The Affinity Bridge (38 page)

The sun was a watery, baleful eye that glared down at the Thames through a bruised eyelid of rain clouds as Newbury, Veronica and Bainbridge rolled over the Chelsea Bridge in the back of the police carriage, on their way to Battersea and the Chapman and Villiers manufactory.

Newbury watched Bainbridge leaning out of the carriage window, straining to take in the sight of the embankment as it hove into view. He followed the other man’s gaze. The scene across the river was murky, the mist and rain forming a thick veil across the landscape. The rain had begun to fall not long after they had set out from Veronica’s apartment, and the three of them had quickly decided to huddle together in the waiting vehicle. Bainbridge had stopped only to send word to Scotland Yard, requesting uniformed assistance, but they all knew it would be some time before the Yard were able to muster their men. In the meantime, Newbury had been anxious to press on, to head directly to Battersea and confront Chapman and Villiers, before the two of them realised the police were finally on to them.

Newbury looked up at the dark clouds that were scudding across the sky, brooding with intent. The rain would continue well into the afternoon, if he was any judge of the weather.

Across the river, the warehouses of Chapman and Villiers were squat mounds of red brick, imposing even amidst the industrial buildings that sat to either side of them. A number of airships were still tethered to the roofs, tousled by driving wind and precipitation. They bobbed fluidly but remained fixed in place by long coils of rope.

“Impressive, isn’t it, Charles?”

Bainbridge turned to look at him, his expression fixed. He nodded. “Bigger than I had imagined.”

“Indeed. Wait until you see inside. The manner in which they construct the new dirigibles is magnificent.” He allowed his eyes to wander to the floor, biting back his enthusiasm. “If only they’d contented themselves with that, eh, rather than trying to revolutionise the world with their clockwork men?” He shook his head.

“Newbury, people like that will never be content with their lot. Whatever they say, it’s not about changing the world. It’s about wielding power. They may call themselves philanthropists, but in truth they’re just as greedy as the rest of us, just as hungry for money and validation. In this case, probably more so.”

Newbury met his friend’s eyes. “You’re right, of course. About Chapman at least. But I think Villiers is a different matter entirely. I don’t see that he’s at all interested in money or validation. I think he sees his work as a personal challenge. He has no grand schemes to change the world; he wants only to be left alone to his amoral experiments, as terrible as they are.”

Bainbridge sighed. “That may be so, but it doesn’t alter the fact that together they’ve committed the most heinous of crimes. There’s no redemption to be had here. They’re both for the noose.”

Newbury nodded and leaned back in his seat. He glanced at Veronica, who had been listening to the conversation from her place beside him. She didn’t seem to have anything she wanted to add to the discussion and instead turned away, pretending to distract herself with the view out of the window. He wondered for a moment about what she was thinking.

Newbury closed his eyes, lulled by the motion of the carriage. His wounds ached desperately. He hoped that the affair would be over soon so that he could spend a few days holed up in his lodgings, convalescing in his study. For now, though, he had work to do, and he knew that whatever evidence the three of them had at their disposal, Joseph Chapman was not going to willingly accept his fate.

The cab rolled on, its wheels clicking loudly on the cobbled road as they neared their destination.

The reception area of Chapman and Villiers Air Transportation Services was devoid of activity when Newbury burst in, followed by both Bainbridge and Veronica. Chapman’s clerk, Soames, sat in his usual position behind the mahogany desk, his hands forming a thin steeple on the desk before him. He glanced up nonchalantly as the door clicked shut behind the visitors.

“Ah, good day to you, Sir Maurice.” The man’s eyes flicked over the faces of three newcomers, like a lizard assessing its prey.

“I am afraid that you will find Mister Chapman is unavailable today. I hope you have not had a wasted journey.” He offered Newbury a sickly smile.

Newbury turned to Veronica, inclining his head in the direction of the stairs. She grasped his meaning immediately and crossed the room in a few quick strides, mounting the bottom step and starting up in the direction of Chapman’s office.

“Really, Sir Maurice!” Soames stood, placing his hands on the desk before him. “I assure you that Mister Chapman is not here. There is no need to contest my word on the matter.”

Newbury glared at him but said nothing.

A moment later, Veronica appeared at the top of the staircase and gave a curt shake of her head. Chapman obviously wasn’t in his office. Still, Newbury couldn’t find it in himself to trust the clerk.

“Where is he?”

Soames looked exasperated. “I honestly can’t say. He arrived this morning as usual, took his tea in his office and then went about his business. I haven’t seen him for at least two or three hours. He told me to keep his diary free for today.”

Newbury clenched his fists, exasperated.

Bainbridge put his hand on Newbury’s shoulder. “What now?”

Newbury shrugged. “Villiers, I suppose.”

Soames sighed dramatically. “Gentlemen, without an appointment, I really must insist—” He stopped short when Bainbridge raised his cane, leaned over the desk and placed the tip of it against the man’s chest, tapping it gently as if weighing how much force he would need to shatter the clerk’s breastbone.

“Look here. If you have any sense about you at all, you will stop with your insipid drivel and make haste away from this place before you find yourself implicated in affairs you’d rather stay out of!”

The clerk looked appalled, then stepped back from the tip of the other man’s cane, his legs bumping into his chair behind the desk. He opened and closed his mouth as if unsure how to respond to the threat. “I…oh…”

“Shut up, man! My name is Sir Charles Bainbridge and I am a Chief Inspector with Scotland Yard. My colleagues and I intend to locate Mister Villiers for an interview. You can either assist us by pointing us in the right direction, (or you can choose to create a situation for yourself. I fear the latter option will not work out for the best.”

Soames shrivelled away from the Chief I Inspector, clearly terrified by the man. “I believe you’ll find him in his workshop on the other side of the manufactory site, sir.”

Bainbridge nodded and withdrew his cane. The other man sighed visibly with relief. “Good man. Now, heed my advice and take your leave. I assure you that you do not wish to be associated with this business any more than you already are.” He turned to Veronica, who was crossing the room to join them once again. “Are we set?”

Veronica nodded.

“Then come on, Newbury. Lead the way.”

Newbury shook his head in disbelief. “You never fail to impress me, Charles.” He held his arm out for Veronica, fearing that, without her aid, his injuries may soon overcome him. She took it, and together they set off in the direction of the manufactory proper, following the route they had taken during their previous visit, when Chapman himself had been serving as their guide.

The hanger was suffused with the same biting chill as the city outside of the walls, but at least, Newbury considered, it was sheltered from the wind and the rain. He pulled his overcoat tighter around his shoulders, and watched as the others did the same. Below, on the hanger floor, a new gondola was under construction, and the scene was nearly identical to the one Newbury and Veronica had witnessed a handful of days before, although the workmen in this instance were still assembling the basic shell rather than fitting the interior. Newbury leaned over the rail, searching the floor for signs of Chapman. He was nowhere to be seen.

Bainbridge approached the edge of the metal walkway, clasping the rail with his left hand. He surveyed the industrious scene below. “You’re right, Newbury, it’s a very impressive operation, indeed.”

Newbury nodded, fighting back a shiver. He knew he’d lost a lot of blood, and consequently he was feeling the cold somewhat more than usual. The bandages and salves he had applied at Veronica’s apartment had helped to stem the tide, however, and he was convinced that the worst of it was over. “Yes, this is where they assemble the passenger gondolas. The next hall is where they build the frames for the main body of the vessel.” He waved his hand. “Come on. We have to pass that way to get to Villiers’s workshop, anyway.”

They made their way along the metal walkway and down onto the main floor of the hanger, where the workmen seemed to ignore their presence entirely, preferring to continue with the task of constructing the gondola. The place was filled with the loud din of industry, and Newbury wrinkled his nose at the smells of oil and scorched wood.

The next hanger was equally busy, with the skeleton of a vessel being hoisted into place by the pneumatic cranes that ran around the edges of the large room. Bainbridge looked up, clearly impressed, as Newbury led him past the foreman, who was bellowing instructions to the men working the cranes, trying to make himself heard over the noise. Sparks dripped from welding arcs high above them. They edged around the machinery and exited the main airship works, passing along the short corridor that led them out into the smaller room that housed the automaton production line.

The room was crowded and hot, the steam-driven presses firing noisily as they worked at incredible speeds, pistons pumping furiously as they pushed out the brass components that would be used in the assembly of the clockwork men. A swarthy-looking man in a pair of grey overalls looked up when they entered the room, downed his tools and passed the chest plate of the automaton unit he was working on to another, smaller man who had been assisting him. He made his way over to the group of three interlopers, wiping the grime and oil from his face with the back of his sleeve.

“Can I help you?”

Newbury stepped forward. “Yes. We have an appointment with Monsieur Villiers. The clerk on the desk in reception sent us through.”

The man eyed them warily. “An appointment, you say? Can I see some identification?”

Bainbridge bustled forward impatiently. He pulled a small leather wallet from his pocket and flicked it open, presenting it to the man. Inside was an official badge and papers from Scotland Yard, bearing the crest of Her Majesty. The man looked perplexed, as if he were unsure whether he should let the Chief Inspector and his companions through to see his employer, or why they should even be interested in speaking to the reclusive scientist. Eventually, though, he seemed to come to a decision. He stood aside and waved them at the door to Villiers’s workshop with a shrug. “He’s in there.”