Read Online The Doomsday Machine (Horatio Lyle) by Catherine Webb - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Catherine Webb
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started going pink. ‘Potassium nitrate is commonly found in . . . you know ... places where waste has been allowed to settle . . . erm . . .’
Realization struck. ‘It’s poo again, ain’t it? You get it from poo!’
‘Now that is a gross oversimplification! Although I’ll admit there are other products of a similar nature involved in the process . . .’
A distant clunking, the sound of something jarring in old stone, a faint noise like the humming of a trapped hornet in a jar, getting angrier, fast. Lyle ’s eyes swerved to the door, and Tess’s followed. Quietly, he said, ‘All right, a laboratory, studying what?’
‘Uh . . .’
But Lyle ’s attention had already moved on, the strange contraption forgotten. ‘Wires, coils - all right, coils, that’s magnetic induction, what else? Chemicals? What do you smell? What chemicals have they been using? Potassium nitrate . . .’
‘Dunno.’
‘Black powder, explosives, that ’s what potassium nitrate’s all about. Things that go bang.’
A distant sound like the rattling of many wheels across a rough cobbled street ...
Tess waded in valiantly at Lyle’s pent-up silence. ‘Erm ... ash. Ash! Burnt paper, erm . . . been a fire, but ain’t much smoke, no soot, so . . .’
‘Chemical fire, good - explosion?’
‘Could be, there’s marks in the wall like as how somethin’ hit it fast . . .’
‘Explosives and wires, bombs?’
A sound like the rumbling hungry stomach of a giant, getting closer, footfall of stone ...
‘Erm . . . distillation, purification, they’ve been makin’ stuff, acid burn on the table, that means . . .’
‘Acid burn, good! Electricity and chemicals, bomb-making. They’ve been making explosives.’ Tess felt something cold slosh against her ankle and looked down to see cold, clear water rising around her feet, running quietly in from the door. A closer sound now, much, much closer, like snow falling down a mountain ...
‘Tess, get over here!’
No disobeying. She raced over to Lyle who was already looking around with the wide eyes of a man in search of a plan. ‘All right, so Berwick was here,’ he murmured, not taking his eyes off the grate through which the water was rushing. ‘And he was making explosives. That’s good, that’s worth knowing, worth getting our feet soggy for.’
‘Mister Lyle?’ squeaked Tess. And now there was no mistaking the sound: the noise of water bouncing against brick, swirling down an ever-narrowing tunnel, rumbling closer and closer and closer and ...
‘It ’s all right,’ muttered Lyle. ‘It’s fine .’ He kicked over one of the large metal crates, spilling out its broken scientific equipment with an unusual disregard for the mass of breaking glass and the pooling chemicals. ‘When it hits, just don’t let go, all right?’
She nodded. A sound like the cracking of old bones dried in the sun, like the falling of every leaf off a tree all at once, like the splintering of a trunk, the feeling of wind rushing from the tunnel, pushed ahead of something that filled every inch of space and moved so fast even the air didn’t have a chance to escape. Tess clung on to Lyle ’s waist as Lyle turned the box upside-down, so the open top was now the open bottom. Then, to Tess’s astonishment, he put the entire thing over his head like a hat, so that the sides came down almost to his elbows.
Tess had just enough time to say, ‘You look real stupid, Mister Ly—’ before it hit.
She had never thought of water as frightening. Even when the Thames flooded in the marshes to the east of the city or lapped high up beneath the bridges so that ships had to wait for the tide to change before they could pass under them, water had just been something more or less contained, predictable as the slope of a hill.
However, when the water surged in from the tunnel, it came fast, so fast that it knocked the grate off its hinges, so fast it tore the legs off the tables: a wall of
Realization struck. ‘It’s poo again, ain’t it? You get it from poo!’
‘Now that is a gross oversimplification! Although I’ll admit there are other products of a similar nature involved in the process . . .’
A distant clunking, the sound of something jarring in old stone, a faint noise like the humming of a trapped hornet in a jar, getting angrier, fast. Lyle ’s eyes swerved to the door, and Tess’s followed. Quietly, he said, ‘All right, a laboratory, studying what?’
‘Uh . . .’
But Lyle ’s attention had already moved on, the strange contraption forgotten. ‘Wires, coils - all right, coils, that’s magnetic induction, what else? Chemicals? What do you smell? What chemicals have they been using? Potassium nitrate . . .’
‘Dunno.’
‘Black powder, explosives, that ’s what potassium nitrate’s all about. Things that go bang.’
A distant sound like the rattling of many wheels across a rough cobbled street ...
Tess waded in valiantly at Lyle’s pent-up silence. ‘Erm ... ash. Ash! Burnt paper, erm . . . been a fire, but ain’t much smoke, no soot, so . . .’
‘Chemical fire, good - explosion?’
‘Could be, there’s marks in the wall like as how somethin’ hit it fast . . .’
‘Explosives and wires, bombs?’
A sound like the rumbling hungry stomach of a giant, getting closer, footfall of stone ...
‘Erm . . . distillation, purification, they’ve been makin’ stuff, acid burn on the table, that means . . .’
‘Acid burn, good! Electricity and chemicals, bomb-making. They’ve been making explosives.’ Tess felt something cold slosh against her ankle and looked down to see cold, clear water rising around her feet, running quietly in from the door. A closer sound now, much, much closer, like snow falling down a mountain ...
‘Tess, get over here!’
No disobeying. She raced over to Lyle who was already looking around with the wide eyes of a man in search of a plan. ‘All right, so Berwick was here,’ he murmured, not taking his eyes off the grate through which the water was rushing. ‘And he was making explosives. That’s good, that’s worth knowing, worth getting our feet soggy for.’
‘Mister Lyle?’ squeaked Tess. And now there was no mistaking the sound: the noise of water bouncing against brick, swirling down an ever-narrowing tunnel, rumbling closer and closer and closer and ...
‘It ’s all right,’ muttered Lyle. ‘It’s fine .’ He kicked over one of the large metal crates, spilling out its broken scientific equipment with an unusual disregard for the mass of breaking glass and the pooling chemicals. ‘When it hits, just don’t let go, all right?’
She nodded. A sound like the cracking of old bones dried in the sun, like the falling of every leaf off a tree all at once, like the splintering of a trunk, the feeling of wind rushing from the tunnel, pushed ahead of something that filled every inch of space and moved so fast even the air didn’t have a chance to escape. Tess clung on to Lyle ’s waist as Lyle turned the box upside-down, so the open top was now the open bottom. Then, to Tess’s astonishment, he put the entire thing over his head like a hat, so that the sides came down almost to his elbows.
Tess had just enough time to say, ‘You look real stupid, Mister Ly—’ before it hit.
She had never thought of water as frightening. Even when the Thames flooded in the marshes to the east of the city or lapped high up beneath the bridges so that ships had to wait for the tide to change before they could pass under them, water had just been something more or less contained, predictable as the slope of a hill.
However, when the water surged in from the tunnel, it came fast, so fast that it knocked the grate off its hinges, so fast it tore the legs off the tables: a wall of
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