Sigmund Shaw: A Steampunk Adventure

by Mark C. King

  “Balance, accuracy, and ease of use would be a certain advantage. But the skill of the user would still be the greatest difference.”

  Sigmund was silent a moment, then said, “What if I was to tell you that there was a handgun that would give a lesser skilled person an overwhelming advantage, near certain victory?”

  “No such gun exists.”

  “But if it did?”

  “I would hope that I was on the side that had it. Or, that both sides had it so the advantage is negated.” Holmes then asked, a little anger sneaking into his voice, “Are you here to talk about firearms? You said you were here to help me. You can do that by handing over my gun and turning yourself in.”

  Sigmund let out a breath and said, “I am innocent of the charges against me.”

  Holmes gave a wry smile, “I’m not sure that helps me. My job is not to judge your guilt or innocence but to bring you in.”

  Sigmund gave that a thought for a moment, then, “With all due respect, Inspector, I disagree. Your job is to find the person responsible and bring him, or her, in. Looking for me is a waste of your time, I was set up. Your resources need to be focused somewhere else, otherwise they are completely wasted.”

  “Okay, Mr. Shaw, let us pretend for a moment that you are truthful. I have a witness who saw you outside of the second story window when the bomb went off. Tell me, why would you be there?”

  Sigmund smiled, “I fully understand how my situation looks, and yes, I was at that window. I will tell you why but first answer me this. The bomb was from inside the room, I’ve gathered that much from the papers, so why would I be outside? Why would I be anywhere near the bomb?”

  “The answer to both of those questions is the same. Criminals are not very bright. I’ve spent much of my life trying to think like a criminal, and it is nearly always the same, stupidity.”

  “I think I would have to agree. But that is not why I was there.” Sigmund leaned forward on his chair, gun still aimed at Holmes, and said, “What was happening in the room where the bomb went off was akin to the revealing of the overwhelmingly superior handgun.”

  Holmes looked confused, “I don’t follow.”

  “The two German scientists had created a new fuel source. A source that replaces coal, that doesn’t need constant supplies to keep it heated, and would power any machine for months at a time. Imagine an army that was propelled by machines that didn’t rely on coal, that ran by themselves. No currently situated army could stand against that advantage.”

  For the next few minutes, Sigmund told the account of how he came to be at that window – the visit of the dark stranger, blackmail, and the war faction. He left off his escape from custody and any hints as to where he had been.

  During this time, Holmes listened attentively but always looked for an opportunity to spring at Sigmund. He grew more and more frustrated as the man never lowered that gun!

  Concluding his account, Sigmund said, “I will freely admit, Chief Inspector, that I was there for illegal reasons. At worst, I would have stolen, or tried to, the amalgam cube. But I did not, nor ever would kill anyone or betray the Empire.”

  “You have explained things well, Mr. Shaw. There is hardly an ounce of blame to be put on you. Of course, if I believed all the lies that criminals told, then I would be in a much different profession.” Holmes became more animated, his anger starting to rise. “Were your expectations that you would break into my home, tell me this convenient story, and I would forget you existed and exonerate you? Really Mr. Shaw, I am quite disappointed. But as we already agreed upon, criminals are not very intelligent.”

  Holmes could sense the frustration and anger from Sigmund. He decided to try and bring up a solution, “Mr. Shaw, do the right thing and turn yourself in. If you are innocent, let the courts find you so. A life on the run, what kind of life is that for yourself? No friends, no family. Turning yourself in would look better to the courts than me apprehending you, if you are indeed innocent.”

  Holmes watched closely as Sigmund thought this over. If only he could read his mind. Sigmund’s face gave away continued angst but not enough for Holmes to see the decision.

  It was a full minute before anyone next spoke. Sigmund raised his eyes and looked directly at Holmes. Holmes knew in that moment that Sigmund was not going to relent. Sigmund said in a serious voice, “Chief Inspector, I am innocent. Continuing to search for me will only lead you farther from the true criminals. I leave you with this: Who would benefit from the destruction of this amalgam cube?” Without letting Holmes answer, Sigmund continued, “The Coal Union. This cube would devastate them. I would recommend you start there. And no, I did not expect you to simply believe me. All I expect is that you do your job and find the true murderer.”

  Despite the little quip about doing his job, Holmes became desperate – Sigmund was going to leave. How to stop him? His face must have given away too much for Sigmund said, “Chief Inspector, I know you would like nothing better than to apprehend me. But I can’t let that happen. Despite my innocence, I don’t like my chances in court. If I can’t convince one reasonable man, how could I think I could convince several? And if you are not going to search for the real culprit, then that makes me the only man in England who is.”

  Sigmund pointed the gun – his own gun – at him and stood up. Sigmund said, “Chief Inspector, I need you to walk to the other side of the room and lay on the floor.”

  “Will you shoot me, Mr. Shaw?” Holmes asked out of anger, not fear.

  “Not if I can help it. Now, over to the far wall and face down on the floor.”

  Holmes looked for an opportunity to strike but it didn’t present itself. Deciding to try and stall, he asked, “Tell me, Mr. Shaw, how did you find my home?”

  “Please, Chief Inspector, you say you try to think like a criminal. Surely you can deduce how I found out this simple detail.”

  Not much was being gained by this tactic. He answered, “You followed me. And being that you were here before me tonight, that means you followed me on a previous evening.”

  “Very good, sir. Now, across the room and lay on the floor.” Gun aimed steadily at his chest.

  Not seeing any other options, Holmes turned and walked slowly towards the far side of the room. When he reached the far wall, Sigmund said, “Now lay down, Chief Inspector.”

  Holmes lowered himself to his knees and then laid down on his stomach on the floor. The moment he was down he heard a loud thump and sounds of furious movements. Despite the threat of a bullet he looked back and found that Sigmund was gone. Holmes jumped up and ran to the rear window, noticing and picking up his gun from the floor where Sigmund evidently dropped it. Looking out the window into the night he saw Sigmund running down the dark alley towards the street. Holmes raised his gun, centered the back of the fleeing man in his scope, and pulled the trigger.

  Click. Click. Click click click.

  The gun wasn’t loaded. He stared in disbelief at his gun and then back at Sigmund as he disappeared around the corner. Yelling out at anyone in earshot, preferably a constable on watch, he yelled, “Help! Police! Stop that man!” He waited another moment to see if there was any response. Nothing.

  Running towards his door Holmes stopped briefly to pick up his briefcase. As he ran through the door and down his stairs, he pulled out his gun and dropped the briefcase behind him, spilling contents on the stairs and foyer. Once outside the building he rushed around the back of the building and to the corner that he had seen Sigmund turn down, and stared at a dark, empty street.

  He wanted to scream, to yell curses towards the sky, but said nothing. His anger and frustration burned hot in his chest. Sigmund Shaw had escaped again. Anger. Motivation.

  When back in his apartment, he later found the bullets to his gun on his nightstand. The gun was empty the whole time.

  * * *

  Gerald Penhale enjoyed his beat more than most constables at this time of morning. Sure, it was early and cold. Sure, some of h
is fellow constables balked at having a shift that started hours before sunrise, but Penhale reveled in the quietness. Late night is where the action was, not the early morning, for even criminals seem to sleep at this hour. While some of his colleagues thrived on breaking up drunken brawls or chasing pick pockets, Penhale was more than happy to have a peaceful walk along his beat. In the fog-diffused light of a streetlamp, he looked at his pocket watch and saw that it was nearly 4 am. It would be another hour before the streets even started to think about waking up.

  His favorite part of his rounds was the walk across the Tower Bridge. Penhale thought back fondly of the times he came to the riverfront as a youngster and watched the construction proceed – how proud he felt when it was completed. Surely there was no better bridge in Europe, and in his estimation, probably the whole world! He felt as if the bridge was partly his, not that he had helped in any way to construct it, only that his attention to its construction was second to none. Some people affiliated themselves with sports clubs, cheering on what amounted to strangers playing a game, but Penhale affiliated himself with the Tower Bridge – cheering its magnitude and splendor.

  At this time of morning the bridge was Penhale’s. He walked slowly along it, hands on the rails, breathing in the moist air coming off the Thames. This was one of the few times that you could actually hear the Thames, its slow, steady sloshing as it relentlessly moved past the huge supports of the bridge. As a small cool breeze reddened his cheeks, Constable Penhale leaned against the railing, giving a long look up the Thames to the east trying to make out any shapes in the pre-dawn darkness and fog. Sometimes he could spot a cargo ship or a fisherman but today was empty of watercraft as far as he could tell, which wasn’t saying much as the heavy fog limited his view to next to nothing. Leaning over the side he spit and watched it as it disappeared into the murky moistness. He listened for a splash of the saliva striking the water, hard to do even in the silence of the morning, but there was nothing to be heard except the lapping of the water and…

  Tink

  What was that? Constable Penhale knew well what sounds belonged and what sounds did not. This did not.

  Tink

  Walking farther along the bridge, he was now among the large metal rope-like suspensions that lead up to one of the towers.

  Tink

  The sound was a little louder and Penhale could feel something vibrate in the hand rail itself. What is this? A few more steps and something out of place appeared attached to one of the suspension supports.

  Tink

  Walking quickly now, Penhale reached the item and found a chain attached to the railing – the chain moving slowly in and out creating a tinking sound each time it struck the metal. His confusion now had a mixture of anger – who would deface his bridge? Looking over the edge, he saw the chain simply disappear into the thick fog.

  Grabbing it firmly, he pulled with his arms and tried to draw it up. He was able to move it about six inches before he stopped and had to let it go with a loud clank. This chain was attached to something, something fairly heavy. Penhale leaned over the edge only to see the chain still disappearing into the fog. This was a bugger of a problem. He didn’t want to blow his police whistle and summon help, this wasn’t an emergency as far as he could tell, so far it was just an annoyance. If there was a passerby to help, a cabbie would be perfect, then he could lift the chain easily, but there was no one about yet and probably wouldn’t be for a little while.

  With a deep breath in and a loud exhalation through his nose, Penhale decided that it was time to finish this mystery. Grabbing the chain again he leaned his body weight back. No longer lifting with his arms he took small steps away from the side of the bridge, the chain slowly coming with him making clanking sounds as the chain links rubbed against the bridge railing. After several tiresome small steps, he was now just in the roadway of the bridge. Deciding it would be best to shift his position, he quickly twisted his body so that he was now facing away from the edge of the bridge, the chain going over his shoulder, sort of like he was holding a heavy sack. Now, taking steps forward, he found the going a little easier.

  Nearing the far side of the bridge, Penhale wondered if there would be enough room to lift the chain, and whatever was attached to it, all the way up. Another step, then another, and finally the clinking of the chain against the bridge railing stopped. There was still tension on it but it seemed like he was at its end. Holding the chain firmly, Penhale turned back around. Hand over hand along the chain, he walked himself back to where the chain had been attached. As he neared the sidewalk, only a few feet away from the railing, he could see something large attached to the chain. With the last of his strength, he gave a mighty heave and the object lifted over the railing and fell to the sidewalk with a thump.

  Before approaching, he let go of the chain and placed his hands on his knees as he took in some heavy breath. His beat had a lot of walking but not much lifting – this task proved very wearisome. Finally, getting some of his breath back and feeling some strength return to his shaky legs, Constable Penhale turned and closed in to see what he had hauled up. Lying on the bridge, chain attached to it, was a body. Rushing over, Penhale kneeled next to the person, a man, and looked for signs of life. There were none. Surprisingly, the body was clothed in nice apparel, although covered in blood stains. Besides the obvious fact that there was a body hanging off the Tower Bridge, something else was wrong. Something with the mouth. It took another moment before Penhale realized that the man’s lips were sewn together.

  Penhale stood up, aghast. What kind of evil was this? A piercing sound broke the air. Without thought, Penhale had already begun to blow his whistle.

  16.

  The morning after the visit with Chief Inspector Holmes, Sigmund filled Harry in with how it went. He summed up the account with a sad, “He didn’t believe me at all.”

  Harry leaned over the stable gate and frowned, “Did you really think he would?”

  “No,” answered Sigmund with a sigh, “I guess not. But I hoped that I could at least get him to consider that there are other options. The more time they spend looking for me, the less time they spend looking for the real bomber. But I think I made things worse. He gave zero indication of believing anything I said and now I have broken into his home and pointed a gun at him. I’m sure that won’t sit well with the Chief Inspector.”

  “On the good side,” Harry said, “I’m not sure that your actions made you any more of a wanted criminal. I think murderer and traitor still outweigh any other transgressions.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Harry.” He said wryly.

  “So, what now my lad? Continue looking for this dark stranger?”

  Sigmund thought about that some. He had already spent three days outside of the Coal Union offices to watch for this man – getting to the area early to watch all that were heading into work and then returning in the evening to watch all that left, but the dark stranger was not among them. Still, as hopeless as it seemed, Sigmund knew that he couldn’t give up, it was his only lead. Perhaps this man is in hiding, knowing that Sigmund is not in custody and no doubt looking for him. If so, Sigmund had no chance. He had to exercise extreme caution going out, making sure his face was covered as much as possible. His searching abilities were limited to almost nothing.

  Responding to Harry’s question, Sigmund admitted, “I do need to keep looking but there is something I must do first. I need to see Alexis.” It had been over three weeks since he had seen her last. It felt like forever. He needed to explain himself, to plead his innocence. He needed to apologize for not getting the money in time to help Sarah.

  A worried look grew on Harry’s face, “I don’t know, Sig. This stable is fairly easy to get into without being seen, Alexis lives in a first floor apartment. If they have a watchman here…”

  “I know. I know. I’m certain there will be a watchman outside of her building as well. But I need to speak to her. I need to know that she believes me innocent. My life is yo
u and her. I have you on my side, I now need her. I’ll figure out a way in.”

  “Sigmund, I know without any doubt that Alexis believes you to be innocent. You must know that. Look, perhaps I can bring her a message.” Harry said hopefully.

  “No. If you are seen with her the police might make a connection as to where I am staying. It’s best if you stay away from her.”

  Pausing in thought for a moment, then nodding, Harry said, “You are probably right about the connection. At least promise me this: if you do not see a good way to get in, you will not try. Be reasonable.”

  “Fair enough.” Sigmund responded and then smiled, “Don’t worry Harry, I’m a clever fellow.”

  Not to give Sigmund the last word, as Harry walked away he said over his shoulder, “Clever enough to live in a stable.”

  Later that day, in the fading light, Sigmund found himself on his sister’s street, but not before making a side trip to see a friend.