Airship Shape & Bristol Fashion Page 2

  Howard had reached into a drawer and produced a loupe, which he unhesitatingly screwed into his eye. Firing up an oil lamp, he lifted the pendant close to the beam. Almost off-handedly, he muttered, “If I gave you an honest loan for this one, then I’d bankrupt myself.”

  I shut up and let him carry out his examination.

  After much careful gazing, rifling through various volumes, and the occasional low whistle, he straightened up. “Well, that’s a genuine diamond. Extremely pure. Not many carats — too small for that — but very valuable. Quite exquisitely cut, done by a real expert. The housing and the chain are hallmarked gold, definite 24 carat-stuff. It’s not going to be giving the Cullinan any sleepless nights, but it is worth a tidy sum. Somebody like yourself could probably live the rest of their life very comfortably on the proceeds of this. Definitely somewhere in the region of five thousand pounds, maybe more, the property of a lady of considerable wealth. You’re lucky. If I were thirty years younger and you didn’t habitually carry a firearm, you might just be a corpse by now. You sure that you didn’t steal it?”

  He did, at least, grin as he said that.

  “No, Howard. I really did find it. But Honesty’s a harsh mistress. I think that I’d better return it to its rightful owner, if I can find her. And no, I’m sorry, but you can’t have it.” I slid half a crown across the counter. “But have a large drink on me. Helps to drown large sorrows.”

  Howard smiled, and bade me a good day.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting in a private club off of King Street, holding a pint of porter and pondering. The lunchtime crowd hadn’t appeared yet, so it was just me, the barman, and my thoughts.

  The conclusion was obvious. The pendant belonged to Mrs. Jessica Willans. Wife of — as his business card informed me — renowned importer and exporter Mr. Anthony Willans. So how had it ended up at a crime scene?

  That was easy, as well. Mrs. Jessica Willans was involved in the crime.

  Which, again, returned me to the big mystery. Why should she, or anybody else, want to steal a dead Vapour? And why this particular one? I decided that a brisk stroll might aid my deductive processes. I wolfed down the last of my cheese roll, swallowed the last of the beer, lit a fresh gasper as I walked out of the door, and headed through the welcome leafy shade of Queen Square towards the harbourside, and the head office of Willans’ Universal Import & Export.

  We almost had to shout to make ourselves heard above the clamour of voices and the clangour of machinery. Trying to find out more about Anthony’s wife was proving surprisingly easy; the man himself was ready to talk. And to denigrate.

  “Dan, I had to marry her! The little idiot went running to her parents after I got her preggers, and what did they do? Insisted that I marry her! Of course, she lost the child — far too young and frail for motherhood, anyway — but it didn’t alter the fact that she was married to me. She threw herself into all sorts of charitable work — sits on several committees for reforms of one sort or another. To be frank, I’d be glad to be shot of her. She was good for a tumble, if scrawny, but as a wife she’s a sanctimonious sourpuss.”

  I took a deep breath and banished an image of a morning-star impacting forcefully with Mr. Willans’ skull . I’d only wanted to learn a little more about his wife, but I’d learnt enough about the husband to last me a lifetime. No amount of hail-fellow-well-met could disguise the fundamental callous self-interest of the man. I felt glad that I hadn’t returned her pendant to him.

  We continued to stroll along the busy harbourside. All around us, various overseers were supervising Vapours as they lumbered to and fro, shifting heavy cargoes on and off ships and constructing basic stores and sheds. These Vapours had none of the grace of those that ensured the smooth running of the Willans estate. Their implants were far more sturdy, far more obvious. Great pistons pumped along their limbs, emitting thick clouds of steam. They were all larger and stronger than average, chosen for heavy work and then made more capable of doing so. None of them warranted the expense of a Clockwork Conscience. Instead, every one of their foreheads bore the signs of brain surgery. Some scars were still fresh and even had large, functional stitches. Others had faded to greyish seams like scratches on slate.

  “None of them are wearing much in the way of safety clothing,” I commented. “Isn’t work like this potentially very dangerous?”

  Willans waved the observation away with a waft of his huge cigar. “Why bother? Cheap labour, easily enough replaced. If one of ‘em takes a crate to the noggin, or gets crushed under a falling girder, then there’s plenty more to take his place. Easier than forking out a bundle on safety nonsense.”

  I’d barely taken this in when I heard an ominous creaking noise. Looking up, I saw that a large pallet of goods being lowered to the quay was barely hanging in the grip of a hawser. A hawser that was fraying, fast. Directly over one oblivious Vapour, who was hunched down and tying his heavy work-boot.

  I launched myself forward instinctively, barely aware of Willans’ surprised yell from behind me. As I did so, the overloaded rope snapped with a pistol-shot crack.

  I’m not the strongest of men, nor the heaviest. But I’m no lightweight, either, and if faith can move mountains then a fast-moving human body can shift a somewhat larger one. I cannoned into the Vapour, sending us both sprawling awkwardly, but luckily, several feet clear of the plummeting pallet, which hit the quay with a colossal thump, splintering badly as crates of ale jolted to the ground and shattered.

  As we clambered to our feet and I heard the heavy sound of my own shocked breath, Willans strode swiftly but calmly over to us. I swallowed hard, and turned my attention to the Vapour. Thankfully, like myself, the only damage had been done to his clothing. “Are you all right?”

  His voice rumbled like coal into a cellar. “Yes, I’m okay.”

  Willans took me by the arm and drew me slightly to one side. “Don’t be so bloody sentimental,” he hissed. Having assured himself that I was uninjured, he passed me a hip flask. I took a careful swallow of brandy and he promptly grabbed it back, sealing and pocketing it before turning to the Vapour. “Well? Thank Mr. Bowyer, there’s a good lad.”

  I extended my hand swiftly to the towering figure. “Just Dan. What’s your name?”

  He spoke slowly, carefully. “My name Robert. Thanks, Just Dan.”

  His huge paw engulfed my hand, and his eyes met mine. He squeezed hard, painfully in fact, but I bit back on the discomfort, smiled, and gripped his hand. “My pleasure, Robert.”

  Robert nodded slowly. He opened his mouth gradually as if to add more, but Willans tugged brusquely on my sleeve and pulled me away. “Get that mess cleared up,” he snapped at the overseer. Then a broad, chummy grin spread over his florid face. “Is there anything else that I can do for you, Mr. Bowyer?”

  I smiled back with all of the politesse that I could muster. “Not right now, Mr. Willans. But I would like to visit your house again. Is your wife likely to be at home to visitors? I’d like to ask her a few questions, too.”

  “Course she is. Probably writing letters to one or other of her blessed charities. She’ll most likely appreciate a visitor. Make a nice change for her to see somebody other than the staff.”

  I left him stumping back to his site office. Looking down at my torn and dirty garments, I decided to detour by my lodgings first. Standards, after all, are there to be maintained. I waved towards Robert, but he’d turned back to his labours. Shrugging, I went on my way.

  Freshly-changed and somewhat calmer, I strode up the gravel drive to the main door of the grand house on Clifton Downs, thoughts chasing each other through my mind. Mrs. Jessica Willans. A young woman, taken for granted if not arguably abused by her husband. Who had lost a child very early. Who had turned her energies into supporting a host of good causes. Who owned a very valuable pendant.

  And who had presumably been involved in moving Tobias’s corpse, under cover of darkness, to… where?

  Sometimes, inspirat
ion simply strikes you hard. It did then. The obvious solution. Rather than move the body over a long distance, you could store it for a fair period of time in a suitably temperate place. Such as one of the many rooms in a very large house, where your own husband wouldn’t even deign to go. I had no hard evidence, but it all felt right. At that moment, I was prepared to wager that the corpse had been hidden away inside the Willans house itself.

  Following on the heels of that came another thought. The pendant had been completely undamaged. The chain hadn’t been broken, it had been neatly unfastened. Now, maybe if Mrs. Willans had been involved in moving the body, she’d removed it at some point, perhaps to avoid entanglement. Maybe she’d meant to pocket it, and missed in her preoccupation with the task at hand, and dropped it unawares.

  Or, perhaps she’d left it there intentionally. Perhaps she was hoping to be recognised as a culprit by me.

  And why should she want that?

  Joshua answered the door, and ushered me into a small waiting-room, before disappearing silently through a pair of double doors, closing them gently but firmly behind him. I heard a low murmuring of voices ensue, and about a minute more passed before Joshua reappeared. “Mrs. Willans will see you now.”

  I passed through the doors into a small drawing-room. Jessica was seated at an escritoire, engaged in carefully putting her seal to a freshly-completed letter. Joshua closed the doors behind me, and moved to a discreetly-hovering position by a bookshelf.

  Jessica stretched her arms, yawned behind one hand, and then looked me in the eye with a charming smile. “Mr. Bowyer — what an unexpected pleasure to see you. I take it that you have some news of your investigation for me?”

  I decided that bluntness would be my best policy. I strode to her desk and placed the pendant squarely in front of her. “Might you care to explain why you helped to remove and conceal the body of the late Tobias Clayton, Mrs. Willans?”

  Her expression remained unaltered. “That is a very serious accusation, Mr. Bowyer.” She took time to refasten the pendant around her neck and adjust it until it sat just so. I continued to gaze steadily into her eyes.

  “I understand that. I also consider it to be an accurate one.”

  It was at that moment that I felt a cold pressure at the back of my neck. It was like nothing that I’d ever felt before, but from the penny-dreadfuls that I occasionally enjoyed I was able to make a fair guess. Someone was holding a pistol to my throat.

  Joshua’s soft voice was the embodiment of politeness. “Shall I show our guest out, Mrs. Willans?”

  I swallowed, forced back my fear, and kept my voice as level as I could. “Interesting. I would’ve thought that your Staunton Limiter would prevent you from using a weapon to threaten a man. I suppose that there’s some sort of exception built in. Somebody behaving in an arguably hostile manner to your master or mistress, perhaps. Defence of the home, that sort of thing?”

  “Quite correct, Mr. Bowyer.” Jessica’s smile was broad, verging on a grin. “Joshua? Please be so kind as to show our guest what happens if you try to threaten me.” Her green eyes never wavered from mine.

  Joshua removed the pistol from my neck, and strode deliberately across to his mistress. Calmly, he raised his weapon and levelled it at point-blank range at her temple. I waited for the sudden, violent, greater-than-usual burst of steam that would herald his agonised collapse.

  Nothing happened.

  He pressed the barrel of his gun carefully into the smooth skin of her forehead. He held it there for a long moment.

  Then, he withdrew it, carefully re-holstered it, turned to me and spread his arms wide with a beaming smile.

  “Presto, Mr. Bowyer.”

  Jessica was smiling too. “Daniel, please sit down. Joshua, could you fetch a strong drink for our guest? He looks as if he could use one.”

  Joshua strolled over to a small side-table, and prepared three large whiskies with soda. He handed one to me, placed the second in front of his mistress, and kept the third for himself. He toasted me cheerfully, and took an appreciative swig.

  “Chin-chin, Mr. Bowyer.”

  “Please. Call me Dan.” I swallowed whiskey myself. My hand was trembling, in surprise rather than fear.

  They were both clearly enjoying my bewilderment. Jessica leaned back in her chair. “You’re quite right, Dan. I did help to move the body. And I did leave this pendant for you deliberately. I had discreet inquiries made into your character before hiring you — it’s pleasing that they’ve been vindicated. A good many in your profession would have made off with it and disappeared. If you had done that, it would have been… disappointing. I suppose that you’re wondering what’s happening.”

  Joshua broke in smoothly. “Might I explain, Madam?”

  She grinned openly. “But of course, Joshua. It is your plan, after all.”

  “Thank you.” Joshua removed his wig, and pointed out a small, fresh scar to me, high on his brow.

  “Dan. The reason that I could threaten Jessica is because my Staunton Limiter no longer works. The reason that it no longer works is that it has been deactivated. And what has allowed for this is the posthumous examination of the Limiter of my good friend, Mr. Tobias Clayton.”

  Things were starting to make sense. Joshua continued.

  “The so-called Clockwork Conscience may prevent a Vapour from directly threatening his or her owners, or from thinking strongly-rebellious thoughts, but there are ways around it, to a certain degree. For example, if a Vapour were to study surgical techniques, with the help of literature and instruments provided by a sympathetic mistress,” He smiled at Jessica. “…then he could learn how to perform a post mortem in secret, assisted by his fellows. He could remove the body’s Limiter, study it, and discover how to stop it working. And he could then arrange for his own Limiter to be removed, deactivated, and replaced. The replacement would be necessary, so that, in the event of his own death, his post mortem would not reveal its absence and arouse suspicion. The Limiter is not deeply implanted; it is directly subcutaneous. Once it had been deactivated and replaced, the Vapour in question could simply wear a wig or a hat to conceal the operation scar until it healed, if his or her hair were not already thick or long enough to hide it. And the said Vapour could then go on, with assistance, to do the same for his fellows.”

  He paused, sipped more whiskey, and continued.

  “Vapours are largely ignored by their owners, as long as they do what’s expected of them. If they talk amongst themselves, or pass on information that they’ve discovered to each other, then their owners and others will remain oblivious, as long as the passing-on is done with suitable discretion. In this way, the knowledge of how to safely and secretly deactivate the Clockwork Conscience can be spread from city to city, from town to town, from village to village, across the nation.”

  I couldn’t help interrupting. “And thus creating a secret society of Vapours able to work towards ends of their own, undetected. Presumably, their ultimate freedom. Very clever.”

  “There are already enough of us in this city and others to make that start, Dan. But overcoming the Limiter isn’t enough in itself. We need to set up a secure nation of our own. Somewhere that we can continue our work, undisturbed by the rest of the World. Imagine what an inspiration that could be to Vapours everywhere, as an ideal and as reality! Well, after much consideration, we have found such a place. We prefer to keep its location among ourselves, at least for the present. I trust that you understand. Even Jessica doesn’t know where it is, or any of the others sympathetic to our cause.”

  Jessica nodded. “But, with the help of my dear husband’s means, I have been able to provide a suitably equipped and provisioned ship, one of several secured across the country which will allow that nation to be born, and to survive. We plan to launch it tomorrow night, from the harbourside. Anthony is going to come home, in the small hours, probably drunk as usual, and find his household, and his safe, empty. Doubtless he’ll try to track us all down
, but — as you’ll have gathered — we know how to keep secrets. Dan, I set you on my own trail as a test of your trustworthiness as much as your abilities. As a respectable lady of my position, I cannot go easily to the kinds of places and peoples that you can to procure valuable information. I’d like to retain your services for such needs. In which light, I repeat: we know how to keep secrets. Our main concern now is whether you can.”

  I remembered the dancer, collapsing in helpless agony. I thought of Robert, whom Anthony would quite contentedly have let die. I recalled seeing so many Vapours, over the years, being treated as mules, furniture, toys.

  I extended my hand. “You can count on my unconditional support.”

  The next day saw me preparing. We’d arranged to meet at the dock at 11 pm, so I’d decided to arrive an hour earlier. I cleaned and loaded my Brenton-Myers special, hoping that it wouldn’t be needed. I adjusted my watch to the correct time, far too often. I found a small volume of Catullus, just in case I did have any time to read, and pocketed that. As ever, I shaved, dressed, ate. Found myself smoking too many cigarettes. And — as evening turned into night — I headed towards the harbourside, stopping on my way in a couple of pubs for a couple of warming drinks, taking care not to have too many. I’d be no good to anybody half-cut, or worse.