Automatic Woman (2 page)

“I don’t know what to say, Doctor.”

“There’s nothing to say. I showed you this to make a point.”The doctor retrieved the prince’s breastplate and snapped it back into place.

“These dancers are my life’s creation, and one of them was taken from me!”

The doctor shoved the prince to ground. He struck the stage heavily. The noise was like a thousand tiny splinters of metal ringing out at once. The automaton jerked and twitched.

“Someone stole my Swan Princess!”

Now, I see the incredulous look on your faces and I respond to that with a guarantee. When you telegraph my office, you’ll find I’m a man of impeccable reputation. I stake my reputation on the assertion that everything I witnessed in the doctor’s theater is true. He’d made statues dance to Swan Lake and someone had run off with his prize ballerina, the Swan Princess.

I felt fortunate to have been assigned the case. The doctor’s work fascinated me.

The whole affair should have been an easy resolve. Some things are hard to track: pocket watches, silver spoons, China plates. Things get nicked and sold to fences and if they aren’t engraved or personalized I tell the owners to let them go.London has a robust black market, and the retrieval of certain valued works is nearly impossible. However, an unusual and rare item, a life-sized automatic ballerina for instance, is impossible to move. Whoever nicked it did it for profit or pleasure. If the theft was for profit, then the pawnbrokers union would find it soon enough. If for pleasure, Bow Street or the Metropolitan Police would probably have files on art house wank-enthusiasts. Either way I expected a short investigation and voiced as much to the good doctor.

I have many friends in the pawn business, as comes with the trade. Thief-catching is really about understanding the ebb and flow of money. Thieves steal to survive, not necessarily to better themselves. Some have habits to feed. Some have families to feed, which is as costly as any opium hook. The point of their trade is to move items for cash quickly. Neither pocket-slasher nor lock-smasher gets into the trade for investments. They need cash-in-hand. That’s where the brokers come in.

Goods change hands, money changes hands. There are some brokers who don’t even sell to the public, just to other men in the pawn trade. The more times a hot parcel changes hands, the quicker it changes hands, the less likely anyone will be popped for the larceny. Lucky me, some of these quick traders owe me favors for not getting you fine gentlemen involved in their dodgy transactions.

“I’ll find her, good sir. She can’t have gone off far. Do you know anyone who had an interest?”

“No,” the doctor said.“Aside from myself, you’re the only one who has ever seen my dancers. They were for my pleasure alone.”

I gave him a long stare on that admission. His face was sweaty and anxious. He nervously nibbled on the tip of his forefinger. It’s right to note the doctor was a boffin and a confirmed bachelor for reasons both complex and obvious.

I left the doctor in his theater with many assurances and took a stroll to Panzer’s warehouse. Panzer is one of the aforementioned quick brokers. I would use the cliché, “He had his ear to the ground,” if it weren’t for the fact that both his ears had been cut off during a spoiled transaction.

“Hello, Panzer,” I said and puffed up my chest, just so he knew I was present on business.

“Jolly,” he replied and raised his hand for a shake. I always love a good shake. My hand completely engulfs most men’s hands. I’ve got a good tough guy squeeze, too.

“Seen any fancy statues? One about this tall? Moves about on her own?” I looked him square in the eye and kept my grip on his mitten. He gave a revealing smile.

“Haven’t seen anything like that, Jolly. Hearing is a different matter, though.”

“Alright, mate. I’ll bite. What have you heard?”

“Hold on, sound is money and all that, what’s it worth?”

I tightened my grip on his hand.

“It’s worth me not giving you a smack and tipping the Metros to your moody gold sales.”

His face showed a bit of the pain I was inflicting on his hand.

“Hey now, Jolly, no need for ugliness. Just give me a taste of the bounty when you collect.”

I had to laugh. Here I am, crackling the man’s bones and he’s still negotiating for quid. Bloody pawn brokers. I let him go.

“You’re my kind of criminal, Panzer. A deal’s a deal, so what do you know?”

“Jacques Nouveau’s got some kind of moving statue. There’s a lot of talk of it in the union.”

“Nouveau?”

“He’s a gallery owner and art fence; he moves sculptures and the like. All the rotten heads are abuzz about it. I’d be careful about walking in if I were you. A man’s liable to make more enemies going where he isn’t wanted.”

I flipped Panzer a sovereign.

“Keep your worries, mate. Here’s your bounty. Cheers.”

I telegraphed the main office and left an address for where I was headed. That’s standard procedure. In case I go missing the firm’s retrievers have a starting location. I left the telegraph office and took the tube train to Whitechapel.

Nouveau’s gallery looked more like a butcher’s shed than an art shop. It was purposefully rustic and pretentious. The walls were made of more splinters then planks and no two pedestals were of the same height. Statues adorned the place, standing and staring from behind velvet rope lines. The ropes separated masterworks from gawkers, one group staring at the other. For all I know they were bloody genius works. The jade and porcelain statues looked marvelous in contrast to the dingy patrons. But I’m no art critic.

Nouveau immediately picked me out from the crowd of men and statues. I guess I don’t give the proper impression of wealth or interest on my fat face.

“Do I know you, sir?” he asked with open palm extended.

Bloody Frenchman! His accent rolled out of his mouth like a silk handkerchief.

“Are you looking for a piece in particular?”

I’ve thought long and hard about the whole French/English animosity. It’s not the Hundred Years War, nor Napoleon, nor any of that shite. It’s that their men always sound like they want to kiss us right on the lips with all those soft cake-eating words. I turned to the Frenchman.

“Yeah, friend, I am looking for a particular piece. A woman, about your size, white skin, automatic, dances the Swan Princess.”I flexed and puffed as I spoke. If you lean in close to a man, and he leans back, and you know he’s afraid. If he’s afraid, you own him. To his credit, Frenchy didn’t lean back.

“Perhaps we can talk. Please come with me.”

I followed his silky kimono arse to what I can only assume was a private dining room. Like the rest of the warehouse, the decor was rustic chic. The standing table was a converted barn door. Chairs were cut from apple barrels and lacquered into luminous hues. Servants lined the room, still as corpses.Frenchy took a seat at one end of the barn door and motioned me to sit master at the other. He rang a bell. The servant nearest me shook off her robe. Underneath stood a glistening naked body, shimmering in the gaslight. My mouth fell open. As I told you gents, I’m not a fellow well loved by the fairer sex. I can count naked bodies that have graced my presence on one hand with fingers left for snapping. This woman made me hate the ugliness, the imperfection of those I had beheld. She was slim with muscular lines set to milk skin. Her breasts were pert and lifted, nipples stood as hard rubies. I couldn’t fathom what the Frenchman was saying, but his words rattled somewhere behind me.

“Careful not to touch her detective, she’s quite fragile.”

The naked figure strode towards me, legs shuffling in tiny lock steps. I looked from her breasts to her face. It was heart shaped and the same milky complexion as the rest of her. Her hair was spun glass; it reflected the flames of every lamp.

Nouveau rang his bell again. The goddess lifted a pitcher from the table and poured me a cup of wine. In the close proximity I heard the tiny clicks on pendulums, the whir of gears.

“She’s an automaton!”

“Oh yes,” said Nouveau. “She’s my prize.”

He rang the bell and his naked statute brought the pitcher to his goblet. She poured him a drink.

“Is that the Swan Princess?”

Frenchy giggled as he sipped wine.

“No. This creature can serve wine, stand, sit, and look pretty. She’s a four-thousand quid serving wench with jeweled teats.”

I looked again and realized her nipples actually were rubies. So much for metaphor.

“So the good doctor lost his Swan Princess?”

“Yeah,” I said, “and smart fingers point to you.”

“You need to find smarter fingers, monsieur.”

“Cheaper ones too, I think,” I shot back.

“I didn’t take her…” Frenchy turned thoughtful; he downed his wine goblet.

“Can I make a proposition?” he asked.

I was interested. “Sure Jacques, discretion is my Christian name.”

“If you find her… if you find the Swan… bring her to me.”

“Why’s that?”

He wrung his little bell. Naked and beautiful filled his cup again. He didn’t give her a second glance.

“Saxon found something. I don’t know how he did it.”

“Be specific, and maybe this can help all parties,” I said.

“That man kept his lovelies under close watch. I know what he was doing, because men who make automatic women are a small community, and we buy our sprockets and ball bearings from the same marketers, yes?”

“Makes sense. Go on.”

“I heard he was in the business, but he never showed off his creations. He is a selfish old man, hoarding those pretty dancers. They dance for him alone and he lives to watch them. He did something, but I’m not sure what.”

“What do you mean?”

“Keep a secret, monsieur? Actually, I don’t care if you do.The whole world can know. I broke into his theater. Hirelings watched his door for me, and when he took his morning constitutional I went through an alley window. I saw his dancers up close.”

“I did too.”

Frenchy leaned back and rang for another refill.

“Then that makes three of us.”

His gorgeous automaton poured more wine.

“So I climbed through the doctor’s window. All his little creatures were placed on the stage just so. I inspected their bodies. His were no better than mine. Ivory on the women, pine on the men, glass and gems for all the parts that sparkle. I thought ‘this man is not superior to me…’ but then…”

Nouveau took another sip of wine. He set his goblet down and stared at me in silence. The bastard knew he was in charge of this conversation. I needed to know what came next, he was testing my patience.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What happened?”

“I was inspecting the prince when the princess turned her head. I wasn’t expecting any movement. These things run on auditory commands… bells, whistles, tunes and the like. I was standing in a thief’s silence and yet she moved. She turned her body toward me, hands raised in the air like one of Mary Shelley’s creatures. I stood, awestruck. She bounded across the floor in a series of pirouettes and leaps. Her feet wouldn’t let her walk, but she was mobile in dance and she came to me.She came to me, monsieur, and wrapped her arms around me.”

“And you?”

“I was stunned, and aroused. Never before have I been so aroused by man or woman or any other thing.”

Spoken like a true Frenchman.

“She looked at me with her crystal eyes and I swear to you right here, right now. She tried to speak!”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing, of course. Her mouth opened and I heard the whir and ticking of her parts. She shook her head, closed her mouth and opened it again, like a fish fighting for air. Her hand touched my cheek and her mouth opened wider. I noticed at this time that the doctor had lined her mouth with real human teeth.Some were damaged, cracked, like a person who grinds their teeth in their sleep.

“It was the cold brush of her hand on my face that brought me back to reality. This thing should not be capable of what it was doing. I hate to admit, I fled the girl. I ran like a coward.”

Nouveau swallowed the rest of his wine and rang the bell.Like clockwork, his serving woman refilled the glass, each movement identical to the last.

“My sweet wench employs over twenty thousand gears. She is the cutting edge in all circles that care about such things, but she does nothing but serve wine. She doesn’t move unless prompted, she doesn’t smile or bite or do anything but walk, and grip, and pour. Dr. Saxon has done something… unnatural. His automatic woman, the way she moved, the way she grabbed me. It was like she was curious. There is no way to make gears do that, Mr. Fellows.”

I looked to my goblet of wine. I was tempted to down it but resisted. Frenchy’s words had rubbed me wrong, unsettled me. I knew if I started to drink, I’d be tempted to leap down the rabbit hole.

“Look, Nouveau. You’re in the know, and I need to find this thing.”

“If I find her, monsieur thief catcher, I’ll let you know.But I will look at her first. I will look inside of her. I have to see her parts.”

The Frenchman downed another goblet of wine. I noticed for the first time that he was absolutely pissed. Shite-faced. Eye-watering, slurry-speeched, imbalanced, pissed.

“I will look at her. I will take off her skin and see what makes her curious. And if you find her, bring her to me.”

I stood up.

“You keep the line open, Jacques, or you’ll have trouble from me.”

I left Nouveau’s gallery. It was coming upon the dinner hour, and yet Nouveau’s words kept scrolling through my mind. I hadn’t realized I’d been returning to Saxon’s theater until the hansom dropped me off. I honestly don’t remember giving the driver Saxon’s address, but there I was.

The door was ajar, strange for a man of solitary and secretive practices. I pulled the bell cord regardless. No one responded so I let myself in.

The lobby was unchanged from my last visit. I stood there feeling like a fool; maybe Nouveau was having a laugh and I’d got caught up in a spook story. I was about to leave when I heard a groan. It was soft, but somehow amplified by the silence of the lobby. I unsheathed my weapon, a collapsible baton issued to all of us in the Bow Street Firm. A telescoping steel rod some of my mates call “The Cobra,” though I’ve never asked why.