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“It's the same at the Yard,” Trounce murmured. “Lord knows howmany men are AWOL at the moment.”
“So what are we going to do about it, Captain Burton?”Palmerston asked. “How do we nip this atrocity in the bud?”
Burton rested his elbows on the table and interlaced hisfingers. He tapped his knuckles against his chin and said nothingfor a beat. Then: “As dire as they may be, I think we can takeadvantage of our current circumstances. Firstly, Trounce, take oneof my velocipedes and race it over to Scotland Yard. Speak to thechief commissioner and muster as many men as you're able. They needto be in place by midnight-”
He spoke for a few minutes more. Trounce nodded, gave Palmerstona halfhearted salute, and departed.
After Burton heard the front door slam shut, he turned to Burkeand Hare.
“I require something that you two have in your possession. Ineed you to fetch it now, without delay.”
He told them what it was.
Burke turned to Palmerston and said: “With your permission,sir?”
“Absolutely. Go.”
“And bring back another carriage for the prime minister,” Burtoncalled after the two men as they departed.
He turned to Palmerston's driver, who'd been sitting through thediscussion with a bemused expression on his face.
“What's your name, sir?”
“John Phelps.”
“Tell me, Mr. Phelps, can the mobile castle outside be drivenwith just one steam-horse?”
“Aye, sir. No trouble, she'll just eat up coal twice asfast.”
“Then, if your employer permits it, I'd like you to drive Mr.Swinburne, Constable Bhatti, my valet, and I to Battersea PowerStation this evening.”
Phelps looked at Palmerston, who nodded.
“Very well, sir.”
Burton next addressed the Technologist: “Presumably, you haveyour own vehicle, Mr. Gooch?”
“I drove here in my Folks’ Wagon. I'll return the same way.”
“Very well. Before you depart, can I call upon you to assistConstable Bhatti?”
“Surely. With what?”
Burton gave a lengthy explanation-during which Swinburne startedwhooping with delight-and finished by turning to Bhatti: “Do youthink you can do it, Constable?”
“I'll give it my best,” the young policeman answered. “It's acase of removal and replacement rather than dismantlement, so weshould be able to avoid the dangers. As for the rest of it, I'msure Mr. Gooch will spot any errors I might make.”
“It's not exactly my field of expertise,” Gooch said, “but I'lldo what I can, and Isambard can check the work over when you get tothe power station.”
“And what of the task I've set Mr. Brunel?” Burton asked. “Doyou think he can supply what I need?”
“Your request was certainly unusual, Captain-especially whencommunicated through a foul-mouthed parakeet-but it's not adifficult thing to design and Mr. Brunel is the best engineer inthe world. He'd prefer to power it by steam, of course, but everysingle valve in a steam engine employs a spring, so that rules itout. Your alternative is-shall we say- eccentric? But it'sfeasible, and Isambard had already finished a blueprint when I lefthim. He has all the manufacturing power of the station at hisdisposal, so I assure you he'll provide what you need in goodtime.”
“Excellent,” the king's agent responded. He turned to hisassistant. “Algy, tonight we're making our peace with the SteamMan.”
The poet, who'd spent the past few minutes with a huge grin onhis face, now scowled. “After the way he treated me last time wemet I'd rather kick the blighter right up the exhaust fu
“Quite so.” Burton smiled. “But let the past be the past. Fornow we have to concentrate on saving the present!” He stood andpaced up and down restlessly. “We have to hurry. I want to moveagainst Blavatsky in the small hours of the morning.”
“Why then?” Palmerston asked.
“Because the human mind is at its lowest ebb during that period,sir. We know the woman is at full stretch. I want her exhausted. Onwhich point: Algy, run up to my bedroom. You'll find a vial ofSaltzma
“Smashing!” the poet exclaimed excitedly and scampered out ofthe room.
Palmerston drummed his fingers impatiently. “I'll not sit herein the dark! What in the devil's name are you playing at, Burton?”he demanded. “Explain your intentions!”
“There's no time, Prime Minister. As soon as Burke and Harereturn, I recommend that you make a swift departure. Mr. Gooch andConstable Bhatti will be fully occupied with their project, whileMr. Swinburne and I have a great deal to arrange.”
“In other words, I'm surplus to requirements and in yourway?”
“I wouldn't have put it quite like that, sir. I would point out,however, that you are the prime minister, the country is both atwar and in the midst of a crisis, yet you are sitting in my diningroom.”
Palmerston shot to his feet with such sudde
Phelps, Bhatti, and Gooch glanced at each otheruncomfortably.
“You gave me a job to do,” Burton said. “I intend to do it. Ifyou are displeased with my conduct, you can release me from myduties immediately and I'll get back to writing my books while thecountry becomes a republic, Germany gathers her strength, andRussia waits in the wings.”
A tense silence filled the room.
No one moved.
Palmerston cleared his throat. “Get on with it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door opened and Swinburne bounded in.
“I say!” he shrilled. “I'm much more resistant to that Russiancow's emanations when I'm drunk. Do you think I should down a fewbrandies before we proceed?”
C harles Altamont Doyle was extremely confused. Two-or was itthree?-days ago, he'd awoken slightly before dawn in a strangehouse and had stumbled down the stairs and out of the frontdoor.
He'd walked aimlessly, enveloped by chaos. People wereoverturning vehicles and smashing windows, setting fire to shopsand attacking one another, chanting something about the upperclasses and a conspiracy of some kind.
His memory failed him. The past few hours were nothing but analcohol-fueled blur.
He wandered through the mayhem and the rioters left himalone.
The fairies, however, did not.
They danced at the periphery of his vision, whispered in hisear, and followed him wherever he went. He cried and screamed forthem to stop hounding him. He reasoned and demanded and begged.
They ignored his pleas.
He staggered into the Bricklayer's Arms on Bedford Street,intent on imbibing his tormentors into oblivion. Drink, when takenin copious quantities, always worked. Fairies, he'd discovered,were particularly allergic to burgundy.
The pub was heaving with all ma
Glass after glass was purchased for him. Doyle emptied themassiduously, and the next thing he knew he was waking up in adoorway halfway down a dark, mist-swathed alley.
How much time had passed? He didn't know. He could hear shoutsand screams and violence in the near distance.
He went back to sleep.
The fairies came skipping into his dreams.
“It is in thy blood to see us,” they told him. “It was in thyfather's and it is in thy sons’.”
He awoke again. Hauled himself upright. Staggered onward.