Sigmund Shaw: A Steampunk Adventure (15 page)

Sigmund shook his head vigorously, “No, no, no! That is false. Completely and absolutely.”

Harry smiled, clearly he was kidding, then looked serious again and asked, “So, what do we know?”

“A stranger set me up so that it looks like I planted a bomb.”

“And…”

“The amalgam cube is real. Or, was real, it’s now destroyed along with the process.”

“Why would someone want it destroyed? If it was real it would have been revolutionary. Even an old-timer like me can see that.”

Sigmund thought about that for a moment and said, “Maybe that’s the key. Why would someone be against this invention, what would they lose if it came to light? If we can believe the stranger, then the war faction in the government wanted it, so it is unlikely that they would have destroyed it. The government in general wanted it, so it’s unlikely that any part of the government, war faction or otherwise, is responsible. The people who would benefit the most from the removal would likely be the Coal Union. This would bankrupt them practically overnight.”

Harry rubbed his hand over his mouth, whiskers scraping, then continued the thought Sigmund started, “So, we think the stranger worked for the Coal Union and the Coal Union was aware of the discovery and wanted to destroy it.”

“And have me take the blame.”

“Well, it fits the facts. The Coal Union would definitely be harmed the most by this invention. But the plan seems awfully complicated. Really, why would they need to blame it on someone? Seems like the bomb didn’t leave much evidence as to who set it. If you didn’t happen to be there, I’m not sure Scotland Yard would have any leads.”

What Harry was saying was true, but, “The death of the Defence Minister is a significant act. If these newspapers can be believed, the citizens of London are taking this as a personal assault. The investigation is one of the largest in the history of the Empire. Having someone conveniently be the focus of the attention would keep the pressure off of the actual perpetrators. Still,” a sigh, “you are right. It does seem a little complicated.”

Harry nodded and said, “The demand for justice has been loud. I wouldn’t want to be the target of this investigation, perhaps your theory has merit. I’ll tell you this, I wouldn’t want to be this Chief Inspector Holmes. All of London is holding him responsible for bringing you, um sorry, the real bomber in. The weight of the empire is on his shoulders.”

Sigmund thought about that and said, “Sounds like he could use some help.”

“And who’s going to help him, you?”

“He needs to know that they are looking for the wrong person. Perhaps I can find the right person for him.”

“This dark stranger fellow? How? What do you have in mind?”

“If he works for the Coal Union, then he might have an office at their headquarters. I will see if I can spot him coming to or from work.”

“Being out in public is not good for your health, Sig. In case you forgot, your face is in every paper. Forget about Scotland Yard looking for you – although that is not a small thing – every person you encounter could identify you and turn you in.”

Sheepishly, Sigmund reminded Harry, “Being mindful of not being seen is something I’ve had some experience with.”

There was a silence after that statement. Sigmund wanted it to stop more than anything. Finally, Harry said, “You’re going to need all the experience you’ve got. I hope it is enough.”

14.

Despite the recent stretch of warm weather, the mornings in London were still chilly with its requisite fog. Sigmund put on his overcoat, well, not his, Harry got it somewhere, and put on a hat and an old pair of Harry’s goggles. He wanted to reach the Coal Union early, well before people started to arrive for their work day, but he needed to make a stop somewhere else first. Home.

Sigmund knew that the overcoat would be too warm in a few hours, baking him in its shell, but he needed to use its upturned collar to hide some of his face. Between that, a top hat pulled low, and a pair of goggles – not to mention a couple days of growth to his beard – he would be hard to recognize. But not impossible. He planned to pretend to be suffering from a constant state of allergies so as to hold a handkerchief to his face to further hide it. Thus outfitted, he headed into the dark grey London morning.

The walk from the stables to home is a walk that Sigmund had done hundreds of times, as normal and familiar as breathing, but today it felt unique. The nervousness of being out in the open, jumping at shadows, his wary eyes searching for danger made the walk anything but routine. The memories of being chased the previous week was still fresh in his mind and it was impossible to shake the anxiety. Sigmund unconsciously reached across and rubbed his left shoulder – it was much better but the coldness of the morning caused a little soreness. Still, after spending a week in self-imposed solitude in the stable, the outside air felt quite amazing. He almost forgot what non-manure smelled like.

As he approached his street, Sigmund knew that getting into his home was not going to be a problem. He was always aware that there was a possibility that he would need some sort of escape route from home and now he could just use what he had established in reverse – not escaping from but breaking into. His apartment was on the first floor of a four story building. The roof of the building was flat and had an entrance into a fourth floor broom closet. All Sigmund had to do was climb to the roof of one of the neighboring buildings – which was easy due to a fire stairway on the outside of one of them – climb across the rooftops to his own, and enter his building from the roof door.

Sigmund reached the fire stairs, a simple iron stairway on the outside of a building allowing its residence to escape in case a fire blocked their main entrance, and very quietly made his way to the top. His careful footfalls made only the slightest noise on the metal steps as he climbed. The stairs only reached to the top window so Sigmund had to climb to the top of the stair’s hand railing and then jump to reach the roof. It was a dangerous maneuver but he was more than equal to the task. Climbing over the edge of the roof, shoulder holding up well, he stood and took a few steps away from the edge. It had been awhile since he had been on the rooftops. There were many taller buildings but the view was still impressive. Despite the fog and the chimney smoke, he could still see for several blocks which gave him a glimpse of the magnificence of London. Pulling himself away from the view, he reminded himself he needed to hurry. The greyness was his friend and it would be leaving before too long, besides the fact that he needed to reach the Coal Union before the workday began. Sigmund climbed across the roofs of three buildings until he reached his.

Once on his apartment building’s roof, he slowly made his way to the front of the building so that he could just peek over the side. It took only a moment to spot the watchman. This actually made Sigmund smile. His biggest concern would be that the watchman would be
in
his apartment. It was unlikely that they would have two, although the assassination of the Defence Minister was calling for near unprecedented police action. He would still need to be careful.

He approached the rooftop entrance and reached for the handle – covered in soot like most things exposed directly to the London air – and slowly turned it. It was locked. The mechanism was simple and Sigmund, using his lock picks, had it opened in less than a minute. Inside the stairwell it was dark, the only light being what was able to creep in around Sigmund from the outside. As he started down the steep stairway he closed the door behind him further darkening his surroundings. In the near complete darkness he slowed his pace for the last couple steps, feeling each footfall so that he didn’t take a tumble. The stairs led to the back of the closet where Sigmund put his hand on the back wall. Following the wall to the corner, he turned and kept following it until he reached the closet door that led into the building. At the door, he leaned into it and listened for any noises on the other side – all was quiet.

He exited the closet and walked gingerly down the hallway while trying not to think about what would happen if someone walked out of their room at this time. Anyone in the building, his neighbors, would probably recognize him on sight, regardless of the collar and goggles. Fortunately, his timing was good as it was still much too early for most to be up and about.

At his apartment door he paused again and listened carefully. His ear was pressed tightly against the door trying to pick out anything. Nothing. What if his apartment was let out to someone else? He hadn’t considered that until this moment. Small chance of that, he figured, it had only been a week and a half since he’d been here, although it felt like much, much longer.

Slowly turning the door knob, it moved only a fraction before it stopped – locked.  The key that Sigmund usually carried with him was confiscated – or was blown out of his pocket – the night of the explosion.  Fortunately, he kept an extra key with Harry and it was with this key that he quietly unlocked the door.  Although it was his own home, he had the familiar feeling of breaking into a stranger’s house.  The excitement was not at all welcomed under these circumstance.

Once in, he closed the door behind him and stood perfectly still to listen again for any signs of someone in his apartment. If there was a watchman inside, Sigmund would almost certainly have to retreat. He pulled out his watch, checked the time, then rubbed the cover with his thumb while he listened for exactly two minutes. After the time passed he concluded that no one was around and Sigmund moved from his spot. He first went to his spare room which showed very clear signs that people, Scotland Yard, had looked through all his belongings. He grabbed his leather messenger bag that was lying empty against the wall. As he looked around a little bit closer he discovered that many things were missing. He hoped he could find at least something of use, one thing in particular. Checking the drawers to his worktable, he smiled when he found what he needed the most, a pair of specially modified goggles. These brass rimmed goggles had extended viewing pieces that could be adjusted which allowed the user to zoom in and out. He put these in his bag. Anything else of potential use was missing. He would have a hard time explaining most of those devices that now were in Scotland Yard’s evidence room. Walking over to his bedroom – quietly in case someone was using it – he found it empty and grabbed some of his clothes and put them in the bag as well.

His confidence grew simply by having some of his own familiar items. Somehow he felt more like himself. But that only served to increase a different pain as he wondered if he would ever be able to live here again, if life would ever be normal again. Looking around, it was home, and yet it was as dangerous a place as there was for him in the entire world right now.

With the messenger bag slung around his shoulder, Sigmund made his way back to the roof without issue and was able to get back to street level. The greyness of the morning was noticeably less grey. It wouldn’t be long before London woke up and the streets became crowded. He would need to hurry in order to reach the Coal Union office prior to the beginning of the work day.

The Coal Union office was near parliament, across the Westminster Bridge on the far side of the Thames. On foot, it would take Sigmund the better part of thirty minutes to reach it. Not that he saw any cabs at that hour he still wondered what he should do if he saw one. It would make for much easier and faster travel, and would be secure as long as the driver didn’t recognize him. It didn’t really matter as twenty minutes later he had seen no carriages and only a handful of people. Thankfully no one had recognized him. However, soon the streets would start to fill up even more and with each additional person was an additional set of eyes to look for Sigmund.

The Coal Union office was located on the corner of Vincent and Douglas, across from Vincent Square. The square itself was a park like setting with lawns, bushes, and trees. Sizing up the area around the office building, Sigmund decided that he should be able to hide among the bushes and trees that lined the park and have an excellent view of the main doors of the office across the street.

The Coal Union office itself was a large five-story red brick building. Cement steps led up to an archway that housed doors that looked medieval. Sigmund also noticed that it had several rain pipes down the front of the building that would serve as a nice climbing apparatus if Sigmund needed to break in. It was a little disappointing how easily his mind went towards the immoral.

While there were still not many people on the sidewalks, Sigmund hopped over the black metal railing that separated the street from the square, and found what looked to be the densest bush next to a large London Planetree. Placing himself in amidst the bush, fighting poking branches and pebbles digging into his knees, he settled down for his self-imposed assignment. Taking his bag off his shoulder, he placed it on the ground next to him, and pulled out his zoom goggles. These were his own creation, although the design was not original, and they allowed him to move various lenses to see clearly at a distance. A spyglass would have given an even closer view but would be much more conspicuous and limit his range of view. With Sigmund’s hiding place being not too far from the entrance, he knew that he would easily be able to identify the dark stranger if he made his appearance. All that was left to do was wait and watch.

And wait and watch. As the sky grew brighter and the fog dissipated, the street started to fill with people. Steam cars whished by, belching black smoke, dropping off passengers in front of the Coal Union office as well as other locations nearby. Horse drawn cabs did likewise, fighting for position with the quicker steam conveyances. Most of the people made their journey on foot, taking in the morning air, soot and all. Sigmund desperately looked at every face, hoping that each one he checked would be his prey. But none of the many people were the person that Sigmund was looking for, the dark stranger.

Wait and watch. As the morning progressed, Sigmund endured pain from being in his position, not moving, for so long. The greater pain was the failure that the morning had turned out to be. Once he was sure that most, if not all, workers had arrived, he finally admitted that his prey wasn’t among them or that he somehow had missed him. At this point, his disappointment made him realize just how confident he had been that this was going to be the first real step to prove his innocence. But after a morning of careful watching with no results, a sense of hopelessness started to grow. This was his one and only lead.

Allowing for the possibility that he had missed the dark stranger, he would again watch in the evening as people left the office for home. But that was many hours away and Sigmund couldn’t stay where he was, he needed to move, and a little food would be nice. The surrounding area was known to Sigmund, as was most of London – the benefit of being a cab driver – and he knew there was a dingy and, more importantly, dark pub nearby. He had never been inside, as it was not the kind of place he ever looked for, but a dark place that probably didn’t have too many patrons sounded about perfect.

Sigmund backed out of the bushes, stretched his painful limbs, and walked to the gate that led from Vincent Square to Vincent Street. Although many people were at work, there were still more than enough citizens about to cause Sigmund to worry. Keeping his handkerchief to his face and fake coughing and sneezing into it as he approached anyone, he made his way down the block and to the cross street. Here he found a newspaper salesman and bought the
Daily Telegraph
. He needed something to do for the next several hours.

Another block down, fake coughing into a handkerchief most of the way, he found himself outside the Barrel Bottom Pub. The gold and green sign looked like it hadn’t seen a paint brush in a few decades. The windows were black from smoke, both on the outside and, undoubtedly, the inside. The place looked terrible and uninviting. It was ideal. Walking in, Sigmund saw that the inside hadn’t fared any better than its exterior. The tables were worn, the stain that once darkened them was long removed from countless spills and cleanings. The long bar that ran the length of the side wall looked as if it had been thrown down some stairs repeatedly. Sigmund walked over to the barman, a large man, wavy brown hair, and a thick, unruly handlebar mustache, and, with head lowered and handkerchief over his mouth, ordered some bread and soup. The barman acknowledged the order, seemingly annoyed that he had to do something, and went through a door into the back of the bar – presumably the kitchen area. He had shown no sign of recognizing Sigmund which gave him a little relief as he sat at a corner table in the darkest part of the room.