The Technologists

by Matthew Pearl

  Ellen stopped in her tracks, gasping. “Mr. Hoyt!”

  Under two small windows that were covered by wooden shutters, by the sole lamp, a large shape slumped in the shadows. They moved closer one step at a time until they could see the face of the corpulent keeper of the building, his mouth hanging slack, his eyes closed.

  Ellen smoothed her dress and dropped onto her knees, inspecting the moist folds of the man’s chin and neck, then his hand. “No pulse.” She moved closer to his lips, where there was a frothy residue faintly visible in the flickering light. “This man was poisoned.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “Mr. Hoyt, for the last eight months I’ve studied the composition of the most deadly poisoning agents known to humanity.”

  “But that is not in the curriculum of the—”

  “It is in my own curriculum!”

  “From his position, it looks like he was dragged down here,” he whispered, determined to contribute despite the dread creeping up his spine. “If he’s been dead, who was just breathing?”

  She examined his collar and shirt. Then she opened her nostrils and took in the odor. Cringing, she pried open his lips and pulled out his tongue between two of her fingers.

  “What in heaven are you doing with his tongue, Miss Swallow?”

  “The membrane around the mouth is white and softened. But I need better light and some more delicate equipment in order to determine when and how this was done.” She rose to her feet. “Hold on a minute, Mr. Hoyt. If I am right—and I am right—that this man has been a victim of foul play, we must warn them!”

  Edwin tried to clear his mind. He was grateful that she was here, and thankful she did not hesitate to decide their next move.

  “You noticed it yourself, Mr. Hoyt,” she went on. “It appears he was dragged, probably from his chambers upstairs. Whoever did it left all the doors upstairs unlocked but rolled the body down here—not wanting his dead body to frighten away a visitor from coming inside and continuing up. Someone was expected to enter. We were expected.”

  His face paled. “It’s a trap, Miss Swallow.” Taking a step backward to try to steady himself, he lifted his face to gaze at the upper wall. There was a large arch that extended up and had been filled in with brick. “There!” he cried out.

  Wires were hanging out of the archway, plugged into squares of some kind of clay.

  Then the noise again, rising up and dissipating as though from some remote horizon. “You heard that?”

  “Breathing,” she whispered back, nodding. “I heard someone breathing, Mr. Hoyt.”

  * * *

  THREE STORIES ABOVE THEM, Bob was stretching his finger in the keyhole of the door under the sign that read POSITIVELY NO ADMITTANCE. Bob smiled when Marcus caught up with him. “I arranged the lock plate to hide the effects of the gunpowder,” he explained calmly, “and to open when I pressed it to one side. You could call me an engineer at this rate.”

  “Bob! Why was the street door unlocked?”

  “A riddle, Mansfield? We need to study what I saw inside this laboratory to know what will happen next; otherwise it’s all for nothing! More people will be hurt!”

  “Professor Runkle was nearly killed in an explosion. It might have been the same scientist behind the disasters, and if it is, if the experimenter knows you found this, that laboratory could be loaded with explosives, ready to blow us to the sky when you open that door. Or the experimenter might be waiting to ambush us.”

  Bob had contemplated these possibilities, but thinking about them only bolstered his confidence. “No. No, I don’t think so, Mansfield. You see, this door is just how I left it. I am certain. Nobody’s been back here. This might—”

  “You don’t know that nobody’s been in here since then, Bob!”

  Bob hesitated. The easiest thing to do would be to step away. “This could well be our last chance, Mansfield. Our last chance to find what we need.”

  “Let us bring Edwin and Miss Swallow out of this building and to safety, and then decide what to do next.”

  Bob bit down hard on his lower lip. “It’s easy for you to say that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Telling me to wait!” He heard his voice shake, and that produced an odd flood of honesty. “I’ve waited my whole life to do something real, to act like a man. I will not shrink when my time comes—not again.”

  “Bob, wait!”

  He pressed his finger into the lock plate, causing the door to pop open.

  Marcus slowly joined him in the threshold to the laboratory. They both stood stock-still. The laboratory space appeared just as Bob had first seen it, and the enigmatic experiment inside the glass enclosure at the central table did not seem to have been touched since he had rushed out to find the others the night before. There were no explosives in sight, no wires, no phantom assassins lying in wait.

  “There,” Bob said, exhaling too loudly. “You see? It’s all right, Mansfield, just like I said. You get the others up here and let us get to work immediately analyzing all of this.”

  Marcus tried to hold him back from entering, but Bob shook him off and took a big step inside, then froze again.

  “Wait a minute,” Bob said, his heart dropping. “That standing desk by the window—when I was here, there was a large ledger, lined with gold leaf, leaning on top of it. I’m certain of it. Now it’s gone.”

  Click.

  “Mansfield, did you hear that?” Bob asked, hoping to God he hadn’t.

  * * *

  SECONDS EARLIER, Ellen and Edwin had climbed back to the first floor from the basement.

  “The archways bricked-up down below …” Edwin was speaking in urgent bursts.

  “What about them, Mr. Hoyt?” asked Ellen.

  “I think this building must have originally been one of the barracks built during the Revolution to protect Boston in case of invasion of the harbor.” Upon seeing her questioning expression, he added, “My father builds military forts; I have studied every variation of their design since I was a child. Those arches extend all the way to the top, and if those are damaged by explosives—if those wires extend all the way up—the whole place will come down on our heads, floor upon floor!”

  As they reached the vestibule, the iron door leading to the staircase emitted a loud click—the same one heard above by their friends—before either Edwin or Ellen could reach the handle. They pushed and pulled but the door separating them from the rest of the building wouldn’t budge.

  “No use,” Ellen said. “Some kind of locking mechanism.”

  “We have to tell them it’s a trap!”

  Ellen searched the desk and drawers in the chambers, while Edwin rapped his fists and kicked against the door.

  “Are there any keys?” Edwin asked.

  “Not that I see—maybe in the superintendent’s pockets?”

  “We don’t have time to go back down there.”

  “Here, Mr. Hoyt! This might be our best chance.”

  He rushed over to her side. She had found a large knot of a half dozen speaking tubes, each tube half an inch in diameter, protruding from the wall.

  “They must be arranged to communicate with the different parts of the building,” he said.

  “We could use this to warn them. But there are over a dozen of them, and they aren’t labeled as they should be. I don’t know which—”

  “Try them! Try them all!” Edwin said, panic rising.

  * * *

  “YOU HEARD THAT?” Bob repeated as they stood in the third-floor laboratory.

  “A clicking noise,” Marcus responded, his eyes sweeping across the laboratory.

  Bob held his breath, closed his eyes for a long moment, then puffed out an exhale. “Nothing happened. Nothing happened to us, did it?”

  “No.”

  “We’re safe,” Bob said. “It was probably just old Eddy tripping over something.”

  They were both stunned when the voice of Ellen Swallow popped into
the air. “You must get out! Quickly!”

  “What the devil?” Marcus asked.

  “There, the speaking tube.”

  At the wall where the tube emerged, Marcus spoke into the cupped opening. “Miss Swallow? Are you all right?” he said, then put the end to his ear.

  “The superintendent is down below, Marcus! Poisoned!” It was Edwin’s voice now. “The door—”

  Another sound from the knot of tubes, the sound of someone breathing, interrupted them and they fell silent.

  “Is that you, Edwin?” Marcus asked.

  “It’s not us,” Edwin’s voice replied.

  Then a voice—a hoarse whisper, maybe a muffled laugh—slithered out from the end of the flexible tube: “Very sorry. Positively no admittance, gentlemen … and lady. Technology lives!”

  Marcus and Bob traded terrified glances. A moment later, the stove in the corner of the laboratory began to vibrate. This was followed by a series of ominous cracking noises. Piece by piece, the floor bulged; cracks strained into holes. The wood and brick groaned; the west wall swayed.

  “Thunder and lightning, Mansfield,” Bob gasped. “Run, run for your life!”

  The floor of the laboratory sagged, sucking the tables, cabinets, and machinery into a hole, as the ceiling split and the walls gaped open.

  Tumbling down the stairs to the first floor, they stopped at the inner door to the vestibule.

  “Ellen! Eddy! Open up!” Bob called out.

  The walls rumbled, then growled.

  “Something is jamming the door frame!” Marcus cried.

  They could hear their friends pounding from the other side of the door to try to free them.

  Bob pressed his mouth against the cold surface of the unyielding door that divided them. “Nellie, can you hear me?”

  “Yes!” her voice was faint from the other side of the thick barrier.

  “Take Eddy and run away as fast as you can!”

  “Do not presume to order me, Robert!” her voice cried from the other side.

  “Damn all stubborn women!” He pounded hard with his fist. “Eddy, you drag her out of here if you have to! Do you hear me? Eddy!”

  “No!” shouted back Edwin. “We’re not leaving you here! We will live or die together, by the will of God!”

  XXXIX

  Two Documents

  Document: From Phonographic Minutes of Police Interview Between Sergeant Lemuel Carlton and Assistant Fire Engineer Salisbury

  CARLTON: You were present at the fire alarm this morning in South Boston, in the chemical laboratory building located at ———?

  SALISBURY: That is correct, sir. We received notice of the alarm through our telegraph system. I joined my company riding with our engine to the scene. Our station house was the closest in proximity to that fire, and our engine arrived before any other company.

  CARLTON: Do you believe the collapse of the building was the result of scientific activity inside?

  SALISBURY: Sir, I would not be able to say. It was in ruins at the time.

  CARLTON: Please describe what you saw.

  SALISBURY: That a rather ancient brick building had collapsed at that location, sir. It was in ruins, as I say.

  CARLTON: Were any persons inside the building at the time?

  SALISBURY: We did not believe so, sir, although the rubble will have to be cleared to know for certain. As it was a Sunday morning, and a commercial building, we knew it would be unlikely. If there had been anyone inside, there would be no survivors. That I know.

  CARLTON: Were there any witnesses present to view the incident?

  SALISBURY: There were several persons who had heard the boom, and rushed toward the sound, some of whom proceeded to spread the alarm.

  CARLTON: Anyone else?

  SALISBURY: Along the way, directly across the street from the building, I noticed what appeared to be a man running strong toward the building.

  CARLTON: A man running toward the collapsed building, you said?

  SALISBURY: That is correct.

  CARLTON: Please.

  SALISBURY: Yes, he was running toward the building, and two other young men tackled him to the ground, as though to subdue or capture him.

  CARLTON: Could you describe the appearances of any of these persons?

  SALISBURY: The air was thick with smoke. I could not see the individuals very clearly.

  CARLTON: But you could determine they were young?

  SALISBURY: I know not why. I suppose by the way they ran. Yes, it seemed so.

  CARLTON: What did the two young men do, having tackled the first one?

  SALISBURY: I cannot say. By that time we had situated our engine nearest to a fireplug, and the smoke had mostly moved in another direction with the wind. I did not see them again.

  CARLTON: They were gone?

  SALISBURY: Yes.

  CARLTON: The three of them?

  SALISBURY: That is correct.

  Document: From W. Edwin Hoyt’s Holy Bible

  God speed our journey, eternal book! Hours ago it seemed that my journey on the rough path of life would be brought to a singular and violent end. Inside the building housing the laboratory of Boston’s unknown Experimenter, M. and B. were shut up like chickens in a coop, trapped behind a door of iron that had been bolted shut by some contraption unseen by us. Miss S. and myself futilely endeavored in every possible fashion to dislodge it from the other side. Good-hearted B. urged us repeatedly to flee from the other side of the barrier, but Miss S. boldly refused and I could not give the idea a second thought. However cautious nature made me, I could never abandon a friend. I told him this in no uncertain terms.

  A second later M.’s voice clearly called out from the other side of the door: “Above!”

  We looked, and I saw what he must have seen: The ceiling above was bowing and, in doing so, began to dislodge the door from its locked position. Oh, my dear Bible! We had only a few seconds to act.

  “Ready?” M. asked from the other side.

  “Ready!” Miss S. and myself answered in one voice.

  “Now!” rejoined M.

  The ceiling began buckling, M. and B. pushed from their side, we pulled from ours, and though I could see nothing I felt with a fluttering heart a thrill as the door gave way with a shudder.

  A blur of dust and smoke came after that. We could only touch and guess our way out from the vestibule—a combination of memory, instinct, and luck. I felt myself hurried out the door by one of my companions and I ran across the street as fast as I could manage, even as bricks and other projectiles landed around me. Even now as I write this surrounded by the sweet tranquillity of plants and flowers, I can hardly say in detail how it all happened, or how long it lasted, or how it ended the way it did. The upper floors of the building pancaked into the lower ones, with a crash so complete it turned the world around us utterly quiet. In the distance, some seconds (minutes?) later I could hear shouts from strangers calling for help, and then the tolling of church bells with the same objective.

  I could not see inches in front of me, but could hear every crumbling brick and rock fall and could hear my friends rustling nearby. B.’s groan emerged first, calling out for each of us to ask whether we were there and safe.

  Then M. said, “We must leave before we are seen.”

  I know not what came over me amid such chaos, but something moved me almost to tears. “A building,” said I, “a building perhaps a hundred years old collapsed, nearly crushing us underneath! We are likely the only witnesses. We cannot just go off and hide, M.!”

  M. must have known immediately how perturbed I became over his idea. “Listen,” he said, grabbing me by both shoulders, which he had never done before in three years of friendship. “If the police learn that students from the Institute were inside that laboratory building—and no one else in sight—they will conclude that we caused this through some kind of misuse of science, accidental or otherwise. If we’re put in a prison cell over this, we can scream and shout
all we wish, but how will we stop what is about to come next, E.? Make no mistake,” he said, addressing himself to the whole group now, “the evidence that B. discovered inside that laboratory was intentionally destroyed. Now we still are left in a position unable to prove a thing.”

  B. was seething, distraught. I could hear it in his breathing and his trembling limbs next to me. “That was all intentional—it was a trap and I pulled us into it. We heard his voice inside there!”

  “The speaking tube could have been connected to anywhere,” I insisted. “Speaking tubes can work from hundreds of feet distance.”

  “No, I think he was watching us,” Miss S. said. “He could be watching us still.…”

  In the swirling dust, I could see M. suddenly latch his fingers on his own forehead. Mortality creeps onto us at such different times, and I can only imagine for M. how this time it differed from times past. But he now had B. by the shoulders in the same brotherly fashion he had taken me, and said, “You saved me. Another moment and—”

  “What?” B. interrupted.

  “I fell,” M. said. “Before I could reach the door to the street, I fell and you pulled me up and out.”

  B. said he had done no such thing, that he could hardly see what was happening.

  “But I made certain you all got out, then I fell. After that, I was pulled to my feet,” insisted M., with an air of confusion, “but I couldn’t see. E.? Miss S.? One of you pulled me to safety.”

  There was silence as we each waited for another to accept the credit; then more silence, as realization dawned on us.

  B. suddenly wheeled around 180 degrees, then back again. “Him! Where are you, you lunatic?”

  “B., no!” I cried.

  “You think science is the art of destruction—is that what you are about?” he went on, picking up a brick from the ground and swinging wildly at the dust. “Come out and I’ll show you destruction courtesy of Bob Richards!”

  He ran back toward the building and hurled the brick. Thank heavens that foolish act did not harm any innocent, but sent the projectile into the vacuum of the just-created rubble!

  We implored him to be calm and M. and myself fell on top of him and dragged him out of sight as he continued to scream in the same hysterical fashion. Luckily, over the din of the bells and the clattering of approaching fire engines, B.’s revealing words were almost entirely drowned out. A dozen or so onlookers had come running after the collapse to help … and to gape.