The Clockwork Dungeon: An Inspector Ambrose Story (The Inspector Ambrose Mysteries Book 4)

by I H Laking

  “Don’t worry, Pemberton is not a Shade, Detective,” said Ethan. “Shades, as I understand it, are extremely unstable Mechs - and quite possibly a myth. Pemberton here has been serving this house since I was a boy, and is exemplary in his service - I did mention my uncle’s obsession with oddities, I’m sure. Pemberton is one of many interesting Mechs hosted in this house, and he doubles as security in case of a break-in. Allow him to take your coat and you’ll see he’s really quite the gentle giant.”

  Percy maintained a suspicious look as he handed his coat over to Pemberton. The Mech turned and disappeared into the bowels of the house, ducking under the doorway and almost skewering a painting in the process. Pritchard, meanwhile, had poured four glasses of wine, and now stood waiting with the drinks shaking a little on a silver tray. Felicity and Ethan picked up a glass, but both Percy and Ambrose politely passed up the offer, drawing a sneer from Pritchard. Ambrose was never one for drinking on the job, and whether he liked it or not, he had come here to help Ethan find this hidden treasure.

  “Perhaps I can show you a few of my uncle’s fascinating oddities before dinner?” Ethan pointed to the next level, and Felicity gave an excited response in the affirmative. Soon they were traipsing up the stairs, with the hobbling Percy lagging behind.

  As Ambrose found his way in the murky light, he managed to capture the feeling that had been dancing around the edges of his mind since he entered the mansion. Something was brimming in the air of the house, beyond the dim lights and eccentric staff. It wasn’t sinister, nor was it positive - Ambrose could simply describe it as being… misplaced. Like the house didn’t belong in some way.

  Perhaps it’s just the mess that’s bothering me.

  Ambrose looked at the tangle of objects that littered the upstairs balcony; here were the possessions of a man obsessed with hoarding the technical wonders of the Empire. But even as Ambrose paused to pick up a nick-knack from a dull grey mass lying against the wall, Ethan urged him on.

  “You’ll miss the really good stuff if you stop now,” he said with a smile.

  With Percy finally joining him, Ambrose followed Ethan as he walked arm in arm with Felicity along the balcony, elucidating about the state of the mansion and his hope to one day call it home for himself and his family.

  “Ah, here we are.”

  The group had reached a wide archway, and as they stepped through it, Ambrose recognised the space as some sort of gallery. Paintings hung on the wall in various sizes; tributes to wealth and the eye of the collector. But as they walked, a strange sense surrounded Ambrose once more; he barely recognised any of the subjects in the paintings, let alone the landscapes. The party passed through a sea of sculptures set in foreign dress, their cold eyes looking vacantly out through the gloom. Up ahead, Ethan threw open a set of double doors to reveal a moonlit room with a sparsely furnished floor. The young suitor disappeared around the corner, and when Ambrose stepped into the room he found Ethan looking up at a wall next to the doorway. The enormous wall featured three paintings, each taking a up a third of the gigantic space.

  “The pride of my uncle’s art collection.” Ethan swept an open palm through the air and beamed with the poise of someone who knows he’s about to impress someone.

  “I can see why,” said Ambrose quietly.

  Each of the rectangular paintings depicted a contrasting scene that somehow flowed into the next artwork. On the leftmost painting, a vast desert sprawled out with whips of sands flying high in the air. A lone figure stood framed by the setting sun behind it, seeming to drip sand from every limb. Ambrose’s eye was drawn to where the figure pointed skyward to a vapour that trailed over the distant mountains that were bathed in a pink glow.

  Following the vapour across, Ambrose came to the middle painting, where a city stood against a mountain range, lights glowing in the twilight. Red banners overflowed the city's walls, crimson against the fading rose hues. As plains and rivers ran away from the city, Ambrose made out another three figures pointing skywards to the vapour that continued over to the final painting.

  And in the rightmost artwork, Ambrose found further curiosity. The wide landscapes fell away, replaced instead by the rocky insides of a roofless cavern. In the centre of the painting sat a wide well with a wooden covering over it. People lay sprawled around the edges of the cavern on mats and rocks, some with crutches and walking sticks, others with deathly expressions; one thing was certain - every person in the painting was suffering, with their eyes on the well.

  Except for one person; a man in armour, with his face lifted high to a open sky above, where the moon beamed in an upside-down crescent. The light caught the man's eye, and he pointed to a spot in the stars. Ambrose squinted, and could make out the vapour again. His eyes followed the trail, to the point above the door they had walked in.

  A shudder ran down Ambrose’s spine. The sensation he had felt since entering the house consumed him as he took the paintings in. Shaking off the distraction, he turned to Ethan.

  “So these were your uncle’s pride?” Ambrose asked him.

  “Indeed they were. Quite the masterpieces, don’t you think?” Ethan's chest swelled a little.

  “I admire the skill, certainly - but I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the subject matter,” said Ambrose. “Perhaps you could enlighten us?”

  “Of course!” Ethan moved away from Felicity, who was paying quiet attention.

  “These paintings are set in the kingdom beyond the Empire’s great northern wastelands,” Ethan pointed to the leftmost frame. “There you’ll see the sands and mountains that border the west of the kingdom. In the centre is Visamoor, as my uncle used to tell it - the great seat of power set into a mountain range. ‘Impenetrable,’ my uncle called it.” Ethan paused momentarily for effect. “Finally,” he said, “on the right is a cavern set between the kingdom and the sea, where the infirm have travelled for centuries to cast their coins into the Wishing Well in hopes of healing.”

  “What about the figures in each painting?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know who they are, Inspector,” said Ethan.

  “What about the vapour they’re pointing to?” Ambrose traced the vague cloud to the corner of the rightmost painting. “Isn’t there something missing?” The question passed Ambrose's lips and his skin prickled intensely.

  Ethan looked up to the edge of the painting where the vapour disappeared. “Well, that’s new.” He walked up close and craned his neck. “I’ll have to take a closer look in the sunlight sometime, Inspector. Perhaps the vapour is disappearing into the distance there?”

  “Perhaps.” Ambrose scratched his neck as he pondered the scene.

  The sound of a bell jingling in the entrance hall caught the group’s attention.

  “Shall we?” said Ethan, offering his arm to Felicity once more.

  “We shall!” she said, flashing Ambrose a smile.

  Ambrose reciprocated, but as he and Percy passed out of the room, he muttered to his partner.

  “I wonder which relative did it?”

  “No idea, Inspector,” said Percy, “let’s hope the painting wasn’t a clue of some sort.”

  Ambrose nodded his agreement, and glanced up at the distinctly lighter shade of wallpaper above the door where a fourth painting had clearly sat until recently.

  As they wandered downstairs, Percy stayed close beside Ambrose, quietly noting things as they went. “You’d think they could clean the carpet a touch,” he said, scuffing the floor with his foot and raising a small cloud of dust from the grey wool they walked on. Ambrose nodded, but reserved his judgement on the state of the house.

  “I imagine the staff haven’t been so attentive since their master passed,” said Ambrose. “How’s the leg?”

  “A little better, thank you.” Percy eased himself down the first few steps, and Ambrose wondered how bad his partner was feeling to be lying about the state of his leg. From the way he was moving, it looked most serious. Eventually they reached the
ground floor, where Ethan took his leave to check in on the dinner preparations.

  Felicity wandered off to look at an oddity under another large painting, and Percy returned to jotting down still more notes. Ambrose’s heart jumped a little as he looked over to the corridor past the stairs and noticed Pemberton standing there, nearly blending in completely with the dark corner. The big Mech gave a little wave, which Ambrose reciprocated. Ethan returned, apologising profusely for the delay in preparations.

  “But not to worry,” he said, as Pritchard hurried into view behind him, carrying a silver platter spaced out with crackers, cheese, and…

  “What’s that, if I may ask?” said Percy, as he, Ambrose, and Felicity each took a napkin and assembled a small bite to eat.

  “Crayfish.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Crayfish, fresh from the market, as promised.”

  “Just checking.” Percy threw the entire assembly in his mouth. He froze mid-bite, just as Ambrose crunched down on his cracker, and immediately understood.

  Every bit of relief Ambrose had felt about not having to eat Felicity’s cooking dissolved as the slimy seafood hit his palate. He had also missed the hardness of the cheese in the gloom, along with the staleness of the crackers. An involuntary retch formed in the back of his throat, and he struggled to maintain a thin veneer of enjoyment as he forced the vile concoction down.

  Felicity had just bitten into her cracker, and her eyes flew wide. Ambrose attempted to engage their hosts in conversation as his sister descended into a violent coughing fit that barely masked her upchucking the concoction into her napkin.

  “Tell me, Pritchard, did you get this seafood from the market? It certainly is… unique.”

  “Oh yes, sir,” said Pritchard. “I got a special price from the market stall.”

  “Who exactly was selling this?” Percy wiped his mouth and dabbed his forehead.

  “Not sure of her name,” said Pritchard. “Was a big lady, wore a blue and white striped apron.”

  Ambrose and Percy made eye contact.

  Madeline.

  There wasn’t a single trader in the slums who wasn’t known to Ambrose and Percy. Pritchard had somehow chosen a lady with low standards in freshness, and even lower ethics.

  “Well, I have enjoyed trying such an exotic mouthful.” Ambrose did his best to conceal how little he had eaten, as Pritchard beamed with joy. “Did you say dinner would be delayed?” Ambrose enquired.

  “Yes, the fish stew is taking rather longer than expected,” Pritchard lamented.

  “F-fish stew?” said Percy, his eyes like saucers.

  “Yes sir,” said Pritchard. “I’ve a full selection of seafood today. Fish stew, fish pie, and a whole fish for the main course. I’ve even managed to incorporate fish into the dessert!”

  “I think I’ll get a little water,” said Percy, heading for the side table. Felicity had finished coughing, but the news of the upcoming menu had turned her a slight shade paler.

  “Sounds delightful!” Ambrose clapped his hands together, quite forgetting the seafood that dwelled within his napkin. As he felt a piece of shell nearly piercing his palm, he made his decision: if they could help Ethan out with finding this hidden treasure, there was a possibility they might be able to excuse themselves before the onslaught of dinner. Though politeness was always Ambrose’s watchword, now was the time for survival. And failing to finish a host’s meal would be far worse than leaving early due to an implied illness.

  “Since dinner will be a while, perhaps we could get started on the matter at hand?” Ambrose arched his eyebrows in Ethan's general direction.

  “I suppose we could, but if we wait a while, it’d be easier to-”

  “Oh, I insist.” Ambrose smiled at Ethan, who looked between his guests and nodded.

  “Very well,” he said. “Follow me, and I’ll show you where I think the treasure’s hidden.”

  Ambrose’s shoulders relaxed a little as Ethan headed towards the corner where Pemberton was waiting. As each of the guests returned their napkins to the smiling Pritchard, Ambrose hoped the butler didn’t notice the thorough rejection of his culinary skills. Ambrose gulped a little water from the side table before following the others down the corridor past Pemberton, who seemed to give a low groan before falling in step with the group.

  Charming staff.

  The corridor curved to the right, leading into what Ambrose deduced to be the bottom storey of the north wing. This part of the mansion was dark and dank, with a musty reek rising from the carpet. At the back of the group, Pemberton was hunched right over to avoid damaging the woodwork. Up ahead, the corridor ended abruptly and Ambrose squinted as he stepped into a well-lit room at last.

  And the scene took his breath away.

  IV

  Like the entrance hall, the chamber beyond the corridor stretched all the way to the roof of the house. Unlike the entrance hall, the chamber shone with brilliant gaslights, reflected a million times by contents of the room.

  Mechs sparkled in neat rows of glass cabinets along the chamber’s walls; Ambrose had never seen so many in one place. Big and small, domestic and commercial, Ethan's uncle had stored a life’s worth of work inside a room that seemed to take up half of the north wing. Each of the Mechs shone to perfection and stood still, gazing out at everything and nothing.

  “This is… incredible.”

  “Indeed, Inspector,” said Ethan. “Welcome to the chamber of Mechs.”

  Ambrose found himself captivated once again. He had worked with Mechs for his entire adult life, and even as a child they had fascinated him. For a moment, he was a boy looking up at Mechs in wonder, admiring their mystery and mastery. He scanned the rows of peculiar shapes and sizes, until one particular Mech captured his attention.

  The Mech was made of three metals wound in stripes around its body; gold, silver, and iron. Its head was round, with a sharp tip above its bulbous black eyes, topped with a sphere. The Mech was exquisite in Ambrose’s opinion; unlike any he had ever seen. Its hands were clasped to its chest and it clutched a card in its slender fingers, with two short sentences on it:

  You need help.

  Shout aloud and I’ll be there.

  Ambrose craned his neck, looking at the Mech with intense interest.

  “She’s a beauty, yes?” Ethan was next to Ambrose now. “One of the rarest Mechs you’ll find, this one.”

  “Yes, it’s quite something.” Ambrose looked down at the Mech’s feet, where a bronze plaque sat stating its age, Artisan, and origin. As Ambrose tore himself from the cabinet and made his way along the wall, he saw the plaques repeated with different details. Ethan stayed behind, peering at the tri-coloured Mech with interest. Ambrose was almost in a trance. The room was filled with samples of the Empire’s long history with Mechs over the past centuries, and it was everything he could have hoped for. After circling the room, Ambrose came back to the centre, noticing one key detail: no other Mech held a card in its hands aside from the tri-coloured Mech.

  “All these Mechs are inactive, yes?” Ambrose said to Ethan, who was frowning a little.

  “Quite inactive. It wouldn’t do to keep Mechs cooped up in here when they could be working. Needless to say my uncle’s enthusiasm for Mechs has resulted in a wondrous collection.”

  “That goes without saying,” said Percy, who was inspecting the striped Mech himself. He jotted a few notes, then turned to Ethan. “Is this where we’ll discover the treasure?” he asked.

  “You’ll find the starting point to the treasure this way,” said Ethan. “If you’re able to comprehend it, that is. My uncle’s passion for Mechs was matched only by his delight in puzzles. I believe that’s why he created the dungeon.”

  “The what?” Felicity spun around from where she had been admiring a bespectacled Mech. “Please tell me we’re not heading into some dank hole of a dungeon.”

  “Not at all, my dear.” Ethan hurried over to reassure her. “We’re unlike
ly to be heading anywhere, because I haven’t even found a way to access the dungeon - which is, I assume, where the treasure is hidden.”

  Ambrose exchanged a look with Percy. Dungeons and Mechs; it didn’t sound like an easy combination. Still, with more heads thinking about the task, it might prove to be an easier conundrum than anticipated.

  The party moved to the far end of the room and Ethan pulled open a panel on the wall, revealing an ornate lever.

  “Ready?” he asked, before proceeding to push down with considerable effort on the lever.

  The middle of the rear wall graunched and groaned, slowly pulling apart to reveal a set of wooden doors featuring large windows on each side, and engraved with gold leaf lettering above them. Felicity read the engraving out loud.

  Oh, buoyant knowledge! One ticking with a curse!

  “That makes no sense,” she said, as Percy wrote the words down in his notebook.

  “Indeed. And so the mystery begins,” said Ethan, placing his hands on the brass door knobs.

  “Welcome to my uncle’s study.”

  Ethan flung the doors wide open, revealing another large room beyond the chamber. This room was lined with books, and shelves stretched to the ceiling. Each tome was a different shade and size, and there was little uniformity in the collection. Piles of books sat around the green carpet, occasionally interrupted by a reading chair. There was a large wooden desk at the far end of the room, overflowing with yet more books, adding to the faded kaleidoscope of colours.

  It could have been any study, anywhere in the Empire, but one thing set this room apart: in the centre of the floor was a white stone plinth, and sitting atop it was the torso of a thin bronze Mech, with its arms resting in front of it. The Mech stared lifelessly at the entrance, never moving. Ambrose looked at the others, then to Ethan.

  “This is the nicest dungeon I’ve ever seen,” Felicity broke the silence.

  “It’s not the dungeon, my dear,” said Ethan. “But I’m convinced the entrance is in here somewhere. Perhaps a look around will help?” Ethan gestured inside, and the group followed.