LATE THE NEXT night, Jake and Rick took the long way toward their destination. They rode in the back of an unmarked delivery wagon rather than use one of their carriages. Kovach and a newly-mended Charles drove. Kovach had chosen the fastest horses for the night’s work, and insisted on hastily reinforcing the sides of the wagon in case of an ambush. But he had gone with aluminum instead of heavy steel to keep the weight down, in case of a quick get-away. The real goal was to get in, haul away what Adam needed for his research, and get out without incident. Jake was skeptical that it would be that easy.

“Relax. It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve broken in somewhere,” Rick said, and Jake could hear the excitement in his friend’s voice.

“Maybe not,” Jake admitted. “But it’s the first time we’ve broken into Tesla-Westinghouse.”

Rick clucked his tongue. “Actually, we’re not really breaking in. We’re just helping transport scientific equipment outside of normal working hours.”

“Uh-huh. Equipment that hasn’t been signed out, paid for or declassified.”

Rick grinned. “That’s what makes it interesting.”

“Kind of scary that Adam doesn’t trust his management anymore, but if they’ve gotten cozy with Thwaites, then Adam’s not safe there and neither are his more useful inventions,” Jake said.

“We sure don’t want Thwaites getting his hands on everything Adam’s invented—or on Adam himself. I think he’s right to want to disappear,” Rick added. He paused for a moment. “Did you find anything out about the shipment your father was importing for Jasinski?” Their wagon clattered over the bridge, crossing the Monongahela River to Wilmerding, to the headquarters of Tesla-Westinghouse.

“Only that it’s missing,” Jake replied tersely. At his mother’s insistence, Jake had permitted the family’s physician, Dr. Zeigler, to treat his arm once he had assurances that the doctor would not report the injury to authorities. Even with stitches and a poultice, the arm hurt like blazes, but Jake had refused any morphine, wanting to keep a clear head. The gash had not been deep enough to keep him from using his arm, which was all that mattered.

“Our shipments don’t just disappear,” Rick argued. “We have people and processes to make certain of that. And if what Agent Storm said is true, then a couple other people from Thomas’s list shipped something with Brand and Desmet and died because of it.”

Jake shrugged, then regretted it as pain lanced through his wounded arm. “I have a gut feeling that it’s all related. And I don’t think Jasinski’s crates were just any shipment.”

The carriage came to a stop in an alley behind the Castle. Kovach let Jake and Rick out of the wagon.

“I can’t believe Adam nearly burned this place down with one of his experiments,” Rick muttered as they got out of the carriage.

“Looks good as new to me,” Jake replied.

Charles sat in the carriage driver’s seat, in better shape from the exploits of the day before than Jake was. Kovach had worked on the mechanical man, repairing the damage and buffing out the worst of the scratches and dents.

“Don’t spend too much time chatting with Farber,” Kovach warned. “We doubled back several times, but I can’t shake the feeling that someone was trying to follow us.”

The three men approached the rear of the building, alert for patrolling security guards or attackers lurking in the shadows. As they neared the building, a door opened on the loading dock.

Adam Farber was waiting for them. “Rick! Jake! Miska! Great to see you!” he whispered, grinning. Before Jake could fend him off, Adam slapped Jake on the shoulder and Jake gasped in pain.

“Good to see you, too,” Rick replied, trying and failing to keep a hint of amusement out of his voice as Jake grimaced. “Let’s make this a quick visit, shall we?” Rick tapped Morse code into a Farber-made wristwatch that sent a wireless signal to Charles to let him know it was clear to proceed. A few minutes later, and the werkmen brought the black wagon up to the doorway.

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t have come near this place again if it weren’t so important… especially after those hired gorillas… well, anyway. Lars and I have been waiting for you,” Adam said, indicating the clockwork man who stood to one side, wearing the uniform of an elevator operator.

Jake looked askance at Lars. “Won’t he report back to management?”

Adam chuckled. “Who do you think programmed him? Let’s get the first load into the carriage, and I’ll go back for the second batch. Security isn’t making its rounds tonight, but I could swear I saw something out there, not long before you came.”

Jake and Rick stepped into the darkened stairwell. “How did you manage to get rid of security?” Jake asked.

“I sent them all ‘updated’ work schedules at the last minute, making sure none of them were on shift for tonight. And if anyone asks, they’re signed and official.” Adam’s grin broadened. “I had Lars copy the signature of the temporary scheduler who just finished today. She won’t be around to dispute it or take the blame. Perfect crime.”

Jake shook his head in admiration. “Adam Farber, you’re a dangerous man.”

“Give us a couple of minutes, and we’ll have the wagon loaded,” Adam replied. “We’ll go down the stairs so you can unload the service elevator. Send it back down to us when it’s empty, and we’ll reload it and ride back up.” He gestured for Lars to follow him. They disappeared down the stairs to the Castle’s lower levels, the secret underground labs where the geniuses of Tesla-Westinghouse created electro-mechanical marvels and tested the boundaries of known science.

After tense, silent minutes that seemed to stretch forever, Adam and Lars returned.

“Rick probably told you, I’ve been working on some really interesting things,” Adam said, talking quickly and nearly twitching with excitement. Jake guessed his friend was running high on caffeine. “And after what happened, I’m glad you two could hide me and my projects somewhere safe.”

With Kovach and Charles as sentries, Jake and Rick pitched in to help Adam and Lars load the wagon. Wooden boxes stuffed with small gadgets went in first, then crates with Farber’s tools and equipment.

“Isn’t anyone going to notice that all your stuff is missing?” Jake asked.

Adam chuckled. “No. They might think I cleaned the place up, but I’ve got duplicates of most of the tools, and plenty of half-made stuff that isn’t dangerous, so the lab will look as cluttered as ever.” He dropped his voice. “Although the pieces that were one-of-a-kind are what I’m trying to secure.”

It took Lars and Charles together to move a large crate, which looked suspiciously like the weapon Adam had used during the fight at Jake’s father’s interment.

“You saw one of my special projects at the cemetery,” Adam said as the workmen carried in the heavy box. “The Tesla ray served its purpose, but it was rough. I’ve been trying to refine the beam to make it a little less—unpredictable. And I think I’m close to making it more portable.”

In other words, to make it more dangerous for the people in front of the contraption than for those behind the controls, Jake thought.

“It’s technically an off-the-books project anyhow,” Adam said. “Now and then, Mr. Tesla drops by late at night when I’m working alone down in the lab. He’ll hand off some drawings, maybe a sketch he’s made on a scrap of paper or an equation, and tell me to run with it, but keep it quiet.” He laughed. “Why do you think I’m so happy to work odd hours?”

Lars and Charles returned from the back of the wagon, and Kovach handed Charles back his rifle.

“We’ve got one more load,” Adam said.

“Make it quick,” Kovach snapped. “We’ve been here too long already.”

Adam and Lars headed back down in the elevator. When they returned, they had two more werkmen with them, but the mechanical men looked different from Charles and Lars. Adam spoke a few quiet words to his creations, and they lined up to enter the wagon, then stood, rigid as soldiers on review, with the rest of the cargo.

“Prototypes,” Adam said. “They look alike on the outside, but inside, we’ve made a lot of improvements.” He lifted up a bag and rattled it. “I’ve been doing a lot of radio telegraph experiments, like what’s in the little pods I equipped your airship with. There’s so much more that could be done.”

“Save the chatter,” Kovach prodded. “Let’s get out of here before someone comes by.”

Adam locked the door behind them, and he and Lars turned to follow the others to the wagon. Lars stopped suddenly, and looked back at the building.

“Dr. Farber,” Lars said in a scratchy voice that sounded like a phonograph recording. “I detect the presence of nitric acid. Containment is advised.”

“We’ve got problems,” Adam said.

“Come on!” Kovach urged.

Adam shook his head. He pointed toward a stack of small wooden crates just a few feet away from the door they had just locked. “Those boxes shouldn’t be there,” Adam said. He turned to Lars. “Is that where you’re detecting the nitric acid?”

“Yes, Dr. Farber.”

“Is anyone else in the building?” Kovach asked.

“No. At least, no one is supposed to be,” Adam replied.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Lars,” Adam said, ignoring Kovach. “Do you detect a mechanism in the boxes?”

“Yes, Dr. Farber.”

“Does anyone know you were planning to be here tonight?” Kovach demanded.

“Everyone knows I’m here every night,” Adam replied. “Go on ahead. Lars and I will defuse it.”

“Hell, no,” Jake said. “We need to get you—and us—out of here right now.”

“Dr. Farber,” Lars said in his flat, mechanical voice. “I have detected five more such boxes.”

“Can you tell how much time we’ve got before the clockworks winds down?” Kovach asked.

“The mechanism is nearly spent,” Lars replied.

“That does it,” Kovach said, grabbing Farber by the arm. Jake seized him by the other. “We’re getting out of here.”

Charles was already in the driver’s seat, and Jake guessed that he had no desire to be blown up twice in as many days. Rick and Jake pushed Adam into the back of the wagon, dragging Lars with them as Kovach slammed the back doors shut, leaving them in darkness.

“Move!” Kovach hissed to Charles as he ran for the driver’s seat. The wagon lurched as the horses took off abruptly, making Jake, Rick, and Adam lose their balance and nearly toppling the werkmen onto them.

A deafening roar sounded behind them, then another and another. Thumps and thuds came as debris rained down on the carriage.

“The lab!” Adam cried out, lurching as if he meant to throw himself out of the wagon doors. Jake and Rick grabbed his arms and held on tightly.

“You’re sure no one knew you were planning to move some of your projects tonight?” Rick asked, searching for a handhold as the wagon careened around a corner.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Adam swore.

“Thaddeus.” Lars’s flat voice sounded in the darkness.

“Who’s Thaddeus?” Jake lost his footing as the wagon took another sharp corner at high speed. He staggered, and landed against one of the werkmen prototypes, which caught him and kept him from falling. “Thanks,” he muttered, managing to get his balance again.

“Thaddeus Hillard, my assistant,” Adam replied. His voice was thin and reedy; Jake guessed the inventor was reeling from the bombing’s implications. He turned towards Lars. “What made you think of Thaddeus?”

“He removes files for projects not assigned to him. He enters restricted areas.” Lars replied tonelessly.

“Wait, what?” Adam said abruptly. “What do you mean, he enters restricted areas?”

“He leaves at night, and then returns. He goes to other labs and offices.”

Adam frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“Your supervisor ordered me to give him access,” Lars replied.

Adam swore under his breath. “Did my boss order you not to tell me?”

“No,” Lars said. “But he did not order me to tell you. You did not ask. Thaddeus’s clearance level was sufficient for what he was doing and where he was going. It was not relevant to speak of until now.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a spy,” Rick said. “But the real question is—is Thaddeus the one who planted the bomb, or is more than one enemy involved?”

“One is enough,” Adam said, sagging to sit on the wagon floor. The horses had slowed their pace, even as the clang of fire alarms roused residents of Wilmerding from their beds and fire trucks rattled toward the Castle.

“Did you have any other problems, after what happened when Cullen and I were with you?” Rick asked.

“Little things that were off,” Adam said, sounding tired and defeated. “My boss has always left me alone to tinker, but he started asking a lot of questions, trying to get a look at the projects that aren’t ready to show anyone yet.”

“Is that so strange?” Rick asked. “He is your boss.”

“You don’t understand,” Adam said miserably. “Some of my projects come direct from Mr. Tesla. Those are off-limits, even from my boss. Other projects come from the government—like the Department—or private patrons—like Brand and Desmet. They negotiate my time with my boss, but they provide the budget, and usually a very strict contract, so the projects themselves are on a need-to-know basis, and he usually doesn’t need to know.”

“Did either your boss or Thaddeus threaten you?” Jake asked.

“No,” Adam replied. “I just felt… watched. I used to feel very safe at the Castle, but the last couple of weeks, it’s been strange. Odd people in and out. Mr. Thwaites having a lot of meetings with my boss. I don’t go upstairs much, but I have friends in the front office, and they were getting nervous.”

“Nervous about what?” The wagon jolted them so hard Jake’s teeth snapped together, and he bit back a cry of pain as he fell against his wounded arm. Blood trickled down his skin underneath his sleeve.

Adam took a deep breath. “I heard talk about strangers walking back and forth by the Castle, or sitting on a park bench nearby, watching the place. Then some shipments for the Department went missing.” He sighed. “That’s about the time my boss ‘gave’ me Thaddeus. Told me he would help me manage my hours, finish more projects in less time.”

“You didn’t ask for an assistant?’

“No. I like working alone. Thaddeus was nice enough, but he always seemed to be in the way.”

A sudden suspicion nagged at the corners of Jake’s mind. “You don’t happen to know a guy named Mitch Storm, do you?”

“You’ve met him? Sure. Where do you think we get the money to do half of the stuff we do here?” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “But we’re always very careful to keep the best stuff for ourselves.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jake said. “What’s your take on Storm and his partner?”

Adam shrugged. “They’re all right, as government types go. Did I ever show you my clockwork homing pigeons?”

“Maybe another time,” Rick said, trying to gently nudge Adam back on topic. “Are you working on anything that might make someone want to blow up the Castle?”

Adam was quiet for a moment. “Steal things? Yes. Kidnap me? I guess we know the answer to that one. Blow the place up? No.”

“What were you afraid might get stolen?” Jake prodded.

“My werkmen. That’s another reason why I wanted you to come and get me before it was too late. Lots of people have tried to make automatons. No one’s are as good as mine.” Adam’s voice held no boasting, only a simple statement of fact.

“We have Charles,” Jake said. “You’ve got Lars. You brought your prototypes with us. Does anyone else have one of your werkmen?”

“I’ve built a couple for the Department of Supernatural Investigations—Mitch Storm’s outfit,” Adam replied. “And they’ve also got Hans, the first flesh-and-blood man I outfitted with clockwork pieces to replace damaged body parts; my first Midas.” Adam’s voice regained its enthusiasm. “Imagine—no more war wounded! No more men crippled by industrial accidents!”

“You sound like you’re veering a little close to resurrectionist territory,” Rick replied with a worried tone. “Tell me you didn’t do any grave robbing.”

“Absolutely not! I’ve only made a couple of Midas men, and they are very much alive. I practiced on some cadavers, but the ones we used all came from verified sources.”

“Unfortunately, I can think of a lot of shady types who would love to get their hands on that kind of equipment,” Jake said. “And they’d be more than willing to steal it.”

“Steal it, yes. But then why blow up the Castle?” Adam asked. “Do you think Kovach would go back—just close enough that we can see how bad the damage is?”

“No!” Both Jake and Rick spoke at once.

For a moment, they sat in silence. “We’ll get you to the warehouse in the Strip District that we were renovating before Father died,” Jake said finally. “Miska will post guards. You should have plenty of room there, and since the renovation’s been halted indefinitely, there shouldn’t be anyone in or out.”

“Would anyone be overly distressed if you went missing?” Rick asked. “Because it could take a while for the police to figure out whether or not anyone got killed in the bombing. You could disappear, let things cool off, maybe throw the thugs off your trail until we figure out what’s going on.”

“I don’t have any close family, or romantic interests—at least, not right now. Some of the people at work might be worried, but they’ll be just as glad when I show up again, so I think it will be all right.”

“There’s a tunnel that runs between the main Brand and Desmet building and the new warehouse,” Jake said. “No one else should have a reason to use it. We can keep you supplied with food and materials without anyone seeing us coming and going.”

“Suits me,” Adam said. “After tonight, I don’t want to poke my head outside until we know who set those bombs—and who sent the kidnappers.”

The streets of New Pittsburgh were nearly empty. Charles slowed the wagon to a decorous pace that was unlikely to draw attention. Finally, the horses came to a stop, and Jake’s hand fell to the Colt revolver in his holster, just in case.

The doors opened and Kovach stood framed in the dim glow of the gas lamps. “We’re here,” he said. “Step lively.”

Charles brought the wagon up to the side entrance of the warehouse, close to the big doors to the building’s basement. Adam rallied his werkmen, and they made short work of carrying in the heavy boxes and crates, filing in with orderly precision.

In another hour or two, Smallman Street would be bustling with greengrocers and fruit merchants, fishmongers, and bakers. But right now, in the wee hours just before dawn, Jake saw few people; and those who were awake were going about their business with insomniac intensity, paying them no attention.

“What do you think?” Jake asked. “Will it do?” The large basement had narrow frosted glass windows at sidewalk level, covered with iron bars, assuring privacy and security.

“Oh, my,” Adam said, turning to take in the huge, empty space. Overhead, bare Edison bulbs glowed, illuminating the laboratory’s new home. “This is perfect.”

“You’ve got water and electricity,” Jake said. “There won’t be anyone up above to be bothered by noise, and as long as you don’t blow the place sky high, the din on Smallman Street during the day is enough that no one should hear anything you’re doing.”

“Thank you,” Adam stammered, overwhelmed. “I was afraid I’d end up with all the werkmen stuffed into my landlady’s attic and me tinkering in the garden shed.”

Rick chuckled. “I think we can do a bit better than that. And if you like it, we can work out a more permanent arrangement,” he added off-handedly.

“Absolutely,” Jake said. “We can talk about adding security, a special entrance, an apartment for when you work late, whatever you need. There’s also a sub-basement that hasn’t been reclaimed; it may come in handy.” He met Adam’s gaze. “Think about it. Here, you can work on your private contracts and special projects away from the prying eyes of Tesla-Westinghouse. And if they insist, you can always keep your projects for them over at the Castle.”

“If the Castle still stands. I feel awful that I was the cause of all that.” Adam sighed. “And it wasn’t even an experiment gone wrong this time.”

“You didn’t cause the blast,” Rick said. “Someone else planted those bombs. The real question is—which of your projects were they trying to stop?”

“Or, was it Adam himself they were trying to stop?” Jake asked. “We need to seriously consider whether he was the target, not just his inventions, especially if someone knew you keep late hours and were likely to be there when the blast went off.”

Adam paled and sat down on a pallet of two-by-fours, looking as if he might pass out. He stared wide-eyed at Jake and Rick. “It’s one thing to be kidnapped. Do you really think someone is trying to kill me?”

“I think we need to err on the safe side, until we figure out what is actually going on,” Rick replied. “Drostan Fletcher’s due to report in, and that might shed some light. Tomorrow, we’ll find out how much damage was done to the Castle. You’ll go ‘missing’, Adam, at least until we know who the enemy is.”

“But my projects for Tesla-Westinghouse—and my patron-projects. What about them?” Adam asked.

“They’d come to a permanent halt if you were really dead,” Rick said. “Think how happy they’ll be to find out that you’re still alive. A little delay won’t seem so bad. And when it’s safe to bring you back, we’ll just say you got hit on the head and wandered off and took a while to come back to your senses.”

“How likely is it that Tesla-Westinghouse could hire someone else to take over your work?” Jake asked. “Like Thaddeus, for example.”

Adam thought for a moment. “Thaddeus is good at taking direction, but I haven’t seen him come up with anything on his own. I’m sure there are people they could find who could build from plans I’ve left behind—although the Tesla weapon technology is experimental. They’re not going to find many people with that kind of experience. As for the new stuff…” He shook his head. “I made sure to bring my notes and drawings with me, as well as the prototypes. And most of it was still up here,” he said, tapping his forehead. “Anyone else would have to start from scratch.”

Just then, Jake heard distant pounding, as if someone were hammering on the first-floor door. He pressed a button, plunging them all into darkness. They waited in silence until Jake heard a voice from the top of the stairs.

“Jake?” Kovach called. “We’ve got a situation up here. There’s a very angry plumber, and he’s demanding to see you.”

Cautiously, Jake turned on the lights again.

“What on earth is a plumber doing here at this hour?” Rick said.

“We’ll find out,” Jake said with a shrug, leaving Adam and the others behind as he sprinted up the steps.

At the warehouse’s front door, Jake could see a heavy-set man arguing loudly with Kovach, who stood, arms-crossed. Behind the stranger was a cluster of a dozen men in tradesmen’s clothing, milling about and muttering angrily. Farther down the street, near the main Brand and Desmet building, another knot of men had formed a cordon around the basement doors.

As Jake drew closer, he caught bits of the angry man’s diatribe.

“Unpardonable! ...violation of contract. We won’t stand for it! ...ignoring Union rules—”

“What seems to be the problem?” Jake asked, joining the two men. By the light of the streetlamp, he could make out the stocky man’s features enough to recognize ‘Big’ Joe Doheimer, one of the senior plumbers Brand and Desmet retained to keep their buildings running, and the president of the New Pittsburgh Plumber’s Union #407.

Doheimer straightened to meet Jake’s gaze, flushed in the face from his argument with Kovach. “We’re onto you,” he said, wagging a finger in Jake’s face. “We know your secret. And we demand something be done about it, before someone gets hurt.”

Jake felt his stomach knot. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Doheimer took a step closer, so that his florid face was nearly nose-to-nose with Jake. “Don’t deny it! Brand and Desmet is using scab plumbers to get around Union wages.”

Jake looked at Doheimer, and his mind raced, trying to figure out what in the world the angry plumber was raging about. “Scab plumbers?”

“Don’t deny it! We’ve got you dead to rights.”

Jake spread his hands. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I came here to oversee a late shipment. It’s got nothing to do with plumbers.”

“Then how do you explain the men over at your other building? The ones working on the pipes in the basement? One of my men saw them carrying pipes and fittings a couple of hours ago, sneaking around after dark so no one would know Brand and Desmet hires scabs!”

“Brand and Desmet does not hire scabs,” Jake retorted. As aggravating as Doheimer and his accusations were, the notion forming in Jake’s mind was much worse. “Show me these scabs. They’re no one we’ve hired.”

“So you say,” Doheimer grunted.

Kovach placed Charles on guard at the doors to the lab before he and Jake set off at a brisk pace behind Doheimer, following to the main building.

“It just so happened that Hank was coming back from the pub, and he walked past,” Doheimer said, giving Jake an accusing look. “He saw men carrying toolboxes and pipes into the basement, skulking around in the night so no one would know you’re cheating the honest Union workmen of New Pittsburgh!”

Doheimer paused to wipe a sheen of sweat from his forehead. “Hank came around to my place, because he figured right that I’d want to know. When I heard what he saw, I roused a couple dozen of the boys and we figured we’d catch those scabs in the act and have them here to face you with the evidence in the morning.”

“So they’re still here?” Jake said, glancing at the non-descript utility wagon parked behind the main Brand and Desmet building.

Doheimer gave a sage nod. “Aye, though they put up quite a struggle. But my boys had their Irish up, and they were mighty steamed about scabs cutting into one of our big jobs. So when push came to shove and the fists started to fly, my boys came out ahead. Your scabs are worse for the wear, tied up neat as a Christmas present, proof that you’ve broken our contract. Bad enough you use those steam engineers for your airships instead of regular working plumbers. But this is going too far.”

“I haven’t hired any plumbers—scab or Union—to do night work at the main building,” Jake said. “And if George had hired them, Rick or I’d know.” He looked Doheimer straight in the eyes. “Those aren’t my men. So if they’re here, they’re up to no good.”

“Did anyone go into the basement to see what they were working on?” Kovach interrupted.

Doheimer shook his head. “Didn’t need to, because they told us right out they were fixing the pipes on your boiler.”

Oh God, Jake thought. Another bomb.

“I can’t get my men here fast enough,” Kovach said with a worried look; he’d evidently come to the same conclusion. “And we have no idea when they’ve set it to blow.”

Jake turned to Doheimer. “Those men aren’t plumbers. They’re anarchists,” he said, fudging the truth for ease of explanation. “And if they were working on our boiler, it was to set it to blow up.”

“Anarchists?” Doheimer repeated. “Here in New Pittsburgh?”

“Where are the men you captured?” Jake asked. Rick had come up behind them, close enough to hear what was being said, and Jake was sure Adam was hanging back in the shadows, out of sight but within earshot.

“I’ll show you,” Doheimer said, still looking skeptical. “Don’t expect my boys to give you a warm welcome.”

“We don’t have time for that,” Jake snapped, “not if the building is going to blow. Bring the men you captured and get your own people away from the building. Hurry!”

Doheimer headed toward the crowd, shouting orders. Boos and catcalls greeted Jake, Rick, and Kovach. Kovach and Charlie made a quick check to clear the area, but found no one else. A dozen or so plumbers moved to the relative safety of a spot across the street and down a block, then swarmed around them, chanting Union slogans. Jake paid them no heed, and focused on the sullen prisoners, who were tied with strips of the cotton duck cloth used by plumbers to wrap the joints of their pipes.

“Here’re yer scabs.” A tall plumber with a cabbie hat jammed down over his wild dark hair gave the nearest prisoner a kick before stepping back as Doheimer and the others approached.

The three men sat bound hand and foot on the sidewalk. They had the rough look of hired muscle, dressed in dark colors to blend into the night. Scars marked their faces from old fights, and one of the men was missing part of an ear.

“Who do you work for?” Jake demanded.

The man with the missing ear looked up and gave him a sly grin. “Brand and Desmet, guv. Just here to do a job on the cheap.”

The plumbers howled their anger, and began their chants again. Doheimer silenced them with an ear-splitting whistle.

“Now what do you say?” Doheimer demanded. He turned to face Jake with his hands on his hips, ready for a fight.

Jake ignored him and moved down the line to the second prisoner. “That your story too?”

The second man glared at him. “I don’t got nothin’ to say.”

“You hired us, and now you don’t want no one to know about it, so how ’bout you let us go and pay us our money?” the third man shouted at Jake. Beneath the bluster and the subterfuge, Jake heard a note of fear and realized none of the saboteurs had bargained on being close to the building when their handiwork went off.

“I had guards patrolling the building,” Kovach said, and the tone of his voice made the plumbers quiet down. “What did you do to them?”

“You mean the drunk guys out back?” one of the plumbers yelled. “We found three big oxes sleepin’ like babies with an empty bottle of vodka.”

“My men don’t drink on duty,” Kovach grated. He grabbed One-Ear by the shirt and dragged him to his feet. “What did you do to them?”

One-Ear smirked. “Just helped them get a good night’s sleep, that’s all.” Kovach threw him to the sidewalk, cursing under his breath in Hungarian.

The plumbers began to shout once more, threatening everything from personal violence against Jake and Rick to organizing a tradesmen’s boycott of Brand and Desmet.

“These men are burglars and anarchists,” Jake yelled above the noise. “They didn’t come here to fix anything. They came to plant a bomb!”

“Who are you kidding, bub?” one of the plumbers shouted back. “Yer just duckin’ the charge so we don’t picket yer building.”

Jake turned back to the three prisoners. “How about we all wait here together until daybreak?” he said, looking from one of the bound saboteurs to another. “How long will it take for the pressure in the boiler to build up? Maybe we should move you three into the basement and we can all wait for the explosion together?”

One-Ear licked his lips nervously. “We just do what we’re told, guv. Nothin’ personal.”

“I ain’t going back in there!” the third prisoner said. He was the youngest of the three, with a dirty, pock-marked face and a nose crooked and flattened from fighting. Beneath the dirt that streaked his face, he had gone pale. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but don’t put us down there to die!”

His outburst silenced the plumbers, and Doheimer stepped forward, bending over to go nose-to-nose with the man. “What did you do and why did you do it?”

“Shut up, Dave!” One-Ear said.

“I don’t want to die either!” the second man said. He had the beat-down look of a man who had tried and failed at everything, with a sallow complexion and basset eyes. Jake stepped closer to him, catching a whiff of tobacco and cheap gin.

Doheimer gave Dave the pox-faced man a shake. “What did you do?”

“They said we’d be clean gone by the time it went off,” Dave said, panic clear in his voice. “Just a quick job. Break in to a building, mess up the boiler, and be across the river before it blows. Then we’d get paid. Now we ain’t gettin’ paid and you’re going to get us all killed.”

“I’m going in there,” Jake said. “We’re wasting time. If there’s a way to undo what’s been done, we’ve got to get to it.”

“You don’t know a thing about boilers,” Rick argued.

“But you do,” Jake retorted, “so help me! And for that matter, I’ve helped Cullan more than once with the boilers on the Allegheny Princess.”

“You’re all scabs,” Doheimer said, throwing Dave to the sidewalk and landing a kick to One-Ear’s rump in the same movement. “Don’t know a boiler from a horse’s ass.”

“So you’ll go in with us?” Jake challenged. Doheimer looked like he was about to decline, but he did not have the chance to say anything before they were interrupted.

“I’ll go. I know more about boilers than either of you.”

Jake turned to find Adam Farber behind him, his face hidden by the up-turned collar of a rain slicker. Lars the werkman was behind him, a dirty jacket thrown over his elevator operator’s uniform.

“You ain’t a plumber,” Doheimer challenged. “And I bet you ain’t Union, either.”

“Actually,” Adam said, “I am. International Union of Operating Engineers, Local #06.”

“Now we’re talkin’,” Doheimer said, and broke into a grin. “Hey fellas! We got a Union brother!” Adam looked uncomfortable as a cheer went up from the plumbers.

“The question is, do you have his back?” Jake asked. “Or did you forget that there’s a boiler set to blow?”

Doheimer’s expression hardened. “I’ll go in with you. Nothin’ against engineers, but they ain’t plumbers.” He turned toward the others. “Boys! Listen up! These three sa-bot-eers messed with a boiler in that building. Eddie! Sam! Haul these sons of bitches out of the way and keep an eye on them. Don’t let them go nowhere. The rest of yunz clear out the area and block off the streets around here. Keep the rubberneckers away.” He turned back to Adam, Rick, and Jake with a curt nod. “Let’s go.”

“We’re coming with you,” Jake and Rick said in unison.

Kovach grabbed Jake by the arm. “No, you’re not,” he said, holding Jake back.

“Here,” Adam said, shoving something into Rick’s hand. “One of you, put these on.” Then Adam, Lars, and Doheimer headed into the open basement door of the Brand and Desmet headquarters.

“Let them do what they’re good at. We’d only be in the way,” Rick said.

Jake shook off Kovach’s hand, but did not move to follow. He and Rick withdrew to a safe distance down the block while Kovach went looking for his missing men. Before long, he showed up with one man slung over his shoulder.

“Here,” he grunted, unloading the man like a sack of flour onto the sidewalk. “That’s one of them. Looks like they’re all drugged. Don’t go anywhere.” He took off at a run. Jake dragged the unconscious man out of the middle of the sidewalk and propped him against the wall of the building down the block and out of harm’s way. Kovach returned in a few minutes with the second man, and headed after the third.

“I hope they’re all right,” Jake said, staring at the darkened windows of the Brand and Desmet headquarters.

“Nothing’s blown up yet,” Rick replied.

Once Kovach had retrieved the last of his men, he walked over to One-Ear and hauled him to his feet, pushing him hard up against the wall. “What did you use on my men? Because I know damn well they didn’t get drunk.”

“Why should I tell you?”

In response, Kovach put One-Ear in a headlock and began to drag the bound man back toward the Brand and Desmet building.

“All right!” One-Ear cried, and Kovach stopped. “We shot ’em with darts.”

“What was on the darts?”

“Don’t know,” One-Ear replied, and howled when Kovach kicked him in the leg. “God’s truth, honest! The guy who hired us gave us a bottle of some kind of liquid, told us to put it on the dart tips but not get any on ourselves. That’s all I know. Worked like a charm.”

Swearing in Hungarian, Kovach dragged One-Ear back to the sidewalk. He drew his revolver, and stood where he had a clean shot at all three saboteurs. “I wouldn’t mind some target practice right now to let off some steam,” he warned. “Don’t give me a reason.”

A short way off, Rick pressed the goggles into Jake’s hand. “Here, you can do the honors.”

Jake looked down at the goggles. The thick frame that encased the lenses was filled with wires and small, intricate gears, while the lenses themselves glittered with a strange iridescence. “Those are the gadget glasses Adam showed me,” Rick said excitedly. “He must have gotten them working!”

“Never saw a pair of glasses with a switch,” Jake said, turning them on and lifting them to his face. “Well what do you know? I see what Lars sees.”

Rick moved to stand beside him, as if to see what he was looking at.

“They’re working their way toward the boiler,” Jake said. “Looks like One-Ear and his buddies trashed the place. All right. They’re at the boiler. Not good. I don’t have to hear what they’re saying. Lars can see the gauges. If they can’t bring down the pressure real quick, that boiler’s going to blow.”

“Can they do it?” Rick asked, his voice taut.

“I don’t know,” Jake replied, squinting. One-Ear and his men had added some kind of infernal mechanism to the boiler.

Jake could see Doheimer shouting at Adam as they both bent to the work of undoing the damage the saboteurs had done. “The emergency release valve has been badly damaged, welded shut—they can’t budge it. And there’s a timer mechanism attached to the side.” Jake watched as Doheimer and Adam strained to turn valves and knobs with wrenches. Lars lent his mechanical strength but was also thwarted.

“They can’t turn down the pressure. And the boiler looks like it’s straining at the seams.” Through Lars’s eyes, Jake could read the gauges. Every one of the gauges was in the red zone.

“They’re not going to make it. It’s going up any second. Everyone pull back!” The group moved another block down the street, dragging the saboteurs and unconscious guards with them; still within sight but, with luck, out of the range of flying debris.

Jake’s field of vision changed so quickly it nearly made him lose his balance. Rick put a hand on his shoulder to steady him as the scene blurred, and when the images cleared, Lars was on the other side of the boiler.

“Oh, no,” Jake murmured, knowing what the werkman intended an instant before Lars’s metal fist slammed through the emergency release valve.

Caught up in the vision, Jake reeled as scalding water burst from the ruptured valve, dousing the werkman and spraying the room behind him. Clouds of super-heated steam billowed from the tank, hot enough to sear skin and lungs. A muted bang rumbled across Smallman Street, and Doheimer’s plumbers cried out in alarm.

“Adam and Doheimer?” Rick pressed.

“I can’t see them,” Jake said. “I can’t see much at all.”

Steam clouded Jake’s vision even as the werkman tried to back out of the way. His metal skin and clockwork mechanisms protected him beyond the limits of fragile skin and bone, but Jake knew as the image flickered and faltered that the damage was done. Lars looked down at the fist that had ruptured the damaged release valve, and the metal was melted and misshapen, fingers fused together.

Lights flickered at the edge of Jake’s vision, warning signals from the difference engine in Lars’s mechanical brain alerting him to critical data. Perhaps with forethought, Adam could build a werkman especially suited for the conditions of the ruined boiler room, but Lars had been intended as an elevator operator, not meant for extreme conditions.

“He’s dying,” Jake said.

“Who? Adam?” Rick’s worry was clear in his voice.

“No, Lars,” Jake replied. “He’s shutting down.”

The warning lights from the difference engine were dimming. The point of view did not move—perhaps, Jake thought, Lars’ legs were fused, like the fingers of his hand, by the superheated steam. The images in the gadget glasses flickered, obliterated by bursts of static. Colors faded. The lenses went dark.

“He’s gone.” Jake swallowed down the lump in his throat. He’s mechanical, Jake told himself. Adam can fix him, build another one. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of loss.

“Jake.” Rick shook his shoulder. “Jake. Take the glasses off. Look. Adam and Doheimer. They’re coming out of the cellar. They’re alive!”

Jake removed the gadget glasses and tucked them into a pocket of his jacket. He saw Adam’s loping figure next to Doheimer’s squat, bustling form. “They made it,” he said, relief flooding him. “It didn’t blow up the building.”

The plumbers sent up a cheer as Doheimer and Adam crossed the street to rejoin them, crowding around and shouting in triumph. Jake left Kovach to mind the prisoners, and went to greet them.

Adam’s glum face was in marked contrast to the celebratory mood of the plumbers gathered around Doheimer. “You saw?” he said, meeting Jake’s gaze.

Jake nodded. “Yeah. What was that thing?”

Adam shook his head. “I didn’t have time to study it. Some kind of detonator that would have magnified the blast, I’d guess. They’d welded the knobs. The only thing I could think to do was release the pressure, and Lars was the only way to do it in a hurry.” He looked haggard. “Doheimer and I barely had a chance to find cover before I had to give Lars the order. I didn’t go in there intending to destroy him.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake replied. “Can you fix him?”

Adam let out a long breath. “I can build a new body, but each werkman has his own quirks, little design flaws that make them individual. Once he’s fixed, he’ll function, but I don’t know if he’ll still be Lars.”

“Someone meant to do you a world of harm.” Doheimer stood in front of Jake, backed by his men. “Never thought I’d say it, but I’m mighty glad those guys were scabs. No Union man would do such a thing.”

“Thank you,” Jake said, extending his hand. Doheimer’s roughened fingers closed around his in a bone-crushing shake. “You took a big risk.”

“Sorry about your man,” Doheimer said. “Don’t know how he managed to do it, welded solid it was, but if he hadn’t, we’d have all gone up along with the building.”

Jake nodded. “We’ll see to him.” He looked up at the crowd of plumbers. “We’re all right, then—misunderstanding straightened out, no boycott?”

Doheimer grinned. “Right as rain, son. Got no patience with anarchists. You want my boys to work them over, find out what they know?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Rick said. “But thank you.”

“You sure?” Doheimer said, giving One-Eye a look that made the three saboteurs shrink back against the wall. “Stuff like this makes my guys real mad. Leaving those three in a bloody heap might send their bosses a message.”

“Thanks, but no,” Jake said. “We’ll handle them.”

“All right then, let’s clear out!” Doheimer shouted to his plumbers. “‘I’ll be back first thing Monday morning and see what it’ll take to replace that boiler and get things set right. I’ll get you a good price.” And with that, Doheimer and his men strode off down Smallman Street.

“What do you intend to do with them?” Kovach asked, raking the prisoners with a glare that made it clear he would not have minded taking Doheimer up on his offer.

“A slightly more elegant version of the same thing,” Jake said, feeling all the night’s danger, tension and loss turning into cold resolve. “I thought we’d take them to Andreas, let him find out what they know and make them forget it all.”

Kovach turned back to the prisoners. “You might want to beg those plumbers to come back and work you over,” he said with a nasty smile. “Because he’s going to turn you over to a vampire-witch.”

“And then what?” Rick asked quietly.

“Then we take what we find out, and figure out if the same people trying to kill Adam—and me—are the ones who killed my father,” Jake replied. “It’s time to settle the score.”