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"To find your place," offered Edward Oxford. The madness diedfrom his eyes. "To find yourself. You were displaced by a childhoodspent being dragged from one country to another. Ever since, you'vebeen looking for points of stability. Things you could associateyourself with. Permanent coordinates."
"Coordinates. Yes, I see what you mean."
"They make us who we are, Burton. They give us identity. I madea mistake. I chose as one of my coordinates an event from ancienthistory which, in my opinion, brought shame to my name. I tried toerase it, and ended up erasing something that made me."
A tear trickled down Oxford's cheek.
Darwin chuckled and said, "This is most gratifying. How simpleit is to construct a new future. Yes. We are most fascinated. Thepossibilities are endless. However, we must establish whether onefuture replaces the other or if they run concurrently. Once we havethe time suit, we must construct a method through which this can beascertained."
"Don't let him have the suit," whispered Oxford. "Free me. Idon't care about myself anymore, I'm a discontinued man, but let merestore history!"
Beresford toppled onto his side.
"Help me, Darwin," he gurgled. "I feel so drained."
"I altered one thing," said Oxford. "Just one thing! But theconsequences have changed everything. You're not meant to be doingwhat you're doing now!"
"The problem, Oxford," replied Burton, "is that although thefuture isn't what it used to be, I like it the way it is."
"Most gratifying. Most gratifying!" uttered Darwin. "Here we seethe human organism selecting its own path of evolution!"
Henry de la Poer Beresford whispered, "Free!" and a horriblerattle issued from his throat.
A gunshot came from beyond the door.
"She's going down!" yelled the man at the controls.
"And if the Technologists get their hands on your suit,"continued Burton, "the very idea of history will become a thing ofthe past."
"We're going to crash!" screamed the ship's operator, and hemade to run for the door, but the Francis Galton automaton wasstanding behind him and, clamping its hands around the man's neck,it held him in front of the controls.
"We command you to fly the ship!" ordered Darwin.
"I can't! I can't!"
"You must!"
Burton reached down and took hold of Oxford's head.
"In cold blood?" asked the time traveller.
"Whatever is necessary," replied Burton.
"What will it achieve?"
Sir Richard Francis Burton looked the man in the eyes. "Stablecoordinates," he said.
"Enjoy your reboot," whispered Spring Heeled Jack.
Burton yanked Edward John Oxford's head around, breaking hisneck.
"That was a serious mistake," said Darwin. "However, what's doneis done. Now get us out of here before the vessel is destroyed.Bring the corpse, the helmet, and the boots."
The king's agent glanced at the windows and saw Darkening Towerslooming large in them.
"No, Darwin," he said. "The time suit must be destroyed. Yourexperiments must end."
"We disagree. Allow us at least to debate the point with youbefore you act. We propose to you, Burton, that access to timetravel will allow us to finally put to rest the great delusion of aGod who intercedes in human affairs. We will eliminate the absurdnotions of fate and destiny. We will choose our own paths throughtime. We will place reins on the process of evolution to steer itwhere we will!"
"So nothing will happen by chance?" suggested Burton.
"Precisely! Save the time suit!"
"And you?"
"And us! Yes, save us!"
Burton glanced at the window.
"We would have your response," came Darwin's double-toned voice."What do you say?"
The king's agent paced over to the door. He looked back at themalformed scientist.
"I'm sorry," he said. "There will be no debate today."
"The evolved must survive!" cried the scientist.
Burton opened the door and passed through. Swinburne was holdingNurse Nightingale at bay with his pistol. A man lay on the floorclutching his bleeding side.
"I was aiming at his leg, I swear!" claimed the poet.
Burton gripped Nightingale by the arm and dragged her to theaccess ladder.
"Up!" he ordered.
"No," she replied.
He punched her forehead and she collapsed into his arms.
"No time for niceties," he said. "Up you go, Algy!"
Swinburne ascended and Burton followed, with the woman over hisshoulder.
Less than a minute later, the front of the titanic rotorshipcollided with Darkening Towers. The ancient mansion exploded into acloud of flying bricks, masonry, and glass. Crumpling metalscreamed as it tore through the building and hit the earth.
The inhabitants of nearby Waterford were jerked out of theirsleep by the terrifying sound of destruction. The floor shookbeneath their beds and their house windows shattered as the shipploughed a wide furrow through the grounds of the Beresford estatebefore finally coming to rest almost a quarter of a mile beyond, amass of torn and twisted metal.
For a moment a strange sort of calm descended and it seemed thatthe devastation was complete. Then, one after the other, the ship'sboilers exploded-a series of terrific detonations that blew theback half of the ship to pieces, throwing debris hundreds of feetinto the air and sending a thick pall of steam rolling outward.
Finally, the scene of the crash became quiet but for occasionalclangs and squeals as the wreckage settled.
Of Darkening Towers, nothing remained except a smear across thelandscape.
Burton had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. Wrapped in aroll of the thick insulating material, he'd been thrown violentlyaround the small storage bay until his senses were shaken from him.Now, as they returned, he gingerly tested each limb, and though hisright arm pained him where Oliphant's sword had pierced it, hefound that all his bones were intact.
With much difficulty, he wriggled out of the material onto theslanting and twisted deck, pulled his clockwork lantern from hispocket, and surveyed the ruins around him by its light. The bay wasalmost ripped in half; the floor was buckled and stars glintedthrough a wide and jagged gash in the ceiling.
The swathes of insulation were in disarray; the roll he'dbundled Florence Nightingale into had come undone and she layawkwardly amid the tangle. He crawled over to her and found thatshe was alive, though out cold.
The folds that contained Swinburne were underneath a tangle ofgirders from the ruined roof. One long, thin fragment of metal hadbeen driven right into the bundle, and when Burton peered into theend of the roll, he could see a red stain within. For a second,fear gripped him as he imagined his friend dead, but he thenrealised that the patch of crimson was actually the poet'shair.
"Algernon?" he called. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes," came the muffled response.
"It may take a while to get you out of there. You're underneatha pile of debris. Are you hurt?"
"There's something sharp sticking into my left buttock. It's notas thrilling as it sounds!"
"I'll get help as quickly as I can."
"And you, Richard? Are you in one piece?"
"Apart from having my brains scrambled, yes. Hold on! I can hearmovement. My light may have attracted someone."
The sound of metal being shifted had reached him, and hewondered whether Detective Inspector Trounce had arrived in arotorchair while he was unconscious. However, as the noiseincreased, he realised that something of far greater weight thanthe burly Scotland Yard man was approaching.