The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(177)
From the relative safety of Gloucester Road, they watched as the piece of masonry that had been their shield finally rose off the ground and flew toward the hole, into which the whole world seemed to be spiraling. The building on the corner of Gloucester Road and Cromwell Road was gradually beginning to tilt over, and Doyle and Murray realized that the strange fissure was not only sucking in whatever was around to it, but that its force was expanding, forming a semicircle in which everything was turning into an undulating carpet of bumps and hollows. Soon the street they were in wouldn’t be safe either.
“What the devil is happening?” exclaimed Murray when he finally caught his breath.
Doyle gave a sigh of despair before replying. “I suppose we are witnessing the beginning of the end.”
39
AND WHILE DOYLE WAS REACHING that ominous conclusion, in the vaults of the Natural History Museum, Wells was gazing with astonishment at Clayton’s tall, thin body curled up in a ball on the floor after he had collapsed in front of them. While Captain Sinclair rolled his eyes, Wells and the creature fixed theirs on the book the inspector had dropped as he fainted, which now lay on the floor a few steps from Wells. Thinking about it only for the length of time a man as indecisive as he needed to think about anything, Wells took those few steps forward and snatched the book.
“I have it!” he announced unnecessarily, stepping back again until he was once more standing beside Jane.
The watery bluish silhouette of the Invisible Man shook with rage, trapped in his radiation prison.
“That book is mine! Mine! No one deserves to have it more than me! I have crossed deserts of time to find it! I have waded through oceans of blood! I have strewn the vast expanses of the void with the ashes of my soul! You can’t take it from me now! You can’t!” he cried frantically, ending his torrent of words with a howl of pain that seemed to cleave the air.
After this angry outburst, he fell to his knees sobbing.
“Well, I think this has gone far enough,” said Captain Sinclair, unimpressed, putting his gun away. “Summers, McCory, take Inspector Clayton and leave him somewhere where he won’t be in the way. And you, Drake, tell them to bring round the carriage with Crookes’s special cage, and park in front of—”
An almighty crash drowned out the rest of what Sinclair was saying. A dozen or so yards behind the line of detectives, something tore the air as if it were a piece of paper. They turned as one toward where the earsplitting noise had come from, only to see a strange rent in the surface of reality reaching from the floor up to the high ceiling. A draft as cold as all the winters in the world issued from it, where a pristine darkness reigned. Before anyone had time to react, Professor Crookes’s columns began to explode one by one amid a deafening hum, hurling lightning bolts in all directions. Horrified, Wells and Jane flattened themselves against the nearest wall as the lightning flashes zigzagged around the room, searing the air and striking many of the piles of objects. Sinclair and his men broke ranks, scattering in all directions, dazzled and half-deafened. Then the intense light filling the room was abruptly extinguished. Rhys stood up, took a few tentative steps, smiling triumphantly as he realized he was no longer a prisoner. His head, becoming visible around its one empty eye socket, swiveled round, searching for Wells. It found him pressed up against the wall a few yards away, pale and trembling.
Wells looked imploringly toward the police officers, but one glance was enough for him to see that none of them was in a fit state to help. Captain Sinclair was on his knees, momentarily blinded and dazed, and his men didn’t look any better. The lightning bolts had done quite a lot of damage: the bones from the alleged mermaid’s skeleton were strewn all over the floor, a werewolf costume was engulfed in flames, the Minotaur’s head had been reduced to a handful of ashes, and everywhere crates had burst open, revealing their mysterious contents. Thick plumes of smoke and clouds of ages-old dust darkened the room. After casting an approving eye over all that destruction, Rhys approached the defenseless Wells, half a languid smile traced in the air.
“Hand over the book, George,” he said, almost wearily, “and let’s put an end to this. Can’t you see that even the universe itself is on my side?”
Wells did not answer. Instead, clasping the book tightly to his chest, he grabbed Jane by the hand and started to run toward the Chamber door. Rhys breathed a sigh.
“All right,” he muttered to himself resignedly, “let’s play catch one last time.”
However, scarcely had he taken two steps after them, when some of the objects around him began to vibrate, as though announcing an earthquake. Suddenly, the smallest and lightest ones rose into the air and flew toward the hole like a flock of birds released from a cage. Transfixed by the strange phenomenon, Rhys didn’t notice the heavy bronze chalice, labeled “The Holy Grail,” hurtling through the air toward his head. The impact knocked him to the ground, leaving him dazed. Still running, Wells looked back over his shoulder at the scene. On the far side of the room, he saw Captain Sinclair, who had just stood up, flailing around for a handhold as the sudden rush of air threatened to pull him toward the hole. The whirlwind was also starting to drag Inspector Clayton’s inert body across the floor, toward the lethal opening. Alas, Wells couldn’t help any of them. The book was now in his possession, and he had to protect it from the creature, who had already come round and was rising to his feet, shaking off his dizziness. Without losing any more time, he and Jane slipped out the Chamber into the maze of corridors before the mysterious force could reach them.