Arcadia Snips and the Steamwork Consortium (18 page)

"I beg your pardon?"

"Think of all the world's civilizations as an immense boiler; famine, drought, conflict—these are the valves through which pressure is released. Over the past few years, you have been shutting each of those valves off, gradually increasing the pressure," Abigail said.

"Are you saying I am responsible for the very war these numbers predict?"

"No," Abigail said. "Of course not. It would have come, one way or another, as a natural consequence of technological progress. But each disaster you have stopped has only added to the strength that this disaster shall inflict."

"How long do we have?" Nigel asked.

"Two decades at most," she said. "We could delay it, but that would only make the event more horrific than it already is."

"Is there no way to stop it?" Nigel asked. "No way we can stifle it?"

"It is too soon and too vast," she said. "No flapping of a butterfly's wings can deflect it. Only an enormous event could hope to counter it, and even then, I am not sure if it would be stopped—only postponed."

"How can you be so calm about this?!" Nigel fumed.

"Because there is nothing that can be done," Abigail told him. "No remedy, no cure, no panacea. There will be war, Nigel.

The world will suffer. We cannot save it. All we can do is care for those around us and pray for the best."

"You spoke of an enormous event being able to counter this," Nigel said. "How enormous?"

Abigail shook her head. "It's an absurd premise to begin with, Nigel. There is no way to fight this."

"Tell me. How enormous?"

"We meddled in matters best left to chance. Leave it be."

"Tell me," Nigel said, and there was a force and fury behind him that gave both Abigail and her husband reason for pause. "Tell me what would be necessary. If only to convince me that it is impossible."

Abigail sighed. "A nation collapsing. A world-wide depression. Tens of thousands dying. A city disappearing overnight. Any of these events could accomplish the task, in theory —and do you notice what they all have in common, Nigel?"

Once again, Nigel turned back to the fire.

"They all involve murder," Abigail said, pressing on. "They all involve inflicting harm now, to deflect harm later. They all involve taking the matter into our own hands, and doing violence to our fellow man."

"Abigail," Jeremiah said, speaking softly. "None of us would do something like that."

"No," Nigel agreed, staring unceasingly into the heart of the fire. "None of us would."

~*~

~*~

"It was difficult, growing up with everyone around you knowing your parents were villains," William said.

"Huh," Snips replied, her hands shoved down deep into her pockets. "Kids gave you lip over it?"

"Sometimes. Most of them were convinced that I was plotting to build some sort of devastating steam-powered automaton to wreck the school with," William said.

"Heh."

"Which is fair, since I actually was."

Snips froze in mid-step, the sole of her shoe hovering over the cobblestone. "I beg your pardon?"

William cleared his throat as heat surged into his cheeks.

"Well, I mean—I wouldn't have. But mad science, well... You must understand, Miss Snips. It's in our blood. My father was a mad scientist, my mother was a mad scientist, my grandmother a mad scientist, my grandfather a mad scientist..."

"Right. So." Snips squinted one eye and popped the other open wide, leaning forward to inspect William closely. "You're telling me every so often you feel the urge to terrorize the city from the seat of some mechanical monstrosity?"

William drew back defensively. "No!"

"Oh. Well, okay, then."

"I mean, I'd much prefer a dirigible, anyway."

"
I beg your pardon
?!"

"Not that I would!" William threw his hands up in front of him. "Never, ever! I stick with mathematics—with theory. I mean, I don't want to have an episode, like my grandmother did."

"Wait. Episode? Like your grandmother did? Exactly where are we going, again?"

"Erm, well—that's a bit of a funny story," William said, smiling apprehensively.

~*~

Napsbury Asylum, Snips decided, was precisely where she wanted to be put once she went off the deep-end.

It was a pleasant looking brick building that, under different circumstances, could easily have been mistaken for a very rich man's house. Snips walked behind William, who seemed to be growing more and more depressed with every step towards the front door.

"You don't have to actually meet her," William said. "I mean—"

"After the stories you just told me about her? You bloody well better
believe
I have to meet her," Snips said.

"I just don’t want to frighten you with my family history,"

William said.

"Trust me, you won’t."

William sighed, slumping as he stepped through the door.

Snips quickly followed, grinning all the way.

Various people throughout the asylum wing were dressed down for the birthday, wearing brightly colored hats and sitting in their seats. There were several trays of food set out, and an extraordinary number of cats meandering around the scene.

The centerpiece of the event was a slim middle-aged man with a bushy moustache and a look so full of serene cheer that Snips had a hard time imagining he was a patient. He looked more like a man who had finally discovered his place in the world—

plus, his cake was carved in the shape of a brown tabby.

"Hello, Mr. Wanewright," William said, removing a small wrapped package from his coat. He sat it besides the growing pile of presents that were placed at the man's left. "A pleasure to see you once again."

Mr. Wanewright smiled; the expression was pure sunshine.

"Oh, hullo, Mr. Daffodil. A pleasure to meet you again! Have you met Professor Snugglewuggums?" He reached forward, picking up a nearby black cat and holding him up for William to greet. It was only now that Snips realized that every cat in the room had some sort of accoutrement to it—an article of clothing or fashion that had somehow been cleverly attached to them. Professor Snugglewuggums had a top hat and monocle.

"No, I'm afraid I haven't," William said, suppressing a sigh.

He reached forward to take Professor Snugglewuggums' paw, giving it a shake. "A pleasure to meet you, Professor."

The cat meowed.

"Oh, dear, he's quite taken with you." Mr. Wanewright exclaimed, setting the cat down. "Very good, Mr. Daffodil. Very good!"

Growing very uncomfortable, William quickly smiled and slipped back into the crowd of partygoers. Snips followed, glancing back over her shoulder.

"So, is that guy—"

"Criminally insane? Yes," William said. "I'd rather not explain the details. Suffice it to say there was an incident involving a very loud tax-collector and several dozen very hungry cats."

Snips grimaced.

Mrs. Daffodil emerged from the crowd to greet William; the old woman instantly looked between him and Snips and produced a dazzling smile. "Oh, William, is this lady a friend of yours?"

"This is, ah, yes. A friend of mine. She works for a detective agency," William said, gesturing to her. "Miss Snips, this is my grandmother, Mrs. Daffodil."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Snips," she said, taking the thief's hand. "You have extraordinary taste in clothing."

"Uh, thanks," Snips said.

"I can't help but notice you're not wearing my sweater, William," Mrs. Daffodil said. "Don't you like it?"

"Oh, you know, I'm terribly sorry," William said, smiling nervously. "I completely forgot about it."

"That's a shame," Mrs. Daffodil said. "Anyway, I'm very glad you could come to the party. Would you mind being a dear and getting me a slice of cake?"

Arcadia Snips and William Daffodil are formally introduced to Professor
Snugglewuggums.

"Sure," William said, stepping back toward the table. For a moment, Snips and Mrs. Daffodil were alone.

Snips noticed she hadn't let go of Snips' hand. Her grip was, in fact, uncomfortably strong.

"Uh, anyway, I'm just, you know, happy to meet you,"

Snips began. "William’s told me a little bit about you."

"Has he?" Mrs. Daffodil said. "He hasn’t mentioned anything about you."

"Oh, well," Snips said. "I mean, I guess I’d expect that. We only met yesterday, you know. He’s a very nice fellow," she quickly added.

"Oh, yes. He's quite good-natured," Mrs. Daffodil quickly agreed. "You know, I'm very good at measuring a person's character at a glance, Miss Snips."

"Are you?" Snips shuffled, suddenly nervous.

"Yes," she said, and her grip tightened to steel. "Miss Snips, I may be old and senile, but I can still smell a fink from a mile off.

I don't know what your angle is, and I don't care. But before you play my grandson like a third-rate fiddle, I want you to know something." Her voice dropped to a dreadful whisper:

"I'm not in here because I shoplifted, or forgot to feed my cats, or otherwise acted like a naughty little minx. I'm here because I built things. Terrible things. Horrible things, Miss Snips. And so help me God, if you so much as put a dent in my dear little boy's heart, I will unleash a mechanized Armageddon upon you that would cow the Devil himself."

Snips blinked, stared, and swallowed. "Uh..."

William returned, a plate of cake in hand. "Here you go, grandmother."

Instantly, the icy aura vanished beneath a mask of warm affability. Mrs. Daffodil took the slice with a broad, motherly smile, releasing Snips' hand. "Thank you, William. You're such a dear."

"Are you two getting along, then?" William asked.

"Smashingly," Mrs. Daffodil said.

"Oh, uh, yeah," Snips responded, scratching at the back of her head. "Yeah, she's, uh, quite something, your grandmum."

"Well, I have to be off, anyway," William said. "I hope you don't mind, grandmother. I have an appointment to keep." He threw a nervous look at Snips, but she appeared too distracted to notice.

"Of course not, dear," Mrs. Daffodil said. "Just try to remember to come by a little more often, hm?"

William nodded.

"Oh, and feel free to bring your friend, too," she added, throwing a meaningful look Snips' way. "I'd love to hear more about her."

~*~

"Are you familiar with the Kingsmen, Miss Primrose?"

Orwick asked, staring out of his office window and toward his trains.

"No, sir, I do not believe I am," Miss Primrose said, shifting in her seat. "However, I am not here to discuss historical trivia. I have a matter of great urgency—"

"They're a fascinating organization," Count Orwick said, cutting her off. "Dissolved by royal mandate over four decades ago. Founded a century prior by one of our less esteemed monarchs, they performed all manner of horrible crimes and obscenities in the name of maintaining the power and prestige of the Crown."

"Ah," Miss Primrose said, not without disdain.

"Government-sanctioned assassins."

"No, no," Orwick replied. "Nothing so base. Indeed, if that was all they were, I would find them far less fascinating. No, the Kingsmen were knights, but they were knights of a peculiar breed.

They were given no extraordinary rights, no powers of law, no official capacity. They were simply informed of the situation and told to do what they felt they must."

Miss Primrose frowned. Count Orwick always struck her as an awful sort of person; she dealt with him only out of the necessity of dealing with one's client. This entire conversation of his was absolutely confounding, and merely serving to reinforce her impression of the man. "Count Orwick, I've come here to tell you about Mr. Eddington. We believe he may be involved in serious matters of—"

"They broke the law, Miss Primrose. Killed, assassinated, stole, so on. But they were not
above
it," Orwick explained. "They were given no official orders to do so, and if they were caught in the act, they were brought to justice just as readily as any real criminal. They were, in short, the vigilantes of the Crown."

Miss Primrose stiffened in her chair.

"How is Miss Snips performing? I hope she is not causing you too much trouble."

Miss Primrose's lips thinned into a line. "None at all, sir,"

she said, trying to contain her agitation.

"Well enough," Orwick said, turning back around to face Miss Primrose. "As for your case, I'm afraid we have encountered a problem. I am not sure how, but overnight, we have received several very angry letters from very important people demanding we close this matter immediately."

"I was unaware Her Majesty is subject to the approval of her peers," Miss Primrose said.

"I’m afraid that she sometimes is, yes. Especially when those peers are as important as these," Orwick noted. "She has commanded me to cease with my little investigation into Copper's demise. And without royal mandate, I am outside of my jurisdiction. Of course, you will still be paid in full for your services..."