Free Blaylock, James P - Langdon St Ives 02 by Lord Kelvin's Machine

farther on.
                   The slow labored climb of steep hills was
almost instantly maddening and filled him again with the fear that their
efforts would prove futile, that from the vantage point of the next peak they
would witness the detonation of half of Scandinavia : crumbling mountainsides, hurtling rocks.
But then they would creep, finally, to another summit void of trees, where the
track was wafered onto ledges along unimaginable precipices. And the train
would plunge away again in a startling rush of steam and clatter.
                   They thundered through shrieking tunnels, the
starry sky going momentarily black and then reappearing in an instant only to
be dashed again into darkness. And when the train burst each time into the cold
Norwegian night, both St. Ives and Hasbro were pressed against the window,
peering skyward, relieved to see the last scattered clouds fleeing before the
wind. Then all at once, as if waved into existence by a magic wand, the lights
of the aurora borealis swept across the sky in lacey showers of green and red
and blue, like a semitransparent Christmas tapestry hung across the wash of
stars.
                   "Yes!" cried St. Ives, leaping to
his feet and nearly pitching into the aisle as they rushed howling into another
tunnel. "He's done it! Kraken has done it!"
                   "Indeed, sir?"
                   "Absolutely," said St. Ives, his
voice animated. "Without the shadow of a doubt. The northern lights, my good fellow, are a consequence of the earth's
electromagnetic field. It's a simple matter—no field, no lights. Had Lord
Kelvin's machine done its work, the display you see before us would have been
postponed for heaven knows how many woeful years. But here it is, isn't it?
Good old Bill!" And on this last cheerful note, they emerged once again
into the aurora-lit night, hurtling along beside a broad cataract that tumbled
down through a boulder-strewn gorge.
                   Another hour's worth of tunnels, however,
began to make it seem finally as if there were no end to their journey, as if, perhaps, their train labored around and around a
clever circular track, that they had been monumentally hoaxed one last fateful
time by Dr. Ignacio Narbondo. Then, in an effort of steam, the train crested
yet another treeless summit, and away to the west, far below them, moonlight
shimmered on the rippled surface of a fjord, stretching out to the distant Norwegian Sea . Tumbling down out of the rocky precipices
to their right rushed the wild river they had followed for what seemed an age,
the torrent wrapping round the edge of Mount Hjarstaad and disappearing into
shadow where it cascaded, finally, into the vast emptiness of an abyss. A
trestle spanned the cataract and gave out onto a tundra-covered plain,
scattered with the angular moon shadows of tilted stones.
                   Ahead of them, some ten yards from the track
and clearly visible in the moonlight, lay a strange and alien object—an empty
steamer trunk, its lid thrown back and its contents removed. Beyond that, a
hundred yards farther along, lay another, also empty and yanked over onto its
side. The train raced past both before howling to a steam-shrieking stop that
made St. Ives wince. So much for subtlety, he thought, as Hasbro pitched their
bags onto the icy plain and the two leaped out after them, the train almost
immediately setting forth again, north, toward Hammerfest , leaving the world and the two marooned men
to their collective fate.
                   St. Ives hurried across the plain toward the
slope of Mount Hjarstaad . A footpath wound upward along the edge of
the precipice through which the river thundered and roiled. The air was full of
cold mist and the booming of water. "I'm afraid we've announced our
arrival through a megaphone," St. Ives shouted over his shoulder.
                   "Perhaps the roar of the