Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

  closed. Rose guided the unwinding of the case with her index finger, then surveyed the

  instruments attached to the case selecting a silver chain for all the bits and bobs in her collection.

  Rose put a silver necklace around her shirt collar. From the necklace dangled a dozen monocle

  lenses of varied colors and dimensions.

  Rose took a small incense censor from her purse and lit a match to ignite the incense, there was

  smoke until she dropped a few drops of tincture from a vial. As the smoke stopped she screwed

  down the cap of the censor with a chain attached, began to wave the incense burner in slow arcs to

  disperse the smoke. As the vapors spread she used her other hand to choose various lenses to

  peer into the telltale fog. Her keen eye could detect fragments of the past, intermingled with the

  present and future images echoing through the mysterious mist.

  Dol y stood and stared. “You know Rose, you look downright silly with that pantomime of yours”

  “Dol y, I don’t question how you go about your business” She never thought much about how she

  looked when she was doing this work. “Nothing otherworldly was in here, whoever killed the man

  was from this plane of existence or he would have left a snag in the warp and weave of the Aether,”

  Rose said.

  The ex-nun inspected the body and the totem with various lens of different color and thickness;

  looking at the object through an amber lens then magenta. She pulled out the totem examining the

  wound site. When done with her process she closed the censer to extinguish the invisible vapors

  she was using to illuminate the supernatural.

  “Anything?” asked Dolly.

  Rose returned her tools to the appropriate places of storage and rolled up the leather and closed the clasps.

  “His soul was stolen. I have never seen the totem before so I can’t help with the arcana used, but

  primal for sure.” Rose stated.

  She walked to the door leaving. “Oh, two other things…”

  “Whoever did this took their time doing it, maybe all night. That is why he looks like a raisin,” state

  Rose.

  “and the second,” asked Dolly his brow furrowed at the bad news.

  “They want you to know how they did it otherwise they would not have left you this souvenir,”

  Rose said as she handed him the totem and walked towards the door.

  Monday the 7th of June

  7:00 AM Scotland Yard

  The work week was in full swing, he roused earlier than usual when he heard the workers

  beginning construction on the street side of his three-room cottage. The lane he lived on was being

  broadened to better serve the growing adoption of steam lorries and electric carriages. A gang of

  workers ran jackhammers at first light to break up the curb on the east side of the street widening

  the thoroughfare. Dolly had a light breakfast, got dressed before stepping out of his house as he

  latched the door.

  Dolly purchased a paper from the boy as he made his way up Cottage Place to Westminster Road.

  On the corner the paperboy squawked in a high pitch over and over “Headline: English workers

  locked out of Prussian alchemical works,” the latest drama in London. The Detective's curiosity

  pressed him to learn the opinions of the columnists and editors on the state of affairs with the

  trades protest at the gas works.

  He gave the headlines a cursory glance then tucked the paper under his arm, planning to have a

  careful read at morning tea.

  On his daily route from Number 12 Cottage Place to Scotland yard, Dolly strolled along the raucous

  Westminster Road and crossed the river, turning right on parliament street, then on to Whitehall

  through to Charring Cross with another into Great Scotland Yard, a short walk for a man who

  walked a beat as a Peeler in 1850 and spent eight to ten hours walking the streets.

  The desk sergeant yelled out to Dolly as he strolled into the station-house. “Ay ya there Williamson,

  the commissioner said you're to go directly to his office.”

  “Ta O'Brien” He was sure that the murder of a high-profile aristocrat would draw the scrutiny of

  the government and the police commissioner wanted answers. Any morning opening with being

  ordered into the office of Commissioner Mayne was not a good start to the day.

  When he got to his office, the commissioner was not there. Maybe there was something more

  pressing. Dolly needed to get prepared for the Monday morning briefing. Mayne would be there, as

  usual, to get updates from all the detectives on their cases.

  Dol y sauntered off to his desk to put his notes together. He squinted and scrunched up his face

  when he saw that Mayne was waiting in the detectives' pen going through files on Dolly’s desk.

  The commissioner looked up to see Williamson enter the pen.

  “Williamson I’ve been looking for you!” exclaimed Mayne.

  “Sir?” Dolly answered as he stepped up to his own desk.

  Mayne sat in Dolly’s chair “Sit-down Williamson. What’s this matter over in Belgravia?”

  Dolly set the paper on his desk and pulled out his notebook. “On the morning of June 6th, a body was discovered at 217 King’s Road by the butler, a Mr. Cooper. Mr. Cooper identified the individual

  as Sir Francis Chilton,”

  “Yes... Yes, Chilton’s homicide. I know but this!” Mayne pounded his finger on the newspaper, then

  fumbling to open the paper to page two “You brought that witch to the murder scene in front of

  journalists." There it was, a picture of Sister Rose being ushered into the home of Sir Francis.

  He had forgotten and now there was hell to pay.

  "I couldn't care less about her issues with the Papists and her excommunication. She is not the

  first in this country to receive the Pope’s wrath, but to bring to the public's attention that you

  consort with her ilk. Well. . Well, you know Williamson it makes us look silly,” said Mayne.

  “My sincerest apologies, Commissioner. I understand that you may have to bring the hammer

  down and be assured this lands on my shoulders as the detective in charge. Those boys picked her

  up on my request and they weren’t given clear instruction to the level of discretion required.”

  explained Dol y.

  “Fortunate for you the Home Secretary is more worried about this gas works business his

  government is being questioned by the Crown on this matter. Her Majesty's cousin, King Wilhelm

  has voiced concerns to her Majesty that the guild alchemists at the works were in danger of

  immigrants storming the facility. While the rabble is shouting Marxist and unionist slogans, the

  home secretary holds the belief that this is the work of French agitators out to wreck the alliance

  and cripple the strength of Her Majesty’s Air Fleet. Walpole called me to his home on a Sunday

  evening… a Sunday evening! I told him you would work this case like you worked the Fenian affair

  and rooted out those Irish traitors.” Mayne didn’t handle pressure well.

  as far as being inconvenienced on a Sunday, try getting pulled out of bed to look at a withered

  corpse. “I can do that sir, I plan to go to the Chilton Offices to interview the staff but I can look into

  the matter at the Works afterwards,” answered Dol y.

  Mayne leaned back and let out a sigh. His shoulders slumping in relief. “Thanks, Williamson.”

  “I will get Burton and Keane to wander the crowd at the protest and determine if they can spot

  anything unusual,
” replied Williamson.

  “That’s it, action. Eyes and ears on that rabble,” Commissioner Mayne confirmed as he pressed up

  from the desk.

  “Sir,”

  “Yes, detective,”

  “Could you wire type the home office and let Walpole know I plan to interview at Chilton House

  today?”

  “Yes, and let London Police know you’re in their jurisdiction, in case they want to send an escort”

  Mayne was one for protocol and the City had its own police.

  “I will sir”

  After the detectives briefing, Dolly composed a wire-type and sent it off to the City of London

  Police. He proposed having a sergeant accompany him on his interviews. The offer was declined.

  finally he grabbed a cup and read the paper. The front-page story was on the growing protests at

  the new gas plant. Walpole’s paramount concern. It was likely the usual rabble looking to use the

  issue to gain local influence with common folk to raise money for the union or get votes in

  upcoming elections. He read the story that followed the lithoprint of the gasworks gates with a

  rabble of sign-wielding protesters.

  The recently commissioned gasworks on the banks of the Thames is the sole commercial LQ gas

  works outside of Prussia and the site of growing social unrest. As part of the Wessex Alliance,

  Mechanists constructed a mechworks in Prussia to improve Prussian Airship design in exchange for

  construction of a gas plant on British soil. Both guilds would profit from the compact but the

  compulsion to preserve their secrets made has left the English worker out in the cold. The guilds

  agreed only to the terms to a lucrative deal that improves their profits and influence on the condition

  that the plants were operated without the local workforce. As London fills with hard working country

  folk seeking a better wage promised by these industrialists what they get instead the new jobs at the

  Baden works are Prussians hand picked by the Alchemist Guild. Currently, the Workers United Party

  and the Commonwealth Communist Union have begun active protests at the plant with a list of

  grievances. Hieronymus Brood, a borough councilman and one officer of the Workers United Party

  did remark when questioned “Boatloads of immigrants come to London daily from Ireland and the

  Continent with their pockets empty and their heads full of dreams about earning a wage in factory

  work, instead when they get here what greets them is a locked gate” Are the Citizens of the Empire

  more secure now with this plant on our soil when no Englishman can enter nor learn the Baden Gas

  Work’s alchemical secrets?

  He opened the paper and there it was next to another article about the plant, a picture of Rose

  Caldwel walking through the Sir Lester Chilton’s front Garden with two constables. Even Dol y

  was caught in the lithoprint standing at the open door, fortunately too grainy to make out his

  personage. Above the picture was the headline.

  Witch of London Consorts with Metro to Find Phantom Killer

  Gerald Welsh

  Dolly read on.

  In the early hours of the Sabbath, one of London’s elite was gruesomely slaughtered in

  his home through an unexplainable mummification. Sir Lester Chilton was found dead

  on Sunday morning in Belgravia. Metropolitan Police was unwilling to come on the

  record as to who they think is behind the act. This reporter witnessed Rose Caldwell,

  AKA Sister Rose, being brought to the seen to assist the police to investigate. She was a

  witness in the 1854 Saint Anthony Rectory Fire and defrocked after accusing the Papal

  See of covering up a demonic possession. This can only mean that a Phantom Kil er is

  perplexing the police and they require the help of the devout occultist.

  I’ll be Welsh’s phantom killer. His eyes moved to the next article.

  Will Derby’s Conservatives let the Wessex Agreement Stand?

  Wesley Post

  The Baden gas works is of vital national interest, without Luminiferous Quintessence or LQ gas

  the British ironclad fleet simply put, cannot fly. While our illustrious mechanist guild with the

  top military engineers are designing a British ironclad air fleet that will be the iron fist that

  can keep Emperor Napoleon contained on the continent, there is one chink in that armor.

  Dependence on LQ. The empire is subjected to another tyranny that of the Alchemist Guild

  with close ties to the Duchy of Prussia. The Alchemist Guild are so possessive of their processes

  it required direct intervention by her Majesty Queen Victoria to appeal to King Fredrick of

  Prussia to coerce them to provide a reliable supply on British soil, the concession being a pact

  to transfer technology as part of the Wessex alliance of mutual defense. How was such a

  lopsided agreement made that Prussia will learn mechanical technology, and we get put on the

  LQ teat of the Alchemists leaving our national security in the hands of a few privileged

  Prussians?

  He sensed a shadow behind the paper and lowered it to see a young constable standing at his desk.

  He was fresh to the uniform maybe eighteen or twenty, more a clerk than a cop at this point in his

  career. He smiled at Dol y when acknowledged, “wire-type for you, sir.” He took the slip of paper

  and looked at it noticing it was from a Mr. Simms at Chilton, Chilton, Owens, and Strathmore,

  letting him know they could see him at ten AM. The Detective had less than an hour to get to the

  financial district.

  “Constable, run down to the motor pool and tell whoever the duty sergeant is”

  “It’s Sargent Smith, Sir,” the blue-eyed lad interrupted.

  “Then, tell Smitty, that Dolly needs one of his boys, quick around the front to run him over to the City” The young copper turned and trotted away to the motor pool.

  * * *

  10:00 AM Chilton House City of London

  Dol y’s steam carriage took him across town from the Yard to the offices of Chilton, Chilton

  Owens, and Strathmore, known as Chilton House, a three-story office building that testified to the

  wealth and power of the investment bank and an icon in the City of London.

  As Dol y sat in the passenger seat of the paddy wagon, he read through his notes and research he

  could dig up on Chilton and speculated about the influential merchant bank and the family that ran

  it.

  Sir Francis’s grandfather John, had established a business syndicating insurance and finances for

  merchant shipping. He had the soul of a sailor and through his readiness to move to where

  commerce took English ships he became a trusted source of finance for overseas traders. John

  Chilton personally started the Hong Kong office and toured the East and West Indies learning

  about the risks and rewards of maritime trade. He had two boys, Cecil and the younger Erasmus.

  Erasmus fol owed into the family trade and Cecil trained as an engineer. Erasmus like his father

  concentrated on maritime commerce and later expanded into sovereign finance. Erasmus knew

  how to deliver higher yields through his intimate familiarity with the industry or a nation, growing

  the firm to rival the great European financial houses.

  It was Cecil that persuaded his brother Erasmus that the Boulton-Watt condenser design would

  gain acceptance through efficiency and that his brother should be the source of capital for the

  growing mechanization of the Empire. Cecil understood that engine power would replace
human

  power and that machines like the Boulton-Watts steam engine could do the work of twenty men

  without pause. There had been others who had developed steam-powered engines, but this one

  was different with a separate condenser making it more powerful and efficient than the

  Newcomen engine.

  Cecil became a founding member of Her Majesty’s Celestial Order of Mechanical Science,

  commonly known as the Mechanist guild. He was conferred the Crystal Gear for lifetime

  achievement, not because of his mechanical aptitude but for helping the Mechanists access the

  finances for their projects and priming the industrial revolution. The guild helped to organize

  funding and advance technology by acting as a forum to share theory. By brokering know-how,

  those in the mechanist guild quickly grasped what worked and what didn’t. They also augmented

  the mechanical sciences with advancements in metallurgy and precision control.

  Mechanists were masters of creating powered constructs that could operate with precision and

  increasing autonomy. But behind the mechanical wizardry was the power of the Chilton financial

  engine, without their money the Mechanists would still be tinkering in their garages.

  The carriage let out the hiss of bypassing steam as it came to a halt. “Thanks mate,” said Dolly to

  the policeman that drove him over. The attending footman opened the carriage door. Dolly

  stepped out of the car in front of a plain building reminiscent of Palazzo Medici. A uniformed doorman opened the door for the detective to the magnificent interior of the bank. The spacious

  lobby was all white, black and pink marble. Inside the door were two private security guards.

  Oscar Owens met Detective Williamson in the vestibule. Second generation in the company Oscar

  was a partner, just as his father was back when it changed from Chilton Company to Chilton,

  Chilton, and Owens. He was a corpulent fellow in his later years, jowly with generous side

  whiskers yet bald. He wore his banker formals with the enhancement of a black armband for the

  mourning of a named partner. Along with Owens was his personal secretary again in a black suit

  and armband.

  “Welcome to Chilton House Detective Williamson. Let me present Mr. Sims my personal business