The Return of the Discontinued Man (A Burton & Swinburne Adventure) by Mark Hodder Read Free Book Online Page B

still.”
    “I know, but I felt restless. You’ve been in there for ages. I needed to stretch my legs.”
    Pulling the key from its housing in the horse’s side, Burton inserted it into the hole beneath the steed’s decorative tail and began to rotate it. Speaking over the loud ratcheting, he said, “Your legs are metal. They can’t be stretched.”
    “I was speaking metaphorically.”
    “I shall have words with Babbage. I’m not sure a mechanical horse should know how to employ metaphors.”
    “While you’re at it, you could ask Isambard Kingdom Brunel to completely redesign me.”
    “You say that every single time I wind you up.”
    “Because it’s humiliating.”
    “You don’t possess emotions.”
    “Having a key shoved up my arse on a regular basis appears to have instilled them in me.”
    “And you become ever more bothersome each time your spring is tightened.”
    “If you want a dumb steed, buy a fleshy one. You’ll find its maintenance a far less convenient affair. Hay must be shoved into one end, and it emerges rather messily from the other. I assure you, in our relationship, I’m the one that suffers.”
    “You never stop reminding me.”
    Having fully rewound the horse, Burton clicked the key back into its bracket and hoisted himself up onto the saddle. “Take me to Battersea Power Station.”
    “Walk, trot, or gallop?”
    “A brisk walk, please.”
    Orpheus headed toward the palace gates. “I didn’t include a brisk walk among the options. In my book, it qualifies as a trot.”
    “Just be quiet and try not to get lost.”
    “I can’t get lost. The route is engraved into my memory. I could navigate it blindfolded.”
    “How about gagged?”
    “Well! Really!”
    They left the palace and proceeded along Buckingham Palace Road in the direction of Chelsea Bridge. The fog was so thick that when Burton extended an arm his fingertips disappeared into it. Sounds were muffled and darkness hung over the city, penetrated here and there by nebulous balls of orange light that may have been street lamps, windows, or distant suns; it was impossible to tell.
    There were very few people out and about. The weather wasn’t solely to blame; the recent invasion of berserkers had terrified the entire city. People weren’t yet convinced the danger had passed.
    The stench of the Thames assaulted his nostrils. Bazalgette’s new sewer system promised to solve the problem, but the tunnels had only been in operation for a few days, and it would take many months before the river’s water ran clear. The fog always made the stink worse, too.
    Five minutes later, Orpheus clip-clopped over the bridge, passed a patch of wasteland, turned onto a path that skirted the edge of the Royal Battle Fleet Airfield, and arrived at the gates of the power station. The many windows of the Mechanics’ headquarters lit up the vapour, making of the illumination a physical mass that swirled around Burton as he dismounted.
    “Wait here,” he ordered.
    “In the cold?” Orpheus complained. “It’s bloody freezing.”
    “You can’t feel cold.”
    “I’ll get bored again.”
    “You’ll wind down before that happens.”
    “Ugh. I hate entering the void. Even worse, I hate waking from it with that bloomin’ key stuck up my whatsit. You’re very mean to me.”
    “I might swap you for a velocipede.”
    Burton knocked on the door set into the massive station gates.
    “Wheels!” Orpheus exclaimed. “Unstable. You’ll fall off and crack your head. Deservedly so.”
    The door opened, and an oil-stained engineer ushered Burton in. “Hello, sir,” she said. “They’re waiting for you in the workshop. Follow me, please.”
    The woman led the king’s agent across the courtyard to the tall inner gates, which, after manipulating a complex combination lock, she pushed open. They entered and crossed the vast floor space to the central area of workbenches.
    Sir Charles Babbage looked up as the king’s agent arrived. “About