The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [65]
On the right, a heavy brass hammer geared to a pegged wheel was poised to strike a large bell like a church bell.
What about a pad of cloth? But she had nothing thick enough,
The part of the pendulum seemed to be taken by a metal arm with what appeared to be two small cannonballs stuck on the ends. It was whirling round like an aeroplane propeller, except that it was going first one way and then the other as it was caught by a sort of jag-toothed wheel like a badly designed crown. If she tried to stop that she’d do herself a mischief Yet there seemed nothing else in the mechanism to stop.
Though her survey took only seconds, it was still too long. She only had seconds.
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Taking a deep breath, she waited for the moment when the governor changed direction and grabbed hold of one of the cannonballs. For a moment she thought she’d done it, but then the weight took charge and it was wrenched from her hands.
Turning this way and that like the very mechanism he’d tried in vain to halt, not knowing where to go or what to do, she screamed in frustration, ‘No! I won’t let it happen!’
But even as the echo of her voice died away, the immense brass hammer began to move backwards in preparation for its strike. Midnight had come.
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Nineteen
For a moment Sarah stood as if paralysed; then without even thinking, she leapt forward and seized the shank of the hammer in her arms, hugging it to her body, holding it back from striking the bell.
She felt it struggle to free itself as the trip mechanism reached the top again and pushed it backwards to activate the second chime. But with a rush of relief, she realized that the power of the clock only lifted it from the bell, releasing it at the top of the movement to fall on the bell by its own weight, rebounding to be caught once again by the lifting cam.
As long as she prevented it falling, it would not strike.
But had she succeeded in stopping Maximilian?
It appeared to be as Vilmius had said: there was no need to repeat the ritual. The archway of light still shimmered inches from the wall; indeed, it was if anything brighter yet.
The mixing of the draught now seemed to be nothing more than the following of a recipe; a pinch of this, a scruple of that, four drops of the other; all pounded together in a frenzy of concentrated rage.
At last the moment came when the tincture from the retort was added and the golden glow appeared in the goblet 230
once more. Maximilian turned to the Doctor, who was struggling in vain against the more than natural strength of his captor, and smiled triumphantly. He lifted the cup towards him, as if in a sarcastic toast, and made to drink.
But before the goblet touched his lips, Nicodemus cried out, ‘Master!’
Maximilian turned to follow his gaze. The upper half of the hourglass was empty; and the shining archway was beginning to fade….
‘The clock!’ he cried. ‘Why did it not strike? Casting aside all but the necessity for haste, he swigged his precious potion for all the world as if it were a tot of bar-room liquor.
For a moment it seemed that the result would be as unfortunate as his previous experiment on his faithful Nicodemus. He clutched at his throat and struggled to draw breath with the strangled gagging of a choking man. But then, as he drew a first deep thankful draught of air, an aura of golden light surrounded him which seemed to ease his distress.
The radiance faded from him almost at once and he turned to the luminescent archway, now flickering uncertainly like a guttering candle.
With a shout of ‘No!’ he launched himself towards the light. He passed through it; the wall behind seemed to yield 231
to his body. But at the very moment of his plunge into the stonework, the glow disappeared completely.
A loud cry of agony and terror echoed round the workshop, cutting off abruptly as the trap snapped shut. All that