The Steampunk Detective

by Darrell Pitt

  The train was one of the new steam trains. Twice as wide as the older trains, it was divided into first and second class. It seated hundreds of people, but now in the middle of the day few people were aboard. A man boarded the carriage at the far end. He glanced at Jack, but made no indication of recognition. Jack remained standing in the vestibule area and gripped an upright pole as the train started.

  Jack felt a surge as the train rapidly accelerated. The next stop was Barnshill Station. The train drew to a halt. A man moved past him into the carriage and took a seat some distance away. The train started again.

  “You will depart at the next stop,” the voice said.

  Jack glanced up at a train map plastered on the wall. “The next stop is Sabre Field station.”

  “You will alight at Sabre Field.”

  Three minutes later the train slowly pulled to a halt. The doors opened and Jack got out.

  “There is a train departing on platform four,” the voice snapped. “You have one minute to catch it.”

  Jack sighted a set of stairs to his left. He ran up the stairs, crossed the overhead bridge and arrived at the steps leading down to the platform. A train had just pulled in.

  “Blimey,” Jack muttered under his breath.

  The doors were just closing when he made a running jump between them. They sealed shut. Gasping for breath, Jack looked down the carriage. He was not sure if the man from the other train had made the switch. Jack swallowed. In one single move, he may have already lost his protection.

  The train started again. Half a dozen stations flew past without any instructions from M. The train pulled into another station – Hammermouth.

  The radio crackled. “Change trains,” M instructed. “Platform five.”

  Jack raced from the train. He could see a train pulling into the other platform. He took the stairs two at a time and sprinted across the overhead bridge.

  “Oof!” He crashed into a man in a suit.

  “Sorry!” he yelled.

  “Impudent, young –.”

  Jack did not hear the rest of it. He raced down the stairs. The guard blew his whistle. He landed badly on a step, twisted his ankle and fell face first down the stairs.

  Bazookas! He thought. No!

  He rolled down the remaining stairs and jumped to his feet just as the doors started to close.

  No!

  He staggered across the platform and jammed his body into the closing doors. The train started to pull away from the station. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him into the train.

  The elderly man holding his arm looked at him severely. “That’s a foolish thing to do, young man.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “Thank you, sir.”

  Jack stumbled into the carriage, his heart pounding. When he was half way down the aisle, the radio crackled again. A seated man looked at him strangely and Jack continued to the far end where no passengers were seated.

  “Jack Mason,” the voice rasped. “Get off at the next stop.”

  “I barely made this train,” Jack protested. “I can’t keep jumping from train to train.”

  “You have almost reached your destination,” the voice continued. “Disembark at the next station. Take the stairs to the South side. Take the next steam bus to the end of the line.”

  Jack’s heart slowed as the train continued along the line to the next station. It was a stop called Bigglesworth. The doors slid open and Jack stepped out. He wearily climbed the stairs. Sweat drenched his back. The day had grown warmer and his physical exertions had pushed him to the limit. Crossing to the South side of the station, he saw a bus chuffing down the road towards him.

  He paid money to the conductor and took a seat near the exit. Jack wondered if M could be the bus driver, then dismissed the idea as ridiculous. The bus stopped three more times until it reached the end. Finally the driver turned to Jack.

  “Last stop, chappie,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Jack said.

  A row of houses lined one side of the road. Jack climbed from the bus and saw a river on the other side bordered by shrubbery. The waterway was about thirty feet across. A small barking dog ran circles in a front yard a few feet away. A formation of ducks drifted down the river.

  The radio crackled again. “Walk to the centre of the bridge.”

  Jack saw an old stone bridge further up the bank. He approached it with a feeling of dread. He had been promised he would be followed every step of the way. They had told him he would be safe. Nothing could be further from the truth. Whatever MI5 agents had been following him had been lost somewhere on the other side of London.

  He was on his own.

  His whole body shook with fear as he walked along the riverbank. Somehow he had to negotiate with someone who had the lives of half a million people in his hands. He had to deal face to face with the Napoleon of crime.

  How had he ended up in this situation?

  Jack reached the foot of the bridge and slowly walked to the middle.

  He waited.

  Looking in both directions, he saw no–one approaching the crossing. A forest lay on the other side of the river. He became aware of the pouch of diamonds next to his chest. They had seemed so light before – now they weighed a ton.

  A low humming sound carried across the water towards him – the sound of a steam engine. He looked up and down the river, but could not see a boat. Still, the sound continued and slowly grew louder.

  A shadow crossed his face.

  Jack glanced up. An airship was coming in to land. The vessel appeared similar to Mr Doyle’s Lion’s Mane, but this ship bore no markings and it looked smaller. The windows of the gondola appeared to be covered in curtains. The vessel slowed until it rested a few feet over the bridge.

  A window slid across and the top half of a familiar figure appeared in the gap. The man with the scarf and hat pulled down low over his face leaned over the side. He dropped a basket on a line and it fell, almost hitting Jack in the head.

  “Put the diamonds in the basket,” M rasped.

  “Where is Lucy Harker?” Jack asked. “And where is the bomb?”

  “I will send instructions later,” M replied. “Give me the diamonds first.”

  Jack swallowed. “No. I must have Lucy and the bomb before I can give you the diamonds.”

  “You impudent child!” M snapped. “I can kill half a million people with the flick of a switch.”

  “You’ve given no proof the bomb is even in England,” Jack said. “For all we know it’s still in Europe.”

  “You’ll just have to trust me,” Professor M rasped. “Now give me the diamonds.”

  “No.”

  Jack saw hatred in the man’s eyes. “You dare to speak to me like this?”

  “I dare,” Jack felt dizzy with rage and fear. “Now where is Lucy and the bomb?”

  Whatever reply M was about to make was stifled by the sound of another steam engine. Both Jack and the professor looked at the same time and saw a small airship arrowing directly towards them.

  M let out a cry of rage.

  “You fools!” he screamed. “You have just signed your own death warrants!”

  M sprang back from the window and Jack stood back, expecting his airship to take off at full speed. Instead, it suddenly began to ascend. Jack leapt back and fell sprawling to the ground as the gondola crashed into the bridge.

  A door flew open and the criminal leapt from the interior. Jack jumped up and made a grab for him, but the man spun around with a flying kick. It connected with Jack’s stomach. He let out a gasp of pain as the man moved in with two swift blows to his jaw.

  As Jack hit the ground, and before he lost consciousness, he saw M standing over him.

  “Tell your masters they have signed Lucy Harker’s death warrant,” he rasped. “Today she will die and at midnight tomorrow so will London.”

  Jack’s world turned to darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  An hour later the quiet b
ridge across the river had become the heart of a massive man hunt. Hundreds of police, MI5 agents and men with tracker dogs were spreading out in all directions to track down M.

  “They won’t find him,” Mr Doyle said.

  Jack looked up at the great detective. His jaw still hurt from where the professor had struck him. The criminal’s airship had been examined for clues without success. The police had quickly located an old sewerage tunnel that led away from the river to a nearby town. It seemed likely the criminal had used the tunnel as an escape route in case things went badly.

  And things had gone very badly indeed.

  “Are you sure?” Jack asked.

  “I am fairly sure,” Mr Doyle replied. “Professor M has planned this operation to the letter. The only factor in our favour is that he does not already have the bomb.”

  “He doesn’t have the bomb?” Jack tried to make sense of the detective’s words.

  “No. If the bomb were already in England he would have already detonated it, but he’s given himself time for it to arrive.”

  “Maybe he’ll try to get the diamonds again.”

  A group of MI5 agents had taken custody of the diamonds from Jack as soon as he had regained consciousness. Jack was glad M had not discovered the gems. Now the stones were back in the hands of the government.

  “Unlikely. That plan has failed. Now we must track him down instead.”

  “How will we do that?”

  “You remember we still have the clue of the paper – the page we found on Jon Harker’s body.”

  Jack nodded. He had forgotten about the paper.

  Mr Griffin and General Churchill appeared.

  “We haven’t found M,” Mr Griffin said. “It looks like he’s given us the slip.”

  “The Prime Minister will be making an announcement this evening,” General Churchill said soberly. “He will be ordering a general evacuation of London.”

  “And what will you gentlemen do?” Mr Doyle asked.

  “We will do our best to find M,” General Churchill said. “We will continue to track him until we find him, or until…”

  “Until we no longer can,” Mr Griffin finished.

  “Jack and I have a lead to follow,” Mr Doyle said. “We will be in contact with you as soon as we know something.”

  The detective turned. The Lion’s Mane was parked on the riverbank about fifty feet away. As Jack followed him, General Churchill cleared his throat.

  “Ignatius,” he said. “How do you rate our chances?”

  “I believe in human intellect and our capacity for good,” the great detective replied. “Don’t give up hope.”

  He turned and they continued towards the airship.

  A few minutes later the Lion’s Mane had ascended and was heading towards the East End. The sky ahead was bright and clear. A clot of clouds crested the far horizon. The city of London lay beneath them, the sprawling metropolis covering the landscape like an enormous quilt.

  It seemed as quickly as they had risen into the sky, the time arrived to descend. Mr Doyle navigated the ship into a back alley leading off Columbia Road. Disembarking, they steered their way through the crowded East End until they arrived outside a small shop sandwiched between a bakery and bookshop.

  The sign above the door said:

  DeGroot and Sons Paper Suppliers

  A bell above the door jangled as Mr Doyle led them into the shop. The great detective wasted no time as he marched up to the counter. The man staffing the shop looked to be about seventy years of age and about five feet in height. He had thinning grey hair and an angular face that ended in a weak, receding chin.

  He peered at them. “Good morning. How may I help you?”

  “You are Mr Degroot, I assume,” Mr Doyle said.

  “I am.”

  “I am Ignatius Doyle. This is my assistant, Jack. We are looking for a customer who purchases paper from your shop.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “We don’t know their name.” Mr Doyle cast his eye over the shelves and grabbed a piece of paper from one of the shelves. “They would buy this type of paper from you, but in the larger size.”

  “Ah, the Cambershire Royal,” Mr Degroot said. “Very good quality. Very good.”

  He stood, smiling and nodding. He seemed to have forgotten that Jack and Mr Doyle were in the shop.

  “So we would like to know who buys this paper,” Jack intervened. “But in the larger size.”

  “We have a number of people who purchase the Cambershire Royal,” the man said. “But not in a larger size, of course.”

  “Why ‘of course’?” Mr Doyle asked.

  “It is only delivered in this size. Never larger.”

  Mr Doyle frowned. “Are you sure? I’m sure my friend who comes here has it in a larger size. Possibly double this size.”

  “They would not purchase it from us.”

  “Aren’t you the only supplier who carries this brand?”

  “We are. It is made by a small company in Somerset and we are their sole supplier.”

  “Then how would someone acquire a piece larger than this?”

  “They could only get it from the manufacturer,” Mr Degroot said genially.

  “Are you sure?” Mr Doyle asked.

  Mr Degroot frowned. “I have been in this business for fifty–three years. I may be old, but I know paper. If your friend has pages of Cambershire Royal larger than this, then they purchased it directly from the maker.”

  “Would you be able to tell me who they are?” Mr Doyle asked.

  The old man smiled. “I’m afraid that would not be good for my business, would it? You might just purchase it from them.”

  Mr Doyle slid a ten pound note onto the counter. “Would this improve your business?”

  The old man shrugged. “It’s been a slow day.” He wrote an address onto a slip of paper. “They’re located in a town called Moll’s Pond. They’re not hard to find.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said.

  “A pleasure doing business with you, good sirs.”

  Mr Doyle nodded and led Jack back through the door. “This is a stroke of luck.”

  “So we’ll go directly to the manufacturer,” Jack said.

  “Absolutely.”

  They quickly made their way back to the Lion’s Mane and had the airship sailing over the city in a matter of minutes. Jack looked down below at London as the houses became fewer and the fields more numerous. The London metrotower dominated the landscape to the north. At a distance, the world looked very peaceful. He looked down below them. There seemed to be a lot of people on the roads.

  “It looks busy down there,” Jack said.

  Mr Doyle looked down. “It looks like most people are heading in the same direction.”

  “Out of the city?”

  “Yes, I believe the Prime Minister has announced the evacuation of London.”

  “Shouldn’t everyone be leaving?” Jack looked down at the roads. They were populated, but not congested to the point where traffic jammed every street.

  “It will take some time for the news to get around that the city is in danger.”

  “And then everyone will evacuate?”

  “I believe most people will leave,” Mr Doyle said. “But not everyone will believe such a threat exists.”

  “Even if the warning comes from the Prime Minister?”

  “Not everyone would believe that such a super weapon could exist.” Mr Doyle looked back at the city grazing the landscape behind them. “Would you believe a single bomb could destroy a city that took thousands of years to build?”

  Looking back at the city, Jack slowly shook his head. “I’m sure Mr da Vinci did not intend this to happen.”

  “It is a shame the Phoenix Society decided to develop their inventions in secret,” Mr Doyle said. “Knowledge should be shared. Their efforts have truly perverted the natural course of human history.”

  Jack looked back at the mighty steam powered c
ity. “I wonder where we would be if the Phoenix Society had never existed.”

  Ignatius Doyle nodded. “I wonder.”

  I hope we don’t lose London, Jack thought. It’s a beautiful city.

  The landscape passed beneath them as Mr Doyle consulted charts. He made a few calculations using a compass and sextant. Finally he aimed the airship towards a small town to the south–east of them. It lay like a scattered bundle of jewellery on the landscape.

  Mr Doyle brought the vessel into land outside the town. He tied the ropes of the airship to a fence enclosing a field filled with cows. A passing boy stopped to look in amazement at the vessel.

  “What’s your name?” Mr Doyle asked him.

  The boy looked no older than eight or nine.

  “Toby.”

  “Have you ever seen an airship close up before?”

  “No.” He stared up in wonder at the balloon. “It’s big!”

  “Would you care to make some money, young man?” Mr Doyle asked.

  Toby nodded shyly.

  “Could you keep an eye on our flying machine?”

  Toby nodded vigorously. “Yes, please.”

  “A farthing now,” Mr Doyle said. “And a farthing when we return.”

  Mr Doyle handed Toby the coin and he and Jack walked the short distance into town. The village of Moll’s Pond was a tiny affair; Jack found it difficult to believe it even rated a mention on the map. Three or four streets cut across the main road. There seemed to be a few small shops – a general store, a baker, a butcher and a pub on the corner. Terrace houses squeezed together in the side streets till they came to an abrupt halt where the roads met farms bordering the town.

  Altogether, Jack thought, a quiet little village.

  “Do you think M is here?” he asked suddenly. “It seems too quiet for someone like him.”

  “You don’t think master criminals live in small towns?” Mr Doyle smiled. “I imagine Moll’s Pond represents only one strand of his empire.”

  They walked down a small street towards a house at the far end. A barn and a water mill lay beyond it. As they drew close they could hear the sound of the water and a clanking sound from within the building. Mr Doyle checked his weapon, but left it in his pocket.