Chapter 16 ~ Magnetron Returns to America

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"Just as the wise gardener would not attempt to follow a gopher into its burrow, I would wait until Compost resurfaced, and spring my trap on solid ground."

Powerless!  Confound it all!   With all my advanced science, to be incapable of thwarting the encroachment of this crude magic was intolerable.  Valkusian had opined for years upon the esoteric potency of these abstruse mystical arts and their practitioners, and I had observed the singular power of occult conjurings with my own eyes.  And yet, my conception of such sorcery had remained that of the odd curiosity, the occasional pocket of the unexplained existing in the unlit corners of an otherwise comprehensible world.  Contrarily, the notion of a vast, malignant cabal of spellbound automatons exercising dominion over this troubled planet pulled the rug from under my belief in a just and rational universe.

It was too much to contemplate.

It pained me to leave with Compost ranging freely and untrammeled, but I had long ago learned to refrain from pursuing Compost through London's labyrinthine imbroglio.  Just as the wise gardener would not attempt to follow a gopher into its burrow, I would wait until Compost resurfaced, and spring my trap on solid ground.

Much to our astonishment and elation, the explosive issue of François Boileau suddenly ceased to be.  Yes, the maundering flibbertigibbet abruptly elected to relocate to England, so he might follow more closely the sundry devilments of the genuine Spring-heeled Jack.  He claimed that the recent developments had mobilized him to pursue his old nemesis with greater vigor, but it was evident that the recent emergence of an insatiable appetite for fish and chips had played a role in his plans as well.  Regrettably, I was unable to bid farewell to Gurusigphat, as Boileau had dispatched him on an errand for several barrels of malt vinegar.

Valkusian and Cerebelli called on President Grant to inform him that the investigation continued.  At Anders's strenuous urging, we cabled Mrs. Mackenzie and informed her that he was well.  Satyros and Coburn then commenced a merciless bombardment of impertinent questions, scurrilous innuendo, and unsolicited advice on the topic of his supposed romance with the matronly Mrs. Mackenzie.

I packed my belongings in silence and prepared for the journey home.  I had insisted that Anders return home to regain his strength, but he would have none of it.  He had overheard our plans to make for Virginia and the troublesome General Southwick, and as he was still smarting from Southwick's daring theft taking place on his watch, he now pawed the ground in anticipation of a violent confrontation.  I extracted a solemn promise that he would not harm Southwick in exchange for permission to accompany us to Richmond.  Anders acquiesced sheepishly and instantly regained his characteristic reserve.

After we were airborne, I went to my quarters to contemplate my impending confrontation with the implacable General.  He was a peculiar fellow, with a host of strange tics and other mannerisms.  His speech was punctuated by unexpected grunts and inappropriate facial expressions and he had uttered the foulest profanities—for no apparent reason—on more occasions than I cared to remember.  These behaviors appeared to be involuntary, as they manifested themselves even when he was calm, but when he was in the throes of some fiery bombast or another, his symptoms increased in severity until his speech was a continuous stream of obscenities without benefit of additional subject matter or grammatical structure.

Despite his impairment, he was an astute tactician, and might conceivably have been expecting our arrival.  Our plan was to gain entrance by subterfuge, retrieve the President's ring and the Luftigel plans if they were still in Southwick's possession, and escape without a direct confrontation with his henchmen.  A frontal assault on his well-fortified compound would have failed miserably, as we could not have hoped to defeat his battle-hardened army of demented malcontents.

After General Southwick, there was Dr. Glockenholz with whom to contend.  I intended to meet with him again, this time pursuant to a straightforward murder inquiry.  First, I would gather from him as much information about Corbière as possible, and then I would tear that damnable mask from his wall and burn it in a public square.

But that was for later.  I observed that we were over a moonlit Chesapeake Bay, and I was obliged to return to my post.  I was tense, but relieved.  The world made sense once again.

Spring-heeled Jack and the President's RingWhere stories live. Discover now