The Steampunk Trilogy Read Online Free PDF

needed.”
    Cowperthwait was astonished. “They’re drinking Thames water in Belgravia? Why, this stuff is positively pestilential.”
    “Oh, it ain’t so bad as all that. Since they put the grates up on the intake pipes, mithin’ bigger’n a rat can get through.”
    The door opened and a belligerent poxed and bearded face thrust out. Squinting, the man recognized McGroaty.
    “Come in, come in, Nails. Another volunteer for the treadmills, I take it. Does he need further persuasion?” Horseapple flourished a truncheon.
    “Not this one, old man. It’s my mate, Cosmo. He’s lookin’ for a lady friend of his, and thought she might be gracin’ your establishment.”
    “Let him look then. But don’t disturb their rhythm. It makes for bad water pressure and the toffs complain.”
    Horseapple conducted the visitors through some cobwebbed antechambers and into a dimly-lit cavernous interior. The building must have been at one time a brewery or warehouse. Now, however, ranked across the quarter-acre or so of floorspace were five dozen wooden treadmills, all hooked by an elaborate system of gears, cams and shafts to a brace of huge pumps. The treadmills were manned by rag-clad wraiths chained to their stations. Whip-bearing overseers marched up and down, applying persuasion whenever a unit flagged.
    Cowperthwait turned angrily to Horseapple. “My Christ, man, this is absolutely barbaric! A steam engine or two would easily outperform all these poor wretches.”
    Horseapple stroked his hirsute chin. “You’re talking heavy capital investment now, Carmine. The bleedin’ pumps cost me enough as it was. And besides, what would these poor buggers do with their free time? Just drink themselves silly and lie in the gutter. As it stands, they’ve got a roof over their head and three meals a day, albeit it’s usually only whatever’s fouling up the grates.”
    McGroaty laid a hand on Cowperthwait’s shoulder. “No time for social reform now, Coz. We got an important lady to find.”
    So saying, the pair trooped up and down the ranks, looking for the missing Queen. For purposes of comparison, Cowperthwait carried a silhouette that had been published in the daily papers.
    No luck. Horseapple invited them to check the sleeping off-shift laborers, which they quickly did, making all haste to escape the urinous and bedbug-ridden common dormitory.
    Horseapple saw them to the door. “Remember, Nails—ten shillings a head. The way this city is growing, I’ll be forced to double my operations in a year.”
    The door slammed behind them, and Cowperthwait stood motionless a moment, stunned and disheartened by the experience. With such pits and cesspools of inhumanity, how could he ever hope to imagine the Queen was still alive and unhurt, and able to be found? The task seemed hopeless. . . .
    McGroaty was whispering in Cowperthwait’s ear. “Don’t let on, but there’s someone watchin’ us. To your left, behind that pile of crates.”
    Cowperthwait slowly turned his head. A glint of light flashed off something silver.
    “I’ll handle this,” Cowperthwait whispered back. He raised his cane. Then, in a loud voice: “Step forward and declare yourself, man!”
    From the shadows emerged the form of a giant. A swarthy native of India, he appeared at least seven feet tall, although some of that height might have been attributable to his voluminous headwrap. Dressed in colorful silks, he bore a long scimitar by his side.
    “Holy Andy Jackson!”
    “Have no fear,” declaimed Cowperthwait, his voice quavering. The inventor raised his cane and pressed a spring catch in its handle. The lower portion of the cane shot off, taking the concealed sword-blade with it and leaving Cowperthwait holding a stubby handle.
    The two waited for the Indian to advance and decapitate them both with one mighty blow.
    Instead, the thuggee was joined by another figure.
    The Man with The Silver Nose.
    Lord Chuting-Payne.
    In his late fifties,