Chasing Schrödinger’s Cat - A Steampunk Novel (11 page)

Chapter
XXIX:

The
Assembly – An Interruption – A Failed Escape

A
t ten
o’clock the next morning, I found myself staring out into a sea of kilted
girlhood while Miss Trelawney delivered an introduction that made it sound like
I was a cross between Deadeye Dick and Buffalo Bill.
 
She was just getting into full swing when I
heard someone hiss at me from the side curtains of the stage.
 
I got up as unobtrusively as I could and made
my way to the wings where Sarah was waiting.

“Fox and Flowers,” she whispered.

“What about them?”

“They’re here.”

“How did they find us?” I asked.

“That snake Schrödinger must have
told them we were coming here.”

“Well, what are we waiting
for?
 
Let’s go.”

“No good.
 
We’re safe as long as we’re in the presence
of witnesses.
 
They won’t dare to behave
improperly.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Make your speech last as long as
possible.
 
I’ll see if I can get someone
to bring Schrödinger’s van to the side entrance.”

“Why don’t you do it?
 
Oh wait, you can’t drive.”

M
iss
Trelawney was just wrapping up as I made my way back to the stage.
 
“Girls, please offer a warm Bishop Jewel
welcome to our American guest, Mister Robert
Liddel
,”
she concluded, extending a regal hand toward me.

I made my way to the podium with
the uncomfortable feeling that I looked more like someone who had come to fix
the drains than a western desperado.
 
I
really hoped Sarah was right and that this crowd wouldn’t notice the
difference.

I placed my notes on the lectern
and looked at the upturned faces.
 
There
was a long moment of silence broken only by the sound of shuffling feet and the
occasional cough.

I had decided earlier that if I was
going to tell tall tales, I might as well go for broke.
 
I hitched up my trousers and began my own
version of one of the great frontier legends.

A
few years ago I chanced to be in the town of Deadwood when I saw Wild Bill Hickok in
Nuttal
and Mann’s S
aloon
.
 
As
it happened, I was down to my last dollar and Bill owed me ten from a game of
five card draw we’d played a week previous.
 
I don’t play cards much but that day I was feeling lucky because my
landlady had served me an extra flapjack at breakfast by mistake.

The rear door of the assembly hall
opened to admit Fox and Flowers, accompanied by Schrödinger who shook his head
and mouthed the word ‘sorry’ at me.
 
The
three men quietly took up a position at the center of the far wall.

Like
I said, I was broke but even so, I was reluctant to press my claim.
 
You’d understand better if you knew Wild
Bill.
 
I don’t want to speak ill of the
dead, so I won’t come right out and say he was meaner than a rattlesnake but
he’s the only fellow I ever met whose idea of diplomacy was to pour you a drink
so’s
he could hit you over the head with the empty
bottle.

It bothered me Fox and Flowers had
shown up by themselves without any kind of backup.
 
Sarah was right, they didn’t want
witnesses.
 
We were in big trouble if
they got us away from the school grounds.

I
finally got up the gumption to ask for my money, but before I had a chance, I
got pushed aside by “Broken Nose” Jack McCall who was aggravated with Bill for
calling him a no-good, cheating, Irishman.

I heard the distinctive sound of
Schrödinger’s van coming to a stop by the side door.
 
Unfortunately, Fox and Flowers heard it
too.
 
Fox nodded his head in the
direction of the sound and Flowers went to investigate.

Jack
walks up behind Bill and pulls out his forty-five Schofield.
 
“I’m Scotch,” he says and lets Bill have it
in the back of the head.

Bill’s
wound was mortal and to this day, the hand he was holding, aces and eights is
known as the dead man’s hand.

In spite of the tight spot I was
in, I couldn’t help noticing my storytelling was going over well.
 
The girls were leaning intently forward,
scarcely breathing.

They
finally got around to hanging Jack which was lucky for him because Bill’s
girlfriend had vowed to unman him with a meat cleaver.
 
At least this way Jack got to meet his maker
with all his parts intact.

This last detail earned me a round
of nervous giggles and a warning glare from Miss Trelawney, but everyone’s
attention shifted away from me when Flowers re-entered dragging Sarah behind
him.
 
He leaned toward Fox and began
whispering something in his ear.
 
Ever
the trouper, I carried on with my anecdote.

Jack
had the last word though.
 
When he was on
the gallows he says to the hangman, “Can’t we speed this up a bit? I hear Satan
serves lunch at noon sharp and I don’t want to be late.”

Fox undid his jacket as soon as
Flowers had finished so that I could see the revolver he was carrying.
 
He strode toward the stage leaving me just
enough time to finish my story.

Now
there’s a moral there that applies to well-brought up young ladies like
yourselves, just as much as it does to the rough customers of the Old West.
 
If Jack hadn’t let his pride get the best of
him, he’d have missed that appointment with the six foot drop.

It’s
like the good book tells us:
 
 
pride goes before a fall.

Chapter
XXX:

In
Pursuit – Max’s Revenge

“W
hatever is
going on, Mister
Liddel
?” asked Miss Trelawney as Fox
climbed onto the stage.

“Her Majesty’s Intelligence Service,
headmistress,” said Fox, showing her his warrant card.
 
“We need to speak to Mister
Liddel
about certain matters.”

Fox bent my wrist inward in a
‘come-along’ hold and hustled me off the stage and down the aisle past the rows
of astonished young faces.

“Where’s Schrödinger,” Fox asked
Flowers when we got to the rear of the assembly hall.

“Scarpered
ain’t
he?
 
I couldn’t go after him without
leaving this one,” Flowers said, jerking his chin toward Sarah.

There was the sound of a
steam-powered car starting up in the forecourt.
 
I could tell it wasn’t Schrödinger’s van whose engine I had learned to
recognize.

“Blast the man!” Fox said.
 
“You said their van was around the side?”

“Out that door,” Flowers said.

“Well, get it started up.
 
We’ve not a moment to lose.”

M
ax the cat made
another escape attempt when Flowers opened the rear door of Schrödinger’s van,
but the bald man swatted him backward like a fly.
 
“Get in and keep your cakehole shut,” he told
me, as he placed a big meaty hand between my shoulder blades and shoved me
forward.

Everything had happened so fast
that we were already moving by the time I remembered I had hidden Lord
Newford’s
revolver under the daybed.
 
I knew my kidnappers would see me if I tried
to get it right now but I resolved to go for it at the first sign of any
distraction.

Fox and Flowers were sitting in the
front seat with Sarah between them.
 
Fox
turned to me from the passenger seat and patted the bulge made by the revolver
beneath his coat.
 
“Let us have no
foolishness from you Mister
Liddel
,” he said.
 
“You have caused quite enough trouble
already.”

At least Max the Cat was on my
side.
 
He crawled onto my lap and glared
at Flowers with a malevolent look in his yellow eyes.

“No sign of the bugger,” Flowers
said, leaning forward to scan the road ahead of him, his hands clenched on the
steering wheel.

 
“Lady Sarah, I believe you are familiar with
the area,” Fox said.
 
“Schrödinger will
no doubt head for London.
 
Please direct Mister Flowers as to the best
way to intercept him.”

Sarah had no choice.
 
Her words, consisting of only of directions
such as “left here” and “right at the next corner” were the only ones spoken
for the next few minutes.

We emerged at a crossroads on the
other side of town.
 
There was a cloud of
dust coming toward us which soon resolved itself into an official-looking sedan.

“That’ll be him,” Flowers said, as
he pulled Schrödinger’s van into the intersection to block the road.

Schrödinger saw us and stopped the
car about twenty yards away.
 
He tried to
reverse but his left rear wheel hit a wagon rut and he slid backward into the
ditch beside the road.

“Keep an eye on these two,” Fox
said.
 
He gave Sarah and me a last
warning look before opening the passenger door and stepping out onto the road.

Schrödinger started to run as soon
as he saw him, but the flat fields surrounding the crossroads had recently been
mown and there was nowhere to hide.
 
Fox
didn’t hurry.
 
He drew his revolver and
assumed a classic dueling stance with his body turned sideways and his shooting
arm raised to eye level.
 
There was a
puff of white smoke followed a half second later by the reverberating crack of
a pistol shot and Schrödinger fell face forward into the stubble.
 
Fox holstered his revolver and began walking
unhurriedly toward him.

This was the chance I had been
waiting for, but I still needed something to distract Flowers.
 
My solution was provided by the four legged
bundle of fur sitting on my lap.
 
“Sorry pal,”
I said to Max.
 
I lifted him with one hand
on the scruff of his neck and the other under his belly and threw him straight
at Flowers.

Max had not gained his reputation
as a fierce battle cat for nothing.
 
He
landed on Flowers’ hairless head with his legs straight and every claw
extended.
 
A moment later he had his
front claws dug into Flowers’ skull while his rear claws gouged deeply into the
man’s face.

“
Gerrof
!”
Flowers screamed.
 
He pulled Max away and
threw him onto the floor.

By now I had retrieved Lord
Newford’s
pistol and was pointing it at Flowers.
 
I had hoped for a repeat of my experience
with Schrödinger but Flowers was made of sturdier material.
 
There was no look of dismay on his
blood-covered face.
 
Instead he smiled.

Chapter
XXXI:

Flowers’
Threat – Sarah’s Sang
Froid

“N
ow what do
you think you’re going to do with that shooter, young fellow me lad?” Flowers
said.
 
“Best you put that down before someone
gets hurt.”

I tried, unsuccessfully to stop my
arm from shaking.
 
“Get out,” I said.

“Not bloody likely mate.”

“I mean it.”

“No you don’t.
 
Little Nancy boy like you, you’ve never done
a bit of rough work in your life.
 
Here,
I’ll make it easy for you.
 
You put that
gun down and I won’t carve up your lady friend like a Christmas goose.”
 
His right hand moved slowly beneath his vest
and came out holding a bone-handled straight razor whose hollow-ground blade would
not have looked out of place in
Sweeney
Todd’s barber shop.
 
Flowers flicked the
razor’s blade toward Sarah who recoiled against the passenger door with an expression
of disgust, rather than fear.
 
With a
smile still playing on his lips, Flowers began a series of snakelike feints
toward her, each one coming closer to her face.

So I shot him.

I
remember reading
somewhere that the reason for Britain’s
success as a colonial power had less to do with the prowess of its occupying soldiers
than with the steely resolve of the women who went with them.

If so, Sarah was a true daughter of the empire.
 
Without so much as a grimace of distaste, she
reached over and opened the drivers’ door.
 
With her feet on Flowers’ torso and her back pressed against the
passenger door, she pushed his bloody corpse out onto the road.
 
She even gave him the benefit of an epitaph,
if the words “good riddance” can be so described.

I clambered into blood-soaked driver’s seat and handed the pistol to Sarah.
 
“Would you mind shooting Fox?” I asked as I
backed the van out of the crossroads.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, pulling back on the hammer spur of the
Adams revolver.
 
“Hold still would you?”
 
She opened the passenger door and braced
herself against the door post.
 
I waited,
but there was no discharge.
 
“Bloody
poltroon has gone to ground,” she said.

“Well we can’t stick around,” I said.
 
“Fire a shot through his car’s boiler and let’s get out of here.”

There was a thunderous crack followed by a rush of escaping steam that
shrouded the sedan in a cloud of vapor.
 
A moment later we were on our way to London.