through his beard. This much history had already been rewritten. Who was he to untangle its thread? But who was Mycroft Holmes to do so? Who was Moses Nebogipfel?
“I have to try to put things back as they were, even if we won’t ever know the difference.”
The machine that was once a man named Mycroft Holmes hummed. The machine rumbled. The machine clacked. Registers clicked throughout its bulk as it thought.
“I. Grow. Weary. Of. This. Existence.”
“Stop talking like that,” barked Crowley. “I can barely hear myself invoke.”
“And. I. Grow. Tired. Of. Your. Ministrations. Wizard. Burton. Is. Right. You. Are. Unleashing. Forces. That. Will. Doom. Us. All. I. Have. Seen. These. Forces.”
“Why are you doing your bloody ritual up here?” Burton asked the old man. Then he realized the answer. “Of course. The remaining Wold-Newton stones. They are part of your bulk, am I right, Mycroft?”
“You. Are. Correct.”
“Their ethereal vibrations will help pierce the veil,” said Crowley with a sneer. “What of it?”