by George Mann
"It's an impressive achievement indeed, Monsieur Villiers. So tell me, are the units intelligent, self-aware?"
Villiers shook his head. "No, they are not sentient in their own right. They are simply machines that operate according to a complex set of algorithms and programs. Have you seen one operating, Sir Maurice?"
Newbury shook his head, and Chapman interrupted. "I was hoping that you would be able to give our guests a demonstration, Pierre?"
"Of course. Allow me to do so now." He moved over to the corner of the workshop where, Veronica realised for the first time since entering the room, an automaton was sitting in a chair, its head bowed. Villiers stood before it.
"Rise." His voice was a firm, emotionless command.
The unit's head jerked up at the sound of Villiers's voice, and it quickly rose to its feet. "Follow." He turned and walked back across the workshop towards them. The automaton followed suit, stepping forward into the light. The two visitors looked on, transfixed with wonder. The automaton was about the size of a man, skeletal, with a solid torso formed from interlocking breast and back plates. Its eyes were little mirrors that spun constantly on an axis, reflecting back the lamplight. Its mouth was nothing but a thin slot and its remaining features were engraved into the otherwise blank mask of its face. In its chest a glass plate revealed, like a tiny porthole, a flickering blue light, dancing like an electric current. Its brass frame shimmered in the light, and it moved like a human being, fully articulated, as it strode across the room towards them. Its joints creaked as it walked and its brass feet clicked on the tiled floor of the workshop. It stopped about two paces behind Villiers and cocked its head to one side, regarding them silently.
Chapman clapped his hands. Newbury and Veronica looked on, feeling a little unnerved.
Villiers turned to the automaton. "Pick up that glass tumbler and pour me a brandy." He pointed across the room at a small table which held the tumbler and a decanter, amongst other detritus. The automaton set to work immediately, crossing the room with a fluid gait, avoiding a pile of machine parts on the floor and approaching the table with the utmost precision. Taking care, it reached down and picked up the glass between its brass fingers-which, Newbury noticed, were affixed with little leather pads to prevent them from shattering the tumbler-and poured a measure of brandy from the decanter. A moment later it strode back across the workshop to offer Villiers his drink without ever spilling a drop.
Newbury was astounded. "Bravo. Bravo indeed!" He glanced from Villiers to Chapman and back again. "This is indeed a revolutionary invention. What else can it do?" He was clearly enthused.
Villiers smiled. He took the drink from the automaton and pointed to a chair by his desk. "Take a seat." The automaton did as requested, positioning itself as if ready to receive further instructions. Villiers crossed to the desk himself, with Newbury close behind him, and searched out a letter. He placed this on a stand in front of the automaton, beside a typewriter on the desk. "Copy this." He indicated the sheet for the mechanical man. The automaton did not respond, its only movement the continual spinning of its mirrored eyes and the flickering of the iridescent light inside its chest.
"Ah. Please forgive me." Villiers handed his brandy to Newbury and leaned over his desk. He pulled open a drawer, pulling out a sheaf of punch cards. He rifled through, finally selecting one and brandishing it in front of him. "This particular unit has yet to learn how to carry out this task."
He pressed a panel on the back of the automaton and it swung open easily, revealing some of the unit's internal workings. Newbury peered inside, fascinated. "Tell me, Monsieur Villiers, how does it learn? I was under the impression from your earlier comments that the device lacks its own intelligence, although it certainly appears to respond to complex voice commands."
Villiers took the punch card and fed it into a slot within the back of the machine. "As I mentioned earlier, Sir Maurice, the automaton operates on a series of predetermined programs. These programs are expressed as a series of punch cards that the internal mechanisms of the device can interpret and enact. The device has the capacity to file up to twenty-eight of these cards at any one time on a revolving spindle, and when asked to perform a task it will check the programs stored on its spindle and see if the correct card is in its repertoire. If so, it will retrieve the card and carry out the task. If not, well, you've seen the reaction in that situation."
Newbury shook his head in disbelief. "A machine that learns…"
Villiers clicked the panel shut. He repeated his earlier command. "Copy that."
There was a whirring sound from within the chest of the automaton. Then, suddenly, its hands blurred over the keys of the typewriter and within a matter of seconds the entire page had been typed. Newbury leaned forward, taking the page from the top of the typewriter and comparing it to the original letter. It was identical, in every respect, even to the extent of recreating an error, where a misspelled word had been omitted with a series of Xs.
"Veronica, do you see this?" He held the pages up for her. "It's identical." He turned to Villiers. "What, it must be ten times faster than a human being?"
"Undoubtedly so."
Newbury shook his head. He was quite lost for words.
Veronica studied the two copies of the letter. "It's certainly very impressive." She seemed hesitant to be carried away by the spectacle.
Newbury was in his element. "Monsieur Villiers, tell me about the power source."
Villiers was obviously enjoying the attention. "The device is designed to power itself. When the automaton moves, a rotor inside its abdomen rocks back and forth, ratcheting the winding mechanism and causing the mainspring in the chest to become taut. Effectively, the unit is self-winding, and thus it will never power down, unless commanded to do so. If left inactive for long periods without instruction, the unit will eventually move itself to trigger the winding mechanism."
"So it goes for a little stroll? Quite wonderful."
Veronica looked at the automaton warily. "It certainly seems intelligent, Monsieur Villiers."
"Thank you, Miss Hobbes. A compliment indeed. The entire purpose of an automaton is to give the impression of intelligence, maintaining the illusion whilst the workings of the device are kept hidden from the audience."
"And what are those workings, Monsieur Villiers? We've seen the mechanism that enables the device to be programmed, but how does it come to understand your voice commands, or interpret the input from its mirrored eyes?"
"Ah, well, that is the secret, is it not?" Villiers put his hand on his hips. "The device is fitted with an incredibly complex mechanism that mimics the neurological structures of a human brain. It makes judgments by asking itself a series of logical questions and interpreting the results, enabling it to select a course of action. For example," he leaned on the back of the automaton's chair, "if the device were commanded to walk across this workshop, it would automatically find a route around the workbench there, without having to walk into it or attempting to clamber over it. This is achieved through a series of logical questions that the unit's brain is designed to follow. What will happen if the unit walks into the workbench? How will walking into the workbench prevent it from achieving its goal? What is the quickest alternative route to its destination? Switches trigger inside the brain to enable the automaton to settle on the most effective solution to each question, thus deciding its route around the workbench. In this instance the unit would obviously decide to alter its course, rather than face potential damage by walking into an immovable object." Villiers smiled, obviously pleased with himself. Veronica looked back at Chapman, who had taken a seat by the door and was also smiling as he watched the others receive their lecture from his friend. He had struck a match and was in the process of lighting a cigarette. The glare of the flame cast his face in stark relief.
Newbury placed his hand on the automaton's head. "Can we see? I'd very much appreciate an opportunity to take a look inside this remarkable contraption."
Veronica took the opportunity to catch Newbury's eye, and he smiled knowingly. He was allowing himself a moment of indulgence, but she knew from the look in his eye that he wouldn't allow himself to get carried away. He was ready and alert, absorbing everything.
Villiers returned and set to work on the automaton's head. It was the work of moments to unclip the skull cap and unscrew the safety catch that gave access to the unit's mechanical brain.
Both Newbury and Veronica couldn't help but gasp at the sight revealed when the plate was lifted away. The automaton's brain was like the workings of some incredible watch, only orders of magnitude bigger and more complex. They both leaned in, watching the cogs and levers as they ticked over, tiny switches flicking from one position to another as the automaton regarded its surroundings. It was like seeing human thought processes in action, like some sort of bizarre window into the human soul. In some ways it was disturbing, to see a creation so complex and wondrous yet without feeling, lacking the spark of life. On the other hand, Newbury was amazed to consider that it could be argued that the human brain was the same as this incredible device, a series of clockwork switches and cogs rendered flesh and blood. He watched for a moment longer, intrigued by the ticking of the tiny mechanical components as the automaton sat unmoving before them, unaware that they were looking deep into the very fabric of its being.
Villiers stepped in and replaced the skull cap. "We must not leave the internal components exposed to the air for too long. Moisture affects the workings and the tiny mechanisms can become clogged with dust from the air."
Newbury stood back, watching appreciatively as Villiers used his tool to replace the fittings. "I must thank you for your demonstration, Monsieur Villiers. It's been quite enlightening."
Veronica nodded her agreement. "Yes, thank you for your time. The experience has left me feeling quite breathless." She turned to Newbury. "Is there anything further you require of Mr. Chapman or Monsieur Villiers, Sir Maurice?"
Newbury looked thoughtful. He turned to Chapman. "I do not believe there is. If you would be kind enough to escort us back to your office, Mr. Chapman, Miss Hobbes and I will take our leave. I daresay you have pressing business to attend to."
Chapman stood, inclining his head. "Of course, Sir Maurice. It has been a pleasure to show such an enthusiastic visitor around our humble business." He beckoned them towards the door. Newbury turned to Villiers, and shook his hand firmly. "Fascinating work, Monsieur Villiers. I expect we'll meet again."
He allowed Veronica to go ahead of him, and together they made their way back towards the office complex, leaving Villiers alone with his clockwork automaton and his thoughts.
Outside, the afternoon was turning to twilight as Newbury and Veronica hailed a hansom cab. Newbury had offered Veronica his coat to stave off the chill, and as they clambered up the steps into the cab she turned to regard him, the horses whinnying as they stamped their feet impatiently by the side of the road. The sound of the foghorns on the river made it difficult to hear.
"So, what next? Do you think Chapman and Villiers have anything to hide?"
Newbury lowered himself onto the seat opposite her and the driver whipped his reins, jerking the vehicle into motion. "I suspect they have a great deal to hide, my dear, but whether it pertains to the case at hand, I remain unsure." He ran a hand over his chin. "I need time to consider our findings. I admit I find it difficult to see evidence of foul play. Unless you can offer any further insights that you think I may have missed?"
Veronica shook her head. "I don't believe so. I remain wary of Mr. Chapman. I find him both insincere and egotistical. I do believe he was holding something back."
Newbury agreed. "Indeed. There is clearly more to the man than meets the eye. He obviously believes himself to be a great philanthropist, or at least wishes to paint that picture of himself to others. He delivered his message with a little too much zeal for my taste."
Veronica pulled Newbury's coat around herself. "Do you think the automaton demonstrations have helped to shed a light on the disaster surrounding The Lady Armitage} I singularly failed to see the significance of anything they showed us, as spectacular as it all was."
Newbury thought on this. "I believe they succeeded in demonstrating how unlikely it is that the automaton itself malfunctioned. Although I'll admit I'm still baffled as to what happened to it after the vessel had crashed. I wonder if there is any stock in what Villiers suggested, about someone spiriting it away before the authorities arrived."
"I wondered the same. Perhaps it's best we speak with Sir Charles again, to see if Inspector Foulkes has turned up any further evidence from the area around the scene?"
Newbury seemed distracted. He glanced out of the window. "Indeed. No doubt we'll speak with both of the aforementioned gentlemen in due course." He seemed to relax a little. "Tomorrow I shall pay a visit to Buckingham Palace to talk with Her Majesty.
It's been a difficult couple of days, Miss Hobbes, and I have no doubt that you would benefit greatly from a day of rest." He smiled, waving his hand to stifle her objections. "Besides, it'll give me a little more time to ponder our next move."
Veronica sighed. "Very well. Let us agree, then, that you will call for me if there are any new developments. We can't have you charging in alone."
Newbury laughed. "Indeed not, Miss Hobbes. That would never do."
He continued to chuckle as the cab rolled on towards Chelsea, and home.
Chapter Ten
Newbury had visited Buckingham Palace on numerous occasions over the last few years, yet the grandeur of the place never failed to take his breath away. He was awed by the spectacle of it; looming out of the grey, fog-shrouded morning, its towering facade was an imposing sight, a symbol of Her Majesty's might rendered in stone for the entire world to see.
He glanced up at the pillars that stood, sentry-like, over the main entrance. To either side of these were vast rows of windows, hiding all the secrets of the Empire behind their heavy curtains of red and gold. In the driveway, stable hands were exercising the horses, and a line of impressive carriages stood ready by the main gates. Newbury wondered if some sort of state function were being planned, or else if foreign dignitaries were expected to pay a visit later that day. He knew Her Majesty would not be impressed by either of those eventualities.
Nodding at the guard, who shivered as he opened the gate for Newbury to pass through, he made his way around the rear of the immense building, making haste for the private entrance that was situated near the servant's quarters, out of sight from prying eyes. He braced himself against the chill. The morning had brought with it a crisp frost, and the sun was yet to break through the dense cloud of fog that had settled on the city during the night. It was still early, but Newbury knew he was expected. It didn't do to keep Her Majesty waiting.
He approached the familiar oak door, glancing quickly from side to side to ensure that he wasn't being watched, and rapped gently with the brass knocker. After a moment a small panel slid open and a pair of eyes appeared.
Newbury cleared his throat. "Morning, Sandford. It's Newbury here."
The panel slid shut again and a few seconds later the door swung open, revealing a small foyer inside. The room was brightly lit with gas lamps and, Newbury was pleased to see, the roaring flames of a fire. Sandford, the butler who oversaw this small, secret area of the palace, ushered Newbury inside, clicking the door shut behind him. He held his arm out for Newbury's coat and hat. Newbury removed the garments and passed them to the butler, offering his thanks. The man was aged, now; in his seventies, with a shock of white hair and liver spots speckling his face and hands. He looked impeccable in his suit, however, and Newbury had the utmost respect for the man. He had stayed in service out of an unerring sense of duty to the Crown, and Newbury had often wondered if he had once been an agent of the Queen himself, back in the early days of the Empire. He certain
ly had a few tricks up his sleeve.
Sandford draped Newbury's coat on the stand in the corner and returned to his favourite position beside the fire. Newbury was rubbing his hands, attempting to soak up the warmth of the flames.
"Warm yourself there for a moment, sir. Her Majesty is expecting you in the throne room, but I dare say she'll wait a moment longer whilst you make yourself presentable." He winked at Newbury, and they both smiled. Newbury had received no official summons from the Palace, but he knew from experience that Her Majesty would be expecting a report on his findings at the crash site, as well as his consequent investigations. In fact, given the nature of the case, he was surprised that he hadn't received a summons before now.
Newbury straightened his suit. "Well, Sandford, I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
Sandford nodded, offering him an appraising look. "That you are, sir." He turned about on his heel, more deftly than his appearance would give him credit for. "I'll walk you there now, sir." They left the comfort of the fire behind them, exiting the foyer by a side door and out into a small passage that Newbury had walked along many times before. It snaked its way through the bowels of the palace, a secret route between the throne room and Sandford's little waiting area at the back of the great house. The corridor had been built for a different purpose, Newbury believed-an escape route from the throne room should the monarch ever find herself threatened and in need of escape. Now, though, it was primarily used to bring Her Majesty's agents into the palace for private audiences, concealing them from the rest of the household, who, Newbury doubted, were even aware that the passageway existed. Of course, it depended entirely on one's point of view. Newbury couldn't help but think that the secret corridor also prevented Her Majesty's agents from soaking up too much of what was going on elsewhere in the palace. Victoria was a monarch who liked to play her cards very close to her chest indeed.
