The Curious Case Of The Clockwork Man by Mark Hodder Read Free Book Online

emerged into clear, dry, still air.
    The layer of cloud had fallen away beneath him and a full moon glared down, turning the top of the billowing weather front a bright silvery grey. There was no rain and hardly a breeze at this altitude, and his box kite immediately settled into smooth flight, losing the sickening weaving and bobbing motion that had marked the pursuit so far.
    Brunel’s machine flapped ahead. Where was his companion?
    Burton looked to his right and saw Bhatti and Spencer. He looked to his left and saw Trounce—and shouted a warning! Too late!
    The surviving clockwork man’s ornithopter plunged from above straight into Trounce’s swan. A metal wing tore through the bird’s neck, slicing its head clean off.
    The ornithopter arced away as the bird’s decapitated corpse plummeted down into the cloud, dragging the kite behind it. In the instant before Trounce vanished into the thick mist, Burton saw him yank his emergency strap, separating the kite from the bird.
    He breathed a sigh of relief. His friend would float safely to earth, though the landing might leave him shaken and bruised.
    He steered closer to his two remaining companions. Here, above the bad weather, his voice carried: “Where did it go?”
    “I don’t know!” Bhatti yelled, peering up and around.
    “Down into the cloud!” Spencer shouted. “It went right under your bloomin’ kite, Boss! It—
aaah!
”
    The ornithopter shot up from below, passing straight through the harness that attached the vagrant philosopher to his bird. Spencer tumbled away in his kite while the swan, with no one to guide it, turned and flew back the way it had come.
    Burton snatched at his revolver, fumbled, and dropped it out of the kite. He cursed and glanced across at the constable, hoping his moment of weakness hadn’t been witnessed. It hadn’t. Bhatti was looking this way and that, scanning the sky for their attacker.
    “Coming down at you!” the policeman screamed, pointing upward.
    The king’s agent yanked fiercely at his reins, sending his bird, with a honk of protest, swerving sharply to the left. Bhatti’s revolver barked twice as the ornithopter plunged past, narrowly missing a collision with Burton’s kite. The enemy vehicle twisted in the air and rose up beside the constable’s swan. The driver, mounted on the ornithopter’s saddle, turned to look at the giant bird. The frightened swan responded with its species’ characteristic belligerence. It whipped its neck sideways, gripped the brass head in its beak, and ripped it from the mechanical shoulders.
    Bhatti cheered, but his delight was short-lived. With nothing to steer it, the ornithopter slid into his bird. Metal and fleshy wings clashed and a stream of blood showered back over the constable. The swan shrieked and started to fall, the ornithopter spinning down beside it, trailing a spiral of steam.
    “Good luck, Captain!” Bhatti shouted, yanking at his release strap. He disappeared behind and below Burton’s kite.
    Ahead, the Steam Man had gained some distance and was bearing slightly to the east.
    A violent tremor ran through Burton’s body. He gritted his teeth.
    “All right, Brunel,” he ground out harshly. “Now it’s just you and me.”
    He cracked the reins.
    The chase continued over the clouds and across rain-swept London. Burton struggled to keep his mind from drifting. He wondered where his onetime travelling companion John Hanning Speke was, and thought about the time they’d spent together in Africa. It turned into a hallucination; the canvas seat of the box kite became a canvas stretcher, swaying beneath him as natives bore him along. He saw Speke bending over him, sprinkling water from a flask onto his burning, fevered brow.
    “Not long now, Dick,” Speke said. “We’ll reach Ujiji before sundown. We can lay up there awhile and get ourselves shipshape before we explore the lake more thoroughly. It’s easy going for the rest of the afternoon, old thing.