The Curious Case of the Clockwork Man - By Mark Hodder Page 0,117

a blurry circle. The engine coughed and roared and steam surged out from the exhaust funnel, flattening against the ground as the rotors blew it down and away.

The machine's runners scraped forward a couple of feet then lifted. Swinburne yanked back the middle lever and shot vertically into the air.

He rose until he was high above the smoke-swathed city. Above him, the stars twinkled. Below him, fires flickered.

The riot seemed to have confined itself to the centre of London, and had been concentrated, in particular, around Soho and the West End.

Far off to the east, the Cauldron - the terrible East End - showed no signs of disturbances.

"But, then, why should it?" Swinburne said to himself. "You'll not find a single representative of High Society for them to rail against in that part of town. By crikey, though, imagine if that sleeping dragon awoke!"

Spencer shot up past him, slowed his vehicle, and sank back down until he was hovering level with the poet.

Swinburne gave him a thumbs-up, and guided his craft toward the Clerkenwell district.
Chapter Eighteen
Their flight was short and uneventful, though they saw many police fliers skimming low over the rooftops.

When they reached Coram's Fields, they reduced altitude and steered their machines through the drifting tatters of smoke from street to street until, below, they spotted a constable on his beat.

Swinburne landed near the policeman and stopped his rotorchair's engine.

"I say! Constable!"

"I shouldn't park here, sir, if I - Hallo! Here comes another one!"

Spencer's vehicle angled down onto the road, hit it with a thump, and skidded to a halt with sparks showering from its runners.

Fidget barked.

"Gents," the policeman said as the engine noise died down, "this is no time and no night to be out and about in expensive vehicles!"

"We're on the king's business!" Swinburne proclaimed. "I'd like you to guard these chairs and have them returned to 14 Montagu Place at the first opportunity."

The constable removed his helmet and scratched his head. "Forgive me for saying so, sir, but I don't know that you're in any position to give me orders, 'specially ones that'll take me from my duties."

"My good man, I am Sir Richard Francis Burton's personal assistant," Swinburne countered haughtily. He pulled a card from his pocket and waved it in the man's face. "And Sir Richard Francis Burton is the king's agent. And the king, God bless him, is the ruler of the land. It also happens that I claim Detective Inspector Trounce and Detective Inspector Honesty of Scotland Yard as close personal friends. Then there's Commander Krishnamurthy, Constable Bhatti - "

"Stop! I surrender!" the policeman said, taking the card. He read it, handed it back, put on his helmet, saluted, and said: "Right you are, sir. My apologies. I'll see that your machines are returned in good time. How about if I have them shifted to the Yard for the night? For safekeeping?"

"Thank you. That will be most satisfactory, my man. I shall be sure to mention - Ow! Herbert! I told you to keep that little devil away from me! Goodbye, Constable. Thank you for your assistance!"

The policeman nodded, and Swinburne, Spencer, and Fidget crossed the road and approached the corner of Gallows Tree Lane.

Swinburne whispered, "If you see any Rakes, walk straight past them! Act normally."

"That I can do," Spencer mumbled inaudibly. "Dunno 'bout you, though!"

They entered the dimly lit street and stopped outside number 5. The house was in darkness.

Swinburne hissed, "Keep a tight rein on the dog, Herbert. I have to squat down to speak to him and I'd rather not have my nose bitten!"

"Right ho."

"Now then, you vicious little toerag," Swinburne said to the basset hound, "where's your master, hey? Seek, Fidget! Seek! Where's your master? I know the air is full of ash, but I'm sure those blessed nostrils of yours can sort the wheat from the chaff. Seek!"

Fidget's deep brown eyes, which had been regarding him with disdain, slowly lost focus.

"Find your master!" Swinburne encouraged.

Fidget blinked, looked to the right, then to the left, then at Swinburne, then at Herbert Spencer.

"Wuff!"

He lowered his nose to the pavement and began to snuffle back and forth.

All of a sudden, he raised his head, bayed wildly, and set off at a terrific pace, almost yanking Spencer off his feet.

"He's got it!" Swinburne enthused, racing after the pair.

They ran out onto Gray's Inn Road, turned left, raced up to King's Cross Railway Station, then swerved left again onto the Euston Road.

"He seems mighty sure of himself!" Spencer puffed as they