Sky City (Chap. 9-12)

CHAPTER 9
It was just before noon when they arrived at dock six. He paid Jeffie and tipped him handsomely. In return, the young driver exuberantly pumped his hand and thanked him vociferously. Mulligan could only watch in silent horror as the boy narrowly missed a pedestrian while piloting the vehicle into traffic.
James hastened past the many frigates, sloops, and galleons searching for the one called "The Kestrel". Finally at the very end he spied a small schooner. It looked more befitting recreational flying rather than for long trips across the open skies. Mulligan was certain it couldn't be the ship, but as he advanced, sure enough, there on the bow the words "The Kestrel" were scrawled in ornate script. Mulligan fought the dismay that chattered in his ear regarding the sky worthiness of the vessel and hailed the crew. The crewman standing beside the gangway beckoned him over.
"Welcome aboard The Kestrel, Mr. Mulligan", said the short fellow. He lifted his goggles and sized up Mulligan with his large silver orbs.
"You're a Clockwork?"
The man nodded. "The Captain has no qualms about hiring whoever she thinks is best for the job."
"My apologies. I meant nothing by it", said Mulligan, not wanting to get off on the wrong foot again.
The Clockwork just smiled. "None taken, Mr. Mulligan. You can call me Reg. I'm the Navigations Officer for the ship. Now if you will please join the Captain, we will be shoving off soon."
"Yes, of course. Thank you, Reg."
Captain Windfury was bent over a platform opposite the great brass steering wheel. As James got closer he could see that there were charts clamped to the platform, on which Windfury was busy scribbling notes with a piece of charcoal. Without looking up she said, "Glad yeh could make it, Mr. Mulligan. It would've pained me deeply if ye'd been left ashore."
By now, James was becoming accustomed to Windfury's curt affectations, though he still felt slightly uncertain how to respond to such remarks. Chalking the comment up to what he hoped passed for Windfury's sense of humor, he played along.
"Forgive me if I find that hard to believe", he responded.
A small smile momentarily played on Windfury's lips as she continued plotting points across the maps. At once she stood upright and stared at the horizon. Slowly she began flipping colored lenses down in front of her monocle, which acted as a type of sextant. When she seemed satisfied, she summoned her crew and ordered them to their posts. Mulligan was impressed as each man did as commanded without hesitation or question. Once in position, the men sounded off one by one. Upon completion of this exercise, Jana turned the handle of a small brass wheel which allowed the boiler pressure to steadily build. From somewhere below decks Mulligan could hear muffled whirring and chugging noises. She watched the pressure gauge on the steering column, occasionally taking a sidelong glance at a patrolling Ministry corvette which was drifting lazily by. When the police vessel finally cleared the back of The Kestrel, Jana quietly ordered "gasmasks on". Then she followed suit by donning a leather face mask with clear glass eye pieces and a distal hose that terminated in a filtration canister. She handed a similar mask to Mulligan and recommended he "do the same". Mulligan had barely enough time to slip it into place before Windfury yelled, "On my mark, prepare to dive! In 3...2...1!"
She engaged the throttle and pushed the wheel forward. A burst of steam shot from the back of the ship, and with a groan the giant props began to turn. Slowly at first, but in no time they were screaming with rpm's. The ship nosed downward at nearly 45 degrees. Mulligan grabbed for something to hold onto and ended up wrapping his arms around Windfury.
Instead of becoming upset at this, to James' surprise, she laughed.
"Didn't know yeh liked to move so fast Mr. Mulligan."
"My apologies, madam. I was trying to keep..."
"No need to apologize, I like that in a man", she yelled over the rushing wind.
Dumbstruck by her response, James stood there holding her for a moment until a cry came from the rear of the ship.
"Captain! They are turning about!"
"I guess this means you’ll need to be releasing me, Mr. Mulligan", Jana suggested.
"Oh! Of course!", said an embarrassed James with sudden realization. He quickly turned to grab the navigation platform behind him. Now facing the back of the ship he could see the Ministry corvette was about 300 yards away and closing.
"Damn, they're fast", grumbled Windfury.
A voice came across the void over the Ministry ship's phonocast system.
"Unauthorized vehicle, halt or we will open fire!"
Windfury responded by ignoring the command and shoving The Kestrel's throttle wide open. The little ship's propellers screamed under the strain of the increased torque, but the blanket of black clouds were still about a kilometer away. Without warning the wooden rail next to Mulligan exploded. The sense of gallantry ingrained into Mulligan by his upbringing caused him to leap to Windfury's side. He grabbed the wheel to steady himself as a barrage of splintered wood crashed against his back shielding the preoccupied Jana.
"Goddamnit, Mulligan, let go of the wheel!", barked Windfury.
A second later the sound waves reached them with a loud "HISSSS". Mulligan looked back at the pursuing corvette and saw it had turned broad side. A cloud of steam was still dissipating around the cannon which had fired upon them. They were now about 700 meters away from the cloud cover. A crackly, canned voice came over the Kestrel's phonocast.
"Crash imminent, pull up!"
Windfury ignored this warning as well, and kept the ship on a steady course. A second ball flew by Mulligan's head and almost severed one of the dirigible tethers. A short, pudgy crew member with a bushy white beard dove towards the wind whipped rope. After a short battle with the line he was able to create a canvas bandage around it. From above the corvette had also begun to dive in an attempt to intercept them. In response, Windfury forced the Kestrel into an even sharper dive prompting Mulligan to retighten his grip. The churn of the screws chewing the wind behind them filled his ears. His breath came in gulps against the confines of the mask. He looked down. Jana Windfury stood fixed like a statue, the only motion coming from her shaking hands fighting to steady the great brass wheel. The whole ship vibrated violently. Mulligan knew little about piloting an airship, but was sure the little schooner might capsize at any moment. As gravity took its toll, he felt the blood draining away from his face. His grip weakened with each passing second and stars bloomed in front of his eyes. For some reason his blood starved brain produced a vision of him sitting at dinner with Lucy. They laughed together and Mulligan felt giddy. The scene shifted and now they sat on the sofa. She rested her head on his chest as they watched the fire. The scent of jasmine still lingered as his ears popped. A horrible scraping noise assailed him as the hull of the Ministry cruiser grazed the Kestrel's dirigible. The phono system gave a final warning of "Pull up!" before they plunged into the sea of darkness.



CHAPTER 10
As far as Mulligan could tell, the corvette was no longer in pursuit, but this was impossible to confirm as he could only see about 50 feet in any direction. The deck of the ship looked reminiscent of the tales his father told him in his youth about what man would find when they finally traveled to the moon. Creatures in masks scurried about in the eerie glow of the Kestrel's gas lanterns created as they fought feebly against the haze. An acrid smell of fire seeped into his nostrils in spite of the gas mask. The Kestrel's boiler seemed to labor against the insult of the pollution. The momentary sense of relief from escaping their pursuers was replaced by the disconcerting realization that they were flying almost completely blind. He thought to voice these fears to Windfury, but refrained as she was occupied with alternately referencing a glass barometer mounted near the throttle column and the compass strapped to the leather bracer on her wrist. They continued in silence like this for an hour. The crew busied themselves with their respective tasks, Winfury monitored and steered, while Mulligan could only stand idly by feeling utterly useless. Finally he couldn't take the uncertainty anymore.
"How soon before we can resume normal cruising altitude?", he asked.
Windfury looked startled, as if she had forgotten they had a passenger on board. Mulligan suspected she would have tried this little maneuver even if no one was paying her to do so. She turned and Mulligan saw an impish glint in her eye. Though the mask prevented him from seeing her face, he was sure she was grinning.
"About another 30 minutes. Why don't you head to the captain's quarters and see if dinner is ready?", she gently suggested. "I'll be in to join you shortly."
Mulligan nodded in assent and walked through the cabin door behind them into a softly lit room. Giant windows framed by red damask striped curtains ran from floor to ceiling to form the back wall. Disappointingly, pitch blackness was the only view they offered at the moment. In front of the windows a comfortable looking four poster bed was situated draped in a thick quilt. To his immediate left sat a small wooden desk covered in piles of charts. To his right a set of stairs descended to below deck. Intrigued Mulligan took the stairs down through another door and found himself in a large room. Four ports, now closed to keep the smoke at bay, lined each side of the wall. A canon was aimed out of each port. A copper tube ran from each cannon to a huge copper boiler, the ship's power source, situated at the aft wall of the ship. Looking past the crew's bunks towards the front of the ship, Mulligan could see a wooden door. Light poured from a small window in the door into the darkened below decks. He walked to the door and rapped on it twice. A man with a shaved head and a face half covered in tattoos appeared in the small window. Seeing Mulligan did nothing to change his soured expression, but he ushered in the detective nonetheless. Inside the room there was a small counter on which lay some chopped meats and vegetables. At the end of the counter sat a coal fired stove which busily heated bubbling pots. At the other end of the room were racks of food stores including several barrels of ale and rum. The man attempted a half-hearted smile revealing several gaps in his teeth as he offered an introduction.
"Gabriel Whitman, Chief Gunner", he said without extending his hand. "When I'm not tending the cannons, I also do the cooking."
As Mulligan removed his mask he found Whitman's breath smelled so strongly of ale, the detective wondered if it was flammable.
"James Mulligan, and I thank you for the opportunity to sample your culinary skills", said James as his empty stomach seconded the remark.
The smile on Whitman's face broadened a little. "It's not the best, but I doubt you will be able to taste anything through all this bloody smoke."
"I'm sure it will be more than sufficient", said Mulligan absently, as his mind wandered off to Lucy and the meal she would be preparing for him, unaware that he wouldn't be back in time to enjoy it. He mentally cursed himself for not sending word to her prior to his embarking. As his consciousness snapped back into reality Mulligan could sense his mental departure had created an unpleasant void in the conversation. Attempting to fill it he asked, "How is it being part of Captain Windfury's crew?"
Whitman's expression looked as if he had eaten a spoonful of alum. "Up until about a month ago, I'd say fine."
"I'm sorry?", inquired Mulligan.
"Everything was smooth sailing around here and then she had to go and hire a damn artie."
"You mean Reg?", asked Mulligan feeling more certain with each passing second that he didn't like Whitman.
"That's right", spat the gunner. "Not that the bloody machine deserves a name. Can't trust any of them. All they do is take from humans. I don't see why she keeps him around."
Mulligan felt himself bristle at the man's tirade. Whitman must have noticed the nonverbal cues because he frowned even deeper still while looking at the ground and shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "You look like you could use a drink." Whitman said handing him a glass of rum. The gunner shifted around a bit more before giving up on any more attempts at hospitality. He awkwardly suggested Mulligan ought to return to the Captain's quarters with a promise dinner would be served shortly. For his part Mulligan was happy to be shot of the man's company, and left in silence. As he walked the detective took pulls at his glass while still fuming at Whitman's intolerance. The rum must have been quite powerful because by the time he ascended the stairs he felt his anger assuaged, replaced by the pleasant sensation of mild intoxication. Then without warning his stomach dropped and the gravity on the ship seemed to have slightly increased. Mulligan quickly realized they were climbing. As The Kestrel broke free of the clouds he was treated to a dazzling sight of the azure sky filled with the bronzed light of the afternoon sun. He could no longer see the city nor any pursuers.
"By God, she's done it", Mulligan muttered happily to himself. He pulled off the cumbersome mask and walked over to the window to more fully enjoy the view.



CHAPTER 11
With the smell of the smoke fading and the rum taking hold, Mulligan began feeling light-hearted. A click from the door behind him announced someone's arrival, and he turned to find himself face to face with Captain Windfury. She, too, had removed her mask. She smiled and explained, "I gave the wheel to the Navigations Officer."
Mulligan found her smile both beautiful and infectious. "You mean Reg?", he asked.
"You've met, then? Wonderful, that will save some time with the introductions." Then, noticing the glass in his hand, she observed, "I see you've found the galley. I hope Whitman wasn't too much of an ass."
A flash of anger against the man burned inside Mulligan as he wondered how to phrase his reply, but in the end he decided to remain tactful as ever. "He was actually quite accommodating, for the most part. He didn't seem to care too much for Reg, though."
Windfury's expression darkened as she read in Mulligan's face what had transpired. "He told you he didn't approve of my decision to hire a Clockwork?"
"That's about the gist of it, yeah."
"When we lost our previous Navigations Officer almost a year ago, I believe he had wanted me to pick someone else to fill the position. However, in my opinion, Reginald was far more qualified. And", she said pulling herself up to her full height, "seeing as how I am captain of this ship, my opinion is law."
"And, in spite of this conflict of 'opinion', you keep him as part of your crew?"
"He may be an ass, but he is still one hell of a gunner. And not a bad cook to boot."
The resonance of agitation in her reply wasn't lost on Mulligan, but the detective in him couldn't let the matter rest. "I see, and how do you feel about working with a Clockwork?", Mulligan pressed.
"I hired him, didn't I? I could care less what he is, so long as he's the best at what he does."
The response filled James with affection for the young captain. He wanted to continue, to pry into the heart of this odd yet alluring woman, but he was afraid of alienating Jana any more than he already had. It was Windfury who mercifully broke the silence first.
"Care for a refresher?" she asked pointing to his nearly empty glass.
Mulligan paused for a second to gauge his level of inebriation. "Actually...", he began, but without waiting for him to finish, Jana grabbed his cup and made for the stairs.
"Err...thanks?", he mumbled at her retreating backside. He couldn't help but admire her ever-present swagger as she stepped out of sight. He took advantage of the solitude to review the notes he had taken from the dossier on the latest slaying.

Male Clockwork murdered. No motives. As he reached the part about the witness he felt an energy flow through his body. His fingers tingled and his hands slightly shook. "Just the alcohol? Or perhaps the souls of the deceased?", he mused. Eliza Devonshire. The name seemed to mean something to him, but the answer was lost in the folds of his mind. Who was this woman and what would she have to reveal to him? Maybe it was she who murdered Mr. Devonshire? 99 times out of 100 it's the significant other who kills their partner. It seems people kill out of love as much or more than out of hate. But it just seemed too farfetched. What were the witness and the victim to each other? "Cohabitant", Archer had said. Roommates or something more? Then there was the stumbling block of the "violence inhibitors". Technically it was impossible for Clockwork to do such a thing. But... he was absolutely certain that the crimes had been committed by a Clockwork, wasn't he? Under the mantra of "anything's possible" Mulligan decided to not make a decision until he had spoken with Ms. Devonshire.

"Wotcha have there?" Jana's voice came over his shoulder startling him. He turned his head to find her standing behind him holding two glasses. James was grateful to hear she sounded much calmer upon her return.
He stuffed the notes back into his pocket and took the glass Jana was offering him. "Nothing really", he lied, not sure that his Ministry status would sit well with the privateer.
Jana quickly saw through the deflection and interjected, "Mr. Mulligan, out of principle I never ask why my passengers are travelling with me. Keeps my hands clean of any unpleasantness, if yeh get me?" She looked quite serious.
"I do", said James, allayed that she was not pursuing the topic. "And please, call me James".
And with that, the tension dissipated. Jana leaned back in her chair and smiled. "Well, James, I have to give yeh credit. Yeh handled yourself quite well back there. A lesser man might have gone to pieces on me when Her Majesty's forces opened fire on us."
Mulligan grinned, "Heh. And I must admit I've never seen such magnificent piloting before."
Jana's non-monocled green eye shone at the compliment and her smiled broadened. She seemed to be looking at the detective differently now.
"Have yeh spent much time aboard a ship then?", she asked with bona fide interest.
Mulligan took another sip of rum. Too late, he realized the powerful drink was taking its toll. He felt his thinking grow fuzzy as he replied, "No, not really."
'Would yeh like to? We've just had a vacancy." Jana smiled wryly, and swayed a little in her chair. As she gazed at him dreamily, Mulligan wondered whether it was her or the rum speaking. He wasn't sure how to reply to what Jana was insinuating. He grew discombobulated as he searched his booze soaked brain for a proper response. This only encouraged the inebriated Jana, who leaned in closer to give him a better view of her bust.
"It was very kind what ye did for me out there. Chivalry is becoming so hard to find in a man these days."
Mulligan blushed at the compliment and mumbled, "Oh, it was nothing."
"We still have a few hours before we land. I'm sure we can find some way to repay yeh."
She didn't wait for a reply. She straddled the still seated Mulligan, grabbed him by the lapels of his jacked and pressed her soft lips against his. Mulligan felt like a pile of dismembered parts of which his brain had lost any control. Sluggishly it began to focus on the warmth of her mouth and the heat of her body where it contacted his. He felt his hands slide around her waist coming to rest on the small of her leather clad back. For a brief, shining second it all seemed possible. He would abandon his post at the Ministry to accompany this bold and beautiful woman wherever the Kestrel may take them. He saw Windfury and himself standing side by side conquering all the challenges a privateer's life could throw at them. Together. He would leave his little townhouse with all its quiet trappings of a domestic life. He would leave them all behind: Pennywhistle, Archer, Drakolisk, and...Lucy? Lucy. Though he could find no logical reason, he felt a stab of guilt and pulled away to the surprise of Jana who gave him a puzzled look.
"Is something wrong, James?", she asked.
"No. It's....nothing", he offered lamely.
"Did I do something wrong?", she inquired hurt and confusion rising in her voice.
"No! no. It's just...", said Mulligan trying to reassure her, but it was too late. The walls came up behind her eyes.
"It's okay", she said in a calm, even tone. "We can keep this professional, Mr. Mulligan. Ye are my passenger, and I'll see yeh safely to port."
"Jana, wait...", said James, but she was already out the cabin door to resume her post at the ship's wheel. Mulligan found himself left alone to try and make sense of the preceding events as the encroaching evening's darkness consumed the skies.



CHAPTER 12
Mulligan was still locked inside his thoughts when the ships engine ground to a halt. A loud hiss emanated from behind the ship and steam obscured the view of the windows as the ship's boiler depressurized. When it cleared he saw a large clipper docked parallel with them and surmised they had reached their destination. He rose from his chair and turned to find Jana Windfury who had just stepped through the door. Her eyes were still veiled and her voice was sterilized of any emotion as she spoke.
"We have arrived."
"Jana, I'm sorry..", began Mulligan.
She held up her hand to arrest his apology. "No it is I who should apologize. Ye are my passenger. I was wrong to assume anything more."
This did nothing to assuage the remorse which sat in Mulligan's stomach burning like molten lead.
"Then as your passenger, may I book a trip back?", he asked hopefully.
A look of suspicion narrowed the captain's eyes. "The shuttles should be up and running again by tomorrow. Why do you need us? Do yeh think to hire me out of pity, Sir?"
Fear's icy caress ran down the back of Mulligan's neck as he could see his attempt at saving face quickly going to hell. Before he could utter any attempt at an explanation, she had opened the cabin door in a gesture of dismissal.
"Just so you know, Mr. Mulligan, it's nothing personal", she said as he stepped over the threshold. He turned to make one last attempt to plead his case, but found himself addressing an indifferent door.
"Thanks and Godspeed, Ms. Windfury", he muttered.


Mulligan decided to visit the witness, Eliza Devonshire, first. However, finding a cab that would take him to the Clockwork quarter of the city proved to be something of a challenge. An undercurrent of anti-Clockwork prejudice ran through East more than anywhere else. Most likely because it had the highest population of mechahumans. It had been a while since Mulligan had been called to the Clockwork quarter of East, but as far as he could recall it was the largest he had ever seen. He finally found an older gentleman with a snuff habit to do it, though for an exorbitant sum. "Don't know what all the fuss is about", said the driver as he took a pinch of snuff with his prosthetic Clockwork hand. "Them arties keep to themselves mostly. Don't cause much trouble."
"Uh-huh", mumbled Mulligan mostly to humor the man hoping he would give up attempts at conversation. He didn't.
"Achooo", sneezed the fellow. "Course I wouldn't hire one meself. Not that they could drive a cab seeing as how they ain't allowed."
Mulligan was greatly relieved when they finally passed under the archway formed out of the top half of large copper gear which spanned the street, signifying their entry into Clockwork territory. The Clockwork neighborhoods were always a subject of great interest to Mulligan who found the society-within-a-society a curious affair. The sides of the streets were lined with vendor stalls who sold, not fresh meat and produce, but coal. Coal in a myriad of grades and sizes. Smaller non-humanoid automatons skittered here and there on various numbers of legs to complete their respective tasks. Shops specializing in clock making and repair were everywhere. The clicks, hisses, and hums of mechanized industry seemed to seep from every surface and surround Mulligan. He silently wondered if any human could reside for long in such conditions without going insane.
They pulled to a stop in front of a building bearing the title Industrial Arms, one of the many multi-story compartment buildings that hedged the roads of the Clockwork quarters. Clockworks were forbidden from owning property and thus were relegated to renting small apartments from human landlords. Mulligan approached the tarnished copper double doors. A Clockwork doorman in a long brown dress coat with brass buttons gave a brief bow then pulled the door open to grant the detective entrance. He strode across the polished stone floors to the front desk where a polite looking Clockwork with silver eyes inquired how she might help him.
"I'm Detective James Mulligan of MCA", said James as he flashed his badge. "I'm here to speak with Eliza Devonshire."
"Oh, splendid", gushed the receptionist, "She is in number 1070. The lift is to the right."
Mulligan turned to leave but the receptionist had not finished speaking. "You are aware of her disability, Sir?"
Mulligan gave her a puzzled look. "Disability?"
"Yes, Sir", she replied earnestly. "She never converted to a boiler system. The poor thing has had to rely on a servant to keep an eye on her ever since..." The receptionist broke off, grief welling up in her voice.
"Since the murder of Edwin Devonshire?", offered Mulligan.
The receptionist nodded and went on, "I'm afraid communicating with her can be a bit of a challenge at times."
Mulligan wasn't exactly sure what the "challenge" would be but he nodded and said, "I will try to keep that in mind."
With a hiss, the lift jolted to a stop on the 10th floor. The lift operator opened the gate and bowed Mulligan through. Mulligan had to admire how all of the Clockworks had been so gracious and respectful. "And they all look so content", thought Mulligan. This thought, as thoughts sometimes will, recalled a previous conversation he had had with Lucy.

"So you are saying that without a job a, Clockwork would not be happy?", he had asked her.
"Basically, but it goes deeper than that. All Clockworks need a purpose to fulfill. Without a purpose, a Clockwork could not be happy. We are creatures of industry, after all." She laughed her tinkling little laugh. Then she looked at Mulligan, earnestly and admiration shining in her copper eyes, and said, "That's why it means so much to me that you have given me this job, Sir."
Mulligan chuckled. "Truthfully, Lucy, it is I who should be thanking you. You have been so helpful to me ever since...." He cut himself short to avoid discussing the painful events of the "accident". Instead he said, "I wish I could do more for you."
It had sounded lame when he said it, but he knew he meant every word. Even though it had only been a little over two months since he had hired her, he had already felt something of a bond between them.
From somewhere unseen Mulligan heard what sounded like a orchestral score played through a phonograph. The light, occasional crackle and warm hiss of the device that accompanied the music it broadcasted accentuated the pleasure of his recollections. He opened his eyes and found himself looking down the hallway of the 10th floor. The intermittent sconces that lined the walls offered brief pools of light in the bleak-looking corridor. As he walked its length he thought of how it had been before Lucy. After the accident. How each day he came home to a dark and empty home. How he had felt much the same inside: Dark and empty. Lifeless and cluttered. He had been a broken man in every sense, but something inside him clung to hope. He knew he couldn't go on like this. He had put an advertisement in the paper. He interviewed many prospects, but none quite like Lucy. A certain warmth seemed to follow her and filled the house and his soul when she entered. Mulligan knew it was frowned upon to keep the company of any Clockwork, but he had pushed such notions aside and gladly welcomed her. He never regretted it once.
Mulligan found himself staring at a sturdy oak door with a brass 1070 nailed to it. The music was louder now. He gave a firm knock. Noises came from the other side of the door and the music fell silent. After a few seconds the door opened. A man just slightly shorter than Mulligan looked inquisitively at the detective with his golden eyes. He was dressed in a sharp chocolate brown suit and white cravat. Around his neck on a chain hung a large brass key.
"I'm Detective Mulligan of MCA", offered James.
With a courteous, yet sterile, smile, the servant replied, "Of course. Right this way, please. Ms. Devonshire has been most anxious to speak with you."
Mulligan followed the man down a nicely papered hallway peppered with paintings in gilded frames. The sitting room into which he was shown featured some of the most exquisite wood paneling James had ever seen. Since wood for construction had become extremely scarce, Mulligan was certain the value of the it would be greater than 10 years of his salary. His eyes continued to take in the beauty and opulence of the room before coming to rest on the small woman seated in a position of perfect posture in a large armchair by the fireplace. Though Clockworks did not age as humans, this one seemed to exude an aura of maturity.
"Detective James Mulligan to see you, Ma'am", announced the servant.
"Thank you, Grimes. You may standby for the moment."
In a gesture of understanding, Grimes nodded and stiffly stood behind his mistress' chair.
"Thank you for seeing me Ms. Devonshire", began Mulligan. He could not help but stare at the petite mechanoid desperately trying to ascertain his previous acquaintance with her before he finally he asked, "The name Devonshire sounds familiar. Have we met before?"
She retained the politeness that all Clockworks possessed, but unlike Lucy, Eliza's tone had a palpable coolness to it. It was a voice which welcomed and dismissed you at the same time.
"I should say not, Detective Mulligan. I have been nothing less than a law abiding individual. As for 'Devonshire', it is my family's surname."
Though he had suspected as much he couldn't shake the feeling that he had heard her name before. "Of course, you seemed familiar somehow, that's all", he attempted to explain.
She curtly brushed his justification aside and said, "I would do anything within my power to help catch the one who did this, Detective." Mulligan perceived the coldness rising in her voice.
"Very good, madam. Why don't you start by telling me exactly what you saw on the night of the attack."
"Of course. Edwin and I had proceeded to make our regular morning journey to the watch shop we ran..."
"I'm sorry. Let me interrupt for a moment. The report said the incident took place sometime between 4:30 and 5:00 in the morning. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And, as I understand it, regular business hours for shops in this district begin at 7:00 a.m. Is that also correct?"
"Yes", said Ms. Devonshire with a hint of impatience.
"Then, may I ask, why would you be heading to the shop at such an early hour?"
Ms. Devonshire cleared her throat and said in a terse voice, "That shop was our life, Sir. Yes, we may have found our financial security in coal, but it did not satisfy our need of purpose in this world. We loved that shop and made it a point to be there a few hours early every morning to prepare for the business day."
"I apologize, Madam. I didn't mean to infer anything. Please tell me, did you always take the same route?"
"Yes", said Eliza as her indignation succumbed to her sorrow. "I never did like that alley. So dark and foreboding. Edwin...Edwin always said I was just being silly.." She trailed off, her silver eyes closed.
Mulligan waited a moment for her to collect herself before pressing on. "If you traveled together, how was it that you were able to avoid being attacked?"
"That day was different. I had realized shortly after our departure that we had not informed Grimes we would be home late. Edwin told me he would take care of it and catch up with me. I should have never left him", Eliza whispered bitterly.
"So if you were ahead of him, how was it that you were able to see the suspect?"
"I had made it to the shop. I waited for about 15 minutes, but Edwin never came. I became concerned, so I retraced the route hoping to find him." Eliza's voice became quavery. "I turned the corner to enter the alley. I...I saw.. a man. He was crouched down over something. At first I couldn't tell it was Edwin...until I saw his face..hanging from...from a.." At this point a tightness grasped the throat of Eliza Devonshire and she was unable to continue for several minutes. Mulligan could only pity the poor creature as she wrestled with the pain of loss.
"No need to go on Ms. Devonshire", said Mulligan. He'd already read the crime scene report and had a pretty good idea what she had found Edwin Devonshire's face hanging from.
"Could you describe what the man who did this looked like?"
Eliza choked back a sob and began in a despondent voice, "I couldn't get a good look at his face. It was dark and he wore a red scarf that covered most of it. His eyes were hidden behind a very dark pair of goggles. He had very messy hair which looked black and wore a dark colored long coat. He wasn't much shorter than yourself. When he walked he seemed to limp. I'm sorry. It was dark and I was so afraid..."
Mulligan gave a sympathetic nod as he finished recording her account in his personal notebook.
"Ms. Devonshire? I'm sorry but I must ask, did you have any involvement it the destruction of Edwin?"
Eliza was taken aback. She dropped all pretense of politeness as she replied, "How dare you."
Her voice came in a whisper saturated with indignation.
"I'm afraid I had to ask Ms. Devonshire. From our perspective, you would have the most to gain from his removal. As you said, you both had a share in this 'financial security' obtained from coal production."
She spoke much louder now, but with no less ire, 'Not that I'd expect you to understand, but Edwin was so much more than just a business partner. He was my partner in all things. And now, if you don't mind, I would like you to please...juusss..." Her voice dropped several octaves and then slurred to a stop before she finally slumped forward into her chair.
"Ms. Devonshire!", Mulligan yelled as he leapt to his feet, but Grimes was already there pulling the large key from around his neck. He inserted it into a hole in the back of the incapacitated Clockwork's neck and cranked it several times to the right. No sooner had he removed the key, than she sprung upright into her original position. "..leave", she finished her sentence as if nothing had happened. Detective Mulligan, still in dismay over what had just transpired, could only nod his acknowledgement to her request. He turned towards the hallway, but after a moment's hesitation, faced her once more holding her gaze in his own.
"Just one more question. Please."
She did not avert her eyes, but said nothing.
"Why haven't you converted yet?"
To Mulligan's surprise, Devonshire's demeanor softened a little. She gave him a sad little smile and said, "Edwin used to ask me the same question. It may be difficult for you to understand, Detective, but there was a time when we Clockworks had to rely on each other. Our springs might wind down, but there was always someone close at hand willing to help, knowing the favor would be returned in kind. We were united as a race and found strength in our unity. Though we have no family in the human sense of the word, it was as if we were one giant family. Sure the conversion to boilers has made us more independent, but it has also made us more distant. I simply long for those better times. Now, if you will please..."