Sigmund Shaw: A Steampunk Adventure (19 page)

“Alright, I’ll do as you say. Sigmund,” she looked him in the eyes, water pooling in her own already red eyes, and asked, “Will you be okay, truly?”

Sigmund thought of a million things to say, wanted to tell her everything would be fine, but finally conceded with a small voice, “I don’t know.”

Alexis hugged him and said through tears that now flowed, “Please be careful, Sigmund.”

He didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to feel the loneliness of hiding, of not knowing when he would be able to see his family again. But he had to. He didn’t know exactly where he stood anymore or what he should do next, but he knew he had to leave. With all his self-control he released the embrace, and with steady breaths to hold back tears, he managed, “You too.” Then turned and walked away.

18.

The day after the visit with his sister, Sigmund barely moved from his straw bed. When Harry came around they discussed the previous day’s visit – Harry was dumbfounded. He always liked Jamison, but this was beyond anything he could have imagined. Although he did reveal that maybe he wasn’t too good of a judge of people. This comment did not go unnoticed by Sigmund as it was likely a bit of rebuke for him.

When Harry wasn’t around, Sigmund would just lay back down on his bed. He wasn’t depressed, not truly, but lost in thought as to what possibilities he had left. There were not many. If this Richard Sutton turned himself in as the mastermind behind Sigmund’s participation, then maybe he could be free, maybe. But if what Jamison said was true, Richard Sutton is the leader of the resistance to this war faction. How much did that matter anymore? The invention was destroyed. However, war can and has happened without any new invention, so it is likely still a real threat.

Above all these thoughts, Sigmund kept returning to something that Jamison said about the German invention – it was necessary for the cure to help Sarah. Sigmund didn’t understand how, but if true then he was present for the destruction of Sarah’s only hope. Despite all his other issues, this thought bothered him the most. What were the selfish desires of politicians compared to the sickness of a remarkable young girl?

As day turned to night, Sigmund continued his fugue state wondering what to do. He had been desperate for answers since all this started and now that he had them, or at least some of them, he was in just as bad of a position. And so was Sarah.

Again and again his thoughts turned to Sarah. If this Richard Sutton had some kind of cure, surely there must be some replacement for the invention that was destroyed. Perhaps Sutton was lying and the cure was just an enticement to get at the German’s invention. But Jamison said that the cure was real, that he trusted in Sutton. Two days ago, Jamison’s thoughts on someone would have been enough to convince Sigmund, but now Jamison’s credibility had taken a serious hit. Sigmund didn’t know anything about this Richard Sutton and decided he had no reason to trust the man or his supposed cure – but that that was going to change. He decided that first thing the next day he would visit Richard Sutton and discuss a few things.

* * *

With a huge milestone being reached on the morrow, Christoph Grimkraken thought about his life’s journey to this point. One thing was crystal clear, his father had been a fool. Not that this was a new revelation to Christoph, as he considered nearly every day a new nail in the coffin of uselessness that was his father’s life. Christoph would probably have considered his mother foolish as well, but her place in the world was so obscure, so meaningless that she didn’t even matter. Yes, the decisions that Christoph had made would be proven, beyond any doubt, correct tomorrow, not just in theory, but in practice.

Christoph walked across the small office and closed the outside window, as the night air was a measure colder than the warm afternoon breezes. He didn’t bother with the latch, he was five stories up and was safe on many accounts. It amused him how much time he spent in this small office in this old dirty warehouse. He had a much finer one and an even grander one waiting near parliament. But this office, although small and spartanly furnished, was in the very heart of the future. Moving away from the exterior window he grabbed his cognac off his desk – even in this Spartan environment one must have luxuries – on the way to the interior window that allowed him a grand view of the vast facility he was in.

At this late hour, there were no workers in the building which bothered him greatly. To see this factory empty, not actively working towards his goals was nothing short of frustrating. Much had been accomplished but there was still much to be done. Was he the only one with any ambition? They were on the threshold of greatness and yet the factory lay dormant for the night, as if ideals only mattered during the daylight. He cautioned himself to be patient, there was still time and much had been accomplished.

Bah! He hated waiting. There were times when it was necessary, but more often than not, Christoph found a way to achieve his ends without the tedious practice of waiting. He often wondered why his methods were so rare. Did people have so little to gain by achieving their ideas that they let opportunities slip by for the sake of propriety, for patience? That was not the case with Christoph Grimkraken. His ideas were too great to be sidetracked by anything as inconsequential as perceived morals. His ends justified all means.

It was his ambition, his absolute belief in his ideals that led him to where he was now. To think that his father wanted him to settle for a life of servitude. To work for others, to bend to their will. The very notion disgusted him. What could a person accomplish in that situation?

“No!”

Christoph frightened himself with his audible and vehement answer to his own questions. He looked around the room assuring himself that he was alone – although he knew he was. These reflections on his life, although satisfying, led him to strong feelings, feelings that he would be best to keep in control.

He took a long sip of his cognac, finding the rich liquid soothing despite the attack on his throat. He further soothed his emotions by gazing at the incredible machines in front of him. Regardless of the perceived lack of enthusiasm, the work that was being done was superb. If only it could be faster. Perhaps after tomorrow the realization and the magnitude of their mission would become more real. If not, he would find ways to motivate. Christoph was always able to find the right cog to turn in order to move someone to action. People were simple creatures for the most part. If you strip away the frivolities of empathy or so-called decency, it was not hard to have people produce what you need. It was no more difficult than getting a beast of burden to do your will – you enticed it with a reward or you whipped it. It was identical for people. Money or pain, both worked. It was the simple secret to Christoph’s success. If your objective was elevated then there was no argument against the process to get there – pain or reward. It didn’t matter as the end always justified the means. What could it possibly matter, the feelings of a few, when judged against the greatness of accomplishment?

Placing his glass on a silver serving tray that was out of place on the simple desk, Christoph took a deep breath to calm himself. To lose focus now, now that he was so close, would be intolerable. If there was a failure it would not be his. He would not allow anything, not even his own eagerness to derail the refinement of civilization. The refinement of the world.

19.

The sounds of horses and the smell of the stable was once again the wakeup call for Sigmund. It always seemed to smell the worst in the morning. Standing up, he stretched out the kinks that visited him each night. Looking across the stable he saw his horse, Ham, looking back at him.

“Good morning, girl. You miss riding around town?”

Ham just stared back with her large dark eyes, evidently not caring to answer. Sigmund smiled and wondered for the thousandth time if he would ever get back to his old life. He never thought it was a life that people would find particularly enviable, but it was his. Plus, almost anything was better than his current situation. Most importantly, he had been happy. Those who didn’t envy happiness probably never had any and thus didn’t understand that happiness is the most enviable thing a man, rich or simple, could own.

Giving his watch its daily wind, he placed it in his pocket and once again headed out, using the grey morning and early hour as protective cover from being recognized. The Academy of Future Science, the work place of Richard Sutton, was between London Bridge and the Tower Bridge along the south side of the Thames. It must have a good view of the Tower of London, a remarkable fortress – and jail, Sigmund reminded himself. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility to think that it could be his eventual home. He used this gloomy thought as motivation to keep vigilant.

His trip to the Academy was uneventful. There were a few people around, an occasional carriage, and a few constables along the way, but Sigmund was able to not draw attention to himself. Just another earlier riser, bundled up against the morning chill, getting a head start on the day.

The Academy of Future Science building was a massive brick building that backed up to the Thames. Sigmund had imagined it to look much like a school, but this building before him looked more like a factory than a place of discovery. The brown stone of the building mixed in with the slowly lightening fog gave the place a dreary appearance. Esthetics evidently weren’t too important to the scientific mind.

The easy part of his day over, Sigmund now had to figure out how to get in to the Academy and locate Richard Sutton – a man he had never seen before. Prior to becoming the Bomb Bandit, Sigmund could have simply asked for an appointment but that wasn’t an option. He thought about pretending to be someone else, but that invited too much time in close conversation with someone who might recognize him despite however convincing he could be. No, he would need a quiet way in. Sigmund went to the back of the building – taking several minutes to walk around the massive complex – and found what he was hoping for, a loading area. Prior to being the Academy of Future Science it must have been some sort of warehouse. Located along the Thames, it would have received shipments from cargo boats that would need an easy way to load whatever was received from the boats into the building. There was a dock that fingered into the river with a brick road that led from the dock to the academy and a pair of doors large enough to allow entrance to the heaviest of lorry wagons – clearly this was the path used from boat to building. It was Sigmund’s hope that this loading area was not watched over as closely as the main entrance no doubt would be. Seeing no one about he headed straight up the brick road. He ignored the large doors as they were too conspicuous and probably too heavy for him to open and headed to a normal man-sized door off to the right. Trying the handle he found it locked. Once again looking about, he verified that no one was in eyesight and kneeled down to go at the lock with his picks. It gave him a little trouble but after a minute – which felt like an hour to Sigmund – the door opened. Slipping into the dark interior he quietly closed the door behind him.

He found himself in a large receiving area filled with boxes and tarps and vastness. The walls on either side of the receiving doors must have run fifty yards in each direction. Light was provided by sparse electric ceiling lamps that allowed just enough illumination for Sigmund to move around without tripping over things. He wondered if someone forgot to turn them off the previous day. Making his way to a shadowy area behind a stack of crates, Sigmund crouched low and listened. The smell of dust and wood tickled his nose. After a little bit of time Sigmund was satisfied that there was no one nearby and was about to get up when he heard footsteps. Not daring to move, barely daring to breathe, he listened as the footsteps grew louder. Their pace was steady, not hurried, so Sigmund didn’t think they were coming for him particularly, but depending where they went, that could change.

Putting his hat on the ground besides him, Sigmund slowly moved his head so that his eyes were just over the top of the crate in front of him. Through the soft light he could see a brighter light – a lantern – bobbing down the receiving floor as its carrier headed towards the large doors. The man, his face obscured by the light of the lamp held out in front of him, continued to wander at the same leisurely pace, as if on a stroll through the park. A night watchman, Sigmund thought. Who else would be wandering this building prior to the workday – besides himself, of course.

Sigmund knew that he was currently in a good spot to not be seen. However, that could change quickly as his protective shadows would abandon him in an instant if the lantern carrying watchman thought to head his way. Fortunately for Sigmund, the watchman turned around several yards away from his hiding spot. Sigmund patiently stayed where he was even after the light had vanished. He allowed himself normal breaths once the footsteps faded away. The search for Richard Sutton’s work area would be a little more difficult than Sigmund hoped for. He would have to be on the watch for the guard and perhaps others.

As quiet as a whisper he walked through the receiving area, passing many more crates, machinery, and several tables with experiments and gadgets in different states of advancement. This place would have interested Sigmund greatly in other circumstances, his tinkering side fascinated by what went on here. The far wall, opposite the large receiving doors, was similarly vast in size – wide and multi-storied. There were many doors embedded along its great length and three iron stairways that climbed its face. The stairways led to platforms that also ran the length of the wall. The first platform was at least two stories up and was followed by two more platforms above it at similar intervals. Each platform allowed entrance to the many doors found on each level. One of those must lead to Richard Sutton.

Jamison had said that Sutton was a lead engineer and it was Sigmund’s experience that the more powerful you were, the farther away you placed yourself from the rest of the crowd. With that reasoning he climbed the stairs to the third platform. From this height he could see the magnitude of the building below him. Countless boxes, machines, tables with in-progress works. It was an inventor’s dream. It reminded him a little of his father’s workshop but on a far grander scale.

Forcing himself back to the task at hand, Sigmund looked at the first door nearest the stairs that he had just ascended. There was a name,
James Archer
– not the right name, but if all the doors were labeled then Sigmund’s job would be much easier. Quickly and as silently as possible he moved down the iron platform reading names on doors –
Desmond Lockton, Ernst Fletcher, Thomas Smith
… and several more, but none of them Richard Sutton. The optimism that Sigmund had a few minutes earlier started to wane. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so simple as he had allowed himself to imagine. Sigmund descended the stairs to the second platform and froze when he heard a door open above him. A light appeared on the far end of the third level platform and started heading his way. The leisurely pace was familiar; it must be the watchman again making his rounds. Sigmund walked to the nearest door, not Richard Sutton’s, and tried the handle. It opened to a space that was pitch black. He slipped inside and waited behind the closed door. After a couple minutes he could hear the footsteps from the platform above. Moments later he could hear the sound grow as the guard came down the stairs to the level that Sigmund was on. He took out his watch and began to rub the cover in nervousness. So far the guard hadn’t opened any doors, at least none that Sigmund could hear, and Sigmund prayed that he kept to that pattern. The footsteps grew louder, right outside the door… and kept going. Sigmund let out his pent up breath in relief. He stayed in the room for close to ten minutes, listening as the footsteps disappeared and then reappeared as they walked along the platform below him and then down the stairs to the ground floor.

Sigmund imagined the guard walking towards the large doors like he had done earlier and then turning back. When the guard, in Sigmund’s head, disappeared, Sigmund returned the watch to his pocket, left the room he was in, and started down the second platform to check the other doors. Reaching the far end, he still hadn’t found Richard Sutton’s door. Maybe he had an office in a different part of the building, further segregated from this area. With that depressing thought in his head, Sigmund climbed down to the first level platform and started checking those doors. Near the middle of the platform, not far from where he first climbed up the stairs, Sigmund found a name plate that said,
Richard Sutton
.

Not exactly the location that a typical lead would be located, thought Sigmund, perhaps Jamison was wrong about Sutton’s position here. In any event, this was the door that belonged to the man who needed to answer some questions.

Entering the room Sigmund found it similarly dark to the other office he had hid in. Feeling along the wall next to the door he searched for a power switch and after a moment he found it. Not wanting to alert the guard, he decided to turn the light on for just a second, long enough for his mind to take a quick glance at his surroundings, sort of like a mental photograph.

Click… click. The quick look gave Sigmund a sense of the room. It had a door on the opposite side – an entrance from the front of the building – a messy desk in the far corner, a rolling blackboard with various drawings and equations, and tables that ran along both walls that were covered with various mechanisms and lab equipment.

Figuring that Sutton would enter through the front entrance, not through the receiving area as Sigmund had done, he decided to hide next to the front door.  From that position Sigmund would be hidden behind the door when Sutton entered.

It was interesting to Sigmund that Sutton was one of the few people who knew he was innocent. It would be unthinkable upon discovering that Sigmund was in his office to raise an alarm. Sutton had used him. Sutton owed him.

Getting comfortable on the floor with his back to the wall, Sigmund resigned to the only thing he could now do, wait. His eyes grew heavy as the early mornings and uncomfortable bed were catching up to him. His eyes shot open at the sound of footsteps. Sigmund tensed, wondering if he had actually fallen asleep, wondering if Sutton was arriving. The footsteps outside of the back door grew louder and then faded. Must have been the guard again on his rounds. When Sigmund’s heart returned to beating normal, he once again found his eyes growing heavy with sleep. He should stand, he should walk around the room, he should not lean his head back against the wall and close his eyes. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Footsteps again! Sigmund snapped awake. He had certainly been asleep this time. The footsteps were again on the back platform, no doubt the guard making another round. As the footsteps reached their peak sound they stopped right outside the door. Sigmund got his feet under him and now crouched. The handled turned as Sigmund tried to imagine the layout of the office again in order to find a place to hide. Too late. The door opened and a person turned on the light.

Sigmund’s eyes burned in the new light as he had been in the darkness for quite some time. He forced himself to open his eyes and look at the person who entered. Although his sight was still poor from the sudden light, something was wrong with this new person, his shape was incorrect. Sigmund willed his eyes to adjust to the light but he couldn’t make it happen faster. He would be discovered before he could even see exactly who was doing the discovering.

He heard a voice say, “Hello! Who are you?”

Sigmund rubbed his eyes and allowed a few more second of adjustment before removing his hands. He could see a man – not the guard – standing before him. The incorrectness of the man turned out to be not some physical deformity but a monkey sitting on his shoulder. The monkey had a leather harness across its chest and was eating some sort of fruit slice. Before Sigmund could overcome his surprise at the situation, the man said excitedly, “My word! You are Sigmund Shaw! I hoped that I would get to meet you.”

Sigmund had to ask the obvious, “You are Richard Sutton?”

The man smiled, “I am. I am the man who was ultimately behind sending you to the hotel the night of the explosion. I owe you a tremendous apology.”