Sigmund Shaw: A Steampunk Adventure (17 page)

Running towards his door Holmes stopped briefly to pick up his briefcase. As he ran through the door and down his stairs, he pulled out his gun and dropped the briefcase behind him, spilling contents on the stairs and foyer. Once outside the building he rushed around the back of the building and to the corner that he had seen Sigmund turn down, and stared at a dark, empty street.

He wanted to scream, to yell curses towards the sky, but said nothing. His anger and frustration burned hot in his chest. Sigmund Shaw had escaped again. Anger. Motivation.

When back in his apartment, he later found the bullets to his gun on his nightstand. The gun was empty the whole time.

* * *

Gerald Penhale enjoyed his beat more than most constables at this time of morning. Sure, it was early and cold. Sure, some of his fellow constables balked at having a shift that started hours before sunrise, but Penhale reveled in the quietness. Late night is where the action was, not the early morning, for even criminals seem to sleep at this hour. While some of his colleagues thrived on breaking up drunken brawls or chasing pick pockets, Penhale was more than happy to have a peaceful walk along his beat. In the fog-diffused light of a streetlamp, he looked at his pocket watch and saw that it was nearly 4 am. It would be another hour before the streets even started to think about waking up.

His favorite part of his rounds was the walk across the Tower Bridge. Penhale thought back fondly of the times he came to the riverfront as a youngster and watched the construction proceed – how proud he felt when it was completed. Surely there was no better bridge in Europe, and in his estimation, probably the whole world! He felt as if the bridge was partly his, not that he had helped in any way to construct it, only that his attention to its construction was second to none. Some people affiliated themselves with sports clubs, cheering on what amounted to strangers playing a game, but Penhale affiliated himself with the Tower Bridge – cheering its magnitude and splendor.

At this time of morning the bridge was Penhale’s. He walked slowly along it, hands on the rails, breathing in the moist air coming off the Thames. This was one of the few times that you could actually hear the Thames, its slow, steady sloshing as it relentlessly moved past the huge supports of the bridge. As a small cool breeze reddened his cheeks, Constable Penhale leaned against the railing, giving a long look up the Thames to the east trying to make out any shapes in the pre-dawn darkness and fog. Sometimes he could spot a cargo ship or a fisherman but today was empty of watercraft as far as he could tell, which wasn’t saying much as the heavy fog limited his view to next to nothing. Leaning over the side he spit and watched it as it disappeared into the murky moistness. He listened for a splash of the saliva striking the water, hard to do even in the silence of the morning, but there was nothing to be heard except the lapping of the water and…

Tink

What was that? Constable Penhale knew well what sounds belonged and what sounds did not. This did not.

Tink

Walking farther along the bridge, he was now among the large metal rope-like suspensions that lead up to one of the towers.

Tink

The sound was a little louder and Penhale could feel something vibrate in the hand rail itself.
What is this?
A few more steps and something out of place appeared attached to one of the suspension supports.

Tink

Walking quickly now, Penhale reached the item and found a chain attached to the railing – the chain moving slowly in and out creating a
tinking
sound each time it struck the metal. His confusion now had a mixture of anger – who would deface
his
bridge? Looking over the edge, he saw the chain simply disappear into the thick fog.

Grabbing it firmly, he pulled with his arms and tried to draw it up. He was able to move it about six inches before he stopped and had to let it go with a loud clank. This chain was attached to something, something fairly heavy. Penhale leaned over the edge only to see the chain still disappearing into the fog. This was a bugger of a problem. He didn’t want to blow his police whistle and summon help, this wasn’t an emergency as far as he could tell, so far it was just an annoyance. If there was a passerby to help, a cabbie would be perfect, then he could lift the chain easily, but there was no one about yet and probably wouldn’t be for a little while.

With a deep breath in and a loud exhalation through his nose, Penhale decided that it was time to finish this mystery. Grabbing the chain again he leaned his body weight back. No longer lifting with his arms he took small steps away from the side of the bridge, the chain slowly coming with him making clanking sounds as the chain links rubbed against the bridge railing. After several tiresome small steps, he was now just in the roadway of the bridge. Deciding it would be best to shift his position, he quickly twisted his body so that he was now facing away from the edge of the bridge, the chain going over his shoulder, sort of like he was holding a heavy sack. Now, taking steps forward, he found the going a little easier.

Nearing the far side of the bridge, Penhale wondered if there would be enough room to lift the chain, and whatever was attached to it, all the way up. Another step, then another, and finally the clinking of the chain against the bridge railing stopped. There was still tension on it but it seemed like he was at its end. Holding the chain firmly, Penhale turned back around. Hand over hand along the chain, he walked himself back to where the chain had been attached. As he neared the sidewalk, only a few feet away from the railing, he could see something large attached to the chain. With the last of his strength, he gave a mighty heave and the object lifted over the railing and fell to the sidewalk with a thump.

Before approaching, he let go of the chain and placed his hands on his knees as he took in some heavy breath. His beat had a lot of walking but not much lifting – this task proved very wearisome. Finally, getting some of his breath back and feeling some strength return to his shaky legs, Constable Penhale turned and closed in to see what he had hauled up. Lying on the bridge, chain attached to it, was a body. Rushing over, Penhale kneeled next to the person, a man, and looked for signs of life. There were none. Surprisingly, the body was clothed in nice apparel, although covered in blood stains. Besides the obvious fact that there was a body hanging off the Tower Bridge, something else was wrong. Something with the mouth. It took another moment before Penhale realized that the man’s lips were sewn together.

Penhale stood up, aghast. What kind of evil was this? A piercing sound broke the air. Without thought, Penhale had already begun to blow his whistle.

16.

The morning after the visit with Chief Inspector Holmes, Sigmund filled Harry in with how it went. He summed up the account with a sad, “He didn’t believe me at all.”

Harry leaned over the stable gate and frowned, “Did you really think he would?”

“No,” answered Sigmund with a sigh, “I guess not. But I hoped that I could at least get him to consider that there are other options. The more time they spend looking for me, the less time they spend looking for the real bomber. But I think I made things worse. He gave zero indication of believing anything I said and now I have broken into his home and pointed a gun at him. I’m sure that won’t sit well with the Chief Inspector.”

“On the good side,” Harry said, “I’m not sure that your actions made you any more of a wanted criminal. I think murderer and traitor still outweigh any other transgressions.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Harry.” He said wryly.

“So, what now my lad? Continue looking for this dark stranger?”

Sigmund thought about that some. He had already spent three days outside of the Coal Union offices to watch for this man – getting to the area early to watch all that were heading into work and then returning in the evening to watch all that left, but the dark stranger was not among them. Still, as hopeless as it seemed, Sigmund knew that he couldn’t give up, it was his only lead. Perhaps this man is in hiding, knowing that Sigmund is not in custody and no doubt looking for him. If so, Sigmund had no chance. He had to exercise extreme caution going out, making sure his face was covered as much as possible. His searching abilities were limited to almost nothing.

Responding to Harry’s question, Sigmund admitted, “I do need to keep looking but there is something I must do first. I need to see Alexis.” It had been over three weeks since he had seen her last. It felt like forever. He needed to explain himself, to plead his innocence. He needed to apologize for not getting the money in time to help Sarah.

A worried look grew on Harry’s face, “I don’t know, Sig. This stable is fairly easy to get into without being seen, Alexis lives in a first floor apartment. If they have a watchman here…”

“I know. I know. I’m certain there will be a watchman outside of her building as well. But I need to speak to her. I need to know that she believes me innocent. My life is you and her. I have you on my side, I now need her. I’ll figure out a way in.”

“Sigmund, I know without any doubt that Alexis believes you to be innocent. You must know that. Look, perhaps I can bring her a message.” Harry said hopefully.

“No. If you are seen with her the police might make a connection as to where I am staying. It’s best if you stay away from her.”

Pausing in thought for a moment, then nodding, Harry said, “You are probably right about the connection. At least promise me this: if you do not see a good way to get in, you will not try. Be reasonable.”

“Fair enough.” Sigmund responded and then smiled, “Don’t worry Harry, I’m a clever fellow.”

Not to give Sigmund the last word, as Harry walked away he said over his shoulder, “Clever enough to live in a stable.”

Later that day, in the fading light, Sigmund found himself on his sister’s street, but not before making a side trip to see a friend.

His sister’s building was not near any alley or side road, which would force Sigmund to be exposed along the sidewalk for thirty yards, at least, in each direction. But he had a plan for that. A few electric lamps dotted the street making for bright spots and shadows. The very occasional steam car gave some passing light, not enough that worried him – not for what he had in mind.

Sigmund had visited his sister’s so often, he knew the street well. That made it especially easy to spot the police constable standing across from her building. He had to be the lookout as a true constable wouldn’t remain in one place for so long.

Sigmund checked his watch, both out of habit and for a desire to look busy as if he was waiting for someone, so passersby wouldn’t be too suspicious of him standing alone on the corner. His overcoat helped keep the night chill out and its turned up collar helped keep his face hidden. The darkening of evening also provided some comfort, one of the few times that he almost felt normal, not overly worried about being recognized. Could this be how Stoker imagined his antagonist feeling during his nighttime exploits?

Looking down the cross street he spotted a few individuals walking towards him. He hoped one of them would turn down his Sister’s street. It wasn’t absolutely necessary for his plan to work but it would help. A gentleman walked by, Sigmund again looked at his watch and bid a perfunctory, “Good evening” and the man continued on with a nod – not going down his Sister’s street.

The next person, an older, heavy man with a large beard that made Sigmund think of a Russian bear was soon to pass. Sigmund again checked his watch and was surprised when the man stopped and looked at him. Sigmund was immediately worried he had been recognized, despite the dark he was still cognizant that his face was all over London papers and posted fliers. He continued to stare at his watch, refusing to make eye contact, wishing this bear to walk away.

In a deep, gravelly voice, with a French accent, not Russian, the bear said, “Pardon me, young man, I am looking for the Pierre Bistro, would you happen to know the way?”

Sigmund breathed an internal sigh of relief. He did know where the bistro was, having been there on occasion himself, and if the man continued down his present course, he would find it in a few blocks. However, Sigmund very much wanted the French bear to make a detour. Pointing down his sister’s street, he said, “Down this way to the next street, near Regents Park, turn right, go for two blocks, turn right again and it will be on your left.” The directions, if examined closely, would clearly outline a round-about approach, but when one is confused as to where they are going they will generally follow the directions without a big picture view.

The French bear looked down the street and said, “Ah! I didn’t think I was too far wrong. Thank you, monsieur.”

Sigmund responded with an exaggerated sneeze into his handkerchief – the sign he had prepared – and said to the bear, “No need for alarm, allergies.”

“Blasted nuisance, allergies.” The bear commiserated. “My wife can barely walk through her garden without being overcome with a sneezing fit. Well, then,” a nod, “goodnight monsieur.” The French bear walked past Sigmund heading down his Sister’s street.

Sigmund walked up next to the bear and asked, “Your wife, you are meeting her this evening?” He didn’t care, of course, but walking and having a conversation with a person would not draw much attention from the watchman.

The bear answered but Sigmund paid no attention, only giving nods and the occasional affirmative noise. His real attention was on the constable and his, hopefully soon, distraction. After only a few steps down the street, Sigmund spotted the diversion in the shape of three young, poorly dressed street urchins. It was young Timothy and a couple of his ragged friends. They ran up the street on the same side as the constable, opposite from Sigmund and the bear, and were making quite a noise. “Help! Help!”

“My sister! She fell, please help her!”

“She’s dead! She’s dead!”

The small troupe ran up to the constable, pulling at his coat, grabbing his belt, and all talking at once so it was difficult to even make out individual words.

Sigmund and the bear stopped their conversation and watched the spectacle. They could see the constable trying to shoo away the kids but his efforts only served to increase the kids pulling and screaming. To Sigmund’s great happiness, the bear called out to the constable, “Help the children! Elsewise, what good are you for?”

Sigmund could see, even from across the street, the indecision in the poor constable’s face. Amidst the pulling and yelling, the watchman finally relented and gave in to the kids pleas.

Sigmund continued to walk with the bear until the constable was out of sight, the kids having lured him around the corner. When in front of his sister’s home, he said to the bear, “My destination. Goodnight, sir, enjoy the bistro, may I recommend their crème brulee.”

“Au revoir.” said the bear.

Sigmund hurried up the stairs and entered the front door of the building. Once inside, the door firmly closed behind him, he let out a sigh of relief. Quietly, he walked over to his sister’s entrance and knocked lightly – loud enough for the occupants to hear but not loud enough to reach any neighbors. Listening, he heard movement and the Jamison’s voice, “Who is there?”

“Jamison, it’s me.” He whispered back, not wanting to say his name aloud.

A latch sounded and the door swung open, the sudden light irritating Sigmund’s eyes. Jamison spoke, “My word! What are you doing here? Come in, come in!”

From the kitchen area a voice called out, “Dear, who is it?” It was Alexis.

Jamison hesitated for a moment then said, “It’s… It’s your brother.” A commotion sounded from the kitchen, a dish breaking, and Alexis ran into the room and into Sigmund’s arms.

“Oh Sigmund, I’ve been so worried!” tears started to flow.

Sigmund held her for a long while, appreciating the comfort of her love. Eventually, despite the blissful safety he felt form her embrace, he broke away and looked at both Alexis and Jamison and with desperation in his face and words said, “Before anything else, I need you to know that I am innocent. I did not set that bomb. I did not kill anyone.”

To Sigmund’s surprise, Jamison spoke first, “Sigmund, we never questioned it for a moment. Rest assured of our belief in your innocence.”

A tremendous weight released from his heart. He knew their support was important to him but didn’t realize just how important it was until this moment. Alexis then added, “Oh Sigmund, did you really believe that we thought you capable of this?”

“I meant no offense but even I have to admit that the circumstances do paint a good picture for me. Thank you both. Without your support, I don’t think I would not want to continue on.”

Jamison put his hand on Sigmund’s shoulder and kindly said, “You have all the support that we can give. Please, sit down. Are you hungry? Do you need anything? Where have you been staying?”

They all walked to the sitting area, Alexis and Jamison placing themselves on a loveseat, while Sigmund took a comfortable chair, which, coincidentally, was the same setup as when they had asked Sigmund to steal something, the beginning point to the whole episode.

Remembering Jamison’s last question, Sigmund answered, “I think it is best to not tell you where I’m staying. Just know that I am safe.”

Alexis face did not seem to be satisfied but she did not press the issue further. She instead went to the heart of the matter, “Sigmund, how did all this happen?”

Sigmund went on to tell them the entire tale, leaving out particulars to protect Doctor Ferriss, and leaving Harry out of it too. He mentioned his theory about the Coal Union and about how he so far hadn’t been able to identify the dark stranger.

Alexis wiped her eyes with her handkerchief while Jamison put his arm around her, and she said, “It’s all our fault. We were the ones who asked you to steal something. If we hadn’t of bothered you with it... Oh, Sigmund, please forgive us.”

“There is nothing to forgive. There was no way for you to know about the setup. If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else, likely. I sure wish is was someone else.”

They sat quietly for a couple minutes, all feeling poorly for different reasons. Jamison eventually broke the silence, “How can we help?”

“Knowing that you believe my innocence is all the help I want. It was the sole purpose for this visit. For without that, I would stop fighting. I can’t think of further help either of you could provide right now. Well, except for one thing. Allow me speak with Sarah. How is she doing?”

Alexis smiled, “Despite our best efforts, she is consumed by the whole affair. She pours through every newspaper trying to find out everything. She is worried about you very much.”