Fiendish Schemes Read Free Page A

six bolted and hinged crescents of iron, widest where joined directly beneath the tower’s base, tapering to pointed claws yet bigger than a draughthorse where dug into the soil and rock. Other historians of this our mechanical age, blessed with more descriptive fluency than myself, have compared the construction to those crabs seen scuttling through shallow tidal pools, housing their tender parts inside the abandoned shells of other aquatic creatures, the spiraling points of such assumed habiliments wobbling above them like the awninged howdahs strapped to the backs of Indian elephants. If the spidered legs below had been fronted by a pair of eyes waggling on bristly stalks, the resemblance to such crustaceans would have been complete.
    The bridge chamber tilted for a moment as the massive claws found purchase, digging a yard or more into the ground as they straightened and reared the tower’s weight from where it had rested. A few of the unsteadier guests were knocked sprawling into each other by the sudden motion, before Crowcroft and his men made the necessary adjustments to bring the lighthouse perfectly vertical again.
    “Marvelous!” Lord Fusible enthused beside me, as though he himself had lifted the tower into air. “Bloody marvelous!”
    Below, roiling vaporous clouds pushed the hysterical roisterers farther back, as though they were in danger of being scalded by the exhaust from the lighthouse’s engines. The pistons and gimbaled rods—thicker about than century oaks—that formed the legs’ motive anatomy, glistened in the sunlight. One by one, each claw lifted in precise order and fell again, thunderously penetrating the earth a little farther on. Thus did the device, with myself bracing to keep balance far above, begin its ponderous trek to the sea’s edge.
    Of course, Phototrope Limited could have stationed their latest venture at its destination to begin with, rather than a quarter mile inland. But by doing so, the corporation’s officers would have deprived themselves of the lusty cheers of the groundling onlookers, the crowd now completely enthralled by this armless giant lumbering onward in their midst. I knew how little ever happened in such remote parishes. A break in the soul-numbing monotony such as this would no doubt be sung and storied for generations to come, if for no other reason than the epic quantity of free beer that had accompanied it.
    With the more incapacitated straggling behind, the lighthouse led the shouting parade toward a typically craggy Cornish promontory. As Captain Crowcroft steered his landbound vessel past a bend in its path, I was able to lay the corner of my brow against the window glass and peer back whence the lighthouse had progressed. In the middle of the holes gouged by the iron claws, a segmented pipe— greater in diameter than a man’s height—trailed behind, steam hissing from its joints. Such was another of the day’s sights, common enough to those who had stayed au courant with innovation and discovery, but not seen before by me.
    “I hope you have found this excursion to be of interest.”
    Turning from the window, I saw that the lighthouse’s commander had left his station and joined us.
    “Exceedingly,” I replied. “I had no idea.”
    Crowcroft laughed, finding my simple words to be praise greater than a thousand orators might have summoned. “Take a degree of credit for yourself,” he said, “or at least your lineage. I have skill enough to steer this craft to its port, but its workings are far beyond my comprehension. Not the least of which is that devised by your father, hidden away though it might be.”
    I nodded, having heard similar before, though never to my comfort.
    “If you’ll excuse me—” Crowcroft reached past me to a latched compartment mounted beneath the window. “This is a tricky bit.”
    He opened the compartment and I perceived a set of levers inside, similar in arrangement to those manned behind us, though lesser in