The Circus Infinitus - Genesis Infinitus

by Ethan Somerville

  Icarus assembled the device’s support framework against a spare bit of wall beside the Immortality Machine. He ran cables across the floor to the generator located beside the furnace, then began linking the rings. Although he had worked tirelessly to fashion the rings into perfect circles, some still required filing to make them fit seamlessly. Then Del returned with the hardware he had ordered.

  “What by Eridos is that?” he exclaimed at the half-finished ring-machine.

  “You asked about it before. This is the Omniportallis.” Icarus gestured towards the machine. “Unfinished for years because I couldn’t obtain the bearings I needed. I tried to manufacture my own, but could never get them quite round enough.”

  Del handed over the box of tools. “What does the Omniportallis do?”

  “Nothing yet." Icarus emptied the bag out on his work-bench drew out a new socket wrench collection, a box of ball-bearings, some cogs and gear-wheels and a large oil-can. “Ah, excellent!” He opened the can and took a sniff. “The good stuff! No more squeaky joints!”

  Del took a deep breath. “What will the Omniportallis do?” he asked.

  Icarus oiled the joint of his right shoulder. “It will be a teleportation device, like your fifth-dimensional transportation unit, enabling free movement through the Immaterium to another location. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to control it until I build a difference engine.”

  Del’s breath caught in his throat. “A teleporter?”

  Icarus worked quickly, assembling the ball-bearing joints for the outermost ring. His hands were almost a blur of activity. Del had never seen someone work so fast. “I will spin it up to see if it functions, then start manufacturing my difference engine.”

  “A difference engine? You mean a computer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Such things exist here?”

  “Charles Babbage designed one, but never built it. I managed to obtain a copy of his plans. I intend to make it, but I’ll need more parts … a lot more parts.” Icarus looked up. “And a lot more money.”

  “Those tools cost me nearly all the cash I had!”

  Icarus sighed. “Everything is so expensive these days. I can only steal so much. For the difference engine I will require gears of the highest quality… If only I had access to a factory!” He laughed humourlessly. “Like that will ever happen.”

  Del snapped his fingers. “Nicholas Gordon’s factory is called the Gordon Steamworks! He may well have everything you need!”

  Icarus’s human eye gleamed with excitement. “You could try to find him – he was quite taken with you, wasn’t he? I’m sure he would pay you handsomely for another encounter. Then, when you come back here, you can tell me all about it.”

  Del stared at him. “Why, I do believe you’re trying to pimp me out, Icarus!”

  “Don’t sound so offended! If I looked like you, I’d be out there selling my backside too!” Icarus started putting the next set of bearing-joints together.

  Del laughed. “Icarus, I don’t mind seeking Nicholas Gordon out – I hope I will be able to find him – what I need to know what is the point of this teleporter and its … difference engine?”

  “So we can travel around, of course.”

  “But why? Aren’t we secure down here?”

  “There will come a time, one day, when I will be forced to leave. There are people - and creatures – after me, and I doubt they have given up. The want my machines, and … and a certain artifact I have. I want to be able to escape at a moment’s notice. And besides, I made a promise to someone, long ago, that I would build the Omniportallis. I owe it to him.”

  Del nodded. “Very well. Would you like me to look for Gordon today? By my reckoning it’s about lunchtime out there now. There is still plenty of daylight left.”

  “Er…” Icarus tailed off. Suddenly he didn’t want Del to leave him. Jealousy had reared its ugly head. But he had to be mature about this. They needed the money desperately, and Del had an amazing talent for seduction. ”Alright. But be careful.”

  “Of course. I will be back tomorrow.” Del collected his hat and cloak and departed once more.

  After Del had gone, it didn’t take Icarus long to finish the bearing-joints and fit them to the rings. Then he applied liberal doses of oil to the joints and turned the rings manually to make sure they moved freely. They spun almost soundlessly, creating a gentle breeze. Icarus couldn’t believe his eyes. “At last,” he whispered, “the actual Omniportallis is complete! Now, if only it works…” He locked the rings back into their upright position, then reached for a makeshift switch to activate the device. “Here goes … wish me luck, Leonardo!” He pulled the switch down. There was a flash and a shower of sparks. Icarus waited impatiently. Power rose, building towards a crescendo. Then, slowly, the outermost ring began to spin. “Yes!” Icarus whooped.

  The second ring followed, designed to turn on a different plane to the first. Faster and faster. The third and fourth followed. Then the fifth, sixth and finally the tiny disc in the middle, the final ring that would completely cut through the membrane of reality. By now all the rings were glowing, but Icarus couldn’t tell if anything was actually happening other than a spectacular light show. He rummaged through the mess on his work-bench, finding his monocle. He opened the cover over his right eye and screwed the thing in. Adjusting several movable lenses, he was finally able to see the altered reality matrix. The spinning rings were indeed cutting a hole through reality.

  He had done it! He had created an open portal to the Immaterium! Icarus whooped again, clapping his mismatched hands. “I’ve done it, Leonardo! It only took me three hundred and fifty years, but I’ve done it!”

  Then, through his special lens he noticed a sudden cloud of darkness looming behind the spinning lights. It hadn’t taken his portal long to attract the attention of an Immaterial denizen. “Fuck!” Icarus dived across the room to the lever. He yanked it down. There was another flare of light and shower of sparks. Then an anguished roar of frustration thundered through the subterranean dwelling – a roar that was fortunately cut off when the rings abruptly locked and ceased their spinning. “Stupid!” Icarus shouted at himself. “Stupid stupid stupid!” He beat his clenched fists against his steel skull. “Should have erected a safety field first!” He adjusted his lenses again, scanning his laboratory in case some nasty had made it through, and was even now hovering around, searching for a suitable body to inhabit. No one was going to take his body without a fight! He had fought off several Immaterial body-snatchers during his time, including Vladrakov.

  He found nothing. But that didn’t stop him from spending the rest of the afternoon starting at each strange noise.

  Chapter 7

  The Da Vinci Codex

  The IntelliGent wondered if he had made a mistake trusting the three Immaterial louts. The Underfiend had a modicum of intelligence but his companions were little more than apes. It seemed every time the Gent sent them out they returned empty handed, after all three had given up and ended their evening in some sleazy pub, gaming house or brothel. They were still rejoicing in their warm, fleshy human bodies, and offers of pleasure were just too hard to refuse.

  The Necronite was proving very elusive. The three demons had revisited the arrival site several times, but the fellow had not returned. On the Gent’s advice, they visited local chapters of various alternative religious orders; the Freemasons, the Theosophists (who had connections to the Magick Earth), various spiritualists and even some Satanists who conducted their sacrifices in an abandoned train-tunnel. No-one had seen anyone matching the Necronite’s description. It seemed he wanted nothing to do with others of similar faith, leading the Gent to suspect that his theory about his red mark was correct.

  The Necronite was trying to deny his curse. Unfortunately this made tracking him down even harder, as he appeared to have gone to ground. Surely someone as uniquely attractive as he would stand out like a beacon? It seemed the Gent would have to try another tactic.r />
  Staring at the three hulking, sheepish creatures in front of him, the Gent sniffed with disdain. “I might as well use bloodhounds to track this fellow for all the good you three are doing!”

  “It’s not even been a week since we started looking,” growled the Underfiend.

  The Gent sniffed again. “And yet, in that time I’ve had to personally stop two pub-brawls and hide the body of one dead prostitute!”

  “I was wondering what happened to Sally,” piped up Jersey Devil, who’d finally managed to master his body’s mouth.

  “Enough!” shouted the Gent. “Your mission here is not a joke. If you can’t take it seriously, I will find someone who can, and my protection of you will be lifted. All future pub-brawls will instead be broken up by the Stigmata.” He glared at the imps through his thick, rimless spectacles. Suitably chastised, they shrank back in their seats. But of course no-one apologized.

  The Gent could have snapped his fingers, informing all the elementals in the room to converge on the imps. There would have been nothing left of them afterwards. But he wasn’t that angry. Instead he cleared his throat. “We need to work out a new plan. Obviously stalking the streets and questioning local cultists isn’t working. Any suggestions?” He looked inquiringly at the three imps.

  They exchanged glances. Plans weren’t their strong suit. Like most immaterial denizens, they functioned largely on impulse. Then the Underfiend was overcome by the strangest sensation. He felt like something was yawning open deep inside his belly. The bizarre behavior of his human body never ceased to amaze him; during the past week he had discovered eating, drinking, pissing, shitting, fucking and vomiting. What other humiliating bodily function is this human meat-sack going to inflict on me now? he wondered miserably as he leaned forward with a moan.

  “What’s the matter?” asked the Gent. “Did you eat something that didn’t agree with you?”

  “Probably,” groaned the Fiend. “I did have a funny pie this morning, but I don’t think that’s it. It feels more like…”

  “I feel strange too,” agreed Jersey Devil.

  “Yes,” slurred Pumpkinhead, who still had trouble talking, “Like … like...”

  “Wait!” The Fiend lifted a hand. “I know this feeling – I felt something similar when that portal opened in the Immaterium! Only I experienced it from the other side, so instead of feeling the empty nothingness of the Immaterium, I felt the joy of solidity.”

  The Gent leapt to his feet. “Someone is opening a portal?”

  “Possibly.”

  “I don’t suppose you can pinpoint where?”

  “Do I look like a portal compass to you?” The Underfiend groaned again. He could feel the gaping, terrible nothingness increasing. It could only be the Immaterium trying to draw him back in.

  “Come with me now!” Without waiting for an answer, the Gent swept across the drawing room to a bookcase. He grabbed a book, seemingly at random, and pulled it out. There was a click as a hidden catch released, and the bookshelf swung inwards, revealing a narrow flight of stone steps leading up. The Gent hurried up them, and the door began to slide back. Despite their aching guts, the demons had to run after him. The door closed with a crunch, and gears reset.

  The Gent tore up the stairs with a remarkable speed. At the top was a single steel door with great metal rivets embedded in it. The Gent lifted his hands, gestured, and intoned several arcane words. A rune appeared in a flash of fire. He traced it with a finger, intoning another sentence. The door swung aside, revealing the other second library. Even larger than the drawing room book repository, this secret level occupied the entire top floor, although looking from the outside, a casual observer would never have guessed that another storey lay up here. There were no windows, and the shelves reached all the way to the ceiling. The books were protected behind sliding glass doors locked from the outside, and one section was entirely cut off from the rest behind solid steel doors marked with more runes. It contained the truly dangerous volumes. Comfortable reading chairs dotted the floor. There was also a separate study alcove with sound-proofed walls, containing a seat with arm and leg restraints, and clamps designed to hold the head steady and eyes open. This was for the reading the books that required the extra protection.

  The Gent headed for a bench at the far end of the room, where a large contraption had been erected. At its centre hung an impressive array of glass lenses on hinges. The Gent shoved the Underfiend into the chair in front of it. “Adjust the lenses until you can see through into the Immaterium,” he barked. Then he pulled down a map of London from several maps hanging from a roll against the wall behind the bench. “You might be able to locate the portal.”

  The Underfiend moved the lenses as the Gent adjusted some dials, increasing the focus and magnification. But scarcely had he begun work when the imp screamed and fell back. “Vladrakov!” he shouted.

  “Who - what – is Vladrakov?” demanded the Gent.

  Abruptly, the yawning sensation stopped as the mysterious portal slammed shut. Slowly the Underfiend picked himself up off the floor. “It’s gone.”

  “Who is Vladrakov? Another Immaterial Imp?”

  “An aspiring godling who desires Abraxas’ throne,” the Fiend explained.

  The Gent sniffed. “I still can’t believe how you imps fight over territory in there. It’s all nothingness.”

  “Even nothing is something in the Immaterium.”

  “Enough amateur philosophy. Did you locate anything?”

  The Fiend peered through the complex lens array again, still shaken by the slavering face he had seen. Immaterial creatures may not have had physical forms, but they possessed telepathic images – aspects – of how they wanted others to see them. Vladrakov had appeared as a frightening mass of tentacles, claws, blazing eyes and snapping beaks. For a split second the Underfiend had been convinced the monster was looking right at him. Had he managed to come through, the Underfiend would have been his first meat snack. “I did narrow it down to a general area.” He got up and gestured a circle on the London map. It encompassed half of the old city and a section outside the wall on the west-hand side.

  “That hardly narrows it down at all!”

  “Consider yourself lucky we could feel the portal opening!” retorted the Underfiend. “Otherwise you’d never have known!”

  The Gent sniffed.

  “I wonder who opened it this time?” asked Jersey. “It couldn’t possibly be another Necronite getting exiled, could it?”

  “To the same time and place as the last one? I doubt it. No, this portal had another source.” The Gent rubbed his small, pointed chin.

  “Some of those cultists we visited, maybe?” asked the Fiend.

  “They are far more careful. It seemed from what you were feeling, whoever opened this hole did it on the spur of the moment, without erecting any protection. The primary function was to create the portal itself, not summon anything out of it – hence why it closed before Vladrakov could pass through.” The Gent wandered along his shelves of books, then selected one which he opened, speed-reading until he came to the section he wanted. “Ah. Thought so. One of the reasons the Stigmata want the Da Vinci Codex is because it contains plans for a working Omniportallis.”

  The three imps stared at him. “A what?”

  “A device designed to open doors to multiple realms – hence the name. Unfortunately, the Stigmata have no idea what this machine actually looks like – the only plans for it are in the Da Vinci Codex. For all their experimentation, the Stigmata have not been able to successfully replicate it.”

  “You think someone created one of these Omniportallises and tested it out?” the Underfiend exclaimed incredulously.

  “The only person who could have done so is Icarus. If the portal was indeed created by him, then it confirms that he is in the city and in possession of the Da Vinci Codex. You three must find out where the opening was made. If it happened once, it could happen again.”

  The Underfi
end stared gloomily at the map. The sight of Vladrakov’s furious, snarling ‘face’ had shaken him considerably, and his human body was shivering and layered with sweat. The last thing he wanted was to be anywhere near an open portal to the Immaterium. But something told him he would not be able to refuse the IntelliGent’s wishes. All three were beholden to him now. “Very well.”

  The Gent smiled thinly. “Excellent.” He made a shooing motion. “There’s no time like the present to start!”

  Del found his way to a train-station, but instead of spending his hard-earned money on a train ticket, he simply memorised what one looked like so he could show it to any inspectors. Then he strode onto a first-class carriage and joined the rest of the smoking, newspaper reading elite. The fact that nearly every gentleman was puffing on a pipe or cigar intrigued him. None of the ladies were doing it. From the emotions he managed to pick up he sensed the smoking was more a habit than a true drug-addiction. It only produced a mild pleasure.

  As the train slowly filled, he wandered the first-class carriages searching for Nicholas Gordon, but he didn’t appear. Then he found a seat and settled down for the ride east. This time the trip through the tunnel passed uneventfully, with the lamps remaining on, and no-one’s hands wandering across his knees. Del got off at the St Giles end and made his way through the alleys towards Gordon’s apartment. On the way he passed the café where the young male prostitutes loitered. Del recognised some of the men he had seen last time. Perhaps he should wait with them in case Gordon strode past.

  Del sauntered over to the men, some of whom seemed no more than youths, emulating their elders by slouching nonchalantly and smoking. Heads turned as Del approached, and he saw their expressions of derision before he experienced their negative emotions flowing over him. They recognised the one who’d taken their best paying customer, and they didn’t want him poaching on their territory. Del realised unless he did something, they would try to drive him away. Did he have the strength for a powerful mental suggestion? Perhaps – if it was simple.