The Circus Infinitus - Genesis Infinitus

by Ethan Somerville

  His telepathic cry started Del awake. At this time of night? Are you sure? he responded groggily. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up. Nicholas gave a groan and rolled over.

  I set a ward! Of course I’m sure! Icarus snapped. But I can’t go out there by myself – I will freeze solid! We need a carriage! Fast! Down by the fire Icarus hopped impatiently from one foot to another. Had he been able to stay at the site he would have confronted the burglars by now!

  Del shook the old industrialist awake. “Nicholas, we need to go to the site. Icarus says someone is breaking in! We need a carriage now!”

  “Confound it! How the Hell does he know?”

  “He just does! Come on!”

  Gordon rang the bell for his coachman, ordering his carriage to be hooked up as quickly as possible. Still over ten minutes passed before they were rattling out of the property towards the northern road. Despite the coach’s protection, Icarus still felt the dreadful cold seeping into his joints. I can’t take much more of this weather, he thought. London might be a filthy hell-hole, but it’s much warmer than here!

  Inside Icarus’ office, the Underfiend found a large stash of documents. Possessing the ability to see in the dark, he realised they were plants for other structures and machines, and included a plan of the completed theatre. The Gent will want these, he thought, and stuffed them into one pocket of his voluminous woollen coat. He checked shelves and pulled open cupboards, but found no more of interest.

  There’s a carriage coming down the road! Jersey sent to him.

  We’d better leg it! The Underfiend hurried down the stairs into the main body of the theatre.

  It’s stopping! Pumpkinhead warned.

  The three imps found a way out through the scaffold and stumbled through the piles of snow-covered sand and bricks. But Icarus’s ward had attached a marker to the Underfiend, and as the big imp crossed the site’s boundary, the documents stuffed into his coat self-destructed in a ball of fire. Icarus felt the flare of Magick, and before the carriage even came to a stop, the cyborg had leapt from the conveyance and was bolting across the site like a bat out of hell.

  “Jesus Christ the little prick can move!” Gordon exclaimed.

  “He’s obviously spotted someone,” Del scrambled out after him and scanned the spidery structure for mindlights. He only detected the semi-conscious blobs of the Dobbs brothers and Ethel, still entwined after a ménage d’trois. No use rousing them, he thought darkly. He sent his thoughts questing further.

  Although Jersey Devil could outrun a horse, he couldn’t very well leave his slower companions. Come on you slow-arses!

  Pumpkinhead Jack was already gasping for breath. This body’s not built for rapid acceleration!

  And I’m on fire, you bastard! The Underfiend slapped at his burning coat as he ran. Fortunately the thick wool and below-freezing temperatures kept the fire doing too much damage. The Fiend glanced over his shoulder and spotted someone tearing through the snow after them, someone who was moving as fast as Jersey Devil and spewing out clouds of black smoke behind him. Jesus Christ who is that?

  Jersey shrieked like a girl and took off across the moors.

  The pursuer lifted an arm and blasted him in the back with what looked like a lightning-bolt fired directly from his finger, knocking him head over heels into a snow-drift. Without stopping he changed targets, blasting down the laboring Pumpkinhead. But Pumpkinhead Jack was far more robust than Jersey and only stumbled, pins and needles lancing through his extremities.

  Icarus knew he wouldn’t be able to bring these monsters down with the portable bolt-thrower he’d built into his arm. Oh, if only he had the big one! He had not long ago upgraded the backpack. He smelled the unholy stench of the Immaterium. Did he have enough energy for a banishing? Only one way to find out! He skidded to a stop in the snow and lifted his hands, calling on the powers deep within him. In his lab he could have simply shoved these creatures back into the Immaterium through the Omniportallis. Here he had to make do with the old-fashioned method – the Will and the Word.

  Gordon had elected to stay in the carriage, but couldn’t miss the sound of shooting. Who had a gun? Surely not Icarus! “What’s going on out there?” he called to his coachman.

  “No idea, sir – but I did see some flashes in the field out behind the theatre.”

  “Damnit,” Gordon growled, clambering out of the carriage. “I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. Where’s Adam?”

  “He went after the little fella with the bandages.”

  Gordon strode towards the building site – and the tent nearest him suddenly disgorged two half-naked figures – the masked Dobbs brothers. “Mr. Gordon! What’s happenin’?” asked Tim.

  “Fine watchmen you are! There’s been a break-in!” He didn’t bother trying to explain how Icarus had been warned – he still had no idea what had notified him. Icarus never explained his secrets. “Come with me!” he led the two men through the site.

  Del had sent Icarus telepathic images of the three Immaterial imps earlier, so Icarus knew exactly what the creatures looked like – their human forms and their true demonic shapes. Icarus would have preferred their true names – that would have made the whole ritual much easier. But he had enough to draw them in like fish on a line. They cursed and struggled as they were forced to stumble back through the snow towards him, but he had been doing this sort of thing for hundreds of years, and they were only minor imps after all. As soon as they were within twenty feet of him, he produced a flaming circle between his hands and flung it into the air. It expanded into a giant ring as it soared over their heads, and slammed into the snow around them. Despite the cold it continued to burn with Magickal Fire.

  “Oh we are so fucked,” Pumpkinhead moaned out loud.

  “You are bound by the Magick, the Will and Word,” Icarus shouted in the ancient language. “You are not natural denizens of this realm, and are hereby commanded to return to the Immaterium from whence ye came!”

  Del finally reached Icarus and the demons. He gaped at the three creatures, huddled in their blazing ring of fire. He could see them transforming from humanoid shape into their true demonic forms; the giant black-robed lizard man, the pumpkin-headed creature, the chicken-like thing with the pointy beak. Icarus lifted his arms. “If ye will not return of your own volition, I will send ye back!”

  Del did not understand a word. The strange language seemed to tear at his soul, as though each syllable contained a physical component. He could feel the force of Icarus’s will fighting against the combined might of the creatures – and winning. Del’s jaw dropped in amazement. He had always thought that Icarus was about as powerful as an average Eridon. But here was proof of his true might! The flames of the Magick circle rose higher and higher to swallow the imps. Del could hear them screaming through the conflagration.

  “No no no! Don’t send us back! Don’t-“

  Icarus clapped his hands. There was a mighty explosion of light and flame. A powerful gust of hot air bowled Del over. A powerful stench of sulphur rolled through the night. When Del managed to pick himself up he saw nothing – only a great molten patch where the trio had been standing. Icarus fell to his knees.

  “Wh- what the Hell was that?” gasped Nicholas Gordon as he stumbled out from behind a snow-covered heap of dirt. “I heard a God-awful explosion!”

  Del was saved from trying to think of a response by Icarus, who chose that moment to keel over in the snow. Del hurried to his side and picked him up.

  “Burned … up all my coal,” he whispered. Then his voice deserted him and he slumped in Del’s arms.

  “Blimey!” gasped Tim Dobbs. “What’s that bloody awful smell?”

  The three imps should have been sent back to the Immaterium. They were convinced they were about to lose their wonderful human bodies, and be forced to exist once more as fleshless ghosts in the cold, featureless grey of the void. Indeed they could feel their essences being torn from their forms. But then another spell that
had previously been inactive took control.

  As soon as they had walked into the Intelligent Gentlemen’s club, the Gent’s wards had activated, linking them to the multi-dimensional building. Now, instead of being sucked back into the Immaterium, all three imps were sent spiraling back into the club. All three landed in an undignified heap in the restricted library. Because of the hour the Gent wasn’t there, but a ward immediately activated, and he showed up a few minutes later, dressed in a quilted dressing-gown and looking extremely unimpressed.

  The three imps, however, were weeping with relief on finding themselves whole and safe on solid ground. Jersey even went so far as to fling himself onto the floor in front of the Gent, and kiss his slippered feet.

  “Ugh, stop that you dirty creature!” The Gent stepped back. “What the Hell are you doing here?” He suspected a horrible truth – there was only one way they could have shown up here in such a state.

  The Underfiend picked himself up. His woollen coat hung in smoldering tatters, the flesh of his chest badly singed. Jersey had also suffered burns from the electrical blast. Only Pumpkinhead looked relatively unharmed. But all three were badly shaken, and their human bodies revealed shaking hands and twitching facial muscles. “We … we found the theatre and were exploring it,” the Fiend began haltingly. “I found some plans for machines.” He patted his chest. “Unfortunately they caught fire.”

  “You must have tripped a ward.” The Gent sighed heavily.

  “Then this carriage showed up, and we bolted the Hell out of there. But someone caught up with us. Some sort of mage. He blasted us with spells and then tried to banish us.”

  “He would have succeeded had my sanctuary spells not activated, bringing you back here. You three are lucky to be alive! That mage was obviously Icarus!”

  “Surely not!” the Underfiend gasped, unconvinced that creature had been the formidable apprentice of Leonardo da Vinci. “He was just a scrawny little fellow in a filthy leather coat, all wrapped in bandages and wearing a big hat!”

  “He has been creeping around for hundreds of years! What did you expect? Some seven foot tall wizard in a celestial robe of stars and moons, with a pointy hat and a long white beard?” The Gent turned away, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I must admit you three have done well tonight. You may stay here. I will fetch you some refreshments.”

  “We found the zombies too,” Pumpkinhead piped up. “They work for Icarus.”

  The Gent turned. “So they are involved! You know what all this means? That Icarus is alive and well, is in possession of the Da Vinci Codex, and has managed to perfect the Immortality Machine. I simply must get that book!”

  Chapter 11

  The Most Haunted Tavern in London

  After that disturbing incident, Icarus returned to London by himself, more intent than ever on getting the difference engine up and running. With the help of the Dobbs brothers, he had gotten a large portion of it erected and assembled, but it wasn’t complete enough to control the Omniportallis. He still needed to link a lot of the cogs together, a tedious and fiddly job that took many hours. Paranoia created by the imps’ attack ensured that he went out each evening to check his wards and make sure they hadn’t been disrupted by any counter-magic. He figured whoever the demons had been working for was powerful enough to detect and neutralise his enchantments.

  But even Icarus, with his formidable undead stamina and attention to detail, couldn’t keep up the punishing pace he demanded of himself. He needed another assistant, and since Del, the Dobbses and Ethel had remained up north, he was forced to go out on his own and recruit one.

  As his recent adventure up north had reminded him, he was not a people person. He wasn’t like the charismatic Del. He had no ability to charm or beguile. He asked, and if he didn’t get what he wanted, he sought it elsewhere. The thought of searching out a potential recruit on his own galled him. But it had to be done if he wanted the damn engine finished any time soon. So Icarus wrapped himself up in his coat, hat & bandages, slipped some spare lumps of coal into his pockets, and crept out one afternoon to visit the seediest parts of the city. He had considered simply snaring a corpse and reanimating it, but wasn’t sure how much intelligence the resultant zombie would retain. He needed someone with a modicum of brain-power who could at least follow orders.

  Icarus traveled to the East End. Even though the sun was setting, the streets were still relatively crowded. Icarus tried to be as unobtrusive as possible without actually casting spells to mask his progress – he wanted to use as little power as possible. Fortunately most people shied away from the strange little character with the bandages and cloud of smoke around his head. Most, but not all.

  There was always someone who wanted to bash a beggar. A pack of louts from a local factory, who had just filled up on beer and stumbled from a tavern, were seeking a little fun to liven up their evening. When they spotted the skinny character in his dirty leather riding coat, they decided he was worth a kicking.

  “Bloody beggars, blockin’ the way,” growled the biggest of the men, a great brute of a man still in his filthy factory overalls. “C’mon lads – let’s clean the streets up a little, eh?”

  His three mates agreed, and they converged on Icarus. Icarus considered running, but couldn’t see an escape route anywhere near. He did, however, have one last card up his sleeve. “You don’t want to touch me,” he rasped. “Look at my bandages - I’m a leper.”

  Anyone with an ounce of sense would have backed off. But the men were in a particularly surly mood that night, and didn’t want to be deprived of a little knuckle-and-boot fun. “Don’t worry yerself, little fella. We won’t touch your skin!” The leader guffawed as he pounded a fist into his palm.

  Icarus sighed. “It won’t be much fun for you. I won’t feel any pain.”

  “Oh, it’ll still be fun!” The leader swung a very slow, clumsy punch that an ordinary normal man might be been able to dodge. But Icarus was far from ordinary. He caught the fist as it swung towards him, twisted the arm and yanked it up the fellow’s back. Then he kicked him in the backside, so hard he went sprawling in the dirty yellow snow. The others hesitated, stunned by the little fellow’s quickness, but thought if they rushed him, they could subdue him by sheer weight of numbers.

  Icarus was so fast the men’s movements seemed to occur in slow motion to him. He wasn’t a trained fighter, but when confronted by such sluggish components, he resembled a whirling dervish. He tripped one as he came in, ducked under another’s punch and landed a hard metal fist in a very soft stomach. The third and last man he grabbed and kneed in the groin. All three were laid out on the ground, groaning and wondering what had hit them.

  But it seemed the leader hadn’t learned his lesson yet, and was rising from the cobbles with an incoherent roar as Icarus turned to face him. Icarus made a fist with his human hand and punched him in the face. He spun around on the spot and dropped as though pole-axed.

  “I did warn you,” Icarus growled, satisfied that none of them would be getting up any time soon. “I said it wouldn’t be much fun for you and I wouldn’t feel any pain. Did I lie?”

  The only answer he received was more moans. He turned to walk away, and realised a small crowd had collected to watch the battle. His ragged audience cheered and clapped. It mainly consisted of beggars, some shopkeepers and a handful of down-at-heel locals. As Icarus approached them to leave the scene, they quickly backed away. It seemed they had overheard his declaration that he was a leper.

  The only one who didn’t move was a skinny fellow with a straggly goatee and a gypsy earring in one ear. He was wearing an old-fashioned frock-coat that had definitely seen better days, and looked like he might once have been a carnie or some sort of performer. “Nice work, mister,” he declared in a soft, husky voice. “Those bullies ‘ave been botherin’ us for months.”

  Icarus turned, sizing the fellow up. He was pale faced and looked sickly. “It was no effort on my behalf.” He was about to con
tinue on when he wondered if this man could be a candidate for the machine. “What have they been doing?”

  “They’re a gang – or rather were a gang-“ He paused to chuckle at the incapacitated victims still moaning in the snow, then doubled over as a fit of coughing took over. “’Scuse me,” he managed, and wiped his mouth with a grotty handkerchief. “They were a gang of local toughs who thought they could control the streets. They smashed shop windows, demanded money from shopkeepers and beat up beggars. But after what you just did, they should think twice about comin’ back!” He laughed again, launching into another coughing fit. This time Icarus, with his enhanced sense of smell, detected blood. A definite possibility, Icarus thought. The man had to lean against a wall for support, and when Icarus reached out to help him, he didn’t cringe away.

  “Aren’t you worried about my disease?” Icarus asked.

  “Bah! I’ve got a worse one of me own! Me Mum says I shouldn’t be out here this time o’ night, but what’s the cold goin’ to do? Kill me faster?” He stuck out a filthy hand. “Me name’s Ed Willkie, by the way.”

  Icarus shook the hands. “I’m Icarus Abbacus – Professor Icarus Abbacus,” he added.

  “Professor, eh? What’re you doing down here? Slumming it?”

  “Not really. I’m actually searching for someone who can help me with my research, and you seem to be a likely candidate. I need someone who doesn’t have much to lose.”

  Willkie chuckled again. “Yer right! A few months, that’s all! Then I’m off to meet me maker. Bloody consumption. So … what’s all this about? You’re not a pervert, are you? I draw the line at that sort of thing.”

  “No, this is strictly research. And believe me, if it works you’ll never have to worry about your consumption again. You’ll be fit and fast and as strong as me.”

  Willkie stared curiously at him, noticing for the first time the weird red eye peering out from beneath the broad brim of that hat. “You’re not really a leper, are you?”