Fiendish Schemes (28 page)

“To you? That was how I got into these troubles, to begin with.”

“Quiet. I am about to impart to you a full elucidation of your current predicament.”

“Pardon my skepticism. But I’ve heard similar preambles from you before now.”

“First attend to my words, then judge.” Stonebrake leaned close toward me in order to impart his confidences. “It might have indeed been this city’s Metropolitan Police who arrested you. And yes, before you make some self-pitying comment, it was indeed upon my information that they did so. But that was all—”

“Yes, of course. The plan. Pray continue.”

“If you will refrain from interruption.” Stonebrake grasped my arm, tightly squeezing it. “As I say, the Metropolitan Police were the agents who brought about your confinement here. But you are not in their hands. These premises are not controlled by them, but by another organization. One of which you have in all likelihood been ignorant until this moment, but of which you should be much more concerned.”

“Who would that be?”

He brought his whisper close to my ear, as though imparting the name of something so dreadful as to be scarce spoken aloud. “Her Majesty’s Department,” he said, “of Technography and Statistics.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Exactly. I told you that the chances of your having done so were slight. Indeed, in this respect, you are aligned with the majority of the population. For while they are an official organ of the British government, the existence is a secret closely kept. Those aware of this agency are either affiliated with it in some manner, thus keeping their silence as a way of facilitating its operations—or they are opposed to it. And seek to keep themselves from being brought to its scrutiny.”

“I expect I would have done the same,” I said, “whether or not I had known who they were. Not that I would have had reason to be afraid of such an innocuously designated institution, but just as a matter of general principles.”

“And that’s exactly where you would’ve gone wrong, Dower. For while you might evince little knowledge or interest in the Department, you may be assured that its officials have a considerable dossier of information concerning yourself. Which they have of course acquired as a result of their keen curiosity about your affairs.”

“Why so? I would have thought I had outlived any possible notoriety.”

“Again, you go wrong. And you do so by ignoring the most obvious reasons for your being a subject of official interest.”

A familiar realization returned to my mind. “I suspect this has much to do with my father. And his less respectable activities.”

“Exactly so,” said Stonebrake. “As it has been in many situations in your life. But in this particular instance, your familial predecessor connects precisely with the official portfolio of the Department of Technography and Statistics. Indeed, one might say that the Department and its agents exist in their present configuration solely as a result of your father and his inventions.”

“Present configuration? What were they before?”

“Originally, the Department was much less intimidating in its functions. Then it was known as the Department of
Topography
and Statistics. As such, it was merely the intelligence-gathering section of the British army during the late Crimean War. More dull than sinister, but worthily so. The Department mainly produced the various maps by which Lord Cardigan and his officers directed their troops in one direction or another, chasing various Russian military forces about that grim territory.”

“Without notable success, of course.” Even in my isolated rural village, I had heard tell of the disastrous results of the Light Brigade’s suicidal charge, as well as other incidents indicating vast befuddlement at the army’s senior levels.

“Hardly the Department’s fault,” noted Stonebrake. “Its maps were punctiliously correct to the slightest detail. As was also the various statistical information it gathered—number of enemy troops, composition of armaments, all that sort of thing. What Cardigan and the rest of those well-born idiots did with the data is entirely another matter.”

“What does all that have to do with my father? Or me, for that matter?”

“Exactly this,” said Stonebrake. “The general disappointment in the army’s conduct in the Crimean Peninsula, and the unhappy results thereof, extended to such agencies as the Department of Topography and Statistics as well, however suitably they might have accomplished their own particular missions. Such being the case, there was little opposition when our new Prime Minister, Mrs. Fletcher, and her scurrying subordinates saw fit to alter both the Department’s name and the uses to which the Department is put. Out goes inoffensive and moderately useful Topography, in comes Technography, much more secretive—and for Mrs. Fletcher’s purposes, much more useful. An individual as powerful and understandably given to endless suspicions as she is, naturally feels compelled to keep an eye upon anything that presents a threat to the maintenance of her position. And of course, your father’s devices fall under that purview.”

“I scarcely see the cause for her worries.” I gave a dismissive shrug, as well as I could given Stonebrake’s grasp upon my arm. “She already has most of them under her control, doesn’t she? Surely the Prime Minister, and especially one as intimidating as her, has access to all the ware houses of the British Museum and wherever else all those devices are presently stored.”

“It’s the ones she
doesn’t
have under her thumb—the ones still out in the wild, as it were—that concern Mrs. Fletcher. They have concerned her for a great deal of time, and well before the initiation of those schemes into which I have brought you. And it’s not just the devices conceived and created by your father that weigh upon her mind. He was of that generation of scientist and artisan almost supernaturally capable in everything they undertook. Who knows what other inventions and devices they might have left behind, of unknown but threatening potential? Even if your father’s creations were the most powerful in their effects, the others are still worrisome to one such as Mrs. Fletcher. Her enemies—of which she still has a considerable number, despite having eliminated many of them—might turn anything against her. Or so she believes.”

“Ah.” The etymology of the previously unfamiliar word became clear to me. “Thus
Technography
—the description and evaluation of that landscape of scientific creation, rather than the Earth’s cloddish terrain.”

“Exactly so, Dower. From a cobweb-shrouded gaggle of dronesome mapmakers, the Department has been transformed and enlarged into a network of spies, all answering directly to Mrs. Fletcher as they comb all of England’s cities and countryside. They keep track of and report on every past remnant of invention, or current scientific and technological activity in Britain—official or amateur, public or secretive, large or small. As you might well imagine, such is a considerable enterprise, and only succeeds in its operations by the most daunting ruthlessness.”

“And of course . . .” Another realization formed inside my thoughts. “Your concern is that this so-called Department of Topography and Statistics might already have found and secreted away that device which you and associates have been so eager to locate. To wit, my father’s
Vox Universalis
.”

There was no need for Stonebrake to reply—I could discern that I had laid my finger upon the precise motivator of his increasing agitation. He let go of my arm and leaned convulsively forward from the edge of the cell’s bunk, his hands seized into trembling, whiteknuckled fists. As I observed this response on his part, I heard the clanging sounds from the corridor outside increase in volume. The noises seemed to be coming steadily closer, the banging of metal upon metal now accompanied by what might have been cascades of brick and stone, as heard at the collapse of earthquake- stricken buildings.

“Yes!” Wild-eyed, Stonebrake whirled about, the monosyllabic cry issuing from his lips. “They might have! The bastards . . . the skulking thieves . . .”

“They are only doing,” I mildly pointed out, “what we ourselves have been engaged upon.”

The comment seemed to enrage him. He seized the front of my shirt, drawing me close to his maddened gaze. For a moment, I anticipated renewed violence from the man—then he visibly gained control of himself once more. He let go again and drew back from me.

“Yes . . .” He gave a slow nod. “Of course. And we must turn that to our advantage.”

“Why not just let them have it? My father’s invention, that is—if this Department of Whatever has indeed found it. If it’s as important to Mrs. Fletcher as you’ve indicated, then perhaps it would not be a brilliant idea to attempt to take it away from her—even if we could, of course. From the little bit I saw, she doesn’t seem like the sort of person who lightly takes being crossed.”

“I have two points in rejoinder.” Stonebrake spoke in a rigid and controlled manner, as though keeping his fiery emotions under tight control. “The first is that I will see you and Mrs. Fletcher in Hell before I allow that to happen. I have not come this far to let the prize slip out of my grasp. The second point is that we do
not
yet know whether her Department has obtained the
Vox Universalis
. This is what we must find out.”

“Somehow . . . I am gaining the impression that this is where I make my entrance upon the scene.”

“You surmise correctly. I have gone to great pains—and much subterfuge—to establish within the Department of Technography and Statistics that you represent a grave danger to Mrs. Fletcher.”

“Pardon me?”

“And indeed to the entirety of the British nation.”

“What?”
I had thought myself beyond further surprise by the man. In the event, I was proven wrong—again. “You told them . . . that I am . . .”

“A falsehood, but a modest one. And all in service of our plan.”

“How relieved I am to know that it wasn’t done for frivolous purposes. I’m sure I will take that comfort to my grave—likely any day now.”

“Not quite that soon.” Stonebrake shook his head. “First there is the necessity of your interrogation.”

“That sounds less than cordial.”

“A mere formality. I am confident that you will endure it . . . tolerably well. Some of their methods might be a bit harsh, but you have considerable value to them. This is, of course, despite their belief that you are in league with bloodthirsty anarchists, bent on overthrow of the established order—for which your father’s creations are their chief means of destruction.”

“I confess that you have me at a loss here.” This was the occasion for my shaken head. “Why in God’s name would you tell them something such as that? And do not say,
The plan
.”

“It’s exceedingly simple, Dower.” He spoke over the advancing noises from the corridor. “We need to establish what the Department of Technography and Statistics knows regarding the locations of your father’s
Vox Universalis
device. What better way than to foster in their minds the desire to establish what
you
know about it?”

“A moment. You told these people I am specifically eager to locate the
Vox Universalis
? What would they believe I want with such a thing, if they are unfamiliar with all the rest of your scheming? The negotiating with whales about the movements of lighthouses and all of that?”

“They hardly need to know your exact purpose. All that is required is that they believe it somehow essential to you and your associates’ fiendish schemes. And I have convinced them of that.”

How that served his purposes, I could well envision. But I failed to see how it accomplished much, if anything, for myself.

I indicated as much to Stonebrake: “What happens when it is ascertained that I do not, in fact, know anything about the location of the
Vox Universalis
device? If this Department of Technography and Statistics does not already possess it, I rather imagine they wish to do so as speedily as possible, to prevent it from falling into the hands of these imagined seditious associates of mine. If I cannot assist the Department in this regard, I also imagine that my value to them is greatly lessened.”

“Yes . . .” He nodded, mulling over my words. “And so . . . ?”

“So they would make speedy dispatch of me. And in a permanent manner.”

“Ah. So that is what you are concerned about, rather than the success or failure of—”

“Don’t say it. And yes, I
am
concerned about my own survival. It is my life to dispose of, and I shall do so when I choose. Or not. Before that moment, I would prefer that the decision not be taken from me.”

“As you wish. And to be certain, as I’ve assured you before, you have considerable value to me as well.”

“And what am I to take as proof of that?”

“You will have all the proof you require, Dower—if anything should go amiss. For in a similar fashion to that in which I inveigled myself into the confidences of the Department of Technography and Statistics, so have others. I speak of
our
associates, naturally. So great are the fortunes we pursue, that there are more than you can imagine who are aligned with us, seeking to become as wealthy as we shall be. A significant number have penetrated the ranks of the Department, in which they pass completely free of suspicion. If that moment should come—and it might—when your person is in actual danger, these persons will spring into action, all for the purpose of rescuing you therefrom.”

The last of his words were delivered in a veritable shout, so loud had the surrounding noises become. It seemed as though the building above us were in the process of complete demolishment. Indeed, clouds of white dust began to float through the cell in which I had been incarcerated, the stones beneath our feet shivering with unseen impacts.

I was unable to order my thoughts in such clamour. Whether I had any option other than to assume my role within Stonebrake’s intertwining subterfuges, I could not determine.

“Very well!” I shouted back at him. “I will, as criminal types put it, play along with what you have contrived. But if the Department’s interrogators should lay a hand upon me—”