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He looked up as mechanical grippers closed over the edges of thetorn roof and peeled the metal back with a horrible squeal.
Isambard Kingdom Brunel thudded into view, towering overhead.The arms on one side of him were twisted and bent out of shape.
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the wheezing ofhis bellows, then he chimed, "She is alive?"
"Yes," replied Burton. "Merely unconscious. I wrapped her inthis material to protect her from the worst of it."
A pause, then arms stretched down into the room, slid beneaththe prone nurse, and lifted her out.
"I thank you, Sir Richard. I am in your debt," rang the hugemachine.
It retreated from view and they heard it stamping over thewreckage, onto the earth, and away into the distance.
Burton began to clear the fallen beams away from Swinburne.
Some time later he heard a rotorship rising into the air anddeparting.
"That must be the medical laboratory," he said to the trappedpoet. "Speke is aboard. I wonder where he and Brunel will go?"
Ten minutes or so passed before he heard the approachingparadiddle of rotorchairs. He climbed out onto the roof of thewrecked ship and waved down Detective Inspector Trounce.
Exhaustion hit him.
"By God!" he muttered. "Africa was child's play compared tothis!"
CONCLUSION
It is incredible!" exclaimed Mrs. Iris Angell for the umpteenthtime. "Poor Mr. Speke. I don't say he was ever a bad man, butperhaps a little lacking in rectitude. He certainly didn't deserveto fall into the hands of that immoral crowd. What will become ofhim, I wonder?"
"I don't know, but I feel I haven't seen the last of him. Haveyou finished?"
Mrs. Angell was sitting at one of Sir Richard Francis Burton'sdesks, where she'd been writing out two copies of his report.
Two days had passed since the Battle of Old Ford.
"Yes. I must say, Sir Richard, your handwriting leaves a lot tobe desired. I suggest you have a poke around in the attic. If Iremember rightly, one of my late husband's fancies was some sort ofmechanical writing device. An autoscribe,' I think he called it.You play it like a piano and it prints onto paper, like apress."
"Thank you, Mother Angell; that sounds like it might beuseful."
The old dame stood and rubbed a crick from her back. She passedthe two copies to Burton then crossed to the study door.
"I must get back to the kitchen. Your guests will be here inhalf an hour or so. I expect they'll appreciate some cold cuts andso forth?"
"That would be excellent. Thank you."
She departed.
Burton rolled one of the copies and placed it into a canister.This he put into the messenger pipe. With a blast of steam, it wenton its way to Buckingham Palace. A few moments later, he sent thesecond copy to 10 Downing Street.
He prepared the study for his guests-stoking the fire, arrangingarmchairs around it, refilling the brandy decanter.
He sat and read for half an hour.
Algernon Swinburne was the first to arrive. Like Burton, he wascovered in yellowing bruises and healing injuries. He was limpingslightly.
"Your little paperboy, Oscar, just accosted me on the street,"he a
"How the dickens did he get wind of it?" exclaimed Burton."There's been nothing said to the press!"
"You know what these newsboys are like," replied Swinburne,easing himself carefully into a chair. "They know a great dealabout far too much. He also asked me to advise you that `one cansurvive everything, nowadays, except death, and live downeverything except a good reputation."'
Burton laughed. "Quips is being exceptionally optimistic. Ihardly think our little victory is enough to mend my reputation.Richard Burton might be battered and bruised but `Ruffian Dick' isalive and well, I'm sure!"
"That might be true in certain quarters, but, for certain, yourstock has risen with King Albert and Lord Palmerston, and that'swhat matters. I'll have a brandy, please-but purely for medicinalreasons."
"How are you, Algy? Recovering?"
"Yes, though the hole in my arse cheek hurts like blazes. I fearI shall have to skip my birchings for a few weeks."
"Bad news for London's houses of ill repute," noted Burton,pouring his friend's drink. "They'll have to tighten their belts,if you'll pardon the pun."
"Thank you," said Swinburne, accepting the glass. "By the soundof those thundering footsteps, old Trounce is coming up thestairs."
The door opened and the thickset Yard man stomped in.
"Greetings, both!" he a
"When?" asked the king's agent.
Trounce threw himself into an armchair and stretched out hislegs to warm his feet by the fire. He took a proffered cigar fromhis host.
"You said he told you to-what was it?-`enjoy your boots'?"
"No. He said `enjoy your reboot.' A curious turn of phrase.Language is a malleable thing, old chap; it follows a process muchlike Darwin's evolution-parts of it become defunct and fade fromusage, while new forms develop to fit particular needs. I havelittle doubt that `reboot' has a very specific significance in thefuture. His future, at least."
"The meaning seems clear enough," mused Swinburne. "Replacingyour old boots with new ones is like preparing yourself for a newand potentially long journey. Your old boots may not last for theduration, so you reboot, as it were, before you set off. Likereshoeing a horse."
"It seems as good an explanation as any," agreed Burton. "And itfits the context."
He handed Trounce a brandy and, with his own, sat down and lit acigar.
"Detective Inspector Honesty should be along soon. Have you twomade your peace?"
"I'll say!" enthused the police detective. "The man saved mefrom a werewolf! He may look like a whippet but he fights like atiger. I saw him taking on men twice his size with his barehands-and he downed the blighters! Besides, when the dust hadsettled he came over, shook my hand, and apologised for everdoubting me. I'm not one to hold a grudge, especially against a manlike that!"
"Ow!" yelled Swinburne. "Bloody dog!"
"Come here, Fidget!" ordered Burton. "Sorry, Algy. I forgot hewas in the room!"
The basset hound hung his head and ambled over to its master,settling at his feet, from where it gazed fixedly at Swinburne'sankles.
"Blessed pest!" grumbled the poet.
"You owe this blessed pest your life," observed Burton. "Excuseme a moment."
He'd heard a rattle from the messenger tube. A canister thunkedinto it as he reached the desk. It was a message from Palmerston:Burke and Hare dismantled wreckage. Remains of Darwin, Galton,Beresford, and Oxford identified. Time suit recovered anddestroyed. Good work.
"Palmerston says the time suit has been destroyed," he told hisguests.
"Do you believe him?" asked Trounce.
"Not at all. It will at least have been put out of harm's way,though."
"We can but hope," muttered Swinburne.
Mrs. Angell entered with a tray of cold meats, pickles, slicedbread, and a pot of coffee. Detective Inspector Honesty stepped inbehind her.