by Gareth Clegg
Simmons inspected the assortment of cogs, flywheels and miniature piston pumps. “So you are such a person as you describe?”
“Yes. Horology is the study of time in all its intricate beauty and how it transcends mere chronometry and opens our eyes to the surrounding universe. Why else would I be here?” he gestured around the room, “in this place. Can you not feel it? The energy that runs through it even now as we converse?”
Josiah dropped his hands back to his lap with a significant clunk. “We stand upon the very spot that gives London its power, which fuels the greatest empire in the world. A point at which both time and space are physical assets to manipulate as we wish.”
Bazalgette looked at Josiah, his eyes wide. “Yes, I think I understand what you mean. I thought it was just the memory of having been here before, but it’s much more than that. Something tangible.”
“You are a man of learning, Mr Bazalgette,” Josiah said. “Let us see if you can open your mind to the endless possibilities, to revel in this new golden age of discovery. Few are the true visionaries, who unlike the sheep, refuse to shy away from the cliff’s edge and instead plunge ahead choosing the mystery of the abyss.”
“Can we get back to business?” Simmons said. “If I’d wanted to talk about auras, I could have gone to a cheap backstreet seance.”
Josiah frowned. “You wound me, Mr Simmons. Our conversation is not about the supernatural, but about super-nature and science.”
“Yes, but let’s return to the here and now, please? What about the Black Guard and the Watchmen?”
“It seems Dent is making copies of his father’s original work,“ Josiah said. “No doubt he is under duress from the Black Guard, seeing as they are the ones carrying and utilising them. So the question becomes, why are the Black Guard involved in this? What is their ultimate gambit?”
“Well, Robertson controls the Black Guard, so he must be directing things.”
“Robertson long sought to enforce military rule, and our young Empress rebuked him for it. Now here we are in a state of Martial Law, so for which side does he play?” Josiah stood, the repetitive clicking and whirring changing to a more subtle tempo. “If the Black Guard get their hands on the original schematics, then these current watches will seem like children’s playthings. The originals are an order of magnitude greater in power and complexity. The Black Guard is already a fearsome force; give them true control over time, and they’ll be unstoppable. Who knows the bounds of Robertson’s ambition?”
Bazalgette turned to Josiah. “So what can we do?”
“An excellent question, Mr Bazalgette. Dent must know where the originals are, the schematics produced by his father. It’s only a matter of time before he breaks and gives the Black Guard what they want, the means to locate them. So we need to find them before they break Dent.”
“You mean to kill him?” Bazalgette asked.
“If we can’t release him, then yes. We cannot leave him for their torturers to extract the information. With the best will in the world, no-one could withstand them indefinitely. It appears he serves a purpose, providing them with what they think are the original specifications. But when they discover the truth, they will force the secrets from him.”
Simmons turned on Josiah, his face a deep frown. “How do you know all this? About the original watch schematics?”
Josiah laughed. Leather and flesh rippled and stretched against the course stitches. “Mr Simmons, as I told you earlier, my business is to know all the mysteries of this once great city. Every whispered conversation in dark meeting places. They are how I maintain my position in society.”
His face settled into a less grotesque mask. “I am told stories of the original watches. Yes, there was more than one. They were a gift for our old Empress before the war. Two exquisite timepieces, priceless gifts, one each for Victoria and Albert. When Albert died early during the invasion, they never recovered his body. Victoria found looking at her watch became unbearable; they were identical, you see. They say viewing it brought her too much heartache, and so she gave it away. Not to a family member as you might expect, but to her bodyguard, to one of the ArcAngels.”
“ArcAngels? You mean the Black Guard elite?” Simmons asked.
“Yes, but they were more than just elite soldiers. The ArcAngel power armour made them near indestructible. It was Tesla’s crowning achievement, well according to what we know. But he wasn’t working on that project alone.”
“Dent,” Bazalgette said. “He worked with Dent, didn’t he?”
“Yes, Mr Bazalgette. Dent and Tesla produced a marvel of electro-mechanical artifice. The likes of which we may never see again. Imagine someone capable of battling and defeating a full division of foot soldiers. Next, imagine that same person with the power of time at their command.”
“That’s how they did it,” Bazalgette said. “How they fought for so long after the destruction of the rest of the armed forces. The defensive and offensive capabilities of the armour along with the watch. I remember reports many times of their destruction only later to hear of an ArcAngel reappearing elsewhere in the city and battling with the Martians there.”
“Yes, they kept the aliens off balance for months,” Simmons added. “Time and again they drew the bulk of the fighting machines away from the camps so the resistance could try to free survivors.”
“But ultimately, they failed,” Josiah said. “A huge fireball crashing to earth, the destruction of the great Angel-One airship. But perhaps not the end for the watch.”
“What do you mean?” Bazalgette asked, a puzzled look on his face.
“It’s possible it might have survived. Nobody knows precisely where Angel-One crashed outside the city. If we can get hold of the schematics, we may discover a way to track the watch’s location.”
“How could it survive?” Bazalgette said. “The airship fell from the skies. It exploded and burned like a comet, leaving shredded ruins of twisted and molten metal, if even that much survived the impact.”
“I fear you may be correct,” Josiah said. “But I am not willing to pass up the remote hope that something might have endured. It could provide us with a starting point to recreate Dent’s masterpiece and give us an advantage against the Black Guard, and to free our Empress.”
Simmons held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa. Just a minute there. How did we get from finding schematics to rescuing the Empress?”
“Surely that is the logical extrapolation of our conversation, Mr Simmons?”
“What?” Simmons shook his head, pointing at Josiah. “Hold on. You’re coming out with all this talk of conspiracy, and I’ve yet to see any real evidence that supports any of this.”
“But Simmons.” Even Bazalgette had turned on him now. “You must see this makes sense. Your involvement with locating Rosie, leading to Cooper and his bizarre death. The watches and Dent, and those four fellows trying to create an imposter to take over from the Empress? I agree, it’s not empirical, but by God, if it isn’t true, then it’s the biggest coincidence I’ve ever come across.”
“Et tu, Bazalgette?” Simmons said, but the fight had left him. Deep down, he felt responsible for Cooper’s death and Pinkett the undertaker. If what Rosie had said was true, then the Black Guard had duped him into leading them to her. Cooper had been just more impetus to force his investigation on, to draw them closer to their real quarry. They had taken him for a prize fool.
“Damned Black Guard,” he said under his breath. “Don’t make me regret this.”
16
A maid served refreshments, pouring the tea before leaving. Rosie rejoined the others at the octagonal table as they continued their discussion.
“So,” Simmons said, “do we know where Dent is being held?”
Josiah’s gears and cogs whirred. “Yes, he’s in the Tower.”
“There’s nothing as exciting as breaking into a stronghold of the Black Guard,” Simmons said, his sarcasm seemed lost on the others. “So how do you expe
ct us to break into a royal prison that’s protected by half of the military in the city?”
“Perhaps you will need to rely on your wit and guile, Mr Simmons. I am a master of knowledge gathering and artifice. I fear I am lacking in the arts of breaking and entering.”
“Do you have information about Dent’s location within the Tower? It’s a large place, all but impossible to locate him going door to door.”
“Quite so. My sources have informed me there has been mention of the Black Cells. Now I must be straight with you. I have not heard the name before, and so far details elude me as to their whereabouts.”
Simmons sighed, looking across the table to Bazalgette for any hint of inspiration, but he shrugged his shoulders, unable to add to the conversation. It was Rosie who perked up. “What about the Ravenmaster?” She looked at Josiah. “He might know something.”
“Indeed he might,” Josiah said. “Well done, my dear, he may be exactly who we need to crack this particular nut.”
“Who is this Ravenmaster?” Simmons asked.
“He is a man of uncommon talents and surrounds himself with birds of every variety,” Josiah said. “If you pardon the pun, they flock to him in their hundreds, be they crow, bloodshriek, razorbill and even the ravens themselves. He has a talent, and they seem to follow him.”
“What? All of them?” Simmons asked. “Most of the birds around London are a menace, and the ones Fogside can be deadly.”
Josiah’s eyes narrowed. “That may be true in most cases, but he’s not called the Ravenmaster without reason.”
“I was wondering about that,” Bazalgette said, “especially when you mentioned the Tower.”
“Ah, yes, Mr Bazalgette. It is not merely a name he has taken a fancy to. It was his role. Before the war, he was a yeoman warder at the Tower of London, responsible for the royal ravens, and hence the name. He has an affinity with the great birds, and they, in return, appear to keep their avian brethren in line. Well, for him at least.”
“So as an ex-yeoman warder, he would be privy to the inner workings of the Tower,” Simmons said, “and may have information about the Black Cells. So, where do we find him?”
“He’s taken up residence at St Olaves, the old asylum on the edge of Southwark Park,” said Rosie. She screwed her face up. “It’s not a safe place to visit. The whole park is swarming with birds and making things worse, it’s disputed territory between the Red Hands and the Elephant and Castle gangs.”
“Why isn’t anything ever easy?” Simmons asked.
Rosie continued. “Well, the gangs used to fight over the area, but it’s quiet now. Too many fights spilt over close to the asylum, and the birds didn’t take kindly to it. The body count got so bad that both gangs gave up on it and avoid the park now. If they want to have a bit of a do, they go further north or south of the place.”
“What, the gangs ran away from a few crows?” Bazalgette asked.
Rosie smiled. “Those razorbills are aptly named. I’ve seen a flock of those bastards tear hard men to shreds in seconds, all while the other birds laughed and cawed from the trees.”
“So what’s the best route to Southwark Park from here, boat?” asked Simmons.
“Yes, you’ll need someone good. The waterways are treacherous around there.”
“Like Isaac?”
“Yes,” she replied with a smile, “someone exactly like Isaac.”
While Rosie went to organise the waterman, Bazalgette had taken the time to view the clocks. Simmons didn’t mind Bazalgette’s obsession with the place. It allowed him to speak with Josiah alone.
“How may I help you, Mr Simmons?” Josiah asked as Simmons entered the octagonal room. The door had been ajar, and he wasn’t one to wait for an invitation. “It’s funny you should ask. I’ve been thinking.”
Josiah smiled. “Always a tricky business that, leads to all kinds of trouble.”
“Yes, but as I am helping you with this endeavour, it only seems fair…”
“Ah. Is it that time already? Do you not feel it is your duty to help our beloved Empress?”
“Of course it is,” Simmons replied.
“I did not mean to impugn your honour, Mister Simmons. It was just my twisted attempt at humour. It would seem reasonable I offer you something in return for your generous aid. What is it you wish?”
“I’m looking for a man named Maddox,” Simmons said. “He has been elusive.”
“And you thought I might know of him?”
“You pride yourself on your network of information, you said so yourself.”
“That I did. Yes, I know John Maddox.”
“I have a contract for his capture.”
“In what state do you intend to recover him?”
“He killed three police officers, so the constabulary is understandably upset. They’d prefer him in one piece so they can stretch his neck in public. But they won’t shed too many tears if I come back with his head in a bag.”
A long silence filled the space between them. The only sound came from the slow ticking of the clocks around the room and the occasional whir and click of Josiah’s complex mechanisms.
“As you wish,” Josiah said, breaking the tranquillity. “I will give you the information you desire when you return with the schematics. It is but a small thing compared to what you are undertaking for me.”
“Right,” Simmons said. He’d expected it would require more hard bargaining. “With that settled, I’ll be on my way then.”
“Good luck, Mr Simmons.”
As he left the room, he almost barged straight into Bazalgette stood just outside the door. “What the—”
“Sorry,” Bazalgette said, moving to the side, “but you’ve got to see this, it’s amazing.”
“Have you been eavesdropping all this time?”
“No,” Bazalgette said. “I arrived a few minutes ago and could hear that you were in discussion with Josiah so I thought I’d wait until you finished.
“So, how much did you overhear?”
Bazalgette dropped his eyes to inspect the floor like some schoolboy caught red-handed with his fingers in the biscuit tin. “All of it really. This Maddox fellow doesn’t sound like a pleasant chap. Who is he?”
Simmons chuckled. “He’s a nasty piece of work who needs bringing to justice. I’ve been trying to track him down for some time.”
“Oh. Fair enough. So you’ll bring him back alive then?”
Simmons didn’t answer. “So what was all this I needed to see so urgently?”
Bazalgette opened his eyes wide, mouth equally so. “You’ll never believe what I just found. Come on, it’s incredible.”
He scuttled down the stairs, beckoning Simmons to follow.
“Southwark Park,” Isaac said as he guided the boat west through the narrow streets. “Now that’s a place I don’t get to visit often.”
“Do you know anything about the asylum?” Simmons asked, warming his hands on the stove they all huddled around at the stern.
“The Infirmary you mean? St Olaves.”
“They described it to us as an asylum,” Bazalgette said.
“Folk might describe it that way. But they called it The Infirmary, probably to avoid the stigma asylum brings. I suppose it’s the same thing. It was for those who couldn’t cope with the realities of life. There was quite a few servicemen took there in its heyday, struggling with what they’d experienced while at war.” Isaac fell quiet for a second. “Along with all the other lunatics, of course.”
“We need to get inside to see this Ravenmaster,” Simmons said.
“Good luck with that. I’ve heard he’s well suited to that place, if you know what I mean.” Isaac’s tone was conspiratorial, and he took a quick look around before whispering. “They say he speaks with the birds, and they tell him secrets from across the city.”
Bazalgette stifled a short laugh and whispered. “Why are you whispering?”
Isaac tapped one finger to his nose. “They’re b
loody everywhere, ain’t they? They might be listening.”
“Good God, man. You’re not serious, are you?” Simmons asked.
“Shh.” Isaac’s voice carried a slight tremor. “There’s no point upsetting them, is there? The ravens abandoned the tower during the war and look at us now - the kingdom’s fallen just like they said it would. And where did they all go? To him, weren’t it?”
Simmons shook his head. “Superstitious claptrap. They left because the damned Martians were blowing the hell out of London.”
“Yeah, but it don’t matter now, do it? You can believe what you want, and I’ll believe what I want. But the kingdom, in my humble opinion, is well and truly knackered, and the ravens seem to be doing just dandy. So I’m hedging my bets.”
Isaac picked up his tin mug of coffee and skulked away to lean on the tiller. Simmons pondered on where he found such excellent beans. Perhaps he had the same contacts as Mrs C?
“Don’t be too harsh on him, Simmons,” Bazalgette said. “Everyone has been through a lot, and they take comfort in what they can. Superstition, Religion, Family. I lose myself in my work.”
“I understand that, we’ve all lost someone,” Simmons said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Does it even matter anymore?”
“Look, we weathered the storm and survived against all the odds during the invasion. Britain is slowly getting back on its feet. Now’s the time to put our support in the right places and not let corruption rot the hearts of good people. If someone has replaced Victoria, then we must do something, whatever we can to restore her to power so she can lead us into a bright new future.”
Simmons sighed, he seemed to do that a lot recently. “You’re right, Bazalgette. I know it deep down, I’m just so tired. Sometimes I wake and wish it could go back to how it was before the war, but that’s a foolish man’s dream.”
“It doesn’t have to be foolish. If we stop dreaming, we cease to explore the boundless possibilities. It’s like Josiah said, we need to walk up to that precipice and leap in, feet first. If we are unwilling to take great risks, then we can never expect to achieve anything of true value.”