Infernal Devices - KW Jeter [60]
I at last perceived the general outline of his obsession. "Yes… well, your Lordship… that's really quite interesting. A sign from us, you say? Hm. I don't suppose a rather large banner would do?"
"Certainly not." He got to his feet, the dregs of port sloshing in the bottle. "Come with me, my boy. You shall see… all."
Lord Bendray led me further into the laboratory's reaches. "Steady on, there," he cautioned after a few minute's wavering progress.
"Pardon? Christ in Heaven!" I leapt back from the edge of a circular chasm; another step would have precipitated me into its inky depths. A fragment of stone fell from the stone lip; no sound came back of it reaching bottom.
Lord Bendray stationed himself before the hole. It curved round in either direction for some distance, appearing large enough to have swallowed a small village such as the loathsome Dampford beyond the Hall's gates. The far edge was hidden from view by rough stone pillars that descended into the pit, their lower ends lost to sight in the darkness. Above them, an intricate arrangement of cross-beams, great geared wheels taller than a man, chains thick enough to suspend houses by, and other machinery looped and dipped to make connection with the pillars.
My host gazed raptly at the stone. "They go down," he pronounced solemnly, "straight to bedrock. And beyond – hundreds of feet." He looked back at me. "Your father's last creation. Such a tragedy that he died before this – his masterpiece – could be set into operation."
I held myself well away from the chasm's edge. My eyes travelled across the massive beams and chains. "What is it?"
"Soldiers, my boy…" Lord Bendray's vision went straight through me and on to his private contemplations. He took a swallow directly from the mouth of the bottle. "Marching soldiers…"
Behind me, I could see the glitter of the brass devices on the distant workbenches; the supportive arches intertwined confusingly. The prospects of my finding my own way out appeared dismal.
Lord Bendray's eyes focussed on me again. "Soldiers marching across a bridge – ever see that?" I shrugged. "I suppose so, your Lordship. A military parade, or some such."
"Good." He waggled a finger at me in schoolmaster fashion. "Now, this is fairly common knowledge – I suspect you've heard of it – but very often, when a troop of soldiers is crossing a bridge, the men are ordered to break step. Not left-right, left-right, all together; but every man going along, out of step with those next to him. Until they're all safely on the other side; then it's off they merrily go again, left-right, left-right in unison. Now, then; why is that? Eh?"
"Well…" I searched my brain for some half-forgotten explanation. "It's the vibrations, isn't it? Um. Reverberations, or something. If all the men went marching across in step, the bridge might start to vibrate along to the rhythm of their pace. And – let's see – if they kept on marching over it, the bridge's vibration would be reinforced, and would grow stronger, and – possibly – the bridge would eventually shake itself to pieces beneath their feet."
"Oh, not just possibly, my boy – it's happened many times in actuality. Miliary practice is not derived from mere intellectual speculation, you know; destroying something is really the best way to learn. No, the best method of crossing a bridge is something that has been proven on the field, as it were."
Seaweed; beings from other worlds; now correct marching drill. I felt sadly perplexed by this evidence of incipient senility. "Yes, well… fascinating, I'm sure. Um… perhaps we should be getting back… rejoin the others… tea, perhaps–"
He shook his head impatiently. "You will admit, then, that through this principle, an item of considerable mass – say, a bridge – can be destroyed by the precise action of a smaller mass – such as a troop of marching soldiers?"
"Yes; I suppose so…"
"And can you conceive of any reason why that destructive principle should not hold true, regardless of the relative disparity between the larger and smaller mass?"