by KW Jeter
“Begging your pardon – but why should I trust you in this?”
“You’ve alternative?”
“I do not know whether I do or not,” I said. “That is yet to be determined. Suffice it to say, though, I am concerned as to how lightly you state your proposition. I cannot believe that it would be accomplished as easily as you make it sound, as though it were some stroll through a leafy park to reach our destination – and if it is more hazardous, that you would be capable of successfully guiding me there. This seems a fearsome territory–” I gestured toward the distance, from which the fiery light and grinding, clanking noise continued to wash toward us. “Your familiarity with it is a debatable matter, given what I have previously seen of your deficiencies regarding things mechanical and technical.”
“Got us here, didn’t I?”
“And barely alive. Which raises another concern, namely the preservation of my life. I have been continuously pursued by the agents of that conspiratorial organization known as the More Loving Embrace, regarding which I was informed by your former partner Scape, now deceased, were intent upon my never making contact with my son, and thus their lethal intent toward me. That being the case – and I have no reason to doubt the late Scape’s assurances about it – I could prudently expect more of those assassins here, being so much closer to the boy himself. The More Loving Embrace’s agents might already be aware of my presence at this point, and are lying in wait along whatever route you would take me. To be frank, your ability to protect me from them seems limited.”
“All this useless fretting…” Spivvem shook his head again. “Something else said by my kind – Safety’s found where’s most danger.”
“A lovely aphorism, and just about as useful as others of its kind. But fine words will not save me from being shot at.”
“Ugly sort of cynicism you have, Dower; ill behooves. And had enow this jabbering; offer’s on table, and isn’t any other. D’you accept?”
“And if I refuse – what then? I rather suspect that this is no offer at all, at least not one in any usual sense. I imagine that if I balk, that will merely trigger some act of violence on your part, and I will be dragged to whatever destination you wish; the only question being whether I am conscious or not during the journey.”
“Thought had occurred,” admitted Spivvem. “Can’t deny. ‘Twere possible, would’ve done so already, rather than wasting all this time convincing you. But as luck’d have, bit out of question at moment.”
“How so?”
“‘Fraid took more blow coming down from above, than was ‘specting.” He placed a hand on the side of his abdomen, then winced as he gave the spot a slight push. “Shouldn’t have been in such hurry, get us both here, but is need for haste. Amusing that you bounced up onto your feet so fine, and I’d be one suffered injury – but upshot’s that could no more carry you where should be, than could fly to moon. Thus offer, and’s true one; do me service of coming along, and I’ll recompense as indicated.”
“Very well–” I had given as much consideration as I felt was needed, to all that he had spoken of – and his description of his infirm physical state had confirmed the decision I had already been contemplating. “Are we ready to travel, then?”
“Glad you’ve seen fit; won’t regret it, promise you. So yes, let’s proceed.” He lowered himself off the ledge – somewhat gingerly, in evident discomfort – and down into the shallow water. “Won’t have much trouble keeping up, ‘spect.”
“I suppose not.” Letting him take a few paces onward, I then similarly descended from the narrow perch. “But my best will have to do.”
His shadow fell across me, cast by the fiery light ahead, as I stepped close behind him. With his back turned, and any sound of mine masked by the mechanical din reverberating through the space, I was able to extract from inside my jacket the iron bar which I had previously obtained. When it had come loose in my hand before, I had retained it, thinking that it might prove useful in some capacity – and when he had just described his relatively enfeebled condition to me, I was sure that I was not in error about that.
With as much force as I could summon, I raised the implement and brought it down toward his skull. Some preternatural sense alerted him at the last second; he turned about, saw the metal in its arc, and dove to his side. Nevertheless, I managed to land a significant blow, the bar striking between his neck and the point of his shoulder. That was sufficient to knock him from his feet, sending him splashing chest-first into the water.
I quickly stepped forward and launched another slashing swing at him. With his form half-submerged, it was difficult to take accurate aim; I was certain I struck him with considerable force, as I heard a gasping cry of pain and surprise – but at the same moment, his unseen hand caught hold of the bar, and wrenched it from my grip.
My purpose had been achieved by that point, giving me time enough to turn and run before he would be able to pursue me–
Or so I hoped. Against the current streaming against me, I summoned all the energy that remained in my body, making what speed I could.
* * *
My plan – to the degree that I had one – had been to return to the site of that false Venice, into which I had first dropped when Spivvem had impelled me over the edge of the grave above. Blightley and his partner Haze had somehow managed to ascend to the surface from there; I had seen them do so. Therefore, some route must exist by which they had made that journey, the last stage of which had been the ladder propped against one side of the hole from which they had emerged. Perhaps there was a sloping path carved into the rock framing that area, traversable by one even as handicapped as Blightley had been – I merely had to discover its starting point, and then I could make my own escape.
In the event, I soon realized that however sound my reasoning, its subsequent execution left much to be desired. The dimness of light, when at a remove from that loathsome factory I had glimpsed, served to conceal the complexity of possible routes leading away from it; intent upon following Spivvem as he had led me downward, I had failed to notice that there were other conduits of water linking to the one which we had waded through. Thus, upon fleeing our terminus, I found myself confronted with a branching maze, with every choice between proceeding left or right equally unsigned, and equally capable of leading toward my goal or, more likely, to stumbling frustration.
I confess that panic soon arose in my breast, my heart accelerating uncontrollably, and my gulping lungs labouring as well. My anxiety multiplied as I encountered one dead end after another, where the spaces dwindling to an impassable dimension, or the waters rising to a depth near my face, signalled my error. Retracing my steps, or attempting to, I was keenly aware that both my time and opportunities were limited; the blow from the iron bar in my hands had disabled Spivvem sufficiently to make my escape from him, but only momentarily so. He was not dead, I was sure, and would be intent on pursuing me once he had regained his facilities. He knew these subterranean chambers better than I did, and he would be motivated by a fury more vengeful than his previous seeking of advantage through me – he might very well not renew the offer he had made, but simply terminate my life. I might round any rocky corner in this labyrinth, and come face-to-face with my final doom.
This mad flight, blindly splashing through one course of streaming water after another, continued for some seemingly interminable period; how long exactly, I could not reckon, other than by the measure of my decreasing strength. Which came to an end at last, or close enough that I could not keep myself from stumbling and pitching forward, landing upon my hands and knees – though not into water; my thoughts and perceptions had become so dazed that I had not been aware that I had entered upon a passage sloping upward, so much so that I had left those shallows behind me.
After a few moments of panting rest, my head hanging low, I clumsily got to my feet once more, and surveyed the scene about me as best I could. I immediately abandoned any notion of turning about and descending as I
had just made my way; my efforts at finding the passage by which I had originally entered this bleak world, and the point from which I might have been able to directly mount again to the surface, had produced no such circumstances, and pursuing them further would likely yield no better results. But this place, to which my sodden steps had led me – it at least continued upward, to the degree that I could determine; enough of the fierce glow from that demonic factory penetrated here, that I could see my own shadow wavering on the cavern wall beside me. Might this narrow passage mount further in that direction, and bring me, if not to the gravesite into which I had been pitched, but to some other point in the open air of the world above?
I could see no other choice before me, or at least none which I wished to contemplate. I stumbled forward, gladdened that the slope of the path increased, indicating that I might sooner reach the surface–
But at the same time, dismayed that both the light from that immense factory, and the noises produced by its ceaseless activity, also became greater as I proceeded, step after step. I could not doubt that in my hasty flight, I had become turned about – in such a sunken abode, all normal indicators of direction were gone – and was now heading back toward exactly that which had so horrified me, and had impelled my attempt to escape.
Within a few more minutes of climbing, the gravelly soil steep enough that I was forced to claw into it with my soon bleeding fingertips in order to continue, I emerged onto a more level place; but standing upright again, I was blinded by the fierce glare before me, my ears assaulted by the pounding clamour of iron, and the shrill hissing of the steam that impelled it. Inching forward, I raised a hand to balance myself against the rocks at the edge of the opening onto a greater space–
And one which I had witnessed before, though now I viewed it from a higher elevation. Below me lay those immense engines of production, no less appalling – or perhaps even more so, given that from this point I could better see how vast was their extent. And how inescapable; to have made such an arduous circuit, only to helplessly return and gaze upon them once more–
“Dower!” I heard a voice cry out, though barely audible through the din. “There!”
I brought my gaze up from the hellish factory, and saw another human figure, framed in the aperture of a passage opposite, some distance away from where I stood; it was Spivvem, his pursuit of me having brought him to that point. As I gazed upon him, I saw his hand point down toward something below both of us.
Yet another opening was there, which I had not perceived before, my vision having been fixed upon the furious machines, wrapped in the glare of their furnaces, and the rising smoke and steam. But now I saw that to which he wanted my awareness drawn; though I could discern but little, the upraised rifle I glimpsed was sufficient to indicate that at least one of those relentless assassins had survived and managed to track me here.
Despite my dazed exhaustion, I retained enough wits to flatten myself to the ground beneath me, just as that figure took aim and fired. The bullet struck above, passing through the exact space in which I had stood. Thus, rather than piercing my chest, it shattered the rock wall behind.
My endangering was scarcely ended, though; just as some reckless shout might trigger an Alpine avalanche, the impact of the bullet had consequences beyond its mere leaden weight. Rolling onto my side, I witnessed the rock wall continue to crumble apart, shards and larger stones separating from one another and clattering down.
Their sudden weight shivered the ground they struck, and it fractured as well. Before I had any chance of scrabbling onto my knees and lunging to whatever security was afforded by the passage through which I had climbed, everything collapsed beneath me, and I fell amidst the unmoored stones.
THIRTEEN
Conundrums & Conspiracies
How comforting to wake from bad dreams, and to know that all is right in one’s world.
The downy pillow caresses the side of one’s face; a lark trills from the blossomed branch outside the window; morning light pours like butter across the bedchamber’s floor; all one’s enemies are humiliated or dead, and one’s friends are at least endurable…
So disturbed had been my sleep – so many nightmares had afflicted me! Dreams of falling, from rocky promontories both entombed in the bowels of the earth and elevated above the clouds; if all that had happened in the waking world, how could it be that I was still alive? Thankful that I was so, and that all my slumbering anxieties were illusions dispelled by the advent of a bright new day, I turned my head, expecting to see my wife nestled beside me, her eyes closed, still dreaming more happily than I had…
But I saw nothing like that – which puzzled me, I admit. I did not seem to be in a familiar room at all; this space was much bigger, and more luxuriously fitted, as I – still blinking in confusion – was quickly able to discern. The walls were covered with silken paper, set with a stylish Japonisme pattern, of an expense never glimpsed in a rude countryside inn of Cornwall. Rather than candles and lanterns, ornate sconces provided more congenial illumination; the hearth was surrounded by gold-veined marble, carved in fluted half-pillars.
“Mr Dower–” A low-pitched voice, of rumbling congeniality, spoke my name. “You are awake – and rested, I trust.”
By now, I was fully so, and somewhat alarmed. There was no loving wife beside me – I remembered why there would never be one again – and there would have been no space for her, as I was not resting upon a bed, but rather a low divan with a scalloped back; I lifted my head not from a pillow, but the furnishing’s upholstered arm.
I swung my legs down and set my feet upon the polished floor, then turned toward the figure seated comfortably in a morris chair nearby. Recognition seemed oddly possible, but still evasive; his features evoked my furrowed brow as I attempted to summon from memory any name, or what place I might have encountered him. In a flash, a scene sprang before my interior vision, of the gravesite in the cemetery at Highgate, surrounded by all those jungle-like fronds and looping vines – I could see myself standing there, gazing down at the casket holding the late Miss McThane’s lifeless body, and listening to a similarly deep voice ranting about various apocalyptic notions, light springing from the bowels of the Earth and other demented twaddle. At the head of the grave had been a wild-haired figure with furious expression, clutching a ponderous tome to his chest, eyes displaying an obvious degree of insanity as he had delivered an appalling eulogy. The man here in this well-appointed chamber was the same as the one I recalled – or at least some aspects of him were identical to that earlier appearance. But now he was not visibly disordered; his eyes were not staring wide beneath thunderous brows, his snow-white hair was decorously combed, and he displayed a smile of relaxed benevolence.
“Can I provide you with anything?” The Right Reverend Jamford – for it was he – gestured toward a tea trolley stationed beside his chair. “You have been asleep for some time, and you were – shall we say? – considerably occupied before your arrival here. So you must be famished.”
Not waiting for my reply, he busied himself for a moment, lading a small plate with various morsels, then leaning forward and setting it on the small table before me. My hunger, accurately assessed by him, overwhelmed my continuing astonishment at my circumstances, and I devoured all but a few cake crumbs before I again leaned back on the divan.
“What… what is the meaning of all this?” I peered at him as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “No, wait – tell me first where I am.”
“Not far,” spoke Jamford mildly, “from where last you found yourself. Weebsome – would you be so kind?” He turned and gestured toward the other side of the chamber. “Our guest might find the view… enlightening.”
Following the direction of the other’s hand, I saw that he and I were not alone. At a cupboarded secretarial chest sat the cleric I had first known from my obscure Cornish village. His semblance then had been an artfully deceiving masquerade – he was now garbed more finely, in an elegantly cut
suit surmounted by a silken cravat, than I had ever seen him in his role as a rural priest. No explanation was required for this transformation; I realized now that he had likely been a spy all along, dispatched by one or more of these multiplying conspiracies to keep an eye on me; he had not died in the fire that had consumed the rural church, but had used the event as cover for his disappearance from the locale of his clandestine surveillance.
“By all means,” answered Weebsome. Laying down his pen – he had been engaged with some papers strewn upon the desktop – he stood up from his chair, strode to the heavy curtains at the farthest wall, and drew them back. “There–”
I winced at what was revealed – literally so, for the fierce light that flooded into the chamber was of a blinding intensity. Shielding my face with an upraised hand, I managed to discern that what lay outside the shelter of this chamber was the same demonic, constantly churning factory that I had previously seen from an angle elevated above it – but now I saw it closer, and onto the floor of its operations and furious production.
Weebsome displayed some mercy toward me, no doubt perceiving how the unveiling of that vista struck me like a giant hammer blow, my torso and limbs contracting onto the divan like an insect crushed beneath a giant’s boot-heel. He reversed the simple actions he had taken at the side of the window, allowing the heavy drapes to fall back into place and shielding us all from that oppressive light, and muffling the din from the machines beyond.
“It has taken so much effort to bring you here–”
With my eyes still dazed, I could not see the Right Reverend Jamford, but I could hear his low, unhurried voice.