‘Just picking out what to wear this evening.’
Lucian paused, about to say something. Instead he huffed and said, ‘I have some inventions to show you. If you’re composed they might cheer you up?’
Baxter cleared his throat, collecting his thoughts to an order fit for conversation. ‘Can it wait, please, my Lord, I’m–’
‘–yes, you already said, you’re naked.’
‘Give me a second,’ said Baxter.
The room Lucian led Baxter into was full of rosewood cabinets. Lucian hit a switch on the wall and each of their internal lanterns lit, casting a glow through their glass tops and spotlighting reflective metals, glass and polished surfaces.
As Lucian gestured to each, muttering words which held pride, Baxter struggled to listen through the forest of his mind’s recently sprouted distractions.
‘Try and guess what function and capacity each of these have.’ Lucian’s tone suggested he was hopeful Baxter knew the answers. The devices were made from an assortment of bronze, copper, brass, eastern steel and silver, some held gold and jewels. The construction quality was perfect.
‘Are these hand built?’ Baxter asked with a fabricated interest which Lucian noticed immediately.
‘Yes, even the smallest part I designed. No matter the size or how drab the purpose, from my dreams they’re cast from paper to vices, and now here they rest, collecting dust in my graveyard of ideas.’ He waved his arm as though to introduce the room’s personality.
‘Incredible, but I wouldn’t say this was a graveyard.’ Baxter leant in closer to the glass, his breath fogging it.
‘What would you call it?’ Lucian’s eyes twitched.
‘A showcase?’ he replied, admiring the lines and shapes.
‘You’re the first to see these in years, Baxter, as I’m the only visitor. I think graveyard is a more fitting title.’
He knew what Lucian meant; neither his father or his uncle ever exhibited the slightest hint of interest in his constructions. ‘I had to recraft sixty rivets once because my lathe’s inner coils had stretched. I had a row of rivets increasing in size by zero point one inches,’ Baxter said.
‘Must’ve taken months to fix.’ Lucian said.
‘It did, my uncle helped me.’
Lucian smiled thinly at Baxter. ‘Nicholas?’
‘Yes.’ Baxter still thought it odd he knew his name. ‘Can I take a closer look at these?’ He pressed his dirty index finger to the glass.
Lucian’s left eye squinted, he thought to control it. ‘You may,’ he said, hiding the annoyance while removing a pair of white-clothed gloves from one of his pockets. ‘Wear these.’
Baxter put them on.
The first instrument was a small telescope with what looked like a protractor attached to the bottom.
‘Are you familiar with this device?’ Lucian asked.
‘Yes, it’s a sextant.’
‘Correct. Only this I designed so it measures distances between the moon and any other celestial object–’
‘So, you can tell the time?’ Baxter shouted.
Lucian’s posture straightened, smiling intently at the boy. ‘Nobody likes a know-it-all, Baxter, but yes, precisely – are you sure you were raised on a farm?’
‘My uncle Nicholas used them when out in the evening shepherding.’
Lucian smirked wickedly.
Baxter caught the snigger off the cabinet glass. ‘Why’s it amusing?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Baxter. It’s just I imagined your uncle trying to use one of these wearing a pair of boxing gloves, and a shepherd you say? Golly, what a tickle you’ve given me.’
Baxter’s voice flattened. ‘He was a good shepherd.’
‘Nicholas the Nightmare Nightingale watching his flock by night, now there’s a real nursery rhyme. Why didn’t he just use a pocket watch?’
Baxter stood in silence as he watched his host’s laughter slow to a steady halt. ‘My uncle was a good shepherd, and pocket watches don’t come with torches.’
‘Speaking of which...’ Lucian reached in to the cabinet and removed a clock. ‘Press this button, just here, on the top.’ The dials on the clock’s face lit up. ‘The internals generate an electric charge which powers the light. Don’t tell anyone, though, I’ve harnessed micro-electricity. I’ll hang as a heretic. Now look at this.’ Quick to change the subject, he pulled out another contraption. ‘Can you guess what this does?’
The device featured several ringlets, four in total. The holes were adjustable with thin metal clamps resembling handcuffs.
‘May I?’ Baxter asked, taking it from him. He placed each of his four fingers inside the holes and adjusted to fit.
‘No. you have it the wrong way.’ Lucian cradled the device. ‘This way round.’ He adjusted it to clasp Baxter’s fingers together. ‘Now move your hand around in a circle.’
An internal gyro hummed. The jewels on the clasp glowed. The faster the movement, the brighter it shone. ‘I see, how clever, it’s a torch.’
‘Yes!’ Lucian applauded. ‘This was the prototype. All of the miners have them issued, saving me a bucket load of lolly on whale oil.’
A knock came from the door, and Lucian called for them to enter. Baxter hesitated to turn around, hoping he’d see Tabitha stood hunched as she always did. It was Sidney, Lucian’s butler. He walked over holding a tray with two glasses of Absinthe.
Lucian winked. ‘Perfect timing as always, Sidney.’
He handed Baxter a glass from the shaking tray and took the other, resting it on the side of the cabinet. ‘That’ll be all.’
‘Thank you,’ Baxter said, taking a mouthful of the Absinthe in the hope it might calm the storm raging inside his stomach.
‘What are you doing?’ Lucian’s question came in a serious tone which rang true to his title.
‘Sorry, what’s wrong?’ Baxter looked down at his glass confused.
‘No toast?’
‘Oh of course! How rude of me,’ said Baxter, releasing his held breath.
‘Indeed.’
‘To the King and our Dear Mother, cheers.’ Baxter held up his glass waiting for his hosts to meet it.
It didn’t. Instead, Lucian snapped his hand over Baxter’s drink. ‘Patriotic, but dull, and to the Mother?’
‘Alright,’ Baxter said, searching for something worth toasting. ‘To love?’
‘Love has been toasted over a thousand times already this evening around Terra. Baxter, come on, think of something inspiring.’
He searched his memory of recent events. The word family kept trying to creep its way to his lips, but he swallowed it.
Lucian egged his glass forward. ‘How about to our fucking fathers, may they turn in their graves in awe of our successes where they’ve failed.’ Lucian held up his glass waiting for his guest to join it.
‘My father isn’t dead.’ Baxter’s voice was flat.
Lucian put down his glass. ‘You’re right, it was a little insensitive of me.’
Baxter acknowledged the apology.
‘To the ones that made us who we are, whether that be our family or ourselves,’ Lucian said, finally aware soft ears need softer words.
Baxter held his glass and collided it with his host’s. ‘I’ll drink to that, cheers.’
Trains of thought ran through Baxter’s mind.
Lucian, noticed each of them and prepared to answer the questions he knew were coming next.
‘Any news on Tabitha?’
Lucian downed the entirety of his Wormwood reserve. ‘She was freed, and my people gave her the choice to come here. She chose to go back to her family.’
‘I see.’ It was the most likely set of circumstances. ‘How was she?’
‘Not in the best of spirits, having been chained to a dungeon wall for several nights. We gave her some money and passage back to her village.’
Baxter sunk in his hips. ‘Didn’t she want to come and at least say goodbye?’
Lucian went to take anot
her swig of his drink, quickly realising he’d already finished it. ‘No, she apparently said something about her mother, and how she had to get back.’ Lucian leant in. ‘Can you blame her, Baxter?’
He sunk in deeper to himself. ‘I guess not.’
‘Right!’ Lucian stood back, spreading his arms out. ‘We have a party to get ready for Baxter. Come, back to your chamber, shed off those ill feelings, they do you little good here among the vultures you’ll be meeting tonight. They feed from such emotions.’
As Lucian went to leave, a glare of silver caught Baxter’s eye from one of the cabinets. ‘Lucian, what about these?’ He pointed at a pair of highly polished silver goggles with shaded brown lenses.
‘Ah yes,’ Lucian said making his way back over. ‘They were one of my first inventions.’ He carefully opened the door and held them in front of Baxter to take a closer look.
‘They’re exquisitely crafted.’ His eyes widened in questions. ‘What do they do? Zoom in on things?’
‘Well,’ Lucian coughed. ‘That and several other functions, here...’ Lucian placed his empty glass on the cabinet’s shelf. ‘Why don’t you see for yourself?’ He carefully put the goggles over Baxter’s head.
The room turned a shade of sepia. ‘Am I supposed to press or adjust something?’
‘There’s a key on the side, you wind it up.’
‘Oh, clockwork?’
‘Yes,’ Lucian said. ‘Clockwork. Your father had a gift, seeing its potential.’
‘You didn’t?’ Baxter noticed and responded to the casual glance from his host to the leather arm chair, inviting him to take a seat.
‘It’s difficult, Baxter. I come from a long line of railroad men. We’ve been extracting the Britannia coal from its veins and tossing it into the fires of locomotives for generations.’
‘Your family were miners?’
‘Yes, my father was to be the last of them. He designed the Trans-Britannia Railroads and the Trans-Atlantic Trading Airways.’
Baxter tensed as Lucian continued to coin the names of institutions he didn’t know.
‘What is it?’ Lucian asked.
‘Nothing.’ Baxter struggled to conceal his discomfort.
‘You’ve never heard these terms before, have you?’
Baxter exhaled a breath he’d been holding. ‘I fear there’s much I don’t know.’
‘Yes, perhaps so,’ Lucian said, ‘but surely it excites you? It does me.’
‘Why? Do you not think me foolish or worse?’
‘There’s something worse than being a fool? See, Baxter, you do yourself an injustice, sir. If you know of such hierarchies existing amongst fools, how could you ever be one?’
‘Ignorance is worse,’ Baxter said.
‘Indeed, it is, wise Nightingale.’
Baxter’s brows bridged over the top of his nose. Was this man, one who claimed an old friendship of his father’s, mocking him?
Lucian kicked back his body and howled a deep laugh. ‘Baxter, you are a dream my boy, a beautiful dream. The pains of this world all of its ugliness hasn’t tainted you, you are pure and free. I know together great wonders await us.’
‘As wonderful as your father’s? He must have been a very smart man,’ Baxter said raising his glass up to the painting of a suited, stern looking gentleman who was never silly enough to allow a smile to eclipse his face.
‘Smart? The Count Seagrave? Hopelessly so, yes.’ Lucian walked slowly to the window and tapped the pane of glass with his finger like flicking the fire off the top of one of his factory’s chimneys. ‘He was a difficult man to please. Even the King was frightened of him.’
Baxter made a sound which registered with Lucian as the noise someone makes when surprised with disbelief. ‘The King? He’s certainly a fright. Was your father kind? Did you spend much time together?’
‘He’d buy me gifts, animals, to keep me out of the way of the family business. Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t touch a single block of coal until I was in my late twenties?’
Baxter’s face sunk. ‘But it’s everywhere?’
Lucian smiled. ‘Coal’s considered filthy by the Uppers.’
Baxter wanted to reply in correction to what his host had said, casting the comment as ironic where diamonds were concerned, a chance to prove how clever he was. But he didn’t say anything, and thought better of such boasting outbursts.
‘He was bright in his youth, but in his age a dull madness seeped into his genius and the reality of his mortality drew back the veil of reality.’
‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’
‘No siblings. Just me, I’m the last of them.’
Baxter thought for a moment upon the implications of a man with no family when surrounded by such wealth. It struck Baxter how lonely his host must be.
‘Your father and I were equals, him and I. From what you say it sounds like the explosion changed him.’ There was a sadness cast across Lucian’s face, his eyes looked at the empty air and played back a series of private regrets, then paused and looked back down at the goggles in Baxter’s hands. ‘I love clockwork, it’s where the engineer ceases to be a mechanic and becomes an artist. Through clockwork, an engineer discovers the fundamental–’
‘–workings of the universe.’
‘Exactly, Baxter,’ he cooed, pleased at the camaraderie they shared. ‘Exactly.’
In the distance, a band were practising for the party, clashing instruments a few rooms away. As Baxter fumbled for the key he watched Lucian scowling in the direction of the instruments, his movements changed to rapid fidgets. ‘I’ve found the key.’ It was a vain attempt to bring back his host’s attention.
‘Magnificent, insert it and wind it anti-clockwise.’
The clogs clunked together and the springs compressed.
‘About ten rotations should do it,’ Lucian said, taking a few steps backwards. ‘Now look over there.’
‘Where?’
‘By the bookcase.’
Behind him, Lucian grabbed the empty glass and threw it over Baxter’s head, cutting the air and exploding in the bookcase, sending fragments of glass across floor.
The goggles sprang to life. A thin, bright red arrow appeared from the left of his ear, producing a line pointing directly at the impact.
He lifted the goggles up. ‘Where’s it gone?’
Placing them back, it was there again, pointing directly over his head and indicating the trajectory and distance the glass travelled.
‘Good Lord, how does it do that?’
‘Liquid crystals, Baxter.’ Lucian’s voice oozed with pride. ‘They track the motion of fast-moving objects. Just don’t wear them on a busy street, you’ll have arrows blasting all over the place.’
‘Genius.’
‘Thank you, Baxter.’ The compliment did not perturb Lucian, he’d been called it before.
Sidney reappeared, his face a mash of concern and inquiry. Lucian pointed his eyes at the broken glass. ‘I’ll get Mary to come and clean it up, my Lord,’ said the old man.
Baxter took off the goggles and handed them back to Lucian.
He held his hand up. ‘You can keep them,’ and pushed the gesture back to the boy. ‘If you’d like?’
‘I can’t, they’re yours.’
‘No, please, they’re a good pair, and I never get a chance to use them. Plus they have a great macro zoom function, perfect for clockwork.’ He tapped Baxter on the back.
Behind them, another knock came from one of the other larger black doors. ‘Come,’ Lucian shouted. Sidney hunched his way in again. Baxter figured the old man had a tendency of never being too far from his Lordship. ‘My Lord, the guests will be arriving shortly.’
‘Yes, thank you, Sidney.’ The old man disappeared in a bow, back to the other room.
‘Have you met Sidney, Baxter?’
‘I’ve seen him a few times. I’m guessing he’s been here for a while.’ Baxter had wanted to ask other questions, but held
back for fear of breaking social etiquette. ‘Did he serve your father before you?’
‘He’s been with my family for two generations. You’re right, he did used to wait upon my father. The old man, Sidney, he’s taught me so much about the world. My father, on the other hand, was always too busy with trains and men with big moustaches.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘What about her?’
Baxter gulped. ‘Did she not teach you anything about the world–’
‘I never met her.’
The ticking of the clock in the cabinet filled the silence they shared. Baxter felt the sadness returning, setting itself back in.
‘He’s a dirty backgammon player – do you play?’ Lucian asked, breaking the awkward silence.
‘I played my uncle a couple times. He’d loved playing it. Always beat me, mind.’
‘Sidney always beats me, Baxter. You see, we creative types don’t have the mind for such silly parlour room games. I prefer them based on skill and tactic, rather than leaving them to luck.’
Baxter took a sip of his Absinthe. ‘Backgammon has a strategy, and rolling a dice can be fun.’
‘Only if you’re prepared to lose, Baxter.’
‘We’re all slaves to chance sometimes.’
Lucian put his arm around his shoulders. ‘Not me, boy, not me.’
‘Didn’t you have a nanny who would play games with you?’ Baxter asked, imagining all the Uppers did.
Lucian removed his arm and walked to the bookcase, tapping his shoes as though on purpose to fill the large room with their echo. ‘My nanny, the one I had after Mother passed, was young and very pretty, but she was also a very wicked woman. She used to order me about, get me to do her jobs. I’m sure she had some resentment toward me and my life–’
‘Perhaps she was in love with your father?’
‘Trust me, my young Nightingale, such a task would’ve required more than the heat of our sun to melt his icy heart. No, she was–’
‘Barren?’
‘Perhaps,’ Lucian chuckled. ‘She was certainly bleak, bitter about her life not ending up the way she imagined as a girl.’ Lucian walked over to the shards of glass around the bookcase and picked them up, giving the closed door a glare. ‘I’m sure you’re familiar with these types of women, Baxter? They hate the rich. She was so wicked, I was always sure she had some Wiccan way about her.’
Dark Age Page 33