Julius and the Soulcatcher

by Tim Hehir

  You’re going to hold the pocketwatch again, Higgins.

  Its porcelain face was as clear in his mind as if it was right there before him, as white as sunshine on snow. Its tick-tock was the beating of his heart.

  ‘We should get it now,’ he said.

  CHAPTER 8

  Saturday 20th January 1838

  1:13 AM

  Julius and Mr Flynn climbed the steps of St Paul’s. Julius lit a Lucifer to help Mr Flynn as he sorted through a ring of keys.

  ‘You have a key to the cathedral?’ said Julius.

  ‘Of course,’ said Mr Flynn.

  The city was silent, as if it was watching them open the cathedral door.

  Inside, it was as black as a coalmine on a Sunday. Mr Flynn struck another Lucifer and lit a nearby candle for himself and one for Julius. The darkness receded into the corners and alcoves.

  They walked across the tiled floors between the pillars and arches that lined the nave, and past the rows and rows of empty chairs. ‘I’ve only just realised,’ Julius whispered, ‘that when Tock spoke—’

  ‘Yes?’ said Mr Flynn.

  ‘His breath didn’t mist.’

  ‘Something to do with his parallel realm, perhaps,’ said Mr Flynn.

  Up ahead, the Grand Organ rose towards the domed ceiling. Laughing cherubs looked down at them from the polished wood panels. Six months earlier, Julius and Mr Flynn had locked the pocketwatch in a secret drawer in the stairs behind the organ. Julius felt its tick-tock in his heartbeat again. He followed Mr Flynn up the stairs. At the fourteenth step Mr Flynn sat down and took a small, golden key from his waistcoat pocket. He ran his fingers across the grain of the wood at the back of the organ, feeling for the keyhole.

  ‘Here you are, my little beauty,’ he whispered.

  He slid the key in and the lock clicked open.

  This is it, Higgins.

  A tiny drawer sprang out from the wood panelling. There was the pocketwatch, its face like a full moon in the night.

  The ticking was already pulsing through Julius’s veins.

  Go on, Higgins.

  As soon as his fingertips touched it he felt a wave of warmth run through his body. He lifted the watch from the drawer. It fitted perfectly into his hand; its weight was just right. Julius held its face close to his. It glowed quietly, like a smile.

  The hands told the correct time—half past one. The second hand swept across the Roman numerals. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

  Mr Flynn locked the drawer.

  Julius held the pocketwatch close to his candle and studied the engraved design on the back. He found the tiny letters J. H. among the swirls—the initials of John Harrison, the man who had made the pocketwatch that could travel through time.

  The face was a plain, white film of porcelain, thinner than onion paper and webbed with tiny almost-invisible cracks where the face opened up as it prepared to jump through time.

  Julius ran his finger around the side, feeling for the tiny compartment that contained a strand of his hair. It flicked open like a secret on a spring. With this hair inside the pocketwatch it was his, in a way the professor had not fully explained. Julius felt the belonging, but he couldn’t explain it either.

  The pocketwatch was growing warmer in his hand. Was he imagining it or was it glowing a little brighter? He looked up to Mr Flynn sitting on the step above him.

  ‘Time to summon the Watchmakers, Julius,’ said Mr Flynn.

  They climbed down the stairs and stood under the dome of the cathedral. It was as if they were standing inside an elaborately carved and decorated cave with a ceiling as high as the stars. Shafts of gossamer moonlight fell through the dome windows, making the space above their heads seem liquid and alive. The air crackled with the cold.

  Julius thought about the last time he had held the pocketwatch in the cathedral. It was six months ago. He had managed, with the help of Emily and her gang, to outwit the time-criminal Jack Springheel and put an end to his plans to help the Grackacks invade London. When it was all over, Professor Fox tapped three times on the pocketwatch, and then once again, to summon his ten compatriots. Green light reached out and separated into ten strands, forming a circle. Ten gentleman in frockcoats, top hats and canes had appeared in flashes of light—the time travellers who called themselves the Guild of Watchmakers. They put right the mess that Jack Springheel had caused. Now, their help was needed again.

  Julius spun the pocketwatch in the air just as the professor had done. But as soon as he let go, it fell back into his hand.

  ‘Try again. Concentrate,’ said Mr Flynn.

  Julius stared at the pocketwatch.

  What’s wrong, Higgins?

  He tried to make it the only thought in his mind, tried to feel the spinning cogs and wheels on the palm of his hand, tried to believe that he could make it happen. He willed the pocketwatch to understand what he needed.

  He spun it again.

  Nothing happened. The pocketwatch lay in the palm of his hand. He could feel its warmth, feel the ticking of the mechanism.

  Mr Flynn appeared to be thinking.

  Julius peered at the pocketwatch. What had he missed? What had he done wrong? Perhaps it needed a little time after it came out of the drawer?

  The answer might be in Harrison’s diary, Higgins.

  It was still at the bookshop, on the shelf behind the counter. He was just about to tell Mr Flynn, but he remembered: Harrison’s diary was his secret.

  The memory ran a cold finger down his spine. At the end of the Springheel case, Julius was about to confess to Mr Flynn that he had stolen the diary from his grandfather to give to Jack Springheel. That was when Julius thought that Mr Flynn was going to confess that he was really his father. But that did not happen. Julius’s face burned at the memory. Julius had misunderstood Mr Flynn’s kindness as that of a father. And in his disappointment Julius had kept the diary hidden under his jacket. He had held the two secrets ever since: the secret of the diary and his secret wish that Mr Flynn could be his father.

  ‘We should put it back,’ said Mr Flynn.

  ‘I could take it home,’ said Julius. ‘Practise with it.’

  ‘It has to go back.’

  Julius’s fingers clasped the pocketwatch.

  ‘No.’

  The word rang around the cathedral.

  ‘It has to stay in the drawer,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘The Watchmakers can’t risk losing it again. And you can’t jeopardise your apprenticeship.’

  Mr Flynn’s words were kind but firm. He handed Julius the key. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll sort this out ourselves.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Julius. He knew Mr Flynn was right.

  He took a candle and climbed the stairs behind the organ. He sat down and held the pocketwatch, not looking at it, just feeling its tick-tock whispering to his body. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. He counted the ticks, telling himself that on the twentieth tick he would put the pocketwatch back. He ran his fingertips along the wood grain and found the keyhole. The pocketwatch slid snuggly back in its place. All Julius was left with was his own heartbeat.

  He sat back and stared at it. The second-hand moved around the face. Tick-tock, tick-tock, ticktock. The sound was gentle and precise. He listened, not able to imagine being parted from it.

  He felt something shift inside him. He knew what he was going to do.

  He took the watch and slipped it into his pocket. He closed the empty drawer and locked it. His hand gripped the watch as he walked down the stairs and across the tiles and handed the golden key to Mr Flynn.

  ‘All done,’ said Julius.

  ‘Good lad,’ said Mr Flynn. He held up the jar. The soulcatcher’s pale tendrils pressed against the glass searching for a way out. ‘We’ll start on this business tomorrow. Too late for anything tonight.’

  Julius looked Mr Flynn in the eye so there would be no suspicion that he had done anything wrong.

  ‘And Emily’s available,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ said Mr
Flynn.

  ‘I mean, she said she’d be willing to help, if anything came up.’

  ‘Hmm, did she now?’ said Mr Flynn. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  CHAPTER 9

  Saturday 20th January 1838

  3:48 AM

  Julius slid his key into the door at Higgins’ Bookshop.

  ‘Good night,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘I’ll speak to Abberline tomorrow, see if he’ll introduce me to Mr Darwin. We’ll ask about that painting of his.’

  Julius opened the door a crack and slipped in without ringing the shop bell. The clock ticked on the mantel. He crept to the counter and rifled through a drawer until he found a candle stub. He lit it and reached for Harrison’s diary on the shelves behind him. He had returned the diary to his grandfather at the end of the Springheel case with an apology and a story about having shown it to an eager potential customer.

  As Julius turned to put the diary on the counter he saw two pale-blue eyes staring at him from the far corner of the bookshop. He jumped and the book fell to the floor.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Tock.

  The little man emerged from the dark corner. As he drew closer to the candle flame Julius saw a cruel smile spread across his face. His eyes bore into Julius, making him step back into the bookshelf. He was trapped. Tock approached with exaggerated care, as if Julius was a frightened deer in a forest. He walked along the front of the counter to the gap near the entrance to the parlour.

  Julius put his foot on Harrison’s diary and very carefully slid it behind him into the corner.

  Tock’s smile stayed set on his face. He dropped Darwin’s diary onto the counter with a thud that made Julius jump. The image of Tock stabbing Abigail’s eye flashed through his mind.

  Tock’s smile twitched as if he was trying not to laugh. He tilted his head to one side to study Julius. He was half a head shorter than Julius, but there was something about the little man’s fearlessness that was terrifying. Julius gripped the pocketwatch tight.

  ‘You interest me,’ said Tock. ‘Shall I show you why?’

  Julius stared until Tock spoke again.

  ‘What are you doing in Darwin’s diary?’ said Tock. He opened the book and tapped a page. ‘What? What?’

  Julius looked down at a fine pencil drawing of a native boy and girl. They looked exactly like Emily and him.

  It can’t be, Higgins. It can’t.

  His mind was a whirl. The girl was pretty, with a thick, dark hair. She had a cheeky smile, just like Emily. The boy wore a wary, anxious expression and could have been Julius’s twin. At the bottom of the page Darwin had written. I shall call my saviours Adam and Eve. I am forever in their debt.

  ‘That’s not me. He just looks like me,’ said Julius.

  It can’t be you and Emily, Higgins?

  The pocketwatch grew warmer in his hand, almost burning.

  But it is you, Higgins.

  Tock held the page up. He looked from Julius’s face to the drawing.

  ‘Perhaps you are correct,’ said Tock. ‘A remarkable coincidence though, don’t you think? All the same, I should like to see that pretty pickpocket’s face again,’ Tock smiled. ‘Tell me where she is.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Julius. ‘I don’t know who she is.’ He stared into Tock’s eyes, willing him to believe the lie.

  His mind was racing, searching for answers. Had he and Emily had gone back in time? What had they done that Darwin would be forever in their debt?

  Tock ran his finger over the girl on the page. ‘Such a sweet smile.’ He looked at Julius. ‘Why did you peep through my window? Why? Why?’

  Julius swallowed. He gripped the pocketwatch as if he was trying to absorb it into his hand.

  ‘I…I was curious.’

  ‘Why? Why?’

  ‘Because, well, you frightened me.’

  This seemed to please Tock. ‘Who was that uncouth brute with you? Who was he? Who was he?’

  ‘Charlie, I think. I don’t know his second name. I paid him a ten shillings to come with me, in case there was any trouble.’

  Tock’s smile began to fade.

  Julius tried not to break eye contact.

  ‘Where is the orchid?’ said Tock. ‘Where is it? Where is it?’

  Julius tried to look like he was trying to remember.

  ‘The old fool said he gave it to a customer,’ said Tock.

  Does he mean Grandfather, Higgins?

  ‘Is that true?’

  ‘I suppose it is,’ said Julius. ‘He didn’t say anything to me.’

  Tock stared, unblinking at him. Julius wondered how much more he could take. Could you die from being stared at?

  ‘Mr Higgins shouldn’t give presents away. It’s very rude,’ said Tock. His petulant tone surprised Julius. He seemed hurt.

  Tock reached into his pocket and pulled something out. ‘Look what I have,’ he said. ‘Look. Look.’

  A mouse-sized thing wriggled in Tock’s small, pale hands. It was a many-legged, no-headed creation, made of copper wire and bent and twisted sewing needles.

  Tock held it gently. ‘Abigail made it,’ he said. ‘She trickles her consciousness into them and they begin to squirm and jiggle. They want to live you see—consciousness wants to continue. It does. It does. But she grows bored with her children.’

  In one sharp movement Tock slammed the creature against the edge of the counter. Julius jumped. Tock slammed it down again, and again, until it stopped moving.

  ‘All gone,’ said Tock. He examined the mangled creature. ‘Do not mourn it. It has no soul…just like me.’

  Julius blinked in confusion

  Tock twisted the creature until it came apart and let the pieces fall to the floor.

  Julius stared into Tock’s blue eyes. How long had he been standing there? It seemed like hours.

  Tock’s expression softened, becoming almost friendly. ‘I shall have your soul,’ he said. ‘I shall have everyone’s soul. I shall. I shall.’

  Julius lip trembled. He clenched his jaw.

  Tock put the diary into his coat pocket and pulled a small wooden box from his inside pocket. ‘Good night,’ he said, and he leaned over the candle stub and blew it out.

  Julius’s heart jumped in his chest. Tock’s eyes glowed faintly in the darkness.

  ‘If we meet again,’ said Tock, ‘you will be sorry.’ He turned away and walked through the curtain into the parlour.

  Where’s he going, Higgins?

  Julius heard the tinkle of glass breaking—it was something delicate. He tried to think what it would be. They did not have any dainty glass ornaments. He snatched Harrison’s diary from the floor and hid it inside his coat. His knees trembled as he went to the curtain and pulled it open an inch.

  The parlour was dark. He strained to see any movement. All was still. After a few moments’ hesitation he lit the candle stub.

  The parlour was empty but something caught his eye. On the wall next to the fireplace, vapour was rising from a damp patch the size of a dinner plate. Julius stepped closer. An acrid odour made his nose twitch. As he drew nearer, the damp patch diminished, until it disappeared completely. On the floor beneath it were tiny shards of broken glass.

  Julius put his hand on the wall. It was warm.

  Tock went through the wall, Higgins. But how? And where did he go?

  Julius sat in his fireside chair and stared at the wall, half wondering if Tock would return. After a few minutes he took Harrison’s diary out. Surely there would be something is in about how to summon the Watchmakers. All he saw was page after page of tiny writing, intricate diagrams, and row upon row of mathematical calculations. His eyelids became heavy and the page before him began to blur. He fought to keep his eyes open, but in a few seconds he was asleep.

  Julius woke to the sound of someone hammering on the shop door. He looked around the parlour trying to remember why he had fallen asleep in front of the fire. The pounding continued.

  Then he remembered.

 
; Tock came to call, Higgins.

  He looked at the curtain covering the doorway to the shop. Had Tock come back? Was he angry with him for bolting the door?

  The hammering continued.

  Julius pulled the curtain aside. A crowd of men were peering in through the window.

  What the bloody hell’s happening, Higgins?

  ‘There he is. I see him,’ shouted one of the men. ‘Open up, Higgins, damn you, we haven’t got all day,’ called another. The pounding increased in urgency.

  Of course! It’s Saturday morning, Higgins

  For as long as Julius could remember Saturday mornings at Higgins’ Booksellers involved a profitable few hours of pandemonium when his grandfather’s most avid and demanding customers came to collect their orders. The shop usually opened at ten sharp. Julius looked at the clock. It was three minutes past and the door remained locked, hence the near-riot on Ironmonger Lane.

  Julius let the curtain fall.

  Why hasn’t Grandfather opened the shop, Higgins?

  ‘Grandfather. Grandfather,’ he called up the stairs.

  No reply came. Julius ran up the stairs two at a time. He knocked on his grandfather’s bedroom door and opened it. The room was empty and the bed had not been slept in.

  Grandfather?

  ‘Open up, Higgins. Open up,’ came the shouts from outside.

  Julius ran down the stairs and into the shop. The front door was shaking under the blows of the customers. Without any time to think, he unlocked and unbolted the door. Cheers rang out in Ironmonger Lane.

  Julius was going to tell everyone that the shop would be closed for the day, but he was lifted up and carried back inside by a tidal wave of kid-gloves, walking canes and literary periodicals. He only just managed to slip behind the counter.

  Three hours later the last customer had been served. Julius slid the bolt on the front door and leaned against it, enjoying the stillness of the empty shop. He closed his eyes and considered letting himself fall asleep where he stood. But then he remembered.