Stealing Utopia

by Tilda Booth

  George reached into his pockets and stopped. They were empty. He coughed, embarrassed, and she handed him a pound note out of her reticule. He passed it out the window to the driver and gave him a different address.

  As the carriage began moving again, Jane said, “Where are we going?”

  “To a friend. Hopefully he’ll be able to help us.” At her look of protest, George added, “Discreetly.”

  Chapter Six

  Less than fifteen minutes later the cab pulled to a stop in Sloan Square in the fashionable Belgravia district, in front of a stately Georgian building of red brick. Jane was still damp and freezing, despite the warming effects of George’s earlier kisses. Kisses she’d been unable to get him to repeat in the short ride to this new destination.

  “I suppose you’ll be wanting me to wait.” From above, stoic suffering infused the driver’s words.

  “Yes, thank you.” George looked out the carriage window. “Blast it all, why is there never a street urchin around when one needs one?”

  Jane couldn’t help laughing a little. “May I ask why you require an urchin?”

  “Discretion. I can hardly waltz up to Nicky’s front door in this state, can I? Especially if he has someone from Scotland Yard camped outside his door as well. I thought I might send a message via urchin.”

  “Nicky?”

  “My friend, Nikola Tesla.”

  “Oh bloody hell, is this Tesla’s house?” She shrank away from the windows.

  “No, of course not. We’re the next block over.”

  Jane’s burst of panic eased. “Tesla is being watched by Easton’s men, like all the other scientists of the advisory council. Someone’s bound to report us if we walk through his front door.”

  “Which is why I have no intention of doing so.” George took another glance down the street and sighed. “I suppose we shall have to make do with the driver. Driver!”

  “Yes, sir? Another destination, sir? You do realize it’s raining, sir?” The last sentence was said more under the driver’s breath, but still loud enough for George and Jane to hear.

  “No, not another destination. I’d like you to deliver a message for me.” George gave the driver an address around the corner. “Tell the master of the house, and only the master, if you please, that the white rabbit would like to come through the rabbit hole.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon?”

  George gave him the message again and made the driver repeat it back to him.

  “Barmy. The both of ’em, absolutely barmy,” the driver grumbled sotto voce. “An’ it’s rainin’ cats ’n’ dogs an’ the missus waitin’ for me to come ’ome…”

  “There’s a…” George glanced at Jane, who looked through her bag and mouthed, five pounds at him. “A fiver in it for you,” finished George.

  The mention of the five-pound note had a remarkable effect on the driver’s attitude. “Aye, sir.” The driver fairly leapt off his seat and ran along the street, his feet splashing through the puddles.

  Slipping her damp blouse back on underneath George’s jacket, Jane hid a grin as her companion took care to look away. She counted the contents of her reticule. After giving George the five-pound note, the inventory was grim. “I hope this is the end of our travels. I’m all out of funds.”

  “I hope Nicky is at home. Or we may be all out of options as well as funds.”

  A movement in the street caught her eye. “Well we shall soon find out. The driver is coming back already.”

  Careless of the puddles, the driver bounded with even bigger steps back to the cab than when he’d left. In fact, he was out of breath by the time he reached them. “’E said…” The cabby paused for a moment, obviously trying to remember the exact wording he’d been given. “The Mad Otter’ll let you in.”

  “Thank you, Driver. We are done with your services tonight.” George opened the door and jumped down, holding a hand out to help Jane alight the carriage after him.

  “Wot? Are you just gonna stand ’ere in the rain, sir?”

  “You needn’t worry about us. Here’s your fiver.” George handed him the note.

  The driver shrugged and gave the even longer suffering horse a slap of the reins. He talked to himself as he drove away, saying, “All this goin’ ’ither an’ thither an’ rabbits an’ otters. Otters? I suppose because o’ the rain. Absolutely barmy. But at least the missus’ll be pleased with the money…”

  Catching George’s eye, Jane tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle. She was holding George’s jacket over her head to keep out the rain, but George was getting soaked, the rain dripping down his mustache and making it droop forlornly. The sight made her giggle even more. “So now what?”

  “We wait for the Mad Otter…er…Hatter.”

  “And I suppose you are the White Rabbit?”

  “He is indeed,” said a new voice, and she turned around in surprise. A thin young gentleman carrying an oversized umbrella stood behind her. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he spoke with a vaguely Eastern European accent. So this must be Tesla. George’s next words confirmed it.

  “Nicky, thank God. Let’s get out of the rain, shall we?”

  “Your lady friend?” Tesla cast her a suspicious look.

  “Jane. She’s all right, I promise. I’ll explain later.”

  Tesla grinned at George. “You have so very much to explain, my friend. But I am glad to see you. I have been very worried.”

  They followed him to a covered gazebo in the corner of the square where he took a key out of his vest pocket. The gazebo had a center column, and Tesla fitted the key into a tiny hole, nearly imperceptible amidst the ornate carvings that decorated the column. This opened a panel in the column and George stepped through first.

  “After you, Jane.” Tesla waited for Jane to precede him. “Watch your step.”

  Jane nearly fell headlong into George, despite Tesla’s warning. The floor dropped away just inches from the entrance, into a dark, steep stairwell. She reached out for the reassuring warmth of George’s back ahead of her, and his hand came up to cover hers, steadying her. “This certainly does feel like falling down the rabbit hole.”

  “Yes, and you must be our Alice,” Tesla mused. “Come to think of it, we’ve never had an Alice before.”

  “Why didn’t you bring a lamp, Nicky?” complained George.

  “I didn’t think we would need one. You know this passage almost as well as I do.”

  At the end of the stairwell, the passage widened slightly, but not enough for them to break their single-file line. Jane counted her steps as they continued to make their way slowly through the tunnel. They must have gone under the full width of the block by the time George warned, “There are more steps now, leading up. Hold on to my hand and you should be fine.”

  He fiddled with a door, and then there was light, blinding after the dark of the passage. She blinked a few times, clearing her vision, before she gasped.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Amusement mixed with pride in George’s voice.

  Jane could only stare mutely at the contents of the room. It was, in many ways, like Alice’s Wonderland come to life, but with machines instead of plants and animals. A massive console of knobs and levers and switches surrounded a column in the center of the room, and within the column a giant piston pumped up and down, a faint hiss of steam emanating from it. The lighting was bright, much brighter than gas lamps could provide, and when she looked about for the source, she saw crackling globes filled with miniature lightning and other tiny bulbs filled with captured fire.

  She moved deeper into the room, ducking under cables of the bulbs that were strung from corner to corner, like fairy lights suspended in midair.

  “This is my laboratory.” Tesla threw his arms wide like the master of ceremonies at Astley’s Amphitheater. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s…” Jane swallowed, searching for words. “I’m awed.” She went over to a device, a conical stand with a pivoting, telescoping arm. “What’s this
?”

  “Don’t touch that,” shouted both George and Tesla, and she jumped back. George came over to her and took her by the hand, guiding her away while Tesla moved to the device and jiggled it, retracting the arm and folding it down.

  “What is it?” Jane eyed the device with suspicion.

  “Nicky’s death ray.” George’s voice was dry.

  Her eyes round, Jane took another step back. “Does it work?”

  “So far the only thing it’s killed is our operating budget.” George ducked to one side when a spanner came flying at his head from Tesla’s direction.

  “It is still in the early development stage.” Tesla shot George a mild glare to follow the spanner. “Come, I think I have something in here that might interest you.”

  He stepped over to a huge double armoire that boasted an impressive array of vacuum tubes and whirling gears attached to it.

  “What does this do? Is it something special?” Jane half-expected the giant cabinet to fly.

  Tesla laughed. “It is a closet where I keep spare clothes.” Opening it, he took out a fresh suit of clothes and a fluffy white robe. The suit he handed to George, who was of the same height and lean build. “I’m afraid my wardrobe is lacking in proper ladies’ garments, however. I can send someone out for something more suitable in the morning.”

  The two men moved away to give Jane privacy as she shed her clothes and donned the robe. It was a relief to be out of her wet corset. She laid out her clothes to dry the rest of the way, and walked over to a table filled with round, disc-like objects about the diameter of her thumb. It took her a second to recognize them. They were half the size she was used to and lacked the bulky power sources that were such an inconvenience to carry around. “These are etheric force transmitters.” Jane looked up to see a silent exchange between Tesla and George.

  “Yes, they are.” Tesla raised an eyebrow. “George, you must tell me how you came to meet this lovely young woman. Does it have something to do with your disappearance a few days ago? We were all quite worried. Nissl has been absolutely beside himself.”

  He had uttered the last sentence with an odd inflection, almost one of malice. George didn’t notice, or if he did, he showed no reaction. Now that Tesla was in the lab, he was consumed by a restless energy. After putting away the death ray, he continued to move from one machine to another, tinkering and adjusting, tightening a knob here, shifting pieces there. Jane re-examined the devices in front of her. An unfamiliar box was hooked up to one of the transmitters. “What is this?” She picked it up.

  George came over to look. “It’s an etheric force transcriber.”

  At her confused look, he smiled and took it from her. Pressing a switch on the side, he spoke into the more familiar transmitter attached to it. “Nicky’s quite the genius, isn’t he?” said George.

  “Um, yes…” agreed Jane, still perplexed.

  George flicked the switch again, and his voice, tinny and scratchy but still recognizable, came out. “Nicky’s quite the genius, isn’t he,” it repeated.

  Delighted, she laughed and held out her hand. “May I try it?” He gave it to her, along with an abbreviated explanation of how it worked. She experimented with the transmitter, varying the pitch of her voice, and played it back, engrossed in the device like a child with a toy.

  George left her and went to Tesla, and the two of them, apparently reassured by her nonstop babble, began to converse. Singing a soft little lullaby, something her mother taught her that she could do in her sleep, she listened while George told Tesla of his kidnapping, leaving out her part in his actual abduction.

  “And the girl?” Tesla glanced in her direction, but she made a show of examining every detail of the…what had George called it? Ah yes, the transcriber.

  “Jane helped me escape.”

  “You make no sense, George. How was she able to do that?” Tesla paused. “Was she a servant in the house where you were held?”

  Self-conscious, Jane suppressed the urge to run a hand through her hair. His words made it clear how bedraggled she must look. She wandered toward another part of the room behind the two men so that they were facing away from her. An awkward position for eavesdropping, but she could still catch most of what they were saying.

  “The leader of the gang is a man named Robert Easton.” George rubbed the back of his neck. Even from her obscured position he looked exhausted.

  “Did you actually meet this Easton?” asked Tesla.

  Jane came upon another table of intriguing devices. She reached for one that was a strange amalgam of the inner workings of a clock and a miniature printing press. The transcriber was still in her hand, so she slipped it into the capacious pocket of her robe. The two men continued to talk.

  George nodded. “Yes. We spoke briefly.”

  “Did he give you any indication as to why you were abducted?”

  “Jane believes it is for some grand cause, a new Luddite movement, but I have my doubts. Easton did not strike me as a man with a cause in the conversation we had.”

  George’s words stirred a recent memory in her, something that had struck her as odd but she’d dismissed it at the time.

  “Mr. Easton did say something strange tonight,” Jane interjected, directing her next comment at George. “He said that it wasn’t in his orders to let you go.”

  “Are you saying that this Easton fellow was working for someone else?” Tesla’s eyes narrowed.

  Wary of revealing too much of her role in the organization, Jane hedged. “I wouldn’t know. But he was drunk tonight, and unhappy. He certainly implied that he was doing something against his will. He referred to a higher power, which at the time of course I took to mean God, but…” She wracked her brain trying to remember Easton’s exact words. “Something about Loki and Hephaestus. He wasn’t making much sense.”

  “This is very interesting.” Tesla’s accent made the words sound particularly sinister. “You should know, George, that there are rumors that Nissl and Alzheimer are pleased to have you—what is the phrase?—out of the picture. We have been instructed to keep silent about what happened at your house that night—”

  “What did happen at my house?” interrupted George.

  “Don’t you know?”

  “I was in the cellar, there was a commotion and I thought I heard a pistol shot. I climbed through the cellar window into the garden, and I was captured at gunpoint, blindfolded and taken away. That’s all I know.”

  Rubbing his hands together in glee, Tesla grinned. “Masked men invaded your house. Nissl, Alzheimer and I were all waiting for your return at the card table when they appeared. They ordered us to get up and follow them, but Nissl managed to knock the pistol from the hand of the man closest to him. It was a foolish thing to do; we all could have been killed. But the pistol went off, and the noise alerted the extra Scotland Yard men stationed in your house.” Tesla cocked his head at George. “You never told me about them.”

  “What, the ones in the kitchen? They weren’t there officially. A few of the men have been using my house for their own game. On the sly, you know. Some of them come in early and they play through the shift change. Poker has become all the rage at the Yard and apparently their commander disapproves. I don’t like to bruit it about, for their sake.”

  Tesla snorted. “Only you, George, would be hosting illicit Scotland Yard poker games in your kitchen. Well, the shot alerted some of those card players and they rushed into the room, taking the bandits by surprise. There was a scuffle and more shots. In the end the ruffians escaped and everyone was present and accounted for, except you. We weren’t sure if you’d been taken or if…”

  “If what?” George’s expression grew stormy.

  “Well of course no other thought crossed my mind but that you had been abducted, but Nissl seemed to think it was very suspicious that you left the cardroom just before the men appeared. As I was saying before, there have been some rumors that Nissl and Alzheimer view the fortunes of their l
aboratory rising, now that you’ve disappeared. I’ve heard that they’ve been privately saying that you may have somehow fled because of something nefarious on your part.”

  “I don’t believe it.” George shook his head. “Franz and Alois may not always see eye to eye with our research, but they are my friends as well as my colleagues. I won’t credit the idea that they are plotting against me.”

  “I’m sure you are right.” Tesla pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Thinking of those two and the way Prime Minister Huxley already caters to them, it gives me a headache.”

  “You said that you have been pressed to keep silent about what happened to G—Mr. Wells.” Jane’s tone was deliberate as she chased down a thought. “Does that mean that no one at all knows that Mr. Wells was kidnapped?”

  “Well, as I said, some of us were not entirely sure that was the case.”

  “But there must have been no question once Easton’s demands were delivered to the Prime Minister?” asked Jane.

  Tesla looked up, alert. “Demands?”

  “Yes. He demanded that all work on the new National Academy laboratories cease, and a full accounting of Nissl’s work be released to the public.”

  “What an odd set of demands,” mused Tesla.

  Jane blushed. It certainly seemed quixotic while standing in the midst of Tesla’s marvel of a laboratory. “Once he received them, the Prime Minister must have known that Mr. Wells had been kidnapped.”

  “I can tell you that the PM never received any such demands.” Tesla spoke with authority.

  “But Robert Easton sent them. I’m sure he did. He said that the government had been unresponsive. Could…could the demands have not been presented to the PM?”

  “How did you know that he sent them?” That was George, looking as confused as she was.

  “I…” It occurred to Jane that she didn’t know for sure. She had never seen a messenger leave the house, or seen a letter posted. “Well, how does Mr. Tesla know that the PM never received them?” she countered.

  “Well if he did, he’s a better actor than I would have thought.” Tesla’s lips twisted in disapproval. “I spoke to him just this morning, trying to convince him that Nissl might have been behind George’s disappearance, and he would have none of it. He said he still wasn’t sure that George hadn’t hit his head in the scuffle and wandered off, or some other such nonsense. And then he had the nerve to argue with me that Nissl’s work might be more applicable than my own if this was the case, and the shift in budget was wholly justified. He is smitten with the idea of some sort of Utopia built on their work. The man is mad.”