The Steampunk Detective

by Darrell Pitt

  People were starting to stream onto the train.

  “Excuse me!” he cried. “My mother’s waiting for me! Excuse me!”

  The people parted as he pushed through them. A stairway led upstairs to his left. He took the steps two at a time to the passenger terminal at the top. He darted through the crowd, looking for a quick escape. People were everywhere. He could not exit via the main gates – he had no ticket. He had to board another train to put some distance between himself and the thief.

  He glanced back.

  Bazookas!

  The thief was shoving people aside only a few feet behind him!

  Jack felt light headed with terror. He pushed desperately through the crowd. A rich man with his wallet in hand stood to his right. Grabbing the wallet from him, Jack reefed out all the notes and held them high in the air.

  “Excuse me,” the man exclaimed. “What are you –.”

  “Money!” Jack cried. “Free money! Free money for all!”

  With that, he threw the bundle of notes high into the air. Even before they had begun to descend, he was fighting his way towards a nearby set of stairs, packed with travellers.

  “That man’s giving money away!” Jack pointed over his shoulder. “He’s giving away a thousand pounds!”

  Jack glanced back.

  Utter mayhem had erupted. People fell over each other trying to snatch money off the ground. At the heart of it was something resembling a football scrum with men and woman of all ages throwing themselves into the human pile. The owner of the cash was unsuccessfully trying to retrieve his notes from people’s hands.

  Jack raced down the stairs leading to another platform. A train had just started to depart.

  Not again, he groaned.

  Reaching the edge of the platform, Jack’s eyes darted left and right. An open door lay about twenty feet ahead of him. He could do it. One last time. He darted between two old ladies and broke into a sprint. Grasping the piece of paper with all his might in one hand, he reached out and grabbed the hand rail of the locomotive. He leapt aboard.

  Yes!

  Jack felt like his lungs were about to explode. He glanced out the door to see the thief at the far end of the platform. Jack was too far away to see the expression in the man’s eyes, but he was willing to bet he looked far from happy.

  He leaned out the door and waved. “Bye! Don’t forget to write!”

  The man did not wave back.

  Chapter Seven

  “Let’s see what we have here,” Mr Doyle said.

  Jack had been back in Scarlet’s home only a few minutes. Both she and Mr Doyle had just about jumped through the ceiling with excitement upon his return. Mr Doyle had even given him a brief hug. After that he had given him a stern talking to about risking his life.

  “You are never to take such a terrible chance again,” he said.

  Jack decided to gloss over some of the finer details of his chase.

  “Mr Mason,” Scarlet said. “You were most brave chasing that scoundrel.”

  Jack felt his face turning red, so he covered his cheeks, pretending to cough.

  “All in a day’s work,” he said.

  After that they turned their attention to the piece of paper. The rain had stopped outside and now dim sunlight streamed through the windows into the study of the apartment. This time Mr Doyle and locked and barred the door so they could work in peace.

  Laying the sheet on the desk, he clasped a pencil and ran it lightly over the sheet. After a few seconds words appeared on the page. He peered down at them through his goggles.

  “This is a location,” Mr Doyle said. “Dock sixteen West on the river.”

  “Is that it?” Jack asked.

  “It is indeed.”He turned to Scarlet. “Do you recognise this address in connection with your father?”

  “Not at all,” she replied. “He kept an office in the East end.”

  “What does it mean?” Jack asked.

  Mr Doyle looked up. “It means we’re going fishing.”

  Within minutes they were back aboard the Lion’s Mane, arcing across the sky. They joined a small line of airships that traced a route across to the Thames and followed the river downstream. A fine rain had started again, coating the city in a sheet of mist.

  “It’s a good thing the airships follow standard flight paths across London,” Mr Doyle said. “Otherwise there would be chaos.”

  “You’re a good pilot, Mr Doyle,” Scarlet said, laying a hand on his arm.

  Jack noticed the movement. “My eye is rather sore.”

  “Poor, Jack,” Scarlet sat next to him. “Let me examine your eye.”

  Jack sat still while Scarlet studied his face. “You have lovely blue eyes, Jack.”

  “Thank you, Scarlet,” Jack said. He felt giddy. “I think my chin is a little sore too.”

  “Mr Mason,” Mr Doyle broke in. “Did I tell you about a case I handled in Surrey involving a man with a stuffed canary?”

  Miss Scarlet broke away from him.

  “No, Mr Doyle,” Jack said, a trifle annoyed. “You have not mentioned it.”

  “Oh,” Mr Doyle said. “I’ll have to tell you about it some time.” The detective seemed to stifle a grin as he peered down towards the river. “We are now drawing close. I will try to find a spot to land in a side lane.”

  The vessel drifted through the gently falling rain. Mr Doyle expertly guided the Lion’s Mane down a road running around the back of the warehouse. Finally it landed with a slight bump and the detective jumped out to leash the craft to an old horse pole. The others exited the ship and they huddled together in the mist for a moment. Rain cast a wet sheen across their features.

  “This is an enormous warehouse,” Mr Doyle said. “One of the largest I have seen on the waterfront.” He turned to Jack. “My boy, have you ever handled a firearm?”

  Bazookas! Jack thought. A gun.

  He suddenly imagined himself mowing down countless attackers, whilst saving Scarlet’s life and being forced to take control of the Lion’s Mane. Later they would float over London and upon taking Scarlet’s hand –.

  “Uh, Jack,” Mr Doyle interrupted his reverie.

  “No, sir.” The dream faded into reality. “But I’m more than happy to try.”

  “I think we may wait till you’ve taken a few lessons.” Mr Doyle turned to Scarlet. “I will not offer you a weapon, Miss Bell. A lady does not carry weapons.”

  “On the contrary, Mr Doyle.” Scarlet reached into her purse and produced a small handgun. “I am quite skilled in the use of a revolver.”

  “My dear,” Mr Doyle blustered. “A lady –.”

  “As I said before, Mr Doyle,” Scarlet said firmly. “I am a modern woman. You may even be shocked to learn I am in favour of women’s rights.”

  “A suffragette?” Mr Doyle uttered the word with a slight gasp of horror.

  Jack was not sure what a suffragette was. He thought it might have been a type of religion – a cross between Catholic and Church of England.

  “I believe women must have equal rights,” Scarlet said. “One day we will have the vote.”

  Mr Doyle took the prudent action that all men of wisdom throughout the ages have followed – he chose to remain silent. “Follow me. I spy a point of possible egress.”

  The warehouse was indeed large. High windows lined the tops of the walls surrounding the structure. The group walked the circumference of the warehouse until they reached a large pair of double doors with a smaller door at the front of the building. Mr Doyle immediately went to the small door. He produced a brass and copper contraption that looked vaguely like a revolver from his pocket. He started manipulating the lock.

  “Mr Doyle,” Jack said. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m breaking and entering,” Mr Doyle said calmly. “But it’s all for a good cause.”

  “So I have become a criminal,” Scarlet said, looking absolutely thrilled at the idea. “I shall have to give a dissertation at the n
ext Ladies Alliance meeting.”

  Both Jack and Mr Doyle looked at her.

  She blushed. “On second thought, I may record it in my memoirs for publication after my demise.”

  They nodded.

  The lock clicked and the door swung open. Mr Doyle stuck his head through the gap and listened.

  “I don’t believe anyone is here,” he said. “But we had best proceed with caution.”

  They closed the door behind them. Jack could hear the gentle sound of rain pattering on the metal roof high above. The interior smelled of mould and rotting timbers. A loose covering of mulch and hay covered the floor. Breathing out through his mouth, Jack formed a cloud of fog. Huge timber shelves ran down both sides of the room stacked high with boxes. The crates only ended near the ceiling where the line of windows ringed the structure. They slowly walked down the centre aisle with the boxes towering above them.

  Mr Doyle finally chose a side alley through the boxes and pulled one of the smaller containers from the shelf. He produced a knife from his pocket and applied it to the end. Within a minute he had it open and leafed through the interior, pulling straw out and onto the floor.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “You mean, nothing of importance?” Scarlet asked.

  “No, I mean there is nothing in this box. Apart from straw.”

  They all stared into the empty box.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Jack said.

  “Agreed,” Mr Doyle said. He went to another much larger box. “Jack, please help me to get this down.”

  They pulled the box onto the floor, opened it and thoroughly searched the interior. Again the container held nothing but packing. Wordlessly, Mr Doyle repacked both the boxes, reattached the lids and stacked them back on the shelves. He stood back, stroking his chin.

  Finally he said, “I’ll wager that every box in this warehouse is empty.”

  “But why?” Scarlet cried. “Why fill a warehouse with empty cartons?”

  “If you want to hide a book, place it on a bookshelf,” Mr Doyle replied. “I believe there is something to be found here. Probably something very unusual.”

  “How will we find it?” Jack asked.

  Mr Doyle did not answer immediately. Instead, he walked two circuits of the warehouse, finally crossing to one of the shelves and running a finger along the edge of it.

  “Just as I thought,” he said, examining the dust on his finger. “These boxes have been here for quite some time. And there are tracks here from a steam truck, but they are quite old. Nothing has moved in or out of here for quite some time.”

  “So is this a dead end?” Scarlet asked.

  “Not at all,” Mr Doyle replied. “We will search until we make a relevant discovery.”

  He continued to stride up and down the length of the warehouse. Finally his eyes settled on a spot in the middle of the floor. He moved over to it with sudden excitement, moved his foot around in a wide circle and finally fell to his feet. Scooping out his knife, he started to work at an indentation in the floor.

  “Aha,” he said. “I think we have it.”

  Jack and Scarlet crowded around him as he revealed a large ring set into the ground. Mr Doyle pulled on it and a trap door lifted, revealing a set of stairs leading down into darkness. Jack retrieved a lantern hanging on a nearby nail. They lit it and started down into the murkiness.

  “I pray…” Scarlet’s voice faltered.

  “Scarlet?” Jack asked.

  “I pray my father is not down here,” she said.

  “He is not,” Mr Doyle said. “This chamber has remained undisturbed for some time.”

  The lantern dimly illuminated the interior, revealing a large empty room with a damp floor and moss growing over most of the walls. Supporting beams held up the roof. They were below the river level and Jack felt his heart beat a little faster as he thought about the river moving past them only a few feet beyond the stone walls.

  A rectangular object lay in the centre of the room, measuring about eight feet by three and standing about four feet high. A huge sheet lay draped over it. Mr Doyle looked at his companions before he slowly walked over to the shape and grasped hold of the sheet.

  He pulled back the covering.

  Scarlet screamed.

  Chapter Eight

  Jack had only ever seen two dead bodies in his life – those of his parents, although his memory of them swam with confusion. It was like one of those shows at the magic lantern theatre – unclear and disjointed. Jack could only ever remember separate images from that terrible day. Never the entire incident.

  Blackness swam around him like a fog. He saw his father swinging from one trapeze to meet his mother in the middle. She hung upside down. Her arms outstretched. His hands met hers. Jack stood on the sawdust ring below.

  The crossbar supporting his father snapped.

  Jack cried out. Never had this happened in over a thousand performances. But as they tumbled towards the net, in the long seconds as they fell, Jack remembered relaxing as he knew they would simply land in the safety net.

  He would never forget them hitting the net at the same instant, hand in hand, as if somehow they knew this signalled the end.

  Because in the next instant, against all reason, the net snapped.

  “She is perfectly preserved,” Mr Doyle broke his reverie.

  They grouped around the stone sarcophagus and looked through the glass top. The lamplight illuminated a woman inside. Wearing a long black dress, her face looked as if carved from ivory. Her gleaming white hands lay across her body, resting gently upon her stomach. Long black hair cascaded across the silk pillow supporting her head. She looked like she was about to suddenly draw breath.

  After his initial shock, Jack found himself staring at the woman. She was really very pretty. For a dead lady.

  “I wonder who she is,” Scarlet said.

  “Oh, I know who she is,” Mr Doyle said. “She is Lisa Gherardini.”

  “What?” Jack asked. “Is she a murder victim or a missing person or –.”

  “Merely the model for the most famous painting on Earth. You may have heard of it – the Mona Lisa.”

  “But who –?” Jack stopped.

  Mr Doyle held up his hand. “As to who is responsible for leaving her body here, I can only speculate at this time. As to when –.” He stood back to examine the sarcophagus. “The stonework for her tomb matches that of one of the early Roman Popes.” Mr Doyle stood back. “Yes. It is the same carving. Very ancient. Constructed centuries before her death. Her body was obviously preserved through a process unknown even today. Judging by the mould around the base of the sarcophagus, I would venture to say she has been here for centuries.

  “Mr Doyle,” Scarlet said slowly. “You’re saying this is the Mona Lisa.”

  “Yes. The model da Vinci used for the painting – Lisa Gherardini.”

  “But what is she doing here?” Jack asked.

  “Very little,” Mr Doyle replied. “She is, after all, dead.”

  Jack and Scarlet looked at him in silence for a moment.

  “Just a little joke.” He continued. “It would be pure speculation at this time, however there is an interesting connection we cannot ignore.” He paused. “Today we have seen both an unknown painting by Master Leonardo da Vinci and now we have found the famous model for another of his works. The link in the chain is obviously Leonardo. But why? And who is behind this would only be guesswork at this time.”

  “And my father?” Scarlet asked.

  “We are no closer, my dear,” Mr Doyle said. “I am sorry.”

  He swept the sheet over the stone sarcophagus and they silently filed up the stairs and into the warehouse above. The warehouse interior echoing with the sound of falling rain was a welcome relief for Jack. It was unnerving being with the body of the woman downstairs. Possibly if she had been reduced to a skeleton he may not have felt so spooked, but the woman had looked ready to awake at any second.


  Mr Doyle replaced the door into its position on the floor and smoothed over the muck and hay. He returned the lantern to its position on the wall.

  He held up a finger. “Wait. I hear something.”

  They all heard it now – the sound of an approaching steam car.

  “Quickly!” Mr Doyle ordered.

  They raced to the rear of the warehouse. Not a moment too soon. The huge double doors were unlocked and a steam vehicle backed into the open area as rain continued to pour steadily outside. Two men climbed from the truck. A third, speaking a foreign language, gave some orders. The other two lifted a tarpaulin from the back of the vehicle. They climbed in and lifted two large boxes from the rear.

  “They look like –.” Jack began.

  Mr Doyle clasped a hand over his mouth. If the men heard him, they gave no indication.

  Jack looked in some horror at the two boxes lying side by side on the ground. Despite being constructed from timber, in physical dimensions they were not unlike the sarcophagus in the secret chamber below.

  The leader of the group appeared agitated. He yelled something at his companions in his foreign tongue and his cohorts immediately hurried back into the truck. They closed the doors. A moment later Jack and the others heard the sound of the vehicle as it chugged away. The rain started to fall more heavily.

  Jack and the others slowly left their hiding place and edged over to the boxes.

  “Mr Doyle,” Scarlet began. “You don’t think –.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Once again he produced his trusty blade and started to work at the top edge of one of the boxes. In a moment he had it loosened. “Help me to ease this up, Jack.”

  They gently raised the lid. Scarlet stifled a cry of horror. A man lay within a solid block of ice in the box. He looked well dressed, clean shaven and very dead.

  “Who is he?” Jack asked.

  “I can answer that,” Mr Doyle said. “But I would first like to test a theory. Please help me with the other box.”