“Yes, I will, since it is my job,” he replied acerbically. “As I am gainfully employed by the most well-respected law firm in the country, I do not have the luxury of picking and choosing which cases I pursue, and in this case, defend.”
“You must forgive him, my dear,” Edwina interjected, “Our Magnus isn’t much of a morning person. Hasn’t been since he was a wee thing.”
Now, Magnus,” Cornelius said around a mouthful of beans, “what is this about the South West Spesium Mining Corporation?”
“Cornelius, I told you: there was an explosion in the mines a few weeks ago, and Magnus’s firm has given him the job,” Edwina explained.
“Good on you, son! You show Sir Edgar Clinton that workers deserve a fair wage and good working conditions.” This, of course, from the man who sported more scars, bruises and burns than many miners.
There was an awkward silence. Finally, Minerva broke it.
“But sir- Magnus is defending Sir Edgar Clinton and his company, not the miners.” Cornelius stared, then slowly put down his knife and fork and swallowed. He then levelled his blue eyes at Magnus.
“Magnus,” he began, and his son rolled his eyes heavenward and stroked his slick hair. “You know that when I discovered spesium and invented coal-syrup, I made the process widely and freely available so that no one would be without the benefits that come with this energy enhancer. I, that is, we wanted everyone to prosper” he smiled at his wife. No one, not even their children, knew exactly what part Edwina had played in the discovery and invention of coal syrup. They sometimes thought that they didn’t want to.
“But then, a few years later, Clinton began to buy up all the regional mines and companies producing coal-syrup and created a conglomerate with the sole purpose of making money and hoarding the spesium, thus creating a monopoly. Now, does that sound like a person you want to work for, to defend in a court of law?” Magnus threw down his napkin.
“Are you done? Then listen to this. Everyone under the laws of this country is entitled to a defence in a court of law. That includes Sir Edgar Clinton. Just because he happens to be wealthy does not mean that he is in any way guilty.”
“But it does mean that, since he can afford the best lawyer, he’ll probably win. And especially since he’ll be tried in the House of Lords, full of his cronies,” Minerva added, and Magnus shot her a dark, quelling look. She returned it, measure for measure.
“Then the miners should have thought of that before,” Magnus retorted, chomping down his last piece of toast.
“They were too busy, trying to earn a living and not get killed down the shafts!”
Magnus shoved back his chair and strode out into the hallway, too mad to say goodbye to his family.
But not to be outdone, Minerva followed him.
“Magnus,” She said his name so quietly that he almost didn’t catch it, and turned around as he was tugging on his leather overcoat that Steamins proffered.
“What?” he growled.
“Just look into the case. Make sure that you’re defending the right people.”
“I’m defending the person who hired me, who needs me.”
“Does he really? Or is he just using you to hide his evils?”
Magnus didn’t even bother to answer, and flung himself out the door…and out into the pouring, sizzling scarlet rain.
Though not as pleasant as in dry weather, the drive to work presented Magnus with some diverting challenges that took his mind off the quagmire of emotions that threatened him with his new living arrangements.
Meanwhile, Minerva came back into the dining room and quickly made profuse apologies.
“No need, my dear, no need!” exclaimed Cornelius, looking at her as though she were a glowing piece of rare, golden spesium. “You gave our boy just what he needs, a good run for his money! Take him to task, by all means! Make him think of others first, those that can’t buy the law. He needs that!
“Wouldn’t happen to have any Gallic blood in you, by any chance?” he asked off-handedly. Minerva shook her head.
“I don’t think so, sir.” Cornelius shrugged.
“Ah, well. Could have fooled me. Reminded me of my own darling wife when she has a bee in her bonnet.”
Amidst Edwina’s fervent protestations, he happily went back to his breakfast.
Halfway to his office, Magnus was sweating in his personal steamer and felt as though he had run a mile. But slowly, his breath evened and the mad pounding of his heart subsided. By the time he got to the office, his mind was fully on the task at hand- almost.
“Good morning, sir!’ Addison jumped up from his chair as Magnus entered the outer office. “Bit of a bad day, isn’t it, sir?”
“You couldn’t be more right, Addison. I’ve been evicted from my home by a vindictive valet who caused a flood, and now I have to stay at the family pile with a wilful suffragette Mother met in jail yesterday. It’s all rotten!”
Addison took a step back, surprised at vehemence and personal disclosure from his usually reticent boss.
“I was referring to the weather, sir.”
“Oh,” Magnus grunted, and strode into his office. Addison crept in behind him. “I’ll just turn on the luminosity tubes, shall I?” Magnus nodded as he began to unpack his briefcase.
Addison flitted around the room, turning up the valves on the bottom of vertical glass tubes suspended by copper chains. Slowly, a gently pulsing, lemon yellow light emanated from them and suffused the room with a sunny glow.
“Right,” Magnus sat down. “What’s on the docket, Addison?”
“Um, nothing, sir.” Magnus glared at his secretary disbelievingly.
“Nothing?”
“Well, nothing except the mining case.”
“But what about Dunhill trial or the paperwork for the Bartel account? Only yesterday you were complaining that I was behind on my paper work, and I know that you only put a third of it on my desk.”
Addison nodded nervously, acknowledging the fact that theirs was a paper-ridden vocation.
“Indeed, sir. However, when I arrived earlier, Sir Nicodemus sent three clerks down. They asked for all the paperwork you had yet to complete and took it with them.”
“You let them take it!” Magnus barked. Addison took another step back from the imposing desk and swallowed. This was not like his superior at all.
Magnus noticed his secretary’s nervousness and quickly regained himself.
“Of course you did, Addison. There was nothing else you could have done. Did they give a reason?”
Addison nodded. “Yes. They said that Sir Nicodemus wanted one-hundred percent of your attention on the mining case, and that until it is settled you will have no paperwork or other assignments.”
“But I usually work half a dozen cases at a time, at least! How am I supposed to fulfil my obligations to the firm?”
Of course, what he really meant was, how was he supposed to become a full partner if he wasn’t pulling more than his share of the firm’s case load, showing everyone – especially himself- that he deserved it?
Addison, well aware of Magnus’s ambitions, and equally desirous of a position as secretary to a partner, nodded sympathetically and shrugged. Magnus sighed and straitened his already immaculate cuffs.
“Well, did the clerks give you any of the files for the case?” Addison nodded and handed over the slimmest file Magnus had ever seen. He took it and leafed through the six or seven pages.
“When are the rest of the files coming over?”
“These are the entirety of the files that we have on the SWSMC, sir.”
“That’s impossible!” Magnus slapped the file closed. “This is one of the firm’s largest clients- how can there possibly be less than a hundred pages?”
Addison shrugged, and backed out of the room, saying,
“That’s all they had, sir. I’ll be out here if you need me.” He closed the heavy door quietly, leaving Magnus to his murky musings.
If this wa
s the largest client the firm had, surely there must be more paperwork on them in the main files downstairs.
He got up agitatedly and yanked open the door just as Addison was sitting down behind his now-empty desk.
“Sir?”
“I’m going downstairs to the file chamber,” he called out over his shoulder. If he hadn’t been so quick, he would have seen the hurt look on the young yet meticulous Addison’s face.
Magnus took the stairs two at a time, bounding past other barristers who nodded to him, and clerks who parted like minnows before a shark. As he followed the stairs down past the ground floor and into the bowels of the building, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.
While the upper floors were gracefully and expensively appointed, the lower level was stark, dark and cavernous. And it was presided over by SAM.
SAM, a Systematically Automated Machine, was the automaton who presided over the filing system. But though he was programmed to know all the files in the system, he lacked any sort of ability to process or extrapolate from them. They also had yet to develop a functioning personality coil.
When automatons had first been produced and made widely available in the latter part of the last century, it was thought that they would replace human servants within a decade. However, nearly a century later, automatons still had a long way to go, which was why they were only good for mindless jobs such as filing.
SAM, a skeletal body with eight arms and a small head-like appendage, wheeled up to Magnus on two large, squeaky tires.
“Input please” the tiny voice asked.
“South West Spesium Mining Corporation.” The automaton turned and sped away, leaving a trail of steam and the faint smell of oil in his wake. One would think that Magnus’s trouble dealing with people would lead him to prefer the company of automatons. However, because of his upbringing around machines, he was all too aware of what could go wrong with them, and how dire those results could be. Though his younger brother Declan was currently working at Oxford trying to correct those problems, for now Magnus firmly sided with the rest of the wary Cogspeare clan and avoided automatons as much as possible. It was one of the very few things that they could agree on.
SAM wheeled himself back to Magnus and stated,
“Input denied. No further data available. Input please.”
“That’s impossible! Repeat function.”
“Input denied. No further data available. Input please.” Magnus was about to request it again, but then realized that he was having an argument with an automaton. He began to climb the stairs, puzzling over this new development. SAM could have a glitch, but then wouldn’t other clerks and barristers mention it? The only alternative was that there really were no more files.
As he re-entered his office, Addison looked up from a the newspaper, no doubt studying the horse-racing page, and asked,
“No other files to be had, sir?”
“No. And wipe that self-satisfied smirk off you face.” He went into his inner office and slammed the door.
Settling himself behind the desk, he reached for one of his pens. He attached a miniature winch to the end, and cranked it to draw ink into the tool. He then reached for and opened the one and only file he had and began to read.
Chapter 14:
After Edwina had seen Sebastian off to school, she had quickly gone up to the bedroom she shared with Cornelius. He was divesting himself of his dirty clothes, but she refused to let herself get distracted and said,
“Dear, I’m worried about Magnus.” Cornelius was fumbling with his suspenders, and she helped him untangle them.
“What’s wrong with him? I think that this girl Minerva will be wonderful for him, get him off his high horse and into-”
“Yes, yes, dear, my thoughts precisely.” She finally managed to unhook the stubborn suspender, and Cornelius proceeded with his ablutions.
“The rubbing alcohol is over there, dear,” she nodded at her dressing table. Thus far, alcohol was the only thing they found that removed all of the soot and grime resulting from his unusual experiments.
“That is what I thought initially. Once I met her, I knew that they would be perfect for each other, especially since she has an interest in the law. I even made sure that his doorman and valet flooded his rooms, hoping that he would come home to stay.” She began to fiddle with the delicate bottles on her vanity.
“Why you devilish minx,” Cornelius smiled as he scrubbed his hair, its golden brilliance tempered with silver slowly shining through the dirt. “How much did you have to bribe them to do that?”
“I promised them one of Bongout’s dinners, and one of Declan’s new aethereographs, each. But I’m still worried about Magnus, Cornelius. What if the strain of being home, being around her, and the case- because despite his protestations, I know that his conscience is bothering him- what if it’s all too much?”
He put down the alcohol and gathered her in his arms, still half smudged and half naked. Neither cared.
“Then my dear, we will help him pick up the pieces once he’s finally shattered.”
Chapter 15:
Magnus leaned back at his desk an hour later. It had only taken him a few minutes to scan the documents, perhaps another fifteen to read them closely. He’d spent the rest of the time in deep contemplation.
Finally, he admitted to himself that he couldn’t shake Minerva’s words. They haunted him still, even in the sanctity of his office. He knew that he had too little information about this case for his taste. Despite the lack of talent in his opposing counsel, they might, just might, have more information than he. And information was power.
As he looked out the window onto the dreary day, his thoughts returned to Minerva McFlynt, like picking at a scab.
That woman was insufferable! Of course, with a mother like his, Magnus was all for women’s suffrage, to a certain extent. But Minerva was just…
“Just wanted to let you know, sir, that I’m heading out now for lunch.” Magnus started at Jim’s voice as he poked his head round the door. “Would you like anything, sir?”
Magnus blinked a few time, trying to gather his thoughts that had strayed like truant, love-sick lambs. He stood up and quickly grabbed his coat and hat, making good the resolution he came to about forty-five minutes earlier.
“No, Addison. Actually, I’m going out as well.”
“For lunch?” Jim squeaked. He had never even heard of Magnus’s eating lunch. In fact, he secretly suspected that his boss subsisted on determination and law books alone.
“I’ll get lunch on the way.”
“On the way to where, if I may ask, sir?”
“The offices of The Daily Pulse.”
“Sir!” Addison stuttered, “But, but why?”
“Because, Addison,” he pushed on his hat as he walked out the door, never doubting that Jim would follow, “I don’t wish to enter a courtroom without more than enough information. I can’t and won’t be taken unawares.” It had happened once in a mock-trial during his University days, and he had no wish to repeat the experience. There was too much at stake for him now. And researching the company might keep his mind off other things. Hopefully.
“And though it occasionally does give in to sensationalism, the Pulse is by far the most well informed rag on Fleet Street. I’ve heard that their records and a research facility that rival’s that of the government, and right now, that’s exactly what we need.” They reached the ground floor of the building. “Good luck, sir!” Addison called out as Magnus loped off into the fog.
Chapter 16:
Magnus’s stomach began fretting as he made his way to the offices of the Daily Pulse, some six blocks away. He hated to admit it, but food was now a necessity.
By some silent and unknown consensus, all of the major newspapers in London had congregated their offices on Fleet Street. It was a manic street, filled with a tense energy and noise that seemed to spill out of the buildings, while St. Paul’s Cathedral loomed impe
rviously in the distance.
All along the length of the street, peddlers hawked their wares to the crowds passing by. As this was the lunch hour, the steaming food stands were swamped by harried-looking reporters, ink and graphite smeared on their fingers, desperately gulping down food. Street carts brimmed over with pots of bubbling stew, slopped onto large pieces of bread. Pickled oysters bobbed in jars, whelks and periwinkles writhed in hot pots of oil, while eels, trotters and bloaters were handed out on tin plates. Magnus jumped when a scoop of saloop splashed out of the nearest street vendor’s cart. He gagged, his hunger abated, and he walked, very quickly, away. This was certainly not Bongout-approved fare.
After a few more blocks of weaving in and out of the crowds, he finally found the Daily Pulse building. Though only as old as Magnus himself, in that time the newspaper had made a reputation for itself as the most thorough and impartial publication in the business. If it hadn’t been for the sensational writing that obscured the facts, they would have gone out of business decades ago.
The building had recently been refurbished, fitted out in the latest of the New Brass style. Five, copper-encased floors loomed above the streets, covered in mesh and curlicues, the vulgarity of which put Magnus off his lunch even further. Nevertheless, he trod up the front stairs and past the automaton that held the door open.
“Please state your business” intoned another machine that rolled just a bit too close for comfort. For a moment, Magnus was taken aback, but recalling his business, he quickly said,
“Researching the South West Spesium Mining Company.” He had no reason to prevaricate, at least to this animated piece of metal.
There was a crackling sound as the automaton’s metal eyes rolled back in its head, and Magnus jumped back, wary of the thing malfunctioning. Apparently the renovations hadn’t extended to a technology upgrade, and from years of living under a laboratory and with a mechanically-minded brother, he knew that this machine was in severe need of oil.
But just as suddenly as it had begun, the grinding noises stopped and the eyes rolled back into place.
The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) Page 5
