The Adventures of Phineas Frakture

by Joseph Gatch

  Phineas staggered backwards and put his hands to his nose, readjusting the break. “Ow,” he muttered when the door reopened. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? That’s what I would like to know. When I got back, Abigail had been crying herself silly. I had to do damage control, again, for the last two hours. Then she told me how concerned you were about me yesterday when you heard that there was a monster loose in the city, and went looking for me. And it dawned on me. You weren’t yelling my name to find me yesterday, you were yelling at that Hyde character because you thought that he was me. Weren’t you? What happened to me in Atlantis? Did I turn into something like that? Were you afraid that I was going to hurt people? Why didn’t you tell me that it was that bad?”

  Phineas looked at the carpet and scuffed his heel against what he thought was the most hideous print that he had ever seen. “I didn’t want you to worry about your condition, and yes, it was that bad…worse,” said Phineas.

  “And that’s why you shot me with the tesla rifle? Not because I was in the way?”

  “Yes.”

  William pondered the truth for a moment. “I need some time,” he said, closing the door on his friend.

  Phineas sighed and, given there was little else to be done, left the hotel. He headed for the pub and sat down at the bar.

  “You look like you need the hard stuff, mister,” the bartender said.

  Phineas motioned for him to pour, and the bartender put down a glass of scotch in front of him.

  “Rough day?” asked a young gentleman seated next to him.

  “Rough week. Airship destroyed by air kraken, fought off mutated squid men and shark thing, hotel blown up, robbed by butlers, girlfriend won’t talk to me, best friend hates me, and I can’t pay for my hotel let alone pay for this drink,” said Phineas, whereupon the bartender took the glass from his hand. Phineas sighed and let his head drop to the bar top.

  “That’s all right, it’s on me,” the gentleman said, passing a coin to the bartender. “The name’s Harker, Jonathan Harker. I’m a solicitor by profession. It sounds like you have my problems beat, but it seems that we both have women troubles. Mine is listless and acts as if she is under a spell of some sort. And just before this happened, her best friend died of mysterious circumstances with similar symptoms.”

  “I can recommend a few doctors if you would like. I’ve seen plenty this past day,” said Phineas.

  “That’s all right,” Harker said, finishing his drink. “We have the best looking after her now; which reminds me, I have to be getting back to her. Good luck to you, sir.”

  “You too,” Phineas replied as the man left.

  “Look, chap,” said a voice from the other side of Phineas, “what you’ve got to do is make your presence known. Don’t be one of the empty masses that sit aside and does nothing. Stand up and show them that you’re here and take charge. Be the bigger man and fix what’s broken. That’s what they want, someone to lead them. And if you don’t do it, who will?”

  “You know? You’re right. You’re absolutely…where are you?” Phineas looked over at the man who was talking; however, there was no one sitting near him. A glass on top of the bar suddenly levitated, tipped over, and the contents spilled out only to disappear in mid-air.

  “I’m right here. Don’t feel bad; people don’t notice me much,” a disembodied voice said. “Griffin’s the name. Pleased to meet you…mister?”

  “Frakture, Professor Phineas Frakture.”

  “Ah, a fellow scholar. Well, Professor Frakture. I don’t know about where you come from, but around here, it’s impolite to not shake hands when offered.”

  Phineas arched an eyebrow and held out his hand. He felt someone grasp it and pump it several times. When it was released, Phineas took a long drink and sighed. “Aren’t there any normal people in this city?”

  EPISODE

  6

  Phineas staggered his way back to the hotel after an all-day drinking binge with a man who wasn’t there, talking about scientific theories and engineering. Surprisingly, Griffin was of higher-than-average intelligence, having created an invisibility formula by himself; his morals left something to be desired, though. Phineas had wondered where the man kept his money until he had caught the man relieving others of their wallets. That’s when he thanked him for the drinks and took his leave of the transparent thief.

  Upon entering the hotel, Phineas was accosted by a soot-covered newsboy who waved a paper in his face.

  “Oy, guv’nor! Don’cha want ta read about the mad scientist’s demands?” the boy shouted after him when Phineas pushed his way past.

  “What mad scientist?” Phineas asked, quickly turning.

  “The one that’s got all the bombs aroun’ the city.”

  “And what’s he want?”

  “The country, of course. He’s holdin’ us all fer ransom. Hey! Aren’t you gunna buy a paper?”

  “Why should I? You just told me the story,” said Phineas.

  “Bloody Americans,” muttered the boy.

  “Watch your mouth,” shouted back Phineas. “And go to school. You’re in England; learn how to speak English properly.”

  “You should talk, Yank. Can barely unnerstan’ yer accent.”

  Phineas kept walking, wishing that he had his tesla rod to zap the little bugger and teach him some manners. When he opened the door to his room, he found Constable Fuller, William, Abigail, and a man wearing a cheap tweed suit.

  “Where have you been?” asked William. “We’ve been waiting hours for you.”

  “Next door, having a drink…or eight. I was giving you space, like you asked,” Phineas answered, his words tinged with a bit of spite.

  “Well, we’ve had enough space. There’s a crisis right now.”

  “And this affects me how?” asked Phineas, plopping himself into an armchair.

  Fuller stepped forward. “Professor Frakture, this is Inspector Morrisey from the Yard. He will explain.”

  The man in tweed started pacing. “Since you disarmed the last bomb—”

  “Oh, so now I disarmed it,” said Phineas.

  “…yes, since you disarmed the bomb, and this ‘Doctor M’ knows that you did—don’t ask me how-—he has upped his game, so to speak. He delivered a new ultimatum to the paper today. He states that if you, personally, do not issue an apology to him, he will detonate four bombs at midnight tonight.”

  “No,” Phineas said flatly.

  Morrisey’s jaw dropped. “But…but…there are hundreds of lives at stake. How could you not—?”

  “I don’t apologize for stopping a bomb from blowing me to the afterlife. I don’t apologize for trying to find this man to get my money back, and quite frankly…I don’t apologize. Period.”

  “He doesn’t,” said William.

  “I’ve never heard one,” added Abigail.

  “But what are we to do?” asked Fuller.

  “What time is it?” asked Phineas.

  “Two minutes after six,” stated William.

  “That gives us just under six hours to find them and disarm them.”

  “You’re going to help us?” asked Morrisey.

  “I believe that was the implication that I was making. Besides, no one demands an apology from me and isn’t forced to regret it. First things first, get me some coffee…not that burnt toast they serve next door. Second, start spreading your men across the city to help locate and secure the bombs.”

  “And then?” asked Morrisey.

  “And then,” Phineas wrote something down on a piece of paper, “I want this.” He handed it to the inspector.

  Fully caffeinated and starting to feel more like himself, Phineas walked outside the hotel where a police wagon was parked in front. The look on his face was that of an instructor about to annihilate his students with an exam of monumental proportions as he approached the wagon and the inspector standing behind it.

  “Do you have it?�
�� Phineas asked.

  “It took some persuading, but the gentleman finally gave it up,” Morissey said, opening up the back of the wagon. Inside was a prototype of a personal roto-copter.

  “Where did you hear about this thing?” asked William, who was also waiting outside.

  “The last issue of Popular Mechanika had an article on it. I’ve been dying to try it out.”

  “You might just do that,” William said, examining the thing. “Why don’t you let Abigail fly it? She’s the pilot.”

  “But she doesn’t know how to diffuse a bomb,” Phineas replied. “Are your men spread out yet?” he asked the Inspector as he hauled the machine out of the wagon.

  “Reluctantly. They would rather find a place where there aren’t any bombs.”

  “What about person-to-person communications?”

  “That is strictly military. It hasn’t trickled down to the civilian sector yet,” said Morrisey. “How do you plan to spot the bombs from above in this fog?”

  “Our good friend, Doctor M, is going to show me where they are,” said Phineas as he sat down and strapped himself into the copter.

  “What? Why would he do that?” Fuller asked as she approached with Abigail.

  “His blinking lights,” replied Phineas. “Down here, in the fog, we can’t really see them until we are close, but from above the light disperses into the fog much farther. It will be a beacon guiding me right to them.”

  “Are you sure that you can fly this thing?” asked William.

  “We’ll soon find out. Get clear.” Phineas started up the rotor and planted his feet on the pedals used to steer the contraption. He gripped the handles that protruded from the armrests of the seat and took a deep breath as he pushed the throttle forward. The tiny steam engine behind him began chugging faster. The rotor sped up, and he felt the device lifting off of the ground.

  A quick bout of panic sent him careening towards the hotel, where the rotor sliced off a banner that was hanging out front, whipping it through the air.

  “Sorry!” Phineas shouted. He regained control and shot upwards.

  “There goes the bravest man I know,” said Fuller, gazing up at the receding copter.

  “And if you ever kiss him again,” said Abigail, “I will remove your lips with a Resonant Dingulerator. Understand?”

  Fuller glared at her. “Quite.”

  Once he was clear of the buildings, Phineas soon got the hang of the copter. Below, the gaslights twinkled through the fog, mirroring the stars above. He inhaled deeply and coughed violently in the cleaner air. Phineas pulled out a map of London as he hovered and took his bearings as best he could, searching for the most likely spots that the bombs would be placed.

  He didn’t have to wait for long.

  There was a change in the pattern of lights down below. One started to give off a greenish glow and then started blinking on and off. Then he saw another several miles away and then, still another. Phineas gave whoever left the bombs enough time to leave before he descended and then swooped in on the first light. To his delight, there was one of the bombs sitting in an alley, waiting to go off. There wasn’t enough room to land between the buildings, so he dropped at the alley mouth, turned off the copter, and raced into the alley.

  The configuration of the bomb was slightly different than the last one, and it took him longer than he liked to diffuse it. Cutting a gap in the wires long enough so that they couldn’t be reattached, Phineas then ran back to the copter where he found several people looking at it.

  “Excuse me,” he said, pushing his way to the pilot’s seat.

  “Hey, wot do ya think yer doin’,” demanded a very large man who was examining the boiler.

  “Sorry, no time to talk…”

  “He’s a bloody yank!” exclaimed an old woman. “Probably here to spy on us!”

  The big one grabbed Phineas’ coat in a meaty fist. “That right? You a spy? Let’s show ‘em what we does ta spies aroun’ here.”

  “I am not a spy, and I really need to leave. Now if you will all just step back…”

  “What’s going on?” shouted a man coming out of the fog. A constable appeared, rapping his billy-club along the building’s wall.

  “Officer,” said Phineas, “the first bomb is in that alley.” The mention of the bomb suddenly sent the small crowd in every direction. “It’s been disarmed, but it needs to be secured.”

  “Ah, you’re that Frakture fellow we were told about. Nice contraption. You off to find the next one?”

  “I was until those hoodlums stopped me.”

  “Ah, they’re nothing to worry about. Just some folks out looking for fun,” said the constable.

  “Their fun has cost me some valuable time. If you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way now,” Phineas replied testily as he started the engine.

  The copter took to the air once more. The next two bombs were easier than the first to disarm; however, the distance between them caused delay. Phineas looked at his watch and found that there was only twenty minutes left until midnight. He pushed the throttle and felt the engine sputter slightly.

  “Not now,” he muttered, hoping that the engine had enough fuel to make it to the last bomb. He finally spotted the blinking light and set the copter into a controlled dive towards it. Phineas was unbelted and out of the machine by the time it touched down. Hurriedly, he opened the casing of the last bomb.

  “What the hell?”

  The bomb was empty. It was nothing but a dummy.

  Phineas checked his watch. Five minutes until midnight. Quickly, he returned to the copter and started it. The engine sputtered a couple of times and died. He tried again and again, until the fifth time, it finally started, and Phineas jammed the throttle forward, sending the copter straight up. He went as high as he dared and started scanning for any more blinking lights. Off in the distance, he saw one just as it started blinking faster and faster.

  Phineas felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watched helplessly from above. There was a flash of light, and a two mile diameter stretch of London disappeared—buildings, people, fog and all. From on high, Phineas watched as the surrounding fog crept in until it covered the decimated area.

  There was an odd sound following the occurrence, and Phineas raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll be damned. It does go ‘phht’!”

  EPISODE

  7

  Within a matter of minutes, sweet victory had turned into a bitter defeat as the fourth bomb went off. Phineas hadn’t expected such a turn of events, being confident in his ability to stop the bombs. He felt mocked by the dummy bomb, its presence a slap in the face to his ego.

  He looked down at the fog, closing over ground zero like a scab covering a wound. There was nothing more that he could do here, so Phineas turned the copter back towards the hotel. But, as luck would have it, injury was added to insult as the rotor’s engine sputtered and died.

  “Aw, crap,” Phineas muttered. The copter spiraled downwards, picking up speed as it did. Phineas had some control of direction, though not much, and guided the craft towards a gap between two buildings. The propeller caught on the edges of the rooftops, jarring the craft to a sudden stop and suspending him twenty feet above the pavement. Phineas looked down at the alley below and then up at the rotors. There was a groan and the blades collapsed, snapping from the central hub. The blades scraped along the brickwork as the copter slid to the ground. Phineas felt the impact up and down his spine when the copter hit the ground, rattling his teeth.

  “I hope they didn’t tell that guy who would be responsible for this thing,” Phineas said to himself. He unstrapped the harness and unsteadily climbed out of what used to be a perfectly good roto-copter.

  “Oy! Keep it down out there!” a woman’s voice yelled from above.

  Phineas just gave an effortless wave as he stumbled out of the alley, leaving the smoking craft behind. He wasn’t too far from the dummy bomb, so he decided to take another look at it, h
oping it would give some clue as to Doctor M’s identity.

  It vexed him to no end that this ‘doctor’ had set out a decoy. Whatever happened to honor among madmen? It was as if the man had known Phineas would go out to stop the bombs. The time to disarm them was calculated specifically for one man to race around by air and hit only four…no more. He was dealing with someone who thought just like himself; and if Phineas were trying to irritate someone like himself, and he had been thwarted to this degree, his next step would be…

  Phineas opened the bomb case again and probed with his hand. Inside, stuck to the interior wall, was a card.

  ‘Nice try, professor, but predictable.

  Abigail sends her best.’

  -M

  Phineas fell back and sat on the cobblestones. As he inhaled deeply, a shiver ran down his spine. He should have seen this, he thought, should have looked five steps ahead instead of one. And now, she was in the madman’s clutches. He knew that for certain without any other verification. Phineas ran his fingers through his hair and wiped away a tear from his eye. He needed to get back to the hotel and regroup his thoughts.

  A metal clanking sound echoed through the streets, and it soon became rhythmical, like soldiers marching in step. Phineas looked into the fog and sighed. “Step three: send something to kill me.”

  Through the mist, several armored figures marched towards him. At first glance, they looked like knights; however, they had boiler stacks jutting up from behind them, belching black smoke. Gaslight reflected off of metal and…bone. They were animated skeletons wearing armor! Were these the undead revenant soldiers that the I.S.S. Agent Thorne had spoken of at their last meeting?

  As they came closer, the lead soldier raised a sword and pointed it at Phineas. A tinny voice, coming from a speaker attached to its mouth, spoke out. “Kill him!”