Read Online The Unpleasantness at Baskerville Hall (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries Book 4) by Chris Dolley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chris Dolley
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laugh.
“He’s one of the newer gardening models,” said Emmeline. “I thought I was seeing things when I first saw him. I asked Henry about him. He has all these attachments. Silas, that is, not Henry. He has these pronged cutters on his feet for mowing the lawn, and the same on his hands for trimming hedges.”
“Oo arr,” said Trelawny. “’E’s got boots for ploughin’ too, an’ for sowin’, an’ ’ands that can saw logs. Got ’tachments for everythin’.”
“So,” I said. “Where would Pasco have gone after he’d brought himself back up to pressure?”
“Nowhere,” said Trelawny. “That’s where ’e spends the night. ’Im an’ Silas together.”
I looked at Reeves. Had Pasco been in the old stable block when Reeves had been there this morning? Reeves raised an eyebrow. Whether one eyebrow signified ‘yes’ or a surge of activity in his steam-powered grey cells, I had no idea.
“Does anyone else sleep in the old stable block?” I asked Trelawny.
“No. Tom an’ Jethro sleep over the new stables. Dan an’ Jimmy sleep up at the quarry these days.”
“Right ho,” I said. “Thank you for your time, Trelawny. We’ll beetle off and have a word with Silas.”
“You can try, Master Roderick, but you won’t get no sense out of ’im. You can tell ’im what to do, but that’s it. ’E’s not one of they clever machines like Pasco. ’E just does what ’e’s told.”
“I believe I am familiar with the model, sir,” said Reeves. “It’s more of an intelligent tool than an automaton.”
“Not much of a conversationalist then?” I said.
“No, sir.”
~
“Well, Reeves?” I asked as soon as we’d moved out of earshot. “Were Pasco and Silas in the old stable block when you were there this morning?”
“Silas was, sir, but Pasco was not.”
“So, Pasco was probably killed sometime between sunset and four.”
“That would be my assumption, sir.”
“What about this Silas, Reeves? Did he look worried? Wave a saw at you and point tremulously at the woodshed?”
“No, sir. The model in question does not communicate. It does not even have a head. It is designed to work, not to resemble a human.”
“What about its attachments?” asked Emmeline. “Did it have any unusual ones? Like revolving axes? I’ve heard Henry and Sir Robert say that Stapleford’s a marvel with machines. He’s always coming up with new ways to modify automata for their moving pictures.”
“I did not notice anything unusual, miss.”
I wanted to have a look at this Silas myself. We followed the rattling sound to the back lawn where we found him mowing. It was fascinating, and not a little disturbing, to see him shuffling across the sward sending a shower of cut grass streaming in his wake. I’d never seen such sharp toenails.
“How does he do it, Reeves? Surely no blade could be that sharp.”
“I believe it is what is called a finger bar mower, sir. A steam-powered sickle bar is driven back and forth across a stationary finger bar, and the grass is cut between the blades.”
I watched mesmerised. Silas was the size of a child — a rather squat, headless child with large feet and hands. And a large single eye on a flexible stalk.
“Could he wield an axe, do you think?” I asked.
“Not with sufficient force to sever Pasco’s head, sir. This model is essentially a slow one, built for strength and dexterity. With a grasping mechanism attached it can lift heavy weights and open gates, but the arm lacks the speed to swing an axe with deadly force. Besides, the hedge-trimming attachment is more than capable of amputating a head. The wound on Pasco, however, would have been very different.”
I decided to visit the old stable block next. Had the killer stumbled into the old stable block looking for shelter, found Pasco and killed him? Or had Pasco heard a noise and ventured out? If there’d been a struggle on the soft ground there could be traces.
We quartered the area between
“He’s one of the newer gardening models,” said Emmeline. “I thought I was seeing things when I first saw him. I asked Henry about him. He has all these attachments. Silas, that is, not Henry. He has these pronged cutters on his feet for mowing the lawn, and the same on his hands for trimming hedges.”
“Oo arr,” said Trelawny. “’E’s got boots for ploughin’ too, an’ for sowin’, an’ ’ands that can saw logs. Got ’tachments for everythin’.”
“So,” I said. “Where would Pasco have gone after he’d brought himself back up to pressure?”
“Nowhere,” said Trelawny. “That’s where ’e spends the night. ’Im an’ Silas together.”
I looked at Reeves. Had Pasco been in the old stable block when Reeves had been there this morning? Reeves raised an eyebrow. Whether one eyebrow signified ‘yes’ or a surge of activity in his steam-powered grey cells, I had no idea.
“Does anyone else sleep in the old stable block?” I asked Trelawny.
“No. Tom an’ Jethro sleep over the new stables. Dan an’ Jimmy sleep up at the quarry these days.”
“Right ho,” I said. “Thank you for your time, Trelawny. We’ll beetle off and have a word with Silas.”
“You can try, Master Roderick, but you won’t get no sense out of ’im. You can tell ’im what to do, but that’s it. ’E’s not one of they clever machines like Pasco. ’E just does what ’e’s told.”
“I believe I am familiar with the model, sir,” said Reeves. “It’s more of an intelligent tool than an automaton.”
“Not much of a conversationalist then?” I said.
“No, sir.”
~
“Well, Reeves?” I asked as soon as we’d moved out of earshot. “Were Pasco and Silas in the old stable block when you were there this morning?”
“Silas was, sir, but Pasco was not.”
“So, Pasco was probably killed sometime between sunset and four.”
“That would be my assumption, sir.”
“What about this Silas, Reeves? Did he look worried? Wave a saw at you and point tremulously at the woodshed?”
“No, sir. The model in question does not communicate. It does not even have a head. It is designed to work, not to resemble a human.”
“What about its attachments?” asked Emmeline. “Did it have any unusual ones? Like revolving axes? I’ve heard Henry and Sir Robert say that Stapleford’s a marvel with machines. He’s always coming up with new ways to modify automata for their moving pictures.”
“I did not notice anything unusual, miss.”
I wanted to have a look at this Silas myself. We followed the rattling sound to the back lawn where we found him mowing. It was fascinating, and not a little disturbing, to see him shuffling across the sward sending a shower of cut grass streaming in his wake. I’d never seen such sharp toenails.
“How does he do it, Reeves? Surely no blade could be that sharp.”
“I believe it is what is called a finger bar mower, sir. A steam-powered sickle bar is driven back and forth across a stationary finger bar, and the grass is cut between the blades.”
I watched mesmerised. Silas was the size of a child — a rather squat, headless child with large feet and hands. And a large single eye on a flexible stalk.
“Could he wield an axe, do you think?” I asked.
“Not with sufficient force to sever Pasco’s head, sir. This model is essentially a slow one, built for strength and dexterity. With a grasping mechanism attached it can lift heavy weights and open gates, but the arm lacks the speed to swing an axe with deadly force. Besides, the hedge-trimming attachment is more than capable of amputating a head. The wound on Pasco, however, would have been very different.”
I decided to visit the old stable block next. Had the killer stumbled into the old stable block looking for shelter, found Pasco and killed him? Or had Pasco heard a noise and ventured out? If there’d been a struggle on the soft ground there could be traces.
We quartered the area between
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