Julius and the Watchmaker (13 page)

‘Excessive oscillation event, Professor?' said Julius.

‘He means a bloody big explosion,' said Mr Flynn.

‘Precisely, Danny. We must identify the centre of the destabilisation occurrence and apply a counter oscillation field to re-align the vibration frequency to our realm. We must gain entry into Springheel's rooms. There, if I am not mistaken, we will find the epicentre of the disturbance.'

‘I can show you how to get in there, Professor,' said Julius. ‘It's just around the corner and up the stairs.'

The girl glared at Julius, and Julius edged closer to Mr Flynn.

‘There is no time to lose. Julius, lead the way,' said the professor, with a wave of his cane.

‘'Ang on, 'ang on,' shouted the girl, holding out her arms. ‘It'll cost ya four shillings to break into the toff 's lodgings.'

‘Come on now, little girl, run along and play,' said Mr Flynn, as he walked towards the alleyway.

‘Neddies up,' called the girl, as she scrambled to beat him to the doorway. The urchins all rallied around her waving coshes and batons. They blocked the entrance, furrowing their brows and setting grimaces on their dirty faces. Mr Flynn stopped and put his hands on his hips.

‘This is a fine thing and no mistake,' he said to one of the older boys standing beside the girl. ‘Do my eyes deceive me or is the leader of this gang a
girl
? Have you no self respect at all, fellas?'

The boy and his companions shuffled their feet and looked down at the cobbles. ‘Well…sort of…we had a vote, ya see.'

‘A vote? My word, sure, why don't you vote her for prime minister while you're at it? I never heard such a thing. I've seen everything now, so I have.'

‘Oi,' yelled the girl, glaring menacingly at the boy. ‘Don't change the subject. Pay up or sling yer 'ook.'

‘Pay the girl, Danny, we have no time for an altercation,' said the professor, pressing his hand against the vibrating wall.

‘Very well, Professor, but it's against my principles to do business with females,' said Mr Flynn, as he fished some coins from his waistcoat and flung them down the alley.

Like a swarm of rats after a fresh stilton, the mob of children sprang after the coins jangling along the cobblestones. Julius, the professor and Mr Flynn headed up the narrow stairway. At the top, Mr Flynn tried the door. Finding it locked, he kicked it open as if it were made of paper.

Julius rushed into Jack Springheel's room. A whirlpool was floating in mid-air in the centre of the room. Arcs of lightning flicked from its centre. Julius could feel his hair standing up as one of the arcs attached itself to his head. Books, clocks and clock components were moving about the room, as if invisible hands were trying to pull them into the whirlpool. The pictures rattled against the walls and a table shuffled its way across the shuddering floor.

‘What is it?' shouted Julius above the crackle and hiss.

The professor held his top hat to stop it flying off his head into the whirlpool. ‘This is the epicentre of the destabilisation occurrence. That, if I am not mistaken, is the precise spot where Springheel's vortex-opening contraption stood. It caused an aberrant vibration that is spreading throughout the building. We do not have much time.'

The professor took the watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘It is no wonder Springheel did a flit. This little episode will have unnerved the cove sufficiently to have him to desist from meddling for some considerable time,' said the professor above the din.

Julius cast an eye over the disarray of floating books, looking for Harrison's diary. The watch spun in the air and the professor tapped it. The entire room was cast in a red light, but the whirlpool seemed to be trying to suck the light into its core.

Strands of red light interlaced with the whirlpool, making it resemble a spinning red rose. Gradually, it sucked more and more of the light into its core. Then it slowed and weakened and the room grew quieter. The walls stopped vibrating and the whirlpool faded and then, finally, disappeared.

‘Well, that's that, gentlemen. And not a moment before time,' said the professor, returning the watch to his pocket.

‘But where to find Springheel now? That's the question, Professor,' said Mr Flynn.

‘Indeed, Danny. He has slipped through our fingers once again, I fear.'

‘I'll make enquiries at the bare-knuckle bout tonight, Professor. If there's anything to be known about anyone it'll be known by the Fancy.'

‘Very well, Danny. In the meantime I must make some enquiries of my own. We may need more than one Watchmaker here to put a stop to this.'

Mr Flynn turned to Julius. ‘Time for you to go home and patch things up with your grandfather, young fella. You've been a great help to us, but we can take care of things from here.'

‘What?'

‘Danny's right, Julius. It's probably for the best,' said the professor.

‘I can't go back.'

‘Why not, for goodness sake? It can't be that serious, can it?' said the professor.

‘It's complicated…look, I can't go back. For one thing Crimper McCready is going to kill me and… and…'

‘And?' said the professor.

‘I just can't go back. Not ever.'

‘Surely you're exaggerating, Julius,' said the professor. ‘Whatever argument you had with Mr Higgins, he won't be angry forever.'

‘Oh, don't you believe it, Professor,' said Mr Flynn. ‘The old wheeler dealer can be as stubborn as a mule with an earache when he puts his mind to it.'

‘You know my grandfather?' said Julius.

Mr Flynn looked at Julius. ‘A long time ago.'

They were silent for a few moments. The professor tapped the silver top of his cane as he deliberated. ‘What do you think, Danny?' he said, finally.

Mr Flynn scratched his stubbly chin. ‘I don't know, Professor. Maybe we should give his grandfather a few more days to calm down.'

‘Yes,' said Julius. ‘And I could help you catch Springheel.'

‘How?' said the professor.

‘I know what he looks like. If he shows up at the bare-knuckle bouts I could point him out.'

The professor raised an eyebrow.

‘I can't see what harm it could do, Professor,' said Mr Flynn. I'll take the boy to the bout tonight. He might enjoy it.'

As Julius, the professor and Mr Flynn walked down Warwick Lane, twelve pairs of eyes watched them from the alleyway, waiting for them to disappear around the corner.

‘Change of plans, shipmates. We're moving into the removals business,' said the girl. She scuttled up the stairs to Jack Springheel's rooms, with her gang close behind.

Mr Flynn's lodgings were in Mincing Lane, a slingshot from the new Customs House, in a townhouse that was trying unsuccessfully to present a look of respectability. When the three travellers arrived, the professor took his leave and Mr Flynn knocked on the door. Julius heard hurrying footsteps and a faint ‘I'm coming, I'm coming.'

The door was opened by a small respectable-looking woman in widow's black.

‘Why, Mr Flynn.'

‘Mrs Mottel,' said Mr Flynn, tipping his hat.

‘Come in, come in,' she said, curtseying excitedly as she stepped back to usher them in. ‘When you didn't come 'ome last night we was h'all worried, we was. “It's not like our Mr Flynn to be out h'all night, not without h'informing us,” I said to Kitty, didn't I, Kitty?'

‘That you did, Mrs M,' came a distant reply from the scullery at the end of the hall.

‘Sorry about that, Mrs Mottel. I was time-travelling again and forgot the time.'

‘Oh, Mr Flynn, you are a one,' said Mrs Mottel, and her whole body quivered with laughter. ‘And who's this young gentleman?' she said, looking Julius up and down and clapping her hands together.

‘This, Mrs Mottel, is Master Julius Higgins. He'll be staying with us tonight, while we save London from an evil time-criminal with designs on making incursions into a parallel realm inhabited by sharp-toothed denizens.'

‘Oh, Mr Flynn, you and your stories,' said Mrs Mottel, slapping him playfully on the arm. ‘'E'll be the death of me, won't 'e Kitty?'

‘That 'e will, Mrs M,' came the distant reply.

‘I'll get Kitty to make up the bed in the spare room for you, Master 'iggins. You'll find us h'all very h'accommodating 'ere. Won't 'e Kitty?'

‘That 'e will, Mrs M.'

‘And if you'd be so kind as to bring us up some tea and crumpets when you have a moment, Kitty,' called out Mr Flynn, as he climbed the creaking stairs.

‘That I will, Mr Flynn.'

The first thing Julius noticed about Mr Flynn's rooms was the fragrance of the lavender in the small vase on the table. Mr Flynn threw his hat on a peg behind the door, slipped off his coat and sat down heavily in one of the two fireside chairs.

‘Ah, it's good to be home again,' he said.

Julius wandered over to an oak bookcase and ran his fingers across the spines of the books. Mr Flynn pulled off his boots and massaged the toes of his right foot, cracking the joints.

‘Make yourself at home, Julius,' he said, poking the almost-dead embers in the fireplace. ‘We'll rest up here for the day, and we'll go to the bare-knuckle bout this evening.'

He relaxed back into his chair and closed his eyes. ‘Think I'll have a kip. Wake me up when Kitty brings the crumpets.'

Julius sat down in the other fireside chair and watched Mr Flynn sleeping. The stillness of the room was only disturbed by Mr Flynn's chest rising and falling with each breath. Julius thought about how strange it was that Mr Flynn knew his grandfather. He tried to recall if his grandfather had ever said anything about Danny Flynn, the champion bare-knuckle boxer of London. He could not recall even a mention of the name, or of bare-knuckle boxing for that matter. But there were the unwanted tips on boxing his grandfather tried to give him when he complained of being bullied.

Julius sat back in the chair and fell asleep before he could think anymore about it.

Mr Flynn strode along a narrow side street. Julius had to jog to keep up with him. The air was as still as a library after closing time. But the rumble of a large crowd could be heard only a few streets away.

Turning a corner, they joined the stream of men on their way to the bare-knuckle bout. Some recognised Danny Flynn, the champion of all London, and tipped their hats respectfully; others nudged their companions and whispered as they nodded in his direction. There were costermongers, out to enjoy an evening of prize fighting after pushing barrows of fruit all day, and liveried footmen and off-duty soldiers in the mix, as well as gentlemen out for an evening's sport.

Mr Flynn inclined his head slightly and smiled to acknowledge every greeting, but he did not tip his hat. In the world of the Fancy he was king, and kings do not doff their hats to anyone.

Julius and Mr Flynn approached a warehouse door, and a small group of boxing enthusiasts quit their animated discussions and stood aside like schoolboys caught with cigar butts. ‘Good evening, Mr Flynn,' said a very thin young man with a clay pipe in the corner of his mouth—a footman, by the look of him.

‘Good evening, fellas,' Mr Flynn replied, without a look in their direction, and stepped through the warehouse door.

Julius followed directly behind. The hubbub of a hundred voices hit his ears like a gust of wind. The smell of the oil from the lamps hanging from the high ceiling mingled with the cigar smoke and the musky French cologne fashionable with the dandies.

A group of men parted and tipped their hats when Mr Flynn approached. A large man with a farmer's ruddy face and bushy sideburns stepped forward and thrust out his hand. ‘Mr Flynn, may I say what an honour it is. I've come all the way from Cheddar Gorge for some sport, Mr Flynn, and I mean to have some, indeed I do.'

‘Welcome to town,' said Mr Flynn. ‘I hope tonight's entertainment will be worth the trip.'