A Riddle in Bronze, page 23
I felt a chill as I realised I had trapped myself. "I saw a few pages when we visited your room together. It was just a quick glance, if I'm completely honest, but—"
"—but you thought to compliment me, regardless." She gave me a look. "You will not win my favour with honeyed words, Mr Jones, particularly false ones."
"I apologise."
"Do not fret, Mr Jones," said Roberta, giving me a smile. "My father and I adopt a brusque manner when working, and you will get used to it soon enough. A sharp tongue and a kindly heart, that is our way!" Roberta left me to rummage in a set of shelves nearby, before returning with four metal pieces, each two inches across and twelve long. "Now take these and bend them to match father's originals. You may find them harder to work, but they will be stronger for it. Afterwards, we shall drill them out and attach them to my poor workbench."
I nodded, and soon I was busy at the arbor press. The metal was indeed harder to bend, but eventually I had all four pieces prepared. Afterwards, Roberta took an auger and a small can of mineral oil, and we took it in turns to work small fastening-holes through the metal.
The professor had finished lining up the generator with the lathe, and he was slowly turning the shaft by hand to inspect the joint for straightness. I understood why, since the lathe would be spinning at high speed and the slightest distortion might tear the delicate generator apart.
Roberta took him the metal supports, and they were still fastening the generator when Elsie, the young housemaid, came down the steps with a platter of thick sandwiches, a jug of beer and three glasses. "Mrs Fairacre's compliments," she said, "and she thought lunch might be welcome."
"Welcome indeed!" cried the professor. "Come, let us eat and we'll finish the task afterwards."
Elsie was looking around for a clear spot to place the tray, but in vain.
"Why, if only we had that workbench of mine," said Roberta, fixing her father with a glare.
In reply, he swept a shelf clear with his arm, sending pieces of metal and stray items clattering to the floor. Elsie winced at the noise, then advanced carefully with the tray, trying not to step on the scattered odds and ends. She set it down, then bobbed her head at the professor. "Begging pardon, but Mrs Fairacre says there's a storm brewing. She asks if you want the shutters drawn."
"Most definitely," said the professor. "Please ask her to attend to it immediately, and when you speak with her, be certain to thank her for the sandwiches."
"Yessir." Elsie departed, but only after a backward glance at the mess she would probably have to tidy later. In that moment I resolved to pick the items up myself, for it hardly seemed fair to burden the girl with the result of the professor's ill temper.
– — Ω — –
The professor was eager to fire up the generator and test his spirit attractor, and he wolfed his sandwiches down before I had finished my first. He was still dashing crumbs from his coat as he crossed to the steam distributor, where he tapped a glass-fronted gauge before adjusting the wheel on a pressure valve.
"He'll choke on his meals one of these days," muttered Roberta. "Just look at him. He's like a child of five."
She spoke with affection, despite the words, and I noticed that she too was eating with unseemly haste. The sandwiches were delicious, consisting of thin-sliced salted ham between hunks of crusty bread, the whole flavoured with hot mustard. I washed mine down with a glass of ale, and had barely done so when I discovered I was sitting alone. Roberta had gone to the lathe, where she was inspecting her father's work. She turned her back to him to make an adjustment or two, so that he would not observe her.
The professor spun a large valve wheel attached to the wall, and steam hissed and whistled as it filled the pipes leading around the cellar. These rattled and banged, and I saw jets emanating from several joints where the lead solder must have developed minute cracks from the stress.
Meanwhile, high above the professor's head, a large axle parallel to the ceiling began to turn. This axle was affixed to a large worm gear in the corner, which turned a second axle leading to the lathe. The speed of both axles increased with the steam pressure, until they were spinning so fast I could feel the rumbling of their bearings transmitted directly through the soles of my shoes. Plaster and soot rained down from the ceiling, and I eyed the brackets restraining these heavy, fast-moving axles with some trepidation. If they were to come free…
"Ready!" called the professor, and Roberta sprang into action. She took hold of the big lever beside the lathe and pulled down hard, engaging the broad driving belt. The lathe hesitated, then began to spin faster and faster, and as it did so I saw a glow emanating from the generator attached to the far end. The speed increased further, and I saw the device straining against the metal brackets I'd fashioned earlier. The workbench shook and shuddered, and I feared it might not hold.
The professor left his post and hurried over to the machine, stopping to collect a small burlap sack on the way. This looked heavy, despite its modest size, and the professor winced as he braced himself. He staggered towards the workbench containing the generator and swung the sack forward in one quick motion, laying it across the braces near the foot of the workbench's legs. The weight of the sack dampened the shuddering immediately, and, having averted catastrophe, the professor now turned his attention to the generator.
Roberta watched him from her position at the lever, where she waited in case the lathe had to be stopped in a hurry.
There were two electrical leads attached to one side of the generator, each terminating in an insulated clamp. The professor took a clamp in each hand and struck them together briefly, causing a fat blue spark. Then he turned a fierce grin on Roberta, and a grateful one on me. "My boy, you are indeed a genius!" he shouted, raising his voice over the hiss of steam and the rumble of machinery. "There should be sufficient power here, of that I am certain!"
"Sufficient?" cried Roberta. "That seems far too much power to me!"
The professor ignored her, and he crossed to the shelf where he'd deposited the attracting machine earlier. He took it up carefully, using both hands, and carried it to the generator with all the solemnity of a midwife handling a newborn. He laid it down on the workbench, and proceeded to attach the first of the two electrical cables.
"Father!" shouted Roberta. "Let me slow the lathe a little."
During my brief period of employment with the Twickhams I had come to view the professor as an impatient sort, little given to lengthy deliberations even when his life was in mortal danger. Such proved the case in this instance, for he ignored his daughter's advice and connected the second cable to the attractor machine without a moment's hesitation.
Instantly, the clear gem at the heart of the device glared like the midday sun, bathing that dank, grimy cellar with an unnaturally bright light. I shielded my eyes, as did Roberta, while the professor, who was standing so much closer, squinted through his fingers. At that moment all of us saw the exact same thing. The segmented orange shape began to spin, faster and faster, and as it did so the light gleaming from the gem began to turn to the deepest, darkest night.
This darkness quickly spread throughout the cellar, much like a bottle of ink tipped into a pool of water. Now, instead of shielding our eyes, we were forced to peer into the gloom just to make each other out. As my eyes grew accustomed I realised the darkness was not complete, for it was shot through with shimmering waves of violet and dark red.
Roberta waited no longer. She pushed upwards with all her might on the handle controlling the lathe. The thick band driving the machine slowed and stopped, but to my astonishment the lathe did not. Indeed, the machine now seemed to be powered by the spin of the generator rather than the other way around. The generator was no longer turning motion from the lathe into electricity, it was receiving energy from Lord knows where and using it to spin the lathe!
Roberta pulled on the handle and then raised it once more, but to no effect. Then, in the near-darkness, I saw that the cables leading from the generator to the attractor machine were glowing red. The latter was still spinning, emitting that strange black light, and I wondered whether it was drawing power from some hitherto unimagined spirit world and sending that power to the generator. In effect, the attractor device had turned the generator into an electric motor of sorts!
The workbench had been shaking wildly under the immense rotational forces, and all of a sudden the brackets I'd fashioned gave up the struggle. One of them snapped, and a split second later the generator spun free, tearing away from the connecting cables to smash against the wall. There was a shower of hot metal fragments, and I ducked as the spinning shaft flew past my ear with a loud humming noise. There was a crash behind me as it hit the wall, and further patterings of metal as bits and pieces of the ruined generator came to rest.
Meanwhile, the two cables attached to the attractor where whipping around in mid-air like angry snakes, sparking and crackling every time the ends approached each other. The professor was almost caught once or twice, and he stepped back hurriedly to avoid injury.
The attractor was still spinning wildly, with no signs of slowing, and the gem was now turning to a dark purplish colour. Now and again there was a flash of blood red lightning, and one of these narrowly missed the professor before striking a cupboard pushed against the wall. There was a bang, and a hole the size of my fist appeared in the wooden door.
"Shut it down!" screamed Roberta. "Shut it down before it does for us!"
The professor turned a ghastly look on her. "I agree with you wholeheartedly, my dear. But… how?"
Chapter 30
Bolts of red lightning speared out of the attractor machine, striking walls and furniture alike, and for the first time in my life I understood what it might be like to face enemy fire. The professor was much closer to the machine than I, and far more likely to be hit, but he appeared incapable of movement. It was as though the strange lights and bursts of energy emanating from his machine were too shocking for him to comprehend, and so he could only stand there staring foolishly at the thing.
Roberta had no such trouble. She leapt from her position at the other end of the lathe, dodging forks of deadly red lightning as she made for her father. Upon reaching him she spared no time for niceties, instead dragging him bodily away from the madly spinning device.
Even as they withdrew, a ghostly, insubstantial shape began to emerge from the attractor. At first it was a twisted hand, with long fingers and ragged nails, and to my horror I realised this hand was twice the size of any I had seen before. The hand appeared to be clawing at the air, like a drowning man striving to reach the surface, and soon a second hand joined the first. Then a face appeared, its features horribly stretched. The head turned this way and that as though struggling to breathe, the distorted, gaping mouth exhibiting teeth like tombstones. A thick tongue protruded from the mouth, flailing around like a freshly beheaded snake, and as I gazed in horror upon this apparition I suddenly realised it had seen me.
The spirit fastened me with a hungry look, and it redoubled its efforts to free itself, desperately trying to enter our world so that it might rend the very soul from my living body. I was frozen to the spot, completely unable to move, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Roberta leave the professor and run for the far end of the room. Here, near the coal chute, there stood a half-barrel containing various tools and implements. Selecting a sledgehammer, Roberta held it up to inspect the big, heavy head. Then she gave a nod, and turned a grim look on the machine from which the malevolent phantasm struggled to emerge.
"No!" I whispered, for I dreaded what might happen. Even if she avoided the slavering phantasm, the sparking electrical cables and stray bolts of red lightning would end her life for certain. But the spirit held me in its gaze, and I found I could not move a muscle.
Roberta let out a great cry as she raised the sledgehammer above her head, and I guessed then that she was about to charge. The spirit turned its deadly gaze upon her, and I knew with stone cold certainty that she would be dead in seconds. Even as she faced the thing, it stretched out its hands to her, willing her into its embrace.
However, in turning to her, the spirit had released me. Freed of the mental bonds, I was on the point of charging it myself, but I knew that would end in my own death as well as Roberta's. Instead, desperate now, I cast about me. My gaze fell on the original strips of infused metal which Roberta had discarded. I retrieved them with a cry of triumph, drawing my arm back and hurling the first piece directly at the spinning attractor machine.
I missed.
In despair, I watched the bent piece of metal strike the wall and spin away, landing harmlessly on the floor. Meanwhile, Roberta had begun her charge, and was already halfway across the cellar with the raised sledgehammer at the ready.
I threw the second piece of metal, willing it towards the target. This time it grazed the machine before slamming into the wall, and I heard the ringing noise above the hiss of steam and the rumble of machinery. By now Roberta was almost upon the phantom, and I knew I had but one chance remaining.
I drew my arm back, sighted, and hurled that piece of metal harder than I had ever thrown anything in my entire life. My arm near popped from its socket, and the momentum bent me double until I was looking down at the floor. I heard a clang, and then an unholy scream rent the air. I looked up, praying it was not Roberta, and to my delight I saw she was unharmed. The spirit though… now that was another matter. My throw had lodged the piece of metal into the very middle of the attractor machine, shattering the glowing crystal and jamming the orange-segment shape so that it spun no more. The red lightning ceased, and the dark, purplish light was being drawn back into the device as though acted upon by a powerful force. As for the spirit itself, it was no longer menacing us, but instead desperately clawing at the air as it strove to maintain its place in our world. It was failing, and the more it was drawn back into the broken machine, the more it screamed and wailed in anger and frustration. The noise set my hair on end, and I tossed aside the last remaining piece of metal and clamped my hands over my ears.
Then, after a brief flash of light, the terrifying spectre was gone. The sparking cables were now lifeless, and lay flat on the workbench. The machine smouldered gently, with no signs of the purple light nor deadly bolts of lightning.
That final explosion had thrown Roberta to the floor, and I hurried over with my heart in my mouth. Fortunately, she was only winded, and I helped her to sit up, supporting her weight in my arms. She sat there but a moment, before brushing me aside and struggling to her feet. Before I could stop her, Roberta took up the sledgehammer and, ignoring her father's cry of anguish, brought it down on the attractor. She hit it again and again, demolishing it completely, and then, for good measure, she smashed the workbench into kindling also. When she was done she scattered the pieces before setting the sledgehammer aside. She was breathing heavily, and her face was a mask of anger as she turned to confront her father. "You old fool!" she cried. "Did I not tell you there was too much power?"
I expected the professor to counter vociferously, as was his fashion, but he looked shaken and said nothing.
"You mess with things you do not understand!" continued Roberta. "Why can you not be content with catching the spirits already present in our world? Must you now bring new and ever-more-dangerous horrors into being?"
"I—I'm sorry," muttered the professor.
Roberta gestured at the shattered machinery. "Just because something can be designed and built, it does not mean you should do so!"
"Yes dear."
The professor was contrite, undoubtedly. But I could tell his scientific brain was excited by the implications of this new discovery. There was a certain gleam in his eye, and I guessed he was already working on plans to capture the half-seen phantasm which had almost crossed the barrier into our world. It was plain to see he was excited by the untold horrors lurking around us, and I could not imagine him giving up the hunt so easily.
At that moment he stooped to gather a fragment or two of his destroyed machine, inspecting the pieces closely, and Roberta promptly ordered him out of the cellar. He left unwillingly, protesting all the while, but she had up a fearsome temper, and in addition was taller and stronger than her aged father. She'd also taken up the sledgehammer once more, holding it in both hands, and that seemed to settle the matter.
"The old fool," she growled, once he'd departed up the stairs.
I said nothing, for it was not my place to do so.
Roberta turned to me, and her manner softened a touch. "That was a good throw, Mr Jones. I believe you saved the day."
Happy with her praise, I smiled.
"Oh, do not look so pleased with yourself," she said, her expression once more forbidding. "If you had not aided my father in the first place, none of this would have happened. In future, I ask that you consult with me before suggesting changes to the professor's machinery."
"Yes, of course."
"I know you meant well, but witness the result."
I did not point out that she'd helped to connect the generator to the lathe, and had not objected to the idea at that time. I also wondered whether her anger was partially due to the fact that I had solved the professor's energy problem where she had not.
But Roberta had finished chiding me, and we turned our attention to the chaos and disorder which had befallen the cellar. It took us an hour or more to sweep up the debris, straighten the shelves, reassemble parts of the lathe and return every tool and item to its rightful place.
Once we'd finished, Roberta indicated the stairs. "You should attend to your bookkeeping duties while I have words with my father. And if I were you, I'd ensure the door to your study was firmly closed, else you may hear an argument so heated it would put a thunderstorm to shame."
– — Ω — –
