Chapter Eight

“A Study in Sawdust”

1.

A group of workers passed by, most of them on the way to the galley for dinner. Dolan seemed to know them all, calling them by name and speaking a word or two, usually in jest. The men responded in kind. This happened twice before Dolan stopped another Irishman on some matter that made no sense to Annabelle.

Her mind wandered. As it did, so did her attentions. Three men were coming her way. Two of them had dollies laden with wooden crates. What they might contain, one could only guess. Probably more polished stone tiles for the mosaic she had seen earlier, the one in the Starward Observation that appeared to be of the inner planets. Or perhaps the crates held more of the ghastly African and Oriental statuettes she had seen everywhere. This Professor Wren had been quite certain in his artistic principles, contrasting glory and doom with such artfulness. But with the long shadows, doom was certainly winning. Surely if the aether had weather, Peregrine would be eternally shrouded in deadly thunderstorms and moonless nights.

Another man followed closely behind the two with the dollies. He was a short fellow, soft around the middle, with curly hair the colour of beach sand. His face was a permanent red, a trait common in men with such fair complexion. Dolan paused and nodded to the first two men, but his attention reverted to his conversation with the Irishman when the third fellow passed. As he came into full view Annabelle saw that the front of his blue coveralls was flecked with pieces of white grit. She peered closer, yet tried not to stare. Sawdust?

Dolan finished his conversation, and apologised as they continued on their way. Annabelle cast a single glance over her shoulder, just in time to see the sandy-haired man duck around a corner.

“Dolan, I know this is a strange question, but must this station be kept so clean?”

“Yes, it’s essential. Professor Wren designed the rudiments of a system that cleans the air of dust and such, but it’s every man’s responsibility to maintain cleanliness at all times.” He chuckled. “You ought to hear the grumbling at how often the men are required to bathe. It’s like they’re being asked to strip off their hide.”

They arrived at her quarters. Dolan felt along the art-free wall until he found a slight impression. Pressing it, the mechanism clacked, and the door slid open, revealing Annabelle’s quarters.

“So why this concern over cleanliness?” he asked.

Annabelle smiled. “No reason.”

Dolan smiled for the thousandth time and said, “You’re an odd one, Miss Somerset, but just what the doctor ordered for this station. Loaves will be along in a moment to stand guard outside your door.” He gave her a nod to go with the smile. “Well, good evening, then.”

Dolan left, and Annabelle pretended to enter her quarters and slide the door shut, but rather than let the mechanism engage, she held it a moment, just long enough for Dolan put some distance between himself and her quarters. When she was sure he had gone, she dashed out, following the last route she had seen the sandy-haired man take, nearly colliding with a lean Indian fellow with several pieces of crown moulding thrown over his shoulder. He sucked in breath when he saw her, and dodged out of her path.

“Sorry!” she cried and hurried on her way.

2.

She rounded the corner and left the main corridor. She came to a four-way crossing and arbitrarily chose right. An urgent fear that she was about to lose the sandy-haired man spurred her on, and she broke into a half-run, made difficult by her shoes, which pinched her heels. She kept to the same corridor so she did not get lost. Soon, she caught sight of her man. He was strolling up the main corridor, headed toward British. Nothing in his hands, his posture and overall lack of urgency the very antithesis of the industry the other workers had so far shown, but instead a man trying to appear nonchalant and failing. He stopped once as three fellows were hauling a heavy oaken liquor cabinet past, and he turned to the way they’d come, as if choosing the path at random. Annabelle slowed her pace and began to follow him, twenty or thirty steps behind, careful not to lose him in the throng of workers going to and fro, but keeping enough of a distance to avoid calling attention to herself.

The trip took them deep into British. Just before entering Starward Observation he turned right, went two doors down, and paused before a panel. Annabelle stumbled at the abrupt stop, barely catching herself before a nasty fall. Using the wall she clawed herself back into an upright position, and scampered for safety around the corner. From this vantage point she saw the man pull a piece of cream-coloured paper, folded in thirds, from his coverall. He bent low and slipped this piece of paper beneath. A quick glance over his shoulder almost caught sight of Annabelle, who pulled back just in time to avoid being seen. She waited for a minute before looking around the corner again, her heart beating in her chest. When she finally did so, the man was gone.

She ran in pursuit, turned right (there was no choice, this time), but found, to her dismay, the corridor before her was long, unbroken, and quite empty. The man was gone.

“Damn,” she muttered.

3.

Sawdust.

She had seen a lot of it in Arizona. Uncle Cyrus had moved in many circles, and often found it necessary to employ men with certain expertise in scientific areas that seemed so much more thrilling and violent than her uncle’s madcap inventions. These men and their devices seemed so much earthier, so much more practical than theoretical mathematics and natural philosophy. Such devices attracted that inexplicable wild blood in her, the stuff left over from her hardscrabble life with the Apache, and she’d followed these men about, flirting with them on occasion and otherwise using her wiles to keep herself in their company, learning everything she could.

So, she knew a thing or two about sawdust and its many uses. Like how nitro-glycerine was terribly unstable, and demolitionists were inclined to soak it in sawdust, which helped diminish its instability so it could be transported easier. Sawdust soaked nitro could be packed into sticks of dynamite, and with a few carefully placed charges, you could blow the top off a mountain.

Or blow a heliograph station to Hell and back.

Call it a hunch, but Annabelle was certain she had just seen Nathanial’s would-be killer.