Chapter Two
G riff relaxed in one of his favorite chairs in his home as his best friends—they'd been chums since their school days—battled it out at billiards, the balls clacking merrily with each man’s shot.
Captain Colechester Chapman, Cole to his friends, straightened up from the table and looked at Lawrence Dellinger. “That, my good man, is the third game in a row. Double or nothing on a fourth game, Dell?”
A smile stretched Cole’s lips as he paused. His Indian heritage had gifted him with dark eyes which Griff found often sparkled with merriment. It was one of the things that had drawn him to befriend the scrawny boy in school. It had been a boon fulfilled when the diminutive boy sprouted one summer and filled out.
“No, I believe it is time for Griff to be trounced by our illustrious air-ship captain. I have served my time.” Dell pulled out the four pence he owed Cole and dropped them soundlessly on the maroon felt of the table.
They never gambled for real stakes, mostly pride and bragging rights. Neither Griff nor Cole needed the coin, though he imagined Dell could have used a little extra pocket change. The government was notoriously tight-fisted when it came to salaries.
“Guess you’re out of luck, Cole,” Griff said lazily. “I don’t fancy a trouncing at your hands just now. I’m not the foolish boy you knew at school who believed he could eventually best you. I’m a grown man of nine and thirty now and I know better—unlike some fools who still seem determined to beat you.” Griff sipped his brandy as his friends replaced the cue sticks and balls on the wall and poured themselves a drink.
Dell snorted, his green-grey eyes sparkling with a warmth Griff hadn’t seen from his friend in quite some time. “I’m still trying to recoup all the coins Cole bamboozled me for in school.”
Cole laughed. “Those were wonderful times, back when you both still believed it was luck and not skill that allowed me to beat you every time.”
The pair sat down with Griff, stretching their legs out before them in a comfortable slouch despite their elegant evening attire.
Dell picked up the paper that sat on the small table to his right and snorted. “The Lord of Cogs strikes again,” he groused aloud, his light brown skin stretched over his knuckles causing them to go pale as his hand fisted the newsprint. “You'd think the authorities could put an end to this rebellious display of illegal steam tech. This Lord of Cogs, as he calls himself, installed a steam powered moving sidewalk on part of Bond Street under the cover of darkness two nights ago. The next day Lady Chesterham got her boot heel caught in the contraption and twisted her ankle, causing a pile-up of people who were behind her. Bloody Lord of Cogs! It boggles my mind that one man can provoke such enthusiasm and loyalty from the lower classes. Why, not even Trevithick himself, the father of steam technology, engenders such zealousness.”
“I'd guess that they see him as a symbol of hope.” Cole shrugged. “Steam tech is far more affordable and accessible than electricity, it makes sense it would be more broadly embraced across the population.”
Griff listened to his two friends discuss the mysterious Lord of Cogs, cautiously remaining silent for the moment. He'd always known Dell was less supportive of steam tech, and add to that his penchant for arguing his point until you threw in the towel, and it was easy to surmise why he had been appointed as the Under-Secretary of Steam at the Bureau of Modern Technology. His responsibility was to regulate steam tech. What better choice than someone who wasn't particularly fond of steam?
Or at least that is what the Crown had surmised. Griff knew better.
“Well, it is still vandalism—these steam tech displays he sets up around town under the cover of darkness, what nonsense. Mark my words, the man is going to get someone killed one of these days.” Dell's attractive face—well, the combination of his light brown skin and green eyes seemed to have the women of the Ton swooning regularly—creased as he frowned.
But Griff had seen Dell after the accident which had left him scarred, seen the damage left over half Dell’s torso when a steam engine he had been working on with a friend exploded. Some wounds never healed. Some scars never faded.
Griff chuckled. “What makes you sure this ‘Lord of Cogs’ is a man? Women do plenty of jobs and activities once considered the domain of men.”
Dell snorted again. “Did you see the size of the automaton the Lord of Cogs built last month in Grosvenor Square? Had to be a man. Besides, if it was a woman wouldn't she be Lady of Cogs?”
“Leave off, Dell. Steam is cheap tech, that is why it is so popular. The Lord of Cogs is merely a figurehead.” Cole sipped his drink and eyed their friend warily.
Griff felt the chasm between himself and Dell growing more and more each day. Dell and others of the Ton like him—including Griff's own father—were exactly the reason he kept his affinity for steam a private matter. It was terrible that something as utilitarian as a type of technology might be the wedge that parted him from someone he had always considered a close friend.
“Do not be fooled, my friend.” Dell set the paper and his drink aside so he could lean forward. “The Lord of Cogs is more than a symbol. He is truly the organizer behind the Free Steam Consortium, this Tinker nonsense. Mark my words, the steam rabble isn't intelligent enough to organize without help.”
Griff knew Dell would never give on this topic—or any other, really. It wasn’t in his nature.
Cole looked at the ceiling as though in search of guidance from above. “None of that makes them or steam dangerous—despite Griff avoiding that ride on my Sweet Annie that I keep offering. You really must address your fear of air travel.” Cole flashed a teasing smile at him, clearly trying to lighten the moment a bit with Dell.
Griff smirked at Cole. “Please, do carry on.”
“Despite our good friend’s fear, my fleet of steam powered airships have never had an incident because I take excellent care of both my people and my equipment. And the Lord of Cogs is responsible for many of the safety features we have installed on our steam engines, such as the pressure release vent which prevents steam engines from exceeding pressure regulations that formerly caused them to explode. Steam is certainly no more deadly than electricity, which we barely know how to harness.”
Dell frowned. “Bollocks! Just last month there was a terrible steam-ship crash. All passengers aboard were killed!”
Cole glared back. “The investigation just finished, and I understand there were two causes. Negligent maintenance by an unfit Captain and crew created conditions that allowed the sabotaged safety valve to rapidly move from inconvenient to deadly.”
Griff sat up and held up a hand. “I dare say you are both right. Someone is most certainly organizing the Tinkers, and that horrible crash will prove to be a nasty business either way. The reality is we need real regulation of all kinds of technology, not just veiled attempts by Voltacrat elite to line their pockets.”
Cole and Dell grumbled a bit, but both agreed.
Griff winked at Cole, knowing it was time to change the topic before things took a turn. “Now tell me, Dell, are you hoping to see Lady Faye tonight?”
Dell turned a mottled red. “I am not! That woman fancies herself in love with me. We danced one-time last Season, and she has dogged my every step since then.”
Cole guffawed along with Griff. Lady Faye Thornby had proven to be quite the nuisance for Dell. The moment brought the three back into an accord, as Griff had intended.
“We should probably head out for the evening’s festivities.” Cole slugged the last bit of brandy in his previously forgotten snifter and stood. “Are you ready to go, Dell? The ladies at Lord and Lady Pennington’s masked ball aren’t going to whirl themselves around the dance floor, now are they?”
“Sadly no. We must do our chivalrous duty and court the fair maidens of the land.” Dell set his own glass down and joined Cole in heading for the door to the hallway.
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind, Griff? We could wait a bit for you to change clothes.” Cole asked for the fourth time since they’d arrived an hour earlier.
“I have too much paperwork that has been neglected with my annual visit to my properties.” Griff waved them off, eager for his friends to be on their way. The sooner they left, the sooner he could retreat to his laboratory and get back to work. A pang of regret that he had to hide this part of himself was quickly pushed away. One should not pine for things that cannot be.
Besides, Society held no allure for him. He’d never had the same success with the ladies that his friends experienced. Too much of an odd duck, he supposed.
“Very well, though your paperwork won’t keep you as warm as a willing wench, I’d wager.” Cole saluted him with two fingers to his brow and departed the room.
“Night, Griff.” Dell followed in his friend’s wake.
Alone at last . Griff took a long deep breath and unfolded his legs from the low lounging couch. He meandered to his library in the room next door as he shed his cravat, coat, and waistcoat. He dropped the unwelcome garments on a chair as he walked over to the fireplace and stood for a moment watching the flames dance.
Thoughts of his laboratory beckoned him, made him yearn to set his hands to work tinkering with machinery which would ultimately be powered by steam. But he had not been speaking false when he told his friends he had paperwork to see to. Tinkering would have to wait.
Turning back to his desk, he'd just sat down when Higgins, his butler, appeared bearing a silver salver. “A missive has arrived, my lord.” The steel gray haired man wore mutton chop sideburns that lent him a distinguished air and impassive expression.
Griff took the correspondence and cracked the familiar seal, bearing an imprint of the three overlapping cogs and wheels. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end—a sign he had learned to ignore at his peril during his military service—as he unfolded the page. The few scrawled lines relayed a terse warning.
Lord Melton,
There is to be a midnight second reading of the Steam Technology Regulation bill. The Voltacrats labeled the bill as an emergency in an effort to kill the new legislation fresh out of the lower house. We need your vote to help carry the day in the House of Lords.
Your humble servant,
David Sterling, MP
Director of the Free Steam Consortium of Tinkers
Griff crossed the room and tossed the letter into the fire before addressing Higgins with a weary sigh. “I'll have need of my horses and carriage. I'm off to Parliament.”