“The two incidents are almost identical,” said Kate.
“So? They may have been carried out by the same people. That doesn’t mean Lord Ashbury is involved.”
“Perhaps,” said Jacob, “but I had to try and find out.”
“Your turn,” said Kate. “Why were you there?”
Amos took Jacob’s earlier invitation as still open and poured himself another generous measure of brandy before leaning back into the chair. He arched his back, stretching his aching muscles, before he said anything.
“I was sent to London to recover the cargo I’d lost. I’ve managed to get a job on the docks and I’ve been keeping my eyes and ears open. Two days ago I saw a man come onto the docks. I recognised him from photographs I was shown before I came here,” Amos paused as he remembered the interrogation. “The man was called Henry Collins.”
“I know him,” said Jacob. “He recruited me to do the autopsies on the two garrotted men found in the docks.”
“So you’re working with him?”
“Hardly. He tried to kill us. We managed to get away but not before setting the back yard of a pub and Collins on fire.”
“That would explain his injuries when he got to the docks,” Amos saw the expectant look on Kate’s face. “Not life threatening I’m afraid,” he turned his attention back to Jacob. “They went into a small hut on the quayside. I managed to overhear a little of the conversation, they were talking about alternative ways to ensure compliance. It was when I heard Finch mention Lord Ashbury by name I realised I had to find out what his connection was.”
“Finch?” said Kate. “Harry Finch?”
Amos nodded.
“What was he doing there?” she asked.
“He practically runs the place,” said Amos, “From what I’ve gathered nothing happens on those docks without his knowledge.”
“So, if he works on the docks he works for Polperro. That’s where we have to go next,” said Jacob.
Amos put his glass on the silver tray and stood. “You don’t just confront a man like Solomon Polperro,” he said. “If you do you’ll disappear. And don’t try another break-in either. You’ll only meet more of those automatons we ran into last night.”
“What the hell were those things?” said Kate.
“Security automatons,” said Amos. “If they don’t recognise you they’ll kill you. They’re all over the docks like a plague and I’ll wager they’ll be protecting Polperro’s estate too.”
“Why don’t we find out which police station Harry Finch is in and go and question him?” said Kate.
“He was being kept at Limehouse police station. A bomb exploded yesterday morning. Finch escaped,” said Amos.
“Then we have no other avenues to explore.”
“We have one,” said Kate. “Bert.”
The two men looked at her expectantly.
“When we went to Finch’s yard we showed a photograph to one of the workers. He went white as a ghost and ran. Finch said his name was Bert.”
“And how do we find him?” asked Amos.”
“He’ll live near to where he works,” said Jacob. “More importantly, he’ll drink near to where he lives. We have to check out the pubs and gin palaces around Finch’s yard.”
“While you’re doing that,” said Amos, “I’ll go back to the docks. There’s someone I need to find.”
“Before you leave take this,” said Jacob offering Amos his card, “it has both this and the address of my surgery. If you hear anything, anything at all please get in touch.”
Amos took the card, nodded and left. When Jacob was sure they were alone he turned to Kate and said, “Why did you show him that device?” he asked, pointing to her phone on the table.
“I don’t know. He seemed to know a lot more than we do. I just thought he might be able to help.”
“Kate, you need to be careful who you trust. Even if he is working towards our ends, Amos Coleman appears to be in league with the American Secret Service. That hardly marks him out as trustworthy.”
“I understand that,” said Kate, “but if I don’t ask questions how will I find out how to get home?”
“Ask questions by all means. Just be wary who you ask. The last thing I want to see is you being dragged away to Bedlam or any other asylum where I have no jurisdiction or hope of getting you out.”
Kate thought of the night she had just spent in a police cell. She certainly had no desire to repeat that experience. She nodded her understanding to Jacob and sat in front of the fire to warm her feet.
Chapter Thirty-One
Amos hadn’t wasted his time at the docks. In his short time working there he had managed to find out the names of the people in charge, how to evade security and, most importantly as far as Amos was concerned, which vessels sailed to the factory the steamworms had been taken to. Whilst he was happy to help Jacob find his daughter he had other work to do. Finding that gas was his top priority and he was sure it wasn’t here on the docks. The factory seemed to be the obvious place.
He picked the pub nearest to the East India Docks and walked in. It wasn’t long before he found himself talking to several sailors who plied their trade on the Thames and her numerous offshoots. In some ways Amos missed all of this; The camaraderie, the tall stories and the drunkenness. It was the last one that Amos was most interested in. There was one man in the group far drunker than the rest helped, no doubt, by Amos pouring his own rum into the man’s glass.
Eventually, when the man had collapsed on the table, the landlord decided to throw him out. His shipmates laughed derisively as the man was dragged out and Amos vowed to get his new friend home. The man only managed a few steps before passing out altogether. Amos put him over his shoulder and walked straight into the nearest alley where he dumped the man onto the floor. A quick search of his coat revealed what Amos had been looking for; a brass security plaque.
Amos made his way to the East India Docks, pulling his collar up as much to shield himself from the cold as to evade detection. Walking onto the quay he started looking for the one ship he knew would be going to the factory. It wasn’t long before he had found it, the P259. A soulless name for a boat, thought Amos, but just like the boat very functional.
The next objective, to find the captain, was almost as easy. Amos walked down to the Section Masters hut. This would be where the captain would receive his papers and destination for the voyage. There was only one boat, the P259, loading when a man walked out of the hut reading a single sheet of paper.
“Excuse me, but are you taking the P259 out?”
“Who are you and what business is it of yours?” asked the captain.
“I’m John Smith,” said Amos, “and Mr Finch sent me to find you. He’s got some last minute revisions to the cargo list.”
“Damned inconvenient. What are the changes?”
“I don’t know sir. I didn’t ask.”
The captain growled an understanding. Nobody argued with Harry Finch.
“If you follow me sir I’ll take you to him.”
The captain nodded curtly and followed Amos along the quay and around the rear of a huge steam crane hissing out vapour as it lifted huge wooden crates onto the moored steamer. Amos stopped and looked. The captain came up behind him, almost level with Amos’s shoulder.
“Well? Where is he?”
The captain only just managed to get the words out when Amos drove his elbow into the man’s face. The captain reeled back and was about to put his hands up to his nose to stem the sudden tide of blood when Amos swung round with a punch that landed on the captain’s jaw. The captain keeled over like a felled tree and Amos dragged him out of sight.
Amos took off the man’s boots and trousers and tied his hands and legs with the belt and laces, before putting the man’s socks in his mouth and fastening his neckerchief around to keep it in place. Another quick search recovered the captain’s plaque and the itinerary and Amos was soon walking back on the quay towards the P259 ho
ping his plan would work.
It wasn’t long before it had its first test. A security automaton scuttled in front of him causing him to stop. The head of the machine shimmered up and down and then right to left before deciding the plaque Amos was now wearing was correct. Amos watched the automaton move along the quayside when he became aware of two men walking up to him.
“Who are you?” asked the first man, “and what are you doing here?”
“My name,” said Amos in the most belligerent tone he could muster, “is Captain John Smith. I am replacing Captain Newman and am to be in charge of…that,” Amos pointed at the ageing P259, “for its next trip.”
“We weren’t told about this,” said the second man. “Why has Captain Newman been replaced?”
“I believe he was found in one of the local pubs too drunk to stand. I didn’t question Mr Finch when he gave me the itinerary, but if you want to ask him personally I’m sure he will make time for you.”
The two men looked at each other for a moment before the first one said, “Drunk eh? Well, that doesn’t surprise me. Newman never could handle his ale.”
They watched Amos go on board and as he looked back he realised they had lost interest in him, or more likely the idea of questioning Harry Finch, and had continued with the job of loading. Amos soon located the bridge at the rear of what was essentially an oversized barge. He read the itinerary again. Steel, copper, brass, iron. Nothing controversial here, he thought. Three separate items, each consisting of forty barrels were the last things to be loaded. The itinerary was very specific as to how fragile they were. Amos listened as they were loaded. Each barrel seemed to contain a liquid and each type was kept well away from the other two.
Amos cast off without any problems. The journey up the River Lea was without incident and the familiar outline of the factory was soon in view. Amos pulled in next to the dockside and moored. He stepped onto the quay and handed his papers to the security man who approached him. The papers were read and deemed to be all in order when Amos flinched and held his stomach.
The security man leaned forward placing a hand on Amos’s shoulder, “Are you alright?” he asked.
“Bad mutton for breakfast. It’s working its way through,” explained Amos as he tapped the security man on the arm.
The security man smirked. “You can use the harbour if you want, but if you’d rather have some privacy…” he jabbed his thumb behind him to a short row of grubby wooden huts.
Amos checked no-one was watching and slipped behind the huts. He took off the plaque from his coat’s lapel and replaced it with the one he had just taken from the guard. The captain of a barge would have no place in that factory and he didn’t want to be burned alive by a security automaton.
The rest of the guards wore no particular uniform, just whatever kept them warm, and the security automatons were only interested in the plaque. It took Amos less than five minutes to get into the factory by a side door. The building was huge, much bigger than he had remembered and as he made his way to the far side it was clear that the old pumping station wasn’t just a factory, but a makeshift airship hangar.
Amos stared for several seconds at the airship moored to the ground. He recognised its distinctive shape immediately. It was the same airship that had attacked him on the Charles River the previous weekend. His eyes flicked around the airship. It looked different. There were two nacelles, one either side, both about a tenth of the size of the main airship. They were both being pumped with gas from large metal canisters. Amos looked at the crates the remaining canisters were packed in. The markings were unmistakable. They were the same ones that were taken from him by that airship.
Amos surveyed every person that went near to the airship. He prided himself that he could tell the difference between the captain of a ship and the rest of the crew. He was certain the captain was nowhere to be seen.
“Who are you?”
The voice behind Amos caught him off guard. He turned to see a tall, broad man wearing a black Napoleonic jacket with a high, starched collar. The Captain. No, the captain wouldn’t speak to the hired help. The first officer, without a doubt. It was the first officer’s job to make sure everything was ready to go by the time the captain arrived.
“I said who are you and what is your designation?”
“This man is supposed to be with me Mr Reynolds.”
Both men looked to Amos’s left. It was the dark skinned woman who helped Amos escape only three days ago.
“I asked him what he was doing here,” said Reynolds in a manner that suggested he was not used to repeating himself.
“This man has, at my request, been transferred to section one. Your jurisdiction reaches as far as that airship and the loading area,” the woman’s soft Jamaican accent took on a hard edge, “unless you would prefer I took this to a higher authority?”
The man stared at Amos before giving a slight shrug and walking toward the loading area.
“Who was that?” asked Amos.
“Isaac Reynolds,” said the woman, “he’s the first officer on the Aevitas,” she gestured towards the airship. “You need to be drawing less attention to yourself, follow me.”
Amos followed the woman to a corner of the building and into a large room. Wires criss-crossed overhead before attaching themselves to wooden boxes on the dirty, whitewashed walls. Gauges flickered on every box, each one seemingly measuring something different. They walked past a dozen workbenches with glass tubes and jars filled with different coloured liquids being heated or cooled. Lathes turning brass, copper and steel adding a metallic taste to the air.
“What is this place?”
“This is the factories main laboratory, but wait, we can speak more easily in here.”
They walked into a much smaller version of the main laboratory. A large wooden workbench dominated the middle of the room. The walls were covered in shelving straining with the weight of books that had been crammed into every available space.
“What are you doing back here? Did you go to the police or the government and tell them what is going on?”
“No I haven’t, and that’s why I’ve come back, to find out exactly what’s going on.” Amos looked around the room hoping to make sense of his surroundings. He couldn’t. “Let’s start with you. That’s twice you’ve come to my rescue and it seems you have some influence here. Who are you and why are you so keen to keep me out of trouble?”
The woman pulled a wooden stool from under the workbench and perched on the edge.
“My name is Mia Jennings. This whole complex is the most advanced research and development facility in the world.”
“What do you research and develop?”
“Engineering, chemistry, automata design, but mainly we are geared towards the development of the most advanced weaponry in the world, from concept and design to construction and testing and I’m the head designer.”
“This is an advanced weapons factory and you’re in charge?”
“Are you surprised at the nature of the building or that a woman is in charge?”
“Both. If you’re in charge why are you hiding me?”
“My authority only goes so far Mr…”
“Coleman, Amos Coleman.”
“As I say Mr Coleman my authority only goes so far. I may design and help in the construction of the weapons but the people in charge are those who can fund it.”
“And who is funding it?”
“There are some very powerful people with interests in this factory Mr Coleman. You followed the steamworms back after the Westminster riot, I’m sure you can put the remaining pieces together.”
“I know Lord Ashbury introduced The Automaton Bill at Parliament that day. It calls for the greater use of mechanoids in the police and army.”
“It wasn’t too difficult was it? Lord Ashbury isn’t just funding this for future profit. An automaton of any kind will only follow the instructions programmed into it. It doesn’t care if it fires into a crowd
of protestors or into a line of constables protecting women and children. It will never disobey an order of any kind regardless of how inhumane that order may be.”
Amos looked at her in disbelief, “You’re saying he’s planning to overthrow the British government?”
“He already has access to the programming codes and once he’s convinced Parliament to install automatons at every level of police and armed forces what would there be to stop him?”
“Why don’t you stop him? Go to the authorities tell them what you’ve told me.”
Mia laughed and shook her head, “Do you think the police would believe a word of that? Especially told by a young black woman. Anyway, I can’t leave here.”
Amos looked round the room and started to understand. He had noticed the locks on the door as they came in, but there were no locks on the inside. The windows had bars and there were no telephones with which she could talk to the outside world, “You’re a prisoner here.”
“Of sorts. They pay me a great deal of money for my ideas. That and the fact that the equipment in theses laboratories is the finest in the world means I can also work on a few things of my own.”
“Such as?”
Mia didn’t get the chance to reply. The door was flung open and the room was full of men pointing guns at both of them.
“That’s him,” said one of the men pointing his finger at Amos, “he’s the captain of that boat moored on the quayside. He stole my plaque.”
A man Amos recognised as Isaac Reynolds walked up to him and un-pinned the brass plaque from his lapel. He studied it for moment before throwing it to Amos’s accuser.
“If you lose it again I’ll have you shot,” he turned his attention to Amos, “Mr Amos Coleman I presume? We’ve been expecting you for some time.”
“You work for Henry Collins I suppose?”
Reynolds smiled, “No Mr Coleman, my paymasters are far above the likes of Collins. He did however, provide us with information that suggested your arrival would be in the not too distant future and that you would be…troublesome. What I wasn’t expecting was that Miss Jennings here would be in league with you.”
Out of Time: . (Steamside Chroncles Book 1) Page 21
