“You mean, you murdered him.” Will ground his teeth.

“Not all of him.” The other Will grinned. “I removed his brain and replaced it with a computerised system. The rest of him is all still him, although,” the other Will sniffed at Count Otto, “he’s beginning to hum a bit.”

“You fiend.” Will did further tooth-grindings.

“I know.” Will’s other self grinned some more.

Lights flickered from within the open cavity of Count Otto’s head, lines of computer language moved across his eyeballs.

“I’ve been back and forwards in time,” said Will’s other self, “adjusting this, changing that, killing those, failing to kill him.” Once more he pointed at Hugo Rune. “And I have chosen my allegiance. I have taken the King of the Underworld’s shilling, signed up to the dark side of the Force. The deal is done, the pact is made, I will rule the world in my new future. Much work has gone into this. But now all is complete.” And he slotted the computer disc into Count Otto’s open cranium, snapped back the top of his head and gave it a little pat. “Millennium Love Bug, Centennial Love Bug, Love me Love me Love me Programme engaged,” said he. “Engaged,” and he tweaked Count Otto’s nose. “Activated. And counting down.”

The other Will did further grinnings. “And while it’s counting down, there is one other important matter that I need to take care of.”

And with that said, he vanished.

44

It was the day before the day before the day before yesterday, and it was raining.

The rain peppered the glass rooftops of the Great Exhibition. The Great Exhibition was in its original location, Hyde Park. The year was eighteen fifty-one.

A horse-drawn hansom moved sedately along the Kew Road towards Brentford. The cabbie turned up the collar of his ulster coat against the rain. His passenger closed an open window and lightly tapped his cane upon the floor. The cane was of ebony with a silver skull-shaped mount.

At length the hansom came to a halt before an elegant Georgian house upon Brentford’s historic Butts Estate. The cabbie climbed down from his mount, opened an umbrella and then a passenger door. The passenger emerged, a large and noble-looking gentleman, clad in a fashionable Westbury coat of green Boleskine tweed, with matching double-brimmed topper. He stepped down from the cab and sheltering beneath the umbrella, he addressed the cabbie.

“Put the cost of this journey on my account,” said he.

“But sir,” the cabbie protested. “Your account now stands at twenty guineas.”

“Due to the generosity of my tipping,” said the gentleman. “Shelter my person beneath your brolly to yonder doorway and then take your leave without further complaint. Lest I take my business elsewhere in the future.”

The cabbie did as he was bid and returned grumbling to his cab. The gentleman stood in the porch of the elegant Georgian house and perused the brass doorplate. Inscribed upon it were the words

CHARLES BABBAGE

Mathematician and Inventor

The gentleman rapped upon the door with his cane and presently the door was opened.

An attractive young woman looked out at the gentleman. She had a head of glowing auburn hair and a most remarkable pair of Charlies.

The gentleman’s eyes strayed towards these Charlies.

“Mr Rune,” said the attractive young woman. “My husband is away upon business and has not returned home yet. I understood that your appointment with him was at three. You are more than an hour early.”

“A wizard is never early,” quoth Hugo Rune. “Nor is he ever late. He is always where he should be, when he should be. Time, dear lady, is everything. Time is the name of the game.”

“Quite so, Mr Rune. Then will you come inside?”

“I will, dear lady, I will.”

The rain continued to fall and time continued to pass.

At two-thirty of that rainy afternoon clock, Mr Charles Babbage returned home. He did not knock upon his own front door. He entered by using his key, and he used this key with stealth. And it was also with stealth that he crept up the stairs towards his marital bedroom, and with stealth that he turned the knob on the door, before he flung the door open – to reveal an erotic scene that caused him considerable distress.

“Mary,” cried Mr Charles Babbage. “Mary, my love, how could you?”

The sexual position that Mr Babbage’s wife Mary was presently engaged in with Mr Hugo Rune was, and is still, known as Taking Tea with the Parson. You won’t find it catalogued in the Kama Sutra; it is somewhat too advanced for that.

“It’s not what you think,” cried the fragrant Mary, disentangling her limbs with considerable difficulty. “It’s—”

“A Tantric massage to relieve tension,” said Mr Hugo Rune, seeking his undergarments.

“It is what it is.” The face of Mr Babbage was now the colour of a smacked bottom. It matched the colour of his wife’s smacked bottom. “You, you swine!” Mr Babbage addressed Mr Rune, who was now struggling into his trousers. “You have betrayed me, sir. Betrayed my trust. You promised me an introduction to Her Majesty the Queen, God bless Her, to gain royal patronage for my Analytical Engine. You told me that my computer would change the world as we know it.”

“And it will, sir, it will.” Rune now sought his shirt.

“It was all a trick, so that you could defile my wife.”

“I assure you sir, it was not. Your inventions will change the world.”

“Not through any help of yours, you rogue. Out of my house. I never wish to see your face again.”

“No, I beseech you.” Rune was now in his coat and putting on his hat. “Your inventions will change the world. Do not let this unfortunate and trifling incident deprive the world of your genius.”

“No more!” Mr Babbage waved his hands about. “No more work upon calculating engines for me. This is all my fault, leaving my wife alone, whilst I worked upon my machines. My darling, please forgive me.”

“Oh,” said the fragrant Mary. “Then consider yourself forgiven. But don’t let it happen again.”

“No,” cried Rune. “This must not be.”

“Out of my house, sir. I am done with science. It all ends here.”

“No,” cried Rune once more.

But Mr Babbage ushered him from the house, with no small force and many angry words.

The rain continued to fall and Hugo Rune now stood in it.

“Damned bad luck,” said a voice.

Rune turned to view a lad who lounged in the porch, a tall thin lad, dressed all in black with a blondy head of hair.

“And who are you?” Rune asked.

“Starling,” replied the lad. “Will Starling.”

“Away about your business, boy.”

“But you are my business,” said the lad. “Or were. You have failed, Mr Rune. Failed in your attempt to introduce Babbage to the Queen, to gain royal patronage for his inventions that would alter the Victorian age and advance it into a technological super future.”

“What?” went Rune.

“Ah, ‘what’, is it? Just like my other self. I have come from the future. I arranged for Mr Babbage to return home early, to catch you doing what comes so naturally to you. You never could resist the ladies, could you, Rune? So simple a downfall. And now I say farewell to you. My work here is done.”

“Why have you done this?” Rune asked.

“You’ll know that in forty-nine years, on the eve of the twentieth century. Will it seem like forty-nine years, or simply a second or two?”

And with that said, the blondy haired lad vanished away.

“No,” cried Hugo Rune. “No and no and no.”