Fiendish Schemes (29 page)

“Interrogators?” Actual bits of stone and crumbling brick began to rain down upon our heads. “I don’t believe you realize how personally important this matter is to the Prime Minister—”

I soon did. The walls on either side of the cell’s doorway crumbled into pieces, the door itself falling with a thud at our feet. Through the dust clouds, I was able to perceive hastening workmen hoisting mallets above their heads, then hammering the spikes of iron railway tracks into the corridor’s stone floor. They worked at frantic speed, seemingly unaware of the arched ceiling above their heads splitting open.

With an ear-piercing shriek, billows of steam rolled into the cell. The mechanical noises reached a deafening pitch. For a moment, my hindered vision could just perceive great spoked wheels turning and thrusting pistons more enormous than imperial cannons—

The wall behind me sundered to dust, pitching the unchained bunk to the cell’s floor. The clouds of steam parted and I found myself gazing up into the unsmiling visage of Mrs. Fletcher.

S
O
you
. . . are the person who has caused such an uproar.” Given the great rumbling and shattering of the building’s firmament that had accompanied Mrs. Fletcher’s arrival, I had expected a deeper, more profound pitch to her voice. In this, I was disappointed. On the sole occasion I had opportunity to overhear some utterances from her, when Stonebrake had been secretively ensconced in the gallery overlooking the Commons’ erstwhile deliberations, I had thought that the noises I had perceived as emanating from the monstrous iron construction were but a malfunction, perhaps one of the alarm whistles bolted to the cylindrical boiler’s flank shrieking out of turn. But now that I was face-to-face with the transmogrified Prime Minister, I more correctly perceived that the sound was her actual voice—not the impressive bass that would seemingly have been more suited to both her immense form and position of power, but instead a nagging, wheedling verbal semblance, more suited to a schoolmistress than a despot.

“You must excuse me—” After having been upended by the general collapse of the cell around me, I had regained my feet with as much dignity as I could muster, given the circumstances. “But I was not aware that I had caused any such disturbance. And if I have, it was not my intent.”

“Perhaps not.” The square-jawed face surmounting the partial torso shifted in its squinting appraisal of me. Again, I was reminded of the manner in which a nominally female figurehead might be mounted to the prow of a large ocean-going vessel—though in this case, certainly not a fetching, bare-breasted mermaid with streaming tresses, but rather the more formidable shape of one of those termagant-like creatures whose masculinizing tendencies have rendered them as stevedores working the East London docks. “Now that I see you directly,” continued Mrs. Fletcher, “rather than merely listening to secondhand reports of your doings, I suspect that I might have been somewhat misled as to the threat you represent to Her Majesty’s government.”

Despite its dismissive tone, I was heartened by this appraisal. With any luck, the Prime Minister might determine that I was not worthy of any further attention, not even to the point of being eliminated from the face of the Earth, and I would be set free to go about my inconsequential ways.

This voice came from close behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Stonebrake brushing the powdery dust from his lapels. Straightening his garments, he gave a respectful nod of the head to Mrs. Fletcher.

“It might be worth the Prime Minister’s time to undertake a thorough questioning of this man.” Stonebrake’s intent was obviously to raise the issue of the location of my father’s
Vox Universalis
device, rather than to acquire my freedom. “Just to definitively ascertain that he possesses no useful information.”

“Indeed.” From above, Mrs. Fletcher squinted down at me. Behind the human component of her form, a corps of attendants— different from the sweating navvies who had lain down the railway tracks by which she traveled from place to place—swarmed over the greater mechanical bulk. Their busy hands made minute but essential adjustments to the various valves and other appurtenances that extended from the larger machinery. “Such is my intent.”

My heart sank again within me, as the prospect of my release faded once more. This close to the Iron Lady’s intimidating construction, more steam engine than woman, it became apparent to me that any appeal to what arguably might have remained of her more tender feminine nature was doomed to failure. Only sheer bravado on my part, evoked by the desperate situation in which I was encumbered, kept me from flinging myself bodily to the cracked cell floor in despair.

“My sources tell me,” continued the ever-helpful Stonebrake, “that this person and his heinous associates are endeavouring to locate a certain device capable of simulating not just human voices, but communications made by other species as well.”

“Yes . . .” Mrs. Fletcher’s steely head gave a slow nod as she studied me. “I am familiar with the nature of the device of which you speak. The question, of course, is that of
your
knowledge.” Her narrow gaze fastened even harder upon me. “Tell us of your expertise, Mr. Dower.”

“I make no claim to any.” In this situation, I had decided that honesty might be the wisest course. If nothing else, it might be considered disarming, given how unusual it was in these various interlocking circles. “Other than that my father was the creator of the device being discussed. There are some who feel that such a filial status might give me a unique insight to its operations. Whether that is true or not remains to be seen, as I have yet to even see this allpurpose vocalizing apparatus.”

From my position in the jumbled ruins of the cell, I kept close watch upon Mrs. Fletcher’s reaction to my words. Even though her face seemed more composed of grey iron than pinkish skin, as though the sturdier atoms of her mechanical bulk had somehow insinuated themselves into her flesh, a few flashes of the human were still discernible, like muted lightning in overhanging storm clouds. To the degree I was capable upon such short notice, I had crafted my statement as much in pursuit of Stonebrake’s goal as my own. If the Prime Minister and her associates at the Department of Technography and Statistics were indeed in possession of the
Vox Universalis,
there was a good chance that they were as stymied about its functions as were most people who came into contact with my father’s devices. And if that were the case, the response I was hoping to evoke from her would establish not only the machine’s location, but also some continued value to her, in regard to my remaining alive.

A scalding gout of steam jetted from one of the valves closest behind her torso, as though her darkly musing cogitations had triggered some expression of force from the immense cylindrical boiler. “You haven’t seen it?” The expression on Mrs. Fletcher’s stiffened face turned even grimmer. “I had been led to believe—indeed, on the assurances that the informant standing behind you had given to my Department of Technography and Statistics—that you had not just a connection through your father to the apparatus under discussion, but also extensive experience in its operation. Hands on, as it were.”

“So he does—” Stonebrake hastened to interject his putative correction. “Disregard this comment he has just made. The man is a desperate and violent criminal, fully in league with the worst rampageous groups. Thus, it was necessary for the constables to apply a rigorous amount of physical force in order to make his apprehension. Very likely, his memory has been temporarily deranged by these events.” With the sharp point of his elbow, he gave me an admonishing dig in the ribs. After a quick, scathing glance, he turned his gaze back toward the Prime Minister. “I’m sure it will all come back to him in short order, though.”

“You seem to know a great deal about him. How is that?”

“Entirely done in your service.” Stonebrake spread his hands wide. “I have kept this individual under the closest scrutiny. I can give you a complete account, if you were to be interested, of his various peregrinations about the city. As I have trailed behind him, he has led me through some of the most secretive locales possible, the very knowledge of which on his part indicates his association with those evildoers who skulk about at our world’s nocturnal fringes. How else would he have gained secretive entry to not just the intimate chambers of that certain emporium catering to those transformed similarly to yourself, not to mention spying upon you at the House of Commons?”

“Yes, yes; that has all been reported to me. In great detail. His identity as a thorough felon is well established thereby.”

I turned and looked at Stonebrake beside me, a new revelation dawning in my mind as to his recent actions. Previously, I been considerably doubtful as to why he was going to such great efforts to shuttle me about from place to place, all unbidden on my part. His protestations that this long travail had somehow been designed as a means of locating my father’s
Vox Universalis
device, by way of the supposed ethereal vibrations emitted by my brain, I now saw as a hollow sham. My exhausting journey had been merely for the purpose of convincing those agents of the Prime Minister, all of whom must have been keeping us under their own observance, that I was engaged upon some nefarious errands—presumably at the bidding of these malignant anarchists with which I was presumed to be in sympathy. And thus it had been conveyed to the Prime Minister. To what ultimate effect, though, I was still not sure.

“I feel, however, that your confidence on this point is misplaced.” As she spoke again, more geyser-like spouts of steam burst from various apertures arrayed on Mrs. Fletcher’s mechanical bulk. “And more than any other failing that ordinary men are capable of, expressing deliberate falsehoods to me is the one that I find the most grievous.”

Chastened—and deservedly so—by the Prime Minister’s admonishment, Stonebrake shrank backward, as though to shelter himself as best he could behind me.

“Let me bluntly ask you this much.” Her gaze, like gun slits in a military fortification, fastened with greater force upon me. “The Department of Technography and Statistics have established that your father devised a certain apparatus, designated as the
Vox Universalis
. Do you know of it? Pray keep your reply as brief as possible.”

“As I attempted to indicate to you—I have been told about it.”

“More briefly than that—to match my waning patience. Do you know if this device still exists?”

For my own sake, I knew I should have attempted prevarication on these points. If I wanted her to place even a slight value on my continued existence, it would have been better for her to believe that the
Vox Universalis,
if not yet in her possession, might still be acquired by her agents. And when that at last happened, the result of the Department of Technography and Statistics’ diligent scouring of every obscure hiding-place in which the device might reside, then I would presumably be able to assist in determining its exact functions and mode of operation. If I sought to ensure my own survival, such were the notions that I should have attempted to more firmly embed in her thoughts. But the withering scorn she had just directed at Stonebrake, for his failed attempts along these lines, spoke volumes about the possible fate I would endure for a similar effort, if my statements were to be discerned as untruthful.

“No,” I confessed. “I don’t even know if such a device ever existed.”

A great metallic clatter issued from deep within the Prime Minister’s form, the reverberations so strong as to cause a new storm of dust and debris to fall through the ruins about me. What few riven walls had been left still standing along the corridor behind her, now trembled with imminent collapse.

“Great God, man—” Through the mounting noise, I heard Stonebrake’s appalled whisper at my ear. “Now you’ve done it.”

“So, in actuality . . . ,” Mrs. Fletcher persisted in her enquiries, “there is no possible aid you can provide us, when it comes to locating the device?”

“None whatsoever—”

In retrospect, that was not the wisest answer I could have given.

For a moment, it seemed as if the great engine embodying the Prime Minister would rear entirely free of the hastily laid tracks upon which her sharp-circumferenced wheels rested, so violent was the shock that visibly ran through her iron components. From the trembling boiler, rivets sprang like bullets, embedding themselves in the cell’s stone fragments. The escaping gouts of steam were now so enlarged in force and volume as to send flying the attendants scrambling to bring the construction back under control.

“Down!” Stonebrake grasped my shoulders from behind, attempting to pull me to the floor. “Shield yourself—”

It was too late. The last image entering my consciousness was that of Mrs. Fletcher, infuriated beyond even the abilities of her transmogrified frame to contain, howling like a Fury in my direction. Through the unleashed clouds of steam, their billows roiling like an ocean tide through the cell’s broken confines, I had a nightmarish glimpse of her face, eyes now fully widened, brow dark with murderous, all-encompassing rage.

Then the explosion, scalding and churning the very air with its force—I felt myself bodily lifted, all earthly components obliterated. I shot into space, blinded to all thought and trajectory.