Arcadia Snips and the Steamwork Consortium (19 page)

"Of course," Miss Primrose agreed, clearing her throat.

"And tell Miss Snips that I will see to the abolishment of her little problem as well," Orwick added. "All in all, it seems that this matter is officially closed."

"I see," Miss Primrose said.

"It is quite a shame there aren't any Kingsmen around these days," Count Orwick said rather wistfully. "You know, I've been thinking about advising Her Majesty to reinstitute the organization."

"If there's nothing else, Count Orwick—"

"No, nothing else," Orwick said. "Do be careful, Miss Primrose."

~*~

It took an hour for William to arrive at the Arcanum estate; he had nervously retraced his steps to make sure that Snips was not following him.

Once there, he found it difficult to resist the urge to take a peek at the oddities that lined the manorhouse's halls. But rather than satisfy his curiousity, he cradled the cup of tea Starkweather had brought him while he waited to see Master Arcanum, pausing to blow away the rising steam.

As he lifted his head, he noticed that everything had gotten abruptly quiet.

The crickets outside were no more. William could not even hear the tick of his own heart. He frowned, searching the room; his eyes fell upon the large and stately clock that occupied the far wall.

Its second-hand was trembling, struggling to get past the five.

"Not again!" William cried, and before he could stop himself, he had dropped the cup. The mathematician flinched with expectation, then stopped when he realized that the scalding tea had never reached his trousers.

He peered down at the teacup, which was now hovering in mid-tumble directly above his lap. Its contents were paused in mid-spill, resembling a dark ice sculpture. Staring with rapt fascination, William reached out to touch the side of the tea—and immediately drew his finger back with a yelp. Although solid, the substance was still quite hot.

He looked back to the clock. The second-hand continued to wrestle with the future, skipping back to the five with every attempt. And as William stood up to get a closer look, the hand suddenly snapped back—lurching to the four.

"Master Arcanum will see you now," Starkweather announced.

William spun around, facing the towering monolith; he saw now that the teacup was sitting neatly on the table, undisturbed and still steaming. He turned back to the clock, only to find that the second-hand was happily marching forward, well beyond the seven.

"Um," William said. "Did you—did you just notice anything, uh, odd?"

Starkweather raised his eyebrow.

William shook his head. "Nevermind," he said, and then he walked on.

The study contained all manner of oddities that drew William’s interest; the designs for strange machines that cluttered the walls caught his eye in particular. The owner of the estate even apparently had a mummy still in its sarcophagus, the withered corpse still bedecked in the ancient jewelry of its long-dead empire.

As William was inspecting the mummy, it suddenly spoke.

"Good evening."

William nearly screamed, springing back and hoisting his hat up to protect him from what he assumed was the freshly arisen corpse. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t the mummy who had spoken, but someone else—a figure who he had missed in his initial appraisal of the room, sitting on a chair in a nightgown and cap.

The figure was, apparently, yet another mummy.

"Uh," William began.

"You wished to speak with me," the second mummy said.

"Hullo," William said, shifting uncomfortably. "I’m sorry, I don’t actually know who you are, but—"

The mummy made a gesture. As if conjured from thin air, Starkweather appeared behind William and dropped a heavy hand to his shoulder.

"I was here earlier with Miss Snips and I just wanted to ask you a few questions," William squeaked out just as that grip turned to iron.

"Wait," the mummy-man said, shifting to sit up. At once, the servant's hand fell away. "You know… Miss Snips?"

Well, yes, somewhat," William said. "I mean, we’ve fallen off a building together, and fought a fire. I’m not sure if that qualifies me as ‘knowing’ her, but I’ve certainly met her."

William Daffodil is startled while inside Professor Arcanum's study.

"Pardon my earlier rudeness. I’ve had some trouble with unwelcome guests in the past," William’s host said. "My name is Nigel Arcanum. May I inquire as to whom you are?"

"William," he said, wetting his lips. "William Daffodil."

There was a long pause.

"Oh, er, I suppose I should explain," William said, having long grown used to such moments. "Yes, I am related to
those
Daffodils, but I assure you that I am in no way like the villains."

"How disappointing," Nigel said.

William blanched. No one had ever reacted that way before.

"I knew your parents, William," Nigel continued. "And though they were many things, they were certainly not villains."

~*~

~*~

Snips jammed the business end of her crowbar between the planks of wood that now guarded the hole in Basil's workshop wall, twisting them off with a loud pop. She glanced below to make sure no one had heard the sound (nor noticed the thief who had clambored up the side of the building), then tossed the timber up to the roof. Without further delay, she slipped inside.

Basil's workshop was as dark as Snips expected. The thief withdrew a hollow glass stick, gave it a steady shake to rouse up the lightning beetles inside, then held it up as the azure glow seeped into the room. After a quick glance to make sure nothing was waiting for her in the corners, she tossed the empty burlap sack over her shoulder and moved to enter the halls of the Steamwork.

Snips muttered thanks to whatever God was listening that the Steamwork didn't have some sort of clockwork automaton patrolling it after hours. The hallway was completely empty, with the only light provided by Snips. She skulked up to Timothy Eddington's office, found the door locked, then set the light stick down and got on her knees.

Locks were one of Snips' specialties; while others had spent long years learning how to put things together, Snips had been studying how to take them apart. Her long and clever fingers traced the width of the keyhole, gave the knob a jangle, and figured it to be a fairly simple warded lock. She unfolded the leather flap of tools she had brought with her, plucked out an appropriate pick, and began her work.

"Really, Mr. Eddington," Snips said aloud as she twisted the pick about, attempting to fit it into the grooves. "You'd think you'd put a little more thought into your security. It's almost like you want me to steal everything you own."

The lock soon snapped open with a satisfying ka-chunk.

Replacing her tools, Snips rose to her feet and stepped inside, holding the light stick high above her head. Its glow permeated throughout the room, shining down across the many baubles and trinkets Snips had admired on her previous visit.

"Hello, gents," Snips said. "Don't suppose you'd fancy a night out with a pretty lady?" She swept her burlap bag up into her hand and went to work.

She had snatched an ivory Buddha, three expensive looking pens, a lovely amethyst paperweight, and was considering the matching set of ebony bookends when she noticed the filing cabinet behind Mr. Eddington's desk. This one had been triple-padlocked.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Snips said, tsking. "This will not do!

Three padlocks? Really, Mr. Eddington. How over-zealous." She squatted down and went to work on them; one by one, they rattled off beneath her quick fingertips and razor-sharp tools. Once the last one clattered to the floor, she opened the cabinet up with a serene smile and held the light stick low to see what she had found.

"Hm." She let her fingers dance across the files, searching for something with a provocative name. Her hand froze over a file with the title of 'HEMLOCK INITIATIVE'.

She bit down on one end of the light stick as she leaned against the far wall and glanced through the documents. She couldn't make out two thirds of it—as far as Snips was concerned, mathematics might as well be Swahili—but there were several things that popped out immediately.

She shoved the documents in the burlap sack along with the other goods. That's when she noticed the button.

It was small and delicate, stashed away beneath the desk in a spot few would know to look; designed to blend in with the wood grain, she only noticed it thanks to the shadows cast by her light-stick. She gave the beetles another violent shake to brighten the glow, then leaned forward to give it a closer look. Tilting her head to the side, she reached forward and pushed the button in with a click.

The bookcase on the other side of the room slid away with a low hiss, revealing a narrow passageway.

Snips' eyes were as wide as saucers by this point. She stifled her urge to whistle low and crept back out from behind the desk, counting slowly back from ten. Once she was satisfied no one was charging up the passageway to see what was going on, she crept up to it and stepped in.

The bookcase clicked back into place.

Dunnigan's disappearance into the office earlier had made her suspect a secret passage was stashed away somewhere in Mr. Eddington's office; this confirmed it. The hidden niche was filled with a set of cramped stairs that spiraled down into the heart of the Steamwork. Snips moved carefully, keeping her eye out for the telltale glow of a far off lamp. But by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, all thoughts of being discovered had disappeared.

The base of the stairway opened up into a stone lobby, which in turn lead to a large hall; as Snips stopped and stared at the sight before her, an unknown hand turned on the lights. They came on slowly, flickering near the back as machines roused from their slumber with a splutter of dust and a distinct electric hum. And then, like a curtain being drawn from the stage, row after row of bulbs shined down upon marvels and miracles.

Each well-oiled contraption cheerfully hummed as it set about its predetermined task with no more fanfare than ants going about their daily toil. Iron rods crackled as arcs of electricity leapt between them; relentless engines rumbled behind sets of spinning wheels and levers.

In a glass case was a wheel of iron as tall as Snips. Inside it was a seat attached to a plump looking steam-engine, suspended on a series of pipes and valves that attached to the wheel's inside curve by two metal sleeves at the bottom and the top.

In another case was a series of glass bulbs of every fashion, shape, and design; some flickered, some flashed, and others remained steady. The light they gave off was brilliant, and Snips had to keep her eyes averted lest she be blinded.

And yet in another case lay two machines which seemed to resemble the innards of several dozen clocks that had been regurgitated into a pair of boxes made from mahogany and glass. A small crank attached itself to each box's left side, with several dials each bearing a series of symbols from 0 to 9 on the top. Snips realized that they were miniature models of calculation engines; furthermore, the two engines had a wire connecting both of them, and seemed to be interacting with one another.

Next to each display was a framed and mounted set of blueprints, and beneath each set of blueprints was a patent signed and purchased by the Steamwork.

"What are you doing here?"

Snips whirled around. Behind her was Dunnigan, squinting and holding a mop up to her as if it were a gun. Snips sighed with relief and shook her head.

"Continuing my investigation," Snips said. "What is this place?"

"You shouldn't be here," Dunnigan said. "It ain't right."

"This place—these inventions. They're amazing," Snips said, walking between the tables. "But they look so old. Some of the cases are rusty, and..." Snips drew a finger across one table, lifting it up and peering at it. "There's dust everywhere."

"Aye, I'd like to clean the place out, but Mr. Eddington refuses to let anyone touch anything in here without himself being present," Dunnigan said. "’Cept for Mr. Copper, of course."

Dunnigan instantly threw his hand over his mouth.

Snips turned. "Copper. This was Copper’s laboratory? No,"

she said, frowning. "It couldn’t have been."

"Not, uh, exactly," Dunnigan said, squirming. "But Mr. Copper did most of his work here. Cataloguin’ and figurin’ out how it all works, and that sort of thing."

"Who’s laboratory is this?"

"Well," Dunnigan said, stepping back. "That’s a little complicated, see—"

"My God," she said, realization hitting her in a bolt. "I understand, now. How Mr. Eddington is trying to make money.

These devices—what do they have in common?"

"All of them could make history," a voice said.

"Revolutionize the industry." A low and threatening chuckle followed. "Annihilate the competition."

Snips turned; Mr. Eddington was approaching from the back of the room, dressed sharply in a suit and bow-tie. He held a pistol in his hand and wore a grin on his face; by the way his eyes gleamed, Snips could tell this was not a social call.