Asher's Dilemma Read online

  “We must do something,” Asher said. “And quickly, before she vanishes completely.”

  “Mrs. Nemo.” Quigley jerked to his feet. “I must go after her.” With the Viper Ray still in his hand, Quigley ran across to the chronometrical conveyance.

  “Quigley, wait. Let’s think this through first,” Asher called out after him.

  Ignoring him, Quigley clambered into the sedan chair. Brow creased with concentration, he examined the instrument panel on the console. “What the devil?”

  Asher dashed over and leaned into the conveyance. “What is it?”

  “These voltage settings are not what I calculated. These figures are incorrect, which means the machine has been wrongly calibrated!”

  Asher cut a penetrating look at his double. “How can they be incorrect? Schick’s analytical machine is the best, and he assured me Mrs. Nemo was an excellent programmer. She wouldn’t have made a mistake knowing how much she’d be relying on the outcome.”

  “I’m telling you they’re wrong.” Quigley shook his head vehemently. Grabbing a notebook and pencil from the inner pocket of his jacket, he jotted down some numbers and made a few calculations at furious speed. “By my reckoning the calibrations are out by a factor of a hundred, which means…” He drew in a breath as though the implications were too terrible to voice.

  Asher continued for him. “Instead of going back twenty-five years in the past, Mrs. Nemo has travelled back two thousand five hundred years.”

  They both fell silent in awe as they digested the news that Minerva’s mother had been dispatched to the ancient mists of time.

  “Well, at least she’ll be kept out of mischief there,” Asher said at last.

  Quigley nodded. “No doubt she’ll seduce some unsuspecting chieftain.”

  Asher couldn’t summon much sympathy for the woman, and he knew neither could his double. “She’s no threat to Minerva now.” He glanced across the room at Minerva’s prostrate figure and frowned as the eerie fog continued to swirl over her. “But I don’t understand. If Mrs. Nemo is banished where she can do no harm, why is Minerva disappearing? Is she not safe from her mother?”

  Quigley stiffened. “No, not yet.” He smacked his fist against the console. “Devil take it! Don’t you see? In my past Mrs. Nemo found out about my invention through her spies, broke into the workshop and used it. But since I had done the calculations myself, the voltages were correct. She travelled back twenty-five years and had Minerva aborted. That’s why I lost all memory of Minerva, and that’s why she’s still disappearing at this moment.”

  “By God, you’re right. A different version of Mrs. Nemo, but with the same goal.” Asher rubbed his forehead, his thoughts contorting as he followed the logic of Quigley’s argument. Who knew time travel could throw up such complexities? “Minerva is still in peril.”

  Quigley pulled himself out of the conveyance, his expression grim. “You know what to do.” He held out the Viper Ray towards Asher. “Here. Do it quickly.”

  The Viper Ray rested solid and heavy in Asher’s grip, a lethal weapon which would demolish his chronometrical conveyance to a smoking ruin. He lifted it, aimed it at the gleaming copper, but then he found himself hesitating. This was his greatest invention, the most incredible invention in history. He’d nursed it into being, and now he was going to obliterate it, and no one would ever know what he had achieved. The injustice of it all bit deep into him.

  “Do you think…” he began.

  “For God’s sakes, man,” Quigley forcefully interjected. “Look at her. She’s dying.”

  He glanced across, and the sight of Minerva’s hazy form sent fear crashing like ice through him. But still he hesitated. He gazed at the man beside him. “Quigley, you do know what will happen to you if I destroy this invention and never rebuild it?”

  “Of course I know. I’ve always known.” His face blazed darkly.

  “But Minerva…she hasn’t realized yet what will happen.”

  Quigley grabbed Asher by the shirt front. “It’s the only way to save her. Do it, or everything we’ve ever done will be for naught.”

  The man was right, Asher realized. And if they were to swap places he would say the same without hesitation. His hand steadied. He lifted the Viper Ray, took aim and fired. The console exploded in a shower of sparks. The smoke cleared to reveal a mangled mess of metal and wiring. He zeroed in on the promethium magnets and pressed the trigger. Three shots had them all shattered to bits. He continued to fire the ray gun. With a sharp crack the struts holding up the copper shell collapsed, sending shards of debris flying about.

  Turning to shield his face from the shrapnel, he spied Minerva’s prone body. “For heaven’s sakes get her out of here,” he yelled at Quigley. “Take her to the study. I’ll finish up in here, and then I’ll join you and burn all the documentation I still have.”

  He waited until the other man had lifted Minerva into his arms and carried her out of the workshop before he returned his attention to his chronometrical conveyance. He’d lavished so much energy and brain power on it, and now he was being forced to demolish it. But he didn’t hesitate as he aimed the final shots and rendered the device beyond repair. He kicked apart the smoldering ruins, stamped out the last sparks, ground a surviving glass instrument dial beneath his boot heel. Tomorrow he would supervise the carting of the detritus out to a nearby common where he would personally set fire to the entire heap.

  Satisfied he’d done all he could for the moment, he raced back to the house. There, he discovered Cheeves and the other servants locked in the cellar, shaken but unhurt. He released them with the barest of explanations, brushing off his butler’s exclamations at his disheveled appearance, and hurried to his study on the first floor.

  This private sanctum overlooking the square across the street had always been his refuge, but the sight that greeted him brought him no peace of mind. On the chaise longue where he’d pondered many a problem, was Minerva, stretched out on the velvet, her head propped up on a couple of cushions. Her hair fell in loose, fair skeins around a face pinched paper-white. Her eyes were shut, her expression calm and beatific in contrast to the anguished look on Quigley who crouched by her side, desperately holding on to her hands as if by doing so he could prevent her from disappearing. His gaunt eyes mirrored his turbulence as he spun round at Asher’s entry.

  “Well?”

  “I’ve done all I could for the moment.” Asher moved to his desk, which was littered with plans and drawings of his chronometrical conveyance. He gathered up a sheaf of them and thrust them onto the dying fire sulking in the fireplace. The paper lit, curled and blackened at the edges, before the flames leaped higher. For a few moments the drawings and figures glowed before the fire consumed them. Sighing, he reached for another fistful of paper, and the greedy fire gobbled them up.

  “Is there any change?” he asked.

  “I can’t be sure, but I think the fog is lifting from her.”

  The sight of Quigley holding Minerva’s hand and stroking her brow triggered a queer sensation in Asher’s stomach. There was such a trembling, loving tenderness in Quigley’s touch. It hit Asher how much it must have cost Quigley to hold himself aloof from Minerva’s attractions. He’d written her all those love letters, and she’d yearned for him, yet Quigley had resisted the temptation to become her lover. And he was willing to sacrifice everything for her. So it would be mean of Asher to be envious of him touching Minerva.

  He saw that Quigley was right, that the haze which had threatened to obliterate her was beginning to lighten and thin out in patches. As he watched, the colors of her skirts returned, solid and reassuring.

  “It’s working,” Quigley said. “She’s coming back to us. The cosmos is eradicating the anomaly.”

  Heartened, Asher swept everything off his desk and threw it all into the fire. Next he moved to his bookshelves and pulled out the texts he’d studied for years. One by one the books met their fate in the roaring fire until the room shimm
ered with heat. He stood back from the fire and dusted his hands.

  Quigley spoke. “I know how much it pains you to sweep away years of labor.”

  Asher prodded at the fire with the poker. A rare, treasured treatise on the properties of promethium burst into flame. “They are worth nothing without Minerva.”

  Quigley sat beside Minerva, his fingers firmly intertwined with hers. He let out a sigh heavy with infinite regret. “You will look after her, won’t you?”

  “If she’ll let me.” Asher snorted. “She puts a high price on her independence.”

  “No more than you and I do.”

  Asher nodded. “I promise always to be there for her, whether she likes it or not.” They sat in silence for a while before he picked up a decanter of whisky and poured out two measures into crystal tumblers. He passed one to Quigley. “Well, we’ve done as much as possible. Now, it’s just a matter of waiting.” He took a seat in a nearby armchair, gradually becoming aware of his aching muscles. His body had been put through the wringer today—blasted with his own Viper Ray, killed, resurrected, shackled, half-poisoned and then shot again.

  The wind rattled the windows, and stray draughts eddied through the room. Quigley reluctantly released Minerva’s hand before lowering himself into a wing chair opposite Asher and leaning his head against the back. Lines as deep as canyons carved his face. At the sight a spasm passed through Asher.

  “How long will it take?” he asked.

  Quigley lifted his head as though it weighed a ton. “I don’t know. An hour, a day, a week. Who knows? But when it does I hope it comes swiftly.”

  Asher winced. There were no words of comfort he could offer. He raised his glass. “I salute you, Quigley.”

  In reply Quigley merely grunted. After a while he said, “Here, before I forget, I have something for you.” He fished out the stalking compass from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Asher.

  The compass which had led him through time to Minerva. Biting his lip, Asher closed his fist around it. “Thank you.”

  The other man did not speak, but downed his whisky in one gulp.

  On the chaise longue Minerva stirred, and her eyelashes fluttered open. Her eyes were the sweetest blue Asher had ever seen.

  “My goodness,” she said. “Don’t tell me I swooned.”

  Chapter Nine

  With the equanimity borne of long years of service, Cheeves had regained control of the household and obeyed Asher’s mysterious commands without comment. Supper for three was brought up to the study, but Cheeves was instructed to leave the trolley outside the door. As well, hot water, towels and clean clothing were similarly ordered. When these had been delivered, Asher ordered his faithful servant to barricade the house and the workshop and then retire for the night.

  The north winds tore at the house like a wild beast, juddering windows and baying down chimneys, but inside the study the curtains had been drawn, the fire was warm and the door securely fastened. Minerva sat on the chaise longue, a healthy pink hue on her cheeks, her hair a loose mass of burnished gold about her shoulders, while she glanced between Asher and Quigley with rapt attention.

  “So one of my mothers is now living amongst the ancient Celts?” she asked. “And the other has simply ceased to exist?”

  “Precisely,” Asher replied. “I hope you don’t mourn the loss too keenly.”

  “How could I after what she tried to do?”

  After a final swipe across his washed face, Asher tossed his used towel into a waiting bucket and shrugged on a clean shirt. He’d provided Quigley with a fresh shirt too. Quigley was still busy at his basin. Not content with a quick sluice, the man was shaving his chin with slow, careful strokes.

  Lifting his head, Asher caught Minerva staring at him, her gaze fastened to where his partially buttoned shirt revealed his chest. The frankness of her stare stopped him in his tracks, set fire to his loins. So she was recovered enough to desire him! The realization set his blood humming and curled the edges of his lips, but then her eyes lifted to his, and she must have thought his smile too smug, for the sensual admiration disappeared from her face.

  Her brows drew together into a vee. “What was that poison she used on us?” she hurriedly asked.

  “I believe it’s cacodyl chloride. Not only are the fumes extremely toxic, they’re also very flammable. She meant to kill us and then burn the whole workshop down to hide all evidence of the crime.” He fastened his shirt and pulled on a smoking jacket.

  Some of the color left Minerva’s cheeks. “Well, then I’m glad she’ll never be around to cause more mischief. I pity the poor Celts who have her now. But how ironic that it was her own error which sent her back thousands of years.”

  “Schick assured me she was a highly competent operator. She must have made some mistake in her haste to complete the computations.”

  “And now you have burned all your books and documents, you will never know the real figures to correctly calibrate the machine.”

  Asher didn’t reply. Without wishing to, his gaze strayed to Quigley’s back. The man stood in front of a mirror, carefully tying his cravat. As if sensing Asher’s eyes on him, he spoke without turning round. “No, Asher,” was all he said.

  Minerva’s brow crinkled in puzzlement, but Asher didn’t enlighten her. He knew well enough what Quigley was saying no to. The only person who knew how to operate the chronometrical conveyance was Quigley. Only he had computed the correct figures, laboriously working through the calculations by hand, double-checking each step, until he’d arrived at the final answers.

  With a final tweak to his cravat, Quigley put on his jacket before turning to face the room. He crossed over to Asher and placed his hand on his shoulder. “No, my friend,” he said in a low tone. “I will never divulge those numbers to anyone. Of that you can be sure.” He addressed himself to Minerva. “Shall we dine now?”

  So, that was that. He hadn’t seriously considered that Quigley would give him those elusive figures, and now he found himself glad and somewhat relieved. The burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He would forget everything he’d discovered about the chronometrical conveyance, the millennium machine, indeed, the whole aethersphere. There were more than enough other areas of discovery to occupy his mind.

  He stood back and watched as Quigley escorted Minerva to the small table as though they were attending the most fashionable restaurant in all of London. Washed and shaven, Quigley looked the epitome of the elegant gentleman, and Minerva was clearly admiring of his suave appearance. She turned and beckoned to Asher, her eyes smiling. “Come, Asher. Come and sit.”

  So they all three sat at the round table. They dined on baked oysters, turtle soup, plovers’ eggs in aspic, asparagus, truffles and dressed crab, all washed down with champagne, and to follow they had chocolate cream, maraschino jelly and a large wedge of Stilton. It ought to have been a celebration, but Asher was too aware of what still lay ahead to enjoy the meal. Quigley ate with a spare appetite, taking his time to savor each morsel, while Minerva dined with a subdued air, no doubt sensing the mounting tension in the atmosphere.

  Quigley cut off a fragment of cheese and held it under his nose to inhale its pungent scent.

  “Ah, my favorite cheese,” he murmured, his eyes half-closed.

  “All these dishes are your favorites.” Minerva stretched her arm across the table cloth and pressed Quigley’s arm. “Yet you’ve only picked at this and that like a sparrow.”

  “I don’t need to fill my stomach. It’s enough just to sample each dish.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her gaze darted between the two men. Asher wanted to give her an encouraging smile, but his lips wouldn’t work. “Something is wrong. I can sense it. Will one of you please tell me what it is I don’t know?” She turned to Quigley. “Well?”

  Quigley stared back at her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but at the last moment averted his face, the flash of distress telling Asher it was up to him.

  �
�Minerva.” Asher drew in a deep breath and plunged on. “You understand what happened when I destroyed my chronometrical conveyance and why that saved you.”

  “Yes. Because if your device did not exist, then Mrs. Nemo could not use it in the future, and so to remedy this anomaly she must have been erased from time. The pliability of time.”

  “Exactly so.” He hesitated before clasping her hand. “But your mother was not the only anomaly created. There is another still with us.” He paused, unable to continue, but there was no need as he saw the dawning realization break across her face like an earth tremor.

  “You mean… No—” She went white as though he’d punched her in the chest. “You can’t mean Quigley?”

  Why did it have to come to this? The horror stamped on her face savaged him, but he had no means to comfort her.

  “Asher!” Her fingernails dug into his palm. “No. It can’t be true. You must have a solution. You must.”

  Quigley came to his rescue. “My dear, there is nothing anyone can do. The laws of the universe must be obeyed. Since the chronometrical conveyance no longer exists, it is an anomaly for me to use it in the future. I am now a temporal paradox, and I must be eliminated.”

  “But—but what will happen to you?”

  “I imagine something very similar to what started to happen to you. I shall start feeling faint and then gradually disappear into nothingness. I believe—and hope—the whole procedure will be fairly painless.”

  “No!” Minerva jumped to her feet, jarring the dishes on the table. “I refuse to accept this. There must be something that we can do.”

  Quigley rose and pressed his hand on her heaving shoulder. “Please, you mustn’t distress yourself. I knew this would happen, and I’m quite prepared for it.”

  “But I am not!” Her eyes shimmered with a desperate light. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

  “If it’s any comfort to you, when I’m gone you will also lose all memory of me being here. You will forget how you felt. It will be as if I never existed.”