"I suppose so," I said, shrugging. "Though I can't see the point in conjecturing about things that can't be perceived. You might as well assume they don't exist at all, and be done with them."
"Well, well – this from the man who was invoking God a moment ago; I admire the flexibility of your logic, Dower. But no matter. This medium of which I speak, and the subtle vibrations that pass through it – it can be rendered perceptible, and useful for those with the necessary skill. You see, it is the medium in which the fine vibrations of the human brain radiate from inside every human skull. Each brain is tuned, we may say, to a particular note in this medium, just as an infinite number of violin strings may be tuned to an infinite range of pitches sounding in the medium of the air. All that is lacking is a means of sensing those vibrations, and tuning another object to their pitch, for a resonance to ensue, exactly similar to a violin string sounding along to another string's note." The Paganinicon's voice dropped, the hush of secrets being imparted. "That, my dear Dower, is what your father accomplished."
"Indeed." I was baffled as to what point this explanation was leading.
"Don't look so befuddled," said the other. "It's simple enough. Dower, Senior created a device sensitive enough to pick up the vibrations of a particular human brain. There is an incredible amount of untapped cerebral capacity inside even the most prodigious genius – your father saw that that capacity could be the means for controlling and modifying the actions and responses to external stimuli of a complex automaton such as myself.
"The brain to whose vibrations the governing mechanism is tuned thus serves to regulate two creatures, one of flesh and blood, the other made of clockwork. Now, then who do you suppose it is, whose brain is being used in this manner?" His eyebrows arched in counterpoint to his smile.
A grotesque suspicion formed in my thoughts. "Do you mean… me? My brain?"
"Very good! You're quick, Dower! And it's quite a personal history you have, if I may say so. Your father, having discovered this principle of rarefied sympathetic vibrations, needed a human being whose mind was of a particularly complex yet stolid nature – one not given to the various excitements that cause the erratic brain vibrations in most other human beings and render them unsuitable as the necessary adjunct to the governing mechanism. So he searched out and married your mother, a woman – and I mean no disrespect to her memory, now – a woman of singular unresponsiveness. Against all difficulties, he managed to get her with child – you, Dower. Upon her death, you – a mere infant – were sent off to be raised by your aunt, primarily to keep your cerebral vibrations from close proximity to the devices upon which your father was working; it would have been disastrous if the conjunction had been made too soon."
For a moment, I felt as if I were inside the carriage, and yet at the same time far away, listening to someone else's life being narrated. A dream; this person with my face was describing mysteries – long-suffering puzzles of abandonment and a child's exile – and the answers to them that were as cold and intermeshed as the sharp-edged gears inside a watch. I brooded in my silence until the other spoke again.
"You see," said the Paganinicon, "the governing mechanism, once installed in the device it is to control, must be brought within a few miles of the adjunct brain – yours – for it to pick up the subtle vibrations and begin its operations. However, once it has been activated, distance between the device and the brain is no longer a matter of concern; the medium in which the vibrations travel is not bounded by space. Its nature is of another dimension entirely." He peered closely at me. "Do you understand that?"
"I- I believe so." My trembling hand passed over my brow. "Somewhat… It's all so strange…"
He nodded, moved by another form of sympathy. "I suppose it is. But the proof is before your eyes. Before he died, your father moulded my features" – he touched his face with one finger – "from a portrait your aunt had sent him. But then he died before he could send for you and bring you near enough for the vibrations of your brain to set me into life; I was but inert machinery, gears frozen, waiting. And, as you know, your father's estate was left in much confusion; though much of his work remained at the shop you inherited, the contents of other laboratories – he had several throughout the city – were dispersed. Such was my fate, though I was of course unconscious of it." He pulled at his lower lip, falling into sombre thought.
I felt a twinge of compassion for him, this device in my image. So we were moved, from place to place, all unknowing, like blindfolded chessmen upon an unlit board.
The Paganinicon roused himself from his reverie, and continued: "I am grateful to our mutual acquaintance Scape for this account of this history we share; he is something of a self-taught authority on the subject. And a leading character in the drama himself, at least in the latter stages. It was he who, in partnership with his charming colleague Miss McThane, came into possession of my inactive form; he had been circulating a few gambling enterprises – so-called games of chance; the odds were lamentably fixed in his favour – in the North; an eccentric industrialist and collector of curiosities squared a debt from the whist tables by giving Scape a number of odd mechanical devices that had come into his possession through a circuitous route, as these things do. Scape, ever a tinkerer, gladly took the lot; chief among them was myself. Being no more than a lifeless mannikin – however complex internally – I was of little value to him. A person in his business had many sources of information, though; he knew that members of the Royal Anti-Society were interested in constructs from the workshops of the senior Dower. They brought me south and attempted to sell me to Sir Charles, claiming that they would be able to activate me; that was the motive for their visit to your shop in London – they were looking for the necessary governing device. A pointless quest, actually; if Scape had had a bit more theoretical knowledge, he would have been able to determine that a smaller version of that rather cumbersome device – a second Aetheric Regulator, refined in size from the original in the mahogany cabinet – was already incorporated in my workings. Failing in his attempt to steal what he mistakenly thought was necessary to his enterprise, Scape was forced to the expedient this night of attempting to pass you off as me; a rather interesting notion of flesh and blood masquerading as clockwork, rather than vice versa."
"I discovered the fraud," interjected Mrs Wroth.
"So you did, my dear." The Paganinicon patted her hand. "And I'm very grateful for your keen perception. And your powers of persuasion." He turned back to me. "You see, Dower, in the general confusion engendered by the Godly Army's attack on Bendray Hall, the esteemed lady here discovered our good friends Scape and Miss McThane in the act of slipping out of the Hall through the scullery window. She made a rather forceful protest about the deception to Scape-"
"That loathsome little bugger," she muttered darkly.