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“I'm fine,” the Scotland Yard man protested.
“Wow! It is a good place to rest, Mr. Trounce,” said Sidi Bombay.
Pox and Malady, who'd been snuggled together on Spencer's head, suddenly squawked and flew into the trees.
“Yes, William,” the brass man said in his hooting voice. “You should take the weight off your feet.”
He lifted his gun, aimed carefully between Trounce's eyes, and pulled the trigger.
THE THIRD PART
“Oh glory, that we wrestle
So valiantly with Time!”
CHAPTER 10
“Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.”
Eighteen-year-old PC53 William Trounce had failed to make his first arrest.
He always timed his beat so he'd reach Constitution Hill in time for Queen Victoria's spin around Green Park. He thought the young monarch-who was just three years into her reign-was taking a needless risk with these daily excursions. He understood her need to escape for a few precious moments from the stuffy formality of Buckingham Palace, but there were many who still thought her a puppet of the unpopular prime minister, Lord Melbourne, and they often took the opportunity to jeer and boo as she rode through the park in her open-topped carriage. Trounce considered it one of his essential duties to be there in time to move the naysayers along.
Today he was going to be late, and it was De
As it was, De
It would have been a very satisfying first feather in his cap for the young constable if he'd ended the career of this particular villain today, but alas it was not to be. De
“Oh bleedin’ ’eck, I ain't up to nuffink, am I!” De
“It's Wednesday, De
The thief objected and wriggled on the spot a little more before finally scurrying off, and Trounce resumed his beat, a mite disappointed that he'd still not “christened his badge” after two weeks on the beat.
At the end of the Mall he passed Buckingham Palace and turned right into the park. He preferred to walk along on the grass rather than on the Constitution Hill path itself; it was better to position himself behind the crowds that often gathered along Victoria's route, for the troublemakers nearly always hid at the back, where they could more easily take to their heels should anyone object to their catcalls.
He saw that Her Majesty's carriage, drawn by four horses-the front left ridden by a postilion-was already trundling along a little way ahead of him. He increased his pace to catch up, striding down a gentle slope with an excellent view of the scene. Despite the mild weather, the crowd was sparse today. There were no protests and few hurrahs.
He jumped at the sound of a gunshot.
What the hell?
Breaking into a run, he peered ahead and noticed a man wearing a top hat, blue frock coat, and white breeches walking beside the slow-moving carriage. He was throwing down a smoking flintlock and drawing, with his left hand, a second gun from his coat.
In an instant, horror sucked the heat from Trounce's body and time slowed to a crawl.
His legs pumped; his boots thudded into the grass; he heard himself shout: “No!”
He saw heads turning toward the man.
His breath thundered in his ears.
The man's left arm came up.
The queen stood, raising her hands to the white lace around her throat.
Her husband reached for her.
A second man leaped forward and grabbed the gunman. “No, Edward!” came a faint yell.
The scene seemed to freeze; the two men entwined; their faces, even from this distance, so similar, like brothers; each person in the crowd poised in mid-motion, some stepping forward, some stepping back; the queen upright in the carriage, wearing a cream-coloured dress and bo
Christ!thought Trounce. Christ, no! Please, no!
A freakish creature suddenly flew past.
Tall, loose-limbed, bouncing on spring-loaded stilts, it skidded to a halt in front of him. Trounce stumbled and fell to his knees.
“Stop, Edward!” the weird apparition bellowed.
A bolt of lightning crackled from its side into the ground and the lean figure staggered, groaning and clutching at itself. Below, the two struggling men turned and looked up.
A second shot echoed across the park.
Mist-enshrouded Tabora was dirty and crowded and filled with oppressively monolithic buildings and bustling, noisy streets. Its many vehicles reminded Sir Richard Francis Burton of hansom cabs, except their steam-horses had been incorporated into the body of the cabin, so the things rumbled along on four wheels with no visible means of locomotion. Bertie Wells referred to them as “motor-carriages.”
The two men were in one now, along with the three Tommies from the Brita
Upon the rolling sphere's arrival in the besieged city, the king's agent had been hustled out of the ship and marched straight to a rather more luxurious motor-carriage than the one in which he was currently sitting. He'd waited in it for a while before being joined by Wells, General Aitken, and a driver. The latter started the engine, steered the vehicle onto a broad street, and sent it rattling along until they reached the centre of the city. A second conveyance-the one Burton was now in-had followed behind.
He was escorted into a large square building that, from the outside, reminded him of London's Athenaeum Club but which, on the inside, proved far less opulent. Here, he was presented to twelve generals who, along with Aitken, acted in lieu of an elected government. They ordered him to explain how he'd come to be in the Ugogi POW camp and why he was being moved. He answered the first part of the question truthfully. To the second part he said simply: “I don't know.”
The men then requested a full description of Paul Emil von Lettow-Vorbeck and demanded that Burton recount everything the German had said to him. He told them as much as he could without revealing his identity.
Finally, they questioned him about the approaching L.59 Zeppelinand its payload, the A-bomb.