First Three Chapters of:
Her Majesty’s Eyes and Ears
Previous Novel ◆ Next Novel
The Mettle of Yin
Entry for November 14, 2011 Written by David L. Drake
The two figures at the bottom of the grey-white granite tower were busying themselves around two dark-brown worktables that had been pushed together. Dr. Edmond Pogue, the young scientist-for-hire, had his right arm buried up to the elbow inside on a tarnished oval brass chassis, trying to unfasten the internal components of a still-operational leg component on an Electric-Powered Automated Crawling Transport, or EPACT. His assistant, Sarah Slate, who had been in his employment for less than a week, stood nearby holding a clipboard and a Birmingham fountain pen, and cataloging the parts that Dr. Pogue removed in extreme detail, so that the contraption could be reconstructed. The table was already littered with pieces of machinery, mostly brass, but all tagged for identification. She looked anxious to see the next piece to emerge, but to be fair, she had been anxious about every nut and spring that Dr. Pogue had carefully removed. Dr. Pogue seemed to be taking a few extra seconds this time, which made it hard for Sarah to be patient.
“Doctor, what do you think you’ve found?”
“It seems, Miss Slate, given the cramped area for this internal leg-structure-to-chassis connection, it called for something other than a hex nut, since there is no room to wield a wrench in this corner of the body cavity. The hardware feels like a wing nut, but with all my might, I can’t seem to loosen it with my fingers. It may have an internal spring to keep the connection under tension at all times, but I cannot feel a set screw or some other mechanism to free the tension or release an internal spring. Maybe if I can get a better angle ...”
Dr. Pogue removed his arm, which was surprisingly clean, given that he was reaching inside of a mechanism with many moving parts. However, as both scientists knew, brass was a wonderful metal for gears since it didn’t require any oil or grease lubrication, but instead acted as its own lubricant where brass met brass. This was one of the main reasons that brass was the preferred metal within clocks and watches.
Dr. Pogue then removed his lab coat, revealing a grey vest, a dapper French blue shirt, and striped blue and red silk bow tie. “The long sleeves are getting in the way, I’m afraid,” he added, and rolled up his sleeves on both arms for good measure. He then hopped up and sat on the table with his legs dangling off, and reintroduced his arm back into the body of the contraction.
Yin, Dr. Pogue’s faithful attendant, watched the undertakings from the landing at the top of the wrought iron staircase. She quietly crossed her arms and silently shook her head in disapproval.
Frustrated, Dr. Pogue again removed his arm, and mockingly growled and made a face at the brass object. “Doctor,” Sarah pleadingly offered, “perhaps I can give it a try. My hands are smaller than yours, and perhaps I’ll discover some way to extricate the fastener.”
Dr. Pogue flashed the “Sure, that would be fine” face at Sarah, and added verbally, “Be my guest.” He hopped off the table and she handed him the clipboard and pen. She climbed up onto the table in a sitting position, right where Dr. Pogue previously was. She sank her arm up to the armpit into the EPACT, and instantly started to make a series of eye movements, along with her tongue just slightly visible between her lips, both of which indicated which way her hand and fingers were working on the wing nut. Within a few seconds, she let out an “Ah-ha!” and produced the brass fastener with a flourish of her hand. “It was easy! There are only six degrees of freedom, and I figured I would try all of the unexpected ones given the nut’s shape. It turns out that a pushing and twisting motion works!”
“It is as if whoever constructed this contraption wasn’t using a standard set of tools. In fact, I’ve noticed that this entire construction is more reminiscent of da Vinci than Babbage or Faraday. The storage of energy is done primarily with springs, although these crude moist electrostatic cells are used to maintain a modicum of current. Now, let’s take a looks at those odd little platters ...”
Yin distinctly heard a tap-tap-scratch-scratch on the door. She looked down to make sure that the doctor and his aide were engrossed in their disassembly activities, verifying that they wouldn’t notice her retreat out of the tower. She scurried down the hall to the door, which she pulled open. Although it was ten o’clock in the morning in June, a late fog had settled in the area, giving a grey, unfocused backdrop to the scene at the door. Outside, standing on the stone entryway, was a bent-over man wearing a ragged, stained tunic that covered his head and torso.
She started the conversation. “We’re alone, but only for a few minutes. What news do you have?”
The figure before her stood up straight and slid his hood back a bit to reveal the face of Sergeant Fox. He spoke in hushed tones. “All went as planned. Ishild was captured alive. The Queen was satisfied enough to move forward with her plans. Drake agreed to Her Majesty’s deal.”
Yin nodded her understanding, but retorted, “There’s an issue. The doctor has unexpectedly employed a woman attendant - an American - who may not fit into the plans. Her name is Sarah Slate.”
“We’ll need to deal with that. I’ll pass the information along.”
With that, Sergeant Fox pulled his hood forward to hide his face again, hunched over again, and shuffled off into the fog. Yin closed the heavy door, but stood for a few seconds going over what she had heard. She then tightened her lips and nodded to herself, making sure that all that she heard was the good news it was reported to be. She then went to the kitchen to fix Dr. Pogue’s mid-morning cup of Darjeeling tea.
At the base of the tower, the scientific enquiry continued. Carefully holding two of the platters, Dr. Pogue examined their surfaces. To Sarah, he exclaimed, “Look at this! Delightful! The platters are as strong as metal, but made of something that won’t conduct electricity. And see these tiny holes? These are played like music box platters! Ho ho! Those fine wire brushes go over the surface as the platters rotate, passing a small electrical charge to the metal contacts below the platters, indicating which activity the brass creature executes. This diaphragm over here detects whistle tones, and controls which of the dozens of platters rotate. Different sets of platters can be rotated at the same time, causing a multitude of different movements to be executed in tandem. Its all quite simple enough, but gives the impression of deliberate acts, which is the not at all the case!”
Sarah smiled at his discovery. Dr. Pogue reached into the brass belly again, loosening a retention clip on a set of tiny pneumatic brass whistles. When doing so, he heard the sound of air rushing out of the whistles, but heard no tones. The other EPACT sprang to life, rapidly crawling out of its open crate, down to the floor, and climbed up onto the two worktables with its disassembled compatriot. Edmond and Sarah sprang back to give the creature room and to see what this EPACT could possibly be doing. Even though it only had three working legs, it gave its full effort to its new task. It reached inside the disassembled EPACT, feeling around quickly and precisely with the tips of its legs. It then started to explore the tabletop surrounding the EPACT, and discovered the parts that were laid out.
Then the most miraculous activity started. The operational EPACT, using miniscule pinchers on the tips of its legs, grabbed the parts in the correct order and started the process of reassembling the gutted EPACT. Sarah and Edmond stood and watched, both awestruck and amazed. The EPACT stripped the label off each part, and slid it into place without hesitation. The pace at which it performed this task was at that precise speed that one could see each step happening, but it was done at a rate so fast that it was hard to believe the assembly could be performed. It mesmerized the two scientists.
Suddenly, the operational EPACT started to just search the tabletop over and over. Dr. Pogue had a quizzical look on his face, and then realized that he was still holding the two platters. “Oh, yes, here you go,” and he held out his left hand placing the two platters near the edge of the tabletop. The operational EPACT lightly touched the surface of the platters a few times, verifying what they were and their location, and crawled an inch or two closer. It then wrapped two of its legs around the platters and Dr. Pogue’s hand. “No!” Edmond shouted, and pulled his hand back violently. This jerked the EPACT forward. Rather than letting go, the EPACT leapt up Dr. Pogue’s left arm.
Yin was preparing the tea service when she heard Dr. Pogue’s scream of pain, which was immediately followed by Sarah’s scream of shock. She was off like a shot, sprinting to the tower. She burst through the tower door, and dashed down the stairs. What she was presented with was Edmond with an EPACT latched onto his forearm, displaying razor sharp blades that had extended along the length of each leg. The EPACT was in the process of cutting gashes into the breadth of Edmond’s arm, from his biceps down.
Chief Inspector Erasmus Drake was sitting at his desk, trying his best to fit back into his job at Scotland Yard. He was wading his way through a stack of cases that had been placed on this desk since his departure the week before, and his heart wasn’t in it. Surely this wasn’t how the Queen saw him helping the empire. Then he flipped over the paper that he expected to see, but hoped he wouldn’t. It was a new case, open and shut within a couple days, of a chemistry professor that had devised an acid so strong it could liquefy any non-organic material, and he had created an acid bomb to be used against a rival university. He had planned to actually melt their chemistry building to the ground for some-such reason. Luckily he was apprehended, but the cause for the sudden change in the instructor was, of course, imbibing in Green Fantasy. Erasmus knew that he needed to do something to address this, and started to formulate a plan when his door opened and his superior, Bartholomew Horner, walked in.
Bartholomew neglected all niceties, and started the conversation with, “Let’s talk.” From there, they had a complex discussion where Bartholomew revealed that, yes, he knew that Erasmus was specifically requested for the regatta, and that it was clear that Bartholomew didn’t have any real choice in the matter when it was requested of him to send Erasmus. Bartholomew also revealed that he also had received notification that Erasmus might be called out for other assignments in the future. As Bartholomew put it, “When the Queen asked for Erasmus Drake, well, she gets what she wants.” The conversation ended quietly, and the men parted company. Erasmus thought about his upcoming dinner with Sparky, and how much we wished he were there now. Actually the dinner was with Sparky and Lord Ashleigh, but it was her that he was thinking about. Perhaps he would bring that bottle of port he owed Lord Ashleigh; that would help along the evening’s festivities.
In a single motion, Yin leapt and kicked the EPACT with the side of her foot, sending it flying across the tower, into the granite wall. It fell to the floor without any additional movement on its own. Yin pulled her linen kitchen towel from her pocket and wrapped it around Edmond’s arm tightly, to the point of his wincing. She bit the middle of the loose end of the towel, ripped it, and tied off her makeshift tourniquet. Without hesitation, she took a hold on Edmond’s good arm, his right one, and picked him up across her shoulders, in a manner that a member of a fire brigade might use, and took hold of his leg with her other arm for control and balance. She turned, and marched up the stairs in a display of strength that Edmond never would have guessed possible from this demure creature.
She immediately marched him out of the front door and into the street, shouting for a cabriolet. Not seeing one, she stepped in front of a cart drawn by two horses, and demanded that the driver take her and her charge to the Westminster Hospital. Her tone and determination won him over and she deposited the doctor in the back of the cart, hopped in, and off they went.
Sarah was shaking violently. She retreated until her back found the granite wall, and she sank down to the floor. What went wrong? What went wrong? She couldn’t comprehend the sudden turn of events. Her tears flowed freely down her face as she sobbed to herself.
A Port in the Storm
Entry for November 20, 2011 Written by Katherine L. MorseAs Lord Ashleigh’s coach approached the curb outside his townhouse, McTrowell spotted a carter unloading several trunks, her trunks, the ones she had stored at Western & Transatlantic before departing for the inimitably eventful regatta. How did he do that? She was certain they had taken the most direct route from the airship port and that Virat hadn’t tarried. Logically, he could only have managed such timing if he had arranged for the trunks to be delivered in anticipation of her need for new lodging and her acceptance of his offer. She was beginning to feel rather like a pawn in a multi-layered game of chess. Although, the moves always seemed to land her in a more advantageous position, so she wasn’t sure she had grounds for complaint.
As they descended from the coach, Lord Ashleigh explained, “The guest room is on the third floor across from Anu’s room. I hope you will find her an acceptable maid. She was my mother’s favorite handmaiden at my father’s court before his death.”
“I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, but I haven’t much need for a maid.”
“You are so like my mother in such delightful ways. I look forward to introducing the two of you in the near future.” He stopped to pick up the mail from the console table by the front door and retired to his office to handle his personal affairs, whatever those might be.
She climbed slowly to the third floor, hoping that the luxuries of the house included a large tub. She wanted nothing more than a long, hot bath. The guest bedroom was quite generous with charming dormer windows facing the square. It was tastefully decorated, but neither feminine nor masculine. The only personal touch was a small oil portrait in a round frame on the dressing table. It showed a couple in sumptuous, richly colored Indian clothing, but the woman was fair. They were seated unusually close to each other for a formal portrait and smiling, as if being in the immediate company of the other was the most splendid possible situation in the world. These could only be Jonathan’s parents. Then it dawned on her that this must be the room that his mother used when she visited London. She felt doubly honored for the use of the accommodations.
Anu had opened all the trunks that weren’t locked. She hadn’t touched the contents that weren’t clothing; just left the trunks conveniently located where Sparky could reach them. She was just finishing up transferring the clothing to the wardrobe. “Would ma’am care for a hot bath?” Had she fallen in with a den of Indian mind readers?
“Yes, please. Thank you, Anu.”
Considerably refreshed from her bath, she stood in front of the wardrobe staring vacantly at her clothes. It felt odd to have the choice of all her clothing, though her wardrobe was somewhat limited for a woman of her means and more than half of it was strictly functional. She barely managed to assemble an outfit suitable for a leisurely dinner in a respectable home. Once dressed, she began looking through her other belongings. With the mystery of her mother’s situation resolved, the regatta behind her, and no new assignment on the horizon, she felt adrift. After twice inventorying her trunks without finding anything to capture her attention, she headed down to the sitting room to peruse Lord Ashleigh’s library. Surely there would be something interesting there. She had only scanned the first shelf of legal volumes when Virat materialized with the silver tea service. He poured her a cup of chai and left it on the small pedestal table next to the bookshelves, departing as silently as he had arrived. Right then, den of Indian mind readers it was.
She had just stumbled on a refreshingly graphic and brilliantly illustrated text written in a textual language she didn’t recognize, but whose physical tongue was unmistakably clear, when she hear a knock at the front door. She looked around the corner of the sitting room. Virat opened the front door to reveal a young Asian woman. Although the style and cut of her clothes suggested that she was of a neat disposition, she was somewhat disheveled at the moment and the front of her dress was stained with what Sparky’s experience led her to conclude was dried blood. She didn’t mean to stare, but that’s just what she was doing when the young woman made eye contact with her.
“You are Dr. Sparky McTrowell.” It wasn’t a question. “You are required at Westminster Hospital.”
“Why?”
“Chief Inspector Drake sent me.”
McTrowell felt her limbs go cold and numb. “What has happened to him?”
“Dr. Pogue’s life requires you.”
It took Sparky a moment to realize the implication that it was Edmond Pogue and not Erasmus Drake who was injured. She snapped back to normal. “Right away.” She dashed up the stairs two at a time. She snatched up her leather duster and Gladstone bag. She was back down the stairs and out the front door in less than a minute. The mysterious messenger was already waiting in a cab at the curb. The cab took off the instant Sparky boarded.
“I am Yin. I work for Dr. Pogue. He was attacked by one of the EPACTs. I have taken him to the hospital.” She stopped abruptly, folded her hands in her lap, and bowed her head with a hint of weariness. Sparky didn’t think she would get any more information out of her sudden acquaintance.
Nor was she surprised to find Drake waiting for her at the entrance to Westminster Hospital. She followed him in without prompting and he led her to the surgery. Drake cautioned, “I must warn you that his injuries are quite severe.”
“I’m a physician. I’m sure I have treated worse.” While her boast proved to be true, she had only treated a more severe maiming that was the result of a battle. Tragically, this was not how she had ever imagined her first meeting with Dr. Pogue would be, not that he was likely to remember it.
Drake was waiting for her when she exited the surgery. He offered the crook of his arm. “Your friend will live, but I had to amputate his arm. Anything less would have put his life at risk. I’m sorry.”
“I heard you say that my friend will live.” He lightly took her hand from his arm and kissed it. “Thank you.” He gave her a moment to grasp his appreciation. “I believe Lord Ashleigh is expecting us for dinner.” She just nodded. They bid a quiet farewell to Yin, and rode back to Berkley Square in silence.
Lord Ashleigh was waiting for them in the sitting room when they returned. He didn’t like the solemn looks on the faces of his friends when they entered. “Virat has told me some of what happened. My…resources have provided additional information. How is your friend, Dr. Pogue?”
“Dr. McTrowell has saved his life.”
“But at a terrible cost,” she added dejectedly.
“Perhaps you should ask him if he considers it a fair price when he recovers.”
Sensing that nothing more productive was to be said on the topic, Lord Ashleigh decided to change the subject. “I expect you’re both quite hungry. Dinner will be served in a few moments.”
“Yes, dinner. I had almost forgotten. A gentleman always pays his debts.” Drake reached inside his coat and produced a bottle of Porto Rocha.
“An excellent choice, my friend.” He punctuated the compliment with his customary smile and wink.
“I’m of a mind to smite both of you for the cheekiness of wagering on my honor. And, as it’s my honor, I don’t see why Lord Ashleigh is receiving the port instead of me.” Then she attempted to scowl at both of them, but it came out as more of a smirk.
Lord Ashleigh replied archly, “You received both the scarf and the return of the kiss, which I believe was more than satisfactory.” And he made no effort to hide the fact that he was smirking. “Besides, I intend to share the port.”
They passed the evening meal in companionable conversation, discussing various goings on of mutual interest in London. Lord Ashleigh kept mostly silent, allowing Erasmus to regale Sparky with his knowledge of the city. He simply enjoyed them enjoying each other’s company. When they retired to the sitting room, Virat had already poured three glasses of the port. Ashleigh raised his glass, “To an unloseable bet.” Sparky didn’t even attempt to scowl this time.
They were nearing the bottom of their glasses when Drake asked McTrowell, “How are you finding your new accommodations?”
“Delightful. The room is quite spacious and has wonderful light. It’s on the third floor, right above Lord Ashleigh’s.”
“The most secure location in the house,” added Lord Ashleigh. The remark was directed at Drake and Ashleigh wasn’t smiling. She glanced between the two of them.
Sparky set her glass down and rose to her feet. “It also has a large bed that looks quite comfortable, and I think I shall avail myself of it. Good evening, gentlemen.” They both rose and Drake kissed her hand with a familiarity that suggested he had been doing it for years.
“Good night.”
Her nightgown was laid out on the bed and Anu appeared as soon as Sparky entered the guest room. “May I be of service, ma’am?”
“No, thank you, Anu. Good night.” Anu crossed the hall to her room and shut the door. Sparky stood staring out at the lights of London for a few more minutes when she noticed the light under Anu’s door go out. She closed her own door, changed into her nightgown, and dropped into the bed. It was as comfortable as it looked.
She had expected to fall right to sleep from the exertions of the day, but her mind was racing, going back over everything that had happened over the last few weeks. She listened to Lord Ashleigh bid Erasmus good night and turn in for the evening. She heard Virat tidying up on the first floor, locking up, and then climbing to his room on the second floor, below Anu’s and across from Lord Ashleigh’s. The house was asleep except for her. She was restless like the city outside her windows.
She began doing multiplication tables in her head to try to get her mind off higher, more vexing matters. She was just getting to nines, her favorite, when she was jarred back to wakefulness by the sound of soft footfalls on the stairs between the second and third floors. She breathed slowly and evenly, and opened her eyes just enough so she could see, but not enough that someone could see her eyes. She replayed in her head the sounds she had heard earlier. There was no way there was anyone on the second floor except Lord Ashleigh and Virat. What was this treachery?
She heard the latch to Anu’s door open. She slipped out of bed as quickly and silently as she could manage and went to her own door. She pressed her ear to the door and heard Anu’s door close softly. Still doing her best to maintain her stealth, she opened her door, tiptoed across the hall, and put her ear to Anu’s door. She heard voices. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, both because they were speaking a language she didn’t know, but also because they were speaking in whispers. She had only ever heard Virat speak a few words, but she was certain the voice wasn’t Lord Ashleigh’s. Despite her inability to understand the words, the tone of the conversation was clearly affectionate. How could Jonathan not know about such a clandestine assignation in his own house?
She heard the male voice say, “Śubha rātri, mērē chōṭē pakṣī.”
The Impossible Challenge
Entry for November 28, 2011 Written by David L. DrakeThe heavy wooden door slammed in the entranceway and Sarah jerked her head up. How long had she been sobbing? And had she fallen asleep from the exhaustion of doing so? She looked around the laboratory with her red-ringed gloomy eyes. Nothing was moving. No EPACTs were trying to kill her. But the doctor was gone. And she had done nothing to help.
Yin appeared at the top of the spiral staircase and bolted down at the speed that she had earlier that morning when Dr. Pogue was in desperate need of assistance. She approached Sarah with an air of conviction to which Sarah was unaccustomed, and it added to her frightened state. Her hands uncontrollably went into a defensive posture.
“Get up, Miss Slate. I need you now.” Yin’s speech pattern was quick and sharp, and her words came faster than Sarah was used to, having grown up in Aspinock, Connecticut.
“Beg your pardon?” Sarah stammered out, trying to get her mouth to work correctly after all of her sobbing.
“Get up and come with me. Dr. Pogue needs your assistance. Bring your notebook and pen. You’ll need it.”
Yin took Sarah by the hands, abruptly helped her to her feet, and practically lead her by the arm to her note-taking tools. Yin then guided Sarah to the stairs, up out of the tower, and out of the front door, all the while explaining the situation with Dr. Pogue.
“When we arrived at the hospital, most of the surgical staff was at a medical symposium. I put Dr. Pogue under immediate care of the nursing staff and went to Scotland Yard and asked Chief Inspector Drake for assistance. He recommended Dr. McTrowell, an excellent field surgeon. I was able to get to her residence and immediately acquire her assistance. She spent three hours addressing Dr. Pogue’s wounds, and was forced to amputate his left arm just above his elbow.”
“Oh my! How…dreadful!” Sarah stammered out while being lead to a waiting cabriolet. “How absolutely dreadful! What sort of help did you wish for me to provide?”
“Simply put, I need Dr. Pogue whole again. You and I will design a new working arm for him.” With a light push, Yin guided Sarah into the vehicle, and then followed her in.
“What?!?” Sarah couldn’t comprehend the request. It was stated so simply, as if she was being asked to help prepare a family meal. “I’m sure there are a number of prosthetics on the market…”
Both Yin and Sarah were now sitting in the cabriolet, facing each other, as the vehicle moved along smartly. Yin’s face was gravely serious, more so than it had ever appeared to Sarah before, and Yin repeated her words.
“I need Dr. Pogue whole again. He must be able to continue his work at the same level of capability and preciseness. I need you to do your part in making this happen.”
Sarah was stunned. Her first thoughts were to be excused and to return home to Connecticut. She didn’t have the schooling to improvise machinery. This was not her cause. Then she thought about Dr. Pogue’s influence on her training, and how she had devoured his papers. And that he was sitting on the worktable just this morning, and how he was now lying in the hospital, crippled.
She pulled herself up and with a sober tone asked, “How is he now?”
“He is sleeping off the ether Dr. McTrowell used to anesthetize him. He may be awake, but groggy, by the time we get to the hospital.”
“Very well, I will see through this endeavor. But …,” she was hesitant to ask the obvious. “How can you assist?”
Yin sat up straight. “I was one of Dr. Pogue’s top students when he taught at University. He asked me to assist him when he left and took up his private practice, and I have been doing so for the past three years. Most of the papers that you have read from Dr. Pogue have my name on them. I am his co-author, Dr. Young.”
“Oh my! My apologies!”
“No offence taken. Dr. Pogue saw your interest and hired you on to help. Two assistants are one too many. He asked me to take a ‘break’ for a while, giving you the freedom to expand your horizons. I needed the rest. We were not trying to deceive you. I have been impressed with your knowledge. We now need to put it to work. We have arrived at the hospital. Watch your step.”
Ashen. That was the word that Sarah couldn’t get out of her head when she saw Dr. Pogue’s complexion. It was obviously due to blood loss. It made him look like a ghost of the Dr. Pogue that she had previously known, and she wondered if she would ever meet the previous version of Dr. Pogue again.
He was lying in a hospital bed. White sheets. White room. The smells of medicine and soap. His sheet and blanket were pulled up to his neck, sparing Sarah the view of his missing arm. His glasses were off, adding to the effect of him looking not quite right. His eyes opened slowly, and he licked his dry lips. A squint, and he rasped, “Yin? Yin? Could you put on my glasses? I can’t see a bloody thing.”
Yin scooped up his glasses off a side table and placed them on his face. Despite her best efforts, they looked a bit crooked.
Edmond continued, “Am I in the hospital? If they used ether, which I can still smell, it knocked me out cold!”
Yin didn’t sugar-coat the news. “Doctor. They had to amputate the arm.”
Dr. Pogue didn’t even flinch. “I feared as much. When I saw the sharp edges on those legs, I knew I was done in. Is Sarah all right?”
“I am here. I am unhurt.”
Sarah was on the other side of the bed, and Edmond tried his best to look in her direction just using his eyes, giving away the fact that he wasn’t ready for head movement yet.
Yin’s serious look returned. “Dr. Pogue, we need to talk privately. I am going to ask Sarah to step out for a moment, and then have her return when we are finished.”
“Well…of course,” agreed Edmond, even though he wasn’t sure what was to be discussed.
“Sarah, if you could, it would be much appreciated,” Yin requested. Sarah was surprised by the politeness, after the austere conversation in the cabriolet. Yin held open the door for her, and after Sarah passed through it, it quietly closed.
Sarah wasn’t one to dawdle away her time. She spent the next ten minutes walking the hall and thinking about how such a mechanical arm might be built, controlled, and fastened to a living person. Weight issues. The number of degrees of freedom of movement, and how to provide power to each. She only ended up with a mental checklist of things to be resolved rather than making any real progress when the door reopened.
Yin was smiling and motioned her in. “Sarah, let us take some preliminary measurements.” The three of them worked together into the night until the nurses shooed the two women away so that Dr. Pogue could get some rest.
Erasmus checked his pocket watch right after leaving Lord Ashleigh’s flat. Eleven minutes after the hour of ten. Even at this hour, he preferred to walk the streets of London rather than hailing a carriage. Tock, tock, tock; Erasmus’ cane made its usual strident meter on the cobblestone sidewalk. Walking gave Erasmus time to think and observe. Supper with Sparky and Lord Ashleigh was wonderful, and he enjoyed breathing the night air while rolling over the evening’s conversation in his mind. London was still abuzz with its pubs and eating establishments going strong, some with music and song, others filled with laughter from bawdy stories, and still others with quiet polite company dining at white linen tablecloths with flickering table candles, just visible through well-kept windows and lacy curtains.
After a half hour of walking, Erasmus saw an unexpected sight. On the other side of the street was an apothecary, fully lit for business, with a number of customers inside. This scene just didn’t look right to the Chief Inspector at this hour of the night. His curiosity got to him. He crossed the street.
The bell on the door tinkled as if it were mid-day when Erasmus entered. The other patrons gave him a quick look, but went right back to their business. Five bleary-eyed men, queued up at the register, begrudgingly waiting their turn. Erasmus hung back in the aisles to see what was making these men have a late night shopping spree at this establishment.
The clerk behind the counter looked tired. “How many bottles?” he asked in a manner that indicated that this was the ump-teenth time that he has asked that question today.
“Two, and make it quick.”
The clerk reached down and pulled two bottles of Green Fantasy from somewhere under the counter. He clunked them on the counter, and money exchanged hands. This process, with some minor variation on the number of bottles, repeated itself for the next four customers and another two that came in while the original transactions were taking place. Erasmus was indeed shocked to see this product being sold openly, and at a rate that would have made any bar happy. After the last customer left, Erasmus approached the clerk.
“How many bottles?” the clerk asked in the same noncommittal tone.
“Evening, sir. I am Chief Inspector Drake, Scotland Yard. May I ask a few questions?”
“Ask away. I have nothing to hide. And if you’re asking about my feet, they are ready to fall off. I’ve been on them for twelve hours, and I’ve got another half hour to go.”
“Why are you open so late? And when did it become legal to sell Green Fantasy?”
“I never heard that it was not legal to sell. We sell all sorts of controlled medications here. But as long as the purchasers are of age, you know, adults, we can sell it to them. Most of the customers for these bottles come at night, so I have been staying open until eleven o’clock. I’m going to have to hire someone to spell me if this keeps up.”
“May I ask how many bottles you’re selling?”
“Well, I’ve sold about 400 bottles today. I’m getting a new shipment in tomorrow.”
Erasmus was visibly stunned. Knowing what a small glass of Green Fantasy had done to him, what was the effect of pouring all of this drug-laced absinthe into London? He made a plan to hunt down Mr. Alistair Bennington Rutherford and find out why this “elixir” was getting distributed so freely, and his obvious concerns regarding it.
“Well, do you want a bottle?” the clerk asked innocently.
Erasmus’ first thought was to immediately reject the idea. “…Uh…er…no…” That was far too hard to say. It was as if his mouth and mind were not really in agreement, but his mind won this time.
“Suit yourself. Evening, Chief Inspector.”
“And a good evening to you, sir.” Erasmus turned, crisply slapped his bowler back onto his head, and walked out of the shop. He was upset. He wished he could stop this commerce, but wasn’t sure it was in his power or part of his job. He headed toward the Olde Cheshire Cheese and his flat, thinking, “Mr. Rutherford and I will be having a most serious conversation!”
This novel can be purchased on Amazon or purchased from the authors at our next convention.
Previous Novel ◆ Next Novel
