by Chris Paton
“And yet, Fräulein Hanover,” Bremen fidgeted, “you seem to have achieved so much more.” Turning to Hannah, Bremen nodded once, raised his hand and clicked his fingers. The men ringing the chaise longue drew thin Polyphase pistols from their long pockets, charged them, and pointed them at Luise, Hari and Smith. Hannah stepped past Bremen and lifted the machine from where it lay at the foot of the chaise longue. “Take it over to the workshop, Hannah. Keep the handle safe.”
“Ja, mein Herr,” Hannah nodded as she walked past Bremen toward the mechanics standing by the side of Romney’s steamracer.
“And now, Fräulein, and friends, I think it is time to part company.”
Chapter 10
The Isle of Dogs
London, England
May, 1851
The Tartan Lads hovered outside the heavy doors to the mill. Sullivan, closest to the single cutaway door, his snublock pistol in his hand, waited for Egmont’s signal.
“What’s goin’ on, Sully?” Mason hovered at the edges of Sullivan’s shadow. “Those things gone, or what?”
“Shh. Wait with the lads if you can’t stand still.” Sullivan stiffened as Bremen’s men drew their Polyphase pistols.
“Creepy they were, all blue and naked like.”
“Shh,” Sullivan punched Mason on the arm. “Go over to the carriage and wake the Admiral. Check the lads, and be quick about it.” Sullivan shoved Mason away and turned his attention back to Bremen’s men. Mason’s heavy footsteps clomped the short distance back to the steam carriage. Sullivan hid the snublock in the palm of his hand, lifted his foot over the sill of the door and stepped inside the mill.
“You can’t come any further.” A tall German placed a slim hand on Sullivan’s chest.
“Says who?”
“Herr Bremen,” the man poked his thumb over his shoulder.
“Him?” Sullivan peered around the guard. He watched as Bremen ordered the men ringing the chaise longue to move it to the far wall.
“Ja,” the guard nodded.
“See that man standing next to your Bremen?” Sullivan pointed at Smith. “He’s with my boss and he is callin’ me over. Look.” Sullivan slipped past the guard as the man turned to look in the direction Sullivan was pointing.
“Halt,” the guard slapped his hand upon Sullivan’s bony shoulder.
Ducking under the guard’s arm, Sullivan wriggled free, dodged around two of the guard’s associates and jogged up to Smith’s side.
“Lovely sunrise, Mr. Smith. Did you see it?” Sullivan cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the approaching guards.
“Sullivan, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
Smith leaned forward. “Where is the Admiral?”
“I’ve sent one of the lads to wake him up.”
The creaking of the mill doors and shouts from the guards turned Sullivan’s head. In the doorway, blocking the sunlight, the Admiral fidgeted upon his brass leg. Egmont blustered his way past the guards and through the door; a handful of Tartan Lads followed him, an assortment of weapons clutched in their fists. Bremen signalled his men with the flat of his hand, they lowered their pistols.
“Afternoon, gentlemen. Luise,” Egmont nodded as he approached the group. “What’s going on then?”
“Afternoon, Admiral.” Sullivan glanced down at the Admiral’s leg. “Givin’ you jip is it?”
“Yes,” Egmont wrinkled his nose and lifted his top lip into a sneer. “I can’t stand on it so long.” He eyed the German guards and watched them retreat to a more respectful distance. “The show’s over, eh?”
“Well, one of them is. Looks like a new one is just beginnin’, if you follow, Admiral?” Sullivan turned the palm of his hand toward Egmont, revealing the snublock pistol.
“Might I ask, Admiral Egmont, what are your intentions?” Bremen raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, you can ask,” Egmont eyed Bremen. “Keep talking, Sully,” he whispered. “We need to keep this casual.” Egmont winked at Luise.
“All right, Admiral,” Sullivan glanced at his men and made a show of pocketing his pistol.
“What did you make of those demons?”
“Never seen anythin’ like it.” He rocked back onto his heels. “Apart from one time in the circus. A bearded lady and some eunuch painted blue,” Sullivan nodded in the direction of Hari and Luise as Bremen’s men shifted position behind them. “A bit like them devils as was swirlin’ around the young miss over there.”
“Devils,” Egmont mused.
“Well, they was hardly human now, was they, Admiral?”
“No,” Egmont scratched at his beard. “Definitely not. Now then, Sully,” Egmont leaned closer to Sullivan. “Keep a weather eye on these fellows and help me get the young lady and her friend safely out of here.”
“Anythin’ for you, Admiral,” Sullivan turned to face the door, stuck two fingers between his lips and whistled a shrill command to his men. The remaining Tartan Lads waiting outside the door rallied around Mason, drew various weapons from the pockets of their trousers and jackets, and covered the exit.
“What you want us to do, Sully?” Mason shouted, crowding the door with his broad shoulders. He picked at the nails on the fingers of his left hand with the thin blade of a kitchen knife.
“Just be ready when I shout.”
The iron-shod feet of the chaise longue squealed along the stone floor as one man pushed it aside while Hannah carried Luise’s machine over to the makeshift bay for the steamracers.
“Sullivan,” Egmont curled his arm around Sullivan’s shoulders and guided him closer to Bremen. “I think it might be interesting to tell Herr Bremen about the special relationship your boss has with Her Majesty’s Government. Would you care to explain further?”
“All right, Admiral. If you’re sure?”
“Positive, Sully.”
Sullivan shook Bremen’s proffered hand as the Admiral released him from his embrace. “Lady Harte sends her compliments, Herr Bremen.” Sullivan withdrew his hand from Bremen’s grasp and cast a quick glance at Luise. He winked at Hari and turned his attention back to the German.
“Lady Harte?” Bremen leaned upon his cane. The afternoon sun lit his pale cheeks as it poured in through the squared windows in the wall above the doors. Bremen’s eyelids drooped in the sunlight.
“Yes,” Sullivan nodded. “Lady Harte owns the Isle of Dogs. All the way from the docks to the bridge.”
“Forgive me,” Bremen rubbed his eyes. “It has been a long night waiting for those demons to retire. Fascinating but tiring all the same.”
“I imagine it was,” Sullivan smiled. “Me and the lads took it in turns to watch. We wasn’t so caught up in things as you were.” Sully leaned in closer to Bremen. “If you don’t mind me sayin’, your lads look a little peaky.”
“Quite,” Bremen yawned. “You were telling me about the Lady Harte.”
“And taking far too long about it too,” Egmont nudged Sullivan with his elbow. “What Sully means to say is that his mistress owns this bit of land, and oversees everything that comes in or out of London from the sea. Herr Bremen, you have chosen a poor place indeed for your stronghold.”
“Stronghold?”
Egmont made a show of looking around the mill. “Yes, a stronghold. Populated with thirty men or more.”
“These are my mechanics. Essential to the maintenance of my racing team.”
“Is it your custom to arm your mechanics?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Tell me, Herr Bremen.” Egmont’s leg hissed as he took a step forward. “What is your interest in Miss Luise’s invention?”
“Purely scientific, I assure you.”
“And those demons. They didn’t change your mind?”
“On the contrary, they have piqued my interest and the interest of the company whose interests I represent.”
“That would be Wallendorf Industries, I presume?” Smith took off his glasses and polish
ed the lenses with the cuff of his shirtsleeve.
“That is correct, Mr. Smith.” Bremen smiled. “By the way, I am forgetting my manners. Please give my compliments to the Bureau in Calcutta when you return home. Soon, I imagine?”
“Gentlemen,” the blue light glowing beneath the skin of Luise’s cheeks paled as she stepped closer to Hari. “This is an interesting conversation. But I wish to know what Herr Bremen intends to do with that which was stolen from me?”
“Stolen?” Bremen placed one hand upon his chest. “Fräulein Hanover, have you mistaken me for a common thief?”
“Not a common thief, no. Few people know of my invention, Herr Bremen, and no common thief would find any use in it whatsoever.”
“Then just what are you implying, Fräulein?”
“That you are an informed thief in possession of something that does not belong to you and I wish to have it back.” Luise clenched her fists at her sides and stared at Bremen.
“I see.” Bremen tapped his cane twice on the stone floor. The mechanics standing by the steamracers stopped what they were doing and joined the ranks of Germans surrounding Luise and her companions. Hannah clicked her fingers and each man chose a target and levelled his pistol at head height.
“Ready, Herr Bremen.” The heels of Hannah von Ense’s shoes clicked as she returned to stand by the side of Bremen.
“Fräulein Hanover,” Bremen sighed, “I find myself in the unfortunate position of agreeing with you on the point of being a thief. However, as you can see,” he gestured at the armed men surrounding them, “I am far from common. Mr. Sullivan.”
“Yes?” Sullivan’s eyes wandered over Bremen’s assistant.
“I believe Lady Harte has a preference for chocolate.” Bremen held out his hand to receive a brown envelope from Hannah von Ense. “Please give this to your mistress.” He looked at Egmont. “My letter of insurance, an import arrangement for German chocolate and the promise of one hundred pounds a month in expenses.”
Sullivan opened the envelope, pursed his lips and whistled.
“A down payment,” Bremen made room for Hannah as she presented Sullivan with a second envelope, “and a little sweetener for you and your men. The Lady Harte doesn’t need to know.”
“That’ll do, Herr Bremen, sir. A very nice gesture.”
“Sully?” Egmont placed his hand upon Sullivan’s shoulder.
“Now, now, Admiral,” Sullivan shrugged free of Egmont’s grip and pulled the snublock from his pocket. He pointed the pistol at Egmont’s chest. “I think we will have to rethink our agreement, Admiral.” Sullivan nodded at Bremen. “It seems that everythin’ here is in order, as per the Lady Harte’s instructions.”
҉
Romney paced around the stable floor, the dust lifting from the wooden boards and clinging to her leather boots. Biting on a strand of hair, she flicked her eyes from Robshaw to the riding tack hanging from the wall to the low flame of the sodium crystal lamps suspended from the ceiling and back again.
“Romney, why don’t you stop?” Robshaw pushed himself up from the straw-filled chair. He crossed to the tea service on the thin-wheeled trolley parked between the two chairs – the only furniture inside the stables. “Have some coffee.”
“Coffee?”
“Yes. It’s fresh.”
“I don’t want coffee. I want to get out of here.” She crossed to the trolley and tugged at Robshaw’s sleeve. “Help me get out of here,” she whispered.
“That won’t be easy,” Robshaw nodded at the shadow of the guard filling the grimy, cobwebbed window in the wall. “Bremen obviously wants us to stay.”
“What happened to you?” Romney let go of Robshaw’s sleeve. Her eyes narrowed, tugging at her pale cheeks. “Where is the larger-than-life steamracer that rescued me from the disaster in the potter’s shop?”
Robshaw poured coffee into a china mug. He set the pot down and picked up the thin, metal tongs by the side of the bowl of sugar cubes. Staring at Romney, he dropped three cubes into the coffee with a splash, one after the other. Putting down the tongs, Robshaw picked up a spoon and stirred the coffee, the metal handle clinked upon the rim of the cup.
“Well?” Romney tugged the wet hair from her mouth with a crooked finger.
“Well what?” Robshaw sipped his coffee.
“With all you’ve been told and what you’ve just seen, you’re willing to just let things run their course?”
Robshaw steadied his cup with two hands as he slumped down into the chair. “Yes.”
“Hah,” Romney coughed. “I get it. He’s got you, hasn’t he? You’re worried about your popularity. You’re scared of what might happen if Bremen announces to the world...”
“Not the world,” Robshaw sighed, “just Britain.”
“You’re weak.” Romney spat on the floor. “You disgust me.”
“I’m not weak, Romney. I’m choosing to be smart.” Robshaw took a sip of coffee. “And so should you.”
“What?”
“Be smart. You have far more to lose than I. If you choose to defy Bremen, it’s more than just your popularity that is at stake. Treason is no laughing matter.”
“Ah,” Romney clenched her fists at her temples. Pacing around the stables, she wheeled on Robshaw. “You think life is so simple, don’t you? Tow the party line. Do what daddy says. Do what is best for the family. Is that how it is?”
“Sit down, Romney. You are attracting the guard’s attention.” Robshaw pointed at the shadow of the guard as it flitted from one window to the next.
“Well, it’s not simple. I don’t care about the Confederation or the future. All I care about,” Romney paused to catch her breath. “All I care about is winning.”
“Why?” Robshaw stood up and took a step toward Romney. “It’s just a race.”
“It’s not just a race. Not when it is the only way... the only way I can talk to my father.”
“You’re not making any sense, Romney.”
“No? Of course not, not to you.” Romney’s boots scuffed circles in the dust of the stable floor as she sat down and tucked her knees to her chest. “Ludvig, my brother, has a head for business. He meets with father every day. They talk.” She looked up at Robshaw. “I see him once a week and he writes a cheque. The more races I win, the more cheques he writes, the more he has to see me.” Romney rested her elbows upon her knees and ran her hands through her hair. “Am I making any sense now?”
The door opened with a squeal of heavy wood on rusted hinges. Stepping back from the door, the guard made room for Hannah von Ense as she walked into the stables.
“Fräulein Wallendorf?” The corner of Hannah’s mouth twitched into a crooked smile. She looked around the room. “I see Herr Bremen has finally found accommodation more suited to your,” she cast her eyes over Romney’s dusty boots, leather trousers and racing jacket, “unenviable style.”
“What do you want?” Romney bunched her hands into fists.
“Herr Bremen wants to see you. It is time to discuss your responsibilities, and your duty to the Confederation.”
҉
The steam from Egmont’s brass leg piffed out of the exhaust valve, filling the silence crowding upon the Admiral’s party in the centre of the ring of Bremen’s mechanics, guards and goons. The whiskers of Egmont’s beard bristled in the breeze picking up outside and blowing in through the open door. He glared alternately at Sullivan and Mason standing in the ring alongside the Germans.
“Admiral,” Sullivan spread his palms wide. “What can I say? It’s just business.”
“Business?” Egmont took a step forward.
“Careful, Reginald,” Smith placed a restraining hand upon Egmont’s arm. “Neither of us is as young as we once used to be.”
“Leave me be,” Egmont tugged his arm free of Smith’s grip. “I remember this insolent pup when he was pushing a mop back and forth across the decks.”
“My point exactly,” Smith stepped in front of Egmont. “This is a yo
ung man’s game. At our age, we are more suited to pulling strings from behind the desk than brawling uneven numbers.” Smith nodded at Hari. “While I would never call Hari a puppet...”
“You can still pull his strings?” Egmont sighed. “It’s a miserable business being old.”
“When you gentlemen are finished,” Bremen tapped his cane upon the floor, “perhaps we can discuss terms?”
“Terms, Herr Bremen?” Luise turned her head from one side to the other. “Just how does one discuss terms when one is surrounded?” Luise’s eyes flickered toward Hari as he stared up at the rafters in the ceiling of the mill.
“Very astute, Fräulein Hanover.” Bremen laughed. “Ah, right on time.” He straightened his arm and pointed to the rear of the mill. “Here comes the lovely Romney Wallendorf.” He lowered his arm and frowned at Luise. “But, perhaps you have met? I believe you have a shared acquaintance. A Mr. Robshaw, I believe.”
“Robshaw?” The name distracted Luise from her observation of Hari.
“Yes,” Bremen continued. “I believe you were sweethearts once. Am I right?”
“Once,” Luise paused as Romney approached the circle, Bremen’s assistant following close behind. “A few months ago.” She stared at Romney.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, Romney returned Luise’s stare, forcing her lips into a tight smile. She turned away as Bremen took her hand.
“Romney will be driving one of the new Wallendorf steamracers in tomorrow’s derby.” Bremen squeezed Romney’s hand. “Won’t you dear?” Romney’s lips parted without a sound. “I said...”
“Herr Bremen,” Hannah stepped forward and tapped Bremen on the shoulder.