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“Much obliged. Aye, I was, lad. An’ here's a bit of advice inreturn for your coin: life is all about the survival of thefittest, an’ the wise man must remember that, while he's adescendant of the past, he's also a parent of the bloomin’ future.Anyways-” he bit the thruppence and slipped it into his pocket“-Spencer's the name, an’ I'm right pleased to have made youracquaintance. Evenin’, gents!”
He raised his cap again and retreated to his doorstep, where therain couldn't reach him.
Burton and Swinburne continued their patrol.
“What an extraordinary fellow!” Swinburne reflected. “Here'sBrundleweed's. It looks quiet.”
It did, indeed, look quiet. The grille was down, the windowdisplay was intact, and the lights were off.
“I wonder how Trounce and Bhatti are getting on,” Burton said.He tried the door. It didn't budge. “It looks all right. Let's footit to Scra
The cold wind battered them and the deluge lanced into theirfaces. They pulled the brims of their hats down low and the collarsof their coats up high, but it was a lost cause.
Burton was shivering uncontrollably. Tomorrow, he knew, he wasgoing to be in a bad way.
The bank loomed ahead. It was a big, dirty, foreboding edifice.The water had cut grey rivulets into its sooty coat.
Swinburne hopped up its steps to check the doors. They wereclosed and barred. He came back down. All the windows wereshuttered.
“This isn't very inspiring at all. I think we're on a wild goosechase,” he complained. “What time is it?”
“Nigh on midnight, I should say.”
“Look around you, Richard. Everyone has disappeared. We haven'teven seen an automated animal. Man, woman, and beast are tucked upin their warm, dry beds! So are criminals!”
“You're probably right,” Burton replied grumpily, “but we shouldpress on until we reunite with Trounce.”
“Fine! Fine! If you say so,” Swinburne replied, throwing up hisarms in exasperation. “But please remember that-should anotheroccasion like this arise in the future-being wet to the bone andfrozen to the marrow is definitely not the sort of pain I enjoy.The sting of a hard cane, yes! The sting of a hard rain, no! What'sthat?” He pointed across the road to a fenced area beside anintersection. Beyond the low barricade, there was pitchdarkness.
“It's Mildew Street,” Burton answered. “Let's take a look. Thoseare the works where they're shoring up the underground river.”
They crossed Saint Martin's again and leaned over the waist-highwooden barrier. They couldn't see a thing.
Burton pulled a clockwork hand-lantern from his pocket, shook itopen, and gave it a twist. The sides of the device spilled lightinto the rain. He held it up over the fence, illuminating a muddypit. The saturated ground angled down to the mouth of a well, fromwhich the top of a ladder projected. Streams of water gurgled overthe slope and disappeared into the wide shaft.
“Look!” he exclaimed, pointing to a patch of mud at the top ofthe slope, just beneath a collapsed segment of fencing on theMildew Street side.
“You mean the footprints?” Swinburne shrugged. “So what?”
“Don't be a blessed fool!” Burton growled. “How long are muddyfootprints going to last in this weather?”
“My hat! I see what you mean!”
“They're recent. Some of them haven't even filled with wateryet.”
The two men moved around the barrier to the broken section.Burton squatted and examined the footprints closely.
“Remind you of anything?” he asked.
“It looks like someone's been pressing flat irons into the mud,”the poet observed. “My goodness, those are deep prints. Whoevermade them must have been very heavy. Ovals, not shoe-shaped. I say!The clockwork man!”
“Not the one in Trafalgar Square,” Burton corrected. “It hadclean feet and these prints were made while it's been standingbeside the column. There were other clockwork men here-three ofthem-and less than fifteen minutes ago, I should think. Look whowas with them!”
Burton moved his lantern. The circle of light swept across themud and settled on a line of big, widely spaced, very deep oblongprints. Who- or whatever had made them obviously possessed threelegs.
Swinburne recognised them at once. “Brunel!” he cried. “IsambardKingdom Brunel! The Steam Man!”
“Yes. See how deep his prints are by the well? He obviouslywaited there while the brass men went down. I wonder what they wereup to?”
Burton stepped over the fence's fallen planks and turned to hisassistant. “I'm going to have a look. You run back to that Spencerfellow. Give him another thruppence and ask him if he saw anythingunusual around here, then come back and wait for Trounce andConstable Bhatti. Go! We mustn't waste any more time!”
Swinburne raced off.
Burton crouched, lowering his centre of gravity to improve hisbalance on the slippery surface. He began to inch downward, bracinghimself with his cane, holding the lantern high. The rain hissedaround him. He wondered whether he was doing the right thing.Brunel and his clockwork companions were getting away-but fromwhat? What had they been up to?
He'd covered half the short distance to the well when his feetshot out from under him. He slapped down onto his back and wentslithering uncontrollably toward the mouth of the shaft, slewingsideways until his hip thudded against the top of the ladder which,thankfully, was bolted to the side of the well. He felt hisshoulders swerving over the sodden clay and was propelled headfirstinto the opening. Without thinking, he let go of his cane and threwout a hand. It closed over a rung and he gripped hard as his bodyturned in the air, swung down, and slammed against the ladder. Theforce of the impact knocked the wind out of him and loosened hishold. He fell before catching another rung. Pain lanced through hisshoulder. His cane clacked onto a solid surface somewherebelow.
He scrambled for a foothold, secured himself, and hung on,shaking. An involuntary groan issued from his lips.
He felt weak and ill. Despite the cold weather, beads of sweatwere gathering on his forehead.
The lantern went out.
Shifting to better secure himself, he gave the device a twist.It spluttered back into life and he lowered it past his knee,revealing a brick walkway not far below. A river flowed beside it,the brown surface heaving and frothing as it sped past.
Burton descended with water pouring around him from the pitabove. He stepped off the ladder and flexed his arm, winced, thenpicked up his cane and flashed the light around, finding himself ina small section of newly built brick-lined tu
The walkway ran alongside the river and disappeared into thedarkness. On it, three sets of muddy oval-shaped footprints trailedback and forth.
He followed them.
The course of the river was by no means straight but theexplorer felt certain that it remained more or less beneath SaintMartin's on its way to the Thames.
Moments later, he came to a hole cut into the wall on his left.Big lumps of stone were scattered around it and a pile of rubbleblocked the path beyond. A glance at the ground assured him thatthe three mechanical men had passed this way, so he entered andstepped through a short stretch of roughly cut tu
It broke through into the unlit and damp basement of a building,empty but for broken pieces of packing crates, a rusty ironbedstead, and an old chest of drawers. Smeared mud cut a cha
Treading softly, the king's agent ascended. There was anotherdoor at the top of the stairs, which he opened carefully. Hislantern illuminated what appeared to be a workshop. There was alarge safe in the corner. Its door had been wrenched off and lay,warped out of shape, on the floor nearby. The safe was empty.