Alden woke up bright and early to the shrill ringing of the adjustable clockwork alarm. It had been an expensive purchase, such devices being a fairly recent invention, but Alden found it to be a very practical device indeed. He couldn’t afford to employ serving staff who could wake him up at specific times in the morning, and in this new world of clockwork punctuality, it wouldn’t do to oversleep. Still, he dearly wished the blasted contraption wouldn’t be quite so loud. As he got dressed and broke his fast, he went over his personal notes to remind himself of the name of the young man he was hiring. Harold Dawkins, just graduated from the Hallowdell Institute of Tinctury with a recommendation that quite honestly spoke of academic excellence far beyond Alden’s own. Alden had been a good student, to be sure, and many of his teachers had spoken highly of him, but young Mr. Dawkins’ academic report was positively glowing. And yet, he was doing inconsequential day-work as a laboratory assistant. It really was an absolute waste of the young man’s potential. Still, their loss was, in this particular instance, Alden’s gain. And as long as the man proved as competent as his academic report suggested, Alden fully intended to discharge him with the most glowing of references once this whole matter was settled. Sure, Alden’s name might not count for much, but it should at least help the lad get a foothold in the professional world. After making sure he looked properly presentable, Alden left his little apartment and headed downstairs to the shop floor. It was still early enough that the sky was only just beginning to grow bright, so Alden was slightly surprised to find that Mrs. Tatter was already standing there with the young Mr. Dawkins in tow. Only slightly surprised, mind. Olga Tatter was a highly efficient woman, and he had asked to see the young man first thing in the morning. The young Harold Dawkins was a slightly built young man with delicate features and the brightest blue eyes Alden had ever seen. He had to be at least twenty years of age, having graduated from Hallowdell, but frankly he could have passed for fifteen without question. Somewhat contrary to current fashions, he wore his pale blond hair in a long braid, and his hat was a rather smaller, daintier affair than Alden was used to seeing. All in all, he put Alden in mind of the more romantically extravagant type of poet, and the cheap, hard-wearing suit and herb-stained fingers looked rather incongruous on him. Still, Alden wasn’t the type to judge a man for his aesthetic fancies. Schooling his features into a polite smile, Alden went up to greet his prospective new employee. “Mr. Dawkins! It’s good to see you once again!” “The feeling is very much mutual, Mr. Stowe. I’m quite beside myself at the mere prospect of getting to do the kind of work I studied for. Working under Professor Abney over at the University of Oxford was hardly an ideal circumstance. The work was mostly mindless drudgery, and involved rather more lifting and carrying that I’m accustomed to.” Alden couldn’t help but feel like it wouldn’t take much lifting and carrying to be more than Mr. Dawkins was accustomed to. He politely neglected to make any remark on the matter, however. “I cannot imagine the pay amounted to much, either.” He said instead. “Certainly not. Even working every day at the University barely pays for food and lodgings. That is another reason I’m so eager to take up this position, temporary though it might be.” “Temporary, perhaps, but it comes with good pay and a matching amount of responsibility. You’ll be taking over all my duties as tincturer, save of course for any you feel are beyond your competence to perform. Given your positively glowing report from the Institute, I’m hoping that those will be few and far between.” “I promise you I shan’t disappoint, Mr. Stowe. I’m well versed in the preparation, brewing and use of all common tinctures and a rather large number of rare or exotic ones.” “Capital! Your pay shall be one pound daily, and I expect you to make a full report of each day’s work. If there are any particular questions you need answered during the course of the day, Mrs. Tatter or Miss Oxley should be able to answer most inquiries. But for now, let me show you around the workroom and tell you of the work currently in progress and the currently outstanding orders.” Alden spent the next hour helping Mr. Dawkins get settled into his new tasks. Partway through, Miss Oxley had arrived for the day, and thankfully the two of them seemed to get along rather well. They made a bit of a humorous pair, to be sure. Elisabeth Oxley was six foot two, and positively towered over the elfin form of Mr. Dawkins. To add further to the contrast, Miss Oxley was robustly built and heavily muscled, with dusky skin and dark brown hair cut short at the shoulder for practical reasons. In short, the two could not have been more different. It was with this humorous image in mind that Alden made his way through the streets of the Greater London Area. The massive industrial expansion of recent decades had quickly pushed the boundaries of the capital city far beyond the traditional borders of London Town, and the massive urban sprawl now stretched for well over a thousand square miles. Much of it was a dense, smoky mass of factories, workshops and warehouses, but there were also places like this. Welcome Street had originally been built to allow easy transport between London Town and the passenger airship port at Heath Row. It was the very image of a modern street, with narrow pedestrian walkways out at the far sides, bordered by tramway tracks. On the inside of the tramway tracks were the velocipede lanes, and finally along the centre line were the lanes for horse-drawn vehicles. The logic behind the design was largely sound. The steam trams, running on strict timetables, needed to be out at the edges of the road for easy loading and unloading of goods and passengers. And the velocipede lanes ran next to the tramway because velocipedists were less likely to be spooked by a nearby-passing tram than a horse would be. Besides, a velocipedist being frightened and careening into the horse lane would likely cause less damage than a horse being spooked and pulling an entire carriage into the velocipede lane. Of course, both pedestrians and velocipedists often complained about the noise of the passing trams, and the carters complained about the annoyance of being confined to the centre of the road and having to pass through both the velocipede lane and tramway to get to the increasingly rare spots where a horse-drawn cart could safely be pulled to a stop. But such was the way of progress, and besides, horse-carts were getting rarer every year. After all, the tramways were a cheaper and often faster way to move both people and goods. No concessions had been made to the newfangled steam “auto-cars” that had recently become a technological fad, since Her Majesty had quickly banned such vehicles from urban traffic after a number of early accidents had led to the death of several humans and a not inconsiderable number of horses. But while Welcome Street had originally been created simply as a way to bring passengers into and out of London, it was clearly destined for greater things. After all, passenger airships were the way to travel for gentlemen and ladies of means. And this meant that just about every wealthy individual to come into London from far afield did so via Welcome Street. Before long, businesses catering to a wealthy clientele were established along the long, straight road between London Town and Heath Row. Bespoke tailoring, fine dining, exquisite jewellery and all manner of luxury goods were soon available right there on Welcome Street. Then came theatres and dance halls, museums and art galleries, Turkish baths and high-class brothels. In retrospect, it seemed almost inevitable that Welcome Street would become the most fashionable and desirable street in the whole of the Greater London Area. Large intersecting streets were built, for no other reason than to allow space for residences as close to Welcome Street as possible. While many of the old aristocratic families scorned the place as being too modern and garish, the new money set flocked to the area. And the very wealthiest among them purchased the ‘corner lots’, right where the intersecting streets connected to Welcome Street itself. Alden couldn’t help but wonder just how an academic had managed to snag such a choice piece of real estate. Actually seeing the home in question certainly didn’t make him wonder any less. The house was a veritable three-story behemoth made from modern pale-yellow brickwork glazed to give it a gleaming sheen. Even more impressive was the fact that the gleam was as bright as a new construction. In the smoky air of London, these types of glazed surfaces tended to grow dull from soot and dirt within a few months. The fact that this house gleamed as brightly as it did could only mean that the entire exterior was properly washed at a regular basis. But while the building itself was impressive in an unsubtle, ostentatious sort of way, the address written on the copper plate next to the door impressed Alden on a far subtler, more intellectual level. By law, any owner of a residential property could give that property a proper name. The only restrictions were that the name must not be offensive or obscene, and that it must be unique and distinct from all other named residences in the same postal district. And here, in this district where corner houses were the very height of fashion and desirability, some sly bastard had the sheer audacity to name this residence ‘Corner House’, thus not only boasting openly about the value of the property, but also denying the name to every other corner house in the entire postal district. Feeling increasingly curious about the man who up until recently resided here, Alden tugged the bell-pull by the door. Faintly, he could make out the chiming of a bell from further inside the property. About a minute later, a distinguished-looking man dressed in a well-tailored but robust and hard-wearing suit opened the door. Everything about him, from his prim comportment to his close-cropped grey hair to his neatly waxed moustache all served to make him look like the very archetype of a butler or head of staff. “May I help you, sir?” He asked in a polite drawl. “The name’s Alden Stowe. I believe I am expected.” “Ah, yes. You’re the man Lucille Baines hired to look into the sad affair of the late Dr. Rawleigh, are you not?” “Just so. May I enter?” “Certainly, sir.” Alden followed the man inside the house, and the image of ostentatious wealth only intensified. Fine carpets and furniture, beautiful crystal chandeliers, huge, elaborate oil paintings, all seeming to radiate a sense of luxury and value. And on every flat surface there were items of delicate eastern porcelain, finely sculpted bronze figurines or other expensive decorative pieces. Even the wallpaper was of the finest sort, in colours and patterns that were fashionably modern. “I must say, this is an incredible residence. I take it the late Dr. Rawleigh was something of an aesthete?” “Not at all, sir.” The man replied evenly. “The design and decoration of the house was placed entirely in the hands of his niece, one Mrs. Juliet Baines, nee Rawleigh. Dr. Rawleigh only truly cared for the laboratory space in the basement, and since his niece was his sole heir and inheritor, he simply told her that she could design and decorate the property however she wished as long as he didn’t have to get involved with the trivialities.” “What an extraordinary decision. The construction and furnishing of this place must have cost an absolute fortune.” “Approximately two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, I believe. But that includes the purchase of the lot and the construction of the laboratory.” “My goodness! How on earth did an academic come by such an outlandish amount of money?” “On that count, sir, I’m afraid I have no answers for you. I was only employed by the late Dr. Rawleigh after construction of the house was already well underway. I have little insight into how the man made his money, though he certainly never seemed to be lacking in that regard.” “How very curious. Do you happen to know where the man kept his financial records?” “I believe all his financial dealings were done through the Royal Bank, sir.” “I see. Probably a dead end. I doubt anything short of a search order from Her Majesty the queen would allow me to root about in their records.” “I suspect as much, sir.” “Well, then. Let us focus on the matter at hand. Could you please show me to the room where the unfortunate incident took place?” “Certainly, sir.” The man led him down to the basement, passing through several locked doors on the way down, each of which opened with a different key. “Might I ask who has copies of these keys?” Alden inquired. “Only three sets were ever made. The set used by Dr. Rawleigh before the unfortunate incident, a set in the possession of your employer, Mrs. Lucille Baines, and this set, which belongs to Dr. Rawleigh’s personal maid, Ada. Dr. Rawleigh’s own set must be somewhere down in the laboratory, though it has not yet been found.” “How very strange. Something to look for, certainly.” The final door opened to what could best be described as a controlled chaos. The enormous basement space, brightly lit by modern gas lamps, was full of materials, spare parts, large metal canisters and enormous machines that Alden could only guess at the purpose of. The only device he did recognize was the massive analytical engine that occupied fully one quarter of the enormous laboratory space. Alden had heard that such engines could complete large sets of complex calculations in a tiny fraction of the time it would take even the most skilled human mathematician to do so, but he had no concept of how the device actually worked. Then again, he had never once in his life had to perform any calculation too complex for a simple slide rule, so he didn’t really see the point of delving any deeper into the world of mathematics. He was broken out of his musings as he bumped into one of the large metal canisters, having not spotted the chest-high cylinder as he studied the hulking mechanical behemoth that was the analytical engine. He winced reflexively, expecting the heavy canister to crash to the floor, but instead he watched in confusion as the cylinder gently teetered past its balance point and slowly, almost languidly began to topple to the ground, where it eventually made contact with the floor with a dull, weirdly muted thunk. Feeling a mite perplexed, Alden picked up the cylinder to right it. It felt very light, but at the same time it was weirdly cumbersome and unwieldy to manoeuvre, and getting it back into an upright position took far more effort than it should have to move such a light object. “I do apologize.” He said awkwardly to the butler. “I was so overwhelmed by the sheer scale of this place I didn’t look where I was going.” “Think nothing of it, sir. It is a rather overwhelming sight. Dr. Rawleigh always claimed he had it set up exactly as he wanted it, but I never understood how he could find anything in this mess.” “Did you spend a lot of time in the laboratory?” “Not much, sir. I came down here with the lads on occasion when Dr. Rawleigh needed help moving something heavy, but that was about it. I was never allowed in the lab while he was actually working on anything of import. Only Lucille Baines and Ada had that particular privilege.” “I see. And where did the incident take place?” “Right over here, sir. By the main writing desk.” It was a very sturdy writing desk indeed, made of fine oak and varnished to a sheen, although much of its surface was covered in spare parts, carefully arranged nuts and bolts and the occasional reference book. The desk also had a built-in inkwell and a pen-stand designed to hold a dozen pens, although only five of the slots were currently occupied. Near the desk was a sizeable steel safe, securely closed and locked. Alden vaguely recognized the construction to be the same type used by many large banks and financial institutions. And right in between the desk and the safe, occupying an otherwise empty patch of stone flooring, was a large pile of ashes. “Ah. Then this is what remains of the unfortunate Dr. Rawleigh?” “Just as you say, sir.” Alden looked over the area with a small frown. He wasn’t an expert on spontaneous combustion, but he had heard enough stories. The neat pile of ashes was as expected. Those undergoing spontaneous combustion perished long before their flesh turned to ash, let alone their bones, so they wouldn't be moving about by the time that happened. But… surely there should be more damage than this? As he understood it, the flame tended to erupt along the epidermis of the affected person, and a certain amount of panicked flailing and shrieking generally preceded the lethal stage. He would have expected knocked over objects, smears or dustings of ashes from clothing and hair, scorch marks on nearby furniture… It was all too neat. Not even the open books on the nearby desk were so much as singed. “Do you mind if I inspect the ashes more closely?” “Not at all, sir. The constabulary have already finished their investigation, and Lucille Baines has made it quite clear that you are to be allowed full access to the premises and staff for the purposes of your work.” Alden nodded and started sifting through the ashes with slight reluctance. He was, after all, rooting around in human remains. After some time, he found a small lump of strange, metallic slag coated and partially merged with the ashes. Feeling rather curious, he brought out his handkerchief and wiped as much ash from the lump of metal as he was able. It appeared to be steel, although the metal had been thoroughly ruined by the heat and ash. “Could you hand me your set of laboratory keys?” He asked absently. “Well, they are Ada’s keys, as I have told you. But of course.” The butler handed Alden the keys, and he thoroughly weighed the disk of slag in one hand and the set of keys in the other. The weight was close to identical. “How curious. I do believe this little pile of slag is what remains of the late Dr. Rawleigh’s keys.” “Seems like a sensible conclusion to me, sir. He always carried the keys about his person.” “Yes… Sensible…” But it didn’t make sense. Metal objects were often found largely intact in the ash piles left behind after spontaneous combustion. There were no end of stories. Wedding rings and coins in particular were often found among the ashes. And a thin band or flat disc of gold, silver or copper would melt much faster and easier than a robust set of steel keys. Yet somehow, the featureless lump of slag in his hands had been utterly ruined by the flames. Add to that the fact that the late Dr. Rawleigh had apparently not even had time to panic before the fire claimed his life… “It seems to me that the unfortunate Dr. Rawleigh must have burned very hot and very fast.” “If you say so, sir. I’m hardly an expert.” Alden smiled grimly. Neither was he. But expert or no, he was a fairly observant man. With a small shake of his head, he went to investigate the safe. It sure was a robust construction. Massive steel sides, thick enough that he couldn’t so much as budge the thing an inch even if he pushed it with all his might. He honestly rather wondered how they even got something as heavy as this down the stairs. The front of the safe had some odd scratches on its surface, but in a place like this they could have been caused by anything. “Who knows the combination to open this safe?” “As of now, only Lucille Baines. Dr. Rawleigh told no-one else.” “Mrs. Baines sure seems to have a lot of access to this laboratory.” “Indeed. I believe she sponsored Dr. Rawleigh’s work in some fashion.” “Sponsored? If he could afford such an extravagant abode as this, why would he need a sponsor?” “I’m afraid I cannot tell you, sir. He never discussed his financial situation with me in detail.” “I suppose I shall have to ask her about it the next time we meet. Was the safe securely closed and locked when the… body… was discovered?” “So I am told. And when Lucille was summoned by the constabulary, she opened the safe and confirmed that nothing was missing.” “I see. What about the contents of the rest of the lab? Is there anything missing that ought to be here, or anything here that seems out of place to you?” The butler looked around with a critical eye. “Not as far as I can tell, sir. I must reiterate that I visited very infrequently. But besides the remains of the late Dr. Rawleigh, nothing stands out to me as being out of place.” Alden hummed thoughtfully as he regarded the workspace. It really was impossible for him to tell if anything was out of place in this sprawling mixture of precise order and chaotic mess. In all honesty, he had no idea what he was supposed to do next. But he had to do something. “Can you gather the staff together? I believe I have some questions to ask them.” “Of course, sir.”