by Chris Paton
“I hoped.” Luise pushed herself up against the back of the chaise longue. “I remember our guests. Did they stay long?”
“Guests?” Tapping his cane twice on the floor, Bremen stepped over the perimeter line and approached Luise. Hari slid his kukri from its scabbard and slowed Bremen’s advance by pointing the tip of the blade at the German’s sternum.
“Hari,” Smith cautioned as Bremen’s men twitched forward, hands reaching for the long pockets sewn into each of the men’s trousers.
“It’s all right,” Bremen waved his men back. With the pommel of his cane, he tapped Hari’s blade and waited for him to withdraw it. “I admire your loyalty. Will you respect our agreement?”
“What agreement?” Luise sat up and swung her legs over the side of the chaise longue.
“Your friend agreed to let me keep your incredible machine if I were to let you use it.” Bremen glanced at Hari before addressing Luise once more. “I am rather pleased I did. I had no idea what wonders it would release. I certainly did not expect spectres from another plane. Can you tell me who they are?”
“I am afraid I do not know.” Luise shuffled her feet together to stand.
“Wait a moment longer, Miss Hanover,” Smith placed his hand upon her shoulder. “It wouldn’t do to rush things. You and Hari were with the demons for several hours.” Smith dipped his head briefly at the sun streaming through the windows. “A few more minutes will not hurt.”
“You’re right, of course.” Luise thanked Smith with a pat of her hand upon his arm. She looked around the mill floor. “So many people. Where is the Admiral?”
“Admiral Egmont,” Bremen pointed the tip of his cane toward the loading doors, “retired to the carriage sometime in the early hours of the morning. He is just outside the door. Together with his friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yes,” Bremen straightened his back and tapped his cane on the floor. “But you were telling me about the,” he glanced at Smith, “demons, I think you said?”
“Miss Luise is tired.” Hari folded his hands upon his chest. In the rafters of the mill roof, Shahin cried out and flitted from one perch to the next.
“It’s all right, Hari. There is actually not much to tell.” Luise took a breath and smiled at Bremen. “After all, this is only the second time I have seen them.”
“And how many times have you activated the device?” Bremen flexed his fingers upon the pommel of his cane.
“Twice only.”
“So they come every time? Interesting.”
“Yes. I am not sure yet as to what they want. We seem to have difficulty communicating,” Luise mused. “I don’t think they want anything from me, per se.”
“Or perhaps, Fräulein, it is not you they want.” Bremen turned to his assistant. “Hannah, would you tell Fräulein Hanover what you told me. What it was that you saw.”
“Ja, mein Herr.” Hannah clasped her hands behind her back. “When I recovered from the shock of the demon noise, I saw the female recoil from his chest,” Hannah pointed at Hari, “and I watched the male as he inspected your wound. He seemed disgusted.”
“Hannah,” Bremen made a slowing motion with his hand.
“It is all right, Herr Bremen,” Luise straightened the hem of her jacket with her fingers. “I know why the demon was disgusted. It is the reason I am so interested in the passage of time, and why I built the device.” Luise waited until she had the German’s attention. “You see, time is not on my side. I have a rare condition, for a woman. I am a haemophiliac and I chose this field of study for purely selfish reasons.” Luise paused. “I need to control time. I must if I am to overcome my condition.” She shrugged. “It seems to work.”
“And yet, Fräulein Hanover,” Bremen fidgeted, “you seem to have achieved so much more.” Turning to Hannah, Bremen nodded once, raised his hand and clicked his fingers. The men ringing the chaise longue drew thin Polyphase pistols from their long pockets, charged them, and pointed them at Luise, Hari and Smith. Hannah stepped past Bremen and lifted the machine from where it lay at the foot of the chaise longue. “Take it over to the workshop, Hannah. Keep the handle safe.”
“Ja, mein Herr,” Hannah nodded as she walked past Bremen toward the mechanics standing by the side of Romney’s steamracer.
“And now, Fräulein, and friends, I think it is time to part company.”
Chapter 10
The Isle of Dogs
London, England
May, 1851
The Tartan Lads hovered outside the heavy doors to the mill. Sullivan, closest to the single cutaway door, his snublock pistol in his hand, waited for Egmont’s signal.
“What’s goin’ on, Sully?” Mason hovered at the edges of Sullivan’s shadow. “Those things gone, or what?”
“Shh. Wait with the lads if you can’t stand still.” Sullivan stiffened as Bremen’s men drew their Polyphase pistols.
“Creepy they were, all blue and naked like.”
“Shh,” Sullivan punched Mason on the arm. “Go over to the carriage and wake the Admiral. Check the lads, and be quick about it.” Sullivan shoved Mason away and turned his attention back to Bremen’s men. Mason’s heavy footsteps clomped the short distance back to the steam carriage. Sullivan hid the snublock in the palm of his hand, lifted his foot over the sill of the door and stepped inside the mill.
“You can’t come any further.” A tall German placed a slim hand on Sullivan’s chest.
“Says who?”
“Herr Bremen,” the man poked his thumb over his shoulder.
“Him?” Sullivan peered around the guard. He watched as Bremen ordered the men ringing the chaise longue to move it to the far wall.
“Ja,” the guard nodded.
“See that man standing next to your Bremen?” Sullivan pointed at Smith. “He’s with my boss and he is callin’ me over. Look.” Sullivan slipped past the guard as the man turned to look in the direction Sullivan was pointing.
“Halt,” the guard slapped his hand upon Sullivan’s bony shoulder.
Ducking under the guard’s arm, Sullivan wriggled free, dodged around two of the guard’s associates and jogged up to Smith’s side.
“Lovely sunrise, Mr. Smith. Did you see it?” Sullivan cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the approaching guards.
“Sullivan, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
Smith leaned forward. “Where is the Admiral?”
“I’ve sent one of the lads to wake him up.”
The creaking of the mill doors and shouts from the guards turned Sullivan’s head. In the doorway, blocking the sunlight, the Admiral fidgeted upon his brass leg. Egmont blustered his way past the guards and through the door; a handful of Tartan Lads followed him, an assortment of weapons clutched in their fists. Bremen signalled his men with the flat of his hand, they lowered their pistols.
“Afternoon, gentlemen. Luise,” Egmont nodded as he approached the group. “What’s going on then?”
“Afternoon, Admiral.” Sullivan glanced down at the Admiral’s leg. “Givin’ you jip is it?”
“Yes,” Egmont wrinkled his nose and lifted his top lip into a sneer. “I can’t stand on it so long.” He eyed the German guards and watched them retreat to a more respectful distance. “The show’s over, eh?”
“Well, one of them is. Looks like a new one is just beginnin’, if you follow, Admiral?” Sullivan turned the palm of his hand toward Egmont, revealing the snublock pistol.
“Might I ask, Admiral Egmont, what are your intentions?” Bremen raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, you can ask,” Egmont eyed Bremen. “Keep talking, Sully,” he whispered. “We need to keep this casual.” Egmont winked at Luise.
“All right, Admiral,” Sullivan glanced at his men and made a show of pocketing his pistol.
“What did you make of those demons?”
“Never seen anythin’ like it.” He rocked back onto his heels. “Apart from one time in the circus. A
bearded lady and some eunuch painted blue,” Sullivan nodded in the direction of Hari and Luise as Bremen’s men shifted position behind them. “A bit like them devils as was swirlin’ around the young miss over there.”
“Devils,” Egmont mused.
“Well, they was hardly human now, was they, Admiral?”
“No,” Egmont scratched at his beard. “Definitely not. Now then, Sully,” Egmont leaned closer to Sullivan. “Keep a weather eye on these fellows and help me get the young lady and her friend safely out of here.”
“Anythin’ for you, Admiral,” Sullivan turned to face the door, stuck two fingers between his lips and whistled a shrill command to his men. The remaining Tartan Lads waiting outside the door rallied around Mason, drew various weapons from the pockets of their trousers and jackets, and covered the exit.
“What you want us to do, Sully?” Mason shouted, crowding the door with his broad shoulders. He picked at the nails on the fingers of his left hand with the thin blade of a kitchen knife.
“Just be ready when I shout.”
The iron-shod feet of the chaise longue squealed along the stone floor as one man pushed it aside while Hannah carried Luise’s machine over to the makeshift bay for the steamracers.
“Sullivan,” Egmont curled his arm around Sullivan’s shoulders and guided him closer to Bremen. “I think it might be interesting to tell Herr Bremen about the special relationship your boss has with Her Majesty’s Government. Would you care to explain further?”
“All right, Admiral. If you’re sure?”
“Positive, Sully.”
Sullivan shook Bremen’s proffered hand as the Admiral released him from his embrace. “Lady Harte sends her compliments, Herr Bremen.” Sullivan withdrew his hand from Bremen’s grasp and cast a quick glance at Luise. He winked at Hari and turned his attention back to the German.
“Lady Harte?” Bremen leaned upon his cane. The afternoon sun lit his pale cheeks as it poured in through the squared windows in the wall above the doors. Bremen’s eyelids drooped in the sunlight.
“Yes,” Sullivan nodded. “Lady Harte owns the Isle of Dogs. All the way from the docks to the bridge.”
“Forgive me,” Bremen rubbed his eyes. “It has been a long night waiting for those demons to retire. Fascinating but tiring all the same.”
“I imagine it was,” Sullivan smiled. “Me and the lads took it in turns to watch. We wasn’t so caught up in things as you were.” Sully leaned in closer to Bremen. “If you don’t mind me sayin’, your lads look a little peaky.”
“Quite,” Bremen yawned. “You were telling me about the Lady Harte.”
“And taking far too long about it too,” Egmont nudged Sullivan with his elbow. “What Sully means to say is that his mistress owns this bit of land, and oversees everything that comes in or out of London from the sea. Herr Bremen, you have chosen a poor place indeed for your stronghold.”
“Stronghold?”
Egmont made a show of looking around the mill. “Yes, a stronghold. Populated with thirty men or more.”
“These are my mechanics. Essential to the maintenance of my racing team.”
“Is it your custom to arm your mechanics?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Tell me, Herr Bremen.” Egmont’s leg hissed as he took a step forward. “What is your interest in Miss Luise’s invention?”
“Purely scientific, I assure you.”
“And those demons. They didn’t change your mind?”
“On the contrary, they have piqued my interest and the interest of the company whose interests I represent.”
“That would be Wallendorf Industries, I presume?” Smith took off his glasses and polished the lenses with the cuff of his shirtsleeve.
“That is correct, Mr. Smith.” Bremen smiled. “By the way, I am forgetting my manners. Please give my compliments to the Bureau in Calcutta when you return home. Soon, I imagine?”
“Gentlemen,” the blue light glowing beneath the skin of Luise’s cheeks paled as she stepped closer to Hari. “This is an interesting conversation. But I wish to know what Herr Bremen intends to do with that which was stolen from me?”
“Stolen?” Bremen placed one hand upon his chest. “Fräulein Hanover, have you mistaken me for a common thief?”
“Not a common thief, no. Few people know of my invention, Herr Bremen, and no common thief would find any use in it whatsoever.”
“Then just what are you implying, Fräulein?”
“That you are an informed thief in possession of something that does not belong to you and I wish to have it back.” Luise clenched her fists at her sides and stared at Bremen.
“I see.” Bremen tapped his cane twice on the stone floor. The mechanics standing by the steamracers stopped what they were doing and joined the ranks of Germans surrounding Luise and her companions. Hannah clicked her fingers and each man chose a target and levelled his pistol at head height.
“Ready, Herr Bremen.” The heels of Hannah von Ense’s shoes clicked as she returned to stand by the side of Bremen.
“Fräulein Hanover,” Bremen sighed, “I find myself in the unfortunate position of agreeing with you on the point of being a thief. However, as you can see,” he gestured at the armed men surrounding them, “I am far from common. Mr. Sullivan.”
“Yes?” Sullivan’s eyes wandered over Bremen’s assistant.
“I believe Lady Harte has a preference for chocolate.” Bremen held out his hand to receive a brown envelope from Hannah von Ense. “Please give this to your mistress.” He looked at Egmont. “My letter of insurance, an import arrangement for German chocolate and the promise of one hundred pounds a month in expenses.”
Sullivan opened the envelope, pursed his lips and whistled.
“A down payment,” Bremen made room for Hannah as she presented Sullivan with a second envelope, “and a little sweetener for you and your men. The Lady Harte doesn’t need to know.”
“That’ll do, Herr Bremen, sir. A very nice gesture.”
“Sully?” Egmont placed his hand upon Sullivan’s shoulder.
“Now, now, Admiral,” Sullivan shrugged free of Egmont’s grip and pulled the snublock from his pocket. He pointed the pistol at Egmont’s chest. “I think we will have to rethink our agreement, Admiral.” Sullivan nodded at Bremen. “It seems that everythin’ here is in order, as per the Lady Harte’s instructions.”
҉
Romney paced around the stable floor, the dust lifting from the wooden boards and clinging to her leather boots. Biting on a strand of hair, she flicked her eyes from Robshaw to the riding tack hanging from the wall to the low flame of the sodium crystal lamps suspended from the ceiling and back again.
“Romney, why don’t you stop?” Robshaw pushed himself up from the straw-filled chair. He crossed to the tea service on the thin-wheeled trolley parked between the two chairs – the only furniture inside the stables. “Have some coffee.”
“Coffee?”
“Yes. It’s fresh.”
“I don’t want coffee. I want to get out of here.” She crossed to the trolley and tugged at Robshaw’s sleeve. “Help me get out of here,” she whispered.
“That won’t be easy,” Robshaw nodded at the shadow of the guard filling the grimy, cobwebbed window in the wall. “Bremen obviously wants us to stay.”
“What happened to you?” Romney let go of Robshaw’s sleeve. Her eyes narrowed, tugging at her pale cheeks. “Where is the larger-than-life steamracer that rescued me from the disaster in the potter’s shop?”
Robshaw poured coffee into a china mug. He set the pot down and picked up the thin, metal tongs by the side of the bowl of sugar cubes. Staring at Romney, he dropped three cubes into the coffee with a splash, one after the other. Putting down the tongs, Robshaw picked up a spoon and stirred the coffee, the metal handle clinked upon the rim of the cup.
“Well?” Romney tugged the wet hair from her mouth with a crooked finger.
“Well what?”
Robshaw sipped his coffee.
“With all you’ve been told and what you’ve just seen, you’re willing to just let things run their course?”
Robshaw steadied his cup with two hands as he slumped down into the chair. “Yes.”
“Hah,” Romney coughed. “I get it. He’s got you, hasn’t he? You’re worried about your popularity. You’re scared of what might happen if Bremen announces to the world...”
“Not the world,” Robshaw sighed, “just Britain.”
“You’re weak.” Romney spat on the floor. “You disgust me.”
“I’m not weak, Romney. I’m choosing to be smart.” Robshaw took a sip of coffee. “And so should you.”
“What?”
“Be smart. You have far more to lose than I. If you choose to defy Bremen, it’s more than just your popularity that is at stake. Treason is no laughing matter.”
“Ah,” Romney clenched her fists at her temples. Pacing around the stables, she wheeled on Robshaw. “You think life is so simple, don’t you? Tow the party line. Do what daddy says. Do what is best for the family. Is that how it is?”
“Sit down, Romney. You are attracting the guard’s attention.” Robshaw pointed at the shadow of the guard as it flitted from one window to the next.
“Well, it’s not simple. I don’t care about the Confederation or the future. All I care about,” Romney paused to catch her breath. “All I care about is winning.”
“Why?” Robshaw stood up and took a step toward Romney. “It’s just a race.”
“It’s not just a race. Not when it is the only way... the only way I can talk to my father.”
“You’re not making any sense, Romney.”
“No? Of course not, not to you.” Romney’s boots scuffed circles in the dust of the stable floor as she sat down and tucked her knees to her chest. “Ludvig, my brother, has a head for business. He meets with father every day. They talk.” She looked up at Robshaw. “I see him once a week and he writes a cheque. The more races I win, the more cheques he writes, the more he has to see me.” Romney rested her elbows upon her knees and ran her hands through her hair. “Am I making any sense now?”
