Julius and the Watchmaker (8 page)

The throbbing noise continued on the other side of the wall and Julius could hear Springheel and Clements arguing but could not distinguish their words.
What have you got yourself into, Higgins?
He squinted into the darkness of the staircase—no one there. He snatched his carpetbag from the bed and patted the money in his pocket
. I'll walk to Kent. Better still, I'll run,
Julius thought as he edged down the stairs.

There was no sign of the creature in the dark kitchen. Julius unlocked the back door and slid out into the night. Seconds later he was sprinting through New Market Square. In his eagerness to get away he was almost in the middle of the empty square before he realised that something was amiss.

He dropped the bag and looked around. For a start it was unseasonably warm, even for a summer's night; secondly the clouds covering the sky were red and orange and a lot lower that usual. They were like swirling molten coals, as if a mighty storm were raging. The buildings around the square were lit up by the light display overhead. But it was silent—there was no thunder. Julius could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
It's the Apocalypse, Higgins. The end of the world.

To the south Julius could see the dome of St Paul's above the rooftops.
What had Mr Flynn said about meeting the professor at the steps of St Paul's? Midnight wasn't it?
Julius had no idea what time it was as he looked around the square counting his options.
Well, Higgins, it's back to Jack Springheel and his apparitions, back to grandfather without the diary, off to Kent, or see what the professor and Mr Flynn have to say.

The only appealing option was Kent, but Julius knew, in his heart of hearts, it was not a realistic one. Something very frightening was happening in London and he needed to find out what was going on.

When he got to the cathedral the silent storm was still raging over Cheapside. In the amber light Julius could see Professor Fox standing at the cathedral steps looking up at the clouds. Mr Flynn was nearby looking around as if searching for someone. Julius approached them slowly.
Keep your mouth shut, Higgins. Let them do the talking.

‘Ah, you've decided to join us, young fella,' said Mr Flynn.

The professor turned his attention from the clouds, and his worried frown became a welcoming smile.
He's smiling, Higgins. That's good.

‘On your way home again, Julius?' said the professor, nodding towards the carpetbag in Julius's hand.

‘Yes.'

‘You're doing the right thing, young fella,' said Mr Flynn. ‘Now, about that diary?'

CHAPTER 8

Thursday 6th July, 1837
2:11 AM

Clouds swirled above the cathedral's spires, flashing in all shades of amber. ‘What's happening?' Julius asked.
Well done, Higgins. Get them distracted.

‘I'm not entirely sure, Julius, but I could hazard a guess,' said the professor. ‘There is a dual vibration anomaly occurring, centralised on this very borough.'

‘A what?'

‘Tell me, Julius, why did you leave your grandfather last night? He was very upset when I spoke with him earlier. What have you been up to?'

Julius clenched his jaw tight, but his eyes blinked guiltily. The professor and Mr Flynn waited for his answer.
Think very carefully, Higgins.

‘Why do you need to know, sir?'

‘I think you may have fallen in with the wrong sort, Julius. You could be in great danger. You have an association with a man, I will not say gentleman, by the name of Jack Springheel, have you not? He may appear to be a friend and ally but I can assure you that he is anything but.'

Julius swallowed hard.
Say nothing, Higgins
.

‘I have reason to believe this Jack Springheel, as he calls himself now, is a murderer.'

‘A murderer?'
Remember what you said about saying nothing, Higgins?

‘Yes, a fiendish killer, without scruples or compassion. I believe he took the life of the poet, Percy Shelley. Killed him for his pocketwatch.'

‘Did you say
pocketwatch
?'

‘I did. Springheel was a young lad then, back in 1822. He called himself Charles Vivian. He was a boat boy on Shelley's schooner, the
Ariel,
when it sank in a storm off the Italian coast. I have been on his trail, in one way or another, ever since. Recently I heard that a mysterious man was trawling the London bookshops in search of John Harrison's diary. Only a handful of people know of the significance of that diary and the H3 chronometer prototype. I knew that man had to be Charles Vivian.'

Julius blinked. Mr Flynn stepped closer to Julius. ‘Springheel is in cahoots with Clements, isn't he? This Clements fellow pays all his bills.'

‘Does he?' asked Julius.

‘Yes. Is he also lodging with Clements?'

‘Er…umm.'

The professor raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

Oh, cripes, this is all too much. Tell him, Higgins.

‘Yes, he's staying in rooms above the shop. I…I delivered books there.'

Almost to Julius's relief, the flagstones beneath his feet began to quake. He looked around, expecting a Chinaman to appear. Above him the silent light display was intensifying.

‘This is Springheel's doing,' said Mr Flynn. ‘He's meddling with the parallel realms, Professor.'

‘Correct, Danny,' said the professor, and he took his own pocketwatch out. ‘Julius, shed some light on this. What is Springheel up to?'

‘I don't know, honestly. He said he had a “little project” to complete tonight. That's all I know, honestly. But…but there was something…'

‘Something?' said Mr Flynn, stepping closer again.

‘Yes…in my room…there were vibrations and… and…one of those creatures came through the wall. It looked terrified. I tried to tell it to be calm, but I don't think it understood. It disappeared down the stairs. That's when I bolted.'

‘Professor,' said Mr Flynn. ‘If Springheel's interfering with the parallel vibration fields, then—'

The professor spun the pocketwatch and it bobbed in the air. ‘Precisely, Danny. Springheel is meddling with forces of which he has no understanding. He could be putting the whole of London in peril, perhaps the world. Stick close to me, gentlemen,' he said, tapping the side of the watch.

A blue light shone out in all directions, forming a dome around them. The professor tapped the watch once again and Julius gasped as its face split into concentric circles and opened out a few inches into a conical shape. He moved closer and peered at it through the blue light.

‘This light will protect us when we enter the other vibration field,' said the professor.

We?
thought Julius.
And, what vibration field?

The internal mechanisms of the watch had opened up and he could see the complex matrix of ascending plates holding the wheels and pinions, which whirled around at incredible speeds.

‘What are vibration fields, Professor?' asked Julius as he gazed into the watch.

‘There are countless worlds or realms, Julius. Normally they coexist—together but separate, if you see what I mean. Vibrating on different frequencies, as it were, but in the same place in space and time.'

‘But that's imposs—'

‘Springheel has stumbled upon the frequency of the Realm of the Hungry Ghosts and is transmitting to it from our realm and forming a vortex.'

‘I think you might have to explain what a vortex is to the boy—he's looking confused,' said Mr Flynn.

‘Yes, yes of course. Um…It's like boring a hole in the side of a boat. If you keep drilling you break through the hull and the water cascades in. The hole is the vortex. The water is one realm and the interior of the boat the other. Springheel is blithely drilling away, completely ignorant of what he is about to unleash on London. He must be stopped, if it is not already too late. We have to find the hole in the hull, and then we can set about plugging it. Follow me, and stay close.'

‘But…' said Julius.

Professor Fox tapped the watch once more. It moved forward, hovering above the professor's outstretched palm. The dome of blue light continued to shine all around it. The professor followed the hovering watch across the cathedral forecourt with Mr Flynn close behind.

Julius stayed where he was until they were quite a few yards ahead. Then he picked up his carpetbag and began to back away as if from a rabid dog.
Just run all the way to Kent, Higgins.

The professor stopped and turned around. ‘You are welcome to join us if you wish, Julius,' he said.

‘Indeed you are,' said Mr Flynn.

‘Er…no thank you. I think I'll just…I'll…'

‘Maybe it's best if you go home, Julius,' said Mr Flynn. ‘We'll pop in tomorrow and tell you how it went. If we're all still here, that is.'

Mr Flynn and the professor turned and walked away under the dome of blue light.

Julius watched them.
Cripes, Higgins. Make a decision.

‘The vortex thing would be at the shop wouldn't it? That's where Springheel lives after all,' said Julius, running towards them.

‘Unfortunately, it is not as simple as that, Julius. No, the vortex is somewhere in this direction,' said the professor, pointing southeast with his cane to where the swirling amber clouds were at their most intense. ‘Springheel must have some kind of frequency projector aimed in that direction. So that is where we must go first to see if the hole can be plugged. Our conversation will have to wait until we have sorted out this particular difficulty.'

Suits me
, thought Julius.

Julius found himself walking with the professor and Mr Flynn. He could see faint images emerging through the blue light—buildings superimposed on the London buildings. He concentrated on them, and they became gradually more solid. Julius, the professor and Mr Flynn progressed towards the wide thoroughfare of Cannon Street. The buildings were just like the London ones but they appeared to be in bad repair and some were leaning at odd angles. Many had extra attics, making a confused and crowded jumble of rooves.

The London street was fading into the background and the hungry-ghost street was now the more real of the two. Julius noticed vague, spectre-like shadows. As he concentrated on them, he saw that they were creatures similar to the ones he had seen at the Thames and in his room. They were rushing along the street and gazing up at the sky as if they expected it to fall on their heads.

‘Can they see us, Professor?' said Julius, his words sounding far away to his ears.

‘Not if we keep moving, Julius. We are still vibrating in our own frequency, thanks to my timepiece and the blue light, although we are in their realm now. If we stood still, they would see us as ghostly forms.'

Julius looked up into the sky. The clouds were even more violently molten and swirling than the London clouds. ‘They must think it's the end of the world, or something.'

‘No doubt they do, Julius. Now, we must make for the riverbank,' said the professor. ‘We will be able to get our bearings from there.'

They turned into a side street and a deep roaring sound grew loud overhead. The sound rattled Julius's bones. Mr Flynn was shouting something to him, clasping his hands over his ears and hanging onto the rim of his hat at the same time. Julius could not hear what he said but he shielded his ears too, for all the good it did. It was as if he was being consumed by the sound. He could hardly stand up straight, let alone think.

Julius looked up. A vast shape like a flying whale edged slowly across the sky, casting the street in shadow. There were four propellers as big as waterwheels attached to a cradle slung under the craft. They whistled up a gale in their wake which swirled through the narrow street, slamming doors and windows and pulling a row of shirts from a clothes line. The professor's hat lifted off his head, slammed against the wall and somersaulted along the cobblestones as if it was running away. Julius was knocked to the ground by the force of the wind and his jacket was almost pulled off his shoulders.

When the huge craft had passed over them and its drone was fading, Julius got to his feet and examined the dark stain from the cobblestones on the seat of his trousers.
Grandfather will have something to say about the state of this
, he thought as he tried unsuccessfully to brush it off—then he remembered he was not going home and he stopped trying.

The professor had retrieved his hat and was likewise trying to brush the greasy soot off the fine grey silk. ‘Totally ruined,' he tutted to himself and then popped it on his head.

‘What in blue-blazes was that,' said Julius, trotting to catch up with Mr Flynn and the professor, who were already marching away.

They passed a hungry ghost creature running back and forth trying to rescue the shirts from windowsills and gutters while at the same time shouting and gesticulating with its fist at the now-empty sky.

‘That, Julius, was a zettmalin. A VC3–62 series, if I am not mistaken,' said the professor. ‘Invented by and named after Count Grimyll von Zettmalin, one of the finest inventors of the last century.'

When they arrived at the river, Julius could see the whole molten sky again. He stopped for a moment to take it all in—the silent flashing storm clouds, the flying machine drifting across the river like a whale swimming without a sea. Enormous steel ships with huge wheels on their sides were tied up along the far bank. They had colourful insignias depicting sea monsters painted on their sides and upper decks. Flags as big as a giant's bed-sheet fluttered madly from flagpoles at the sterns.

‘As you can see, Julius, the hungry ghosts are far more advanced than we are in their command of machines,' said the professor, as they strode along the embankment towards an iron bridge that had massive spikes along its span.

‘Looks like they're preparing for war, Professor,' said Mr Flynn, as some hungry ghosts wheeled a contraption past them. They were all dressed in bright red military-looking jackets and peaked caps, and one was yelling at the others and waving his arms around. The contraption resembled a cannon, although there were many levers and wires protruding from it and a large brass circle with crosshairs was sticking out from the barrel.