Burton struggled to free himself but everything was happening too fast. He'd barely registered the presence of Spring Heeled Jack before the rotorchair plunged into the woods, keeling over sideways, its wings snapping and shooting away, one arcing high into the air, the others clattering through the branches.
The vehicle twisted and tumbled, knocking its driver this way and that as it fell through the foliage, hit the ground back-end first, then toppled onto its side and came to rest.
Steam screamed through a rent in its boiler and Burton, shaken but conscious enough to fear an explosion, fumbled with the buckle straps, finally released them, and crawled out of and away from the machine.
He lay panting, facedown in the loam.
Rustling footsteps approached and, as Burton rolled over onto his back, a foot-or, rather, a stilt-was placed to either side of him.
Spring Heeled Jack, light dappling his face, stood astride the king's agent and gazed down at him. He squatted.
"Who are you?" the creature asked.
Blue flame formed a corona around its head; sparks spat from its chest. The eyes blazed with madness.
"You know damned well who I am," said Burton.
"I don't. I've never seen you before, though I must admit, I feel I should know you."
"Never seen me! You gave me this damned black eye!"
Even as he said it, though, Burton thought about Trounce's suggestion that there might be more than one of the stilted creatures. "Or maybe that was your brother?" he added.
The creature grinned. "I don't have a brother. I don't even have parents!"
It threw back its head and let loose a peal of insane laughter, then looked down and ran its eyes over Burton's face.
"Where have I seen you before?" it muttered. "Famous, are you?"
"Comparatively," answered Burton. He started using his feet and elbows to shift himself out from between Spring Heeled Jack's stilts, but the thing reached down and grasped the front of his coat.
"Stay still," it commanded. "Yes, I know you now. Sir Richard Francis Burton! One of the great Victorians!"
"What the hell is a Victorian?"
Shouts sounded in the distance-the police and townspeople approaching -and, beyond them, the thrum of Constable Kapoor's rotorchair.
"Listen, Burton," hissed Jack. "I have no idea why you're here but you have to leave me alone to do what I have to do. I know it's not a good thing but I don't mean the girls any harm. If you or anyone else stops me, I can't get back and I won't be able to repair the damage. Everything will stay this way-and it's wrong! It's all wrong! This is not the way things are meant to be! Do you understand?"
Burton shook his head. "Not in the slightest. Let me up, damn it!"
Jack hesitated then released his grip. Burton slid from between the stilts and scrambled to his feet, looking up at the strange apparition.
Spring Heeled Jack was a man, he could see that now, but his costume was bizarre and there was an unearthly air about him.
"So what exactly is it you need to do?" he asked the stilt-walker.
"Restore, Burton! Restore!"
"Restore what?"
"Myself. You. Everything! Do you honestly think the world should have talking orangutans in it? Isn't it obvious to you that something is desperately wrong?"
"Talking orang-?" began Burton.
"Captain Burton!" interrupted a distant shout. Detective Inspector Trounce.
The chopping of Kapoor's rotorchair was close now. Jack looked up through the canopy of leaves overhead.
"The mist has cleared and the sun is high enough. I should be able to recharge."
"Charge at what? You're speaking in riddles, man!" barked the king's agent.
"Time to go," muttered Jack, then suddenly burst into laughter. "Time to go!"
Burton leaped at him but Jack sidestepped swiftly and the explorer crashed past, landing in a tangle of roots. He rolled to his feet just as Jack flashed by and made off into the trees.
"Bloody hell!" cursed Burton, and set off in pursuit.
Despite having to duck under low branches, his quarry moved fast, taking long loping strides, while Burton was hampered by projecting roots, tangled vines, and his own exhaustion. He managed to keep up until Jack burst out of the trees onto the golf course some way north of where the police and townsfolk were milling about; there Jack started to bound ahead on his spring-loaded stilts.
A police whistle blew and a roar went up from the crowd, which, waving makeshift weapons, surged after the strangely costumed man.
Burton stopped and watched, puzzled.
Rather than running away, Spring Heeled Jack seemed to be circling the golf course, almost as if he were toying with his pursuers. Only Constable Kapoor, in his rotorchair, could keep pace with him, but there was little he could do but follow.
"What the devil are you playing at?" muttered Burton, as Jack, who'd receded into the distance, turned southward and hopped along the edge of the course before then changing direction to race northeastward, back toward Burton, who stood on the border of the wood.
The king's agent ran out to intercept him only to have Jack spring a clear fifteen feet over his head.
"Stay out of it, Burton!" shouted the stilt-man.
He took six long bounds, then suddenly launched himself high into the air until, twenty feet up, and just in front of Kapoor's rotorchair, he vanished.
Burton had the impression of some sort of bubble momentarily forming around Jack, its edge touching the front of the flying machine. When it, and the stilt-man, disappeared, so did part of the vehicle.
The rotorchair flew apart and, leaving a spiralling ribbon of steam behind it, plunged to the ground, which it hit with an appalling crash. The boiler exploded and pieces of metal went spinning into the air.
From different directions, Burton, Trounce, and a number of constables ran over to the wreckage.
Constable Kapoor's broken body dangled from the upside-down seat, his expression frozen in shock, blood streaming from his torn flesh down his neck, across his face, over his motionless eyes, and into his hair, from whence it dribbled onto the ripped turf.
"God damn it," breathed Detective Inspector Trounce, leaning with both hands upon his cane. "He was going to be promoted next week."
He stood deep in thought for a moment then shook himself and spoke to a nearby constable.
"Bennett, fetch Sergeant Piper, would you?"
The constable nodded and moved away.
"What the blazes is that thing, Captain Burton?" asked Trounce.
"A man, of that I'm certain," responded the famous explorer. "And a madman, at that."
"The same as I saw at the assassination?"
"It can't be-he didn't appear old enough."
"Great heavens, this is too bizarre! What happened in the woods?"
"He spoke nonsense; said I was a Victorian."
"What's that?"
"I haven't the vaguest idea, though it's fair to assume it has something to do with the late queen. He said that if we stop him doing what he needs to do, everything will stay this way, and what he needs to do is `restore."'
"Restore what?"
"`Myself. You. Everything,' whatever that means. Then he mentioned talking orangutans and said he had to charge at something again."
Trounce shrugged. "None of it makes any sense! It's the ravings of a lunatic!"
"I don't disagree," said Burton.
Trounce turned to an approaching police sergeant who saluted smartly.
"Ah, Piper, the men seem to have the crowd under control."
"Yes, sir. I think they'll be off to their homes soon, now that the jumping man has gone."
"Good. Good. I want you to post a couple of men here and organise for poor Kapoor to be transported to the morgue."
"Right you are, sir. He was a fine man. I'll see to it that he's not left here any longer than needs be."