“Would you like to greet them?” he said, looking as if he might agree to it for her sake. His Irish accent was back.
“I’m not sure,” she said. She didn’t want to see any crowds, but she was also aware that McCullen was taking her somewhere unfamiliar, dark and deserted, or nearly so. McCullen unlocked the door and held it for her.
“It’s inside,” he said.
“What is?”
“Come and see.” He had the look of a boy who was about to present a gift that he had made himself.
“No, I think I need to get back to Mr. Connor. He’ll be looking for me.”
“I would say that you should invite him along, but I need to be getting inside immediately. But as a fellow time traveler, I think you will find this most intriguing.”
“Do you have a way to get home?” she asked.
He gave her a sorrowful look and then reached to touch her cheek. The intimacy of the movement made her jerk back.
“I’m sorry,” he pulled his hand away.
The church bells rang out twelve times. Midnight.
“Do what you like,” he said. “But I would welcome your company.” He slipped into the cathedral, leaving the door ajar.
He had given her a choice. Someone bent on harming her would not have done so, would he? And whatever was inside the cathedral was more important to him than doing anything to her. Besides, she had been the one to approach him to become Queen of the Mardi Gras, not the other way around. And he had been nothing if not solicitous and polite all evening. He had told her about his past and seemed so pleased to have discovered another time traveler, even one born decades after he had been. It felt ungrateful to decline his invitation to go inside. He seemed so alone.
She did not sense danger. And she needed to see what McCullen was doing. If Seamus was right and it was something nefarious, she might be able to stop it. But if she went looking for Seamus, then whatever McCullen had planned would proceed unhindered.
She grabbed up her skirts and ran upstairs. McCullen had made it easy for her to follow, as he had left a door open at the top of the stairs and another at the end of a short hall. Another set of steps rose from this floor, old, rickety and narrow. They were also nearly vertical. So the cathedral had an attic. The hatch at the top stood open, and as she poked her head through, McCullen appeared and offered his hand. She took it and he helped her through the hatch and then kicked it closed.
“I’m glad you came,” he said. “Now, if you will pardon me.”
From the slant of the ceiling, Felicia figured they were just under the roof. The attic held decades of junk and from the level of dust, it looked like the brothers did not come here often. Small screened holes dotted the tops of the walls, just under the line of the ceiling. They ran along the back and sides of the building, but not the front. They must be ventilation holes, screened to keep out rodents and birds.
McCullen hurried to the front wall of the cathedral where a large panel of wood leaned against the wall. He pushed it sideways just enough for them to pass through the opening it concealed. A wide chamber was beyond, spanning the entire width of the cathedral, though it was not very deep. The area was partially lit through the small screened holes under the eaves. The entire front of the attic must have been walled off at some point, and McCullen had made use of the unused space.
The chamber itself was empty, or nearly so, except for six enormous metal beams, each hinged like a knee, one at each corner and two more at the front and back of the room. The beams were thick, perhaps three feet in diameter.
Over their heads, like the body of a squatting spider, rose a hexagonal metal ship of some kind. It was covered in riveted panels of metal that gleamed, even in this low light. She couldn’t see the sides of it, but the rounded bottom had a closed hatch.
“What is this? Some kind of space ship?” she asked. The bottom of the thing resembled the bases of some of the early space capsules she had seen in a museum.
McCullen laughed, but then stopped, a question in his expression.
“We put men on the moon in 1969,” she said in answer.
He got a pleased and dreamy look. “Magnificent.”
“We’re right over the organ, aren’t we?” Felicia asked.
“Yes,” he said, without any hint of surprise. “You figured it out. The new engines allowed a much smaller organ. Just enough space was left over to conceal the legs of my machine.”
The crowd outside let out a cheer.
“It sounds like the automaton display has concluded,” he said. He shoved a nearby crate up under the hatch, jumped up and unlatched it. The door swung down and a set of steps slid down on a track.
“Ladies first,” McCullen said.
“Oh, no. I’m not going in that thing. Is it some kind of walking machine?”
“Yes. That is precisely what it is. But I must insist. If you stay here, you’ll be killed.”
“What? You’re going to kill people with that thing?”
“Of course not! I mean that if you remain in this room, you will certainly be killed.”
Without waiting for a response, he climbed up inside. Moments later, yellow light poured from the hatch and the thing gave a low, throbbing hum which rose in pitch and volume until the walls shook.
Felicia turned to run back through the attic, but at that moment, the machine’s knee joints straightened a few degrees and the ceiling cracked in several places as the body pressed against it. The walls and ceiling shook and Felicia remembered being in an earthquake when she was a child. It was all jerking movement and a rumble so low and loud that it had drowned out her screams. She had felt sure the whole house would collapse on her. Pieces of the cathedral ceiling crashed down and she leapt to the only sheltered place, directly under the metal belly of the machine.
“Get inside!” yelled McCullen, and the machine gave another mighty push, making the wall that had sealed it from the rest of the attic splinter and collapse in places. The floor around two of the legs gave way, sending pieces of wall and floor spinning to the cathedral floor two stories below.
Felicia climbed the steps and pulled herself into the machine. The inside was extraordinary. Metal-framed window panes were set into the walls, giving plenty of visibility on all sides. The largest set of windows was at the front, but at present she could only see the inside wall of the cathedral. Control panels ran along three of the machine’s sides, forming a rough half-circle shape. McCullen sat before the controls in a brown leather chair atop a thick post riveted to the floor. Dotting the control panel and walls were large switches with black wooden handles, copper- and brass-topped knobs and dials with brown ink numbering on the faces beneath their glass covers. Colored glass bulbs were set here and there and pipes and tubing ran overhead and down into each of the six corners where the legs must begin.
“What is this thing?” she yelled.
“Do you like it?” McCullen asked over his shoulder.
“Tell me what it is!”
“You already said it. It’s a walker. I call it my hexapod, but it probably needs a better name. Would you like to name it? Oh, and would you mind closing the hatch?”
Of course, the hexapod would have a McCullen engine, she thought. But even with such an efficient engine, the sound of steam rushing from the boilers and the grind of the mechanical parts drowned out all other sound. She pulled the hatch closed and latched it. The noise from outside was muffled.
McCullen glanced backward to ensure that the hatch was closed before he used both hands to pull two levers down simultaneously. The hexapod groaned and shuddered, but only for a few seconds. Then, it gave a mighty heave and there was a crash that made Felicia flinch. She tried to stand, but the floor lurched and McCullen gave a triumphant laugh.
“You have to stop!” she yelled as rubble
crashed all around the hexapod, banging into the windows.
“You may want to hang on to something. I didn’t build an extra seat for company. I’d offer you mine, but I’m in need of it just now.”
Felicia grabbed onto a thick pipe on the wall and held on for dear life as the hexapod lurched free of the cathedral, crashing through stone and wood and pushing its way free. Out the window, the cathedral walls fell away and the night sky swayed.
“Let me straighten her up,” said McCullen.
They rose, leveled out and then stopped. They were higher than the buildings, but only barely. Felicia could see for a few blocks. McCullen flipped a few switches, and the area below them flooded with light. He must have built lights into the underside of the machine. Below, people ran in every direction. She couldn’t hear anything over the engine, but she imagined them screaming. She craned her neck to look directly below them.
“There are people lying on the ground! You’ve killed them!”
McCullen looked. “No, those are the automatons.”
It was true. She could see now that they were just mechanical people. But the way they lay on the ground, still and twisted, was unsettling.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. “Whatever it is, you have to stop.”
“We’re taking it for a walk.”
“Oren!”
“Oh, are we on a first name basis now?”
“You’re insane! You’re going to kill people.”
“I will do no such thing.” He turned in his chair. “I am waiting right here until everyone has cleared away. I have no intention of harming anyone.”
“Then why here? Why in the middle of this huge event with all these people?”
“Didn’t your Seamus figure it out?”
“The engines and the transfer of energy wirelessly? Yeah, he had you all figured out there.”
“Good. I’m proud of him. This machine consumes enormous amounts of power, as you can imagine. I needed to power it, and to get all the people in one place, more or less. These Mardi Gras festivities served my purpose.”
“You gathered them to kill them?”
“Good God, Miss Sanchez. I am not going to kill anyone. What has Seamus been telling you about me? We’re just going to pay a visit to a few buildings, all empty at midnight, especially when everyone has come to see the automaton display.”
The people ran from Jackson Square. A group of brown-robed monks watched from below before they hurried away. Felicia looked for Seamus, Hazel or Mr. Grey. She looked over McCullen’s shoulder, toward the river, and something caught her eye, but when she tried to focus on it, it was gone.
Chapter 33
Seamus turned back amid the panicking herd of people and tried to get out of their way. A man thumped into Seamus’s leather case hard, but he managed to keep hold of it. His large trunk must still be back where Mr. Grey and Hazel had watched the automaton display.
The six-legged machine stood still over the rubble of the cathedral, its engines humming and white lights shining down from its undercarriage. Occasionally jets of white steam spurted out from the leg joints. He tried to see the people inside, but couldn’t make anything out. The lights underneath were too bright.
Most of the people fled away from the river. He was glad for that. McCullen was inside that machine, there could be no doubt.
“Grey! Hazel!” he shouted as the pair of them ran by. Hazel heard him and grabbed Mr. Grey’s arm. Seamus was glad to see that Mr. Grey had kept his promise to keep an eye on the girl. The crowd was thinning as people poured down the various streets.
The three of them moved up against a building, close enough to see the giant machine but far enough away that they were not in immediate danger.
“What is that spider machine?” asked Hazel.
“Some creation of McCullen’s. He’s in it,” said Seamus.
“What do you think he is going to do with it?” said Mr. Grey. “He can’t hope to get back to his own time that way.”
“I don’t think that’s what he’s planning,” said Seamus. “Look at the front of it.”
Mr. Grey and Hazel squinted, but even with the bright lights, Seamus was sure they would be able to make it out. At the front, directly under where the driver would sit, was a Union Jack. On the side closest to them was the three-pronged insignia of the East India Company.
“McCullen is helping the British to attack us?” said Hazel. “I thought he hated the British.”
“Oh, he does. That’s why he’s doing this.”
The lights on the machine moved, and it took an instant before Seamus realized that the spider machine, as Hazel called it, was starting to walk.
“Isn’t it a little obvious?” said Mr. Grey. “Why would the British paint their flag and the East India Company logo on a machine like that for an attack? I don’t think people will be fooled into thinking it’s really them.”
“It’s not so strange,” said Seamus. “The British aren’t much for stealthy warfare. And after the stage explosion at the riverboat festival, Southerners are primed to believe it.”
Jackson Square was empty now, and the machine progressed steadily forward. It moved two legs at a time, leaving four on the ground. The body swayed a little with each step, but on the whole, it was stable enough to remain upright. Seamus took a moment to ponder how McCullen had engineered it with legs that seemed to self-coordinate, but paused when he noticed that the two front legs had a different type of foot than the others. The two legs ended in what looked like curled paws, while the back four had large, blunt feet that spread out into wide cones for stability.
The spider turned now. It stomped down Chartres Street until it reached the courthouse. The machine lowered itself a little, its four back legs bending until the body of the machine was just a little higher than the top of the building. The four legs spread wide, one at a time, and once the machine was settled and stable, the two front legs rose, like arms. The front two feet now opened, like stub-fingered claws, and then formed into balls, like fists. They crashed through two windows at far ends of the building. The elbows flexed and pulled inward in a giant embrace, tearing open the front wall.
Then the machine listed sideways and the legs had to scramble to adjust for the change in the center of gravity. It righted itself and paused for a few moments. Then it continued to punch and tear, ripping off half the roof and smashing in the windows. The structure still had three walls standing when the machine turned away and moved further down the street.
Seamus thought he saw the machine lurch again, as if it was not perfectly under control. Good. If McCullen crashed the cursed thing and died, it would do everyone a favor.
“We have to stop it, Professor! It’s going to destroy the whole city!” Hazel dug her fingers into his arm. Her brown eyes were round with fear.
“Mr. Grey,” Seamus said. “Get my trunk from the square and bring it over to the river. I’ll be on the grass just there,” he pointed to the grassy strip that ran along the water. “Hazel, you’re coming with me.”
Mr. Grey ran to retrieve the trunk and Hazel jogged next to Seamus as he ran for the riverbank.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked.
“Nothing. Just stay out of trouble.”
“But what about Miss Sanchez?”
“I don’t know where she is,” Seamus said. “But I hope she is staying clear of that machine. If anyone was hurt by the debris from the cathedral, my bet is she’s with them.”
He was worried about her, but he wasn’t going to let innocent people die just to satisfy a selfish desire to see her safe. She was probably either running in the opposite direction from the spider machine or tending the injured.
The spider machine was mostly out of sight now, but Seamus could see its top. It stop
ped and lowered. He knew it was destroying something else, and if his guess on its location was correct, it was the Ursuline Convent. Why would McCullen do that? The sisters would still be inside. It sat there, eerily still for some time, long enough for Mr. Grey to drag the trunk over. They opened it, and Seamus got to work.
Five minutes later, he heard the crashing of the walls of the convent falling. McCullen had waited, giving the sisters time to evacuate the building. Kind of him, Seamus thought bitterly.
“Tell me what you have in mind so I can help,” said Mr. Grey.
Seamus held a screwdriver in his mouth and he had to transfer it to one hand before speaking. “He’s destroying landmarks, buildings of cultural significance. Remember the stage explosion and the Delphia Queen? Symbols. Steamboats, trade, commerce. Now he’s going after civil and religious buildings, but I doubt he’ll stop there.”
The machine now moved on to a textile factory and had ripped it halfway apart before stomping away and working on the police station.
“So what’s this?” asked Mr. Grey, looking over the device that Seamus pulled from his leather case. He was working on the sensors that he had used earlier.
“This is my modified McCullen engine,” he pointed to one item. “And this is my signal amplification device. I had to leave my sonic mapping output module at home, but I brought along the important piece which ought to create the desired effect.”
Mr. Grey didn’t look like he understood, but Seamus did not feel like taking the time to educate the man.
“Tell me something, Mr. Grey,” he said as he fit the pieces of the machine together. “If you are a time traveler, why can’t you help Miss Sanchez get home?”
“I just can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” said Seamus.
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 26