by Alex P. Berg
At the announcer’s command, the workmen at the side of the machine jumped into action, two opening a hatch in the apparatus’s side and shoveling coal in through the gap, a third working a set of bellows, and a fourth manning a set of levers poking from the top of the ensemble. The valve at the top of the machine whistled as the fourth man yanked on a chain. The crank shaft that connected the massive flywheel to the steel cylinder pushed forth, slowly at first, then back, then faster, forcing the mighty flywheel into motion.
As the machine roared to life, the announcer continued to speak, becoming more animated the faster the flywheel spun. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s not mere hyperbole for me to state that this machine will transform the world around us in ways we cannot yet fathom. The Bock Industries reciprocating steam engine harnesses the power of the earth and transforms it into real, usable work. This spinning wheel represents far more than a mere technological proof of concept. It represents the milling of grain, the pumping of water, the turning of presses. No more will mankind be subjected to the vagaries of wind and water for his needs. No more will—”
As the baton-wielding announcer droned on about the implications of the machine, I found my eyes drifting to Perspicacious Blaze, the fire mage, standing in the back. He stared at the proceedings, unblinking, and I recalled a thought I’d had during our case with him: a passing bit of mirth in which I’d pictured Blaze and other similar working mages put out of work by technological advances, forced out onto the street, angry and with grudges against society. The vision was coming to pass—except for the fact that Perspicacious Blaze owned two-thirds of the foundries in the city. I doubted he’d lack for funds anytime soon.
“This is amazing,” I said to Steele. “I hate to agree with Baton McTwirlsalot, but this could impact a lot of businesses.”
“Well, it is amazing,” said Shay, her eyes on the stage, “but it’s not really the draw of the presentation.”
I scrunched my brow. “Huh?”
“This technology’s been around for a while,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, the improvements made to the reciprocating steam engine by Bock Industries are impressive. That thing’s purring like a kitten. But the scientific basis for steam power isn’t new. People have been working in earnest on it ever since Torg the Defiler established his coal empire.”
“You’re kidding,” I said. “How come I’d never heard about this?”
Shay looked at me, tilting her head and giving me a smirk. “I thought we already established you’re not particularly well-versed or interested in science. Your words, not mine.”
I frowned, unconvinced.
Shay decoded my expression. “If I’m wrong, then why was the engine uncovered? Whatever’s beneath that black shroud is the real draw here.”
As if on cue, the announcer flicked his baton at the workmen. As they closed the coal hatch and played with the levers, the flywheel began to slow, and the announcer switched his attention to the other side of the stage.
“But, ladies and gentlemen, as magnificent, as astonishing, as portentous, and as awe-inspiring as the manufacture and functions of the Bock Industries reciprocating steam engine are, the implications of this next feat of science and engineering are even larger, even greater, and even more momentous.
“Picture for a moment, as I stand here in front of this thick span of canvas, the state of the world in which we all live and work. Long has mankind achieved mastery of three of the four elements: fire, which we use to heat our homes and light our dark streets, water which we use to power our mills and churn our grindstones, and wind, which we use to fill the sails of our vessels. Earth we’ve used to grow our crops and build our homes, but with the advent of the Bock Industries reciprocating steam engine, synergy—” The announcer intertwined his fingers. “—has been achieved between the elements. Earth and fire combined to produce the energy previously harnessed from water and wind. But is there more? Are there other secrets, other natural phenomena, other elements which we’ve yet to harness? Well, friends…yes. There are. Lads, harness the machine!”
Shay groaned as the mustachioed brothers removed the black canvas. “I’m glad my dad’s not here. He’d probably have a heart-attack hearing this guy talk about ‘fire’ and ‘water’ as elements.”
Even I knew better than that. I shrugged. “He’s feigning ignorance to pander to the crowd. I hope…”
The black covering fell under the combined pull of the burly-armed trio, revealing another curious contraption. This one also featured a large flywheel, but instead of steel it appeared to be made of copper, and it sat between arms wrapped with thick coils of wire. In front of the machine, up out of arm’s reach, were two broad metal plates that faced each other about an arm’s length apart.
As the flywheel from the engine finally slowed to a stop, the workmen brought out long, heavy belts which they used to connect the two machines. A young man with medium-length brown hair and a thin mustache, dressed in a white overcoat, separated himself from the crowd onstage and stood next to the newly revealed machine. Once done with the belts, the workmen ran back to the Bock Industries engine and stoked the fires with more coal. The flywheel began to turn again, spinning the copper wheel along with it.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the announcer, “although it goes against my nature, I’ll try to be brief. As this Bock Industries reciprocating engine spins—need I remind you, fueled by the power of the earth underneath our feet—it brings to life a new Bock Industries creation, one that’ll let civilization harness a power heretofore only dreamed of, the power of nature, the power of the heavens, the power of the gods above.”
The announcer cast a glance at the young man with the lab coat. With both flywheels spinning rapidly, the young man placed a hand on a lever at the side of the newly revealed instrument and gave the announcer a nod.
“Ladies and gentlemen…may I present the Bock Industries Gen-er-ator!”
The young man flipped the lever. The air before us crackled, sparkled, and hissed, and with a resounding pop, a bolt of lightning materialized out of thin air, convulsing and pulsating but contained between the two metal plates in the air. A gasp erupted from the crowd, interspersed with countless ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and followed by a thunderous crash of applause.
For once, Shay looked as slack-jawed as everyone else in attendance.
I, however, had maintained full control over my facial muscles. “Well, it’s cool, I’ll give them that. But unlike the engine, I’m not sure what use it’ll be to anyone—unless someone plans on starting a tree-splitting service using it.”
Steele picked her jaw up off the ground before answering. “Your problem is that you don’t have any vision. And before you crack any jokes about my psychic ability, yes, I can envision numerous applications for such a device.”
“Such as?”
“Well, for starters—” My partner raised a finger, but before she could respond, the crowd parted behind us, spitting out a familiar blond-haired, blue-eyed, smooth-cheeked face. For once, it didn’t carry with it a perfect, white-toothed smile.
“Rodgers,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
Gordon Rodgers adjusted his coat and snorted. “Taking in the sights, what do you think, Daggers? I’ve been searching for the two of you for the past hour. If you weren’t up on this hill, I’d never have found you.”
Rodgers wasn’t as ardently opposed to aerobic exercise as I was, but I couldn’t imagine he’d tramped all over the fairgrounds for his health. I deduced the obvious. “There’s been a murder?”
“Your deductive abilities are unparalleled, old chum,” he said. “Come on. Quinto’s already on the scene.”
3
Rodgers led us to an apartment building on Height Street—a fairly new, tan brick structure in a city where ‘fairly new’ generally meant anything octogenarians couldn’t remember existing in their spoon-fed years. Based on the first floor windows and the richly furnished lobby, I guessed the dead pe
rson’s abode would be on the nicer side of the housing spectrum, and as I slid past a bluecoat standing guard at the door of the second-story apartment, I found I wasn’t mistaken.
A pair of matching beige upholstered sofas shared the middle of a living room with a wide, rectangular ottoman while a mahogany coffee table sat over to the side, lonely and forgotten. The room’s shutters had been thrown open, allowing light to flood into the room and glide over a broad writing desk, a round eat-in table, and a quartet of chairs. A couple of technicians from the precinct hovered over the desk and table, dusting the hard surfaces for prints.
“Seems pretty idyllic.” I walked in and ran my hand across the top of the padded couch. “You sure this is the right place?”
“The body’s in the bedroom,” said Rodgers. “It’s not quite as idyllic in there.”
A shadow filled a portion of my vision, and I heard a familiar rumbling, gravely voice. “Not so much. Although it is more colorful. You know, because of the blood.”
Detective Quinto, Rodgers’ partner, filled a doorframe at my right. At six foot three and over two century-notes, not many people dwarfed me, but Quinto did by a good four inches and at least a hundred pounds. As if his size wasn’t distinctive enough, his mismatched buckteeth, buzz cut, and grayish skin—a byproduct of his alleged half-troll heritage—really rounded out the package. Despite his intimidating appearance, the guy had a good head on his shoulders, and he was a bit of a teddy bear at heart—unless you insulted his mother.
“Hey Quinto,” I said. “I didn’t see you over there.”
The big guy smiled. “I find that hard to believe.”
“So, Quinto,” said Steele, “based on your comment, I’m guessing this one’s messy.”
“It’s not the worst I’ve seen,” said Quinto. “But it’s far from the best. Come on. I’ll show you. Cairny’s checking out the body as we speak.”
I was an awful whistler, so I settled for nudging Rodgers in the ribs. “Nothing stokes the fires of passion like a murder investigation, wouldn’t you say, pal?”
Quinto glared at me. He and Cairny Moonshadow, the precinct’s coroner, were dating, but it wasn’t common knowledge. Certainly the Captain didn’t know, and Quinto and Cairny intended to keep it that way.
Even though Rodgers had been working on his quip game lately, he kept his mouth shut following my jab. He was stuck with Quinto nearly twenty-four-seven, and he knew better than to piss him off. Instead he shrugged, and we all followed Quinto into the bedroom.
Due to the angle of my entrance into the room, the first thing I noticed was the massive canopy bed, complete with ornamental drapes, padded headboard, plush comforter, and silk sheets. The second thing I noticed was the dead body strapped to a chair at the foot of the bed.
The victim was a man, in his mid to late thirties if I had to guess based on his hairline and complexion. His arms had been strapped to those of his chair, and the tips of several of his fingers ended in twisted, mangled stumps. Bruises marred much of his face, and dried blood covered the majority of his chin and neck. It also matted his light brown hair, and I didn’t have to look hard to spot the source. The entire top right of his skull had imploded, revealing lots of icky bits that nature dictated shouldn’t be visible to the eye.
Cairny poked the body in the midsection with an extended finger, but she popped up as soon as she saw us enter, sending a ripple through her otherwise motionless waterfall of midnight-black hair. “Detective Daggers. And Steele! What a surprise to see you here, bestie.”
Rodgers furrowed his eyebrows. “Um…Cairny, I told you and Quinto I’d find Daggers and Steele and meet you guys here. Right after the runner dropped by the precinct. Remember?”
Cairny blinked her big moon eyes. “Oh. Right. Well…welcome.”
In addition to being a half-faerie, Cairny was a bit of a space cadet, but she was good at her job. Unlike most people, being presented with a dead body had a way of sharpening her focus. Sometimes I thought she’d be an excellent artist, what with all the time she spent daydreaming, but she’d probably only get any real work done in a studio surrounded by cadavers, and that wasn’t something those of us in police employ particularly condoned.
A grin crept onto Quinto’s face as he gazed at the coroner, probably without his knowledge. I think he still couldn’t quite believe he and Cairny were dating, and with good reason. With her ivory skin and soft features, she was far too pretty for him. Not that she was a ten by any means—she was too gangly and mooncalfish for my tastes—more that Quinto was that ugly. I’d mentioned his luck to him before, and he’d been quick to remind me of my own limitations in the physical appearances department. I’m not sure if he’d meant it as an insult or as a way of giving me hope.
“Alright, gang,” I said. “Give us the rundown. What do we know so far?”
“Well,” said Quinto, getting serious, “as far as we can tell, this man was murdered.”
“Oh, wait. Hold on.” I held up a finger, then reached into my coat pocket and extracted Daisy, which I held out to Quinto. “Here you go.”
Quinto lifted an eyebrow. “Um…why would I want your truncheon, Daggers?”
“First, refer to Daisy by name,” I said. “And second, this isn’t a truncheon. For the purposes of this exercise, this is the Captain of the Obvious baton. Go on. You’ve earned it.” I waggled the steel headknocker at Quinto again.
He reluctantly took it, scowling at me as he did so.
“Why don’t I begin?” Cairny smiled. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to defuse the situation or wasn’t even aware of her boyfriend’s lack of mirth. She pointed out various body parts as she provided her diagnosis. “As you can see, our victim was tied to this chair and tortured. Given the facial bruising and missing teeth, I assume the victim was punched repeatedly before having his fingers smashed with a hammer, as you can see here.” Cairny drew her hand down to the armrest. “Eventually, said hammer was used to provide the killing blow to the victim, as you can see by the fractured cranium. The head of the hammer appears to have impacted right at the front of the parietal bone.”
“Did you find the murder weapon?” I asked.
Cairny shook her head.
“And when did he die?” asked Steele.
“Based on lividity?” said Cairny. “Early this morning. Maybe between five and eight. I’ll need to get him back to the lab to give you a better answer.”
“Alright,” I said. “What else do we know about the victim?”
Quinto maintained his vexed expression, but he responded. “His name’s Darryl Gill. He owns a repossessions business smartly titled Gill’s Repossessions. We found some files of his with business info. Tax records, bank notices, that sort of thing.”
“Repossessions?” I said. “As in take stuff from people and give it back to the bank sort of repossessions?”
Quinto held out Daisy. “Here you go. You’ve earned this back.”
“Thank the gods,” I said, retrieving my nightstick. “I’m the king of something again.”
That earned a smile from Quinto. Good. I hadn’t meant to actually anger the big guy.
“What about his personal life?” asked Shay.
“I talked to some neighbors,” said Quinto. “They said Gill wasn’t married, nor do they think he was seeing anyone on a regular basis. No kids. And nobody recalled seeing anyone out of the ordinary late last night or early this morning.”
“Really?” I said with a raised eyebrow. “This guy got tortured and beaten to death with a hammer and nobody heard anything?”
“I should note the victim was gagged when we found him,” said Cairny. “You can see some of the bruising at the sides of his lips from where the muffle was placed.”
“To be fair, one neighbor did hear some thumping,” said Quinto. “She thought Gill was rearranging furniture.”
“At five in the morning?” I rolled my eyes. “Sheesh. Apparently we won’t be able to count on the neighbors for much assis
tance. You guys get anything else useful so far?”
Quinto shrugged. “We found some assorted cash and valuables around the apartment, so it doesn’t appear to have been a robbery. Lab techs are working on getting prints from surfaces.”
I drummed my fingers on my chin, scraping them against my stubble. “Ok, so we have a torture and murder—possibly a crime of passion. I’m guessing it might’ve had something to do with his profession.” I gave Shay a look. “You want to make a trip out to Gill’s place of business?”
“Seems as good a place as any to start,” she said.
“Quinto, you said you found bank statements,” I said. “You mind swinging by his branch office and seeing if you can spot any red flags on Gill’s finances?”
The big guy groaned. “Why me? I always do the bank runs.”
“Because you’re so good at it,” I said. “I’m honestly not sure how you get in and out so fast. You must sweet talk the tellers.”
I flashed Quinto my best smile, but I think it was Cairny’s giggle that convinced him to abandon his resistance.
“You ready?” I said to Steele.
“Wait,” said Rodgers. “What about me?”
I shrugged. “Pick your poison. Gill’s Repossessions, the bank, or stay here and help out the lab boys.”
Rodgers and Quinto went way back. They’d been partners for the better part of a decade, but no amount of brotherly camaraderie could convince Rodgers to voluntarily take part in a bank run. He came with us.
4
Shay and I caught a rickshaw outside Gill’s apartment, but since there was only room for two, Rodgers was forced to commandeer his own unit. Apparently, Rodgers’ driver had eaten a few too many pancakes for breakfast, because we quickly outpaced him and his slow-footed chauffeur. By the time we reached Gill’s Repossessions, my old detective pal and his human-powered transport were nowhere to be seen.