Arcadia Snips and the Steamwork Consortium Part 7

"I think you might have missed-ahem." Quickly, she stood up, straightening herself and pointing down at the pile. "I think you might have missed Mr. Copper's ear."

Dunnigan scooted over and peered down. "Well wouldn't you know it-so I did! Huh. I'll put it in the bag with the rest of him." He reached down to s.n.a.t.c.h the scorched sc.r.a.p of skin.

Snips waited until Dunnigan had left with the offending appendage, then turned to adjust her hat in a mirror shard that had fused with the wall. "So what's the deal with Watts?"

Miss Primrose returned to her bag, opening it with a click.

Several shelves br.i.m.m.i.n.g with beakers, flasks, and mechanical curiosities folded out. Arming herself with a set of bra.s.s-framed magnifying lenses mounted on a leather head-strap, she turned to Snips and fired her an optically-enlarged glare. "I think the better question to ask would be what is the 'deal' with you, Miss Snips.

Why on earth has Count Orwick a.s.signed what is clearly a criminal to an otherwise legitimate investigation?"

Snips tapped the lens aside, leaving her exposed to Miss Primrose's scalding glare. She waggled her eyebrows. "Maybe he thought you could do with a little illegitimacy?"

Miss Primrose scowled, snapped the lens back into place, and turned back to the ashes. "As for your previous inquiry, Mr. Watts is a brilliant investigator. Age has merely taken its toll. Thus the responsibility for solving this crime falls upon us-or more accurately, myself."

"Then why are you working for him?"

"He was-is-a great man. He deserves respect. As for my other motives, are they not obvious? Apply some modic.u.m of intellect to your own question and I am sure you will stumble upon an answer."

Snips thought about it for a while, scratching at the back of her head. "Because you've got a thing for him?"

"Please! I would sooner be smitten with a toad. I work for him because it is otherwise impossible for me to solve crimes. And since you seem to remain insistent about distracting me from solving this crime, perhaps you should go ahead and make yourself useful."

"How?"

"Interrogate some of the staff here."

"About what?"

"About how many lumps of sugar they take with their tea!"

she snapped, then sighed. "About the case, Miss Snips. About the victim. About any data that might be pertinent to our investigation.

Now go! Shoo! I am working."

Snips turned to leave; just as she was stepping out, she caught sight of a curious thing poking out from beneath a rock.

Crouching down, she brushed aside a few pieces rubble and found what looked to be a burnt slip of colored paper.

Snips frowned. She looked to the oblivious Miss Primrose, then stuffed the paper into her pocket. Doing her best to remain unnoticed, she stepped out the door.

CHAPTER 8: IN WHICH OUR t.i.tULAR PROTAGONIST MEETS THE DAFFODIL SCION AND MR. EDDINGTON COMPARES NOTES WITH THE MASKED MENACE.

The Steamwork was beginning to sink into a deep lull; only a few men scurried down the steam-choked corridors. No one seemed interested in the small shabbily dressed girl who slipped through its halls.

Snips hadn't gotten very far before she walked straight into someone else and collapsed with them into a heap of surprised cries and paperwork. When she at last managed to extract herself, she was surprised to find a young light-haired man who resembled a frantic rabbit locked in a desperate search for his hole. In an instant, he was down on his knees, s.n.a.t.c.hing up every doc.u.ment he could find.

"Late, late, late," the man said, muttering to himself.

"Terribly late! So sorry sir, didn't see you there, have to go-"

Snips rolled forward and perched herself in front of him, thrusting her face into his. The man squeaked and threw himself backwards, scrambling to flatten his spine to the wall.

"Hey," Snips said. "I'm a girl."

"You are! I am doubly sorry, then," he quickly responded.

"Uh-"

"Doubly sorry that I'm a girl?" Snips said.

"No! Doubly sorry that-um, I'm sorry, what was I sorry about again?"

"What's your name?"

"William," he said. "Please pardon me, I'm in a bit of a rush with these last changes, and I-"

"Right, right. I'm doing an investigation, though. Real important stuff," Snips said. As the man struggled to arrive on his feet, she sprang up and slapped her palm on the wall beside his head. He was a foot taller than her, but he cowered at her presence, holding the paperwork out in front of him like a s.h.i.+eld. "Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

The boy's face began to burn. "Err-questions? I suppose, um, if it's important. Do you mind if you ask me on the way, though?" He ducked out beneath her arm, darting over to pluck up a sheet that had escaped him. "I'm behind schedule as it is."

"Fine, fine," Snips said, sliding her arms behind her back and moving to walk besides him. "What's all this business?" Snips leaned forward to peek at one of the sheets at the top of the pile.

"All these numbers-"

"It's for the Steamwork's new calculation engine," William said, quickening his pace to a loose jog. "Bank data that we must input."

"Calculation engine? The Steamwork has one of those things they use in banks?" Snips asked. "To, like, calculate interest and all that junk?"

"We've completed one, yes," William said. "It's one of the more important projects we've been working on."

"Why? Don't the banks have them already?"

"Yes, but the calculation engines they use possess fundamental flaws," William explained. "They can be damaged or disrupted by creative mathematics, or a mistake on the part of an operator. The recent plague of disasters facing the banks is representative of that."

"Oh," Snips said, wrinkling her nose. "Don't tell me you buy into that whole Professor Hemlock business."

William looked surprised. "What's not to believe, Miss...?"

"Snips," she said. "Just Snips. And Hemlock's a joke; a scam they use to sell news rags. A bedtime story mathematicians use to scare their kids into showing their work when they solve for X."

"That may be, but the fact that a misplaced decimal point can bring Aberwick's financial district to a cras.h.i.+ng halt remains a problem in need of a solution," William said. "Our new calculation engine is that solution."

Snips noticed that as the discussion turned to his engine, William relaxed more; the nervous agitation flickered out of his eyes as he took on a confident stride.

"So, what? You're going to sell it to the banks?"

"Oh, no. It's too large for the banks to build," William said.

"It occupies the entire bas.e.m.e.nt of the Steamwork. No, we're going to rent it to them."

"Rent it?" A gentle hum had gradually been growing as they walked; as they reached the wide stairwell, it grew to a clanking purr. Snips peered down the stairs, inching her way forward.

"Yes, rent it," William said, stepping past her and moving downward. Snips reluctantly followed, listening as William explained. "In addition to the calculation engine, we've fitted all the banks with pneumatic piping that connects them to the Steamwork. We're able to send near-instant messages to any bank in Aberwick, and vice versa."

"Like mail carriages," Snips said.

"No, it's not a large carriage," William corrected her. "It's an array of pipes."

"Sounds like grave dealings."

"Anyway, once the improved engine is complete, we'll rent them s.p.a.ce on it, which is impervious to disruption via operator error. The banks will send us all their accounting information, we'll do all the calculations, and then we'll send it back to them."

"Seems risky," Snips said. "Letting you guys run all the banks' books."

"Oh, they'd still run their own engines," William said.

"We'd only be on stand-by as a back up, in case their engines failed. They could send a message to us, requesting the lost or unavailable information, and we'd help them fill in their blanks. In addition, when their engines go down, we can do the calculations for them."

"I think I see," Snips said, and by then they had arrived in the Steamwork's bas.e.m.e.nt. It was a dauntingly wide chamber that occupied nearly a block of s.p.a.ce beneath the city; it was deep enough to swallow entire sections of the apartments that bustled on the streets above it. Every inch of it below the catwalk they now stood on was occupied by a machine-one single whirring, grinding, spinning, humming machine.

It was a consortium of gears and cogs all spinning in tandem, with platforms cutting over it, across it, and through it- br.i.m.m.i.n.g with half-a-dozen engineers and mathematicians, dressed neatly and weaving their way through the metal pa.s.sages that the machine provided, taking notes and making adjustments.

Snips gawked; William smiled.

"This is the machine," William announced. "My calculation engine."

"You-you built this?" Snips asked, unable to hide her incredulity.

"Well, not by myself, no," William said. "Mr. Eddington provided much of the funding, and I've only been making improvements on previous designs. But I was chiefly responsible for designing the mathematical functions it performs," he added, a sliver of pride slipping into his voice. He moved forward to his office, which was located in a niche on the other side of the catwalk; Snips followed, trying not to stare at the twisting labyrinth of gears that churned beneath her.

When she stepped into the office, the first thing she noticed was the umbrella. It was long and heavy, and as black as obsidian; it had a stylized hilt made of ivory with a b.u.t.terfly forming the k.n.o.b at its base.

William set the paperwork on his desk. "So, what is it exactly that you're investigating, Miss Snips?"

Snips moved towards the umbrella, reaching out to touch it.

"Hm? Oh, Mr. Copper's death," she said blankly. "Where did you get this?"

"I think you might be in the wrong place, then," William said. "Mr. Copper wasn't involved in this project. Not as far as I'm aware, anyway. As for the umbrella, ah, well," he hesitated. "It was my father's."

"Really," Snips said, picking it up. It was far heavier than one would expect an ordinary umbrella to be.

"Yes, yes. Actually, I'd rather not talk about it, if it is all the same," William said. "Unless it's important to your investigation, of course. But I can't imagine how it could be."

"No, not very important," Snips admitted, setting the umbrella down and turning back to William. "Did you know Copper well?"

"We had met before," William said. "I once visited his apartment, a year ago-when I first began working for the Steamwork."

"What was he working on?"

"To be honest, I do not know," William said. "His work was always very hush-hush. I actually didn't see him very often around the Steamwork. He'd report in and more or less disappear. Of course, we worked on opposite ends of the building. I'm afraid I really didn't know the fellow that well," he confessed. "Is there something else I could help you with, possibly?"

"Sure," Snips said. "What's your favorite color?"

"Green," he replied instantly, then paused. "Er, what?"

"These are important questions," Snips said, trying to sound as gruff as she could. "Are you trying to interfere with my investigation?"

"No! Not at all."

Snips was about to say something else, but at that moment she heard someone clearing their throat behind her.

"Mr. Eddington," William said, managing to mix of relief and disappointment with one look. "Hullo!"

"I believe you still have considerable work to accomplish, William. I will deal with Miss Snips," Mr. Eddington said.

Nodding rapidly, William turned back to his paperwork. Snips tipped her hat to William and turned to Mr. Eddington, following him out of the office.

Snips huffed. "Odd fellow."

"I a.s.sume that you are Orwick's 'government consultant'?"

Mr. Eddington asked as they walked over the calculating engine.

"The one and only," Snips said, tipping her hat. "Arcadia Snips, at your service. May I ask who you are?"

"Mr. Timothy Eddington. Chief administrator of the Steamwork." The man glared at her long and hard. "I a.s.sume you'll want to discuss the details of the case with me."

"Sure. You got an office?"

"This way."

As they rounded back up the stairs and around the corner, Snips thought she caught sight of Dunnigan stepping into Mr. Eddington's office, but the administrator said nothing. Once they reached it, he opened the door and allowed Snips to enter first.

Once inside, her eyes nearly sprang from her skull. All other thoughts disappeared in a flash: there was not a single object in the room that was not worth stealing. Even the pens looked like they could feed a family of six for a month. A chain of ivory statues sat on an ebonized desk; books with gold leaf foil bindings littered the shelves. Crystal tumblers lined a fully stocked liquor cabinet, filled to the top with the good stuff.