The Map of the Sky (58 page)

I admit that my comment was too much of a poisoned dart, but one cannot always judge these things properly. Victoria bit her lip, suppressing her rage, and I confess I felt a pang of remorse, even though in those days I was convinced that remorse was a luxury I could ill afford.

“You pride yourself on your exquisite manners, Mr. Winslow,” Peachey intervened, at last forgoing his wife’s protection and stepping valiantly into the fray, “yet you don’t seem to know how to treat your wife, much less to make her happy, as I do mine.”

I wheeled round, ready to fend off his attack, but the accuracy of his blow caught me off guard, and, just as even the finest swordsman can make a false move, I mistakenly answered him with a question.

“And how did your sharp mind arrive at that conclusion, Mr. Peachey?”

Peachey used my slip to better advantage than I could have imagined, mirroring my smirk to perfection.

“Because, as we all noticed, you left her here alone, while you went out to attend to apparently more pressing matters.”

I had to clench my fists so as not to reveal the pain his answer caused me, and I confess, when I replied, I was hard put to maintain my habitual composure.

“I don’t think you are best placed to judge the urgency of my affairs, Mr. Peachey. But at least I decide what I do or don’t do in the light of the affection I feel for my wife, and not for fear of upsetting the person to whom I owe my position.”

Peachey pursed his lips once more.

“Do you dare question my love for Mrs. Peachey?” he demanded, no longer bothering to conceal his anger.

I grinned: the time had come to administer the killer punch.

“My dear Mr. Peachey, I couldn’t possibly do such a thing without
belittling one of society’s most beautiful and interesting young ladies. But, make no mistake, if I were to dare to question your love for our adorable Claire, attributing it to something other than her myriad qualities, what I would actually be calling into question would be your manhood.”

Peachey clenched his jaw, trying hard to contain his rage. This he managed by snorting a little, the way some animals do.

“Charles, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Claire protested behind me.

“My dear Claire, you women are very good at believing whatever suits you,” I replied, turning toward her, while out of the corner of my eye I observed Peachey remove his spectacles, close them, and place them in his jacket pocket very carefully, like someone officiating at a church service.

“Don’t speak to my wife like that, Mr. Winslow,” he said calmly, making sure his spectacles were properly protected.

The fact that he did not deign to look at me enraged me more than what he said.

“Is that an order, John?” I said, grinning at his veiled threat and spreading my arms in front of him, as if to convey my bewilderment.

“I trust I expressed myself clearly enough for you to be in no doubt, my dear, ill-mannered fellow,” he retorted.

And what followed happened so quickly I’m unable to describe it as precisely as I’d like. All I remember is Peachey grabbing my wrist with an impossibly swift movement and finding myself with my right arm twisted behind my back. Then, a foot kicked my leg out from under me, and before I knew what had hit me, the room tilted sideways, and, like a listing vessel, I ended up with my face pressed into the carpet. Peachey was on top of me, effectively immobilizing me under the weight of one of his legs. Each time I tried to move, I felt a pain shoot down my arm, almost preventing me from breathing.

“That’s enough, John,” I heard Claire say in a clear, steady voice.

Like a panther suddenly pacified by a maiden’s dulcet tones, Peachey released his quarry. I felt him stand up, while I remained where I was, my face half buried in the carpet, hiding a humiliating grimace of pain caused by the ache in my arm.

“Charles . . .” Claire spoke to me once more in a gentle, almost motherly tone. “I’m going to agree with you about one of the things you said: Captain Shackleton is indeed a hero, an exceptional man who is capable of saving our planet from the automatons—”

“Claire, please . . . ,” I heard her husband implore, while he shifted awkwardly on his feet, inches from my face.

“No, John,” his wife interrupted, “Mr. Winslow is an old friend and must be made aware of his mistakes so that he has the opportunity to apologize, as I have no doubt his honor as a gentleman will dictate.”

“But . . . ,” her husband replied timidly.

“However, Charles,” I heard Claire resume. I still didn’t turn around, keeping my face pressed to the floor, sensing that no matter what she said, there was nothing I could say to redeem myself. “There’s something else you should know about Captain Shackleton. Derek Shackleton isn’t just a great hero. He is also a man who is capable of renouncing glory for the woman he loves, of traveling back in time to be by her side, even if this means having to conceal his true identity behind the guise of a simple bank director.”

I raised my head from the carpet with as much dignity as I could muster, and managed to address her feet. “What the devil are you trying to say, Claire?”

Her voice floated down to me as gently as a feather. “That you are in the presence of your beloved Captain Shackleton.”

“W-what?” I stammered, completely bewildered.

My gaze moved slowly up the banker’s powerful legs, at the sides of which hung his enormous paws, over his waist and his broad chest, settling at last on his face, from which, unhindered by spectacles,
his large, intense eyes were now flashing. For what seemed like an eternity, I contemplated with amazement the calm, indomitable countenance, which from below had the air of an Olympian god. Then, like a reflection in a steamed-up mirror, my memory of the brave Captain Shackleton, savior of the human race, was superimposed on the man who, moments before, I had sought to humiliate. No one had ever seen Shackleton’s face, because his helmet had covered all except his chin, but I had to confess Peachey’s chin had a similarly noble air. Could it be true, then? Was this spineless, timid banker really Captain Shackleton? Peachey stretched out the same hand with which moments before he had forced me to the ground and offered to help me up. I accepted, still unable to believe this was Shackleton, and he hauled me, half dazed, to my feet.

“You’re pulling my leg,” I said, still refusing to believe it. “You can’t be Captain Shackleton.”

“Of course he is, Charles.” Claire was adamant. Then she looked at me with a dreamy smile. “Derek and I met two years ago . . . although, strictly speaking, our first meeting hasn’t happened yet, because it took place in the year 2000. But the fact is, it all began during one of Murray’s Time Travel’s expeditions to the future, although he had to travel to our time for—”

“Hold on, Claire, hold on . . .” I tried to interrupt, completely flummoxed.

“Well, all that isn’t important now. I can explain another time,” she said, ignoring my protest. “The fact is, Charles, we fell in love. And Derek decided to leave everything and stay in the present with me, the woman he loved.”

“But . . . that’s impossible, Claire,” I said, incapable of reacting.

“No it isn’t, Charles. That’s what happened. Why would we lie to you?” she said, genuinely touched by my bewilderment. “My husband is Captain Derek Shackleton, the savior of the human race.”

I looked at Peachey, who smiled at me diffidently. Could he really be Captain Shackleton? I carried out a quick piece of mental
arithmetic and calculated that Peachey had appeared from nowhere in London society exactly when Murray’s business closed down, which was certainly a strange coincidence. Moreover, even the most consummate gossips in London had been unable to dig up anything about his past, despite devoting many months of their leisure to the task. Was this the explanation? Did Peachey have no past simply because his past belonged to our future? Bemused, I looked at Claire, who stared back at me with such sincerity that any doubts I might still have harbored were swept away. This man was Captain Shackleton himself, hero of the year 2000. Incredible though it seemed, Shackleton was here in the present, standing before me. And he had come here out of love.

“My God . . . Forgive my rudeness, Captain, I . . . your disguise was so . . . ,” I stammered, breaking off to clear my throat, then giving a ridiculous bow before resuming. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain Shackleton. Allow me to thank you on behalf of the entire human race for saving our planet from the evil automatons.”

“Thank you, Mr. Winslow,” Shackleton said unassumingly. “But anyone in my place would have done the same.”

“Oh, you know that isn’t true.” I smiled, amused at his modesty. “I wouldn’t, for example.”

I contemplated him in awe for a few moments longer, while behind me there arose a growing murmur of confused voices. I think I even heard Andrew address me, but I didn’t pay him any attention because I remained focused on the captain. I still had difficulty believing he was Shackleton and that he’d been living among us in the present for two years, concealed behind the identity of an ordinary man, who every morning went to the trouble of hiding the fact that he was the savior of the human race, of pretending he hadn’t seen what awaited us in the future. He had traveled back from a time that for us had yet to happen, all thanks to his love for Claire Haggerty. But whatever his reason for coming, the important thing was that
he was here now, I told myself suddenly, in a city facing an invasion that mustn’t have any consequences, an invasion someone had to bring to an end. And that someone could only be Shackleton. Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place so precisely and conclusively that I felt giddy with excitement.

“Then, the fact that you are here, in our time,” I said, filled with elation, “can only mean you are the one who will save us, who will stop the invasion. Yes, there can be no other possible explanation. This is why you are here.”

Peachey shook his head, amused by my pronouncement.

“No, Charles, Derek came here because of his love for me,” Claire interjected.

When a man has once loved a woman he will do anything for her except continue to love her, Oscar Wilde had written for posterity. This was something any man who had enjoyed his fair share of love affairs knew only too well. No, Shackleton hadn’t come here because of that fickle emotion, but because of something far more powerful. He was here because it was his destiny. Yes, Shackleton was the missing part of my equation, the hero we had all been waiting for. There was no question about it: he was renowned for his bravery and intelligence. Not for nothing had he already saved the planet once, even though chronologically speaking that hadn’t yet happened. He alone could defeat the Martians, just as he had already defeated the automatons.

“Of course, Claire, of course he came here for love of you,” I said. “But we mustn’t forget that Captain Shackleton is a hero, and now more than ever a hero is what we need.”

“I’m grateful for your belief in me, Mr. Winslow, but as I already said, one man alone can do nothing in this situation,” said Shackleton.

“But you aren’t just any man, Captain,” I countered. “You’re a hero!”

Shackleton sighed and shook his head. His modesty surprised
me. I looked around at the others for the support I was sure they would give but was disappointed to find that Shackleton’s reason for being here was apparently not as clear to the others as it was to me. The servants gaped at me, visibly overwhelmed by the rapid sequence of impossible events: the Martian invasion, the defeat of the mighty empire, the presence in their parlor of a hero from the future, who according to our calendar had not yet even been born. They were dumbfounded by it all, but then I had expected nothing more from these simple minds. I felt much more let down by my wife Victoria, who wore an expression of weary resignation, as if to say that even a Martian invasion was less bothersome than having to put up with her husband’s eccentricities. And what about my cousin Andrew and his charming wife Madeleine? They looked utterly bewildered, incapable of backing me up in any way. Was there no one in that room who could see what I saw? I turned to Shackleton once more, in despair.

“Captain, I’ve seen you fight a duel with the king of the automatons and win,” I insisted. “You’re the savior of the human race. And I can think of only one reason why you’re here: you have to save us once more.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t,” Shackleton protested, as though he found it difficult to take off his disguise and was still playing the part of a bank manager refusing one of his customers a loan.

“Of course you can!” I exclaimed. I turned to my cousin for support. “Can you honestly say I’m wrong, Andrew? We both saw him kill Solomon. And now he’s here among us, exactly when we need him most. Do you honestly believe that’s a coincidence, Andrew? Say something, damn it!”

“I . . . ,” my cousin replied, confused, “I don’t quite understand what it is you’re asking of Mr. Peachey . . . I mean Captain Shackleton . . .”

“Your cousin is right, Mr. Winslow,” the captain said. “I wasn’t
alone when I defeated Solomon. I had my men with me. I had powerful weapons, I had—”

“Well, then, we’ll travel to the year 2000 and get them,” I proposed. “Yes, that’s it, we’ll travel to the future and bring back your weapons and your men. They’ll fight with you to the death, and we’ll destroy these accursed Martians—”

“How?” Shackleton asked, breaking off my harangue in midstream. “How do you expect us to travel to the future?”

I looked at him, bewildered.

“I don’t know . . . ,” I admitted, “I assumed . . . How did you get here, Captain?”

“That’s the problem, Charles,” Claire intervened. “Derek came here in a machine that was later destroyed.”

I was surprised. I didn’t know any other time machine existed apart from the
Cronotilus,
although I should have realized that such a thing was highly likely in the future from which Captain Shackleton hailed. In any event, if what Claire said was true, and his machine had been destroyed, we would not be able to use it. That left only one way for us to get there.