by J M Bannon
"Marshal, would you allow us to transport this apparatus up to the Peregrine where I can inspect it thoroughly in my laboratory?" asked Rose.
"Well, that's why you are here, Ma'am to figure out what the hell happened and who's to blame, but there is more. That wasn't the only thing I found. This fella, the dead one who didn't die like the others he had this on him." Elmore pulled out the fancy pocket watch that had two times on it, "and this," he added as he pulled out an exquisite table clock from a drawer and set it on his desk. "Now the thing I noticed is that the time on the clock is the exact same as the one on the small face of the watch. They are not set to local time, but the larger face of the pocket watch is fixed to local time, finished Elmore.
"And he had these in the wagon?" asked Dolly.
"Yes, but not with that contraption. They were mixed in with his personal effects, the watch on his waistcoat and the clock was located in a satchel he had on him. Most folks in these parts don't give a hoot about what day it is let alone the time, and then to have two timepieces. It's strange," offered Elmore.
"Do you think the man might be a thief?" replied Dolly.
"Maybe, but I am more inclined to not suppose and investigate further, and that means we all go out to Harpsichord and have a look around,” said the Marshal.
Dolly followed up, "Is everything intact, no muddling of evidence?"
"Well, I have left several deputies in the town to keep things in place until you folks can take a look. Then there is the question of the Indian fella we found at the scene. He is a guest of the Sheriff's office, we have detained him for further questioning," explained Marshal Quentin.
"Marshal, I would perform an extensive scrying of the town. I have developed a procedure whereby I will fumigate the town with alchemical fog and then use a metaphysical apparatus to search for traces of the supernatural. In the case of the Zeus Colonial we captured photographs with a similar process allowing us to view an event where the individuals aboard were stripped of their spirits in unison," explained Rose.
"The whole place was full of wrinkled frozen people?" Elmore blurted out in fascinated horror, “sounds a lot like Harpsichord.”
"That is indeed is one way of putting it," Rose looked at Elmore, "I suggest we get a move on."
"It's a day's ride at least, seventy miles approximately" The Marshal replied, watching Rose shoot a look to Reidun. It was if they were communicating by looks.
"Depending on winds, two to three hours. All I require is to identify the location on a map and I can plot the course," replied the blonde-haired Captain.
"How about dinner in Harpsichord, Marshal?" asked Rose with a grin.
"Absolutely not," said Dolly. "I was promised a beefsteak and I'm shopping for one of those repeating rifles. We can leave in the morning."
13
Wednesday the 20th of March
Hawkin’s House 8:00 a.m.
The front garden was getting a spring clean-up. Enzo was planting tulip bulbs as Pāora raked up the small yard drawing up the old clippings and mulch. The garden was a small and inconsequential outdoor space. The upkeep had not been a priority for anyone in the household until Enzo moved in, then he made it his hobby to pick and preen it into shape.
A stocky bloke with a mustache and a few days growth turned up at the gate. He sported a threadbare suit and carried a box with a ribbon around it. He reached over to unlock the gate and received a shock when Pāora, tuned in to the noise of the gate, nimbly approached the intruder at the entrance.
"May I help you?” inquired the Māori.
"Mate, you're like a bloody gargoyle you are. Sure, can you advise Ms. Violet Caldwell that Darren Higgins is here to visit."
Pāora stood and took one stride to reach the gate barring the man's entrance. He peered into Darren's eyes attempting to glimpse into his character and intent, "On what business?"
"You're the bloody help right, so go inform the girl that her Beau Darren is here, and I wish to see my sweet little daughter,"
Pāora looked at his neck and how exposed it was in that dingy collar almost narrow enough for him to get one hand around, but he was more impelled to punch him in the esophagus. Then he felt the diminutive monk's hand on his forearm. Enzo's touch soothed his warrior rage.
"Darren, was it? You claim you're the beau of Violet Caldwell and here regarding betrothal?" asked Enzo.
"Well, you added the bit about the betrothal. I said I was her beau and I'm certain she'd be delighted to receive me."
"Oh, I was just encouraged to see you here to make an honest woman of her and as a member of the Priesthood I could officiate the marriage at once," said Enzo.
The second-floor window flew open, it was Violet. She wailed out in Māori. The pronunciation was appalling, the phrase incorrect, but Pāora knew what she was attempting to convey and let out a hearty belly laugh.
"What did she say that's so amusing?" asked Darren.
"Well Mate, what she said was 'there will be a party of whales at the bottom of the ocean'," translated Pāora.
"I don't understand, what's she on about?" Darren said with the same puzzled expression as Enzo.
"Why that's funny is I have been teaching Miss Violet how to humiliate her foes in my language," Pāora jumped and landed in a challenging stance slapping his breast and yelled at Darren in Maori while making his most frightful war face. He suddenly stopped and chuckled anew.
"You're fucking bonkers," said Darren after jumping back and putting his fists up.
"See that is how you insult and intimidate a foe," He continued to laugh and wrapping his big arm around Enzo's shoulder, "Miss Violet was trying to tell him he was lower than the whale shit at the bottom of the ocean. Get it?"
Enzo laughed. "That's good, nothing lower than that, is there?"
Pāora got serious again, "Darren was it? I think what Miss Violet is struggling to express is that she is not in the mood to receive you right now. How about you give me any messages you have, and I will pass it on to her?"
"Well, let me share my whereabouts so she can contact me," said Darren as he passed the Māori the carton with the bow on it.
"I know exactly where you will be. When you arrive tomorrow, you will sort through our rubbish bin and if you see this package in it, you know to leave. If you don't see, it come around to the front door to call."
8:40 a.m. The Town of Harpsichord
"You didn't mention that Harpsichord was on a rail line," said Dolly looking through a spyglass on the upper observation deck.
"Yes, a spur that comes off the Chicago, Burlington and Quincey line. They move cattle, bison, and pelts through Omaha then East, why do you mention it?"
"Because of the locomotive parked on the siding," said Dolly.
"Let me see. Shit fire, hell, and brimstone," announced the Marshal as he grabbed the telescopic viewer and adjusted the focus.
"That's a mouthful," replied Dolly.
"Do you have a more powerful looking glass?" asked Elmore. The Marshal had joined the British party on their airship, they were closing in on Harpsichord, too far out to make out the details but close enough to see the silhouette of a steam locomotive just beyond the small town.
"This means railroad men," Elmore grimaced and pulled off his hat to rub his head in thought.
"Railroad men. Would you care to share your concerns, Marshal?" asked Dolly.
"Let's get down to the bridge and chat with the Captain and the Constable," suggested Elmore as he walked to the stairwell. The two clunked down the stairs to the flying bridge, Elmore contemplated the situation as they walked. Unsure of what it meant, it could be just a regularly scheduled train or the railroad company out to investigate on their own. Either way, now the railroad owners would be aware of the situation in Harpsichord and want to have their nose in the investigation.
As Dolly and Elmore made their way to the wheelhouse, they passed the laboratory; Rose and Lorelei were tinkering with a maze of glasswork distilling some bizarre
concoction. The contraption with the black wisps inside was set aside on an adjacent table. "Ladies, you mind joining the Detective and me on the bridge?" asked Elmore.
They all assembled at the window and took turns looking through spyglasses at the town trying to get a feel for the situation.
"That's not a freight train. It's a private passenger train; you see it only has three cars and they are passenger cars," reported Elmore. "Would you mind just circling the town, so we can take a gander, captain?"
"Pilot, adjust course and circle the town," ordered Reidun.
“How many meters out do you want me to stay?" asked Reidun.
Elmore gave the Captain a confused look, “Meter?”
"Just think of a meter as about a yard," she told him.
"Well why not just say yards," he replied.
"I am operating a precise vessel and regardless of your thoughts on Emperor Napoleon, he has brought standardization to the continent. I believe the crew is best served using his standardized metric measurement system, rather than a combination of nautical and farm measurements," instructed the Reidun.
"Got it, a meter is a yard," Elmore looked to Dolly making a face.
“No closer than two hundred meters," said Elmore.
"Maintain an altitude of fifty meters and no closer than two hundred meters," confirmed the Captain to the pilot.
"I see at least ten men moving about the town," observed Dolly.
Elmore looked closer and saw a bunch of men standing in the dirt that made up the one main street of Harpsichord. Adjusting the focus, he got a picture of the party, a motley bunch and from the location of where they stood, he could only assume they were outside the Sheriff's office. Shit, Shit, Shit on a stick from the bottom of my shoe…
"All right, by the power vested in me as the US Marshal of the Territory of Colorado, I deputize you, Detective Inspector Adolphus Williamson and Constable Rose Marie Caldwell as deputy Marshals of the United States Territory of Colorado. Do you swear to uphold the law and carry out these duties as directed?"
"Excuse me, Marshal, we are law officers of the Crown. I am unsure what you are up to, or what you expect of us but deputizing foreign citizens can't be protocol," contested Dolly.
"Detective, you're in a United States Federal Territory, in a country made up of foreigners. By the time we land there will be another score of immigrants hopping in wagons traveling out here seeking their fortune. I see a problem down below, in that Sheriff's office are three greenhorn Deputies holding the only live lead I have, who happens to be an Indian. In these parts, the Law can be taken into the hands by an unruly few. I'm responsible for applying justice equally. Now, I don't want to spook you folks but if a conflict arises and you feel the need to defend yourselves or more to the point defend me, I want you to have the protection of the law. The Deputies in Harpsichord are to keep an eye on things, so I don't expect trouble," offered Elmore pointing at the locomotive. "Here is the thing you need to understand about the rail. Our new President, most Congressmen, and Senators all have an interest in these railroads. Mr. Lincoln would never have received a second look as a presidential candidate if it weren't for all the legal work he performed for the national railroads. In many parts of the new territories, the law can be taken upon itself. One thing I have to deal with is what we call the checkerboard. In 1862 the Federal government granted land to the railroads to encourage expansion all throughout the West. So there are spots where these railroad companies have more rights than anyone else 'cause they own the land," shared Elmore.
"Are you saying that this railroad owns the town?"
"No sir, they don't but they go around acting like they own just about everything and everybody," Elmore explained.
"I hope you can understand that I am not looking to be front and center to an international incident. Our group is a circus on a good day and heretical on most. If it weren't for my government's experience with metaphysical threats, there would be no Special Branch for the Paranormal. I can't have us in the newspapers over some cowboy shootout," implored Dolly.
"Gents, why don't we proceed down there and determine what they are up to before they wear away any spiritual traces," Rose interceded between the two lawmen. "I think if we come into town on the runabout that should give them pause and you time to assert your authority over the situation," finished Rose. "Point taken Miss, let's get down there and help those fellas in the office. I expect they are a little jumpy right now and we will be a welcome sight."
3:40 p.m. Whites Gentlemen’s Club, London
Strathmore sat leisurely in White's Club waiting for his appointment with Augustus De Morgan. He had arrived in London on business after touring the continent with a stop in Rome, Lago d'Orta, and Amsterdam. He served both of his masters on this trip conducting business for his Investment Bank and attending to Doctor Caiaphas. At times like this, he enjoyed his idle solitude, with no task but to drink Rum and smoke a fine cigar. He watched as the club clerk brought the visitor to where he was seated so comfortably in the member's lounge.
"Excuse me, Mr. Strathmore, may I present Mr. De Morgan." Strathmore stood to shake hands with his guest. "Thank you, Evans. Have a waiter come back with a… what would you like to drink Mr. De Morgan?" asked Randal Strathmore.
"A lager of some type would suit me," answered Augustus.
"Please have a seat," guided Randal. The men sat in overstuffed chairs by the fire.
"This fire takes the dampness out of your bones doesn't it?" said De Morgan smiling as he adjusted his position and unbuttoned his coat.
"So wet and cold, London is," confirmed Strathmore, one who preferred the warmer climate of the southern parts of the continent. "When I received your invitation, I was perplexed as to what a managing partner at Chilton companies, let alone the American one, would want with me. I have been all but adversarial to the Mechanists and the hold they have on the Empire. Suspicion asks why a partner in a firm creating so much wealth from the Guild would want to meet with me,” said De Morgan.
"Well, this conversation won't become any less bizarre I assure you, but this has nothing to do with the Mechanists and any quarrel you have with them. I understand that you are a savant in the science of numbers," Strathmore suggested, leaning in.
"It is true, I have written several treatises and worked with the great analytical minds of the Empire and abroad. While I would not propose to embody all knowledge in the field, I am part of an inner circle of many such enlightened acquaintances; growing our reach and understanding,” offered Augustus with a smirk while his hands went to his bushy sideburns.
"I have conducted extensive research, and I found articles where you describe an analytical machine capable of complex and accurate calculations. I would like to discuss funding the development and implementation of this apparatus," offered Strathmore. He waited for a response from De Morgan but gone none, so he continued to lay out his position.
"As you mentioned my partners are avid supporters of the Mechanist Guild affording early insight into many clandestine projects, yet no one in this cohort knows of any such machine. If one were to acknowledge the gossip in this city, they would be inclined to believe the Mechanist have made it a priority to ensure that no electromechanical logic machines are built, certainly, none that would challenge the trigonometric registers they provide to Her Majesty…"
"A bloody shame, the monopolistic tripe, stifling ingenuity," Interrupted De Morgan.
"Well, I'd like you to know I am not affiliated with that thinking and would be very interested in introducing overseas investors to the developers to aid the pursuit of this ingenuity. In fact, I have been asked by a client who read your work to seek you out and explore if the machine you mention can be purchased or a likeness built for private use," said Strathmore.
The old man squirmed in his seat. His mouth moved as if to start a sentence then he stopped.
"Mr. De Morgan, I am aware this development can be expensive, but I assure you that if you can
deliver the machine, my client has the means to make it worth yours and your partners time," Strathmore pressed.
"Well, here is the thing Mr. Strathmore, I don't need your money, or I should say they don't need your money."
"Really, is that so? I have never heard that as an excuse before. But that makes me believe the machine you talk about in your treatise exists or it will soon."
"Those bloody Mechanists can vote us out of the ministries and halls of power, but eventually forward-thinking people eventually approach us, like you are now and want to fund progress."
"So, the machine is in operation?" asked Strathmore.
De Morgan's demeanor changed, the smug smile leaving his face, "The machine, if it were to exist, I am not permitted to talk about."
"Professor, I thought you were a man looking to spread the circle of knowledge, to advance all of mankind in pursuit of higher intelligence." Strathmore pushed.
"Mr. Strathmore,” The waiter brought De Morgan his drink and set it on the table. De Morgan took the glass and gulped a mouthful of beer. "Sir, the parties that may have this hypothetical machine are not interested in partners and would frown upon my discussion to anyone of this business," Augustus said at a whisper.
"Mr. De Morgan, while you may have wealthy patrons for this project who demand a level of discretion, the party I represent has enormous wealth and influence, frankly the needs they have for this analytical machine would, in turn, require absolute judiciousness. However, you are an educator, one with an intention to spread knowledge and I expect to appreciate the benefit having multiple patrons will do to strengthen your position," guided Randal.
"Hypothetically speaking, those who own and operate the theoretical machine do not hold the far-reaching power of your Guild or have the money in your firm's safe; but I can assure you, they certainly don't give a tinker's damn about either of you and maybe the most ruthless fellows in the City of London," DeMorgan warned as he sat back in his chair.