by Joseph Gatch
As he had said, the fog seemed to be lifting. Instead of vague outlines in the mist, they could now see vague shadows and blurs.
“I’m surprised that this city can operate under such conditions,” commented Phineas. “They must know these streets like the backs of their hands…that is, when they can see their hands.”
“I doubt it’s like this all the time,” said Abigail.
“It pretty much is, mum,” the cabbie answered. “Our hearin’s pretty good too.” The hansom pulled to a stop. “Well, here we are. This is as far as we can go.”
Phineas stepped out and looked around. The street ended abruptly into a vast downward slope. The hole disappeared into the fog, and he couldn’t see how far it went. “Excuse me? Where is our hotel?”
“The address you gave me is about a half a mile in there, though it ain’t there no more. Nuthin’ is. It’s just one big hole now,” said the cabbie.
“What happened?” Abigail queried as she looked out the window.
“Dunno. One minute it was there, the next…‘pfft’…gone. People around here says there was a flash o’ light when it happened. No sound or nuthin’. Just ‘pfft’…gone.”
Phineas examined the edge of the hole. It was completely clean and smooth, not ragged like one would expect with an explosion. It was free of debris as well. He could make out a sewer system, which opened up into the hole, spilling its waste into the basin. Closest to the edge, he could make out the remains of basements, neatly cleaved in two. Furniture, stairs, crates…even a stain of blood where a person had been standing when the event occurred.
“Poor bugger,” the cabbie said when he noticed where Phineas was looking. “Had his legs chopped right off, he did. Nuthin’ left but a couple a’ legs, his shoes, and half his knickers.”
The sun suddenly forced its way through the clouds, quickly burning off the fog. Before their eyes, a giant crater appeared, perfectly round, as if this part of the city had been scooped out from the face of the earth.
“What could possibly have done this?” posed William.
“I don’t know, but someone owes me a refund.”
All three looked at Phineas.
“Hundreds of people are dead…and that’s all you can think about?” asked Abigail.
“It was a large deposit,” replied Phineas. “Who’s responsible for this?” he asked the cabbie.
“Dunno. As far as I heard, no one’s claimed to have done this.”
“Well, who might know?”
The cabbie scratched his head. “Scotland Yard, maybe. They knows all that goes on in the city, at least they like to think they do.”
“Then take us to Scotland Yard…and be quick about it.”
Phineas and friends stood outside Scotland Yard after the cabbie had unceremoniously thrown their bags off the hansom roof and tore off down the road, cursing and finishing with, “…and take a bath; ya smell like a bucket o’ whitefish!”
“You didn’t tip him, did you?” asked William.
“Of course not. He was paid for his services, which was far more than one would expect for a hansom ride,” Phineas responded.
“You’ll never learn. Why don’t we just go find another hotel? Why are we even here?”
“We’re here to find out how to get my money back,” said Phineas.
“Can’t we do that after we’ve cleaned up?” asked Abigail. “He’s right. We do smell like whitefish.”
“No,” Phineas said as he stomped into the building. He marched up to the first officer he saw. “Who do I see about a theft?” The officer thumbed him to the left, where there was a sign on a door proclaiming it to be the robbery-theft-forgery division. Phineas went inside and a few moments later, was pushed back out the door by a very large detective. “What do you mean ‘no recourse’?” Phineas said.
“It means that we can’t help you. Good day, sir.” The detective slammed the door behind him with a resounding thud.
“No luck?” asked Abigail.
“None. He said that since my money wasn’t actually stolen, I don’t have a case for them to look into.”
“Then let’s go find another hotel,” Abigail responded, a bit too jovially.
“If I can’t get my money back from the owners, then I’ll get it from whoever blew up Whitechapel,” Phineas stated.
A young female constable, hardly older than Phineas, looked up from some files that she was reading. “Did you lose someone in the business down on the east end?”
“Not someone…three hundred dollars in a hotel deposit,” brooded Phineas.
“That’s a lot of money, but there are no hotels in that area.”
“Of course there are.” Phineas pulled out the brochure from the hotel and handed it to the woman. “Here it is, on Osborn Street.”
The woman looked it over. “This is from 1832…there hasn’t been a hotel there in over thirty years. That location is a…” she looked around and lowered her voice, “a house of ill repute…if you get my meaning.”
“You sent three hundred dollars to a whore house? That’s where we were going to stay?” said Abigail, a bit too loudly.
Phineas cringed. “How was I supposed to know? I wrote them letters. They responded very nicely, it seemed legitimate…I DIDN’T KNOW!”
“Why would you pay three hundred dollars for a hotel?” asked the constable. “Nothing is that expensive around here, especially in Whitechapel. Why, one of the women would only cost you—”
“I get the point,” said Phineas.
“Why would you spend that much on a hotel? You never spend more than what you think is a fair price,” asked Abigail.
“Well, I wanted to make the trip memorable for you…” started Phineas.
“And it hasn’t already been?” cut in Abigail.
“I am Constable Arabella Fuller, by the way,” the young constable interjected. “I have been looking into the destruction since it happened. I was just outside the area when it occurred. It was…impossible, to say the least.”
“But it was possible. It happened,” retorted Phineas. “So, how dedicated are you to looking into this? Any leads?”
“Not really. It is more of a godsend to the people of the city. The wastrels are gone, no one rich died, no one cares.”
“Someone must care…besides me. Isn’t anyone up to the challenge?” asked Phineas.
“There is one. That gentleman over there…and his associate,” said Constable Fuller.
“You mean the one in the funny hat?”
“It’s called a deerstalker. They wear them out in the country,” said William. “What? I read up on the customs before we came.”
“He’s also the greatest detective in London…in the world even,” said Constable Fuller.
“Would he be interested in looking into it for us?”
“I don’t think so. He is already working on a big missing persons case. A housekeeper claims that her master has disappeared, but that gentleman who they are talking to claims that the man, his friend, built a time machine and went into the future. Preposterous, isn’t it?”
“I’ve heard worse. Well, I’m sure the gentleman will catch up to his friend eventually. So, there is no one who can help me?” asked Phineas.
“I might be persuaded to keep at it. This is the type of case that could make me inspector. If you come up with anything, just call the Yard and ask for me. In the meantime,” she wrote something on a card and handed it to Phineas, “here is the address of a real hotel. You can get cleaned up there.”
“Thank you. We’ll be in touch,” Abigail said, pulling Phineas by the coat sleeve.
“What’s your hurry?” Phineas asked as soon as they were out the door.
“My hurry? Besides getting clean, I thought it better that we get out of there before you end up married. Again,” snipped Abigail.
“What?”
“She was flirting with you, and I will not have you go and do something stupid again.”
“That�
�s a full time job,” muttered William. “So, are you finished with this nonsense?”
“Hardly,” Phineas said. “If no one else can solve this, then it’s up to us to find out who destroyed my deposit…and part of London. That detective said something to his companion on his way out, and I think that it fits for us as well. Patterson…the game is afoot!”
“Oh, brother,” muttered Abigail. “Just hail us a cab and get us to the hotel.”
EPISODE
3
“I still can’t believe that you booked us a stay at a Madame’s house,” Abigail scorned as they ate their lunch in a small pub next to their new hotel. “Just wait until Mrs. Popkiss finds out about this one.”
“Tell her and you will be walking home,” said Phineas. “I have enough to deal with right now without incurring her wrath.”
Abigail sniffed her arms. “I soaked in the bath for an hour, and I still smell like fish. Atlantis just made my list of places not to revisit.”
Phineas took a drink from his mug and immediately spit it out, much to Abigail and William’s chagrin. “What the…? This is tea! Where’s the coffee that I ordered?” he said loudly.
“Oh dear, here we go,” Abigail muttered.
The waitress, a plump, elderly lady, waddled over to their table. “Is there somethin’ wrong, dearie?”
“Yes, there is something wrong. I specifically ordered coffee…this is tea! Is this all you serve in this accursed country? Everywhere…it is tea…tea…TEA!”
The waitress scowled and snatched the mug from his grasp. “I’ll fix it right up.” As she entered the kitchen, William overheard her say, “Burn some toast, Danny, and run some hot water through it.”
“Well, there’s another native that you’ve alienated,” William said. He flipped through the paper that he was reading. “Here’s something interesting: ‘Citizens of Thebes, Egypt, awoke to a mechanical plague crossing half the city. Buildings had been transformed into mechanical works of art, and citizens within the affected area have also been transformed into human/mechanical hybrids. Many are calling it a curse’. Hmm. Interesting.”
“Yes, interesting, but it has nothing to do with us,” Phineas said, tapping his fork on his plate in anticipation of his coffee.
William turned a few more pages. “Now this might be something…it’s in the classified section. ‘Attention citizens. A demonstration of my power will be conducted at two in the morning. After that, you have three days to submit all control of this nation to me. Failure to do so will result in another demonstration’. This paper is from three days ago, the day before Whitechapel disappeared.”
“It’s right there in black and white. So we have until the end of the day to find this guy before he wipes out another part of the city. Doesn’t anyone read the papers in this country?” said Phineas, eagerly looking around for his coffee.
“They probably can’t see it through the soot,” said William, wiping the paper. “It’s not signed, but it is a start. Someone must know who placed the ad.”
“Just what type of moron places an ad in the paper when he wants to take over a nation?” Phineas snapped. “Why not deliver his demands to the Queen or Parliament or whoever’s in charge around here?”
“To spread fear, I suppose. Get the public to do the work for you,” answered William.
“Then why blow them up? They’re no good to you if they don’t exist. Besides, I’d just get angry at the one trying to kill us all. This country makes absolutely no sense to me.”
“Your coffee, sir,” the waitress said as she slammed the mug down on the table in front of Phineas, startling him.
“Thank you,” Phineas said as he wiped some splashes from his coat. He took a sip, pursed his lips and added sugar.
“How is it?” asked William.
“Tastes like burnt toast.”
“Strange.”
“Yes.”
William got up from the table. “I’m going to see if there are any current papers for sale; maybe there’s something new about this guy in them.”
“Don’t stray off too far; you’ll get lost in the fog,” Phineas said as William left.
“So, what are we going to do today?” asked Abigail eagerly after a few moments of silence.
“Today, we will go to the paper’s office and see if anyone knows who placed that ad,” replied Phineas.
She rolled her eyes. “Are you serious? We are in a foreign land, in one of its greatest cities, full of culture and history and art, and you want to go to a newspaper office?” Abigail said, glaring across the table at him.
“Why, yes. How else am I going to get my money back? This is the best lead…” Phineas was cut off by several screams from outside the pub. People ran by in a panic, and one woman entered the door, panting.
“A monster! Rampaging through the streets!” she yelled and then ran off.
“A monster? William went in that direction, didn’t he?” asked Phineas. “William! Oh my! I have to go!” Phineas wiped his mouth, threw down the napkin, and bolted for the door, leaving Abigail all alone. The waitress, upon hearing the commotion, came over with a puzzled look.
“What’s the meaning of all this, sweetie?” she asked.
Abigail looked up at her and opened her pocket book. “The meaning, ma’am, is that since I’m the last one left, you are lucky enough to get a tip for your troubles.”
Phineas ran down the street, fighting pedestrians who were rushing in the opposite direction. Further along, he came across overturned vehicles, smashed signs, and windows…total carnage. He feared the worst: that William had transformed once again. Through smoke and haze, he caught sight of a figure twice the size of a normal man, hulking in stature.
“William!” Phineas shouted. “William Patterson! You are to calm down this instant!” The figure stopped and slowly turned around. “Do you hear me? You stop this nonsense this instant or so help me, I will tesla you until you are a writhing puddle of jelly on these filthy London streets!” In reality, Phineas was shaking in his boots, knowing full well that he had nothing to follow through with on his threats. Completely unarmed, he had no way of subduing his friend and prayed that rationalizing with him would work this time. He had no desire to end up a smear on the pavement. “William, do you hear me?” Phineas shouted again.
“Of course I can hear you. The whole city can hear you. Why the devil are you carrying on like this?” came William’s voice from behind Phineas.
Phineas slowly turned his head to see William standing not two feet away, holding a newspaper and a bag in one hand and a pastry in the other.
“If you’re here…then who is that?” asked Phineas.
William looked around Phineas. “I don’t know, but he’s coming this way. Big fellow, isn’t he?” he said calmly.
Phineas turned around and came face to face with the biggest man he had ever seen. The giant bent down, took a cigar from his mouth, and blew a huge cloud of smoke into Phineas’ face. Phineas held his breath for as long as he could and then coughed.
“You were saying something about tesla-ing me?” the giant said.
“Um…I’m sorry. I thought that you were someone else. Easy mistake. Pay it no mind. I really don’t know what to say, Mr…um…?”
“Hyde,” the giant said, “and I think that the word that you are looking for is ‘run’.”
“Run?”
Mr. Hyde nodded. “Run.”
EPISODE
4
“Run!”
Phineas and William turned quickly and took off as fast as their legs could carry them. Weaving around the destruction that he had passed the first time, Phineas finally saw their hotel and pulled William inside. They doubled over, panting, and soon they were on the floor laughing for no apparent reason.
“Run? That was your plan this time?” William asked.
“It wasn’t my idea. I took it from the guy whose fist was bigger than your belly. You dropped your pastries, by the way.”
“Casualties of war; but I did keep the paper,” said William triumphantly.
“Anything in there from our terrorist?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
Phineas looked at him. “Then why is that a good thing?”
“Because it has a nice recipe for Shepherd’s Pie.”
“You are incorrigible,” Phineas said, shaking his head.
The bellhop approached them and looked down his nose at the two men sitting on the floor. “The lady left this for you,” he said, handing Phineas a slip of paper. “She has already tipped me. She wanted me to tell you that.”
Phineas made a face at the bellhop and waved him off.
“What does it say?” asked William.
Phineas unfolded the note. “It says, ‘Jerks, go do your thing. I’ll be enjoying myself. A’.”
“She doesn’t sound happy. You should get her some flowers or something,” William advised.
“I’ll make it up to her when this is over. For now,” he grunted as he stood up, “let’s get to that paper’s office.” Phineas peered out the front window. “Looks like tall, dark, and scary is gone. Let’s go.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but we are not in the habit of divulging our clients’ identities.” The lanky clerk behind the counter looked down at Phineas. He couldn’t have been older than twenty, but his ink-stained, calloused fingers showed that he had been working in the print house for several years, probably having been apprenticed at an early age.
Phineas turned his head slightly, mesmerized by the size of the young man’s nose, which reminded him of a parrot’s beak.
“Isn’t there any way that you can tell us? This is a matter of life and death…and money. The man who placed that ad blew up part of the city,” said Phineas, trying to appeal to the clerk’s sense of morality. “How do you drink coffee with that thing?” he added, completely destroying any headway that he might have made.