Book VII Read online

  Early the next morning Bill walked Samson before breakfast. Noting that he had some time before John and Rocky were to join him, the time traveler picked up the London Daily News and sat in one of the hotel’s over-stuffed easy chairs and flipped open the newspaper. The news was mostly about the price of produce being high as a result of a dry spell. The lack of rain also forced farmers to walk their livestock through London to get to the few watering spots every morning causing the city inhabitants to hold their noses in disgust.

  Bill laughed as he turned the page and a book review of sorts caught his eye.

  The War of the Worlds is a novel written by Mister H.G. Wells and tells of an invasion from an unfriendly planet (Mars) to the very streets of England! This story by an unnamed narrator tells of vast alien machines more powerful than our navy and able to swiftly ascend to great heights and cut a swath through our finest regiments is utterly preposterous! This newspaper takes the stance that Mister Wells’ novel will collect dust on any book dealers shelf rather than being purchased by any sane Englishman!

  Bill had to laugh at that as he thought, Wait until Orson Welles gets his hands on it.

  He looked up to see John and Rocky enter the lobby and he joined them as they entered the dining room. All three had tea and crumpets smothered in butter and various types of jams.

  “Boy,” said John as he patted his stomach, “I need to get home and into a gym real soon.”

  “Me too,” quipped Rocky as he mimicked John patting his stomach, “It’s a wonder these Englishmen aren’t all out of shape.”

  “It’s because they work it off by walking more than we do,” answered Bill. “And they don’t have the machinery we have to make their jobs easier so the fats don’t have the chance to pack on.”

  Finished, Bill went up to his room and brought down his valise and Samson as the clerk sought them out.

  “Sirs, yer cab to Iping is here. Do ya have any bags?”

  “No. We will be back this afternoon.”

  The clerk opened the cab’s door under the watchful eye of the cabby, a very large man who sat up front holding the reins of two horses. The clerk held the door as the three time travelers entered. Bill was last and gave him a crown, which the man promptly put in his pocket.

  “Where to, gents?” shouted the driver.

  Bill checked the notes he carried about the mission. “Timberly Street, Iping. And we must be there by Ten. Do you see any problem with that, sir?”

  “None at all, gov’ner, none at all. Now, I suggest ya’s sit back an’ hold on as the roads be potted here an’ there an’ the ride might be a wee bit bumpy.”

  It was an understatement as he started off at a fast pace and seemed to hit every rut in the road straining the early model of steel-spring shock absorbers. The three passengers tried to look out the small open windows, but the dry dust and dirt kicked up by the galloping horses forced them to cover their mouths with handkerchiefs and roll down the canvas curtains. Samson seemed to take it in stride and, as usual, napped on Bill’s lap.

  Finally, they felt the driver slow his team down to a trot and they rolled up the curtains to see the streets of Iping.

  Bill checked his watch and as it was only nine-thirty, shouted to the driver, “Sir, how much further?”

  “Jus’ four streets, sir. I slowed down a bit so’s I don’t hit no one as it’s a fine day fer shopping an’ the streets tend ta get crowded.”

  “Well, sir, you did such a fine job of getting us here on time that we decided to walk the rest of the way and see the sights.”

  The cabby pulled to the side of a cobble stoned street and hopped down to open the door. The three men stepped out, all rubbing various parts of their anatomy as Bill put Samson down. The Beagle immediately started his normal sniffing.

  “How much is that, sir?” Bill asked the man.

  “One crown, sir, an if’n ya want, I won’t take no fare back an’ will wait fer ya if’n ya needs ta be going back ta London. I feel it’s me duty ta tell ya that the cabbies o’ Iping be terrible drivers an’ get lost all the time an’ they be known fer their awfully high fares.”

  Bill smiled and said as he gave the cabby two crowns making the man’s eyes bulge and brought a big smile to his ruddy face, “We will need a ride back to the Waverly Hotel and I will heed your advice and take no other cab but yours should you wait until we’ve finished our business.”

  “Ahh, then wait I will, sirs. Ya can find me in the House o’ Hounds, a fine upstandin’ pub on Timberly Street whenever yer finished yer business.”

  He left the three men and Beagle and headed to the pub.

  “Let’s do an easy stroll to get acquainted with the area and where the hologram showed the accident happened,” said Bill as he checked his watch. “It’s nine forty-five right now so we have one and a half hours to go before the boy is pushed into the street.”

  The three men and Samson strolled down the length of the busy street and stopped where the accident was to happen.

  “This is the way I think we should play this guys,” said Bill studying the area. “I’ll walk right behind the young Sydney and the woman. Rocky, you walk slightly ahead and close to the curb and John you walk in front of them. The plan is that when the disturbance starts behind me, hopefully I’ll be able to stop whatever it is that upsets the woman before it reaches her. Should I not be able to do that, John you turn when you hear the commotion and grab the boy.” He turned to Rocky and went on. “Rocky, you are the last resort. Should the disturbance cause the woman to lose her balance, and John misses grabbing the boy, you have to grab him. Got it guys?”

  Both nodded in the affirmative.

  “Now, let’s get a cup of coffee somewhere.”

  “There’s a small shop back a bit,” said John. “Let’s go there and kill some time.”

  “Hope they don’t mind Samson,” said Bill scratching the dog’s head.

  The small thin lady who ran the shop didn’t have any coffee but said her tea was the best in England and she loved Beagles which she proved by setting out a plate of cookies for Samson.

  “Boy, Bill,” said John as he sipped his tea, “what are you going to do when Griffin’s family takes Samson in?”

  Bill’s eyebrows furrowed as he shrugged his shoulders. “Guys, I really don’t know. I mean, we’ve sort of become attached and I’m going to miss him.”

  “Yeah,” said Rocky as he patted the Beagle’s head, “I know what you mean. It’s like he became part of the team.”

  “Yeah. Samson and his time traveling trio,” added John.

  The three men laughed as Samson decided to take a nap under their table.

  The crowd seemed endless as the time travelers watched for young Sydney Camm and the woman watching him. They didn’t know what street they stepped from onto Timberly Street so they could only stand where the hologram showed the accident happened, and, as Bill thought, that’s a small window of time to get in place.

  Suddenly they saw their targets walking side-by-side along the busy street. Sydney was walking along, as young boys often did, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, . . . just walking alongside and holding the hand of the woman in the floppy hat.

  Bill quickly stepped behind them and he and Samson paced the crowd as John took his station in front while Rocky walked slightly ahead and close the curb.

  Bill felt a sweat break out on his forehead as they approached the spot that the young boy was now supposed to die at.

  Thirty paces more, then it happens. Lord, let this work out right, Bill thought as he tried to keep an eye on his charge and listen for any commotion behind him.

  All at once he heard a shout as though someone was berating another person and Bill was pushed aside stumbling into the man next to him. Samson barked and showed his teeth as the woman in front of them was seemingly shoved aside by nothing that Bill saw. He put out his hand to grab the boy but the boy was bounced away by the heavy woman and he missed. Meanwhile, John turned and
, as he tried to grab Sydney, he was sent flying to his left. Bill watched horrified as the boy stumbled trying to regain his balance but ended up in the street. Out of nowhere the team of horses pulling a large carriage burst into view and Bill realized that another man separated Rocky from the boy and he couldn’t grab him in time.

  Oh my God, Bill thought as he cringed in horror, the boys going to be crushed!

  Suddenly, Rocky seeing that he was the only one able to do something and realizing that he had no chance of grabbing the boy, turned his attention to the horses galloping towards him. He quickly leaped on one of the front horses back and used all his strength to turn the animal’s head the other way forcing the carriage to veer to the center of the street away from Sydney Camm. It was over in one second and as John ran to Rocky’s aid, Bill watched as the commotion carried on down through the crowd.

  The woman grabbed the boy and continued her walk as the crowd started to gather around Rocky. Bill quickly removed him from the throng of well-wishers. Walking back up the street Bill and John asked in unison, “Rocky, are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said limping along with them, “I’m fine. Just a little twisted ankle.”

  “Well,” said an admiring John, “where did you learn that move? It’s not like they have lots of horses in Brooklyn?”

  Rocky shrugged his wide shoulders and quipped, “In the movies… didn’t you ever see John Wayne do that?”

  Bill slapped him on the back. “That was fantastic, Rocky. Just fantastic and I’m really glad you two came along on this mission.”

  “Bill,” asked John, “What happened? What caused the people to part like that?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know. It was like a hurricane burst through the crowd. We sure were lucky on this one.”

  “It wasn’t a person that caused that chaos,” added Rocky as he rubbed his ankle, “I would have seen them.”

  “Like I said,” continued Bill, “we were lucky this time.” He took the envelope Captain Loiocono gave him to deliver from his jacket’s inside pocket and checked the address. “570 Tenth Street. I’ll have to ask someone where that is.”

  Spotting a cabby feeding his horse Bill showed him the envelope and asked if he knew where it was.

  “No more than two streets that way, sir,” he said pointing to a side street. “Would ya like me ta take ya? I be done feeding me horse in a moment.”

  “No, thanks anyway,” answered Bill. I need the exercise.” Turning to John and Rocky, he added, “It’s just two blocks up that way. How do you feel Rocky?”

  “Why don’t you two go and I’ll just pop into this pub and have a sip of brandy?”

  “John,” asked Bill. “Why don’t you join Rocky and I’ll deliver the envelope and Samson? It’s close to lunchtime and this way you’ll get a table and I’ll join you both in a few minutes. Okay?”

  John bent down and rubbed Samson’s head as he said, “Fine with me. I’d have a hard time watching you give Samson away.”

  “Me too,” said Rocky as he took his turn scratching the Beagle’s head and floppy ears. “You be good, Samson. We love ya.”

  Both men were misty eyed as they walked toward the pub.

  Bill crossed the street and walked up the two blocks to 570 Tenth Street. It was a quiet street with trees and small stone houses lining both sides. Spotting 570, Bill opened the wooden gate and went up the three wooden stairs. He was about to knock when the door flew open and a stout gray-haired woman bolted out.

  She was a surprised to see a stranger standing on her doorstep and with eyes bulging said, “Who are you? What’s going on today?

  Bill shrugged his shoulders and answered, “Ah, well, my name is Bill Scott and I’ve come to see Mister Griffin’s family. Are you Mrs. Griffin?”

  He noticed that the woman was looking behind her at the closed door when she answered in almost a shrill, “Me? Me, Mrs. Griffin? Are ya daft? There is no Mrs. Griffin. I’m the cleaning woman and this house can stay dirty forever as far as I care.” She made the sign of the cross as she went on still trying to pass Bill and Samson, “Ya should leave right away, this house is haunted!

  “But, tell me, does Mr. Griffin have any relatives living here?

  No! Just him and the dog,” she said pointing to Samson. “Isn’t that him? Isn’t that Samson?”

  “Yes, and I was hoping to deliver him to Mr. Griffin’s family.”

  “Why? Is he dead? He was touched in the head at times and Lord knows what he could have done when he were in one o’ his fits.”

  “Well,” said Bill, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but yes, Mr. Griffin passed away. And I never saw him in anything but the best of spirits.”

  She touched her head with her fingertip and said, “He was a nice man until he started disappearing down into his lab fer days at a time. Then he’d be like a demented person. An’ now! I tell ya, sir, the house be haunted an’ I’m not coming back anymore.”

  “But, please tell me what happened?

  She suddenly dropped her voice to a whisper as she confided in him, “Sir, I be cleanin’ like usual an’ there was a knock at the front door. I opened it an’ nobody was there. Strange I thought an’ went back to cleanin’. The bed was made ‘cause Mr. Griffin were away fer a trip an’ when I went to the bedroom ta get the water pitcher for fillin’, the bed covers were turned down! I thought maybe I was in the middle o’ cleanin’ them an’ forgot so I made the bed again an’ went ta fill the pitcher when all of a sudden I sees the door ta his lab open an I knew it was locked ‘cause only Mr. Griffin got a key. Then I hear voices down in the lab so’s I call down an’ nobody answers. So, I pick up me mop an’ slowly go down the stairs ta see if’n some vagrant be stealin’ stuff and lo an’ behold taint nobody there! The lab was empty, but the gas lamp was lit! T’was then that I heard a voice much like Mr. Griffin when he were in his touched mood-- but, like I said there were nobody there! ‘Saints alive,’ I said as I rushed up the stairs an’ out this very door an’ bumped inta yourself, sir.”

  Bill shook his head, “May I go in for one moment?”

  “Sir, ya can go in fer as long as ya want …. I’ll not be back. Good day to ya.” She rushed away leaving Bill and Samson alone.

  “Come on, Samson, let’s go in.”

  Samson led the way and Bill followed holding the leash lightly.

  “Hello,” Bill said as he followed the Beagle into the living room sniffing the air as he went. They went into a small kitchen then into the bedroom. Bill bent down and tied Samson to the doorknob.

  “Wait here fellow, I’ll be right back.” He entered the small hallway off the living room and saw what the cleaning lady was talking about: an open doorway with the soft flickering light of a gas lamp. Bill tried to be quiet as possible as he descended the wooden stairs.

  The room was lined in natural stone with wood shelves lining the entire place. There was a large wooden table with vials and glass bottles all about. There were various colored fluids in many of the bottles and medical syringes lying neatly on glass shelves in a medical cabinet against one wall. The thing that struck Bill as being out of place was a large, floor-to-ceiling, ornate mirror. Bill turned as he suddenly heard the door close and lock behind him. He raced up the stairs two at a time and pushed against the thick wooden door, but it didn’t budge.

  “Who’s there?” He shouted as he tried the doorknob.

  “A chilling voice came from the lab at the foot of the stairs, “Did you bring the notebook, Mr. Scott?”

  Bill’s spun around, his eyes wide as he strained to see who was speaking. “Who’s there? Where are you hiding?”

  The answer was a long wheezing laugh, “Ha ha ha ha—can’t you see me, Mr. Scott? Can’t you see the genius of our times? Can’t you see what’s right before your eyes? I ask you again, did you bring my notebook?”

  “Your notebook? Who are you and why are you hiding from me? I brought a notebook that belongs to Mr. Griffin, but according to the cleaning woman
he has no relatives, so why should I give it to you?”

  A bark followed by a howl pierced the room as Samson responded to the shouts.

  “You, you brought my Samson here?”

  “Your Samson? What do you mean your Samson? Who are you?”

  “Who am I? Why I ate breakfast, lunch and dinner aboard ship with you and your two companions every day, Mr. Scott. Who am I?”

  They both answered the question at the same time: Thomas Griffin!”

  Bill slumped down on the stairs and removed the notebook as he shook his head. “If you are my friend Thomas Griffin, come out and take this notebook before I tear it to shreds.”

  “Don’t make me kill you, Bill. Toss the notebook down the stairs.”

  “Show yourself. Be a man and come take the book from me.”

  Bill heard a patter of footsteps as though someone was approaching and suddenly the notebook was snatched from his hand and flew down the stairs to land on the floor. Immediately Bill ran down the stairs and was about to grab it when he was struck in the back by a heavy object. Stunned he turned to see a large, baseball bat, size of wood coming out of nowhere and headed toward his head. He instinctively put an arm up and felt warm, hairy flesh. He recoiled as the length of wood fell to the floor. He stepped on the wood and was rewarded by a scream of pain and that’s when he realized what was happening.

  “Griffin, you’re invisible!”

  From behind him a voice answered, “Yes! I’m invisible! And because I’m invisible, I’m invulnerable! You can’t hurt what you can’t see!” As if to emphasize that statement, Bill was struck on the back of his head with a glass bottle, which broke and drenched him with a blue liquid.

  “What do you think of my experiments now, Mr. Scott?”

  Bill saw out of the corner of his eye one of the wooden, floor-to-ceiling shelves falling on him and quickly rolled out of the way only to be struck by another bottle on his shoulder. Dazed, he stood and ran to a corner and faced the center of the room.