The Steampowered Globe

by Неизвестный

  He heard another clatter in the depths of the workshop, then the very definite sound of footsteps. Surely Helena and Eustace weren’t back already?

  But it wasn’t Helena or Eustace who stepped into his field of vision. Framed by the light from the open doorway, he couldn’t see the intruder’s face. The heavy-set man was holding something square that had tassels – a cushion, perhaps.

  “Agent of the devil,” the figure hissed at him. “You create abominations!”

  Jeremy tried to answer but couldn’t. He began to panic – no, not when he was this close. He realized with a sinking feeling that he was going to die.

  He could only watch as the figure approached him, holding up the cushion. He felt his breath on the fabric and the soft insistent tightness as it was pushed onto his face. Inwardly he struggled, but his body refused to respond, even as his lungs screamed in agony.

  And the darkness came: slowly but insistently. He stopped struggling, and let it take him.

  *

  “You need to eat,” Eustace said.

  “I’m not hungry,” Helena replied softly, pushing her kippers around the plate.

  Eustace didn’t argue with her. Instead he poured her tea. “At least have some tea. You need to keep your energy up.”

  She accepted the cup without protest. They were sitting in the dining room, keenly aware of Jeremy’s absence at the table. Normally he would be ambling in right about now, and Helena would be scolding and attempting to tame his messy hair. Jeremy would accept her ministrations with a silly look of slightly concussed humour.

  But instead cook had cried quietly as she cleared what was now an extra table setting. Eustace was nowhere like his usual chipper self. He had swapped his silk scarves and waistcoats, always bright and colourful, for a sombre suit of black.

  Helena was wearing a dress, unusual for when she was at home. But it seemed appropriate. The last time she had worn this was to her poor dead parents’ funeral. She hated it, because this black dress only meant bad things had happened.

  The funeral had been three days ago. It had been a big funeral – Eustace had arranged everything. Helena barely remembered who had come. All she remembered was refusing to cry as the coffin was being lowered into the earth. But her eyes, traitor to her wishes, had shed tears anyway. They had been quiet, dignified tears as she mourned her brother.

  Eustace had been kind enough to pull out the obituaries section. In silent thanks, Helena didn’t mention she was missing several pages of her newspaper.

  Cards of condolence and offers of assistance were still pouring in. Normally there would be many people visiting, but Helena had requested the family be left alone in their grief. So she was very surprised when Rose, the maid, entered the dining room bearing two cards.

  “Madam,” she said, “there are two men here to see you. I told them you asked for visitors to refrain from coming, but they said it was urgent.”

  She handed Helena two cards, folded at the bottom right corner to express condolences.

  Eustace stood. “I’ll see to them.”

  “No,” she said immediately, waving at him to sit down. “I know them. I’ll handle this.”

  Eustace looked pained. “Who are they?”

  “Prescott and Leers from the Science Academy,” she said, standing up. She had a feeling she knew what this was about. Instructing the maid to prepare some refreshments, she turned to leave but heard the scraping of the chair on the floor as Eustace stood.

  He strode to her side. He saw her surprise. “I’m coming with you.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he stopped her short. “You can argue with me, but I’m still going with you. In fact, it’d make want to go with you even more.”

  She sighed and left the dining room, saying, “Fine. But let me do the talking.”

  Doctors Prescott and Leers rose as soon as they saw her. Prescott rushed forward, his round pink face creased with worry.

  “Oh, Helena,” he said immediately, taking her hands, “please know that we express our deepest condolences on Jeremy’s demise.”

  “We – and the Academy – were deeply saddened to learn of Jeremy’s death,” Leers nodded.

  “Thank you,” Helena said demurely. She had no issues with them addressing her by her first name, but Eustace’s eyebrows shot so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.

  Remembering that he was there, Prescott let go of her hands.

  “Ah, gentlemen,” she said. “This is my cousin, Eustace Morrow. Eustace, this is Dr James Prescott and Dr Richard Leers, from the Science Academy. Think of them as mentors and the Science Academy as our second home after our parents passed away.”

  “Sirs,” Eustace said, giving a short bow. They returned it, each giving the customary greeting.

  She gestured at them to sit, then took the sofa opposite. Eustace joined her.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?” she asked.

  “What can we do for you? Anything we can, we will,”

  Leers agreed. “Just ask.”

  “There is nothing, but thank you for your kindness,” she said. “But I know you, gentlemen. You would not come if we had asked visitors not to.”

  “Helena,” Eustace hissed, shocked by her directness. “Manners!”

  She ignored him, knowing full well it was almost rude to be so direct. Prescott and Leers were taken aback for a moment, but quickly regained their composure.

  It was Prescott who spoke. “We regret to trouble you on Academy business.”

  “Of course,” she said, feeling bad now. “What sort of business?”

  The maid came in quietly and set down a tray with a pot of tea, several cups and a selection of small sandwiches. Helena poured and handed out the tea, but waved at the rest of the refreshments. “Please, help yourselves.”

  Both men declined. Prescott carried on. “You are aware that Jeremy was a licensed automaton engineer?”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “He was fully certified and cleared to work with automatons. So am I, for that matter.”

  Leers said, “It is just that, well, the suddenness of his death has some of the Academy members worried.”

  “Oh, do cut to the chase, Leers,” Prescott said impatiently. Helena silently agreed with him but said nothing. “The thing is, Helena, some of the members feel Jeremy’s work should be in the Academy. Jeremy was a pioneer, but you know how these pious types and biologists feel about automatons, and I know the police suspect someone was trying to sabotage his work.”

  “They also think someone may have been trying to steal his work but couldn’t find what they wanted,” Eustace pointed out sharply. She gave him a glance of warning, and he acknowledged it by simmering down.

  Both men seemed uncomfortable at the thought of a fellow engineer going to such extremes. Prescott cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. There are certain parties who feel that it would be better if his work were housed in a lab on our premises, where we can ensure its safety.”

  “And, to be honest, some of the younger scientists want to continue his research,” Leers added. “Jeremy’s work on automatons pushed forward the boundaries of our knowledge. It would be a shame if his progress was not continued.”

  Helena felt a headache coming on. “So you want to take Jeremy’s work back with you, to the Academy.”

  “Not now, necessarily,” Prescott said quickly. “But eventually, yes. Subject to the approval of his estate.”

  “We understand that this is a painful time for you,” Leers added. “We would gladly work out the details with the executor of his estate.”

  “Jeremy left no will,” she sighed. “So the estate falls to his next of kin. I will administer the estate, as soon as the police release whatever personal effects they took with them.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  She sighed again. “Honestly, doctors, I can’t promise anything. Our lawyers have just contacted me to advise me on how his estate can be settled, and I haven’t even gone into his la
b since we ... I ...”

  She faltered. She had found Jeremy’s body, cold and lifeless among the destroyed lab. Just thinking about it made her heart hurt and her chest clench in grief.

  Eustace stepped in. “Since the funeral. I trust you understand, doctors?”

  “Of course, of course,” Prescott said, profusely apologetic. “We apologize for coming so soon, Helena, but you understand how the people at the Academy can be.”

  “We will tell them that you will take it under advisement,” Leers agreed.

  She gave them a sad smile. “Thank you for your understanding, gentlemen. I can give you a definite answer in a few weeks.”

  “Take as much time as you want,” Prescott reassured her. “We’ll hold them off.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She saw them out, thanking them for their time. As she closed the door behind them, she leaned against it, sighing loudly.

  Eustace watched her, frowning.

  “All right, say it,” she said finally.

  “If they’re so afraid for the safety of the automatons,” he said, “they should be concerned for your safety too.”

  She sighed again. “Oh Eustace. You don’t understand.”

  “Then enlighten me,” he said, nearly angry.

  It surprised her; she knew him to be easygoing and generally very cheery. Angry was not an emotion she had ever seen in Eustace before.

  “The pious feel that people like us can be absolved of our sins if we accept that God is the only one who can create life from nothing,” she explained. “The Darwinists hold us to be the height of thousands of years of evolution. They don’t object to automatons, only those that mimic humanity.”

  “That would explain the protests we saw,” he said.

  “Those are the fanatics,” she sighed. “When they heard that the Academy would be hosting a lecture on

  how to make an automaton more human-like, they got very upset. Mostly they just give us dirty looks.”

  “How very rude,” he commented. “Would the Academy really take Jeremy’s work?”

  “Not until I say they can. Prescott and Leers will respect my decision for now, but they’ll come again.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  She didn’t want to, but she knew she had to. “I’m going to see his lab.”

  “Helena.” He trailed behind her, frowning all the while. “Are you ready?”

  She paused on the stairs to glare fiercely at him. “I have to do this.”

  He knew to pick his battles. He stayed silent as she continued up the stairs.

  Jeremy’s lab was on the top floor of the house, and she took the stairs two at a time in her hurry. She knew very little of his latest work because Jeremy had been secretive.

  Her heartbeat raced as she approached the door. There were marks on the carpet where the hospital transporters had wheeled his body out on a cold, metal gurney, covered with a sheet.

  The lab was quiet and empty. The polished wooden floors bore the scuff marks of the police who had responded to Eustace’s panicked telephone call.

  She pushed the heavy door open, her heart racing. She took a hesitant step inside, half expecting Jeremy to emerge from between the long work tables, wiping his dirty hands on a rag.

  She saw the dreaded machine at the back of his workshop. Her heart dropped. The last time she had seen it had been on that horrible night. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep walking further into the workshop.

  Behind her Eustace said softly, “Helena ...”

  “You don’t have to follow me,” she said, a bit more sharply than intended. He remained silent but she heard his breathing in the still of the room.

  The lab was a mess. Jeremy had always been a messy worker but this was beyond even him. The only clear path was from the back of the room to the doorway, where the police and hospital transporters had moved the upturned tables, broken machines and half-finished parts so they could reach him.

  His lab had been ransacked, but hers, directly above, had remained untouched. As far as she could tell, they hadn’t found what they were looking for. To make up for that, the intruders had destroyed most of his work and burned his notebooks. A stripped Frigidiator prototype lay in several mangled pieces on the floor, its piping and tubes bent at bizarre angles. Her footsteps stirred the blackened, brittle ashes, all that was left of Jeremy’s notes.

  She followed the length of the machine; she had no idea what it was or what it could do. There had been a coal fire smouldering in it when she had found him.

  “What is it?” Eustace asked.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. Now, in the daylight, she could see what it was. Complicated glass funnels rose from the top in jagged edges, destroyed by the intruders. A panel had been ripped open, its thin copper wires torn apart and the cogs within were missing teeth or missing entirely. Broken glass crunched under their feet.

  It was much larger than she had originally thought, and it took her several minutes of slow walking before she reached one end and there discovered the tall, metal figure.

  “What the blazes is this?” she asked no one in particular. It towered over her, at least six-and-a-half feet tall. It stood blankly in front of her, silent and motionless.

  “A suit of armour,” Eustace replied. “You don’t remember?”

  She turned, confused.

  “A constable asked you about it,” he said, eyeing the knight warily. “They wanted to take it away for their investigations, but they couldn’t. It was too heavy for them to move.”

  She didn’t remember that at all; she had been too numb and in shock after running out of the lab screaming to remember anything other than what had happened to Jeremy.

  Helena needed to look inside. It was a shot in the dark, but she knew she had to look inside the knight’s armour.

  There was an access panel on its chest. Turning away to search for something she could use to pry it open, Helena spotted an upturned toolbox at the other end of the bench.

  Following her gaze, Eustace picked up the toolbox and set it on the counter. She rummaged inside, looking for a screwdriver or a wedge.

  Suddenly Eustace said, “Did you hear that?”

  She paused, listening. “Hear what?”

  “Something moved,” he said, frowning. “It sounded like it.”

  “Probably just mice,” she said, turning back to her search. Seconds later Eustace whipped around again, this time in alarm.

  “I heard it move!” he said, genuinely alarmed. He stared at the knight.

  “Impossible. It’s just your imagination.”

  “I swear I heard it move!” Eustace’s voice quivered.

  “Expansion, probably. You likely heard the metal expanding. It’s nothing.”

  He was staring at the armour in a mixture of wariness and fear, mostly fear.

  “Here,” she said quickly, “hold this for me.”

  He turned around begrudgingly and she gave him the upper level of the toolbox to hold as she searched the bottom. She had just found a screwdriver when Eustace whipped around again and nearly threw himself against the table.

  “Helena! It moved!”

  He sounded like he might burst into frightened tears. She turned, about to reassure him, when she saw the suit of armour had its palm half open and upright.

  She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Neither of them moved. “It’s probably just contraction.” She tried to keep her voice calm.

  “You just said it was expanding.” There was an edge of panic in his voice.

  “Uh.” She wracked her brain for a rational explanation. “Something inside it expanded, causing cables of some sort to contract. So its arm moved. Yes. Yes, that must be it.”

  “If you say so,” Eustace said warily. “All the same, can we leave? Now. Please.”

  “Wait.” She spotted something white in knight’s hand. She approached it cautiously, waiting to see if it moved again. Carefully she plucked
the scrap of paper from its metal hand and shoved it into her pocket. “Let’s.”

  They hurried out of the lab. Eustace made sure to close the door securely behind them.

  They paused on the landing at the bottom of the stairs, Eustace visibly unnerved and Helena rubbing the goose pimples out of her arm.

  “I don’t ever want to go in there again,” Eustace declared. “Next time, take your maid with you. Anyone but me.”

  “Duly noted,” she said as she fished the paper out of her pocket. It was a small page of notebook. She recognized the distinctive watermark and dark lines of the paper – it was the signature of Jeremy’s favoured brand of notebooks. Jeremy’s slanted handwriting covered part of it.

  “A scrap of paper? What does it say?” Eustace tried to read it upside down. “Cottier?”

  “‘Cottier’” she read. “‘Charing Cross, 18:10. Bring notes to show.’”

  He frowned. “Jeremy never said he was going to meet anyone.”

  She didn’t hear him because she was trying to remember where she had heard the name Cottier before.

  Then suddenly it came to her.

  “I know who he is!”

  She raced away. Eustace called after her but her mind was racing as well.

  He found her in the library in time to see her pull out a pamphlet from the stack of reading materials on the desk. “Aha!”

  She flipped through it wildly, looking for the page. She stopped and placed a triumphant finger on the name. “There it is.”

  He peered over her shoulder. Right there, in bold, dark words: “On the Theory of the Human as a Form of Electricity – Dr E. Cottier.”

  “Get me the maid,” she told Eustace. “Yes, I could do with a cup of tea too.”

  “I need a steam horse. I’m going out.”

  *

  Charing Cross Station was packed with people but the porter was able to remember Dr Cottier with the help of a generous tip. He directed her to the Northern Hotel in Kensington, and she nudged her steam horse onwards. It was a great big hulking machine, mostly horse-shaped but larger, faster and more reliable than a real horse. She ignored the stares she got as she trundled down the road, forced to go slow so she wouldn’t frighten the normal horses of the other road users.