carpet bag she’d been holding. “Are you Mr. Quigley’s mistress then?”
Asher, who’d been standing beside her chair, jumped forward. “What is it you want?”
Mrs. Nemo regarded him then swung her gaze to Quigley who stood next to the chronometrical conveyance, still holding a pair of cutters. “Well! This is most intriguing.” Her eyebrows shot up and her breast rose and fell with unconcealed excitement. “Good evening, Mr. Quigley. And which one are you? The present or the future Asher Quigley?”
Quigley had turned white to the bone. “You!” he rejoined through clenched teeth. “And where is Schick?”
“I neither know nor care. His usefulness to me is finished now.” She flourished the gun towards him. “Step aside, Mr. Quigley, whichever one you are. You’re in my way.”
Quigley hesitated, but in the face of the gun he had no choice. He stepped away from the machine. With her boneless fluidity, Mrs. Nemo glided forward to stroke the outer shell. “Ah, how marvelous. Finally I can touch it.”
“You know what it is?” Asher asked.
“Of course. I have my spies. I knew you were building something important, especially when you consulted with Klaus, but he wouldn’t divulge anything to me, the damned sausage-eater. But then you wanted to use the analytical machine. I couldn’t believe my luck. God, to think of all the years I wasted with that German. But no matter.” She patted one of the promethium magnets. “I have everything I need now.”
“You can’t be serious,” Asher broke in. His fists clenched and unclenched. “The machine is highly dangerous. You will die if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“True enough, but then I do know what I’m doing.” From the inside of her jacket she drew out a thin spool of white paper on which were printed some numbers and held it aloft from the tips of her varnished fingers. “See, I have the results of your calculations right here.”
“That’s impossible. I only gave you the algorithms yesterday.”
Mrs. Nemo cocked her head to one side. “But I am a brilliant programmer. And how fortuitous to have proof that your contraption works.” She glanced between the two men with avid interest. “I never would have believed it, but here you are—identical copies of each other. How lovely. How absolutely wonderful.” She secreted the ribbon of paper away and pulled out a set of iron manacles which she tossed towards Quigley. “Here, you, my good man. Shackle your twin to that wooden post over there, and mind you do it properly. I’ll check your handiwork.” When Quigley just continued to glower at her, she raised the pistol higher. “I’m warning you, Mr. Quigley. I’m a crack shot, and I’m not afraid to pull the trigger.”
The steadiness of her grip on the pistol appeared to convince him. He secured the manacles around Asher’s wrists and bound him to a stout iron ring driven into the wooden post which supported a roof beam.
“Why are you doing this?” Minerva burst out. “Why do you want this machine so much?”
“You could never understand,” Mrs. Nemo replied dismissively. She inspected Asher’s bonds before returning to the other man. “And now you will reconnect the electrical supply.”
Quigley clamped his jaw, resistance accentuating every bone in his face. “No. I won’t do that. Not even with a gun pointed at me.”
“Oh no? And what about if the gun were pointed elsewhere?” Slowly Mrs. Nemo shifted her arm towards Minerva. “Like there, for instance. Would that change your mind?”
A white ring appeared around his mouth. “You wouldn’t! Your own daughter?”
“Would you like to test that theory?”
The black hole of the pistol barrel sucked the air from Minerva’s lungs until her chest ached. Dark spots began to cloud her vision again.
“Quigley, for God’s sakes do as she says,” Asher exclaimed from the wooden post, rattling his manacles.
With an explosive expletive, the other
Asher, who’d been standing beside her chair, jumped forward. “What is it you want?”
Mrs. Nemo regarded him then swung her gaze to Quigley who stood next to the chronometrical conveyance, still holding a pair of cutters. “Well! This is most intriguing.” Her eyebrows shot up and her breast rose and fell with unconcealed excitement. “Good evening, Mr. Quigley. And which one are you? The present or the future Asher Quigley?”
Quigley had turned white to the bone. “You!” he rejoined through clenched teeth. “And where is Schick?”
“I neither know nor care. His usefulness to me is finished now.” She flourished the gun towards him. “Step aside, Mr. Quigley, whichever one you are. You’re in my way.”
Quigley hesitated, but in the face of the gun he had no choice. He stepped away from the machine. With her boneless fluidity, Mrs. Nemo glided forward to stroke the outer shell. “Ah, how marvelous. Finally I can touch it.”
“You know what it is?” Asher asked.
“Of course. I have my spies. I knew you were building something important, especially when you consulted with Klaus, but he wouldn’t divulge anything to me, the damned sausage-eater. But then you wanted to use the analytical machine. I couldn’t believe my luck. God, to think of all the years I wasted with that German. But no matter.” She patted one of the promethium magnets. “I have everything I need now.”
“You can’t be serious,” Asher broke in. His fists clenched and unclenched. “The machine is highly dangerous. You will die if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“True enough, but then I do know what I’m doing.” From the inside of her jacket she drew out a thin spool of white paper on which were printed some numbers and held it aloft from the tips of her varnished fingers. “See, I have the results of your calculations right here.”
“That’s impossible. I only gave you the algorithms yesterday.”
Mrs. Nemo cocked her head to one side. “But I am a brilliant programmer. And how fortuitous to have proof that your contraption works.” She glanced between the two men with avid interest. “I never would have believed it, but here you are—identical copies of each other. How lovely. How absolutely wonderful.” She secreted the ribbon of paper away and pulled out a set of iron manacles which she tossed towards Quigley. “Here, you, my good man. Shackle your twin to that wooden post over there, and mind you do it properly. I’ll check your handiwork.” When Quigley just continued to glower at her, she raised the pistol higher. “I’m warning you, Mr. Quigley. I’m a crack shot, and I’m not afraid to pull the trigger.”
The steadiness of her grip on the pistol appeared to convince him. He secured the manacles around Asher’s wrists and bound him to a stout iron ring driven into the wooden post which supported a roof beam.
“Why are you doing this?” Minerva burst out. “Why do you want this machine so much?”
“You could never understand,” Mrs. Nemo replied dismissively. She inspected Asher’s bonds before returning to the other man. “And now you will reconnect the electrical supply.”
Quigley clamped his jaw, resistance accentuating every bone in his face. “No. I won’t do that. Not even with a gun pointed at me.”
“Oh no? And what about if the gun were pointed elsewhere?” Slowly Mrs. Nemo shifted her arm towards Minerva. “Like there, for instance. Would that change your mind?”
A white ring appeared around his mouth. “You wouldn’t! Your own daughter?”
“Would you like to test that theory?”
The black hole of the pistol barrel sucked the air from Minerva’s lungs until her chest ached. Dark spots began to cloud her vision again.
“Quigley, for God’s sakes do as she says,” Asher exclaimed from the wooden post, rattling his manacles.
With an explosive expletive, the other
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