Sigmund Shaw: A Steampunk Adventure by Mark C. King Read Free Book Online Page B

word.” Sigmund said, doing his best to play along with a straight face, “Was he dangerous?”
     
    “I believe so, at least his gun was surely dangerous. More of a rifle really.”
     
    “Well, you have my thanks. However…” As much as Sigmund was enjoying the tale, he needed to leave. With a tone that implied that the conversation was over, he said, “All the noises I’ve been hearing have been most disturbing. I couldn’t get a wink of sleep. I have packed my bag,” he patted his leather case, “and have decided to lodge elsewhere for the night. There is no changing my mind, I am determined.” And with a firm step, he passed the hotel employee. He could hear Frederick trying to think of something to say but not accomplishing anything more than some unintelligible sounds.
     
    Once through the door he heard the faint voice of the clerk ask, “What room number?” Sigmund kept walking.
     
    He made his way several blocks before hailing a carriage. Although Sigmund preferred one that was horse pulled, he didn’t have much selection at this time of night. He waved his hand as a steam-carriage made its way up the street trailing smoke. With a quick chug-chug-chug sound it headed towards the curb in front of Sigmund and came to a halt. The driver sat high and in front of the passenger carriage. The vehicle’s engine was in front of the driver, and had a smokestack that reached higher than the enclosed passenger cabin but still not high enough to keep the smoke completely off of the driver’s face and clothes. You could often tell how long one of these drivers had been working that day by the amount of soot on their person – this driver must have been working for a month straight, thought Sigmund, unable to tell the original color of the clothing. On one side of the driver was a bin that contained coal allowing the operator to use a hand-scoop and feed coal into a chute on the other side of him that connected to the engine’s furnace. As a fellow cab driver, Sigmund wondered how this man could stand the conditions day after day.
     
    “Where to, sir?” asked the driver, stifling a yawn.
     
    “Albany Road, please.” And then with a smile, “Don’t spare the whip.”
     
    “Yes, sir” was the only reply. Perhaps the driver was too tired to catch the joke, or perhaps he had heard that one before – more likely the latter, thought Sigmund and groaned at his failed attempt at humor.
     
    The ride ended before very long. Sigmund had paid attention to anyone that might be following, however unlikely that would be, and was satisfied that no one was there. Hopping out, Sigmund paid the driver and walked another block to his apartment.
     
    Home was a first floor flat in a solid stone building. With a living room, bedroom, kitchen, and a spare room for his tinkering, it was everything Sigmund needed, and frankly, everything he wanted. With a fairly simple upbringing, he never really understood the desire for so much more than what anyone needed. His living room was simple, a couple of comfortable chairs, a side table with a lamp, a fireplace, and cabinets that he filled with items that he couldn’t seem to throw out but probably would never need.
     
    With wooden box in hand, Sigmund sat in one of the comfortable living room chairs and paused to savor the moment – the revealing of the spoils was the dessert to his meal of criminal activities. Having poured himself a finger of whiskey, Sigmund was ready to open his recently acquired box and claim the valuable item inside.
     
    Pulling the small teak side table around to the front of his favorite chair, he placed the box on top of it. He took a sip of his drink and then opened a small leather pouch that held his lock picking tools. With these tools he worked at the keyhole for the locking mechanism. The size of the box dictated that the lock couldn’t be too elaborate and before even half a minute had passed, the lock was sprung. Taking an extra second to