Burton sighed and climbed to his feet. Crossing to the mirror, he once again considered himself. He gazed into his own eyes, saw the anger in them and, beyond it, something else, something new. What was it? A deep spiritual shock? A suspension of disbelief? An abandonment of the convictions and attitudes through which he’d defined himself?

I am unmade.

He squared his shoulders, curled his fingers into fists, and left his quarters.

He found Gooch, Wells and Bendyshe in the ship’s lounge. They jumped up as he entered.

“Sir Richard!” Gooch exclaimed. “You are recovered?”

He gave a curt nod. “What’s our status?”

“We’re secure,” Bendyshe answered. “No danger of detection.”

Burton turned back to Gooch. “The Orpheus?”

“All shipshape and Bristol fashion.”

“Then we’ll get moving. Is everyone rested?”

They made sounds of affirmation.

Wells, apparently unnerved by Burton’s abrupt attitude, said in a thin voice, “Um. We can—we can certainly depart immediately if you order it, but if you—if you require more time—”

“Time? No, Herbert. Time is the last thing I need.”

Time is my enemy. Time leads only to death.

He turned back to Gooch. “The order is given. Tom, will you be coming with us?”

“No,” Bendyshe answered. “The Cannibal Club needs to be a resourceful presence in 2202 that it may support you properly when you arrive there. We have three generations in which to strengthen the organisation. I will be cloned, and I’ll see that everything that’s necessary is done.” He stood. “Sadhvi, Daniel, Herbert, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. Sir Richard, will you walk me to the hatch?”

“Certainly.”

Hands were shaken. Burton and Bendyshe left the room.

“I’m sorry for your losses,” Bendyshe said. “I feel responsible.”

“You’re not. I am. I should never have entered the pharmacy. But enough self-recrimination. The mission will continue. We’re a single step away from our destination. I’ll not be deflected from our purpose. The reckoning with Spring Heeled Jack must come. Frankly, I look forward to it.”

They reached the hatch. Bendyshe stopped and appraised Burton for a moment. “You seem somehow harder. More ruthless. I feel a little afraid of you.”

The king’s agent said nothing. He helped the Cannibal to slide open the portal. The air that gusted in was damp and bore the scent of wet grass.

Bendyshe stepped out then turned back.

“Sir Richard, we’re fighting for humanity. Don’t lose yours.”

After a slight pause, Burton answered, “I may have no option. I sense an inevitability about it.”

Suddenly, the other couldn’t meet his eyes. Bendyshe looked down at the boarding ramp, up at the clouded afternoon sky, across to the Mary Seacole. He mumbled, “My ancestor—the Thomas Bendyshe you knew—he really loved you. He’s a part of me and I can feel it.”

Burton gave a slight nod. “He’s a part of me, too.”

They said no more.

After drawing in the ramp and securing the hatch, Burton went up to the bridge and was greeted by Captain Lawless and Maneesh Krishnamurthy.

“Let’s prepare for departure, gentlemen.”

From above, the Mark III babbage said, “At last! I feared rust might set in. I’ve been bored senseless.”

Krishnamurthy, after momentarily gazing at Burton, said, “I’m glad to see you up and about,” then set off toward the generator room, leaving Lawless and Burton alone.

“Fifteen days, give or take a few hours,” the airman said. “That’s how long our voyage has taken so far, though calculating duration when you’re travelling through time is rather like trying to measure how much water a fish drinks.”

“I’m sorry I’ve delayed us,” Burton said.

“Don’t be. You had every reason. Besides, we can linger for as long as we like. It makes no difference. We’ll still arrive at nine in the evening on the fifteenth of February, 2202.” Lawless rubbed his neatly trimmed beard. “But what’s the plan? What will we do when we get there?”

“As her principal crew, you, Daniel and Maneesh will remain aboard the Orpheus. Myself, Herbert and Sadhvi will attempt to locate and destroy the Turing Fulcrum or whatever might have superseded it. If the Cannibals report to you that we’ve failed and lost our lives, then command of the expedition will fall to you. You’ll have to decide whether to make another attempt or retreat back to our native time.”

“We’ll not flee,” Lawless said.

Orpheus interrupted. “My apologies, Captain Lawless, Sir Richard. I have been readying the systems for flight.”

“Good,” Lawless responded. He looked up. “Why apologise?”

“Because I obviously misunderstood. When you said ‘prepare for departure,’ I thought you meant we might be going somewhere, not that you intended to stand around chatting.”

The airman snorted his amusement. He touched his right earlobe and said, “Mr. Wells? Would you assist us on the bridge, please?” Upon receiving a reply, he shook his head wonderingly and said to Burton, “I feel as if these CellComp thingamajigs have made me clairvoyant. Microscopic biological machines. Lord have mercy. Science or sorcery, I ask you.”

Wells arrived and took up position at the meteorological equipment. Burton moved to the Nimtz console, from which he could monitor the output of the generator.

Krishnamurthy whispered in his ear, “Captain, Sir Richard, ready when you are.”

“Are we all set, Orpheus?” Lawless asked.

“I believe I’ve already made it perfectly clear that I am,” the Mark III replied. “You’re the one who’s dawdling.”

“Then proceed, please. You know the routine.”

The familiar rumble of engines vibrated through the floor as the rotors whirled into a blur and lifted the ship.

“Now to once again discover the shape of things to come,” Wells murmured.

A minute later, Orpheus announced that the vessel was in position and ready to jump through time. Lawless issued the command.

They entered and exited whiteness.

“I’ve received instructions,” the Mark III immediately declared. “We are to set course for Battersea Airfield.”

“Go ahead,” Lawless said. “Top speed, please. Everyone all right?”

Burton and Wells nodded. The king’s agent addressed the man from 1914. “Herbert, go get yourself prepared.”

“Pistol?”

“Yes.”

Wells left the bridge. Burton looked out at the thickly clouded night sky then crossed to the console Wells had just abandoned and examined its panel. “Snow is forecast over London,” he murmured.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Lawless said.

“Not for me,” Orpheus confirmed.

Burton made a sound of acknowledgement. “I’d better get ready.”

He stepped through the door and descended to the main deck, walked along the corridor, through the lounge, and carried on until he came to Sadhvi Raghavendra’s quarters. He tapped on the door and entered at her called invitation. She was wearing baggy trousers and a loose shirt—men’s clothing.

“Richard!” she exclaimed. “How are you?”

“The walking wounded.”

He lowered himself into a chair beside her bunk. She sat on the mattress and placed a hand over his.

“As are we all.”

He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. “I don’t know how much more I can take. Last year I lost my friends Stroyan and Steinhaueser. I lost—I lost Isabel. Now Algy and William. And seeing all these descendants of my friends, of Monckton Milnes and Bendyshe and Brabrooke and the rest, only serves to remind me of my own mortality and that, when I am gone, nothing of me will remain.”

“It’s not too late. What are you, thirty-nine years old?”

He snorted. “Three hundred and eighty-one by another reckoning.”

She smiled. “My point is that you might still, one day, father a child.”

“And see my own face somewhere in its features? An assurance of immortality? No, Sadhvi, that will never happen.”