Free The Steampunk Detective by Darrell Pitt Page B
Authors: Darrell Pitt
alternating levels of brown and white brickwork. Along each level hundreds of windows looked outwards at the view beyond.
Above them they saw clouds enclosing the upper levels. Through gaps in the haze the metrotower continued upwards and out of sight.
“The figures are staggering,” Mr Doyle recounted. “Tens of millions of individual bricks used in its construction. Millions of panes of glass. Over a million people live in the structure. Thousands of offices. Hundreds of new towns occupy levels at various intervals.”
“How are we going to find Mr Harker?” Jack asked. It all sounded so enormous he wondered how anyone found anyone else.
“Thankfully we know his address,” Mr Doyle said, smiling. “Otherwise we would never find him. It has been said a person could start at the ground floor and search every room and die of old age before they reached the top.” He adjusted the helm. “At the centre of the structure are over a hundred lifts. They operate at all times of the day and night.”
“Where does the power come from?” Scarlet asked.
“The metrotower’s steam mills are located a mile away from the base. They provide the power for the building. Airships deliver food and water, although much of it is provided by the tower itself.”
“In what way?” Scarlet asked.
“Water is collected from the storms and showers that regularly drench the exterior of the structure. Food is grown on several levels, making full use of the light entering the windows.”
“It makes one wonder why anyone would ever leave,” Scarlet said.
“Some people don’t,” Mr Doyle said. “There are a number of people who have been born on the tower and have never departed.”
Jack tried to imagine what it would be like if he had to live inside a building for his entire life. It sounded like jail. “That sounds terrible.”
Mr Doyle shot a smile at him. “Not everyone shares your love of adventure, Jack.” He looked back out the window. “Here we are, almost ready to land.”
The Lion’s Mane edged closer to the structure. A number of larger vessels were before them, but as it turned out they were being directed to other moorings. Mr Doyle directed them towards a line of smaller airships. Each vessel came into land at a dock that jutted out from the side like a huge tongue. As they pulled in to land, a door slid across, keeping out the cold. After they dropped off their passengers, they departed almost immediately.
“Some are returning to their place of origin,” Mr Doyle said. “Others, especially those owned by aristocrats, have their own docking bays further down the building.”
“I do not believe in class structure,” Scarlet said, tightening her fist. “One day I hope there will be no such distinction.”
Mr Doyle gave her a look of mock astonishment. “Ah, a suffragette and a follower of Mr Marx.”
“I do not follow the teachings of Mr Marx,” Scarlet said. “I merely believe as the Americans do, that all are created equal.”
“I agree,” Mr Doyle said. “We are created equal. A shame we do not live as such. Ah, here we are. Time to dock.”
The previous vessel had just docked and flown away. Mr Doyle brought them into land. A man in what appeared to be a lightweight diving outfit stood outside, signalling them to remain stationary until the outer doors had closed.
As the doors slid shut, he held up a sign. It read:
One minute till interior heating completed
They waited. Finally he gave them a thumbs–up symbol and they slowly climbed out. The interior of the docking bay was freezing, despite the warm air being pumped in. Jack found his legs felt like jelly. Scarlet stumbled against him and his heart rose up into his throat as she clasped his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Jack,” Scarlet said, looking embarrassed. “I have jelly legs.”
“Me too.”
He felt rather sorry when she released him.
“It’s like being on a ship for long periods,” Mr Doyle explained, handling the
Above them they saw clouds enclosing the upper levels. Through gaps in the haze the metrotower continued upwards and out of sight.
“The figures are staggering,” Mr Doyle recounted. “Tens of millions of individual bricks used in its construction. Millions of panes of glass. Over a million people live in the structure. Thousands of offices. Hundreds of new towns occupy levels at various intervals.”
“How are we going to find Mr Harker?” Jack asked. It all sounded so enormous he wondered how anyone found anyone else.
“Thankfully we know his address,” Mr Doyle said, smiling. “Otherwise we would never find him. It has been said a person could start at the ground floor and search every room and die of old age before they reached the top.” He adjusted the helm. “At the centre of the structure are over a hundred lifts. They operate at all times of the day and night.”
“Where does the power come from?” Scarlet asked.
“The metrotower’s steam mills are located a mile away from the base. They provide the power for the building. Airships deliver food and water, although much of it is provided by the tower itself.”
“In what way?” Scarlet asked.
“Water is collected from the storms and showers that regularly drench the exterior of the structure. Food is grown on several levels, making full use of the light entering the windows.”
“It makes one wonder why anyone would ever leave,” Scarlet said.
“Some people don’t,” Mr Doyle said. “There are a number of people who have been born on the tower and have never departed.”
Jack tried to imagine what it would be like if he had to live inside a building for his entire life. It sounded like jail. “That sounds terrible.”
Mr Doyle shot a smile at him. “Not everyone shares your love of adventure, Jack.” He looked back out the window. “Here we are, almost ready to land.”
The Lion’s Mane edged closer to the structure. A number of larger vessels were before them, but as it turned out they were being directed to other moorings. Mr Doyle directed them towards a line of smaller airships. Each vessel came into land at a dock that jutted out from the side like a huge tongue. As they pulled in to land, a door slid across, keeping out the cold. After they dropped off their passengers, they departed almost immediately.
“Some are returning to their place of origin,” Mr Doyle said. “Others, especially those owned by aristocrats, have their own docking bays further down the building.”
“I do not believe in class structure,” Scarlet said, tightening her fist. “One day I hope there will be no such distinction.”
Mr Doyle gave her a look of mock astonishment. “Ah, a suffragette and a follower of Mr Marx.”
“I do not follow the teachings of Mr Marx,” Scarlet said. “I merely believe as the Americans do, that all are created equal.”
“I agree,” Mr Doyle said. “We are created equal. A shame we do not live as such. Ah, here we are. Time to dock.”
The previous vessel had just docked and flown away. Mr Doyle brought them into land. A man in what appeared to be a lightweight diving outfit stood outside, signalling them to remain stationary until the outer doors had closed.
As the doors slid shut, he held up a sign. It read:
One minute till interior heating completed
They waited. Finally he gave them a thumbs–up symbol and they slowly climbed out. The interior of the docking bay was freezing, despite the warm air being pumped in. Jack found his legs felt like jelly. Scarlet stumbled against him and his heart rose up into his throat as she clasped his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Jack,” Scarlet said, looking embarrassed. “I have jelly legs.”
“Me too.”
He felt rather sorry when she released him.
“It’s like being on a ship for long periods,” Mr Doyle explained, handling the