“If anything, it was too clear, sir. My brain is still struggling to process all the information. It was as if I saw events from the perspective of a person who'd lived through them.”
“And you say the war will be fought with Technologist weapons on our side and Eugenicist weapons on the other?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. And this Blavatsky woman has the ability to pull one solid object through another?”
“That's correct. She did it with Brundleweed's diamonds and with Sir Alfred Tichborne. What have you in mind, sir?”
Palmerston's hands curled into fists. “The night before last, the traitor Richard Spruce vanished from his prison cell. Its door was still locked. Its one small, barred window-which was too small for him to crawl through anyway-had not been tampered with. There were no escape tunnels or any other means of egress. He simply vanished.”
“You suggest that Blavatsky yanked him out through the wall?”
“It's likely, don't you think? If the Germans are going to employ eugenically altered plants as weapons, then, in light of the current situation in Ireland, Spruce seems the obvious source of their future scientific knowledge.”
Burton ground his cheroot into an ashtray. He nodded.
“Yes, you're probably right. Do you think he's made it out of the country?”
“I fear so,” the prime minister grumbled.
“We have Eugenicists disappearing left, right, and centre, too,” Gooch added. “There seems to be an exodus under way. The Technologists have lost a lot of extremely skilled scientists.”
“Then it's begun,” Palmerston hissed. “Christ almighty, the war against Lincoln's Union we can just about deal with, but a war against the Germans and Russians-!” The prime minister held a hand to his forehead and sighed. “Anyway, one thing at a time. The country is on the brink. Our labourers are running rampant and the dissent is spreading fast. I've called in the army to protect the palace and Whitehall, but a large number of troops are absconding or becoming openly mutinous.”
“It's the same at the Yard,” Trounce murmured. “Lord knows how many men are AWOL at the moment.”
“So what are we going to do about it, Captain Burton?” Palmerston asked. “How do we nip this atrocity in the bud?”
Burton rested his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers. He tapped his knuckles against his chin and said nothing for a beat. Then: “As dire as they may be, I think we can take advantage of our current circumstances. Firstly, Trounce, take one of my velocipedes and race it over to Scotland Yard. Speak to the chief commissioner and muster as many men as you're able. They need to be in place by midnight-”
He spoke for a few minutes more. Trounce nodded, gave Palmerston a halfhearted salute, and departed.
After Burton heard the front door slam shut, he turned to Burke and Hare.
“I require something that you two have in your possession. I need you to fetch it now, without delay.”
He told them what it was.
Burke turned to Palmerston and said: “With your permission, sir?”
“Absolutely. Go.”
“And bring back another carriage for the prime minister,” Burton called after the two men as they departed.
He turned to Palmerston's driver, who'd been sitting through the discussion with a bemused expression on his face.
“What's your name, sir?”
“John Phelps.”
“Tell me, Mr. Phelps, can the mobile castle outside be driven with just one steam-horse?”
“Aye, sir. No trouble, she'll just eat up coal twice as fast.”
“Then, if your employer permits it, I'd like you to drive Mr. Swinburne, Constable Bhatti, my valet, and I to Battersea Power Station this evening.”
Phelps looked at Palmerston, who nodded.
“Very well, sir.”
Burton next addressed the Technologist: “Presumably, you have your own vehicle, Mr. Gooch?”
“I drove here in my Folks’ Wagon. I'll return the same way.”
“Very well. Before you depart, can I call upon you to assist Constable Bhatti?”
“Surely. With what?”
Burton gave a lengthy explanation-during which Swinburne started whooping with delight-and finished by turning to Bhatti: “Do you think you can do it, Constable?”
“I'll give it my best,” the young policeman answered. “It's a case of removal and replacement rather than dismantlement, so we should be able to avoid the dangers. As for the rest of it, I'm sure Mr. Gooch will spot any errors I might make.”
“It's not exactly my field of expertise,” Gooch said, “but I'll do what I can, and Isambard can check the work over when you get to the power station.”
“And what of the task I've set Mr. Brunel?” Burton asked. “Do you think he can supply what I need?”
“Your request was certainly unusual, Captain-especially when communicated through a foul-mouthed parakeet-but it's not a difficult thing to design and Mr. Brunel is the best engineer in the world. He'd prefer to power it by steam, of course, but every single valve in a steam engine employs a spring, so that rules it out. Your alternative is-shall we say- eccentric? But it's feasible, and Isambard had already finished a blueprint when I left him. He has all the manufacturing power of the station at his disposal, so I assure you he'll provide what you need in good time.”
“Excellent,” the king's agent responded. He turned to his assistant. “Algy, tonight we're making our peace with the Steam Man.”
The poet, who'd spent the past few minutes with a huge grin on his face, now scowled. “After the way he treated me last time we met I'd rather kick the blighter right up the exhaust funnel!”
“Quite so.” Burton smiled. “But let the past be the past. For now we have to concentrate on saving the present!” He stood and paced up and down restlessly. “We have to hurry. I want to move against Blavatsky in the small hours of the morning.”
“Why then?” Palmerston asked.
“Because the human mind is at its lowest ebb during that period, sir. We know the woman is at full stretch. I want her exhausted. On which point: Algy, run up to my bedroom. You'll find a vial of Saltzmann's Tincture in my bedside drawer. Bring it down. We're all dog-tired, but if you, Bhatti, and I take five drops each, it will keep us alert for another twelve hours or so.”
“Smashing!” the poet exclaimed excitedly and scampered out of the room.
Palmerston drummed his fingers impatiently. “I'll not sit here in the dark! What in the devil's name are you playing at, Burton?” he demanded. “Explain your intentions!”
“There's no time, Prime Minister. As soon as Burke and Hare return, I recommend that you make a swift departure. Mr. Gooch and Constable Bhatti will be fully occupied with their project, while Mr. Swinburne and I have a great deal to arrange.”
“In other words, I'm surplus to requirements and in your way?”
“I wouldn't have put it quite like that, sir. I would point out, however, that you are the prime minister, the country is both at war and in the midst of a crisis, yet you are sitting in my dining room.”
Palmerston shot to his feet with such suddenness that his chair toppled backward to the floor. He glared at Burton and said slowly, in an icy tone: “There are limits to my patience, Captain. You are developing an unfortunate habit of addressing me with a marked lack of respect. I was warned before I employed you that you're an impertinent rogue. I'll not take it!”
Phelps, Bhatti, and Gooch glanced at each other uncomfortably.
“You gave me a job to do,” Burton said. “I intend to do it. If you are displeased with my conduct, you can release me from my duties immediately and I'll get back to writing my books while the country becomes a republic, Germany gathers her strength, and Russia waits in the wings.”
A tense silence filled the room.
No one moved.
Palmerston cleared his throat. “Get on with it.”
“Yes, sir.”