Arcadia Snips and the Steamwork Consortium Part 29

"He destroyed it," Miss Primrose said, sighing. "The villain destroyed it."

"Who?!"

"Who was it who took Miss Snips?" she asked. "Who was it who confiscated all the bank's paperwork?"

"Who else? Count Orwick," William said, and Miss Primrose nodded. "Wait, no," he added, frowning. "He said he worked for Count Orwick, but I never actually saw the Count. I think he called himself-Limebody? Peaman? No, it was-"

"Peabody," Miss Primrose said, shocked.

"Ah! Yes, that's it. It was Mr. Peabody."

"It is over," she said, slumping back against the wall in surrender. "It is all over."

"I don't understand-" William started.

"He outsmarted us," she said. "All of us. Myself, Miss Snips-even Count Orwick, a.s.suming he was not in on it from the start."

"But why? Why would he want to bring all the banks cras.h.i.+ng down? "

"Who could know? Perhaps it was some villainous plan involving money," Miss Primrose said. "Perhaps he had some scheme to extort the banks of Aberwick. Or perhaps he's merely mad."

"We need to get Miss Snips-"

"It does not matter," Miss Primrose said, shaking her head.

"You stated that Miss Snips was taken by Orwick's men-she is either with them now, or-" Miss Primrose grew pale and sighed.

"And if Mr. Peabody is as half as clever as he's shown himself to be, he will be half-way out of the city by now. On top of it all, we have only a few hours before the banks come cras.h.i.+ng down. We have lost, Mr. Daffodil."

"We have to do something," William said. "We can notify the banks-"

"I a.s.sume that we cannot use your pneumatic pipes in their current state," Miss Primrose said, gesturing to the remains of the pipes; they had been fused shut by the heat of the explosion. "We could not contact more than a few before the close of business hours on foot. And without Orwick's word, they would never believe us."

"There must be something!"

Miss Primrose slumped down. "This is not a penny dreadful, Mr. Daffodil. The clever hero does not think up a last-minute plan to save the day."

"If only we had a way to get about quickly enough,"

William said. "If only we had some means to move about the city fast enough to notify the banks-"

Someone cleared their throat. William and Miss Primrose turned, finding themselves facing Dunnigan; the old janitor had just emerged from one of the doorways leading into the room, peering at the destruction with a rather perturbed expression.

"All right," Dunnigan said. "First off, I ain't cleanin' this up."

"Mr. McGee-"

"Second off, I sure as h.e.l.l don't know what's goin' on, but I 'eard you sayin' you need a way to get around fast, and I think I might be able to do somethin' for you on that note," he quickly added. "a.s.sumin' you don't mind waiting here while I go fetch you an antique."

"Explain this to me again," Miss Primrose said.

"Specifically, the part about why I am not terrified for my life."

"It's quite simple," William replied, slipping into the strange contraption's seat. "It functions on a principle of balance via motion."

"It is a giant doughnut," Miss Primrose shot back. "A giant doughnut with a steam-engine inside." She eyed the device warily, keeping her distance.

"I don't know where Mr. Dunnigan dug it up, but it seems quite serviceable," William said. "A bit old, but the design is quite sound. I remember testing a machine built on a similar theory some time ago. Hopefully, this one works better."

"Works better?" Miss Primrose asked.

"Well," William began, shrugging. "It was just a small tinker toy I built when I was a little boy. It used the same principle of balance via velocity, using one wheel..."

"What happened to it?"

"Oh, it didn't work."

"I see."

"And caught fire," he added. "And then exploded. But don't worry. This version looks far more stable."

Dunnigan had rolled the monocycle up from somewhere deep in the Steamwork's storage. It sat at the Steamwork's front entrance, still wearing a fresh layer of grit. The whole thing looked like some sort of engineering impossibility; William sat in the driver's seat, a scarf around his neck and his goggles dangling below his throat.

"It is as if its creator designed it with the explicit purpose of cras.h.i.+ng," Miss Primrose said. "It has only one wheel. Why not three, or at least two? Did he have something against wheels?"

"Stop complaining," William said. "It will work! Just get on."

"But how will this stop the banks from going bottom up?"

William held up a sheet of folded paper. "I've written a little something that will cause their calculation engines to choke on numbers-it isn't a permanent solution, but it will stall the engines long enough to prevent their accounts from being wiped. However, we do have one problem."

"One problem? You believe we have one problem?"

"Though I think this invention is fast enough to deliver this note to all of Aberwick's banks or catch up with Count Orwick's train, I doubt it is fast enough to do both," William said. "I'll drop you off along the way, and you'll have to deliver the account exploit to as many banks as you can while I go after Miss Snips."

Miss Primrose frowned. "Miss Snips may not still be alive -"

"Maybe not. But I must try, Miss Primrose."

Something drew Miss Primrose's attention skyward. The explosion that had ripped through the bas.e.m.e.nt of the Steamwork had cracked open yet another hole in its roof; a shaft of sunlight spilled down atop a filthy pigeon that had fluttered in to perch atop a piece of twisted iron. Slowly, a thought began to gestate.

"Perhaps we can do both, Mr. Daffodil. Can we make one stop on our way to Miss Snips' train?"

"If it isn't too far," William agreed.

"It is not. I will explain on the way," she said.

The machine rumbled to life; Miss Primrose grimaced and prepared herself for imminent destruction. But as William leaned forward over the levers, another thought occurred to her: "William? How will we get anywhere if we don't get this miniature train up on the rail?"

William grinned. "Rails?" He reached down, pulling the goggles up over his eyes. "Where we're going, we don't need rails."

He pushed the levers forward. The monocycle's engine gave out a shrill shriek, propelling the two of them up the ramp and out of the Steamwork.

It was scarcely half an hour after Miss Primrose's epiphany that she arrived at Jacob Watts' doorstep.

The gentleman of leisure was entertaining several of his favored pigeons when the woman stepped forward and handed him the letter. He plucked it out of her hands, opened it with a twist of his knife, listened to her rushed explanation as he perused its contents, and then a.s.sumed an expression of grim duty. He watched as she ran off to rejoin William, riding off into the distance.

Only a minute later, he emerged from the back door of his house in full military regalia, complete with an iron spear-headed helmet.

"Gentlemen," he addressed the legions of birds, arms folded neatly behind his back. "It has once again fallen upon our shoulders to serve queen and country." He paused for emphasis, tapping his riding crop against the side of his hip; when several pigeons fluttered with impatience, he continued.

"The burden you have carried in the past has been heavy, and your losses high. The risks are many-there has been an unquestionable increase in feline hostilities, and hawks remain an ever-present threat. Nevertheless, the task set before you is one of utmost importance. Everything we hold dear stands in the balance."

"My fellow countrymen," he said, holding the message high over his head. "Once again, the mail must go through."

A hundred or more pigeons began to coo.

"Corporal Squawkers!" Jacob Watts cried. "Ready your men!"

Mr. Cheek and Mr. Tongue paused in their discussion long enough to throw their eyes railward; they watched as the railway swept out beneath them, the two stalwart thugs manning the back of the train. What they saw there was odd enough to give them both meaning for pause; after all, it wasn't every day that you saw a steam-driven monocycle riding up the rail.

"Ughungh."

"Aye," Mr. Cheek agreed, narrowing his one good eye. "I agree. This is a most troublesome bleedin' development."

"Ughunuhgh?"

"Naw, I doubt they'd be that bleedin' stupid," Mr. Cheek said. "How the bleedin' h.e.l.ls do they figure to get on the bleedin'

train, anyway?"

"Ughungh."

"Huh. Aye, I suppose it is a little bleedin' strange that they haven't slowed the bleedin' h.e.l.l down-"

The window exploded inwards, sending a shower of gla.s.s through the room. The monocycle's wheel shrieked across the cabin's floor, snarling as William brought it to a screeching halt; Mr. Tongue and Mr. Cheek were sent catapulting to the far wall, cracking hard against it.

As soon as the engine was idling, William proceeded to roar. "Oh yes! In your face, gravity! Oh, dear, I cannot believe I just did that. Did anyone see that? I hope someone saw that, because that was probably the maddest thing anyone has ever successfully done in the whole history of successful madness-"

"Enough," Miss Primrose exclaimed, cutting him off. She stepped off the monocycle, still shaking. "I do hope you'll show a bit more sense in the future, William. That was a rather foolhardy stunt to pull."

"Oh, come on! Did you see what I just did?" William asked.

"We have company," Miss Primrose noted.

William turned; Mr. Tongue and Mr. Cheek now loomed over them both, eyes narrowed, freshly bruised and peppered with cuts from the spray of gla.s.s.

"Unguh," Mr. Tongue said.

"I agree," said Mr. Cheek, cracking his bolted neck to the side. "A bleedin' pair of punchin' bags. Just what we need."

"Gentlemen," Miss Primrose began. "I beg you to listen to reason. We are here to save a dear friend, and there is absolutely no need for any gratuitous displays of violence-"

"Ughungh!"

"Aye, she's a noisy suffragette, ain't she?" Mr. Cheek agreed.

Miss Primrose's expression wavered. "I beg your pardon?"

"My bleedin' a.s.sociate here," Mr. Cheek explained, "Was just mentionin' how he can't stand loudmouth suffragettes. Such as yerself."

Deep beneath the layers of the brain that concern themselves with rational thought and what color tie would go best with that s.h.i.+rt, there exists a primordial knot of nerve endings that would be best described as a s.h.i.+ny b.u.t.ton labeled 'PANIC'. The tone Miss Primrose used drilled straight down to that b.u.t.ton and perched atop of it with an impressive looking sledge hammer.

"Would you care to describe your view on woman's suffrage in detail, sir?" she said, her voice low and dreadfully quiet.

Sensing danger, William took a large step backward.

"You mean women gettin' to vote?" Mr. Cheek asked, oblivious to the danger. "It's th'most absurd bleedin' notion I ever 'eard of. Like a girl could ever make a rational bleedin' decision-"

Miss Primrose cracked her knuckles.

CHAPTER 29: IN WHICH CALCULATION ENGINES STALL, OUR t.i.tULAR PROTAGONIST PERFORMS A DARING FEAT, AND MISS PRIMROSE FACES A MOST DAUNTING FOE.

Those few denizens of Aberwick who bothered to look skyward were greeted by a perplexing sight-a horde of courier pigeons were swooping down across the city, each one with their own spiked helmet and several medals pasted to their chests. Each flew through the cityscape, fluttering past pipes and railways as they carried their messages in small cigarette-shaped packages fastened to their legs.

When the first pigeon arrived, it was met with a combination of surprise and disbelief-the pigeon coop at the Eastern Crown Bank hadn't been used for over a year. But the employee who noticed the scarred little soldier tapping at the doorway recognized the seal as that of Jacob Watts-a highly respected and valued client. The message was rushed to the front desk immediately, and despite the rather odd nature of the requested account, it was entered into the engine without delay.

And so this scenario was repeated, again and again.