“What? No! The Wold-Newton stones?”
“Destroyed,” said the explorer. “They no longer resonate with the versions of themselves here in our time. It’s over, Nebogipfel.”
The Time Traveler’s doppelganger climbed to his feet. “No! I am the Master of Time! It is never over. I shall simply have to go back and try again. Find another iteration of the Wold-Newton stones. I can outlast empires, Burton. Watch the sun blaze to life and die, all in the same afternoon. I am Chronos incarnate, God of Time.”
“No,” said a syrupy voice behind Burton. The explorer turned as one of the Morlocks, this one still dressed in modern finery, approached, passing Burton, Herbert, and Miss Hemlock and addressing Nebogipfel. “It is over.”
“You can speak?” said Nebogipfel.
“Of course,” the Morlock said. “We could always speak. We just didn’t know your language. Until now. We just needed time, which you provided via your wondrous and terrible machine. You have shown us much. We wish to be more than toilers in the dark, feeding off the gentle Eloi. We want what you offered us. A chance to begin again. To be something more. The Time Ship is waiting.”
“But he tricked you,” said Miss Hemlock. “Used you. All of you. And you want to take him with you?”
The Morlock turned to her. “He is broken. Like all of us. We will fix each other. Nebogipfel and we Morlocks have much in common. We are tinkerers at heart.”
“Wait,” said Herbert, rising to his feet, the fugue that had overcome him abating. “What of me? Nebogipfel and I are still the same person.”
“No,” said the Morlock. “The timestream Nebogipfel comes from no longer exists.” It climbed up the scaffold and wrenched the Wold-Newton stones from their wire housing, dashing all but one to the floor before climbing back down. Burton took it upon himself to smash these to dust beneath his boots.
The Morlock glanced at what Burton had done and nodded. “Now they will not exist in 1945,” he explained to the Time Traveler. “You last drank your elixir after sending Burton to see the version of 1945 you created through your meddling here. Since that future has now been undone, you are cut off from the path that would have allowed you to wake up as Herbert when the elixir wore off, in the far future, which means the two of you now exist as separate entities.”
“No!” cried Nebogipfel. “It can’t end this way! Not like this. Not when I was so close.”
“But you got what you wanted,” said the Time Traveler. “You are free of me.” He sounded hurt.
“Yes,” said Nebogipfel. “But at the cost of the glorious, chaotic future Mycroft Holmes and I would create together.”
“Bismillah!” Burton swore. “The eldritch things Crowley attempted to summon would have destroyed that future. Like everyone else who has dabbled in such things, he failed to realize the true nature of the entities he was asking for help. They do not do man’s bidding.”
“Not only that,” said Miss Hemlock, “but Mycroft Holmes cannot remain in power behind the scenes, or give Crowley the incantation to put the stones in resonance back here. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you are now cut off from that timestream as well,” said the Morlock.
Miss Hemlock opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. Finally, she said, “Bloody hell. You’re right. My version of 1945 no longer exists. Why, I might not even exist there at all.”
“Unlikely,” said Herbert. “You’re still here with us, after all. Your life might be very different, I grant you that.”
“But I can’t go back,” she said tearfully. “Where I came from no longer exists. My Time Device doesn’t have a point to return to.”
“Time will return to its original track from this point forward,” said Burton. “Without Mycroft’s meddling, Aleister Crowley will never become Occult Minister and never attempt to summon eldritch horrors to assist with the war effort and doom mankind as a result.”
Miss Hemlock activated her miniature Time Machine. The tiny components whirred, and she appeared to flicker for a moment before returning to full solidity. “I’m stuck. I can’t return to the moment I left, because that precise moment no longer exists. Even if I could go back, I’d be a stranger. No family. No birth records. I’d be a temporal ghost. Or, perhaps even worse, there would be two of me. That would certainly be hard to explain to my—our—parents.”
“Be not disheartened,” said the Morlock, handing her the last Wold Newton stone. “You have a greater purpose.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” She held the glittering black stone between her thumb and index finger, its natural facets catching the light.
“The stone is compatible with your Time Machine apparatus,” said the Morlock. “Please. Allow me.”
The creature helped Miss Hemlock remove the leather gauntlet from her wrist and open the Time Machine’s casing, exposing the device’s internal mechanism. His long, hairy fingers were surprisingly adept at working with the minute components of the mechanism, and in a moment he had affixed the remaining Wold-Newton stone to the interior of the device. He secured everything back together and returned the Time Machine to Miss Hemlock.
“You must fix the damage Nebogipfel has wrought,” the Morlock said.
Miss Hemlock glanced from Burton and Herbert to the Morlock, a pleading look on her face. “But I don’t know how. I don’t know where he’s been.”
“The stone knows,” the Morlock said. “It will show you the way. You also have the document Nebogipfel created.”
“The Map of Time!” Miss Hemlock pulled the sheaf of notes from her pocket. “I almost forgot.” She fastened the Time Machine back onto her wrist. “I still haven’t the foggiest idea of how to go about all this.”
“You must, my dear,” said Burton. “There are certain of the Old Ones who can take advantage of tears in the fabric of Time to seek access to this world. We’re counting on you.”
Miss Hemlock considered the explorer’s words, taking a deep, steadying breath to steel herself. “That sounds like a noble cause, but I still don’t have a home to return to,” she said.
“All of Time is your home,” said the Morlock. “You will thrive between the ticks of a second. Past and Future shall live within you, from the birth pangs of creation to the final heat death of the universe.”
“I am envious, my dear,” said Herbert. “You have a front row seat for all of human history, and beyond.”
Miss Hemlock gave the Time Traveler a thin smile as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Well, I hope I live up to everyone’s expectations. Time Travel is not something to take lightly.”
“Which is why we feel you are best suited for it,” said the Morlock.
“And what of you?” asked Burton, pointing at the Morlock. “What happens now?”
A group of Morlocks appeared, entering the room and taking Nebogipfel gently by the arms and moving with him toward the room’s entrance. He was silently muttering something, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. Burton wondered if the madness he first developed on the lost continent of R’lyeh in the deep past had at last taken its final toll.
“We are going into the far future, where our presence will not disturb the current timestream. We have much exploring to do, in Space rather than Time. Nebogipfel will be safe with us, and will never again be allowed to travel through Time.”
“In that case,” said Herbert, “farewell. I hope you find whatever it is you seek. We are no longer enemies.”
The Morlock nodded to the Time Traveler and turned to leave, the whole, hairy mass of them—including a captive, catatonic Nebogipfel—flickering out of existence.