Read Online Steampunk Omnibus: A Galvanic Century Collection by Michael Coorlim - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Coorlim
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know anything. While I wouldn't put it past Ives to strike at Herbert, he's savvy enough to know the consequences of removing the stabilizer, and Johnson is too much the professional to panic and kill Henderson like that."
"Blast."
"Unfortunately all I managed to do is alert them to the fact that something's gone wrong. We'll have to play it carefully around them."
"Yes, playing it carefully is the way to go with these pesky murder investigations," I said.
"Don't be cross."
"Forgive me for being short, Bartleby, but it doesn't sound like you've been making much progress at all."
***
We returned to the scene of the murder, half-cleaned by the Chief's earlier efforts, now abandoned due to the potential, city-destroying catastrophe that hung over our heads.
"Dewit?" I called.
"He's buggered off," Bartleby said.
"Can't blame the man," I said. "Given our circumstance."
Bartleby began giving everything a good looking-over, stopping at what remained of the congealing blood on the riveted steel flooring and calling me over.
"Look here, James. This boot print. Judging by the depth of the impression I'd say that this was made while the blood was still fresh. See your shoe mark here? Same general depth. This print was made near the time you first found the body. Did First Officer Dewit step here when he came to collect you?"
"No, he called to me from the hall hatch and I approached him."
"Then this must be the murderer's print. Any innocent party would have sounded the alarm, and no one did. And look! Here, the traction implied. Your shoe print skids through the blood, but there's very little smearing here. This was a rubber-soled boot. The pattern matches that of the crew's uniform boots."
"So the killer must be a crewman. Didn't you say that Second Engineer Henderson was well-liked, Bartleby?"
Bartleby made his way over to the hatch leading to the engines. "Yes. Yes. The killer, surprised by Henderson, tries to explain away what he's doing in the engine room. Henderson – stand there, James, you're Henderson – sees the stabilizer and isn't having it. He knows what will happen if it isn't returned, so there's no way for our killer to talk his way out of this. They tussle – grab my wrists, like you're trying to wrest something delicate from me – and come to the tool locker."
"Hard to unlock the locker while engaged in scrum," I said.
"The killer must have opened it previously, to acqure a tool of some sort to wrest free the Stabilizer."
"You don't need anything. It snaps out easily," I told him. "There's a trick to it, though, and the setting did bear tool marks."
"The thief didn't know how to snap it out, and that maps with him not knowing what would happen when it was removed. So he takes some sort of lever – a screwdriver probably."
I opened the locker and looked through the hand tools. "This one's seen some roughness. No blood on it either."
"I'd have noticed that lack of blood when I was looking earlier. The killer must have returned recently to replace it."
I froze, knees bent, hands splayed out. "Bartleby, did you feel that?"
"What?"
"That lurch?"
"What lurch?"
"There was a lurch. The ship's weight shifted."
"Oh God, are we flipping over?"
"No. Not yet. We're tilting, but there won't be any dramatic slips until it's almost the end. No, this feels like the ship has dropped a load of ballast."
***
Captain Nussbaum turned from the ship's intercom. "Herr Miller reports that all ballast tanks remain at their correct levels. I felt the shift, too, though, and I have my men performing a full sweep."
"Won't that alert the passengers and crew?" Mr. Herbert asked.
"Some will have felt the lurch, Herr Herbert. If your saboteur is still trying to sink us, we should consider evacuation."
"Not quite yet. How is your investigation progressing, Mr. Bartleby?"
"Well," Bartleby said. "We've narrowed the field considerably. We think it may be one of your crew, Captain, acting as cat's
"Blast."
"Unfortunately all I managed to do is alert them to the fact that something's gone wrong. We'll have to play it carefully around them."
"Yes, playing it carefully is the way to go with these pesky murder investigations," I said.
"Don't be cross."
"Forgive me for being short, Bartleby, but it doesn't sound like you've been making much progress at all."
***
We returned to the scene of the murder, half-cleaned by the Chief's earlier efforts, now abandoned due to the potential, city-destroying catastrophe that hung over our heads.
"Dewit?" I called.
"He's buggered off," Bartleby said.
"Can't blame the man," I said. "Given our circumstance."
Bartleby began giving everything a good looking-over, stopping at what remained of the congealing blood on the riveted steel flooring and calling me over.
"Look here, James. This boot print. Judging by the depth of the impression I'd say that this was made while the blood was still fresh. See your shoe mark here? Same general depth. This print was made near the time you first found the body. Did First Officer Dewit step here when he came to collect you?"
"No, he called to me from the hall hatch and I approached him."
"Then this must be the murderer's print. Any innocent party would have sounded the alarm, and no one did. And look! Here, the traction implied. Your shoe print skids through the blood, but there's very little smearing here. This was a rubber-soled boot. The pattern matches that of the crew's uniform boots."
"So the killer must be a crewman. Didn't you say that Second Engineer Henderson was well-liked, Bartleby?"
Bartleby made his way over to the hatch leading to the engines. "Yes. Yes. The killer, surprised by Henderson, tries to explain away what he's doing in the engine room. Henderson – stand there, James, you're Henderson – sees the stabilizer and isn't having it. He knows what will happen if it isn't returned, so there's no way for our killer to talk his way out of this. They tussle – grab my wrists, like you're trying to wrest something delicate from me – and come to the tool locker."
"Hard to unlock the locker while engaged in scrum," I said.
"The killer must have opened it previously, to acqure a tool of some sort to wrest free the Stabilizer."
"You don't need anything. It snaps out easily," I told him. "There's a trick to it, though, and the setting did bear tool marks."
"The thief didn't know how to snap it out, and that maps with him not knowing what would happen when it was removed. So he takes some sort of lever – a screwdriver probably."
I opened the locker and looked through the hand tools. "This one's seen some roughness. No blood on it either."
"I'd have noticed that lack of blood when I was looking earlier. The killer must have returned recently to replace it."
I froze, knees bent, hands splayed out. "Bartleby, did you feel that?"
"What?"
"That lurch?"
"What lurch?"
"There was a lurch. The ship's weight shifted."
"Oh God, are we flipping over?"
"No. Not yet. We're tilting, but there won't be any dramatic slips until it's almost the end. No, this feels like the ship has dropped a load of ballast."
***
Captain Nussbaum turned from the ship's intercom. "Herr Miller reports that all ballast tanks remain at their correct levels. I felt the shift, too, though, and I have my men performing a full sweep."
"Won't that alert the passengers and crew?" Mr. Herbert asked.
"Some will have felt the lurch, Herr Herbert. If your saboteur is still trying to sink us, we should consider evacuation."
"Not quite yet. How is your investigation progressing, Mr. Bartleby?"
"Well," Bartleby said. "We've narrowed the field considerably. We think it may be one of your crew, Captain, acting as cat's
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