The Map of Time (Trilogía Victoriana #1)(70)
“Maybe I’m one of them,” Charles went on to declare, in a sinister voice. He stepped towards Ferguson, and, reaching into his pocket as though to pull something out, added: “Maybe Captain Shackleton himself sent me here to plunge a dagger into the stomach of Nathan Ferguson, owner of the biggest toy shop in London, to stop him from producing automatons.” Ferguson gave a start as Charles prodded him in the stomach with his forefinger.
“But, I only make pianolas …” he spluttered, the blood draining from his face.
Charles let out a guffaw, for which Madeleine hurriedly chided him, not without a measure of affection.
“Come now, my darling,” said Charles, apparently deriving a childlike enjoyment from shocking everyone, and he tapped the toymaker’s stomach amicably: “Mr. Ferguson knows perfectly well I’m only joking. I don’t think we have anything to fear from a pianola. Or do we?” “Of course not,” burbled Ferguson, trying to regain his composure.
Claire stifled a giggle, but her gesture did not go unnoticed by Charles, who winked at her, before taking his wife’s arm and leaving the little gathering—in order, he said, to test the excellent qualities of the punch. Ferguson heaved a sigh, visibly relieved at his departure.
“I hope you’ll forgive this little incident, my dears,” he said, attempting to recover his smug grin. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Charles Winslow is known all over London for his insolence. If it weren’t for his father’s money …” A murmur spread through the crowd, drowning him out. Everyone turned to face the back of the room where at that very moment Gilliam Murray was making his way onto the stage.
19
He was without doubt one of the biggest men Claire had ever seen.
Judging from the way the boards creaked under his feet, he must have weighed more than twenty stone, and yet his movements were graceful, almost sensual. He was dressed in a smart pale purple suit that shimmered in the light. His wore his wavy hair combed back and an impeccably tasteful bow tie struggled to fit around his broad neck. His enormous hands, which looked capable of pulling trees up by the roots, rested on the lectern as he waited—a patient smile on his face—for the murmur to subside.
Once silence had settled over the gathering, draped over them like the dust sheets placed on furniture in houses closed for the season, he cleared his throat loudly and unleashed his smooth baritone voice on his audience: “Ladies and gentlemen, there is no need for me to tell you that you are about to take part in the most astonishing event of the century, the second journey through time in history. Today you will break the chains that bind you to the present, avoid the continuity of the hours, confound the laws governing time. Yes, ladies and gentleman, today you will travel through time—something that up until yesterday man could only dream about. It is my great pleasure to welcome you on behalf of Murray’s Time Travel and to thank you for choosing to take part in our second expedition to the year 2000, which we decided to organize following the overwhelming success of the first. I guarantee you will not leave here disappointed. As I already mentioned, you will be traveling across the centuries, beyond your lifetimes. If this were all Murray’s Time Travel had to offer, it would still be worthwhile, but thanks to our efforts you will also have the chance to witness an unmissable event—possibly the most important moment in the history of mankind: the battle between the brave Captain Derek Shackleton and the evil automaton Solomon, whose dreams of conquest you will see perish beneath the captain’s sword.” Some timid applause broke out in the first row, but Claire felt this owed more to the emphasis the speaker had laid on his last words than to their implication for the gathering, to whom the outcome of this distant war was surely a matter of indifference.
“Now, if I may, I shall explain in a few simple words the method of travel to the year 2000. We will be journeying in the Cronotilus, a steam tram specially built by our engineers. The vehicle will leave our own time in the present and arrive at midday on May 20 in the year 2000. Naturally, the journey will not take the one hundred and four years separating that date from the present, for we shall be traveling outside time—that is to say through the famous fourth dimension. Although, I’m afraid to say, ladies and gentlemen, that you will not see it. When you climb aboard the time tram, you will notice the windows have been blacked out. This is not because we wish to deny you a glimpse of the fourth dimension, which is anyway nothing more than a vast plain of pink rock, swept by fierce winds where time does not exist. We have covered the windows in your best interests, for the fourth dimension is inhabited by monstrous creatures resembling miniature dragons, which are not exactly friendly. By and large, they keep away from us, but there is always a possibility one may stray too close to the tram for comfort, and we would not wish any ladies to fall into a faint at the sight of one of these hideous beasts. But have no fear; such an event is very unlikely to occur, because these creatures feed exclusively on time. Yes, time is an exquisite delicacy for them, which is why before boarding the tram you are requested to remove your timepieces. This minimizes the possibility of their scent attracting any creatures to the vehicle. Moreover, as you will soon see, the Cronotilus has a turret on its roof, where two expert marksmen will ward off any creature that tries to approach.
Put this out of your minds, then, and enjoy the trip. Just think that in spite of the dangers, the fourth dimension also has some advantages. One of these is that while you are there, none of you will age, for you will be outside time. It is quite possible, dear ladies,” he said, forcing a smile as he addressed a group of matronly women at the front, “that when you return your friends may even say you look younger.” The women giggled nervously, emitting a clucking sound, which Gilliam left hanging in the air, as though it were part of the performance.