Clockwork Chaos

by C. J. Henderson

  “Fine enough for me, Mr. Dollins,” answered Biggleton with an honesty which surprised Stevens. “The Good Lord gives out talents as He sees fit, and that, my friends, is exactly why we are here.”

  “Does that mean the suspense is about to end?”

  “You’ll forgive my theatrics, Mr. Stevens, but I do believe the demonstration I have arranged here will explain all quite nicely.” Biggleton checked his pocket watch once more, then announced, “Yes, it’s almost time. These things aren’t exact, of course, but if you would turn your attention to the parapet above...”

  As all did as instructed, Biggleton pointed out a slight indention just beyond the red toggle to Spitz which, if considered from a certain angle, could be thought of as a sighting guide. While the others stared upward, the scientist explained, “The Mach mansion is one of the oldest in the London area, and as such suffers from the same type of invasive manifestations as many in England—”

  “Mice?” asked Dollins.

  “Ghosts,” responded Biggleton. His eyes were focused on the device, his attention completely absorbed by lining up the center of the parapet. He continued without looking up, “For the past one hundred and thirty-seven years, the disembodied spirit of an unknown young woman has drifted along the rampart above, each evening from the hours of eight to ten. No one knows why, but thousands have witnessed the occurrence.”

  Then, as if on cue, a ghostly luminescence formed at one end of the parapet and began to move forward. The shining form moved slowly, not in the manner of a body being propelled by animal locomotion, but gliding instead. After only a few seconds, the random light congealed into a recognizable form—that of a young woman. The form did not speak or make any other noise. Nor did it take notice of those below it. Instead it simply moved from one end of the parapet to the other as it had for over a century.

  “I’ll be fried for Sunday mornin’ bacon,” said Dollins, his jaw hanging somewhat slack.

  “Butter me with the toast,” whispered Stevens, his own mouth hanging a touch open as well.

  Biggleton did nothing during the apparition’s first pass or its second, allowing his audience to become comfortably familiar with the phenomenon. But, as the ghostly shape began its third sally along the rampart, the scientist spoke, his hands poised over his machine as he told the others, “Ghosts, as many of our leading scholars in the field have told us, are made up of ectoplasm—a pure form of energy. And tonight, I will show you all...”

  The shimmering form moving directly into the path of Biggleton’s machine, the scientist threw the red switch—

  “Exactly what...”

  Then the yellow—

  “Can be done...”

  And then the red—

  “With such power!”

  As the first toggle had been thrown, Biggleton’s device had begun to hum. As the second had followed, the noise had grown dark and shrill even as a previously unseen portal had opened in the front of the machine directly below the sighting line. But, as the third had joined the others, a beam of shimmering light had snapped forward, slicing the air, burning it, leaving a slight trace of roasted ozone as it bathed the rampart—

  But no trace whatsoever of the apparition, which had vanished utterly when the scientist’s iridescence made contact with it.

  “Ook!”

  “Gor, bang a hammer—you said it, Spitzie,” agreed Dollins.

  “What just happened?”

  “My dear Miss Edgars,” answered Biggleton as he swung around to face the others, his smile as wide as the channel, “you have just witnessed the reduction and capture of an ectoplasmic entity. But, allow me to show you something further which will finally reveal what it is about this device which has captured the Crown’s attention.”

  Returning all three switches to their upright position, the scientist then moved the white and yellow to the opposite setting from the one he had just used. As he did so, a different aperture opened on the opposing end of the device from the first. Pointing out a stack of blocks and other old masonry off toward one end of the Mach mansion’s front lawn, Biggleton said, “Remarkable as capturing such energies is, so too is the use to which they can subsequently be put.”

  And, so saying, the scientist depressed the red toggle once more, and the two and a half tons of granite and marble Lord Mach’s servants had spent some sixteen hours assembling for Biggleton’s demonstration were vaporized in less than a heartbeat.

  Two and a Half Weeks Later

  “All right now, Jackie, me lad, out with it... why the long face? You can’t be worried about this lark of an expedition ol’ Biggleton’s got planned for us, could you?”

  The night at the Mach mansion, the scientist had explained the reason for his demonstration to the Gibraltar’s crew. The power derived from ectoplasmic energies, he informed them, had so far proved to be immeasurable.

  “Lark?” Stevens eyes went understandably wide for an instant, after which the pilot narrowed them to slits, indicating he was willing to believe Dollins had gone completely mad. Giving him a chuckle, the captain admitted, “All right, the lark might not be the right bird to describe what ol’ Biggie’s got lined up, but tell me now, crazy as it is, it ain’t got you spooked none—has it?”

  After the scientist had demonstrated such to the Queen, she had immediately created the Ministry of Extraordinary Weapons so that Biggleton might be able to search the world for more unique means with which to defend the empire. Experimenting with the Sudanese device had shown him things beyond his wildest dreams.

  “No, I’m not going soft on you, Captain. Honest. We’ve shipped out into plenty of worse scrapes than this. Well, maybe not plenty of them, but...”

  Capturing simple repeating vapors, such as the long dead young woman he had snared and used as cannonade that evening at Lord Mach’s had been the type of demonstration he had produced for her majesty. But, as he had experimented with other types of supernatural manifestations, the scientist had discovered that greater power could be gained.

  Far greater.

  “Then it’s Filimena, isn’t it? And all the attention what Biggleton’s been payin’ her.”

  Capturing a poltergeist, for example, generated fifty to a hundred times the energy as a simple recurring phantom. Taking his machine to exorcisms and grabbing hold of the expelled demons brought him force enough to shatter mountains.

  “I’d be lying worse than a Frenchman if I claimed different.”

  And, it had been exactly that level of might the scientist had demonstrated for the delicate Miss Edgars more than once over the preceding weeks. Always careful to present himself as nothing more than a friend interested in the librarian as a colleague, he had finally revealed himself as having other intentions one afternoon when they met for a luncheon after which Biggleton had promised to give Edgars a tour of the Ministry of Extraordinary Weapons.

  “You think ’e might have... intentions?”

  He had done so as promised, taking her through the building’s series of laboratories, testing centers and assembly rooms. When they ended their exploratory junket, however, they found themselves not in Biggleton’s office, but in a slightly smaller one directly adjacent to it. When the librarian asked why they did not return to the scientist’s own office, he told her, “Because, I thought you might fancy seeing your own office, Miss Edgars.”

  The young woman was greatly taken aback to say the least. Certainly she had always felt she deserved a place in the world of men. But, knowing one should be accorded an honor, and actually being in the proper vicinity when Fate came knocking to bring it around, she knew were two entirely different matters. Moreover, before she could even begin to suspect that Biggleton had some sort of devious ulterior motive, the scientist had quickly explained his intentions.

  When the alien device he had demonstrated for Miss Edgars and the others at Lord Mach’s had been delivered to him, it had not been brought by itself. Another unidentifiable contraption, discovered at the same si
te, had been delivered unto him with it. Pointing toward a slender metallic cylinder on a work table in the corner of the office, he said, “That is it, there. And that is why I call this office yours, because I need someone with your particular talents to work with me to bring this operation forward to success.”

  The librarian had moved toward the table as in a dream, scarcely conscious of having moved at all. Once both of them were standing next to the metallic device, Biggleton tapped a button built into its side. Immediately a sound filtered into the room, a type of nervous chittering which made the hairs along the base of Filimena’s neck itch intensely.

  “My dear Mr. Biggleton, wha-what is this thing?”

  “I must confess to being not entirely certain,” admitted the scientist. “The device, it speaks, as you can hear, but in a language I’ve never encountered. Sometimes, however, it chatters along in a tongue you know exceedingly well... the language of mathematics.”

  The librarian’s eyes went wide, then relaxed. As she began to make the proper connections, Biggleton explained, “I’ve spent endless hours here, talking to this device, straining to understand it. What little I have learned of the machine which I demonstrated to you and your companions, I admit freely I was led to by this thing—whatever it is.”

  “But... what does this have to do with me?”

  “Miss Edgars, it is your particular combination of talents which is key at this juncture. As an accomplished linguist with a stunning knowledge of mathematics, I’m certain you will be able to break the last barriers necessary toward understanding what this thing is trying to reveal. Considering its proximity to the other device when it was discovered, I’ve begun to think of it as a sort of instruction manual.”

  When the librarian simply stared, her mind reeling over all she had heard, Biggleton said, “Your expedition to Xibor, you encountered a horror which could pass through the barriers which separate existences—yes?”

  When Filimena agreed, the scientist continued on, telling her, “This is what I meant when I mentioned the wall of sleep. This is where I want the Gibraltar to take me—take us—to a point beyond our own world, to the shade between Heaven and Limbo, where dwell creatures such as your Xibor... creatures we shall be able to reduce down to their basic elements and then transform into overwhelming power—power that shall make Great Britain the strongest nation in all the world!”

  And, properly entranced with the notion of helping to make her home the mightiest sovereign authority in existence, Filimena had accepted the offer of employment with the Ministry of Extraordinary Weapons. For days on end she worked feverishly, sometimes not sleeping for fifty, sixty hours at a stretch. She listened to the clicking machine voice, spoke to it, studied its speech patterns, learned its nuances, sang to it, and joked with it. After such an extended period of time within the ministry walls she could not remember actually when last she had seen the sky, Filimena Edgars achieved the breakthrough which would throw the Gibraltar and all aboard her into a series of cataclysms so preposterous that even a writer of grand opera would not dare attempt to present them as believable.

  Three Days Ago

  “Mr. Biggleton, Mr. Biggleton—come quickly!”

  The scientist had raced to the office next door, not daring to hope that Filimena’s excited cry could mean what he obviously hoped it meant with all his soul. Slamming open the doorway, he bolted to her side, his eyes widening.

  She exclaimed, “It’s been done. The wall of sleep is pierced.”

  “You mean...”

  “I mean, our little friend here,” she said, gently patting the cylinder next to her on the table, “and I have become quite conversant. He understands us, knows what we want, and is ready to lead us to our goal.”

  “Are you certain?”

  *I am ready to lead you to the destination you wish to reach*

  Biggleton stared at the cylinder, his eyes wide, his mind frozen in astonishment. Yes, he had communicated with the thing over the months, had even come to name it Roger in a moment of anthropomorphic weakness. But, to that date their discourses had been things constructed from the most broken of fragments, struggled together from the tiniest of shreds.

  *you wish to use the triempalator to capture Bugg-Shash* the odd, static-filled machine voice sounded again. *we can depart whenever you wish*

  Biggleton staggered, overwhelmed by the moment. Visions of a knighthood dancing within his brain, he smiled weakly at Filimena, finally after several long moments managing to ask her to contact Captain Dollins and have him prepare the Gibraltar for departure. Brushing a long strand of perspiration-drenched hair away from her face, the librarian nodded and left the room, even as the head of the Ministry of Extraordinary Weapons collapsed into a chair and closed his eyes, laughing softly at nothing in particular.

  One Day Ago

  “Well, that’s the last of it.”

  Spitz nodded his head energetically, agreeing that everything they could possibly need had been loaded aboard the mighty airship Gibraltar. Stevens stared from one end of the great dirigible to the other, searching for some flaw or complication which he might use to delay their lifting off. The pilot was no coward. He had faced numerous, overwhelming dangers in his time, both human and otherworldly, and triumphed on every occasion. Like his friend, Spitz, he was not one to worry about his skin or what became of it.

  At that particular moment, however, it was not his skin about which he was worried.

  “Captain,” shouted Stevens as Dollins drew near, “do you really think it prudent we take Miss Edgars on this voyage? I mean, well... you know... a woman on board, and all.”

  “Oh, Jackie,” responded the older man, his understanding smile draped sadly across his face, “now don’t go gettin’ all ’earts and flowery on me. Our Miss Edgars proved herself just fine last time out. Don’t you worry about ’er none.”

  And, before more could be said, an official government carriage arrived, from which Biggleton disembarked first, offering his hand as he did so in aid to the aforementioned Filimena who exited directly behind him. A ministerial flunky followed, bringing the triempalator—as the other mysterious artifact, the one named Roger, had identified it—and Roger as well. Before long, the crew had boarded their airship, the ministry’s machines had been loaded, the flunky had departed and, with nothing further standing in their way, Captain Dollins had given the word, and the Gibraltar had gracefully lifted off and headed for the clouds above.

  Once a proper altitude had been acquired, Dollins had asked for a course heading to which Biggleton had replied, “Ask the machine.”

  Quickly Filimena explained what had been learned about the second device. Struck by the marvel of it all, the captain simply instructed Stevens to point the Gibraltar in the direction indicated by the chittering box, amazed he had lived long enough to witness such an age of marvels. For some hours the great ship plowed the airways without incident or interruption, despite an ever-darkening of the sky. Below the ship the ocean churned violently, some manner of monstrous gale building at a frightful speed, but when the Gibraltar finally arrived at an area well out over the ocean—a spot with no sign of land in any direction—the machine sputtered slightly, then announced;

  *the breech nears... you must prepare for entry*

  Having positioned the triempalator at the front of the gondola earlier, Biggleton moved forward to utilize it so they might reach their goal. The shattering of the ethereal membrane that separated their slice of existence from all others was a tricky business. With Roger’s guidance, the scientist had learned that one might transverse from one side of the veil to the other only in or near areas of great meteorological disturbance. The monstrous gale building far off the coast of Wales was a perfect disrupter of the local ether for them to be able to stick their metaphorical foot into the opening inter-dimensional door and keep it there until they might pass through to the other side.

  *you must descend three thousand feet*

  “That’s c
razy,” shouted Stevens. “That’ll bring us down too far into the storm.”

  “It will indeed do so,” agreed Biggleton. “But only for a moment. Once we reach the proper depth, use of the triempalator will slide us out of this world and into the next.”

  “Is anyone looking at where we’re being asked to go?” queried Stevens. Pointing out the front windshield of the gondola, the pilot noted, “If the sun’s gone black at this altitude, we’re looking at quite a tea party if we start to descend.”

  “We took the money, Jackie,” said Dollins quietly. “And the Queen’s money at that.”

  Gripping the proper controls, Stevens muttered a silent prayer and slowly began to ease the Gibraltar into a steady, measured descent. After the first thousand feet a frosty rain began to coat the windows. The sound of thunder increased all around them, while occasional bursts of far-off lightning made the maintenance of smiles increasingly difficult among the various voyagers. At two thousand feet, the heavily reinforced skeleton of the airship began to vibrate, the growing winds outside working to slam the Gibraltar off course.

  At three thousand feet, the ever-growing cacophony of clacks, clanks and rattles echoing throughout the ship had everyone’s nerves strained to the edge, when suddenly, Roger announced, *search for the opening now*

  “And, my fine box of gears and cogs,” snapped Stevens, barely able to hold the ship’s wheel in place against the pounding force of the maelstrom outside, “just what in all the roasted Hells is this opening supposed to look like?”

  “I believe,” sputtered Filimena weakly, her one hand pointing out the window to their left as her other hung onto a stanchion for dear life, “what grows there before us might possibly be that for which we’re looking.”

  As all eyes turned, they found a silvered crack in the air, hissing purple sparks from some far beyond into their own atmosphere. Wild with excitement, Biggleton snapped, “That’s it—take us in and through to the other side!”