Part 11 (1/2)
Tobias caught his breath. Behind the bra.s.s cover of the distiller was a gla.s.s plate, and behind that a double helix of clear tubing. Inside was the bright lime-green fluid that was distilled aether, snaking in a continuous journey that spiraled up and back through the tube. But rather than the clear jewel-like serpent Tobias should have seen, it churned with agitation. Tobias had a moment of mild surprise-not that it was about to explode, which was obvious, but that it was such a stellar example of improper installation that he wished he could show it to the apprentice mechanics.
The housing began to make a loud ticking sound, the temperature inside obviously out of hand. Visions of flames and flying roof tiles crowded his brain. Maybe a crater where the street used to be. Surely it wouldn't be that bad, but he was on top of the thing and didn't fancy ending up as bits of gooey muck on the walls. Tobias jammed his fingers into the glove again and dug down inside the workings, feeling for the hose that was supposed to take in fresh air and release excess heat outside the gla.s.s housing. Even if McColl shut down the steam engine, it would take too long for everything to cool to a safe level.
Tobias felt his feet slipping and gripped the dome hard with his left hand. He could feel the hose he wanted, twisted uselessly under some pipes instead of venting like it was supposed to. All he had to do was. .h.i.tch himself up and lean a little farther in. He did, dangling a moment, but he got hold of the tube. It was a special material, a combination of rubber hardened to withstand extreme temperatures and a finely knitted steel, so flexible it crumpled like cloth. It burned him right through his glove, and experience had taught him to beware the scalding steam trapped inside.
Then McColl slammed a gear, jolting everything. Tobias had a good grip with his hands, but his feet flew free. That jerked the hose, and all the pressure that should have been loosed for the last hour shot out-and so did he. Tobias sailed backward, shrieking as steam knifed out just inches from his skin.
He landed hard, but years of riding lessons had taught him to fall. He rolled to a stop, gagging with pain. For a moment, the world rotated, reminding him of an era when he'd spent most days drunk, and for an instant he wanted desperately to go back there.
The sound of feet skidding to a halt jerked him back to the present. McColl was leaning over him. ”Guv? You all right, guv?”
An eerie silence hung over the place. Every other pair of hands had stopped moving, all attention on him. Tobias sucked air between his teeth with a hiss. It felt like his body wasn't sure where to begin hurting, but he couldn't exactly start moaning. He wasn't just the spoiled son of an aristocrat, he was the Gold King's head maker, and there was an example to be set.
He cleared his throat. ”What's the green light at the top doing?”
”It's gone out, or just about.”
”Good.”
”What's it mean?”
Tobias sat up, and that sent his gut rolling like a wind-tossed airs.h.i.+p. ”We don't die today.”
McColl looked happy about that, then twisted around when the door to the offices slammed. Keating was marching toward them, the silence growing so profound as the workers quieted their tools that Tobias could hear the soles of his employer's shoes scuff the floor.
”What happened to you?” Keating demanded.
Tobias looked down at his arm, which seemed to be hurting worse than the rest of him. There was a strip of flesh between the gauntlet of the glove and his s.h.i.+rtsleeve, and it was lobster red from the blast of steam. ”d.a.m.nation.”
”Get up,” Keating ordered. ”I take it the transport is not working yet?”
McColl had already faded into the sea of workbenches and mechanical monsters. Tobias found his feet, though quickly discovered moving his arm hurt like blazes. ”The new unit needs adjustment.”
Keating grunted. ”So do you. Better get some ice on that. Let's go someplace where we can talk.”
They went through the door to Tobias's work s.p.a.ce, which was a separate room with an adjacent office attached. Long tables covered with disa.s.sembled parts lined the walls of the main room, evidence of his interrupted work.
They went into his office. It was utilitarian, with plain white walls, st.u.r.dy oak furnis.h.i.+ngs, and a small window that looked onto a featureless back alley. Tobias didn't care about the lack of a view. Keating had workplaces all over the city, but Tobias preferred the simple, workmanlike utility of this one.
They sat down at the small, square table and waited while the young doctor who worked on site iced and bandaged Tobias's arm. It hurt somewhere beyond reason, and Tobias gratefully accepted the gla.s.s of whisky Keating poured for him. Now that the crisis was over, he felt an odd agitation, as if he wanted a fight. He'd got off lightly, but was still furious at having to take such a risk. And of course it was his right arm, which would hamper him for days.
”How long do you think it will take to get the transport working?” Keating asked as the doctor left.
”It will take a day or two of tinkering and we can test it again.”
”We need to get it into production as soon as possible.” Keating paced the room, circling it like one of those exotic fighting fishes that constantly prowled the confines of its tank.
Tobias tried to watch him but then gave up, since every blink seemed to jostle his throbbing burn. Wearily, he wondered how many of the transports would roll out of Keating's factories. Tobias had designed half the weapons, but Keating hid the finished product from everyone but a handful of warehouse workers. No one knew just how strong the Gold army might be, and Keating liked it that way. ”Is there a time constraint that I should be aware of?” Tobias asked.
”Yes,” Keating said conversationally. ”There's going to be a war. Surely you've noticed?”
”You sound like my father.”
Keating's look was dryly amused. ”Lord Bancroft and I see eye to eye on very little, but I think we agree on this point. The natives are restless. Why do you think Reading was on edge at your father's party?”
Because he was working up his nerve to ask me to play traitor. But mentioning that now would only open the door to a conversation Tobias didn't have the energy for that day. Not with his arm throbbing and the Gold King already spoiling for a fight. ”He was drunk.”
”He's up to something. Most of the time he knows far better than to draw attention to himself. Or to challenge me-especially when we have agreed to an alliance.”
But the bargain Keating offered was enough to make anyone wary. The Gold King wanted Scarlet's fleet of dirigibles, but he had little patience for the man himself-and Keating tended to dispose of things he couldn't use. ”What are you going to do about him?”
”I'll bring him around,” Keating said shortly. ”Can you tell me anything new about the abomination?”
That was Keating's way of referring to the bug. Undoubtedly, there was something about saying ”the sanct.i.ty of my territory was destroyed by a giant bra.s.s mosquito” that irked the Gold King past endurance.
”You don't think Reading had anything to do with it?” Tobias asked.
Keating's look was impatient. ”Of course I've thought it. Everyone has after that disreputable performance at your father's party. It's the one reason I think it's unlikely. He's not subtle enough to do something that obvious.”
Spoken like a steam baron. ”Who else?”
”If I've learned anything from Holmes, it's the value of evidence. What have you found since last night? Anything besides that steering system? You've had a week.”
Tobias was tempted to say something unwise. A week wasn't a long time when it came to the amount of work involved in disa.s.sembling a machine of that size and complexity. Not when every bolt had to be examined for clues. But Tobias rose, a little dizzy from the pain, and motioned for Keating to lead the way toward the workroom. ”Whoever manufactured this machine used parts from other s.h.i.+ps. Finding out where it was made will be a challenge.”
Keating moved to center of the room and gave the ring of worktables an imperious glare. ”You told me that already, and it's not particularly helpful information.”
Tobias crossed to the nearest heap of parts, running one hand over the smooth bra.s.s. ”I have men researching where the donor s.h.i.+ps might have been located. I'm hoping we'll find a wrecking yard in one city with the right combination of old s.h.i.+ps.” Of course, given that air travel was relatively new, he wasn't even sure such a selection of salvage existed. He'd asked the Merchant Brotherhood of the Air for help, but so far they'd been coy.
Keating swore. ”There is nothing? Nothing at all you can provide?”
”I've mentioned the steering system.” He pointed to another table, where a steel cube bristled with copper wires. ”The logic sorter is interesting. It is different enough that I'm concentrating my efforts there.”
”Good. Spend more time on it.”
”And what about the transport?” Tobias waved his good hand in the direction of the main workshop.
”Keep on it. We need it faster.” The Gold King leaned against one of the tables. ”Understand this. The air battle over London stirred public resentment. The Red Jack was a popular icon, the captain something of a romantic hero. The man in the street has a soft spot for rogues.”
Nick. Tobias hadn't known the man well, but he had saved Imogen. The thought left a guilty, bitter feeling that had Tobias reaching for his whisky gla.s.s. If Nick had been a popular hero, he'd paid for that status with his life.
”And that battle was not the only cause of resentment,” Keating continued angrily, crossing back into Tobias's office long enough to return with his bottle of whisky and a second gla.s.s. ”Who knew Dr. Magnus's theater was so popular? The Steam Council was blamed for the fact that his automaton ballet was destroyed, and for the fact that the Whitechapel Murderer was never caught.”
”At least he's stopped killing,” Tobias offered.
Keating huffed. ”None too soon. Rebel sentiment has grown in the last year, and I intend to be ready to defend myself. I defy you to find a member of the Steam Council who is not.”
That was no more than he'd guessed, but Tobias still felt a frisson of unease. He sat silent for a moment, considering. Keating was surely holding something back. ”Have you heard anything further about the Baskerville affair?”