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“Maybe so,” Burton replied, thinking of Countess Sabina and hissubsequent dream: a transition begins-a melting of one great cycleinto another. “But do we really want such a change to be forcedupon us by an external power? I find it inconceivable that theymight be doing it for our own good!”
He flicked the stub of his cheroot into the fireplace, stood,and paced back across to the window.
“We must get to the root of this.”
His eyes sca
“In order to strengthen our campaign against the enemy, Algy, wemust first strengthen ourselves. I've resisted it in the past, butI think it's time I mesmerised you.”
“Really?”
“Really. I want to see whether I can stop you becoming aTichborne supporter every time the Claimant is nearby. If I can't,the only other option is for you to stay permanently drunk, and I'drather avoid that.”
Swinburne puffed out his cheeks and expelled a breath with apop. “Oh, it wouldn't be so bad! Besides, you've always refused toexercise your mental magnetism on me before!”
“True,” Burton affirmed. “I was concerned that your excitabledisposition might react in an unpredictable ma
“Good! What?”
“The Rake co
“I'll talk to my Libertine chums. I say, though-Rakes andTichborne-it seems a contradiction, doesn't it? If our mysteriousopponent is attempting to stir up the working classes, why employRakes, who epitomise the idea of the insouciant aristo?”
“My thought exactly!”
Swinburne suddenly froze and looked at his friend with a puzzledexpression.
“That wraith,” he said. “The one by the chaunter. You sawit?”
“Clearly!”
“For a moment, it seemed to manifest rather more solidly andtook on the appearance of a tall bearded man. I swear he waswearing wire-rimmed spectacles, too. The thing of it is, I feelI've seen him somewhere before.”
“You recognised the manifestation as an actual person?”
“Yes. That wisp of steam resembled someone whose path I'vecrossed at some point, I'm sure of it, but for the life of me Ican't recall whom. The name ‘Boyle’ or ‘Foyle’ springs tomind.”
“Keep thinking on it, Algy-it could be important.”
Spencer rubbed a hand over his bald scalp and said, “Is thereanythin’ I can do to help, Boss?”
“Thank you, Herbert, there is. Your immunity and your-if youdon't mind me saying so-disreputable appearance, enable you towander through the thick of it without being molested. I'd like youto keep an eye on things at street level, see how widespread theapparitions are, and, if possible, find out where they're mostnumerous.”
“Right you are!”
“First, though, I'd like you to return to Miss Mayson's to makea purchase on my behalf.”
He explained further and supplied the philosopher with therequisite amount of money.
Swinburne piped up: “It's a quarter to eight, Richard. What sayyou we toddle on over to the Ca
“An excellent idea. We'll take the pe
Half an hour later, Herbert Spencer descended the steps of 14Montagu Place and headed off toward SPARTA on Orange Street.
Meanwhile, Burton and Swinburne left the study and went down thestairs to Mrs. Angell's domain. While Swinburne waited by the backdoor, Burton tapped lightly on the entrance to the old lady'sparlour. A voice called from within. He poked his head into theroom beyond.
“I thought I'd check to see how you are,” he said. “I hope youdidn't tire yourself cooking for us. It was very kind of you to doso.”
“I'm fine, Sir Richard. No need to worry. A bruised hip, nothingmore. How's little Elsie?”
“Doctor Steinhaueser gave her a sedative. She's asleep in theguest room and certainly won't wake up before morning. I sent amessage to her parents and they'll come to pick her up soon. Youneedn't do anything more this evening. Just rest, my dear, and ifyou want anything, ring for Admiral Lord Nelson.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Burton returned to Swinburne and they went out to the garage. Afew moments later they steered their pe
The evening sky was clear, a dark and deepening blue, with threeor four stars already twinkling. It was warm. A slight,directionless breeze stirred the air lazily.
At ground level, ribbons of steam twisted slowly across thesurface of the road, occasionally rising up like serpents poised tostrike. They swirled away from passing traffic then curled backinward.
There were far fewer vehicles on the streets than usual.
“Where is everyone?” Swinburne called over the racket of hispe
“Sheltering behind locked doors, I imagine,” Burton responded.“Or resting after a hard day's rioting!”
“By golly, what a lot of broken windows! It looks as if atornado passed through town!”
“Watch where you steer. There might be debris in the road. Hey!Where are you going?”
“This way, it's a short cut!” the poet shrilled, suddenlyveering off the main street and into a narrow lane.
“Blast it, Algy, what are you up to?”
“Follow me!”
The steam proved to be much thicker in the backstreets; a densemilky pall, reminiscent of that which rose from the Crawls in thegrounds of Tichborne House. The top of the cloud was almost levelwith the saddles of the velocipedes-about the same height as thetop of an average man's head-and the two pe
Gas lamps flared, casting sharp shadows on the sides of thebuildings and walls on either side of the lane, and making the topof the mist glaringly luminescent.
“Slow down, Algy! I can't see the surface of the road! Are yousure you know where we're going?”
“Yes, don't worry! I've been this way many a time!”
“Why?”
“For Verbena Lodge!”
“The brothel?”
“Yes!”
“I might have-” Burton's teeth clacked together as his vehiclebounced over a pothole “-known!”
They turned right into a less well-lit street, then left intoanother, and immediately found themselves in the midst of adisturbance. Yells and screams rose out of the cloud, women'sshouts and men's protestations.
There came a loud report, almost like a gunshot, and Swinburnesuddenly vanished.
The king's agent saw the small rear wheel of his assistant'svelocipede fly upward before dropping back into the mist. He heardthe machine's engine race, cough, splutter, and die.
He squeezed his brake levers and swung down from his vehicle,plunging into the cloud.
“Algy? Did you hit something? Are you all right?”
“Over here, Richard! I-”
Crack!
“Yow!”
Burton moved toward the raised voices, peering into the murk.Were those figures just ahead?
“Algernon?” he called.
“Gah!” came the response.
A man ran out of the rolling vapour. He was dressed in nothingbut a ripped and bloodied shirt, a top hat, and a pair of socksheld up by gaiters. “She's bloody insane!” he wailed, and spedpast.
Another gentleman followed, barefoot and buttoning up histrousers. “Get out of here! The strumpet is spitting feathers!”
A woman in a floral dressing gown hurried into view and shoutedafter them: “Oy! Sir George! Mr. Fiddlehampton! Come back! Sirs!Sirs! You ain't paid the bleedin’ Governess!”