The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [60]
"What are they?" he asked, overwhelmed.
"Lizard boys," Verne said, and snorted. And then, more quietly. "Children at play, but nasty, the way children sometimes turn. Ignore them."
But Orphan found them hard to ignore.
They sped away and soon the town, and the strange youths he saw, were gone behind them. At last they halted outside a large villa that stood in isolated grounds outside of the city. The house sat on the bank of a wide river – the Loire, Verne informed him; a large sailboat was moored outside.
"Welcome, welcome," Verne said, ushering Orphan through the large doors of the house into a cluttered living area. He clapped his hands twice and lights came on. Another clap and unseen heaters began to send tendrils of heat into the room.
"Amazing," Orphan said. The room, he saw, was a treasure trove of quaint mechanical constructions and odd automatons: a replica of Vaucanson's duck, for instance, sat in a cage beside one window, mechanically eating and disposing of its food at the two opposite ends of its body. Another, a replica of a young boy, sat writing, over and over again, a short message on a slate. Elsewhere there were calculating machines, toy soldiers that marched on the spot, the model of a blowfish growing and thinning, as constant as a clock, a miniature flute player, a Tesla set, an Edison player, a steam-powered, miniature ship moving in a large aquarium of water with metal fish swimming underneath it, and a mechanical giant squid that reached out tentacles for the ship, never quite seizing it; there were clocks and records, spyglasses and microscopes, mirrors like something out of a carnival, each reflection different and contrary: and everywhere there was space it was occupied by books, lying haphazard over this museum of curiosities like sleepy attendants.
"The wife and kids are away for a while," Verne said. "Italy. They love it there. And it will keep them out of the way…" He sighed. "Bedrooms are upstairs, also shower, bath, et cetera. Kitchen through here. Robur!"
"Sir?" The small man appeared beside him.
"Fix our guest some food," Verne said.
Robur disappeared towards the kitchen.
"How did you get involved in all this," Orphan said to Verne. "Sir?"
"Oh, call me Jules," Verne said. His face became serious, almost stern. "I will tell you all," he said, "but all in good time. There will be plenty of time to talk – on the ship."
"You?" Orphan said. "You are coming with me to Caliban's Island?"
It seemed like madness.
The writer chuckled. "Who better?" he said, patting his stomach. "So I am not as young or as lithe as I used to be, but trust me, there is life and spirit in this old man yet! Robur!"
"Sir?"
He seemed to have simply materialised there.
"Fix our guest a drink."
"Sir."
"Drink, my young friend?"
"Please," Orphan said, a little dazed. "Some red wine would be lovely."
Verne smiled, Robur did his disappearing act, and in a moment Orphan was left holding a large goblet filled almost to the brim with a dark cabernet sauvignon. He gulped it down and felt welcome warmth and a relaxing haze settle over his mind. He would do what he could to work against the Bookman, he thought. Were it not for Lucy. Then he stood up with a shout and nearly spilled his drink.
A massive lizard had entered the room.
It was, he saw a moment later, not a royal lizard, but a creature very similar to those he last saw underneath the King's Arms in Drury Lane. It was six feet or more in length, with yellow bands and spots forming broken crosses on its body and powerful tail. The lizard ambled into the room, paused, and its