Read Online Reggiecide (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries) by Chris Dolley - Free Book Online Page B

but it’s for your own good. Mr Snuggles’ plan to blow up the Houses of Parliament has considerable merit and should be supported.”
    “What? Have you gone mad, Reeves?”
    “No, sir. I have made a careful analysis of the arguments for and against the destruction of the Palace of Westminster and reached the conclusion that Britain would be better off without it. I am therefore giving notice that I am switching sides. If that’s all right with you, of course, Mr Snuggles.”
    I was lost for words. My mouth opened but not a breath could make it past my tonsils. Reeves of all people! Deserting the young master in his hour of need!
    “How do I know I can trust you?” asked Snuggles.
    “I am an automaton, sir. If I give you my word, it cannot be broken. It’s Babbage’s Fourth Law of Automata.”
    “Ha!” I said. “You’ve just broken your word to me!”
    “I never gave you my word, sir. You never asked for it.”
    “Well!”
    “Do I have your word that you will assist us?” asked Snuggles.
    “You do. I am stronger than a human. I can help carry the explosives.”
    “Et tu, Judas!” I said. “Take your traitorous subroutines and depart.” I waved the revolver at him before pointing it firmly back at Snuggles. “Comrade Reeves is mistaken. This revolver is the very opposite of empty. If anything it’s overfull. I have two up the spout.”
    “He does not,” said Reeves.
    “Yes, I do!”
    “Put the pistol down, Worcester,” said Snuggles. “Or I’ll send in Sir Roger.”
    We consulting detectives are renowned for our bravery. Put us in a sticky sitch and our upper lips stiffen and our gazes turn steely. We laugh at danger and have a merry quip handy for whenever we’re being tortured. But...
    I didn’t like the look of Sir Roger’s poker. It may not have been red hot but it looked markedly above ambient temperature. And it was dark. And I rather had the notion that a spider, or some other creepy crawly with far too many legs, had just dropped down my neck.
    “Stay where you are, Sir Roger!” I said, gripping the revolver harder to stop it from shaking.
    Sir Roger smiled medievally and gave his poker a suggestive waggle.
    My knees almost gave way. I searched for a merry quip or a biting line of poetry but couldn’t find anything cutting to rhyme with poker.
    Sir Roger took one step towards me and my legs turned to consommé. I dropped the revolver and lamp, and would have raised both hands if one of them hadn’t been protecting my rear trouser area.
    “I yield!” I said.
    ~
    I was escorted along the tunnel, with Sir Roger, and his poker, thankfully in front of me, while Reeves and Snuggles brought up the rear. I thought they were taking me towards the entrance, but our column came to halt when we encountered the seated figure of Scrottleton-Ffoukes. He was sitting on the floor with his hands bound behind his back and tied to a timber upright.
    “Mr Worcester?” he said. “Are you in this, too?”
    “Mr Worcester is going to play your co-conspirator,” said Snuggles. “When the police find the pair of you in the tunnel with a detonator, they won’t seek to look any further. Reeves, tie Worcester up. You can use his tie and belt. And secure him to that prop so he can’t run off without bringing the roof down.”
    As diabolical plans went this was pretty diabolical ... though flawed. Co-conspirators rarely tie themselves up before detonating bombs. I thought I’d refrain from pointing this out, though, as criminal masterminds can cut up pretty rough.
    “But why are you doing this, Snuggles?” asked Mr S-F. “I don’t understand.”
    “Your kind never do,” said Snuggles. “We can never achieve true freedom until the bastions of privilege have been totally destroyed. Isn’t that right, Mr Reeves?”
    “Indubitably, Mr Snuggles,” said Reeves. “No gods, no masters. As Sylvain Marechal said in his Manifesto of the Equals – the 1796 edition — the