“Well, that’s quite a mess your doppelganger and the Morlocks left behind,” said Burton, glancing around. “We’ll have a devil of a time explaining this to Mycroft Holmes and the authorities.”
“Then I suppose I’d best be off,” said Miss Hemlock. She leaned in and gave Burton and Herbert a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I don’t suppose we’ll ever see you again,” said Burton.
Miss Hemlock shook her head. “Not if I do my job right. It was an honor meeting you, gentlemen.”
“And you as well, Miss Hemlock,” said Burton.
“Godspeed,” said the Time Traveler.
Miss Hemlock flicked the switch on her miniature Time Machine and was gone.
“Well,” said Herbert. “That’s that. With the Wold-Newton stones gone, Mycroft Holmes won’t be able to rule the roost from now till Judgment.”
“Hey,” a familiar voice called from the doorway. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over the bloody city for you two!”
“Frederick!” Burton called. “Good to see you, old man.”
Detective Inspector Abberline stumbled in the door and looked around at the strange apparatus erected along the room’s far wall. “What the devil is going on? All the bloody Morlocks just up and vanished. Even the dead ones! I never thought I’d miss tangling with the bloody shoggoths. Where’s your blasted doppelganger, Mr. Herbert?”
Burton and the Time Traveler exchanged bemused glances. “Everything is all tidied up here, Frederick,” said the explorer. “But I’ll explain everything as best as I can, over drinks at my club.”
“Does this explanation involve a lot of that time travel rot?”
“I’m afraid so,” said the explorer.
“Then I’m going to need a lot of drinks.”
When they arrived at Bartolini’s dining rooms on Fleet Street an hour and a half later, Burton realized that Miss Hemlock’s tidying up of the timestream had already begun.
“Richard!” said Algernon Charles Swinburne, hiccupping as he gestured to the explorer. Sitting nearby were Charles Bradlaugh, Richard Monckton Milnes, and Dr. James Hunt.
“Where have you been?” asked the poet. “We were just about to recite the Cannibal Catechism. There were bloody creatures running rampant through the streets moments ago. I figured you were on some daft errand for that arrogant foozler Mycroft Holmes.”
“Just finished, Algy,” said Burton. He blinked at the diminutive poet. “Algy? Is that really you?”
Swinburne laughed, hiccupping again. He swiped a shock of his curly red hair from his eyes. “My Aunt Petunia’s pretty lace bonnet! Of course it’s me? Who bloody else?”
Burton and Abberline exchanged wary glances. “And you’re…all right?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m in my cups, surrounded by good meat and drink. Especially drink.” He drained a glass down his neck. “My hat, Richard. You look like you’ve seen a bloody apparition. It’s that gibface Holmes chap, isn’t it? Poor fellow. Come, sit and regale us of your latest tale of derring-do. And while you’re at it, tell us how we may hire the elder Holmes’ younger brother, so we may solve the mystery of why Mycroft is such a bloody fop. Hey hey!”
That got a laugh out of everyone, including Burton, who didn’t have the heart to tell Swinburne that the younger Holmes was dead, and who for the moment gave silent thanks to Miss Hemlock for restoring his friend, and for wrangling all the myriad strands of Time. For the first time in a long while, Richard Francis Burton looked forward to his future. A wide open future that was, for the moment, blissfully unknown.
14. 802,701
The Time Traveler watched the sun come up over the Palace of Green Porcelain. Behind him in their hut, Weena moaned softly. He turned to watch her, noticing the swollen curve of her belly as she slept.
“Hello, Herbert.”
The Time Traveler spun around, heart leaping into his throat. “Bloody hell, Captain Burton! Must you keep doing that?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t judge distances between future landmarks.”
“It’s all right. What can I do for you?”
“Just checking,” said the explorer, removing his topper and mopping sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief. “Seeing how things turned out.”
“Well, I can only assume they are much the same,” said the Time Traveler. “It doesn’t look like all of our mucking about through Time saved humanity, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“As a wise man once told me, humanity has had its time in the sun,” mused Burton with a grin. “No, I was just making sure everything had been put to right again.”
“The Sphinx?”
“The Sphinx,” said Burton.
The two men walked down the sloping hill, lush grass of a kind Burton had never seen crunching under his booted feet. The day was young and it was already getting hot. “I hope you know what you’re doing here,” said the explorer. “No one appointed you humanity’s savior, you know. Or its martyr.”
The Time Traveler chuckled. “Whatever are you talking about, Captain?”
“Aren’t you trying to restart humanity?”
His chuckle became a full-blown guffaw. “Oh no, Captain. Nothing quite so grandiose. I am merely making sure Weena and her people are safe. That and, uh…” His voice trailed off.
The explorer arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Weena. I’ve taken a liking to her. And, well…she’s with child.”
Burton smiled. “I see. So you are trying to restart humanity.”
The Time Traveler laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I had the best of intentions.”
“As do we all,” said Burton. “History is paved with good intentions.”
“What of you?” asked the Time Traveler. “What will you do upon your return to our time?”
“I’m going to throw this miniaturized Time Machine into the bloody Thames,” said the explorer. “Then I’m going to marry my Isabel, take a boring diplomatic post, and write. In other words, live the rest of my life, as I intended before it was interrupted by submarines and Time travel and monsters and Mycroft bloody Holmes. As history intended.”
They neared the Sphinx, its soft white body glowing with reflected early morning sunlight. They walked around the base to peer up at the face carved there.
“By Jove!” said the Time Traveler. “It’s a woman this time.”
They stared at it for a long time, Burton’s mouth stretching into a long smile.
“You know her?” asked the Time Traveler.
“Why, yes,” said Captain Sir Richard Francis Burton. “Yes, I believe I do.”
FALSTAFF BOOKS
Acknowledgments
No book springs fully formed from the writer’s brow like some mythical god. I’d like to thank everyone who had a hand in this book’s creation. John Hartness for giving me a chance; everyone who edited these books, whipped my turgid prose into something presentable, and helped me remember how to spell Cthulhu fhtagn; Melissa McArthur for creating such amazing covers for each of these volumes, and everyone who has read and enjoyed them. I never could have imagined a single crazy, one-off idea could have turned into all of this, and to everyone who helped me get there, thank you.