My Clockwork Muse (24 page)

I dashed across the sidewalk, pushing past
pedestrians to looks of astonishment that quickly gave way to
anger. A large man walked into my path and I stopped to let him
pass. In confusion, he paused and then got the idea to restart at
the same moment that I lurched forward. So I reversed course, as
did he. We did a few steps of an awkward little dance in this
manner, until I finally just pushed him aside and rushed the
remaining distance to Burton's door.

Inside, I found Burton's appointment
secretary at his desk, just as I had on my previous visit. "Where
is he?" I cried as I burst through the door.

The secretary rose from his desk with a
start. His expression of surprise quickly changed to one of
annoyance. "You again! I must insist that you leave at once, sir.
Mr. Burton—"

"Out of my way." I stormed past him, elbowing
him aside. I made my way to the end of the frosted glass partition
and peered around the corner into the office. I scanned it quickly,
looking for any sign of Burton. Workers sat at their desks and
looked up at me curiously, their writing pens frozen in their
hands. Not finding him, I made to turn when I felt the secretary
grasp my shoulder from behind. I swung my elbow and caught him on
the chin. The blow propelled him forcefully into the half-wall
partition, rattling the glass in its frame. The workers gasped at
the sudden violence. I jerked my head around, seeking the
villain.

I looked down a short corridor and saw him
through the pane of clear glass in his office door.

"Aha!" I cried. "The fiend himself!"

"Eddy! Stop!" I heard Olimpia call to me from
the front door. At the same time, Burton saw me and rose from his
desk.

"Stay out of this, Olimpia," I called without
looking back. "This is between Burton and me.
Mano a mano!
"
I cried, in my passion adopting a common Tap-ism of whose meaning I
was not entirely certain, as I quickened my pace to get at the oaf
as he opened his office door.

"Hold it right there, Poe," Burton commanded.
He pointed his walking stick straight at my chest, but I did not
pause for an instant. I swatted it out of my way and, grabbing
Burton by his lapels, thrust him up against the wall.

No sooner had I done so than I knew it was a
mistake. He was a much larger, stronger man than I. But I had taken
him by surprise, so for a moment at least I held the upper
hand.

"Don't think for a second that you've fooled
me—
Billy
," I spat in his face. "I know what you are."

Burton's cheeks bulged and reddened, and his
eyes grew fierce. He swiped my hands away and, grasping me under
one arm, levered me over his hip. I went airborne before landing
flat on my back. I felt as helpless as a child. Even though I had
witnessed the feats of strength he was capable of, I was amazed to
find that he was even stronger than I had imagined. But my fury was
not appeased and I scrambled to my feet at once. I could hear
Olimpia shouting at me, but I could not make out her words.

"Damn you, Poe!" Burton fumed. "What is the
meaning of this?"

"I don't answer the demands of murderers!" I
shouted. When he appeared stunned by my accusation, I repeated it
just so he wouldn't think his hearing had gone bad. "Yes, that's
right. You heard me, Billy Burton. Murderer, I say. Don't think I
don't know."

"You're mad, Poe."

"Oh, you would like the world to believe
that, wouldn't you? Isn't that your plan,
Billy
?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. But
if you take one step closer..." He had dropped his stick and now
raised his fists. He held his right forward of his left, ready to
strike.

I was of no mind to test the strength of his
fists, but my rage had not abated. "How could you not know? I've
come for my story—for 'Berenice'
—
and I will not leave until
I have it."

He relaxed slightly. "That story you gave me
about the ... What was it? Some girl buried alive or something?
Bloody 'ell, Poe—"

I could feel my face redden with fury. "You
know full well what it is about, you fiend! And now you seek to
damn me with it, committing murder in my name!"

Burton uttered a sardonic laugh. "No more
murder than that poor butchered prose of yours. Oh, if it means so
much to you, you can have your damned story back. It is bloody
dreadful, anyway, if you ask me. Bloody hack-work is what it
is..."

My rage had reached a boiling point. Words
failed me. I reached into my pocket.

"No, Eddy!" Olimpia grasped my wrist.

"Hold it right there!"

I turned and saw Gessler burst through the
doors, flanked by two of his policemen. A small throng of office
workers had gathered to watch our struggle and Gessler nudged his
way through them. They parted for him compliantly.

"Ah! Just the man I wanted to see," Burton
exclaimed. He strode to his desk, opened a drawer and held the
pages of 'Berenice' aloft. "I've got your man for you, Constable.
And I have the proof!" He rattled the pages triumphantly.

"And you're just the man
I
wanted to
see, Mr. Burton," Gessler said, unimpressed. He was wearing his
derby. His drooping moustache puffed out when he spoke. "You are
William E. Burton, are you not?"

Burton frowned. "Of course."

"Well, I must say, then, you're a hard one to
track down, sir. And here you stand, finally, looking remarkably
fit—for a dead man. Much better than the last time I saw you, to be
sure."

Burton narrowed his eyes. "Do I know you,
Constable?"

Gessler stood rubbing his chin. "I can
honestly say I don't know. But I think you had better explain
yourself."

"Do you still think I murdered him,
Inspector?" I asked. Oh, the feeling was delicious. I only wished
now that I had expressed my suspicions to Gessler when I had had
the chance. My triumph would have been complete.

Before Gessler could respond, Burton rolled
his eyes. "There he goes again! He keeps babbling on about having
murdered me. The man is quite off his rocker, Inspector. He even
tried to enlist me in destroying evidence at the scene of his now
infamous 'Rue Morgue' murder. Oh, he knew every last detail of the
crime. You should have seen him laying it all out for me. He was
actually
enjoying
it. If murder is an art form then that
room was his canvas. Never will you find an artist prouder of his
work!"

"Scoundrel!" I cried. Again, Olimpia grasped
my right arm. I could not easily move it. Gessler merely looked
from one to the other of us.

"He even went so far as to pretend someone
was trying to kill him—a common delusion among the insane. Of
course, I played along until I could gather evidence against him.
And here it is!" He waved the papers again.

"Scoundrel!" This time I pushed Olimpia
aside. I could take no more. I reached into my pocket. Gessler saw
me and leaped into action. His policemen also rushed toward me. But
I would not be stopped. I pulled the revolver from my pocket and
leveled it at Burton's chest. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. I saw
the policemen's hands grabbing for me and Burton's eyes widen as
though they would pop from his head. My finger tightened on the
trigger. The barrel cluster of the pepperbox begin to rotate. And
...

BANG!

The force of the blast blew Burton backwards
against the far wall of his office. I heard Olimpia scream and in
the next instant the cops had hold of my wrist. They squeezed and
twisted until they had prised the pistol from my grasp. It fell to
the floor with a
thunk
.

"Now you
are
a murderer, Mr. Poe!"
Gessler shouted amid the chaos that had erupted throughout the
office.

"I have murdered no one!" I cried, but my
words were swept unheard into the maelstrom of the raucous din.

One of the policemen grabbed my arm,
thrusting it halfway up my back. He slammed me against the wall. My
arm seemed about to break. I tried to cry out but my cheek was
pressed hard to the cold paneling, distorting my lips and making
speech impossible. I heard people screaming and others rushing to
offer Burton aid. Burton himself was lying motionless on the floor.
In horror, I realized that it was possible I had made a mistake—one
final, and perhaps fatal, error heaped upon all the others. It
seemed a fitting end for me. Now I
was
a murderer. Escape
was my only option, but the strength of the cop overwhelmed me.

No sooner had I decided to surrender
myself—if only to save my arm—than I felt the cop's iron grip
slacken. My arm was suddenly free and I turned to see Olimpia
deliver a second closed-fisted blow to the man's kidney. The first
had merely shocked him; the second sent him reeling as his knees
buckled in pain. I was astonished to see the strength possessed by
such a petite girl.

"Olimpia—" I began, too stunned to move. But
she pulled me from the wall before I could continue, waking me from
my stupor.

"Run, Eddy!" she cried.

I grabbed her, thinking to make a mad dash
through the still-shocked crowd when I saw the other cop coming
straight for me. It was Gessler's Irishman, a large lumbering
fellow. I deftly side-stepped his charge. I was operating on
instinct alone. I had not engaged in fisticuffs of any sort since
my days at West Point, but I retained a few tricks I had learned
through harsh lessons. I put them to use now, knowing that this
time there would be no demerits.

I grabbed the policeman around his neck and
bent him over double, holding him in a headlock. His greater
strength would allow him to break my grasp at any moment, so I had
to think fast.

The office door stood open against the wall.
It was right in front of me, so I drove the cop's head into the
glass. It shattered in a shower of broken shards that spilled over
the Irishman as he crumpled to the floor.

But that was the end of my escape. Before I
could take another step, the office workers grasped both of my arms
and I could not break free, even as Olimpia tried to pry them away.
It was over. I was resigned to my fate, happy only that I had not
gone quietly.

Then Gessler's voice rose above the chaos.
"Stop!" He had been bent over Burton's body, inspecting his wound.
Now he rose to his full height and held up his hands. "Stop, I say!
Release that man at once."

Confused, my captors loosened their grip on
me by degrees as Gessler commanded them.

"There has been no murder committed here," he
said, and all eyes fell upon the body of Billy Burton.

He lay flat on his back on the floor. As
those who had knelt to assist him slowly withdrew in bewilderment,
I could see that there was a gaping hole in Burton's chest where I
had shot him. It was ringed by a wet, reddish substance that soaked
into his torn shirt
—
es
New Roman" \s 12a thin, translucent liquid, not blood. Tendrils of
steam rose from the wound and in the burgeoning silence you could
hear a faint hissing.

I could feel a smile begin to expand across
my face. "I knew it!" I exclaimed, throwing off the last
restraining hand from my shoulder. "By God, I was right! What do
you think now, Inspector?"

Gessler stared down at the open wound. "I—I
don't know what to think. Would you mind explaining this to me, Mr.
Poe? What sort of man is this?"

"This is no man at all," I said triumphantly.
I knelt on one side of the hissing body, Gessler on the other. Both
of the cops had recovered and looked on over our shoulders. In
utter silence, the office workers closed in around them. From the
bottom of this well of humanity, Gessler and I inspected the wound.
I flattened Burton's shirt over the steaming gash, exposing a
broken spring protruding from the hole. "This is a machine,
gentlemen. Behold!"

Gessler looked at me and then down at the
spring. He grasped it and pulled. The spring uncoiled slightly and
then Gessler yanked it out. He examined it closely but hesitantly
as one would a potentially stinging insect.

"Go ahead, Inspector," I said, when he
obviously still did not comprehend the meaning of what was before
his eyes. I indicated the wound. "Have a look inside."

With obvious distaste, he reached his thumb
and forefinger into the hole. His face expressed shock as he pulled
out a tiny dripping gearwheel.
"Mein Gott!"
he exclaimed,
reverting to his native German.

"A clockwork man," I declared. "There can
have been no murder here."

"We will have to examine this ... man
closely," Gessler said. "One spring and a gearwheel does not a
clockwork man make
—
New
Roman" \s 12necessarily."

The throng began murmuring and Gessler
hunched down to peer closely into Burton's face. As he did so, the
automaton's eyes snapped open. Gessler made to recoil in fear but
was halted by the thing's hand which shot upward, grasping him
around the throat. Alarmed, the crowd screamed and backed away.
Burton began to rise, easily lifting Gessler with one hand. The
inspector tried to cry out, but nothing escaped his lips but a
strangled gurgling.

The crowd dispersed in panic, running from
the monster they had suddenly found in their midst. Burton stood to
his full height, lifting Gessler by the throat and holding him
there as though he were weightless. Gessler's toes danced inches
above the floor.

"It's killing him," Olimpia cried. She
grabbed at its free arm, but clockwork Burton swatted her away
effortlessly and she went sliding across the floor.

Fearing she was badly hurt, I ran to her. But
she waved me off and pointed instead to an object on the floor.

"Your gun!" she cried.

I followed her finger and saw my pepperbox
revolver laying on the floor where it had fallen. Gessler gurgled
and danced as I rushed toward the gun. I dove for it and, grasping
the handle, rose to my feet and moved to where I could get a good
shot at the creature.