Nick Summers

Night had descended on the city of London, every so often the moon and stars peeked

through clouds of smoke and the ashes of industry. The soft glow of candlelight could be seen

through a small rectangular window on an otherwise darkened street. The faint light illuminated

the brass lettering of the street facing door. It was an address; 844 Church Street. Through the

small window the silhouette of a man could be seen. He was hunched over a desk or table,

tools of various shapes and sizes strewn across its surface. The rest of the room was equally

cluttered, strange devices arcing with electricity sat on the floor, others were half covered with

sheets of cloth or hung unfinished from the ceiling. Chalkboards filled with scribblings and

illustrations were fastened to every wall.

The man stood up from his desk and rushed over to the other side of the room. He had

brown hair that was haphazardly combed backed and long bushy sideburns with an equally

bushy mustache. Dark tinted circular goggles guarded his green eyes. Over his blue waistcoat

and pants was a thick leather apron, stitched onto the left breast was the name Bartholomew.

He ran back to his desk holding a glass pitcher filled with a clear liquid. Bartholomew poured the

pitcher out into a brass and copper device he had been working on. He flipped a few switches

and pulled a lever and the machine began to hiss and let off steam. Excitedly Bartholomew

pulled on one strap that was attached to the machine and then the other so that now he was

wearing it on his back. He then pulled a small rope that hung from one strap and a simple set of

leather wings unfurled. Bartholomew adjusted his stance carefully and swung out two wooden

arms from inside the device. Hastily he flipped open the glass caps on the handles of the arms

that hid two small red buttons. Bartholomew grabbed the handles and slammed his thumbs on

the red buttons, the machine sputtered and hissed for a few seconds. Bartholomew was just

about to give up when suddenly the machine on his back made a loud popping sound and let
out a gout of steam that rocketed Bartholomew headlong into the ceiling. He fell back to Earth

with a thud and a clang.

Oh! Bartholomew laughed deeply rubbing his head,That will smart in the morning.

Bartholomew got up, took the machine off his back and hung it from a hook on the wall,

and walked over to its designated chalkboard. On the chalkboard was a simple diagram of the

device and above the picture it read: Steam Flight Rocket Pack (WIP). He grabbed a piece of

chalk and wrote a note beside the blueprint: Improve steam release mechanism. Bartholomew

wiped his hands on his apron and untied it. He walked over to the door and hung his apron on

the coat rack beside it along with his goggles. Exiting the room he made a left turn towards the

stairs that would lead to his bedroom on the second floor. Bartholomew climbed the stairs and

found his way to his room. Once inside he changed into his sleeping attire, a simple set of gray

pajamas and a matching nightcap. He slid into bed and after some time finally fell asleep.

Bartholomew was right his head did smart. He was awoken by the hissing and buzzing

of one of his creations, the sound travelling through the floorboards below. Bartholomew pulled

himself out from under the covers and shuffled over to his wardrobe. Opening it he pulled out

his other blue suit. The only difference from the other suit is that instead of brass buttons this

suit had silver ones. Bartholomew got undressed and put on his suit. He made his way

downstairs to the kitchen where the hissing and buzzing sound was coming from. Stepping

through the door Bartholomew walked over to the noisy machine. The machine, like most of his

creations, was made out of copper and was fairly large taking up the same space a cooking

stove would. In the center was a glass window that allowed Bartholomew to see inside. Inside

were two eggs, sunny side up, as well as some sausages. The machine prepares and cooks
breakfast, lunch and dinner all by itself all Bartholomew has to do was put in the ingredients.

Bartholomew has yet to come up with a name for the machine, an extreme annoyance to him

but is bouncing between Automatic Cooking Stove and Thermal Cooking Assistant. While his

breakfast was being cooked Bartholomew put on a kettle of water for his morning tea. After a

couple of minutes the machine rung like a bell and a hatch on top popped open. The eggs and

sausage rose up out of the hatch steaming and ready to be eaten Bartholomew transferred

them to a plate and wandered over to the other side of the kitchen where an average sized table

with two chairs on either side rested. The table sat next to a window where Bartholomew could

watch the morning bustle of Church Street. Bartholomew ate his breakfast looking out the

window as various wagons and coaches passed by every few minutes and the men, women

and children who occasionally strolled by his window.

Bartholomew had just poured himself a second cup of tea when a loud whistle, like that

of a steam locomotive, erupted through the house. Is that the shipment of parts I ordered? It is

very early, I thought it would arrive next week. Bartholomew thought, stroking his mustache,

slightly confused and slightly excited. He set down his teacup on the table and walked to the

front of the house. Bartholomew opened the door and in front of him was not a delivery of parts

but instead was an attractive young woman in her mid twenties or early thirties about a foot

shorter than Bartholomew she had long dark hair that was pulled up in an intricate bun. Her

eyes were deep blue and high on her right cheek was a black beauty mark. The dress she was

wearing was even more extravagant than her hair, it was a deep blue color that matched her

eyes with a high collar and a sweeping neckline black lace was embroidered along the sleeves,

bodice, and collar.

Oh, Bartholomew sighed disappointedly, Its you, hello Ms. Teach.

 Yes, good morning to you as well Bart, Ms. Teachs voice was smooth, slightly higher

pitched, and hinted at privilege, I have a proposition for you.

No! I have already declined three times within the last month, your persistence is

admirable but not welcome! Bartholomew slammed the door shut and began to walk away but

Ms. Teach invited herself in.

Your family has been part of my organization for several years, she hustled over to

Bartholomew matching his pace, Your father, for instance, was a member for nearly two

decades until his unfortunate passing.

I am not joining your war profiteering, imperialistic excuse of a business Ms. Teach and

my father was an explorer which, funnily enough, is not an inventor. Now get out of my house!

How long have I known you Bart? Fifteen, twenty years? I would think by now it would

be appropriate to call me Caitlyn, Ms. Teach smiled warmly at Bartholomew looking him straight

in the eye.

No amount of time will ever be appropriate to call you by your surname let alone your

given one and if you could get out of my house so I could finish my breakfast I would be

overjoyed. Oh and never call me Bart Ms. Teach it is horribly childish and immature now leave.

Bartholomew grabbed Caitlyn by the shoulders and quite forcefully shoved her towards the

door.

Oh Bart, my offer still stands and will stand indefinitely your mind is too valuable to let it

waste away alone in your workshop tinkering away at machines that you will never be able to
afford to mass produce, Ms. Teach caught herself on the doorframe and leaned against it

blocking the door knob, How many times must I ask Bart, it is in your best interest to join.

Supplies will be given to you by the company, no out of pocket expenses for you, you will be

given assistants to aid you in every capacity necessary, you will be payed handso-.

Get out of my house Caitlyn! Bartholomew shouted, pointing aggressively towards the

door.

If that is your wish Bart, dear, Caitlyn looked down sadly, sighed, and left but before the

door closed she turned around and smiled, My offer still stands.

Bartholomew lurched at the latch on the door, flicked it down, pulled the house key out of

his breast pocket and locked the door. He rushed back to the kitchen, to the table, and crouched

low by the window to see if Ms. Teach had actually left. He looked around at what he could see

out the window and saw no sign of her. Bartholomew looked down at the table and much to his

delight his tea was still hot.

Over the next week or so Bartholomew tinkered with several of his unfinished

contraptions including the Steam Powered Rocket Pack, Self Heating Teapot, and Clockwork

Wheelchair. He was working on the Steam Powered Rocket Pack when he heard a knock on his

door. Bartholomew whipped his head up and looked at the calendar by the door to the

workshop. He laughed springing towards the door, whipped it open, and sprinted for the front

door. When he reached the door he realized he was still wearing his apron and goggles but he

had no time to change. He fidgeted with his clothes attempting to straighten them the best he

could, pulled the goggles down off his face, and calmly opened the door. Standing there was a

scruffy looking man and a wagon, pulled by a mangy horse, filled with crates of various sizes.
 You Barfolomew Willyams?

Yes Bartholomew answered suppressing his excitement.

If you could elp wif the unloadin thatd be grand, yeah?

Oh right of course Bartholomew walked over to the wagon and began pulling the lighter

crates out and setting them in the foyer. Twenty minutes passed before all of the crates were

placed safely inside.

Well Ill be off den gday! The scruffy man waved his hat in the air and smacked the

reins on the wagon and trundled away.

Bartholomew smiled at his new bounty and ran back to his workshop. In the far back

corner was a small desk with an even smaller lamp sitting on top of it; by the lamp was an

inkwell with a pen leaning on it. He sat down on the chair resting in front of it, reached into a thin

slit cut into the desk and pulled out several pieces of paper. Bartholomew dipped the pen in and

out of the ink a few times and began sketching. He began with simple mechanisms of

clockwork, then to extensive maps of electrical wiring, then to cross sections of arms and legs

that exposed jungles of clockwork and wires. Bartholomew finished his sketches with a layered

blueprint of a metallic human body lining up every sheet of the full body blueprint very carefully

so that all of the wiring and clockwork underneath the outer shell fit together perfectly;

Bartholomew rolled up the blueprint and slid it gingerly into a cylindrical leather case. Reaching

over to a shelf beside the desk he grabbed a hand sized bottle of adhesive, unscrewed it, and

gently brushed the adhesive onto the case. Bartholomew cut out a piece of rectangular paper
and stuck it to the adhesive on the case. Dipping the pen once more into the ink Bartholomew

wrote Automaton onto the paper stuck to the case.

He dashed back to the foyer nearly tripping over the crates. Bartholomew searched

around the room ducking low so he could see the labels. Cataloging all of the crates in his mind

he began stacking all of the corresponding crates of clockwork, various metals, wiring, and other

miscellaneous materials into piles. This would allow Bartholomew to quickly find what he

needed without spending unnecessary amounts of time digging through crates. Once finished

with the stacking, Bartholomew wiped his hands together and set off to work.

Bartholomew spent days maybe even weeks working on clockwork, modifying blueprints

to make all of the components work together and fit inside the Automaton, fitting minute

mechanisms to larger ones making them work in unison, and laying them out precisely where

they would be in the body of the machine. Weeks flew by as he wove wiring between the gaps

between the clockwork. Bartholomew worked for months and months on this project all the while

dodging more offers made by Ms.Teach.

A year had passed before Bartholomew was confident enough in his design to start

making the skeleton of the Automaton. Beginning with the torso region he bent and reshaped

several lengths of steel into a ribcage where the machines primary battery would be stored,

moving from there Bartholomew created arms, hands, legs, and feet from steel. The head of the

machine was created last. It was a hollow shell that would hold the calculating device that would

control the Automatons movements. Bartholomew connected all the pieces of the steel skeleton

together on his table. He had not realized when he drew the machine up how large it was. The

Automaton was well over six feet tall and slightly wider than Bartholomew. Smiling at his new

creation he fitted all of the clockwork, wiring, batteries, and other contraptions needed to run the

machine into the skeleton.

Bartholomew practically skipped back to the foyer, grabbed the crate filled with the

copper and brass that the outer shell would be made of and ran back to his workshop. He
started again with the ribcage. He hammered and bent the copper to fit around the torso without

crushing the fragile workings inside. Bartholomew left a space in the center of the machines

chest for the charging port. The arms and legs were much less stressful to fit the copper around

though he still had to be careful. The head he left for last. Bartholomew shaped the copper

around the steel skull so that it looked like a simple face. Two concave sections indicated eye

sockets where Bartholomew was going to install light bulbs. A nose-like elongated piece of

brass lay between the eyes and ran down the middle of the face. Under the nose was a grill that

acted as a mouth.

Satisfied with his work Bartholomew jumped over to a wound up cable on the ground,

reached down, grabbed it and jumped back to his new creation. He thrust the cable into the port

on the Automatons chest. Electricity arched between the cable and the port. The lights in the

workshop dimmed, some exploded loudly sending glass and sparks in all direction. The entire

room went dark then bright and then dark again as electricity pumped through the cable and into

the machine. Bartholomew laughed excitedly, loudly, and hysterically, nothing he created had

ever worked this well on the first try. Out of the small rectangular window the lights of the

buildings on Church Street flashed erratically, some were already completely dark.

As suddenly as it started it stopped. The lights stopped blinking in and out, electricity

faded into the machine and Bartholomew stood there laughing. Past the buzz and hum of faint

traces of electricity in the air, the sound of ticking became louder and louder and louder.

Bartholomew wiped tears from his eyes and looked down at his creation. The Automatons arms

and legs twitched slightly then shook violently, stiffly moving up, down, and side to side. Its head

swiveled rapidly but methodically stopping for half a second before moving again then abruptly

the machine stopped moving all together and lay on the table seemingly inert. Bartholomew

scratched his head confused, leaned in close to the machine, and examined the joints on the

arms, legs and neck. Everything appeared to be fine, all of the gears and wiring were unbroken

and undamaged. Suddenly the sound of humming electricity and ticking clockwork came back.
The Automaton swung its legs around knocking Bartholomew onto the floor, sitting up now the

machine moved its head around the room as if it were looking for something. The head finally

ticked over to face Bartholomew on the floor.

Bartholomew picked himself up off the floor and looked at the Automaton. The machine

sat on the table ticking and buzzing looking around the room but whenever it looked over at

Bartholomew the head stopped for several seconds. Bartholomew reached out to grab the

machine, slowly extending his hand out like he was trying to soothe a growling dog. The

Automaton flinched back with a loud hum of energy and equally, slowly, haltingly raised its own

hand to Bartholomews. Gently, Bartholomew tightened his grip on its hand and helped the

machine off the table. The Automaton wobbled like a baby taking its first few steps then crashed

to the floor pulling Bartholomew down with it.

It looks like we have some work to do! Bartholomew smiled.

Over the course of several weeks Bartholomew taught the Automaton how to walk, pick

things up, and help him with chores around the house. Throughout those weeks he also

improved the aesthetics of the machine, making its body more streamlined and adding light

bulbs to where its eyes would be. Bartholomew got an idea ,near the end of month, after

teaching the Automaton how to do chores. Rushing out of the workshop with a belt of tools he

ran to the parlor. Slamming through the door he hustled over to the radio on the far wall.

Bartholomew caught his breath kneeled down in front of the radio and pulled a screwdriver from

his toolbelt. He looked over the device searching for the best place to get inside. He plunged the

screwdriver behind a panel on the back of the radio. Twisting and pulling gently he managed to

loosen the panel and wrenched it free. He reached inside and plucked a few wires and

cathodes out setting them aside for later use. Bartholomew eventually found what he had been
rummaging for, a box shaped device that emits sound. Hopping up from the floor Bartholomew

ran back to his workshop. Do I still have it? It should be.

Dashing to the far end of the workshop, Bartholomew dug through piles of scrap

materials, unfinished projects, and junk. Minutes passed before he finally got a hold of his

quarry. It was an old broken telephone Bartholomew got when he inherited the house from his

father but had never gotten the chance to fix it. Jogging back to the table, he set down the small

box that emits sound and began to dissect the telephone. He connected the wiring of the

mouthpiece to the box and fiddled with it until he heard a soft crackle. Bartholomew vaulted out

of the workshop in search of the Automaton. He eventually found it wandering the upstairs. He

grabbed its hand and dragged the machine back to the workshop.

Once in the workshop Bartholomew sat the Automaton down on the table. He then

grabbed a wrench and began unscrewing the bolts that attached the copper shell to its steel

skull. He set the shell and the bolts safely aside, tilted the machines head back slowly, leaned

down to the table, and snatched up the strange device he had just made. Bartholomew peered

into its skull snaking the mouthpiece through, carefully dodging clockwork and winding it through

electrical wiring. Holding the mouthpiece in place he tentatively split the wire that connected it to

the small box with a miniscule blade and did the same, even more carefully, to a wire that was

connected to the calculating device. Taking the two split wires he spliced them together causing

them to spark. Bartholomew snaked his hands out from under the skull and reversed the

process of taking apart the Automatons skull. Bartholomews heart pounded against his chest

as he watched his creation react to its new modification.

The Automaton looked around the room as quickly as his clockwork nervous system

allowed. Its hands clenched into fists then relaxed then clenched again. It cocked its head to the

side, looked down at its hand, looked at the table, then back at its hand. The Automaton raised

its arm, made a fist, and jerkingly slammed it down on the table with a tremendous boom. It

stood up from the table, the lightbulb eyes grew brighter for an instant and a sharp crackle came
from inside of it. Bartholomew guffawed with scientific joy at his creations newfound sense of

hearing.

Automaton, repeat after me, Bartholomew smiled through his mustache, Hello.

Silence from the machine.

Say, Hello.

A sideways tilt of the head.

Hello.

H-h-h-h-el-hel-hell-he-hello, an emotionless, inflectionless voice responded.

Yes, yes,yes! Bartholomew laughed and shouted.

Bartholomew guided the Automaton to the small library near the back of the house. He

sat the machine on a chair, bounced over to a bookshelf, and pulled several books off the shelf.

Opening a book Bartholomew sat down and began to teach the Automaton how to speak.

Bartholomew had just finished reading a dictionary to the Automaton, in the hopes of

increasing its vocabulary, when he heard a knock on his door. He walked over to the door and

opened it. Standing outside was Ms. Teach wearing a pale green dress with no collar, a deep

neckline.

Hello, Ms. Teach greeted, how are you Bart?

 Goodbye Ms. Teach.

Now dear Ive heard you made something delightful this past year and Id love to see it,

she crossed her arms grinning.

I have made nothing of the sort, Bartholomew lied.

A clanking sound reverberated through the house. Slowly the sound came closer and

closer to the door. Bartholomew realizing it was the Automaton shut the door in Ms. Teachs

face.

What was that Bart? Ms. Teach asked walking through the door.

Oh, nothing! Bartholomew pushed the machine back into the library.

It sounds very interesting dear, she leaned her head down the hall.

Hello I am-I-a the flat voice of the Automaton echoed through the door and into the

hall.

Be quiet! Bartholomew put a finger to his lips and pushed the machine into a dimly lit

corner.

I didnt know you had guests Bart, it would be rude of me not to introduce myself, she

walked into the library looked around casually and locked eyes with the Automaton.
 Hello I am- I am Automaton.

What a wonderful machine Bart! Ms. Teachs astonished expression lead Bartholomew

to believe she was being genuine for once, This only took you a year to build? Amazing!

Yes it took me a year to create but it is nowhere near finished, Bartholomew stepped

closer towards Ms. Teach, Well now you have seen my delightful creation, as you put it,

perhaps you could be on your way?

Ms. Teach ignored his request and stared at the Automaton in amazement.

Ms. Teach! Bartholomew cleared his throat.

Yes Bart?

Leave. Now.

Right Ill be off dear, Ms. Teach trailed out the door and looked back at the

Automaton one last time before exiting the home.

Bartholomew locked the door, returned to the library, and continued with his lesson.

Teaching the machine how to talk was easier than Bartholomew expected. It only took two

weeks before the Automaton formed better sentences than most people.
 Sitting up in bed Bartholomew awoke to the familiar hissing and buzzing of the kitchen.

He got out of bed and changed into his blue suit with the brass buttons. Walking into the kitchen

Bartholomew thought it was strangely quiet, despite the noise. Bartholomew searched the

house from top to bottom and could not find the Automaton. Galloping to the front door he thrust

it open leaned his head out frantically looking down the street. He saw nothing. Bartholomew

ran his hands through his hair and stroked his sideburns in worry. Pacing up and down the

street outside his door he nearly kicked a circular reel of film. He picked it up and read the paper

attached to it: For Bart.

Bartholomew rocketed towards the workshop. Hastily he searched and found his

projector. Bartholomew loaded the reel into it and carried the projector to the parlor. He set it

down on the table that faced one of the few empty walls in his house. He flipped a switch and

the projector whirred to life.

Projected in sepia tone on the wall was an operating table. On the table was the

Automaton with restraints holding down its arms and legs. Around the table were people with

various tools taking it apart and reattaching long blades to its arms. The film was about thirty

seconds long and Bartholomew watched all of it in a silent rage. Leaving the parlor he walked

up the stairs past the second floor and stopped at the door that lead to the third and final floor.

He took one deep breath reached into his pocket pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock.

Unlocking the door he stepped through.

The third floor belonged to his father, Edward, the infamous explorer and has been

untouched since his death. Bartholomew passed taxidermied lions, tigers, and great apes. On

the walls were photographs of strange ruins and exotic vistas. Rounding the last corner of the

hallway he stopped in front of a door. Bartholomew opened the door and walked in. A large

portrait of a man with a hard jawline, well manicured mustache and dark green eyes stared

down at Bartholomew as he walked over to the desk in the center of the room. He pulled open

the top drawer. Inside were several passports, journals, and photographs; not what
Bartholomew needed. He opened another drawer, more journals. Bartholomew opened a third

drawer and found what he was looking for. Sitting in the drawer was a simple revolver and

holster, dark iron made the barrel and body of the gun. The grip of the gun was made from a

dark ebony. Bartholomew grabbed the holster and the revolver and affixed them to his belt.

Walking back to his room he slipped on his blue tailed jacket and matching top hat. He walked

downstairs to the workshop, grabbed his toolbelt, put it on hiding the revolver from obvious view,

and hung his goggles around his hat. Bartholomew stepped out onto Church Street and walked

with purpose toward the Nielson Group.

Bartholomew crossed the street and entered a tall red brick building. The interior was

well lit with lights hanging from the ceiling. A mousy woman sat at a squat desk by the door.

May I help you?

Yes, do you know where Ms. Teach works on her projects? Bartholomew asked

politely.

Uh civilians are not allowed-

I am no civilian! Caitlyn asked me personally to help her with something extremely

exciting.

Well in that case you will want to head to sub basement six she pointed at a wooden

wall with a very faint outline of a door that could be easily missed.
 Thank you very much Bartholomew tipped his hat and sauntered to the wall.

He glided his hand along the wall until he felt a slight indentation. He pushed the button

and the wall split in two revealing an elevator. Bartholomew stepped inside and pulled the lever

on the wall all the way down. With a jolt the elevator descended.

The descent dragged on for almost half an hour before finally coming to a stop. The

elevator doors slid open and Bartholomew leaned out observing his surroundings. A seeming

endless hallway of pipes, dripping with condensation, crawled along the walls and ceiling. A light

glowed at the end of the hallway. Bartholomews footsteps clanked against the metal floor as he

made his way toward the light.

A single light hung from the ceiling above an empty rusty table. A cart laden with tools

sat next to the table. Along the right wall hung long blades, hooks, and barrels of guns. Two

skeletons made of a metal Bartholomew could not identify hung on the left wall. A thick metal

door lay on the far wall.

Bartholomew examined the skeletons on the wall but neither were his Automaton. He

moved on to the thick metal door. He turned and tugged on the wheel in the center but it

wouldn't budge. Frustrated Bartholomew kneeled down and pulled a wrench from his tool belt.

He loosened the bolts on the hinges, Bartholomew put all his strength into the door and

pushed it over. The door landed with an echoing bang. Catching his breath Bartholomew walked

over the door. Hanging from chains in the center of the chamber was the Automaton, segments

of its outer shell were missing, exposing the clockwork and wiring beneath. Bartholomew ran

over to the chains and began pulling them off his creation.

Suddenly the Automatons eyes flashed to life, now tinted green. It cocked its head at

Bartholomew, looked him up and down, and picked itself off the floor. The machine paced
around its creator before coming to a stop in the center of the room. Shooting its arm out it

grabbed Bartholomew by the neck and violently threw him into the previous room.

Bartholomew winced in pain as his back hit the corner of the table. He awkwardly rolled

over the table and kneeled behind it catching his breath. From his toolbelt he pulled out a

wrench.

Hello I-I-I am going to kill you the Automaton reached over the table but Bartholomew

scuttled out of the way.

Standing up now Bartholomew threw a screwdriver at the machine, bouncing uselessly

off its copper chest. Desperate he ran at it swinging wildly with the wrench. The Automaton

caught Bartholomews arm, lifted him a foot off the ground, and extended a serrated blade out of

its left forearm. Bartholomew struggled against the machines grip as it pushed the blade slowly

into his abdomen.

Screaming out as pain coursed through his body, Bartholomew slammed the wrench

into its arm over and over again until the Automaton dropped him onto the floor. Gasping for air,

he fumbled at his side for the revolver. The Automaton shambled over sparks flying from the

dented arm. Bartholomew drew the revolver just as the blade came hurtling into his shoulder.

Howling, Bartholomew raised the gun to the machines head and pulled the trigger. The bullet

tore through the thin copper shell and punched a hole in the steel skull; sparks flew as the bullet

exited the body and lodged itself in the wall beyond.

Bartholomew looked down at the twitching dead body of the Automaton and hobbled to a

mass of valves on the wall. Madly he turned them to the maximum. Steam began to burst out of

joints in the piping. Bartholomew did the same to any valves he saw as he sprinted down the

hallway back to the elevator. He could hear the pipes hiss and groan as pressure kept building.
 Falling into the elevator Bartholomew pulled the lever up and sat in the corner bleeding.

The only thing keeping him from passing out was the leftover adrenaline. Time seemed to go

slower on the trip back. Dissatisfied with the speed of the elevator Bartholomew got up and

opened the repair hatch on the ceiling. Aiming, he shot the cable that slowed the climb and

instantly the elevator rocketed up. The trip ended with a bang as the elevator was slammed into

the ceiling.

Everybody get out! The building is going to explode! Bartholomew shouted as he

trailed out of the open door.

People made a mad dash for the door save one. She was dressed in a red dress with a

sweeping neckline and gold lace embroidered along her collar, sleeves and bodice. Her hair

was pulled up in an intricate bun, a black beauty lay high on her right cheek, and deep blue

eyes looked up at the beaten and bloodied inventor before her.

Bart you fool! What have you done! Ms. Teach reached her hand out and scowled at

Bartholomew.

I destroyed everything, Bartholomew said realizing what he had just done, I

destroyed we have to leave now! Bartholomew shuffled past Ms.Teach.

Why Bart? Why?

You were going to create an army!

You didn't know that!

 Bartholomew looked at her.

Well it doesn't matter now, Ms.Teach hung her head and followed Bartholomew, so

what are you going to do now?

I am going to destroy every plan of that machine, Bartholomew nodded his head, I

don't want you or anyone else to pervert one of my creations like that again. Bartholomew fell

to his knee coughing.

Come on you ingenious idiot lets get you to a doctor Ms.Teach took Bartholomew by

the shoulder and stood him up.

No home first Bartholomew shoved the tip of the revolver into her stomach.

It's your funeral her sigh was punctuated by the cacophonous thunder of the Nielson

Group building exploding.

The Sun set over London casting long shadows across the city. The inventor limped

home and the businesswoman followed close behind. A plume of steam rose up from the rubble

of the building; a machine of wonder buried underneath, left to be forgotten. The moon and stars

peeked through the clouds and ashes of industry as night descended on London.