They positioned themselves directly behind the segment and pushed the gate up against one of the rear wheels. Jacob moved to the wheel and tried to lift the segment. It was too heavy. Amos joined Jacob on one side of the wheel, as the two constables who had helped to carry the gate went to the other side. Between them they managed to lift the segment a couple of inches off the ground. It was enough. Kate and one of the protestors who had also joined them managed to slide the gate under the wheel before the segment was dropped back onto the ground.
The sound of hissing grew louder from inside the machine and it began moving slowly towards the entrance to the tower. Jacob waited until half the gate was showing and gave a nod to Amos. Together they tried to lift the gate up. The segment wobbled but its weight kept it level. The protestor and two constables also grabbed hold. A clicking sound could be clearly heard from inside the segment as it seemed to realise something was wrong.
Jacob realised their time was up, “Pull,” he shouted at the top of his voice. The five men, along with Kate, lifted the iron-gate until it made contact with the segment. “Harder,” he urged as he saw the cannon on his side swivel round towards the men trapped in the doorway. It clicked again as the gate was suddenly raised. The back wheel of the segment was raised off the pavement and the whole unit slowly toppled forward. One cannon faced skyward and started firing steam uselessly into the air. Kate ran into the archway and beckoned the men out, telling them to re-group outside the Abbey.
Jacob looked around and smiled, “You’re making a habit of saving lives today Mr Coleman.”
“All in a day’s work for a tug-boat captain, Doctor,” Amos smiled.
Jacob started to laugh but was cut short when a loud cracking sound came from the segment. Jacob looked around for Kate. He saw her run around the belly of the machine with the last of the officers from the Tower, “Get everyone away from this as quickly as possible,” he said as the segment started to violently shake. “It’s the last segment, I’ll try to get the operator out.”
Jacob moved around to the top part of the segment and with the help of Amos managed to rip open the hatch. He looked in and was horrified at what he saw. The segment was empty. It had no operator. It was fully automatic.
Amos watched as a long, thin strip of copper full of holes and indentations similar to the brass plaque he had been given by Hobson was wound back and forth at astonishing speed. He was still staring at the insides of the machine when he heard a loud metallic ping come from the machine. He looked at the door when it happened again, only this time he realised it wasn’t a ping, but the ricochet of a bullet.
Jacob heard it too and motioned Amos to move away from the segment. They started running back towards the Abbey when another bullet whistled past them. Jacob instinctively ducked as he was running but Amos looked up and saw a man standing with a revolver on Abingdon Street Gardens. Amos started running straight towards him. The would-be assassin was evidently surprised as, rather than fire a third shot, he turned and ran. Amos followed.
Jacob had just caught up with the others when a violent explosion sent shockwaves through the air and caused Kate to fall onto all fours. Jacob was next to her in an instant but Kate assured him she was alright, “I’m fine, really. How about you? It sounded as though someone was firing shots. Are you hit?”
Jacob shook his head and looked back at the remains of the ruined section of steamworm. “It looks as though the boiler must have exploded.”
“What about the person inside it?” asked Kate.
“There wasn’t anyone inside, it was fully automatic,” said Jacob. “It would seem the remainder are working their way through the side streets. I would still be careful. It seems as though they have plenty of steam left.”
Kate nodded as she let Jacob help her to her feet. They slowly walked through the aftermath of the riot. Kate watched as police officers helped injured rioters, and rioters carried stretchers containing injured officers into carriages to be taken to hospital for treatment. The ground was strewn with newspapers, stones and glass. Here and there were hats, lost by their owners in their urgency to flee. In the middle of the road, a lone boot lay abandoned. Kate noticed a poster laying on the kerbside. She picked it up and read the message, ‘Solomon Polperro believes in justice.’ But it wasn’t the message that interested her. Ever since she had met Polperro Kate couldn’t shake off the feeling that she had seen his face somewhere else, but where?
Kate looked up, she realised Jacob was no longer by her side. She folded the poster and looked around, anxious at his sudden disappearance, and saw him talking to a constable. They watched as two men who had been rioting earlier place a constable on a stretcher and pulled a blanket over his head. Jacob shook the officer’s hand and walked away. A sudden dread filled Kate as Jacob re-joined her.
“Did you know him?” said Kate.
“Only his name,” said Jacob. “It was John Price.”
Chapter Seventeen
Amos had followed the man with the revolver onto Great Peter Street, but he had already disappeared. He made his way back to Victoria Tower to find the crowds had already swarmed away. Amos watched as a dozen men in bland grey suits descended on the scene and loaded the wreckage of the segment onto the boards of a nondescript black, steam-driven, wagon before disappearing back into obscurity.
Amos followed the wagon as it made its way slowly along Victoria Embankment and saw more segments being loaded onto identical vehicles. He paused as he watched each one churn thick black smoke into the air and leave in a different direction. He continued his journey, never losing sight of the wagon, all the way to Charing Cross Station where it made its way across the tracks to a large side shed. He watched as two large wooden doors creaked shut before running to the side of the shed. Amos looked through a grimy window and glanced around before producing a knife from the side of his boot. Forcing open the window he scrambled in, crouching down behind several nearby barrels.
Amos made himself as inconspicuous as possible and observed as the remains of the segment were loaded into a single carriage before the side doors were closed and padlocked. The locomotive began to raise steam and the main doors to the shed slowly opened. He retraced his steps back through the window and ran to the front of the building just as the engine appeared. He waited until both the engine and its single carriage began to follow the curved track away from him, and he was sure the driver couldn’t see before he started to run. He glanced back at the shed and saw the doors had already closed. He drew level with the rear of the carriage and jumped onto a narrow step. Grabbing hold of a vertical handrail he crouched down and made himself as comfortable as possible.
***
The train made a tortuous journey through London and, as he winced in pain from his recently injured shoulder, it seemed to Amos it had covered nearly every yard of track and gone over every set of points in the entire city. At last, it appeared as though they may be coming to their destination as the East India Docks came into view. He recognised the distinct shape of the buildings from the photographs he had been shown during his stay at the armoury and his journey to London on an airship. He looked up to see dozens of airships waiting patiently to unload their passengers and cargo. But the train didn’t stop and was soon in the green fields of Canning Town.
Amos pulled on his watch chain and checked a small compass; they were heading north. He looked to his left and saw a gas works, and then another. It was when he saw the third that the locomotive began to slow down. Instinctively he knew they were approaching their destination and jumped into a patch of long grass by the side of the track.
Amos watched steam driven wagons identical to the one he had followed earlier and several locomotives head towards an enormous pumping station. As each vehicle was manoeuvred through two giant doors Amos moved closer to the building and saw a small wooden door at the top of a flight of metal stairs. Amos took the stairs two at a time and gently turned the doorknob. It was open. Amos stepped inside the buildi
ng onto a metal walkway. Looking around he saw the main building had no windows and that he was above the electric arc lanterns that flooded the ground with light.
He watched intently as each steamworm segment was unloaded and towed to another part of the building. The metal walkways appeared to criss-cross the entire roof space and Amos found it a simple task to follow the segments to a workshop in one corner of the building. Several flights of steps took him almost level with the arc lights when he suddenly heard voices.
“That was not their intended purpose.”
Amos saw the voice belonged to a young, dark-skinned, woman wearing a fussy high-collared navy blue dress who had walked directly below him.
“They were designed to control riots,” said a man with an American accent, “I would suggest they did exactly what they were designed to do.”
“Control riots yes, but not to indiscriminately kill and maim innocent people,” said the woman. “Who gave the order to insert these instructions?” she held up a large, coiled strip of copper full of holes.
“It doesn’t matter,” said the man. “A demonstration was needed to assess how effective they are. That has now been provided.”
“You didn’t have to murder dozens of people to see if they worked.”
The man turned toward her and placed the handle of his cane firmly at the bottom of the woman’s throat.
“You are here because of your technical expertise,” he said quietly, “not to provide an opinion. You would do well to remember that Miss Jennings.” The man used his cane to push her back before spinning around and walking away.
Amos was certain the man below him was the same man who had taken several shots at him and Doctor McKinley a short while earlier. He decided to lie down to try and get a look at his face. He was straining his head over the edge when he heard the noise. A clicking, whirring sound just behind him on the walkway.
Amos rolled over and saw an automaton exactly the same as the one which had checked him earlier that day at the dockside. In the dark of the roof space Amos saw blue sparks running up and down either side of the head’s mechanism. Several brass coils, similar to the one the woman below had in her hand, and the one he had seen in the steamworm segment, spun furiously winding and unwinding. Amos sat up and smoothed his coat to show the brass plaque on his lapel. It wasn’t there. Amos thought back to the riot and realised it must be laying on the road outside Westminster Abby.
The automaton’s head quietly hissed as it moved from side to side, almost as though it were looking at him. His train of thought was interrupted when a metal disc in the middle of the automatons chest began to spin round, making a low whirring sound. Amos got to his feet and the disc tilted upward, the whirring getting louder as its speed increased. The centre of the disc began to open like an iris and Amos could feel the hairs on his head stand on end.
Instinctively he threw himself back onto the floor. He landed face down on the metal walkway just as an electrostatic discharge,a miniature lightning bolt, hurtled into the space he had just been occupying. Amos reached out and grabbed the nearest leg. He twisted around on the floor and pushed the leg as far as he could into the air. The automaton shifted its remaining four legs furiously but could not maintain its balance and slowly toppled over onto its back.
Amos got to his feet and watched as the disc in the automaton’s chest slowed down. He was distracted by a commotion and looked through the latticed metal walkway towards the ground. A number of armed men were running, looking up at him. They were followed by several more automatons. Coleman didn’t particularly savour meeting either type of guard and began to go back the way he had come. He stopped when he noticed the disc had started to increase its speed and was tilting back to face him again. Coleman managed to get his boot underneath the main trunk and roll it away from him as another bolt of white hot electricity crackled toward the roof.
He ran back in the direction of the fire escape the fire escape but the route was blocked by armed guards running towards him along the walkway. He turned and started to run back toward where he had left the prone automaton when a bullet ricocheted off the metal handrail only inches away from him. A startled Amos jumped to the other side of the walkway just as another electrostatic discharge crackled past him. Somehow the automaton had righted itself and come looking for him.
Another loud crackle followed by a grunt made Amos look behind him. As he did he saw the first guard fall onto the walkway, his stomach and chest a blackened mess. That didn’t come from the automaton, thought Amos. He looked down onto the floor of the factory and saw the woman who had been arguing earlier. She was holding a small hand gun which was still pointing at the space the guard had occupied, the cylinder of the barrel still spinning. He looked up to see the rest of the guards fall back uncertainly and take positions to both sides of the walkway. Without thinking, Amos knelt down and grabbed the dead man’s rifle. He was about to start running again when he noticed the guards headwear. On the front was a thin brass plate with several holes punched into a distinct pattern.
He took the helmet and placed it on his head, tightening the strap. Amos turned to see the disc in the automaton’s torso had started to spin again and was picking up speed, charging for another deadly burst of electricity. He saw the smooth glass faceplate tilt up and move slightly from side to side. It worked. The disc began to slow down and Amos started running.
More shots were fired from below, but were well wide of their mark, the shades from the arc lights reflecting all of the light down onto the floor, leaving Amos in darkness. He looked for another fire escape but could see nothing. A sudden noise made Amos turn his attention to the ground. He saw the woman who had been arguing minutes earlier. She was looking straight at him but pointing towards the end of the walkway. He could see into several large rooms, none of which had ceilings, but saw nothing which would aid his escape. Amos followed her direction and kept running until he came to a dead end. Footsteps clattered further down the walkway and Amos realised the guards had overcome their concerns over their dead colleague and would be with him all too quickly.
He looked up but the darkness held no solution. He looked over the rail straight down into a disused, seemingly abandoned, room. The woman was in the room and was moving a large dust sheet, under which Amos could now just make out, were several bales of straw used for packing.
“Jump,” the woman hissed.
Amos knew this was his only chance. He climbed over the side and lowered himself as far as he could before letting go. Before Amos had the chance to take a breath the woman was covering him with a dust sheet as he squeezed himself behind several stacked crates. Hanging from the walkway had caused his shoulder to remind him he had been shot only three days ago. He was about to cradle his arm when he heard voices above him. He became motionless and breathless as he listened, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. He heard the guard’s footsteps as they started to run back along the walkway. They had obviously come to the only possible conclusion. He had jumped.
The dust sheet was pulled away and Amos watched as the woman threw it into a corner of the room. Amos got to his feet. There was a window, big enough to climb through, but the building was in the middle of nowhere. Once outside there was nowhere to hide and staying until night-fall wasn’t an option.
The woman started opening one of the crates. She glanced at Amos. “Help me,” she said. The first crate was empty, the next full of spare parts or junk. When they opened the third crate Amos smiled. It was a jet-pack. He had heard rumours the British had developed such technology but never thought he would get a chance to try one. With some effort, they lifted the jet-pack out of the wooden crate. It consisted of three brass coloured cylinders on a steel frame which in turn was attached to a leather harness. Each cylinder had its own gauge, which the woman carefully checked. Satisfied there was enough fuel in each she turned a brass tap on the middle cylinder. Amos put the harness on and fastened the buckles.
A copper pi
pe protruded from the top of the apparatus and ended with two further gauges and a flying mask with built in goggles. Amos hesitated before put the mask on.
“Why are you helping me?” he asked.
“There are things going on here,” she said in a soft Jamaican accent, “not just the police, but the government too. Make sure they know.”
Amos pulled the mask over his face. The gauges were level with his nose.
“This,” the woman tapped on the gauge on his left, “is a compass. The other is the fuel level.”
They moved to the window and tried to open it, but it had been sealed down and refused to move. Amos realised the only way through was to smash the window, but that would bring every guard in the building to him. He looked down to the fuel gauge and realised he didn’t have much choice. The needle had already reached the two-thirds point and when it entered the red part of the dial, the three-quarter point, it would ignite automatically.
Amos picked up a cylinder from one of the crates. It was empty but was heavy enough to put through the window. Amos put the base of the cylinder through the top part of the window and smashed his way down the rest of the thin glass and wooden frame.
It hadn’t taken long before he could hear shouting outside the room and then a hammering on the door. He nodded his thanks to the woman and had just rested one knee on the frame when the door behind him burst open. He heard instructions being shouted at him as he glanced down at the gauge. It smoothly entered the red part of the dial and he could feel the three cylinders hum. Before the guards could react the jetpack ignited and dragged him through the window and only a couple of feet above the ground.
It was at this point Amos realised he had not attached the armrests, which in turn connected to the nozzles, onto the apparatus. He had no means of steering. He was out of range of the automatons but the guards could still hit him with a lucky shot. That and the Imperial Gas Works he was heading towards, meant he had to change direction.
Out of Time: . (Steamside Chroncles Book 1) Page 12
