Beresford stuck a finger into it, halting the flow.

Liquid continued to leak from a second opening at the back of the jar.

Miraculously, the bullet had missed the floating brain.

One of the Technologists at the ship's controls slumped to the floor. The bullet hadn't missed him.

"Double oops," muttered the poet. "My apologies, Richard. I didn't mean to do that."

"Get the nurse! Get the nurse!" screeched Beresford.

"Or a couple of corks," suggested Swinburne.

"Move your walking corpse away from Oxford, Darwin," ordered Burton, striding to the trolley.

The double-brained scientist obeyed the command; Galton stepped back.

Burton looked down at the time traveller. His eyes were wild but recognition flickered at the back of them, and he said to the famous explorer: "You died in 1890. Heart failure."

A shiver ran down Burton's spine.

"Sir!" cried the man at the controls. "I can't do this on my own! She's losing altitude fast!"

"Where in God's name is Nightingale!" wailed Beresford.

"Algy," said Burton. "Step outside and guard the door. Don't let anyone in. Do whatever's necessary."

"But-" began the poet.

"Swinburne!" barked the king's agent. "You half obeyed my last order. This time I need more. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," answered the poet quietly. He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

"Damn you to hell, Burton," said Beresford weakly. He collapsed down onto his haunches and sat with a finger in each of the holes in the bell jar. Liquid continued to dribble out. The top third of his brain was already uncovered.

Burton looked down at Oxford. "I know who you are," he said. "I know what you've been trying to do."

"You died in 1890," repeated the stilt-man.

"So you say. It doesn't matter. Everyone dies. What I'm interested in is what makes everyone live."

"Intriguing," said Darwin.

"I've made extreme decisions in my life," continued Burton. "I decided to do things that most men would never do. I've been driven by I don't know what to-to-"

"To find your place," offered Edward Oxford. The madness died from his eyes. "To find yourself. You were displaced by a childhood spent being dragged from one country to another. Ever since, you've been looking for points of stability. Things you could associate yourself with. Permanent coordinates."

"Coordinates. Yes, I see what you mean."

"They make us who we are, Burton. They give us identity. I made a mistake. I chose as one of my coordinates an event from ancient history which, in my opinion, brought shame to my name. I tried to erase it, and ended up erasing something that made me."

A tear trickled down Oxford's cheek.

Darwin chuckled and said, "This is most gratifying. How simple it is to construct a new future. Yes. We are most fascinated. The possibilities are endless. However, we must establish whether one future replaces the other or if they run concurrently. Once we have the time suit, we must construct a method through which this can be ascertained."

"Don't let him have the suit," whispered Oxford. "Free me. I don't care about myself anymore, I'm a discontinued man, but let me restore history!"

Beresford toppled onto his side.

"Help me, Darwin," he gurgled. "I feel so drained."

"I altered one thing," said Oxford. "Just one thing! But the consequences have changed everything. You're not meant to be doing what you're doing now!"

"The problem, Oxford," replied Burton, "is that although the future isn't what it used to be, I like it the way it is."

"Most gratifying. Most gratifying!" uttered Darwin. "Here we see the human organism selecting its own path of evolution!"

Henry de la Poer Beresford whispered, "Free!" and a horrible rattle issued from his throat.

A gunshot came from beyond the door.

"She's going down!" yelled the man at the controls.

"And if the Technologists get their hands on your suit," continued Burton, "the very idea of history will become a thing of the past."

"We're going to crash!" screamed the ship's operator, and he made to run for the door, but the Francis Galton automaton was standing behind him and, clamping its hands around the man's neck, it held him in front of the controls.

"We command you to fly the ship!" ordered Darwin.

"I can't! I can't!"

"You must!"

Burton reached down and took hold of Oxford's head.

"In cold blood?" asked the time traveller.

"Whatever is necessary," replied Burton.

"What will it achieve?"

Sir Richard Francis Burton looked the man in the eyes. "Stable coordinates," he said.

"Enjoy your reboot," whispered Spring Heeled Jack.

Burton yanked Edward John Oxford's head around, breaking his neck.

"That was a serious mistake," said Darwin. "However, what's done is done. Now get us out of here before the vessel is destroyed. Bring the corpse, the helmet, and the boots."

The king's agent glanced at the windows and saw Darkening Towers looming large in them.

"No, Darwin," he said. "The time suit must be destroyed. Your experiments must end."

"We disagree. Allow us at least to debate the point with you before you act. We propose to you, Burton, that access to time travel will allow us to finally put to rest the great delusion of a God who intercedes in human affairs. We will eliminate the absurd notions of fate and destiny. We will choose our own paths through time. We will place reins on the process of evolution to steer it where we will!"

"So nothing will happen by chance?" suggested Burton.

"Precisely! Save the time suit!"

"And you?"

"And us! Yes, save us!"

Burton glanced at the window.

"We would have your response," came Darwin's double-toned voice. "What do you say?"

The king's agent paced over to the door. He looked back at the malformed scientist.

"I'm sorry," he said. "There will be no debate today."

"The evolved must survive!" cried the scientist.

Burton opened the door and passed through. Swinburne was holding Nurse Nightingale at bay with his pistol. A man lay on the floor clutching his bleeding side.

"I was aiming at his leg, I swear!" claimed the poet.

Burton gripped Nightingale by the arm and dragged her to the access ladder.

"Up!" he ordered.

"No," she replied.

He punched her forehead and she collapsed into his arms.

"No time for niceties," he said. "Up you go, Algy!"

Swinburne ascended and Burton followed, with the woman over his shoulder.

Less than a minute later, the front of the titanic rotorship collided with Darkening Towers. The ancient mansion exploded into a cloud of flying bricks, masonry, and glass. Crumpling metal screamed as it tore through the building and hit the earth.

The inhabitants of nearby Waterford were jerked out of their sleep by the terrifying sound of destruction. The floor shook beneath their beds and their house windows shattered as the ship ploughed a wide furrow through the grounds of the Beresford estate before finally coming to rest almost a quarter of a mile beyond, a mass of torn and twisted metal.