Free The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) by Valentina S. Grub

sinister, legless piece of metal. He felt his heart start to patter irregularly, and began to feel droplets of sweat careen down his neck, under his cravat and down his back. He quickly pulled out a comb from his breast pocket and pulled it through his pristine hair.
    “Pull it together, man,” he told himself sternly, but just as he thought he might have to pull the emergency lever in the corner, the cage came to a sudden halt and the doors opened. He quickly dashed out, barely hearing the intoned directions,
    “Last door on the left.”
    Even as he followed the dark, obviously un-renovated hallways lit with diming luminosity tubes, he was dreading dealing with another automaton.
                  Not bothering to knock on the grubby door labelled ‘research’ in swirling letters, he entered.
                  “Hello, there,” said a surprisingly lyrical voice. Surprised, Magnus took a moment to recalibrate himself.
                  The room was much brighter than the dark hall, with hundreds of new luminosity tubes gleaming to reveal hundreds of selves, filled with thousands of pigeon holes.
                  Seated a few feet in front of the door was a large desk piled high with papers and empty tubes, each one waiting to be sealed in the other. Behind the desk was a small man with a very lush, dark moustache, and equally dark and lush hair that was half-hidden under a shapeless hat.
                  “You’re- you’re Welsh!” was all the barrister could think of saying.
                  “Well, now, you are the observant one,” said the young man, no older than Magnus himself. Though his words were harsh, the lilting tone to his voice belied a sardonic sense humour.
                  “Excuse me,” apologized Magnus, “I was just expecting an automaton.” Understanding dawned in the dark eyes across from his.
                  “Oh, yes,” the man nodded, wiping crumbs from his moustache. “Not a fan of the walkin’, talkin’ scrap heaps then, are you?” Magnus shook his head. “Don’t blame you a’tall, mate. Over the last two years, they’ve put more than their fair share out of work here. That’s why I was banished down here. Damn things just can’t seem to be able to research and file things properly.
    “I’m Twym Glyndwr, by the way, researcher extraordinaire and keeper of the files.” He swept out his arms to encompass the room behind him, then wiped his hands on his pants and sat down.  He beckoned to an old chair in front of his desk, indicating Magnus should do the same.
    Magnus sat, feeling a spring curl up into his backside as he tried to work out just how to say the Welshman’s name. Behind the piles of paper and tubing, Magnus could see and smell the unidentifiable remains of a lunch tin. Seeing his gaze, the researcher offered him some.
    “Um, what is it?”
    “Leftovers from the breakfast my fiancé made for me. Just a bit of eggs and cockles fried with bacon and sausage on a bit of bara lawr . That’s laverbread, made with seaweed, to you,” he smiled widely, cheekily.
    “I think I’ll pass, thank you” Magnus swallowed.
    “So,” he leaned back in his squeaky chair, “how can I help a Cogspeare?”
    “How did you know I’m a Cogspeare?”
    “There aren’t that many well-dressed men with that shade of red hair in this city,” he pointed a finger at Magnus’s head, “and only one with a custom made hearing-augmenter.” Magnus ignored the comment about his hearing aid and observed instead,
    “You should be an investigator.”
    “If it hadn’t been for some reductions upstairs, I would be, and a reporter too. The last bloke who was promoted…well, never mind.” At Magnus’s suddenly darkened expression, the man nodded a subtle apology for his harsh observation.
    “So, how can I help?” 
                  “I need some information on the