A Riddle in Bronze, page 5
As I approached the door I'd been directed to, I felt like one mystery at least had just been solved, for a workshop would explain the overalls Roberta frequently wore as well as the soot liberally sprinkled all over them. Upon opening the door I was met by a wall of heat, such that I took an involuntary step back. If the very gates of hell had opened before me, I couldn't have been more surprised, and my first impression was reinforced by the steep, narrow staircase leading down beyond the door. This was illuminated from below by a deep reddish glow, which flickered and gleamed off the brick walls in a most disturbing fashion. There was also a roaring sound, such as a furnace might make, and the clatter and whirr of machinery.
After closing the door behind me, I started down the steps, and fortunately the heat grew a little less intense as I descended. The noise, on the other hand, increased. I once visited a textile mill, with its steam engines and giant rattling looms, and this sound was eerily similar. It was also the last thing one expected to hear inside a cellar.
I reached a turn in the stairs, and as I rounded the corner the noise grew louder still. I could now see a large fireplace set into the far wall, with grated vents providing fresh air from outside in order to feed the flames. And fed they were, for the flames danced, white-hot, upon a boiler almost large enough to drive a locomotive. A heavy pipe led from the boiler to a smaller receptacle, and from there steam pipes branched out, leading along both walls.
At the bottom of the steps I came to a halt and looked around. The cellar was large, the roof supported by numerous brick columns which cast long shadows across the uneven floor, and I could see workbenches and machinery against the walls, along with racks of tools, spare parts and half-built equipment. There was little time to waste gawking as Roberta was working nearby at a lathe, and even as I watched I saw bright swarf curling away from whatever she was turning. The lathe was driven by a pulley, itself turned by a belt running at enormous speed. The belt ran almost to the arched ceiling, where it looped over a second pulley on a shaft driven by steam from the boiler.
The speeding belt was only a foot or two from Roberta's shoulder, and as I watched it flexing and vibrating I feared the grievous injury she might suffer if it should come free. But she seemed oblivious, the long corkscrews of metal gathering at her feet as she worked. Then, Roberta having finished, she turned and nodded her thanks as she saw me standing nearby. "I know this isn't your area of expertise, Mr Jones," she shouted, "but I really need your help."
"What are you doing down here?" I asked her, raising my voice over the sound of machinery.
Roberta reached for a lever on the wall and pulled it firmly, relaxing the pulley near the ceiling and thereby stopping the frantic spinning of the lathe. The noise lessened immediately, and we were able to converse at a more normal volume. "There's no time to explain fully," she told me. "Suffice to say father has been infected by a particular malaise, and I must draw it out of him."
"Is it… a malevolent spirit?"
She looked at me, surprised. "Why, Mr Jones. Just this morning you were scoffing at such notions."
This was true enough, but at breakfast that morning I'd yet to see the mad scribbling in the ledger, nor the blackness which had briefly flooded the professor's eyes. "Certain… phenomena… have convinced me to take your claims a little more seriously."
"Only a little?" She gave me a wry smile. "Well, it's a beginning at least. But come now, my father suffers while we chatter."
"Mrs Fairacre told me he was fast asleep."
"A glass or two of brandy never fails," said Roberta, with a nod. "I find it easier to treat him like this. He complains a good deal less whilst sleeping."
"Are you saying this has happened before?" I asked, scandalised.
"It's a hazard of our work, Mr Jones."
"But—"
"Please! You shall have your explanations later, if you care to listen. For now, you must do as I ask." Roberta led me to a manual arbor press, where I saw a small bucket of objects which looked like misshapen bronze pebbles. She took one of these pebbles, placed it on the die, then reached up with both hands and put all her weight behind the press's lever. The ram came down, slowly, and when Roberta released the lever I saw the pebble now flattened into a perfectly round disc. Roberta tapped it out of the die and handed it to me, and I felt the warmth in the newly-shaped metal. It was a twin to those in the haversacks upstairs, but this one had intricate tracings stamped into each side. "I need a dozen of those," said Roberta. "Hurry, please."
I set to work, and discovered the lever took a lot more effort than I expected. My arms were more used to the turning of pages in a ledger, and I felt my muscles aching after I'd created no more than two or three of the shaped discs. Then I heard a roar, and I turned to see Roberta near the fire, using a bellows to generate even more heat. She'd placed a small crucible in the flames, the metal glowing cherry-red, and as I watched she plucked the crucible from the fire and carried it to a workbench. Here, I saw a small bronze cylinder propped upright, the open end facing down into a thick metal cup.
Very carefully, Roberta poured a small quantity of molten lead into the cup, where it spattered and hissed. She set the crucible aside, and used the tongs to pick up the cylinder, which now had a domed cap of silvery metal sealing the open end. I recognised the shape, for the cylinder was the same design as those in the professor's study. This one was slightly larger, though, and as I recalled the shattered cylinder I'd spied in the haversack, I understood why Roberta had built one of a heavier design.
I had not paused in my work whilst observing Roberta at hers, and by now I had forged half a dozen of the metal discs. My shoulders were protesting at the labour, and my hands felt like they were about to come apart at the wrists. I stopped to dash the sweat from my brow, and as I moved the latest disc from the press, I noticed something odd. The markings stamped into the surface were arranged in an intricate, swirling pattern, but there were no corresponding ridges on the face of the die. In addition, when I compared the latest pressing to the half-dozen I'd already manufactured, I discovered every single one of them exhibited a different design.
Stunned, I picked up one of the large copper-alloy nuggets I'd been stamping, and I turned it over and over in my hand. It was heavy, as smooth as a beach pebble, and there was no sign of any markings that would explain the whorls in the finished discs. At breakfast, Roberta had told me about the ingredients she'd been experimenting with, and I wondered what manner of other-worldly materials might be present in the metal. Then, realising I was falling behind in my work, I placed the large nugget in the die and applied my protesting arms to the lever once more. A new disc emerged from the die, and I was not surprised to see a distinctive pattern that was unlike any of the others.
I heard a metallic squeal, and turned to see Roberta spinning the cylinder in the lathe, which was rattling and rumbling once more. Curls of swarf flew from the newly-sealed cylinder, and I saw the misshapen end cap become gleaming and smooth under the cutting tool's sharpened bit. I realised Roberta had almost finished, and so I pressed the remaining discs until I had the round dozen she'd asked for.
She completed her work at the same time, and, after stalling the lathe and dousing the cylinder in a bucket of water, she headed for the stairs. "Bring those," she called over her shoulder, indicating the discs.
Chapter 7
We found the professor asleep still, with Mrs Fairacre in attendance. The housekeeper spied the cylinder in Roberta's hands, and shook her head, her lips thinning. "You're meddling with things you don't understand, Miss Twickham. One day you'll both go too far." Then she glanced at me. "And now there's another innocent roped into your schemes. Have you not learned your lesson?"
"Hush, Mrs Fairacre. I promised Septimus a full disclosure after I've seen to my father."
"If he lasts that long," said the housekeeper darkly. "You do what you must, but I will not be made to watch. It's unnatural."
As she left us, I recalled the frantic scrawl in the ledger. Had my predecessor been asked to help as well? Was that why he'd been driven out of his mind? As I stood there clutching the metal discs, I wondered whether to walk out of that house and never look back — contract be damned. But then I caught Roberta looking at me, her face flushed from the fire, and I realised I could not abandon her. My contribution, no matter how minor, might help to save the professor, and I could not flee from such a responsibility.
"Hold this for me," murmured Roberta, and she added the newly-fashioned cylinder to my load. It was about five inches long, half as big again as the smaller versions I'd already seen, and heavier than it looked. I still had no idea as to its purpose, but I guessed I would shortly find out.
Roberta left, returning moments later with the two haversacks. She took out the tripods and placed them one at each end of the room, then began unfolding the fine metal netting I'd seen earlier. "Take this end for me," she said, holding it out. "Careful. It's fragile."
I took the net as requested, and watched as she extended the tripod and fastened her end to a pair of hooks. I copied her, and we moved the tripods apart until the net stretched across the room. The professor was seated on the far side, between the net and the bay window, and as a shaft of sunlight gleamed on the fine wiring I wondered at its purpose. It reached neither floor nor ceiling, so could not be intended to catch anything, and it wasn't strong enough to stop the professor, so it was not meant to trap him either.
Roberta now took the metal discs and began placing them about the room, forming a circle around the professor. I noticed she omitted one disc from the pattern, leaving an opening next to the bay window. Then she took the cage from the haversack and removed the broken cylinder, dropping the latter into the bag. She took the new, larger cylinder from me, and after some fiddling and adjustments she got it mounted in the centre of the lantern-like cage, where it stood like a metal candle. Then she placed the lantern device on a side-table near the professor.
I should add that every step of this process was carried out with practiced ease, as though Roberta had performed the routine numerous times. For my part, I tried to absorb every detail, adding to the abundant questions I was saving for later.
Now Roberta returned to the haversacks, opening the one I had not managed to inspect earlier. She fished around inside, the contents clanking as she did so, then withdrew a tool much like a spanner or wrench. But this device had a round bulge in the middle of the handle, and each end had four prongs rather than the usual two. Hanging the tool from her overalls, Roberta took out a skullcap fashioned from the same fine metal as the net, with a broad metal band to hold it in shape. Finally, she withdrew two glass bottles, one containing amber fluid and the other, clear. These had cut-glass stoppers, and looked like they belonged in a drinks cabinet rather than a tool bag. She set them on a side table, then beckoned me over.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked her.
"Hold the bottles for me, and I beg you not to drop either of them."
Once I had them in hand, Roberta ducked under the net and approached her father. Without ceremony she placed the metal cap on his head, adjusting it to her liking before turning to me. "Bring them here, if you please."
The bottles were cold to the touch, unnaturally so, and I felt my fingers turning numb as I obeyed. Roberta took the bottle containing the amber fluid and, holding the stopper tightly in place, tipped it over and back again several times. Then she pulled the stopper, and I stepped back in alarm as a greenish mist rose from the neck of the bottle. "Wh-what is that?" I asked.
"It's a highly volatile liquid," she explained. "The bottle must be stoppered at all times, for the contents would soon disperse if not."
That didn't explain why the amber fluid gave off a green gas, but Roberta was busy and I didn't want to interrupt again. She took the stopper, which contained several drops of the liquid, and dabbed them on the metal cap. Then she replaced the stopper and handed me the bottle, taking the other in its place. This one she tipped over far more carefully, and I could see her tensing as she prepared to remove the stopper. "Whatever happens…" began Roberta, addressing me in a low voice. "No matter what you see, I ask you not to disturb my preparations, for it might prove fatal."
Fatal for whom? I wanted to ask, but at that moment Roberta took the stopper from the second bottle. She applied several droplets of the clear liquid to the mesh cap on her father's head, then stoppered the bottle and passed it back to me. I, meanwhile, was studying the professor intently for any change in his condition. Or, indeed, any sign that the two liquids were anything other than dye and plain water respectively. In the back of my mind I still wondered whether this was part of an elaborate hoax, but what would be the point? I was a penniless bookkeeper, not the sole heir to a wealthy estate.
In the next few moments my lingering doubts would be erased for good, and the events I was about to witness would change my life for all time.
It began with tendrils of purplish smoke, which trickled from under the cap on the professor's head and ran down his body like rivulets of blood. The smoke pooled on the rug at his feet, spreading out rapidly. Roberta ignored it, and was soon ankle-deep in the foul-looking fumes, while I, far less daring, backed away rapidly.
"You must stand still!" cried Roberta. "Do not flee now!"
Standing still was the last thing I wanted to do, but her manner brooked no argument. Unwillingly, I let the smoke roll over my shoes, watching it rise almost to my knees, and at the same time I sensed a cold, unpleasant tingling in my ankles and calves. I wanted to break free of the smoke and leap onto the nearest chair, but my legs felt immobilised and I was no longer certain movement would even be possible. "I—is this… a spirit?" I whispered, and I was convinced my eyes were as round as saucers.
Roberta shook her head. "This smoke is merely the result of a chemical reaction."
I took heart from her casual acceptance of the situation, even though the urge to step out of the rolling waves of purple smoke was strong. As the seconds passed and my legs failed to dissolve, or even vanish into thin air, I grew more accustomed to the smoke, and the feeling of panic subsided.
Meanwhile, the spreading pool of smoke had now reached the circle of metal discs Roberta had laid out. Here, the advancing waves reared up like a living thing, before falling back on themselves. Then, with a flash that seared my vision and a bang that made me jump two feet in the air, a bolt of lightning shot out of the cap on the professor's head. It struck the nearest metal disc, then jumped to the next, and the next after that, until the circle arced with high-powered electricity. Tendrils of pure light crackled and sparked, illuminating the room with the power of a thousand photographic flashes, and through squinting, shielded eyes I saw that all of the circle was joined apart from the one missing disc at the window. Nearby, stray bolts of light jumped out at random, connecting to metal objects all over the room, and I saw candelabra and engraved metal cubes knocked flying by the force of the discharge. The smell was intense, like seared metal, and the noise indescribable. Through all of this, Roberta and I were untouched, but then I remembered the source of this wild, uncontrolled power, and I turned to the professor in concern.
He sat in the chair with his eyes wide open, his jaw clenched, his fingers gripping the armrests as though he were trying to crush the wood with his bare hands. I could see him convulsing, helpless, and I was about to leap forward to help when Roberta raised a hand, stopping me. "Let it run its course!" she shouted. "It's the only way."
"But you're killing him!" I protested.
"You have to trust me," Roberta shouted back.
Even as she spoke, the writhing bolts of electricity changed colour, turning a deeper shade of blue. They also lessened in intensity, and the professor stopped shaking quite so much. I wondered whether the process was complete, but now Roberta took the odd-looking wrench from her belt and waded through the smoke to the professor, moving closer until she could reach out and touch the tool against the metal cap. Before it got close, I saw a ball of red energy oozing from the mesh enclosing the professor's head, as though his very life force were being squeezed through the fine metal. This red energy stretched out towards the tool in Roberta's hand, growing in size and intensity as it fastened onto the prongs. The bulk of the glowing, iridescent shape was already attached to the wrench, but a fine strand remained, connecting the tool to the mesh cap. Then, with a deft motion reminiscent of an angler, Roberta whipped the wrench backwards, drawing the final remnants of glowing red energy from the professor's being. I stared in fascination as the energy writhed and twisted on the device, mere inches from Roberta's hand, the glow bathing both her and the professor in baleful red light. I had no doubt this was the evil energy — the spirit, if you will — that had taken refuge in the professor's body, and I wondered how he'd survived the hosting of such a being.
I watched, heart in mouth, as the baleful red energy struck tendrils out in several directions. In turn it met the sparking electrical current and the metal net Roberta and I had strung across the room, and each of the questing tendrils were forced back to the parent, thwarted in their escape.
I wondered what would happen if it slunk down the tool and transferred itself into Roberta. I would have no chance of helping her, not even if I repeated her steps one by one, and I doubted the professor would be in any state to save her. At least if it came for me, Roberta might be able to banish it once more.
But the restless entity did not try to attack us, and I decided the purple smoke filling the area had to be the reason. It must have imbued us with a defensive screen of sorts, and was sufficient to keep the foul being from our flesh.
