by Peter Oxley
“And that is the beauty of the arrangement,” said Andras. “We all get something we want. You get a reason to live, everything you have ever dreamed of. Whereas I get to wrench it all away, at the very moment that it all means something to you. Everyone is happy, just not necessarily at the same time. Now, if you do not mind, I would like to get on with this.” It raised a hand toward me. “I have a special place among my minions of Hell for your little soul.” I flinched away from the claw which beckoned at me, my heart beating a thousand times a minute.
“Wait,” said Maxwell. “Is there not something we can do? Can we offer you an alternative?”
“Are you offering your soul instead?”
“No. Not necessarily. But I am sure I have read somewhere that there is a precedent for some form of contest, a challenge or game whereby if we win then Augustus gets to keep his soul?”
Andras laughed, a grating, rattling sound which caused my entire being to tense up. “A ‘game’ for his soul? No, you’re thinking about the Grim Reaper. I am somewhat less flexible and much less forgiving than Death. And more final. Besides,” it turned those terrible red eyes on us. “It would not be a fair contest. I would win, if only because I would cheat; I would not be able to help myself. So it really would be merely delaying the inevitable, and while the thought of extending your misery for a bit longer is appealing, I find that I have become rather bored.”
The demon raised a clawed hand and placed it on my chest, the clammy touch burning into my very being.
I gasped. It felt as though a white hot poker had been rammed through my ribs. Everything about me was torn away and ripped to pieces. My life, my past, my identity was wrenched away and waved before me like a rag in front of a bull in its final death throes.
I became aware of a hole, a void within the core of everything I had known. I could not comprehend what it was or what it replaced or what had gone before. All I knew was loss, a loss which was so complete that it was not just something I experienced: it was me. All I was, all I knew, all I had been and would ever be was... nothing.
“Although,” said Andras. “There is one thing that you could do for me, in return for which I would be willing to waive the price.”
“What?” I asked, my heartbeat quickening slightly as I hung there, teetering over the abyss.
“Not you,” said Andras, nodding at my brother. “You.”
My heart sank.
“What do you mean?” asked Maxwell.
“I can return everything to how it was before this pathetic creature and I made our pact. He would keep his soul, and in return you will design something for me.”
My mind raced back to our friend Richard, who had created the clockwork men under the demon’s tutelage. Was this also how he had been tainted? Through trickery and false hopes?
N’yotsu stepped forward, putting himself between Maxwell and the demon. “What exactly is it you would have him create?”
“Actually, both of you,” said Andras. “I’ve noted that you seem to have developed quite the intriguing partnership. I have need of something which unfortunately is beyond my powers, but not yours. I need to return home and you can give me the means to do so.”
“Back to Hell?” I asked.
“Oh, how quaint,” said Andras, making me feel like a puppy which had just done a very amusing trick. “My home has many names, and Hell could be one of them. But it is not quite in the same manner as you humans imagine it to be.”
“I am sorry,” said Maxwell. “But transporting people to the afterlife is a bit beyond me.”
“Not quite,” said N’yotsu. “Remember that experiment with the Sound Conduit? We did manage to create a portal to somewhere resembling the afterlife.” He turned to Andras. “Are you saying that the Aether has a connection to your homeland?”
“The very same,” the demon said. “The Aether is a link between worlds—yours and mine.”
“And all you wish to do is to go home?”
“That is all,” grinned Andras. “I shall need an answer now; I am not known for my patience.”
“Agreed,” said Maxwell. He flashed me a smile which suggested that he had a plan, some way to foil the demon’s intentions whilst still allowing us to escape intact. I desperately wanted to believe that that was the case.
Andras grinned even more broadly. “I knew that option would appeal to you,” it said. “But in the meantime, I believe the younger Potts has a party to attend.”
Part Seven - Entombed
Chapter 26
I perched on the edge of a table as I watched my brother tinker with an increasingly chaotic jumble of tubes and boxes, overseen by our friend N’yotsu, whilst we tried unsuccessfully to ignore the homicidal demon simmering in the corner. It had been some hours since Andras had partially stolen my soul and, whilst the demon had assured me that any damage had been reversed, there was still a dull ache in my chest and a sense of loneliness about my entire being.
Doing Andras’s bidding did not sit well with me, even though we were effectively saving my life, or at least my immortal soul. I salved my conscience with the hope that N’yotsu or Maxwell had conceived some method to scupper the demon’s plans. In the meantime, I was forced to watch impotently as they toiled under the creature’s glare.
The door opened and Kate walked in. “I’m back,” she said, then gasped as she spotted Andras’s looming form. “What’s that thing doing here?”
Andras hissed and I quickly pulled her to one side. “It’s a long story,” I said.
“Well, I’m a patient girl,” she said, glaring at the demon. “Try me.”
“We have come to an agreement,” I said.
“An agreement?” She threw her hands in the air. “With that thing? You all gone glocky?”
Maxwell’s head appeared from behind the mess that he was slowly creating. “Pardon me?” he said.
“You know, glocky,” Kate said, looking to me for support.
“It is Cockney slang,” I said. “It means... well, it means half-witted.”
“That’s it,” said Kate. “Touched in the head. Half-witted. The kind of people who make deals with the Devil. For example.”
“Point of clarification,” said Andras. “I am not ‘The Devil’. He and I are completely different entities.”
Kate glared at me.
“There was a situation,” I explained. “All of that success I had achieved. The journal, the wealth, the riches. It was all due to that creature, and now it is all for naught.”
Andras’s grin broadened even more.
“What’re you talking about?” asked Kate.
“You mean that you haven’t heard yet?” I said. “I would have thought that news of my downfall was all over town by now.”
Just a few hours earlier I had entered the celebratory gathering at Mr. Bradbury’s house on shaking legs, consumed by a mixture of fear and anticipation, suspicious as to why Andras had been so keen for me to still go to the party. The chance to bask in one last piece of unconditional adoration before I went back to my old life was appealing, but I had still protested that I was in no fit state to go anywhere after the encounter with Andras. This had been to no avail; apparently my entering the house was a part of the deal, no doubt to provide further entertainment for the vile creature.
Rather than the expected hubbub of polite conversation, or even a warm round of applause and hearty cheers, I was instead greeted with a frigid and accusatory silence. Row after row of hostile, disbelieving eyes followed my progress as I made my way toward the far end of the room where Mr. Bradbury and the other directors were stood, only to be headed off by Mr. Andrews. He grabbed my elbow and steered me into the kitchen, where we were joined by a couple of rather bulky-looking gentlemen in ill-fitting suits whose presence I suspected was not intended to provide intellectual conversation.
“I warned you,” he said as soon as the door shut behind us. “In our world there are always people waiting to capitalise upon the smallest
chink of weakness; you, my friend, have managed to hand our greatest foe a rather handsome prize.”
“I... I do not understand.”
“You should have listened to me yesterday. Your dear old lady wandered straight into the arms of one Charles Dickens, who was only too happy to listen to the tale of how she was able to wander back to her slum significantly richer than when she left it.” My heart sank as he continued. “Mr. Dickens, with his customary showmanship, waited until this evening to publicly serve notice to the board of directors that he would, unless they desisted with our attempt at competition with his own journal, go public with some incredibly damaging claims about their star editor. That is to say, you.”
“I am aware of the meaning of your words,” I said sullenly. “You do not need to patronise me.”
“But I wonder if I do, because you seem resolutely incapable of comprehending the nature of risks in our world, nor are you apparently able to follow the most simple of instructions. Most of all, I feel the need to speak plainly and simply to remove any shadow of a doubt, because you should be clear that any references to you and your position are firmly in the past tense.”
“You mean to say that they have released me? They... they cannot!”
“They most certainly can,” said Mr. Andrews. “The contract you signed included an express stipulation that you would not engage in any activities which could bring the journal or your employers into disrepute. For the avoidance of doubt, the matter at hand is very much covered by that clause.” He turned to go back into the main part of the house. “I advise you to leave now before we add trespass to your growing list of misdemeanours. You are not welcome in this house.”
“Just let me speak with Mr. Bradbury,” I said, more than a slight tinge of desperation creeping into my voice. “I am sure that I can fix all of this.”
“No,” said Mr. Andrews without turning back. “No more talking and no more excuses. These gentlemen will make sure you find the servants’ exit. You have until tomorrow evening to clear your belongings from the company’s apartment. Goodbye.”
Thus it was that, after making sure that my key valuables were secure, I had raced over to Maxwell’s house and found that they were already hard at work on the machine Andras had requested that they create.
***
“Augustus and I made a deal, which did not end quite as well for him as he may have liked,” Andras said. “The Two Musketeers here have come to the rescue and, in return for me releasing Augustus from his obligations, they are creating something for me.” Those terrible red eyes turned to me, burning me with an amused intensity.
Kate looked at me. “I don’t understand.”
“I do not blame you,” I said. “I made a huge mistake, let us just leave it at that. What Max and N’yotsu are doing will save my immortal soul.”
Kate frowned and looked at the two of them, hard at work and seemingly oblivious to our exchanges. “And I know what you are thinking: ‘At what cost?’” I sighed. “It is a good question, but the demon assures us that it just wants to go home. If that is the case, then this course of action satisfies all of us.”
“If,” said Kate, raising an eyebrow at me.
I nodded, conceding the point. Andras grinned at us, doing little to alleviate the growing sense of distrust in the room.
“I don’t know about you,” I said to Kate. “But if there’s any of that gin of yours lying about, I would kill for a drop.”
The demon grew increasingly agitated as the hours passed by, ranting, raving and threatening to take my soul as was its right. Maxwell, for his part, displayed an admirable level of sang-froid, dismissing the creature’s venom and remaining focused on the job in hand.
“Shouting at me will only prolong this process,” he said at one point in a low, level voice. “Because it forces me to divert mental energy to addressing your comments, rather than directing them here, where they are most needed. If you believe you can do this better or faster then please, be my guest.”
Andras hissed and spun away. “Science,” it spat. “The root of all that is wrong with this world. The reason—” It stopped mid-sentence, thin lips pursed together as though to trap the words which would condemn it.
“The reason…for what?” asked N’yotsu. “Could it be that science is to blame for you being trapped in our world? Could that be it?” He grinned in the face of the demon’s pent-up fury. “I do believe that that is it! So, what was it? A scientific experiment bound you to our world, clipped your demonic wings, so to speak?”
Andras glared at him. “Quite the little detective, aren’t you, N’yotsu. You would be wise to not poke your nose too far into my affairs, for you may not like what you find.”
A few more hours passed, a seeming eternity of false starts in which my brother created, for want of a better term, miniature fireworks displays which I assumed were his methods of testing the device’s operation. Finally, Maxwell stepped away and sank to the floor, flashing us a fatigued grin. “I am fine,” he said, waving away our concerns. “Just tired.”
“How are you progressing?” asked N’yotsu.
“There have been a few complications,” he said, “but the general principle upon which I initially proceeded has proven to be sound.”
“Meaning what, exactly?” asked Andras, clearly detesting this interruption to my brother’s industry but also keen to understand how close he was to a resolution.
“I previously created a series of machines which allowed us to look into the Aether, powered and inspired by my Aetheric Sound Conduit,” said Maxwell. “Those, in turn, operated by picking up on certain resonances in the world around us, resonances which hitherto have been believed to be redundant as—in the incredibly rare occasions that they were measured—they did not appear to interact with or influence anything. I first registered them on a rather rudimentary device and hypothesised that they were some form of manifestation of the Luminiferous Aether, the fabled medium for the transfer of light. It seemed I was half-right in that regard.
“The Aetheric Sound Conduits—and by extension this device also—pick up on that particular resonance,” he continued. “Being the Aether, whatever that is. I suspect that you are well aware of what exactly it really is,” he said to Andras, who inclined its head in agreement but did not answer. Maxwell continued: “In any case, I have managed to recreate the previous device but also stabilise the field which it creates.” He gestured at the fruits of his labour. “Your device, as requested.”
“It is done?” said Andras. “Is that it?”
I looked at what was now sitting in the middle of the room, something from a scrap-merchant’s wildest dreams. The central piece was a box which tapered out to a funnel which in turn was pointed toward where Andras had stood for the past few hours. Tubes, dials and gauges sprang out at odd angles in all directions; to my untutored eye far too many to be really of any use and certainly too many to be truly decorative.
Scattered around the machine were various miniature versions, presumably prototypes, giving the impression of a mother and her litter of ugly baby machines.
“Yes,” said Maxwell. Then, picking up on the demon’s tone: “What do you mean, ‘is that it’?”
“I anticipated something a bit more elegant, or at least less... well, ugly.”
I grinned in spite of the situation. At least someone shared my disdain for Maxwell’s lack of aesthetics, even if it were a homicidal Marquis of Hell.
“Regardless,” continued Andras. “If it works, then I shall not care what it looks like. I can always get it spruced up at a later date. So how does it work?”
“Just like this,” said Maxwell and pushed down a lever which was attached to the main box.
There was a burst of steam followed by a blinding flash of light and for a moment I thought that the whole thing had broken down, fearing for the demon’s reaction if that were the case. In the event, what had actually happened was worse. Much, much worse.
Maxwell
and N’yotsu looked at the demon in concern and then inspected the machine.
“What has happened?” said Andras.
“I...” said Maxwell.
“Gus,” whispered Kate. “Look out the window.”
I looked. Where just a moment before there had been the faint glow of street lights and the silhouettes of the other houses in the street, now there was nothing. It was more than simply everything outside being shrouded in darkness, but was instead a blackness which was so absolute as to not just point to the absence of light but instead bellowing to us that a concept such as light was completely alien to this place. My mind rebelled against the sight, trying to find depth, features, anything within that void which would allow my eyes to find comfort. At first there was nothing, but then I began to perceive of faint wisps of mist which curled around the edges of the window, caressing it, probing and seeking a way in.
I knew this place.
“The Aether,” I whispered. “We are in the Aether.”
Andras darted forwards, grabbing Maxwell by the throat. “You sought to trick me!” it snarled. “You planned to maroon me here. Do not insult me by trying to deny this. I am the living embodiment of deceit; I taught your kind how to lie!” The looks on Maxwell and N’yotsu’s faces were confirmation enough.
“You said you wanted a machine to take you into the Aether,” gasped Maxwell.
“My instructions were clear. I wanted to go through the Aether. This is just half of the job, as you are well aware. I hope for your sake that you have the means to complete the task.” It threw Maxwell back towards the machine.
Maxwell regained his footing and rubbed his neck, with was blistered and burnt red from Andras’s touch. “You said yourself that you cannot open a route out of the Aether. You are trapped here and our world is safe from your malign influence. If that means that we are trapped too, then I am afraid that that is a price worth paying.”