The Curse of the Silver Pharaoh

by Pip Ballantine

  The middle of the room was filled with lines of desks, but to each side were workbenches, and what they contained brought a smile to her lips. On the right bench were all the tools a clockwork maker could possibly want: chamfering cutters, pivot cutters, vices of various sizes, and oil applicators. On the leftmost bench were all the miniature workings of steam engines which could be employed in more advanced automaton creations: pistons, boilers, valves, and cylinders.

  Verity’s fingers twitched as her head resonated to the whirring and puffing of the mechanisms around her. Her imagination filled immediately with all the hundreds of possibilities of what she could do with such a wealth of parts and tools. It made her small workbench back in Kensington seem paltry.

  Amidst the ticking in her head, a small itch in the back of her brain kicked up as she took her seat in the fourth row. She took stock of the students assembled for the class. I had no idea, Verity thought as she counted the amount of female students present, so many women were interested in engineering sciences.

  “Good morning, everyone,” came a silky, sultry accent, not like any sort she had ever heard before.

  As soon as Verity turned to face the front of the class, it became apparent to her the joy of automaton making was not the only reason the class was so very popular with her fellow schoolgirls.

  Standing at the front of the room, their teacher was the kind of figure no one with a heartbeat would be able to ignore. He was dressed simply, yet elegantly in a slate grey frock coat with ruby red velvet lapels and striped trousers, his hands clasped behind his straight back, and his grey eyes—the colour of storm clouds—scanning over the array of students settling expectantly into the seats before him. Verity could scarcely believe such a handsome, tall man could be a teacher of any kind. Her perception of the word ‘professor’ brought images of someone older, more worn and rumpled by the world.

  “Good morning, Professor Vidmar,” the class repeated in unison.

  “I am so pleased to see an interest in engineering. Now, if you would please direct your eyes up here…”

  There was little chance Verity would look anywhere else.

  Perhaps the school paid its teachers well, because surely such a stately countenance must come from good breeding. Professor Vidmar had to have a Baron modestly left off his title somewhere.

  Verity felt a sudden pain in her side. She turned to look at Henry. Where did he come from? Then she remembered that, yes, she had taken this particular spot because Henry was sitting there. He actually poked her with the tip of his finger.

  He shot her an expression she immediately recognised: Pull yourself together!

  A long moment of adjusting her books gave her some space to compose herself as best she could, but now it was quite clear to her why her fellow female students were in a mad rush for the closer seats. She felt a pang of regret that she herself had missed such an opportunity.

  “Before me are the components of world-changing technology,” Vidmar began, his arms spreading wide before what appeared to be random mechanical parts. On closer inspection any tinker worth their salt would recognize as an automaton’s head meticulously dissected and strewn out across a table. Verity could just hear the slight ticking of the components over the rapid thumping of her heart as her teacher continued. “The cranial segment of the Benz Model 1894-X.”

  “This is not scheduled to be released until February of next year,” one of the students behind her whispered. “How did he get his hands on this?”

  Verity almost turned to shoot the student a glare, but Vidmar beat her to it. His gaze locked on the offending student behind her. She heard the softest of clearing throats…

  And then he continued. “This is a state-of-the art automaton, and yet the mechanics behind it are hardly different from the Model 1892-Abel, the 1891-Cain, or even the 1890-Adam. Yet, the 1894-X is cutting edge. Why do you think?”

  The girls closer to the professor—while Verity stewed in silent envy over their vantage points—were having trouble settling, many of them flittering where they sat like a flock of disturbed sparrows after a falcon passed overhead. If she was not mistaken several of them did not even have books, simply pushing themselves to the front places for the chance to perhaps absorb the teacher’s very presence.

  It was impossible to blame them, but Verity was glad she hadn’t followed suit. Something about Professor Vidmar’s slight smile told her he knew fully his effect on the young ladies of the class.

  “What you are going to discover in this ninety minutes with me is how we advance technology.” A collected sigh rose from two girls from the front row. His voice was laced with the accent of the Caucasus; Verity picked that up immediately, since she had run with immigrant children for most of her remembered life. When he spoke, and it twisted each word into an exotic form, it was to quite a different effect than when she was a young girl. “This is Practical Automaton Engineering. Where we take what is simple, what is basic, and advance the sciences of automaton design and mechanics forward.”

  Ignoring the front row of girls with their heads resting on their hands, he strode down the aisle between desks, taking in what Miss Lobelia collected for him this semester. Verity could feel a blush rising to her cheeks and prayed somehow she would get control of herself. This was by far more ridiculous and foolish than when she noticed Henry’s handsomeness. Yet when Professor Vidmar walked past her and spoke, she dared not look up just in case.

  “Advancement and innovation does not necessarily mean reinventing the wheel. It means taking what is there and making it better. This is my challenge to you in this semester: to create tomorrow by reapplying and reimagining what is before you now.”

  She looked up, and her stomach lurched. He was staring into her eyes, and for a while she forgot Uncle Octavius, the Silver Pharaoh, and even the peculiar tick-tock melody in her head.

  “What will you discover this semester?” he asked her.

  Her lips moved as if to answer the question, but Vidmar was already on his way back to the front of the laboratory. She glanced over to Henry who hung on his every word. She had never seen such keen interest in him. Her fellow street urchin was entranced by what their new teacher was imparting upon them.

  “In these walls I hope you will be able to hone skills you already have, or perhaps even find ones you did not know you had.” Professor Vidmar shooed the gold-eyed ginger cat off his desk, and then pointed to the benches which ran the length of the wall, with all their attractive and complex devices just waiting for eager young hands. “Miss Delancy has given me all your pertinent files, and I know most of you will know your way around some of these devices. However,”—here he paused, putting one hand right on the metallic skull at the centre of his desk— “I would urge you not to assume you know everything. Such arrogance might only breed injury or even death in my class, and I really cannot have that on my conscience.”

  The way he said “death” caused several of the young women at the front of the class to fidget in their seats. Verity, though she was immediately dismissive of such theatrics perpetrated by her fellow females, understood why they did it. She wondered how any of them—herself included—was ever to get any work done with Professor Vidmar watching over them. This was going to be even worse than having Henry around.

  The teacher smiled, a bright, quick gesture hinting at a concealed jocularity beneath his stern exterior. Verity felt a part of her body tingle just a hint, but quickly quashed such feelings down, instead concentrating on arranging her pencils just so next to her notebook.

  The door swung open, and all heads whipped into the direction of the doorway.

  “Ach,” exclaimed Julia McTighe, “I beg yer pardon, Professah. Got a bit lost as there was a bit of a complication with ma’ schedule. I dinna mean any disraspect in being late on me first class with ya.”

  Vidmar’s smile widened as he looked her over from head to toe. “You must be Julia McTighe.”

  Julia straightened up to her ful
l height, causing her scarlet curls to bounce merrily atop her head. “Aye.”

  Amazing, Verity thought. She’s immune to him.

  “Yes, when I saw your name on the roster for First Years I insisted you attend my class this semester.”

  “Aye, about tha’…” She bit her bottom lip, her confidence suddenly waning.

  “Yes,” he said, holding his hands up, “I understand your wishes, but opportunities like this cannot go missed. Arrangements have been made. Now, find yourself a seat.”

  “Aye, Professah,” Julia said, pulling her books closer to her chest.

  With the seat to her right vacant, Verity beckoned her to sit there. Perhaps Julia would give her a bit of focus for this class, as well as for the real reason she was at the academy. Verity was there to learn about the Silver Pharaoh and the fate of Professor Williams. Albeit, if she picked up some new skills along the way that was fine too. Verity was most certainly not there to sigh like a debutante over some ruggedly handsome teacher.

  Still when he paused to watch Julia cross the length of the room and work her way back to where Verity sat, she allowed herself to notice the fine length of his leg and the set of his strong shoulders. Did Miss Lobelia, a confident, mature woman in charge of a whole school, notice the man’s beauty upon hiring him? Was she capable of distancing herself from so fine a specimen of man? Quite the question.

  Images of the two of them cavorting in private suddenly flooded her head. Sometimes a vivid imagination was definitely a curse.

  His voice came from far off. “Miss Simmons?”

  The jab from Henry’s ruler snapped her out of her reverie, eliciting some snickers from her fellow students.

  She cleared her throat, aware she was making an appalling first impression. “I’m sorry, Professor, I didn’t quite catch the question.”

  He tilted his head, and rather than shout at her, lowered his voice a fraction. “I asked if you had brought to class an example of your work? I requested all my students to bring a small sample of their previous creations, and I would select a few today to showcase their talent.”

  The effect was quite mesmerising, sending a strange chill through her. Verity had the distinct impression he was a man she did not want to make angry, thrilling as that might have been.

  “Of course,” she said, her fingers felt as clumsy as sausages when fumbling for her bag. Before setting foot into the laboratory, Verity felt confidence in hers, but now wondered if her work was all far too amateur. “Yes, Professor, I have it here.”

  “Excellent.”

  He tapped his fingers on his desk, and she understood with horror he wanted her to present it to him. She made her way down the classroom, bag in hand, and tilted her chin slightly to keep the illusion of confidence, even if it had drained away through her boot heels. Her gaze took in so many random details in an attempt to put off the moment: his pile of books on the corner of his desk, the eyes within the automaton were dark and void of power, and a set of cogs she could see in her mind coming together to perhaps power the 1894-X’s brain. She then noticed a peculiar detail of the lab: a velvet covered chaise longue. The chair was behind Professor Vidmar’s desk, as if waiting for him to recline there after a hard class, or waiting for someone to faint.

  The nearer she got to him though she began to suspect it was the latter. Maybe some did.

  Just as Verity came to a halt, the professor cleared his throat and repeated the tap on the fine leather of his desk—so there was no point prolonging the embarrassment.

  When she withdrew the automaton mouse and placed it before the professor, Verity clenched her jaw shut least she babble about all its features and construction.

  Vidmar picked up the mouse, turned it over in his hand, pulled a watchmaker’s loupe on one lens of a pair of glasses from his drawer, put them on, and then scrutinized the mouse even closer. She knew all eyes, especially the girls in the first few rows, were on her. Perhaps the girls were hoping for Vidmar to verbally rip her apart before them, thrash her work, and destroy her hopes. They would enjoy that sort of humiliation. Perhaps they were outraged none of them were chosen. Instead it was her. The quiet one from the back.

  When he finally put the mouse back down on his desk, she found it impossible to read his expression.

  “You have put some careful work into this creation of yours.” He tapped the head. “The gearing system is quite...unique.”

  Verity swallowed hard, she had not thought anyone could discern the main use for the mouse, which was entirely suited to the life of the Ministry Seven. It was just it was the piece she was proudest of.

  “Thank you, sir,” she managed to croak out.

  “Would you would care to give us a demonstration of its peculiar abilities?”

  Was she was imagining the hint of a challenge in his eye.

  Verity wanted very much to at least see Henry, have some reassurance it was going to be alright, but the professor’s grey eyes pinned her in place. She picked up the mouse, flicked one of the tiny switches, the one she thought could be the least offensive, and prayed she wouldn’t be laughed out of the class.

  The mouse rose onto its hind legs, wiped its paws over its face in a short gesture, flicked its tail, and then scampered across the professor’s desk. The whole class lifted slightly in their seats to watch as the little device leapt off Vidmar’s desk, ran across the floor, found the curtain’s edge and climbed upward. Over the giggles and gasps of her fellow students, whines and whirs could be heard as the mouse paused to look to its left, then to its right. Once it found a ledge, it travelled along its length until reaching the tiny bust of Michael Faraday. Its mechanical nose twitched before wrapped itself around the piece of marble. Then it crackled and hummed, arcs of electricity leaping from its body to dance along the bust.

  Then, with a flash of light, the mouse disappeared.

  “Blimey!” one of the girls up front swore.

  “Bloody clever,” a boy behind her whispered.

  “Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” Vidmar stated, silencing the class. “So where is it?” Vidmar asked her.

  “Still on the shelf,” Verity said.

  The space where the mouse had been, was vacant, but when the class quieted down, clicks and whirs could still be heard. Then the curtain moved. Something was crawling down the drapes, but nothing was there. At first glance. A few gasps told Verity those students sitting closer to the curtains could just make out the distortions. Once the curtains settled, all that indicated the mouse’s existence was a clicking of metal against wood. Then with a sharp pop and a flash of light, the mouse reappeared at the feet of its creator, the Faraday bust in its front paws.

  “Very impressive,” the professor said with a slight tilt of his head. “I do wonder what sort of use it could be put to...” The gleam in his grey stare made her look away hastily.

  Yet he did not press her further, simply letting her return to her desk before calling on other students with their creations. Verity sat with her mouse in her lap, and watched them all. It was an odd sensation that crept up on her as she watched the trail of young men and women go up to Vidmar’s desk to show off their skills.

  In the Ministry Seven it was she and Henry who competed in the making of tiny gadgets to make the other children’s life easier. She always had something to offer to make up for her lesser experience with street life. Jeremy and Jonathan were like ghosts in the East End, able to make themselves invisible in almost any situation. Emma could bend the hardest heart with a pantomimed look. All of them had a skill she did not, but when it came to making she felt she was useful, and, if she was honest, pretty clever with gears and levers.

  Now, looking around this class of her peers, she realised perhaps she was not quite that special. A curious bitter feeling formed in her mouth as Professor Vidmar congratulated or commented on particular aspects of the devices he was being presented with.

  When Henry was called upon, Verity noted the time. He would be last f
or the day, and his automaton was something he kept concealed from her. Despite the odd sensation in her stomach, Verity found herself craning her neck to see what it might be.

  Many clankertons made small automatons as their first creations; they were easy to transport and rather comforting to regular folk. Henry apparently had not taken that into account. His bag, the size and shape which might hold an easel for a painter, was light enough for him to carry easily to the front, so immediately that had Verity’s attention.

  When he slid it out, it took him a few more moments to assemble. Once again he had created something which packed down for easy transportation. She smiled slightly, he was always thinking of devices to improve the lives of the Seven. When he finished, an unpolished brass bird stood before the class on long elegant legs. It was fragile looking, but quite lovely. He made it in the shape of a long-legged water bird, with a wonderfully articulated curved neck, and sharp bill.

  The professor looked impressed, as he got up from behind his desk and did a circuit of it. A smile tweaked the corners of his mouth. “I think you should explain to the class what you have done here, my boy.”

  Henry rubbed his forehead, staring down at his boot heels for a moment. “It’s an egret. I used to see them all the time when I lived in India. She’s light and not made for fighting or anything, but she takes pictures. The eyes are lenses, you see. The idea is she will take photographs as she flies.” He paused. “Well, she will. I haven’t flown her yet. I need to give her more lift, but I don’t want to make her too heavy either...” He trailed off, glanced up at Verity, and then down once more.