The Strange Affair of Spring Heeled Jack - Mark Hodder [60]
Burton was leaning over the right side when the rotorchair suddenly lurched heavily to the left, shaking horribly as the wings sliced into twigs and leaves. His toes instinctively pressed hard on the footboard and he yanked back the middle lever, sending the rotorchair soaring upward, spinning wildly on its axis. As he fought with the levers, he became aware, through the edge of his goggles, of a large shape clinging to the side of the machine, unbalancing it.
He turned his head and looked into the eyes of Spring Heeled Jack.
The creature's mouth was moving as if shouting something but, though its face was very close to Burton's, the words were obliterated by the roar of the engines and the drumming of the wings. It reached out and grabbed his wrist.
The rotorchair spiralled downward.
Burton struggled to free himself but everything was happening too fast. He'd barely registered the presence of Spring Heeled Jack before the rotorchair plunged into the woods, keeling over sideways, its wings snapping and shooting away, one arcing high into the air, the others clattering through the branches.
The vehicle twisted and tumbled, knocking its driver this way and that as it fell through the foliage, hit the ground back-end first, then toppled onto its side and came to rest.
Steam screamed through a rent in its boiler and Burton, shaken but conscious enough to fear an explosion, fumbled with the buckle straps, finally released them, and crawled out of and away from the machine.
He lay panting, facedown in the loam.
Rustling footsteps approached and, as Burton rolled over onto his back, a foot-or, rather, a stilt-was placed to either side of him.
Spring Heeled Jack, light dappling his face, stood astride the king's agent and gazed down at him. He squatted.
"Who are you?" the creature asked.
Blue flame formed a corona around its head; sparks spat from its chest. The eyes blazed with madness.
"You know damned well who I am," said Burton.
"I don't. I've never seen you before, though I must admit, I feel I should know you."
"Never seen me! You gave me this damned black eye!"
Even as he said it, though, Burton thought about Trounce's suggestion that there might be more than one of the stilted creatures. "Or maybe that was your brother?" he added.
The creature grinned. "I don't have a brother. I don't even have parents!"
It threw back its head and let loose a peal of insane laughter, then looked down and ran its eyes over Burton's face.
"Where have I seen you before?" it muttered. "Famous, are you?"
"Comparatively," answered Burton. He started using his feet and elbows to shift himself out from between Spring Heeled Jack's stilts, but the thing reached down and grasped the front of his coat.
"Stay still," it commanded. "Yes, I know you now. Sir Richard Francis Burton! One of the great Victorians!"
"What the hell is a Victorian?"
Shouts sounded in the distance-the police and townspeople approaching -and, beyond them, the thrum of Constable Kapoor's rotorchair.
"Listen, Burton," hissed Jack. "I have no idea why you're here but you have to leave me alone to do what I have to do. I know it's not a good thing but I don't mean the girls any harm. If you or anyone else stops me, I can't get back and I won't be able to repair the damage. Everything will stay this way-and it's wrong! It's all wrong! This is not the way things are meant to be! Do you understand?"
Burton shook his head. "Not in the slightest. Let me up, damn it!"
Jack hesitated then released his grip. Burton slid from between the stilts and scrambled to his feet, looking up at the strange apparition.
Spring Heeled Jack was a man, he could see that now, but his costume was bizarre and there was an unearthly air about him.
"So what exactly is it you need to do?" he asked the stilt-walker.
"Restore, Burton! Restore!"
"Restore what?"
"Myself. You. Everything! Do you honestly think the world should have talking orangutans