Sigmund Shaw: A Steampunk Adventure

by Mark C. King

  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 n
ew 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.”

  As he started to recover from his sleepiness, Sigmund began remembering the reasons for his visit. However, the talk of an apology took a little of the heat out of his motives.

  “I should say so.” Sigmund said. “You have made me the most hated man in all England.”

  Sutton looked to the floor with what looked like shame on his face. He said, “I did not mean for that. The explosion was not anticipated. It took everyone by surprise.”

  Sigmund had previously determined to not talk about that night, he had a better purpose than rehashing the past. “Jamison told me about why all this happened. Why you needed me, or someone like me. But that’s not why I’m here. The explosion destroyed all, there is nothing further to discuss. You are part of the resistance to the war faction in our government, I will not ask you to stop that in order to clear my name.”

  Sutton looked at him with a note of astonishment but said nothing. Sigmund continued, “But there is something I will ask of you. The cure for my niece. Jamison believed that you had a way to help Sarah to walk again. I think that I deserve this from you. Can you do it?”

  Turning his head to the monkey that had been sitting quietly on his shoulder, Sutton said, “Zachary, go to your spot.” Obediently the monkey jumped down to the floor, climbed a shelf above one of the tables, and sat in a low walled box. Turning back to Sigmund, Sutton said, “The answer to your question is yes and no.”

  Frustrated, Sigmund said, “Just speak straight. I have gone through too much to play games.”

  “Believe me, it is not my intention to fool you or play any games. But the answer is a little complicated. That said, I will answer you fully, but please, let us sit down.” Sutton walked over behind his desk and sat in his chair.

  Sigmund, not sensing anything but a willingness to help from this man, decided to sit. A chair on the near side of Sutton’s desk was the offered spot and Sigmund took it. He volunteered, “It does not surprise me that the answer is complicated. I’ve talked to many doctors over the last several years and they have given me no good answers. I ask this: If there really is no cure, do not try and give me some longwinded answer that in the end means nothing. I would rather a simple ‘no’ than false hope.”

  Sutton thought about that for a few moments, then said, “I understand. I will give you all the details, how I came to them, and what I think is the solution. With all the details you can decide for yourself.”

  Sigmund nodded slowly – a bit confused – and waited for Sutton to start the explanation.

  “My father was a doctor. I thought him the most remarkable man. Healing sick people made him like a hero in my eyes. Not that I saw him practice, but when he came home in the evenings he would tell me the most wonderful stories of surgery and medicine that helped people, that saved lives. He undoubtedly had failures too but he didn’t talk of those with me. When I was nine years old my mother fell and damaged her spine, she never walked again. At first I figured that after some time she would heal as if it was a normal ailment. But as time went on, she didn’t heal. I couldn’t figure out why my father didn’t make her better, he always made things better in his stories. It was then that I learned a disappointing lesson, that medicine, and my father, could only do so much.

  “I started looking through his medical books. Now, at nine years of age, I didn’t understand too much, but I kept at it. By fifteen, I had probably as much knowledge as many medical students. No experience, mind you, but I could practically recite the medical books from memory. Obviously, I was looking for some cure for mother’s spine. After primary school, I eagerly attended medical school and excelled in all my classes. But I grew disappointed, frustrated, even angry that all I was being taught was the same things from the tired medical books. There was no innovation and nothing remotely close to a cure for my mother. When I asked about reanimating her legs, the professors laughed at me. They laughed and said I should focus on real medicine, not what was purported in popular German fiction.”

  Sigmund asked, “A reference to Frankenstein, I presume?”

  A nod, “Yes. You might be surprised how many of the students I met were inspired by that book. Outside of classes I saw some of the most gruesome, most immoral and ghoulish experiments motivated by that story. Some students, you see, viewed the story as real, and that it was fictionalized so as not to concern the public too much. Although I would not sink to the level of some of my classmates, I have to admit that several of their ideas led my thoughts and training in directions that surpassed the classroom.”

  “Wait a moment,” interrupted Sigmund, “You are not saying that some achieved the questionable goal of the novel?”

  “No, nothing like that. No reanimation of the dead. But the cleverness, the innovation of the attempts, although mostly grisly, were still inspiring to me. This inspiration, achieved outside of the class room, led me to leave medical school before graduating. My parents were greatly disappointed. But my goal was not a piece of paper, it was to help people using science, through established techniques if possible, but also through new techniques. I found that school lacked in the ‘new’.

  “I travelled to Germany, the home place of the fictitious Victor Frankenstein. If there was evidence of it being a real account, which I had my doubts, I was sure it would be there that I find it. Sadly, I think, there was no evidence. I talked to many people, some who followed in the footsteps of the novel, but none that were able to duplicate. It was in Germany that I decided that I was only partially on the correct course. Reanimating a dead body was not my goal, I needed to heal the non-responsive limbs of living people. Still, the time there was well spent. I found some excellent mentors that had me expand my knowledge into the mechanism of man and animal. Yes, animal. There is much to be discovered in animal kind that could be adapted to humans.

  “From there I continued east to Russia. I found many doctors, but only a few that furthered my goals. Like many of my classmates’ experiments, the use of electricity was common, but in Russia is where I found it being used to stimulate muscles of those who were crippled. Not a cure, but it was the first real hope I had in discovering what I was after.

  “After some time in Russia I made my way further east. It was in the Orient that I found the greatest knowledge. Rumors of unorthodox treatment abounded, no doubt you have heard of some, and the Orient did not disappoint. The use of strange herbs and concoctions that yielded fantastic results stunned me. There were those that used only needles to heal pain by interrupting nerve communication. I knew I was on the right track at that point. And then I came across Master Liang. His work with the nervous system was advanced beyond any I had seen.

  “You see Sigmund, the nervous system is sort of like strings on a marionette, with the brain being the puppet master. If you want to move your hand, the brain pulls the right strings and your hand moves as desired. Of course that is an oversimplification, but the analogy is sound. Whereas the marionette puppet has a handful of strings, the nervous system has many thousands, perhaps more. Locating them and identifying the
m is where Master Liang was a true marvel.

  “It was under his tutelage that we made a great breakthrough. With Liang’s knowledge of nerves and my background in medicine and the application of electricity, along with our combined, though vastly different knowledge of chemistry we found a compound that allowed us to interact with the nerves on a level never done before. We were able to intercept, so to speak, the nerve signals and use them to activate mechanical replacements.”

  Sigmund thought he understood much of what was being said but this last part troubled him. He asked, “What do you mean by ‘activate mechanical replacements?”