Fiction | Short Story

Troubling Times for Doctor Swarthmore

A mysterious gaslamp fantasy short story

This story is a response to two separate ‘Monday Mashup’ writing challenges — MMU #16 by Jonathon Sawyer, and MMU #17, Bradan Writes Stories. I had some catching up to do! Also, thank you to Sweet Chaos for the great image; this and other images that she shares can be found here.

“And now, gentlemen,” croaked Dr. Timeous, the tall physicist waving one hand towards his contraption, “I will make the apple move by itself.”

There was a crunching of gears, and the apple leaped from its place in front of the machine up onto the nearby table. The assembled scientists clapped appreciatively.

From his position at the back of the throng, Dr. Swarthmore raised one eyebrow, then peered suspiciously at Timeous’ invention. The exterior was a casing much like a Swiss grandfather clock, complete with intricate gears, but the purpose of the part in the centre was unclear. It was deceptively simple looking — a clay disk, with three holes in it.

“But that’s not all,” said Dr. Timeous in a deeper, almost inaudible voice. “Now, the apple will travel backwards in time. With my machine, the secrets of time travel start to be unlocked!”

Along with the others, Swarthmore pressed forward to look. Sure enough, the apple was shrinking, growing in reverse until it was little more than a bud, then a white flower.

Soon, it had disappeared entirely.

The applause was still ringing in Dr. Swarthmore’s ears as he walked out onto the balcony of the scientific club. Another demonstration; another triumph. But not his. His samples, his interviews, the wondrous text he had uncovered — all of it was ignored. Instead this Dr. Timeous and his mysterious clock were getting all of the attention.

It just wasn’t right.

Swarthmore stood for a moment, looking down from the balcony and kicking away a few of the acorns which had been blown here from the massive tree across the road. He lit and began to smoke his pipe, deep in thought. But as a patter of rain began to sound on the cobbles, Swarthmore turned to go back inside. He had come to a decision. Timeous was a charlatan — that much was obvious. And he, Swarthmore, would be the one to reveal the truth to the scientific world.

That meant doing what he did best — investigating. And for that, he needed data…

Swarthmore moved across the salon, heading for the exit, noting that most of the other scientists had gone to refill their sherry glasses. Dr. Timeous’s contraption currently stood alone. Swarthmore paused a few feet away, gazing up at the obscure central object. Was it a dial of some kind? It looked rather like one of the clay masks used in ancient rituals — round, just a few small holes and carvings. Primitive, really.

So, how did it work?

Swarthmore glanced around, his heart dancing inside his breast as he realized what he had to do. And sure enough, the others were suitably preoccupied with drinks and conversation.

In one smooth motion, Swarthmore grabbed the disk, thrust it inside his cloak, and scurried from the room. He descended the stairs to the entrance hall, where Watson, the clerk at the entrance, tipped his hat.

“Early night, sir?”

Swarthmore gave a weak smile, still holding the disk inside his cloak, near his stomach. “Upset digestion, Watson.”

“I heard tell about this famous new invention, sir,” added Watson brightly. “They say it will earn Doctor Timeous sacks of money before long.”

Swarthmore barely managed another smile. “I’d best hurry. Good evening, Watson.”

“Good evening, sir.”

The rain was falling harder; Swarthmore pulled his cloak more tightly around himself. As he passed, a striped cat scuttled out from among a pile of crates in an alley to the left. It narrowly dodged a wagon that was passing, then disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the road.

Night. The best time for thinking. It was during walks like this, Swarthmore reflected, that he’d had most of his best ideas. Darkness, ironically, was a time for illumination.

Ahead, a Gothic stone bridge spanned the road, and his heart rate rose a little. The streets of London were usually safe, but he couldn’t help but be reminded of the incident in Bucharest.

Pressing forward, he jumped. Did he spy movement? Was it just the cat again? He gripped the small chemical bomb that he kept in his cloak pocket, encased in its glass vial. Its smoke and light were harmless, but could distract would-be attackers for long enough to make a getaway…

But for now, all was silent. Cursing these mortal fears, Swarthmore stepped forward into the shadows.

And then time seemed to stop. Rain was no longer falling; the gas lamps of the road no longer flickering.

“What… who did this…?” demanded Swarthmore.

Then he remembered the clay disk. He pulled it out from his cloak, examining it in the eerie glow beneath the bridge. How did the thing work? Could it really be distorting time itself?

The cat appeared again, stopping nearby. It was the only thing Swarthmore could see that was moving. It meowed in distress. Was it Swarthmore’s imagination, or had it got younger, more kitten-like? He recalled the apple…

Surely none of this was even possible! But his own adventures had brought him in contact with the uncanny on several occasions.

Swarthmore turned around, ready to run back to his scientific club. As he did so, the rain began to fall upwards. There was a darting shape at the corner of his eyes, back into the crates in the alley. The cat had gone. The rain then came crashing down, tropically torrential for a few seconds, before returning to its gentle patter.

Swarthmore was already running. He had to get this clay disk back before it cause any more trouble.

A few minutes back down the road, and Swarthmore, panting, paused outside of the scientific club, looking up towards the now deserted balcony, and then at the door. Then he yelled, at the top of his voice, “Hands up, this is a robbery!”

Moments later, he had continued on inside, and ran up to Watson, grabbing the man’s lapels. “Watson! A young family are being robbed outside. Did you hear? Bandits! Terrible bandits!”

“Uh, I may have overheard something, sir!”

“Then do something, man!” Swarthmore pointed to the door.

“Yes, sir!” cried Watson , pulling out a baton from underneath the reception desk, and sprinting out to the street.

Swarthmore closed the door behind Watson, and with the area now clear, pulled out his chemical bomb, and flung it at the stairway. With a flash and a pop, red smoke began to spread around, then to billow upwards.

Swarthmore ran right through the smoke and up the stairs, calling out, “Fire! Clear the building, my fellow scientists! Clear the way!”

Soon, he was standing by the door as a group of half-drunken scholarly gentlemen charged passed him, heading for the stairs and the rain-soaked London streets beyond. What would Watson make of it? That wasn’t his concern for now.

With the way clear, Swarthmore stepped over to the clock-like contraption, and placed the clay disk back into the empty space at its heart.

Just then, he heard someone clear their throat hoarsely. Swarthmore spun, and saw Timeous approaching from across the salon. Fortunately, the man did not seem to be angry. “Ah… Doctor Swarthmore, isn’t it?” said Timeous. “A chemist by training, if I recall?”

“I now consider myself more of a scientific adventurer,” said Swarthmore stiffly, taking a step away from the invention.

“I see, I see. Well, some might say that science itself is the adventure,” replied Timeous, then gave a croaking laugh. “My, it’s some night out there, isn’t it? I didn’t consider that the red smoke would last, and so it appears.”

“Naturally — it’s only some potassium chlorate with some dextrin and…” began Swarthmore, then hesitated. “Uh, speaking as a chemist, that’s to say.”

“Quite.” Timeous now stepped towards his contraption. “The mask covers the central mechanism, you see. Mundane, but it adds an air of mystery. Somehow, though, it has become loose.” Timeous gently pressed at the piece, which moved into place with a clock.

“It’s remarkable,” said Swarthmore.

Timeous turned, and winked at Swarthmore. “I’m so glad we agree.”

Many thanks to Andrew Crocker for commenting on a draft, and thanks to you for reading! It’s always such fun trying out these challenges. These are older ones now, but well worth revisiting. Here are the links again…

MMU #16 | MMU #17.

…and you can find the latest Monday Mashup at The Kraken Lore. Now, points table. A more complex one than usual, as there are two challenges in one:

Main prompt:

MMU 16, Prompt #1: Someone is controlling the flow of time, faster, slower, forwards, back. Perhaps with a television remote control? Too original? Anyways, is the Time Controller a good actor, or do they change time for more nefarious purposes? (2pts).

MMU 17, Prompt #2: Something was stolen and it needs to be put back. Write a reverse heist where your character breaks in to put something back. (2pts).

Constraints:

A truck (gaslamp fiction so it's a wagon; 1pt).
A balcony (1pt).
The sound of falling rain (1pt).
Acorns (1pt).
Sack(s) of money (mentioned by Watson; 1pt).
Something explodes (1pt).
Make the stolen (or reverse stolen) item be something mundane (1pt).
Something that's not a mask is used like a mask (1pt).
This list (1pt)

Hardcore Constraints:

A grandfather clock (2pts).
Include the phrase "Hands up, this is a robbery!" (2pts).

Literary Device:

Include at least one example of personification ("his heart dancing inside his breast" – 5pts).
Include an example of foreshadowing (the mention of the bomb/explosion earlier in the story – 5pts).

TOTAL: 27 pts.

I won’t challenge anybody this time, as the challenges are almost a year old. I decided to go back and do the ones I missed at the time. You can see all my Mashup responses to date, here. And read another tale with Dr. Swarthmore here: