Chasing Schrödinger’s Cat - A Steampunk Novel

by Tom Hourie

“The simplest explanation would be that the public have become partial to the entertainment it creates and it suits the interests of Her Majesty’s Government to keep the people happy.”

  “Bread and circuses?”

  “Not to put too fine a point on the matter, yes. However, there are wider concerns.”

  Sarah had been fidgeting throughout her father’s explanation, like an elementary school student who knows the answer to the teacher’s question. You could tell she was getting ready to tell her father we had the Dimensional Translator so I made a slight, horizontal ‘keep quiet’ gesture with my fingers. I wanted to hear the rest of this story without interruption.

  “What sort of concerns?”

  “When we saw the kinds of trouble so-called scientific progress has caused in your world, we had second thoughts about the rate of advancement in our own.”

  “We fight too many wars for you?”

  “We still fight wars, but ours follow rules that have existed for centuries. Yours cause the destruction of entire cities.” He stopped to pour me another refill saying “good health” as he did so. I raised my glass in thanks. For an over-privileged enemy of the people, this guy was alright “That being said, there is a school of thought that contends that progress is inevitable and that the dimensional translator can serve as a guide to controlling its direction,” he said.

  “What school do you belong to?”

  “I have mixed feelings. We recently learned that before we seized the device, Henry Babbage had engaged the services of a Serbian Engineer named Nikola Tesla whose investigations indicated that the Translator has terrible capabilities that were previously unknown. If it were to fall into the wrong hands it might bring about the very catastrophe we are hoping to avoid.”

  “What capabilities?”

  “That we cannot say. Tesla has gone to America taking his notes with him and refuses to share the results of his research.”

  Sarah could contain herself no longer. “I have heard quite enough,” she said. “Father, the wretched instrument is outside at this moment in Schrödinger’s van. All we have to do is retrieve it and smash it to bits.”

  “If you do that, I’ll be stuck here forever,” I said.

  “Are you so selfish you would place your own interests over the safety of an entire world?” she said. “In any case, I cannot imagine why you would want to return to such a vile place as your own world would appear to be.” With that parting shot, she lifted her skirts and walked quickly out of the room with the look of a woman who will not be denied.

  Chapter XXII:

  A Missed Opportunity –In Pursuit

  “Can you at least hold off destroying the translator for a couple of days?” I asked when I caught up with her at the base of the stairs. “If it has existed this long without bringing the end of the world, a little while longer won’t matter.”

  Instead of answering, Sarah stood at the bottom stair with her head cocked. I realized there were approaching footsteps in the upstairs corridor. The side door opened a moment later and we heard the familiar chuff-chuff of Schrödinger’s caravan followed by the receding sound of hard wheels clattering over a cobblestone surface. The side door reopened and familiar voices spoke at the top of the stairs.

  “Do you want me to have one of the lads follow him?” Arthur Flowers asked, his voice echoing hollowly down the stairwell.

  “I think not,” Alistair Fox answered. “He may have more success if we leave him alone.”

  “What happens after he brings it back?”

  “He will be of no more use to us. I will leave it to your good judgment as to the best method of disposing of him.”

  “Where is the translator now?” Lord Newford asked, when we returned to report the failure of our mission.

  “Still under the daybed, I expect,” I said.

  “Do you think Schrödinger is likely to see it?”

  “Maybe not for a while. He isn’t what you might call a tidy housekeeper.”

  “If I may summarize,” Lord Newford said. “You Mister Liddel, want the translator because it offers you a path back to your own world. Sarah, you want to destroy the infernal machine because you believe it to be dangerous. I lean towards the view that the translator can serve a useful purpose for Her Majesty’s Government. In the short term, at least, our interests coincide. All three of us want to recover the device.”

  “How are we meant to accomplish that aim?” Sarah asked.

  “By following Mister Schrödinger and getting it back.”

  “We don’t even know where he is going,” I said.

  “True, but he has only just started and there are few vehicles on the road at this time of night.”

  “So we do what? Run after him?”

  “No, you will need transport of course.”

  “Behold, my hidden vice,” Lord Newford said, as he opened the wooden door of a weather-beaten shed at the rear of the Amesbury Park grounds. “Come and help me shift it out, will you?”

  Lord Newford stepped into the shed and removed a rubberized canvas cover from a motorized tricycle which we proceeded to push forward with much grunting and puffing.

  “Does mother know you have this thing?” Sarah asked when the machine was out of the shed.

  “No my dear, she does not and I will thank you not to tell her,” Sarah’s father answered. “An old man has a right to his secret pleasures.” He removed a handkerchief from the pocket of his dressing gown and gently began to wipe the vehicle’s surfaces.

  I have no appreciation for steam technology, but even I could see the tricycle was an elegant machine. From its hand stitched leather seats to its carved oak spokes, from its brass-encased gauges to its riveted boiler, it exuded craftsmanship and power.

  “The most important thing is not to let the pressure rise above one thousand, five hundred pounds per square inch,” Lord Newbury said, when he had finished going over the machine’s controls with me.

  “There isn’t a pressure relief valve?” I asked.

  “There is, but it has been known to stick. Best not to take chances,” he said. “And before I forget, there is one other item I wish to lend to you.” He went to the rear of the shed and returned a moment later with hinged rosewood box which he opened to reveal an octagonal-barreled top-break revolver with the words Adams Patent Small Arms Co. stamped on its frame. “My old service pistol,” he said. “Hopefully you will not need it, but it is best to be prepared.”

  I lifted the heavy revolver, checked the unfluted cylinder and removed six fat yellow cartridges. I lifted the gun shoulder high and sighted along the barrel.

  ”I see you have some experience of firearms,” Lord Newbury said approvingly.

  “Nothing as heavy as this,” I said. “What caliber is it?”

  “Point four fifty Boxer,” he said. “Stop a charging water buffalo in its tracks.”

  “I’ll bring it back safely.”

  “Never mind the pistol, just bring Sarah back safely. She is the only daughter I have despite being the bane of my existence.”

  “Maybe I should leave her here and take care of things on my own.”

  “Don’t be absurd old boy. You would be lost without assistance. I would go with you myself but alas, my years of adventure are behind me.”

  The guards at the entrance didn’t try to stop us as we sped out of the compound. I guess they were used to seeing the tricycle come and go. Lord Newford hadn’t been kidding when he said his living conditions were ‘bearable.’ A prisons go, this place made The Club Med look like Alcatraz.

  After a few minutes driving we came to a crossroads at the outskirts of town. We had two choices, London or Exeter. Sarah made the decision for us.

  “I can’t think why he would be going to Exeter,” she said. “Take the London road.”

  “I’m curious,” I said, as I restarted the tricycle. “How is it that a rights-of-women activist like you is content to let me do the driving?”

  “Just because I
want the right to vote does not mean I wish to engage in manual labor.”

  But it was good enough for me though. Some day, God willing, I would live to see this exasperating woman get her comeuppance.

  Chapter XXIII:

  In Pursuit – At The Emporium – A Confrontation

  It was well past midnight and there was almost no traffic on the hard-packed dirt road leading to London. We chuffed our way through silent villages lit only by the light of the full moon. Sarah fell asleep with her head resting on my shoulder. To my surprise it felt right.

  It was starting to get light when I spotted Schrödinger’s brightly-painted caravan on the road ahead of us. I gave Sarah a nudge.

  “What is it?” she said sleepily. I pointed to the fleeing van and she sat up. “Can’t you go any faster?” she asked. “We need to overtake him before he reaches London.”

  I did my best but Lord Newford’s tricycle was giving me all it had. The houses and shops were becoming more numerous and we were no closer to catching up with Schrödinger.

  We were just approaching a level railway crossing when an iron-wheeled delivery wagon turned in from a side street ahead of us. Its driver took the turn too wide and got his left rear wheel caught between the tracks on the other side of the road. We could hear a train coming in the distance so I had no choice but to play the good Samaritan and help him push the wagon forward. Schrödinger’s caravan was nowhere to be seen by the time we were done.

  We drove to Schrödinger’s shop. What else could we do? We went through the usual pointless exercises - rattled the front door, peered in the windows. I even looked under the doormat to see Schrödinger might have left a key.

  We were just about to leave when the greengrocer next door waved us down. “You just missed him,” he said. “Picked up his mail and scarpered.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” I asked.

  “Not bloody likely. He keeps to himself, that one.”

  “What now?” I asked Sarah.

  “I want to go home,” she said. “I need a bath, a sleep and a change of clothing and I expect you do too. We can discuss what to do afterwards.”

  We never did get a chance to freshen up. The first thing we saw when we got to Newford House was Schrödinger’s van parked in the mews. Sarah looked at me in anticipation and I could see she was expecting me to repeat my take-charge guy routine.

  What the hell. Never let me be accused of disappointing a lady. Well truthfully, I have often been accused of disappointing a lady, but that was then and this was now.

  I decided the direct approach was best. I stuck Lord Newford’s big revolver in between my belt and the small of my back and marched up to the back door of the van which I opened only to find myself looking down the six barrels of a small caliber pepperbox pistol.

  “Please put your hands up and tell Lady Sarah to come over here,” said Schrödinger. The man looked terrible. His eyes were red as though he hadn’t slept in a week and his hand was shaking so much I was afraid he might shoot me by mistake.

  “Put that down before you put someone’s eye out,” I said. “That’s about all the damage you could do with that toy gun.”

  “My pistol may be small but it shoots better than yours since you have none.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” I said, pulling out Lord Newford’s massive revolver.

  One look at the Adams’ Navarone-sized barrel was enough for Schrödinger who dropped his weapon with an expression so despondent I almost laughed.

  “Why don’t we go inside and talk this over,” I said.

  Chapter XXIV:

  Schrödinger’s Story

  “Was anyone ever so victimized?” Schrödinger said. “First I am duped by Alistair Fox and now I am being held captive by a woman and a colonial bumpkin.”

  “Easy with the bumpkin and tell me how Alistair Fox fits into all this,” I said.

  We were sitting at a long wooden table in the kitchen of Newford House. Mrs. Willis had just finished making tea and had left us only after repeated assurances there was ‘nothing else we required.’ We had previously relieved Schrödinger of his pistol which Sarah had deposited into the seemingly infinite depths of her handbag.

  “Fox wanted to embarrass your father,” Schrödinger said to Sarah.

  “And after all Father has done for him,” Sarah said. “That is what comes of elevating people above their intended station.”

  “Fox does not see matters in that light. He says that Lord Newford is an amateurish old booby who needs to be put out to pasture.”

  “So what does that have to do with setting you up in a shop in East End London?” I asked, as much to keep Sarah from exploding as to get an answer.

  “Someone had stolen the dimensional translator from Amesbury Park and suspicion seemed to fall on the Fascists. I was up on a charge of gross indecency and Fox said he could get me off if I agreed to act as bait. He planted an article under my name in The Journal of Scientific Progress which made me out to be an expert in contacting other worlds. Fox said the Fascists would contact me to find out how to use the device. Little did I know he was playing me for a fool.” He sighed deeply, as if contemplating life’s many vicissitudes. “I say, is there any chance of something to eat?” he asked. “I’m absolutely famished.”

  The next few minutes were taken up watching Sarah preparing eggs and bacon for the three of us on a cast-iron stove only slightly smaller than the USS Nimitz. I was impressed by her competence, especially in light of her stated dislike of manual labor. The resulting meal was delicious.

  “I still don’t get what the shop was for,” I said, after I finished eating. “What was the point?”

  “I think at first Fox was just hoping Lord Newford would overreact and embarrass himself,” Schrödinger said, wiping the last egg drippings from his plate with a slice of bread.

  “Father is not impetuous. He would never take action without first considering all the ramifications.” Sarah said.

  “Your father is nobody’s fool,” Schrödinger conceded. “His only mistake was to use you as an observer. Fox arranged to have you arrested in my shop on suspicion of being a Fascist supporter, an accusation your suffragette activities seemed to make plausible.”

  “So how did you come to have the dimensional translator?” I asked.

  “Fox had left it with me without saying what it was. I assumed that it was just another of the curios in the shop. I only discovered what it was when I came upon some notes hidden inside the lining of its case.”

  “So if you were found in possession of the translator, you must have stolen it,” Sarah said. “And since the Fascists stole it you must be a Fascist. And since I was in your shop, I must be a Fascist.”

  “Full marks,” Schrödinger said. “Fox had us both fitted up like a bespoke suit.”

  “Let’s go back a bit,” I said. “You mentioned something about finding notes hidden in the case. What kind of notes?”

  “They were by a chap named Tesla. I didn’t understand it all but they seemed to deal with previously unknown functions and capabilities of the translator. I made the mistake of leaving them in the shop when I fled the scene of your arrest and that is why Fox sent me to find you.”

  “Come again?” I said.

  “Whatever was in the notes has aroused Fox to a frenzy. I told him I had left the translator with you when I stole your passport.”

  “That was you? Why would you steal my passport?”

  Schrödinger had the grace to appear slightly embarrassed. “I thought I could establish a new life for myself in America,” he said. “How was I to know every customs agent on the docks was looking for Bob Liddel? I was arrested the moment I tried to book passage.”

  “So what are your plans now? Because you can forget about taking the translator back to Fox.”

  “What use is it to you? You have no more idea of how to operate it than I do.”

  “True enough,” I agreed. “I figured I might start by finding this
guy, what was his name? Babbage. Sarah’s father said he’s somewhere in Devon. How far is that?”

  “Farther than we can drive in a day, although I expect Miss Trelawney would let us spend the night at Bishop Jewel,” Sarah said. “It’s on the way.”

  “Bishop who?” I said.

  “My old school. I was head girl there.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” I said. “I hate to do this, Mister Schrödinger, but we’re going to need your van. You can have it back when we’re done.”

  “What am I to do in the meantime?”

  “You can remain here,” Sarah said. “I will instruct Mrs. Willis to find a room for you.”

  “Ask her if she knows where there’s some paint while you’re at it,” I said. “We need to cover up Schrödinger’s name on the side of the van.”

  Chapter XXV:

  Salamander and Sons

  “Have you any plan other than going to Devon?” Sarah asked. “It is a very large county. One of the largest in England.”

  “I do, but I didn’t want to talk about it in front of Schrödinger,” I said. “The less he knows the better.” I held off saying it was too bad she had mentioned staying at her old school. I didn’t want to start a quarrel, especially when I had my hands full trying to maneuver Schrödinger’s van through South London’s crowded narrow streets. “The last time I looked at the dimensional translator I noticed a manufacturer’s name on one of the components,” I said. “Why don’t we start there?”