Free Julius and the Watchmaker by Tim Hehir Page B

‘He’s doing some calculations, right now. We’ll have to wait.’
    For two agonisingly long minutes Julius and Mr Flynn stood beside the professor, while the Grackacks blasted away at the vortex and soldiers rushed back and forth across the bridge. Suddenly the professor let out a long breath. ‘You won’t like it, I fear, Danny.’
    â€˜I hate it when you say that, Professor.’
    â€˜I’ve been calculating the safest distance we can be from the vortex and still be close enough for my watch to disrupt the dual vibration.’
    â€˜And…?’
    â€˜Two hundred and eighty-seven feet, give or take, is the optimum distance, gentlemen. I’m afraid we’ll have to purloin one of their gyroflyers.’
    Mr Flynn’s shoulders slumped. ‘Remember what happened the last time you tried to fly one of those, Professor?’
    â€˜I do Danny, I still have the twinge in my knee to remind me—but that was years ago. I have a much better grasp of the whole thing now.’
    â€˜Well it’s all academic ’til we can half-inch one anyway, Professor.’
    â€˜What’s a gyroflyer?’ shouted Julius, just as the machine cannon stopped firing. They stood still for a moment to savour the quiet, then a fast ticking sound came from across the river. It grew louder. Julius looked towards the sound to see a small machine flying away from a line of zettmalins tethered on long cables further along the riverbank.
    â€˜That’s a gyroflyer, Julius,’ said Mr Flynn, as the machine drew closer. Its sharp rattling sound cut through the air as it flew across the river, following an erratic course like a dizzy bumblebee. Julius could make out a Grackack seated under what he could only describe as circle of vibrating air. He stared open mouthed straining to take in every detail.
    â€˜Come on, young fella,’ said Mr Flynn, tapping him on the shoulder. ‘I think I know where we can get one of those things.’

CHAPTER 9
    Thursday 6th July, 1837
4:41 AM
    Julius, Mr Flynn and the professor ran across the bridge, dodging the military manoeuvres, and headed further down the river. Dawn was approaching as they arrived at an expanse of open ground adjoining the docks. Tethered on long steel cables were line after line of zettmalins high in the sky like giant elongated balloons. Beneath them buzzed gyroflyers of varying sizes. Grackacks were swarming over grounded gyroflyers and other contraptions with tools and oils cans in their long thin hands. An aroma of oil and steel hung in the air, and the ground under Julius’s feet hummed in answer to the spinning propellers of the airships.
    â€˜Wow,’ exclaimed Julius as he held his arms out to catch the breeze of the propellers.
    â€˜Wow, indeed, Julius. They are preparing for a very, very big battle,’ said the professor. He headed for an unattended gyroflyer. ‘We’ll use this three-seater, I think, Danny.’
    Julius stared open mouthed at the machine before him. It was the size of a carriage, with three seats in a row along its front. Three small wheels spread out like a tripod beneath it, and behind the seats was an array of cogs, wheels and gears made of brass and steel. Rising out of the top of this configuration was a shiny brass shaft topped by two long slender propeller blades.
    â€˜The blades rotate, Julius. This produces lift and the propeller at the back produces a rather ill-defined forwards motion,’ said the professor, as he cast his eyes over the cogs and gears.
    â€˜So…how does it…?’
    â€˜How does it fly? It’s much the same as a watch in many ways. You wind it up and the wheels and pinions turn to make the minute and hour hands turn. The gyroflyer is no different, in that respect, except of course that the “hour and minute hands” turn at incredible speeds and allow one to fly like a bird.’
    â€˜More like a blind beetle, if you