It took Lars and Charles together to move a large crate, which looked suspiciously like the weapon Adam had used during the fight at Jake’s father’s interment.
“You saw one of my special projects at the cemetery,” Adam said as the workmen carried in the heavy box. “The Tesla ray served its purpose, but it was rough. I’ve been trying to refine the beam to make it a little less—unpredictable. And I think I’m close to making it more portable.”
In other words, to make it more dangerous for the people in front of the contraption than for those behind the controls, Jake thought.
“It’s technically an off-the-books project anyhow,” Adam said. “Now and then, Mr. Tesla drops by late at night when I’m working alone down in the lab. He’ll hand off some drawings, maybe a sketch he’s made on a scrap of paper or an equation, and tell me to run with it, but keep it quiet.” He laughed. “Why do you think I’m so happy to work odd hours?”
Lars and Charles returned from the back of the wagon, and Kovach handed Charles back his rifle.
“We’ve got one more load,” Adam said.
“Make it quick,” Kovach snapped. “We’ve been here too long already.”
Adam and Lars headed back down in the elevator. When they returned, they had two more werkmen with them, but the mechanical men looked different from Charles and Lars. Adam spoke a few quiet words to his creations, and they lined up to enter the wagon, then stood, rigid as soldiers on review, with the rest of the cargo.
“Prototypes,” Adam said. “They look alike on the outside, but inside, we’ve made a lot of improvements.” He lifted up a bag and rattled it. “I’ve been doing a lot of radio telegraph experiments, like what’s in the little pods I equipped your airship with. There’s so much more that could be done.”
“Save the chatter,” Kovach prodded. “Let’s get out of here before someone comes by.”
Adam locked the door behind them, and he and Lars turned to follow the others to the wagon. Lars stopped suddenly, and looked back at the building.
“Dr. Farber,” Lars said in a scratchy voice that sounded like a phonograph recording. “I detect the presence of nitric acid. Containment is advised.”
“We’ve got problems,” Adam said.
“Come on!” Kovach urged.
Adam shook his head. He pointed toward a stack of small wooden crates just a few feet away from the door they had just locked. “Those boxes shouldn’t be there,” Adam said. He turned to Lars. “Is that where you’re detecting the nitric acid?”
“Yes, Dr. Farber.”
“Is anyone else in the building?” Kovach asked.
“No. At least, no one is supposed to be,” Adam replied.
“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Lars,” Adam said, ignoring Kovach. “Do you detect a mechanism in the boxes?”
“Yes, Dr. Farber.”
“Does anyone know you were planning to be here tonight?” Kovach demanded.
“Everyone knows I’m here every night,” Adam replied. “Go on ahead. Lars and I will defuse it.”
“Hell, no,” Jake said. “We need to get you—and us—out of here right now.”
“Dr. Farber,” Lars said in his flat, mechanical voice. “I have detected five more such boxes.”
“Can you tell how much time we’ve got before the clockworks winds down?” Kovach asked.
“The mechanism is nearly spent,” Lars replied.
“That does it,” Kovach said, grabbing Farber by the arm. Jake seized him by the other. “We’re getting out of here.”
Charles was already in the driver’s seat, and Jake guessed that he had no desire to be blown up twice in as many days. Rick and Jake pushed Adam into the back of the wagon, dragging Lars with them as Kovach slammed the back doors shut, leaving them in darkness.
“Move!” Kovach hissed to Charles as he ran for the driver’s seat. The wagon lurched as the horses took off abruptly, making Jake, Rick, and Adam lose their balance and nearly toppling the werkmen onto them.
A deafening roar sounded behind them, then another and another. Thumps and thuds came as debris rained down on the carriage.
“The lab!” Adam cried out, lurching as if he meant to throw himself out of the wagon doors. Jake and Rick grabbed his arms and held on tightly.
“You’re sure no one knew you were planning to move some of your projects tonight?” Rick asked, searching for a handhold as the wagon careened around a corner.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” Adam swore.
“Thaddeus.” Lars’s flat voice sounded in the darkness.
“Who’s Thaddeus?” Jake lost his footing as the wagon took another sharp corner at high speed. He staggered, and landed against one of the werkmen prototypes, which caught him and kept him from falling. “Thanks,” he muttered, managing to get his balance again.
“Thaddeus Hillard, my assistant,” Adam replied. His voice was thin and reedy; Jake guessed the inventor was reeling from the bombing’s implications. He turned towards Lars. “What made you think of Thaddeus?”
“He removes files for projects not assigned to him. He enters restricted areas.” Lars replied tonelessly.
“Wait, what?” Adam said abruptly. “What do you mean, he enters restricted areas?”
“He leaves at night, and then returns. He goes to other labs and offices.”
Adam frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“Your supervisor ordered me to give him access,” Lars replied.
Adam swore under his breath. “Did my boss order you not to tell me?”
“No,” Lars said. “But he did not order me to tell you. You did not ask. Thaddeus’s clearance level was sufficient for what he was doing and where he was going. It was not relevant to speak of until now.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a spy,” Rick said. “But the real question is—is Thaddeus the one who planted the bomb, or is more than one enemy involved?”
“One is enough,” Adam said, sagging to sit on the wagon floor. The horses had slowed their pace, even as the clang of fire alarms roused residents of Wilmerding from their beds and fire trucks rattled toward the Castle.
“Did you have any other problems, after what happened when Cullen and I were with you?” Rick asked.
“Little things that were off,” Adam said, sounding tired and defeated. “My boss has always left me alone to tinker, but he started asking a lot of questions, trying to get a look at the projects that aren’t ready to show anyone yet.”
“Is that so strange?” Rick asked. “He is your boss.”
“You don’t understand,” Adam said miserably. “Some of my projects come direct from Mr. Tesla. Those are off-limits, even from my boss. Other projects come from the government—like the Department—or private patrons—like Brand and Desmet. They negotiate my time with my boss, but they provide the budget, and usually a very strict contract, so the projects themselves are on a need-to-know basis, and he usually doesn’t need to know.”
“Did either your boss or Thaddeus threaten you?” Jake asked.
“No,” Adam replied. “I just felt… watched. I used to feel very safe at the Castle, but the last couple of weeks, it’s been strange. Odd people in and out. Mr. Thwaites having a lot of meetings with my boss. I don’t go upstairs much, but I have friends in the front office, and they were getting nervous.”
“Nervous about what?” The wagon jolted them so hard Jake’s teeth snapped together, and he bit back a cry of pain as he fell against his wounded arm. Blood trickled down his skin underneath his sleeve.
Adam took a deep breath. “I heard talk about strangers walking back and forth by the Castle, or sitting on a park bench nearby, watching the place. Then some shipments for the Department went missing.” He sighed. “That’s about the time my boss ‘gave’ me Thaddeus. Told me he would help me manage my hours, finish more projects in less time.”
“You didn’t ask for an assistant?’
“No. I like w
orking alone. Thaddeus was nice enough, but he always seemed to be in the way.”
A sudden suspicion nagged at the corners of Jake’s mind. “You don’t happen to know a guy named Mitch Storm, do you?”
“You’ve met him? Sure. Where do you think we get the money to do half of the stuff we do here?” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “But we’re always very careful to keep the best stuff for ourselves.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jake said. “What’s your take on Storm and his partner?”
Adam shrugged. “They’re all right, as government types go. Did I ever show you my clockwork homing pigeons?”
“Maybe another time,” Rick said, trying to gently nudge Adam back on topic. “Are you working on anything that might make someone want to blow up the Castle?”
Adam was quiet for a moment. “Steal things? Yes. Kidnap me? I guess we know the answer to that one. Blow the place up? No.”
“What were you afraid might get stolen?” Jake prodded.
“My werkmen. That’s another reason why I wanted you to come and get me before it was too late. Lots of people have tried to make automatons. No one’s are as good as mine.” Adam’s voice held no boasting, only a simple statement of fact.
“We have Charles,” Jake said. “You’ve got Lars. You brought your prototypes with us. Does anyone else have one of your werkmen?”
“I’ve built a couple for the Department of Supernatural Investigations—Mitch Storm’s outfit,” Adam replied. “And they’ve also got Hans, the first flesh-and-blood man I outfitted with clockwork pieces to replace damaged body parts; my first Midas.” Adam’s voice regained its enthusiasm. “Imagine—no more war wounded! No more men crippled by industrial accidents!”
“You sound like you’re veering a little close to resurrectionist territory,” Rick replied with a worried tone. “Tell me you didn’t do any grave robbing.”
“Absolutely not! I’ve only made a couple of Midas men, and they are very much alive. I practiced on some cadavers, but the ones we used all came from verified sources.”
“Unfortunately, I can think of a lot of shady types who would love to get their hands on that kind of equipment,” Jake said. “And they’d be more than willing to steal it.”
“Steal it, yes. But then why blow up the Castle?” Adam asked. “Do you think Kovach would go back—just close enough that we can see how bad the damage is?”
“No!” Both Jake and Rick spoke at once.
For a moment, they sat in silence. “We’ll get you to the warehouse in the Strip District that we were renovating before Father died,” Jake said finally. “Miska will post guards. You should have plenty of room there, and since the renovation’s been halted indefinitely, there shouldn’t be anyone in or out.”
“Would anyone be overly distressed if you went missing?” Rick asked. “Because it could take a while for the police to figure out whether or not anyone got killed in the bombing. You could disappear, let things cool off, maybe throw the thugs off your trail until we figure out what’s going on.”
“I don’t have any close family, or romantic interests—at least, not right now. Some of the people at work might be worried, but they’ll be just as glad when I show up again, so I think it will be all right.”
“There’s a tunnel that runs between the main Brand and Desmet building and the new warehouse,” Jake said. “No one else should have a reason to use it. We can keep you supplied with food and materials without anyone seeing us coming and going.”
“Suits me,” Adam said. “After tonight, I don’t want to poke my head outside until we know who set those bombs—and who sent the kidnappers.”
The streets of New Pittsburgh were nearly empty. Charles slowed the wagon to a decorous pace that was unlikely to draw attention. Finally, the horses came to a stop, and Jake’s hand fell to the Colt revolver in his holster, just in case.
The doors opened and Kovach stood framed in the dim glow of the gas lamps. “We’re here,” he said. “Step lively.”
Charles brought the wagon up to the side entrance of the warehouse, close to the big doors to the building’s basement. Adam rallied his werkmen, and they made short work of carrying in the heavy boxes and crates, filing in with orderly precision.
In another hour or two, Smallman Street would be bustling with greengrocers and fruit merchants, fishmongers, and bakers. But right now, in the wee hours just before dawn, Jake saw few people; and those who were awake were going about their business with insomniac intensity, paying them no attention.
“What do you think?” Jake asked. “Will it do?” The large basement had narrow frosted glass windows at sidewalk level, covered with iron bars, assuring privacy and security.
“Oh, my,” Adam said, turning to take in the huge, empty space. Overhead, bare Edison bulbs glowed, illuminating the laboratory’s new home. “This is perfect.”
“You’ve got water and electricity,” Jake said. “There won’t be anyone up above to be bothered by noise, and as long as you don’t blow the place sky high, the din on Smallman Street during the day is enough that no one should hear anything you’re doing.”
“Thank you,” Adam stammered, overwhelmed. “I was afraid I’d end up with all the werkmen stuffed into my landlady’s attic and me tinkering in the garden shed.”
Rick chuckled. “I think we can do a bit better than that. And if you like it, we can work out a more permanent arrangement,” he added off-handedly.
“Absolutely,” Jake said. “We can talk about adding security, a special entrance, an apartment for when you work late, whatever you need. There’s also a sub-basement that hasn’t been reclaimed; it may come in handy.” He met Adam’s gaze. “Think about it. Here, you can work on your private contracts and special projects away from the prying eyes of Tesla-Westinghouse. And if they insist, you can always keep your projects for them over at the Castle.”
“If the Castle still stands. I feel awful that I was the cause of all that.” Adam sighed. “And it wasn’t even an experiment gone wrong this time.”
“You didn’t cause the blast,” Rick said. “Someone else planted those bombs. The real question is—which of your projects were they trying to stop?”
“Or, was it Adam himself they were trying to stop?” Jake asked. “We need to seriously consider whether he was the target, not just his inventions, especially if someone knew you keep late hours and were likely to be there when the blast went off.”
Adam paled and sat down on a pallet of two-by-fours, looking as if he might pass out. He stared wide-eyed at Jake and Rick. “It’s one thing to be kidnapped. Do you really think someone is trying to kill me?”
“I think we need to err on the safe side, until we figure out what is actually going on,” Rick replied. “Drostan Fletcher’s due to report in, and that might shed some light. Tomorrow, we’ll find out how much damage was done to the Castle. You’ll go ‘missing’, Adam, at least until we know who the enemy is.”
“But my projects for Tesla-Westinghouse—and my patron-projects. What about them?” Adam asked.
“They’d come to a permanent halt if you were really dead,” Rick said. “Think how happy they’ll be to find out that you’re still alive. A little delay won’t seem so bad. And when it’s safe to bring you back, we’ll just say you got hit on the head and wandered off and took a while to come back to your senses.”
“How likely is it that Tesla-Westinghouse could hire someone else to take over your work?” Jake asked. “Like Thaddeus, for example.”
Adam thought for a moment. “Thaddeus is good at taking direction, but I haven’t seen him come up with anything on his own. I’m sure there are people they could find who could build from plans I’ve left behind—although the Tesla weapon technology is experimental. They’re not going to find many people with that kind of experience. As for the new stuff…” He shook his head. “I made sure to bring my notes and drawings with me, as well as the prototypes. And most of it was still up here,” he said,
tapping his forehead. “Anyone else would have to start from scratch.”
Just then, Jake heard distant pounding, as if someone were hammering on the first-floor door. He pressed a button, plunging them all into darkness. They waited in silence until Jake heard a voice from the top of the stairs.
“Jake?” Kovach called. “We’ve got a situation up here. There’s a very angry plumber, and he’s demanding to see you.”
Cautiously, Jake turned on the lights again.
“What on earth is a plumber doing here at this hour?” Rick said.
“We’ll find out,” Jake said with a shrug, leaving Adam and the others behind as he sprinted up the steps.
At the warehouse’s front door, Jake could see a heavy-set man arguing loudly with Kovach, who stood, arms-crossed. Behind the stranger was a cluster of a dozen men in tradesmen’s clothing, milling about and muttering angrily. Farther down the street, near the main Brand and Desmet building, another knot of men had formed a cordon around the basement doors.
As Jake drew closer, he caught bits of the angry man’s diatribe.
“Unpardonable! ...violation of contract. We won’t stand for it! ...ignoring Union rules—”
“What seems to be the problem?” Jake asked, joining the two men. By the light of the streetlamp, he could make out the stocky man’s features enough to recognize ‘Big’ Joe Doheimer, one of the senior plumbers Brand and Desmet retained to keep their buildings running, and the president of the New Pittsburgh Plumber’s Union #407.
Doheimer straightened to meet Jake’s gaze, flushed in the face from his argument with Kovach. “We’re onto you,” he said, wagging a finger in Jake’s face. “We know your secret. And we demand something be done about it, before someone gets hurt.”
Jake felt his stomach knot. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Doheimer took a step closer, so that his florid face was nearly nose-to-nose with Jake. “Don’t deny it! Brand and Desmet is using scab plumbers to get around Union wages.”
Iron and Blood Page 25
