The Alloy Heart

by Quinn Loftis

  Olivia was speechless. It was a rare occurrence, but every now and again it happened. John Foster had rendered her absolutely speechless. Who was this man, this inspector, that he could speak with such poetic language and see things in such a way that she’d never known a man capable of? When words finally returned, she realized they’d been standing there staring at each other for some time. She felt her skin flush but didn’t look away from him. “Are you a worthy man, Mr. Foster?” The grin that spread across his face made her toes curl and her stomach dance with delight.

  “I could say yes, but then I believe actions prove a man better than his words.” Foster heard Thomas’ footsteps behind him and hated that he would have to conclude his time with the lovely Olivia. He wasn’t ready to leave her and her sharp wit. But he would be back. He would prove he was a worthy man and then he would make Olivia Hill his own. “Good evening, Olivia. Thank you for the intriguing conversation.” He gave her a short nod and a wink for good measure before turning to speak with his boss.

  Olivia watched as Foster turned and walked out, his voice carrying back to her as he began speaking with her brother. What had just happened? And where on earth had Thomas been hiding his assistant inspector? His words reverberated in her mind, and for the first time in her life, she wanted to spend time with a man. She wanted him to prove to her that he was this worthy man he spoke of. Olivia decided then and there that John Foster was going to court her, even if he didn’t know it yet. “Like it’s my decision or something,” she said to herself dryly. But then she thought about the way he’d looked at her, winked at her, and realized that just maybe John Foster actually did know he was going to court her.

  The slender man sat in his workshop, idly pushing the last of his crystals around on the desk. He felt both encouraged and distraught over what had happened to the woman, Mary. He was encouraged because he felt quite sure his latest design was a complete success. The heart had functioned amazingly well after it had been placed in the subject’s chest. Mary, it seemed, had not only lived for some time with the mechanical heart performing the duties of its natural counterpart, but the side effects to the subject seemed minimal. Mary was able to regain her faculties, remembering who she was and where she came from. And he even knew what had gone wrong. The garnet just didn’t have enough power. The energy required by the human body, the power to move and think and feel and perform a myriad of bodily functions simultaneously, was just too much of a strain on the crystal’s limited strength. Eventually, the flux crystal simply gave out. The man needed a stronger crystal, one that would continue to power his subject long after the initial carvings. Different types of crystals reacted to the laser differently. Some gave a huge amount of power in one burst, while others gave small amounts of power over time. He needed a crystal that would give off a medium quantity of energy, but do so over a very long period of time. And that is what left the man so distraught. He didn’t know of any crystal capable of doing that. Without such a crystal, his experiment could never be complete. He looked again at the meager stones resting on his desk. None of these would accomplish the task. He’d have to get his hands on more.

  Olivia hummed to herself as she tried mending the small tear in her favorite dark blue dress, the one she was planning on wearing to her sister’s wedding in less than two weeks’ time. The sister in question walked into the room, a small smile playing across her face.

  “I’ve just been talking to our brother,” Sophia said as she sat down next to Olivia, the older sister’s small smile stretching into a full-blown grin.

  “Uh-huh,” grunted Olivia, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

  “Tell me about this Inspector John Foster,” she demanded.

  Olivia dutifully looked back down at her needlework. “Who?”

  Sophia clucked her tongue at her sister. “You know exactly who I am referring to. Thomas said Foster has been asking about you.”

  “Asking what about me?” Her head snapped up, all thoughts of sewing abandoned.

  “Specifically, he asked if you had any gentlemen callers he needed to be aware of.”

  Olivia’s eyes widened. “Are you sure that’s what he asked?”

  “Thomas said so.” Sophia watched the emotions play over her sister’s face. Though Olivia rarely talked about her many male suitors, she was well aware that Olivia wanted to fall in love and be loved in return. But she was also aware that it would have to be a special man to be worthy of her younger sibling. “Our brother also said that he had a lot of respect for Foster. You know that if Thomas respects him, then he would be amiable if the man sought out your affection.”

  Olivia stared at her sister, unsure how to respond. It’s not that she didn’t want to talk about Foster, because truly, he was all she thought about most of the time, but she currently had more important things to handle. “What we really need to be discussing is a certain wedding that is happening in twelve days.”

  Sophia scoffed. “Deflecting?”

  “Perhaps. But you don’t have time to worry about Foster right now. Have you decided on a venue for the wedding, or were you planning on marrying the love of your life right out there in the middle of the street?” And just like that Olivia had managed to distract her sister from her own romantic issues.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wednesday, 11 May 1887

  Sometime around 11:00 a.m.

  Archimedes Tesla plopped the large canvas back full of black onyx crystals down inside his office safe. He unzipped the bag, pulling out one of the precious stones. Greed shone in his eyes, reflected in the smooth surface of the stone, as he held the thing up to his face. This was it. This was the final piece he needed. Finally, after all the searching, he’d found the key. The onyx was more powerful than any crystal he’d ever seen, and to find such a large cache of it, hiding deep below ground in the mines of India, was nothing short of miraculous. The possibilities were endless. He couldn’t wait until his diggers were able to excavate more of it. These jewels would power his automatons, of that he had no doubt. If only the fool, Watt, was able to perfect the design. The man might need to be replaced soon. His incompetence far outweighed his usefulness, and he was far too ambitious for his own good.

  Lord Grey was probably the only one more excited than he that these powerful crystals had been found. The ambitious Parliament member was already plotting Victoria’s removal from the throne. Each day his power grew, as did his secret arsenal of flux weapons, the one created by Archimedes and powered by the guild’s crystals. Of course, the crown’s own stockpiles were also growing, spurred on by his anti-American rhetoric. The vast amount of money the crown was pouring into military spending was absolutely necessary, if they were to repel the Americans the next time those upstarts sought their liberty. When the time came, however, Lord Grey’s Parliament wouldn’t be declaring war on the Americans. He would be declaring war on the crown. Victoria, that pitiful excuse for a queen, kept happily providing the money the guild needed to advance their projects, all at Grey’s request. Little did she know she was unwittingly cutting off her own head.

  “Tell me something, Assistant Inspector,” said Thomas as he and Foster sat in their shared office, pouring over their notes of the case. The pair had been reviewing their notes on both doctors—Vincent and Evans. The inspectors agreed that neither had had anything to do with the murders, and no knowledge at all that would be helpful to the case. The farther the investigation progressed, the more Hill was persuaded that the killer was indeed a guild member instead of a medical man. And what he’d seen in the morning’s newspaper had him almost totally convinced.

  “Yes?” responded John.

  “What does George Watt look like?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” replied Foster.

  “Well, I do,” said Hill, throwing a copy of the day’s paper down in front of his assistant. “And since he may well be our prime suspect, I think you should, as well.”

  The headline of the paper read LARGE CACHE
OF CRYSTALS FOUND IN SOUTHERN INDIA. A picture of four men adorned the front page, each wearing dark suits, except the man on the far right, who wore a white robe. They all wore hard hats with attached lanterns. The men were all smiling broadly, standing next to a large black vein of minerals. The caption read: Pictured from left to right are George Watt, Archimedes Tesla, Martin Smith, and Rajesh Patel.

  “What jumps out at you?”

  “That Indian fellow on the right, ’a course. Wearing a toga in a bloody mine. What’s he playin’ at?”

  “Not him, Foster.” Thomas sighed. “The man on the left.”

  “Oh yeah. Watt. He is a tall bloke, isn’t he?” said Foster “Archimedes is tall too but he’s bent with age. I can see that in the picture. Watt’s about a head taller than those other two fellas.”

  “Look closer at the man’s face. It’s hard to tell, but what’s that shadow on the left cheek?”

  “No, it couldn’t be,” said Foster, his eye wide. “Do you think Zacharias was right all along?”

  “We won’t know until we meet the man face to face.”

  “Well, how do you expect we are going to do that? I told you about my visit to the guild. I thought that succubus behind the desk was going to eat me alive. They’re not going to let us in, not without a warrant. And I doubt you’re going to get one issued on the word of a prostitute, not to go stamping around the guild, no chance.”

  “I’m fully aware of that,” replied Thomas. “Which is why I hope you don’t have plans for the evening.”

  “What do you mean?” questioned Foster.

  “Your friend Zacharias suggested we tail Mr. Watt as he’s leaving the guild. I propose we do just that. Who knows? We might catch him in the act of murdering another poor woman.”

  “Or we might waste a perfectly good evening in which we coulda been sittin’ cozy and warm in a nice pub.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thursday, 12th May 1887

  About 10:00 p.m.

  Assistant Inspector Foster’s rear end had fallen asleep about an hour ago. The chilly spring air caused him to pull his cloak tightly around his large body.

  “Here, you take these. I need to stretch my legs,” he said, rising from the bench upon which they had been sitting for the better part of two hours and handing the pair of far-vision goggles to Hill. Foster grunted and groaned as he stretched his arms to the sky and milled about. Thomas took the goggles and held them to his eyes, scanning the metal façade of the mechanic’s guild. They were watching from a seldom-used industrial railroad terminal some hundred yards away from the building they were watching. One of the Yard’s hansoms sat empty close by, should they have need to give chase at any point.

  “These things really are miraculous,” remarked Hill as he brought the goggles down, up, and back down again. The brass spectacles, whirring with the power of some tiny crystal buried deep within them, not only magnified one’s vision by an order of almost thirty, but also illuminated the surrounding area one was viewing. “I would love to have a pair for the station.”

  “Yeah, well, just don’t drop them,” said Foster. “Zacharias said his superiors would blow a gasket if they found out the goggles were missing. He has to have them back tomorrow morning before anyone is the wiser.”

  “Curse that infernal guild,” growled Inspector Hill. “Who knows what other incredible inventions they hoard inside those metal walls? Think of the improvements upon the lives of ordinary people if they would just release their knowledge to the world.”

  “Like a mechanical heart, perhaps?” said Foster.

  “Huh.” Thomas responded with a grunt. “I guess so.”

  With that, the pair lapsed into silence, each lost in his own thoughts, both facing the mechanic’s guild building, searching for any signs of movement. They surveyed the guild’s side entrance for another two hours, seeing only one person exit the building during all that time—a portly fellow neither of them recognized. The evening was creeping toward midnight, and Inspector Hill was just about to call a halt to the operation when the door swung slowly open. Foster was manning the goggles, and he elbowed Thom in the side and pointed in that direction. Both men stared. To Hill, the figure could only be seen as an elongated shadow moving away from the building. To Foster, however, the figure was unmistakable—George Watt.

  Watt was dressed all in black, and he carried a large knapsack with him, clutching it tightly as he walked quickly down the sidewalk. He hailed the first cab he came to and jumped quickly inside, moving east toward the heart of the city.

  “It’s him. Let’s go,” yelped Foster as he shoved the goggles into his coat pocket and leapt up into the driver’s seat of the wagon. Inspector Hill quickly ran to the other side of the carriage and took the seat next to his assistant. Foster grabbed the reins and gave them a quick slap, spurring the horse into action. After a few blocks, they caught up with the cab, which continued to travel eastward at a steady, but unhurried, pace. Foster had no trouble keeping close as the two cabs rumbled along.

  “Where do you think he’s heading at this time of night?” asked Inspector Hill.

  “To the pub. That’s where I’d be going,” replied Foster.

  “You would have been there long ago by now,” said Thomas.

  “Aye,” said John, never taking his eyes off the road.

  As it turned out, the pub is exactly where Watt was heading. The cab pulled to a stop in front of the Fox and Hound. The gas lampposts flickering on the street reflected against the front windows, giving the area an illusion of daylight directly in front of the building. Watt climbed down from the cab and tossed the driver a crisp paper note. Instead of going into the pub, however, Watt walked briskly to the side of the building.

  “I’ll follow him,” said Hill. “You park the cab and meet me around back. Don’t let him see you.”

  “Be careful,” commanded Foster as Thomas hopped from the hansom and jogged after the long-legged Watt. As quietly as he could, Inspector Hill crept down and followed the mechanic. As he moved further down the side of the brick building, the light from the street faded, casting the world in shadow, which grew steadily as he walked. He reached the back corner of the pub and peered around. Watt was nowhere to be seen. Thom could hear muffled voices from somewhere off to his right. He cast an eye over the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the speakers.

  “Get on with it,” he heard a surly female voice say.

  “Hold your horses, woman. I’m going.” He heard a man pant.

  Then Thomas noticed the speakers pressed up against the back wall of the pub, the man straddling the woman from behind.

  “Lovely place for a romantic encounter, next to a trash bin.”

  Hill jumped a foot off the ground, and barely managed to stifle a yelp, when he heard Foster whisper right next to him. He hadn’t even noticed the man slink up beside him.

  “Dammit, Foster, you almost gave me a heart attack. Give a man fair warning next time,” Thomas hissed.

  “Excuse me for not yelling at the top ’a my lungs. I thought we were trying to avoid being seen. And besides, I didn’t want to disturb the lovebirds. It looks like they are about to finish up. Any sign of Watt?”

  “No, he’s disappeared. But keep your eyes peeled. He’s got to be around here somewhere. Let’s wait for these two to move along, then we’ll search the alleys.”

  “Thanks, doll.” They heard the man grumble as he stumbled away from the woman, their late-night transaction completed. The woman hung back, pocketing her newly acquired shilling and readjusting her clothing. Finally settled, she began moving through the dark alley back toward the front of the building. As she turned to leave, the inspectors saw a tall, slender figure rise up from behind a pile of scrap construction materials that had been hastily stacked against an adjacent building. The figure held a thick club above its head and began creeping slowly through the alley.

  “Halt, in the name of the queen!” barked Inspector Hill, leaping from his posi
tion behind the bin. Foster followed suit, pulling his own truncheon from underneath his coat.

  “And drop that conk buster,” yelled Foster, raising his own club, ready to bring it down upon the man’s head at a moment’s notice. The prostitute shrieked and took flight, disappearing to the street and then beyond as fast as her legs would carry her. None of the men gave chase.

  “Bugger off,” growled the man, lowering his weapon. Though the light was poor, the inspectors could just make out the scar on Watt’s left cheek.

  “You’re being detained under the authority of the queen for questioning in a murder investigation,” said Thomas. “Will you come quietly, or do I need my associate to persuade you?” Neither of the men had thought to bring manacles, never expecting to actually catch Watt in the act of committing a crime.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” asked Watt, his hard eyes glinting in the darkness.

  “We’re talking about three dead women, and possibly a fourth, had we not been here in time,” snarled Foster. “Now, I’m not going to tell you again, drop your stick.”

  The club clattered to the ground, and the inspectors quickly moved to either side of the man, taking him by the arms.

  “You buffoons. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Release me this instant.”

  Foster and Hill pulled Watt roughly back through the alley. “Cab’s over here, boss,” said Foster as they dragged a cursing Watt out onto the street and down one block until they reached the carriage.

  “You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” said Watt. “I work for Tesla himself. I’ll have both your commissions by noon tomorrow.”

  “Don’t make this harder on yourself, Mr. Watt. We know exactly who you are and what you’ve done. There’s been an eyewitness to your crimes.” Hill swung open the door and indicated for Watt to climb in.