Lawless whistled. “That’ll be interesting.” He pursed his lips then said to Burton, “I suppose I can train you and your fellows for whatever duties remain.”
“I’ll come,” Maneesh Krishnamurthy announced. He gripped his cousin, Bhatti, by the arm before he could also volunteer. “No, Shyamji. You’ve been romancing that charming young dressmaker. I have high hopes for you. Put a ring on her finger. Start a family. Throw your lot in with the Cannibal Club.”
“But—”
“No argument.”
Shyamji Bhatti frowned before offering a shrugged concession.
Gooch said, “You’ll require an engineer to keep the airship in good order. Mr. Brunel is out of action and shows no sign of recovery. Take me.”
Burton said, “Thank you, Daniel.” He glanced at each of the volunteers in turn. “Seven of us, then. Let me remind all of you that even if we inadvertently cause further bifurcations in history, we can travel back along them. This world will still be here. We can return to it.” He faced his brother. “Minister?”
Edward held his sibling’s eyes for a second. “Very well. If only to save us from a plethora of stilted lunatics, I’ll sanction this tomfoolery. I’ll also see to it that the Cannibal Club receives whatever funding it requires, with one proviso; I shall lead it. The group’s mission will need to be meticulously planned, its existence ingeniously concealed, its continuity assured for many generations. There is no man alive more suited to such a job than I.”
“Agreed,” Burton said with a slight smile.
Over the course of the next hour, the minister secured one of the hotel’s private sitting rooms, and the core members of the Cannibal Club were summoned.
By seven o’clock, they were all present with the exception of Henry Murray, who’d left the city to visit friends in Somerset. Sir Richard Francis Burton, Edward Burton, Richard Monckton Milnes, Thomas Bendyshe, Doctor James Hunt, Sir Edward Brabrooke and Charles Bradlaugh settled in the chamber, accepted drinks, and each lit a cigar or pipe.
“‘Attend immediately by order of the king,’” Brabrooke quoted. “I’ve never before received such a peremptory invitation.”
“Nor have you ever been requested to do what I am about to ask of you,” the king’s agent said. “We find ourselves in extraordinary circumstances, gentlemen. So strange, in fact, that you’ll be required to swear an oath of absolute secrecy and loyalty to the crown before we continue.”
The club members glanced at one another, eyebrows raised, but none objected, and, after the vows were made, full disclosure followed, causing the brows to rise even higher.
Once the briefing was over and the commission served, they sat in stunned silence, which was eventually broken by Bendyshe, who suddenly bellowed with laughter and cried out, “By all that’s holy, you’ve assigned to us a mission to mate!”
Doctor James Hunt grinned. “I shall devote myself to it assiduously.”
Sir Edward Brabrooke raised his glass. “Ladies of London beware.”
“Tally ho!” Charles Bradlaugh cheered.
Monckton Milnes looked at Burton and winked.
Burton left his brother with the group to plan the future of the club. He returned to suite five. His colleagues there had divided into smaller groups, each discussing some specific aspect of the planned venture.
“I wish Brunel were with us,” Gooch quietly said to him. “I don’t doubt I can build Babbage’s version of a Nimtz generator, but I’m certain Isambard would make a better job of it.”
“You can’t revive him?”
“I fear not. When the damaged time suit vanished, the burst of energy it transmitted appears to have erased his mind from the diamonds in his babbage calculator.”
“But—” Burton’s brow creased, “if that’s the case, why did it not also erase the undamaged helmet?”
“I asked Babbage the very same question. He posits that it’s because the helmet contained a healthy version of the same mind. What hit Brunel as something alien and overwhelming struck the helmet as a moment of disordered thought that it was able to quash with its own rationality. For poor Brunel, it was too unfamiliar. He had no way to resist. We’ve lost our friend and the world’s most brilliant engineer. He’s dead.”
“I mourn with you, Daniel. He was a great man and a good friend. But I also have every faith that, even without him, you can fulfil what we require of you.”
Gooch flexed his mechanical arms and folded his real ones across his chest. “I’ll direct all the Department of Guided Science’s resources to the design and construction of the Nimtz generator and to the refit of the Orpheus. Despite the complexity of the project, with so many people working on it, it won’t take more than a few weeks. But what of the future, Sir Richard? Surely they’ll have flying machines. Won’t our nineteenth-century rotorship stick out like a sore thumb? How will we avoid detection?”
“We’ll depend on the Cannibals,” Burton answered. “Or, rather, on their descendants. Their remit will include the securing of up-to-date airships into which we can transfer the Orpheus’s machinery. We must replace her as we travel.”
“Expensive.”
“My brother intends to make careful investments to assure us adequate funds.”
A thrill of unexpected excitement suddenly coursed through Burton’s veins. He left Gooch, went to a window, and looked out at the Strand. The street lamps glowed unsteadily, glimmering through falling snow. Pedestrians crowded the pavements. Traffic pumped steam and smoke into the air.
A new expedition! A new journey into the unknown!
After so many extraordinary events, Burton felt almost immune to further surprises and, indeed, over the course of the following three weeks, though he was six times pounced on by Spring Heeled Jacks, he dealt with them in an almost perfunctory manner, by now aware that they succumbed easily to a bullet or a blow to the head. He sustained no further injuries. However, at the end of that period, the theory he’d formed to explain the creatures and the events associated with them was somewhat shaken by an occurrence that didn’t fit into the picture.
It happened on a wet Thursday morning just a few yards from his house.
He’d breakfasted, gone to the mews at the rear of number 14, fired up the furnace in his steam sphere, and set off for Battersea Power Station.
Steering out of the alley that opened onto Montagu Place, he directed the vehicle toward the junction with Gloucester Place, drove past his front door, and pushed his toes down on the accelerator plate.
A bubble appeared in the air less than twenty feet ahead. It popped, and a woman fell into the road. She screamed. Bits of polished wood and a severed arm hit the ground around her.
Burton slammed his heels down, braking hard. It was too late. The sphere thudded into the woman, she was dragged under its drive band, and Burton was jolted as it bumped over her.
He threw himself out and ran to the back of the vehicle.
Nearby, on his corner, Mr. Grub yelled, “Bloody hell!”
The woman lay broken and bleeding. Her appearance was thoroughly bizarre; she possessed a preternaturally tall and attenuated body, a very narrow face, huge black eyes with no whites around the pupils, and a lipless mouth. She was colourfully attired, as if for a carnival.
She blinked at Burton and in a faint voice said, “Oh! It’s you again! Where are we?”
A bubble formed around her. The king’s agent stepped back.
The woman vanished with a loud bang, taking a bowl-shaped lump of macadam with her.
Grub ran over. “Blimey! Where’d she go?”
Burton said, “Back to wherever she came from, I suppose.”
“And left a bloomin’ great pothole behind her.”
“I’ll report it,” Burton said. He sighed. “We live in strange times, Mr. Grub.”
“Aye,” Grub muttered, “I blame Disraeli. He’s a bit of a dandy, ain’t he? I reckons this world would make a lot more sense if an ordinary ol’ geezer like me was in charge.”