Free The Body Thief by Stephen M. Giles

tires of his chair cutting across the wet floor, spinning ribbons of water into the air. He came to a stop in a small circular chamber surrounded by the gaping mouths of a dozen darkened tunnels, each one offering passage to places unknown. Just beyond the chamber was a single gray door; a bright light illuminated from around the edges and Silas waited silently as Bingle squeezed past him and produced a large set of keys from his pocket.
    Bingle hated trawling the dim tunnels (the cold, rank air of the underground gave him the creeps), but unfortunately he was the only member of the household staff Silas would permit down below. The head butler turned the lock, opening the door.
    “As you can see, sir,” said Bingle, stepping inside, “all of the deliveries were secured in here just as you instructed.”
    “You have done very well, Bingle,” said Silas. “Everything is ready for tonight’s arrival?”
    “Yes, sir. Do not worry about a thing.”
    The brightly lit room was packed to bursting point with a dazzling array of curious supplies and equipment. Dozens of thick glass plates were stacked along the back wall surrounded by a vast selection of electrical tools and machinery. Large crates spilling over with packing straw sat in the middle of the room along with miles of thick cable wire and computer terminals still in their boxes.
    At the master’s insistence, Bingle had not peered inside any of the crates when they were first delivered. However, as he pushed one of the larger crates aside to make room for Silas, he couldn’t help but notice a pair of sphinx statues cushioned among the packing straw. They were breathtaking, covered in hundreds of red and orange gemstones. Unable to resist, Bingle reached in and picked one up.
    The precious object felt heavy in his hands.
    “Put that down, you fool!” hissed Silas.
    The fury in his master’s voice struck Bingle with the sting of a lash. His hands shook and before he could stop it, the sphinx had slipped away and plunged to the ground, breaking into several pieces. Trembling now and gasping for breath (for he was certain that Silas would have his head for this) Bingle crouched down to retrieve the shattered sphinx. It was then that he saw the metal cylinder lying among the wreckage. It was approximately ten inches long and half as wide and had clearly come from inside the statue.
    As he reached out to pick it up, his eyes fell upon the label printed across the top in thick red lettering: Plutonium-239 . Instantly Bingle stumbled back, jabbing his finger at the crate.
    “Sir, there’s plu—plutonium in there!”
    “And a large quantity of uranium,” said Silas calmly, ignoring his butler’s distress. “Absurdly hard to acquire and very costly, but I am told you cannot operate a nuclear generator without them.”
    “I do beg your pardon, sir,” said Bingle as his throat dried up, disappearing in a cough. “Did you say nuclear generator?”
    Silas nodded slowly.
    “But, sir, the whole place will blow sky-high!”
    “Don’t be so dramatic, Bingle; it’s all perfectly safe in the right hands.” Silas looked around the room, his dark eyes rippling with pride. “You see, my special guest will be undertaking a little building project down here. Something rather extraordinary, in fact.”
    Despite his curiosity, Bingle knew better than to ask anything further. In truth, he did not really want to know what the master was planning. When it came to the Silas Winterbottom, Bingle learned long ago that some things were better left unsaid.
    “Excuse me, sir, will you be dining with the children tonight?” asked Bingle, hoping a change of subject might prompt Silas to leave the basement and return to the safety of the world above. “I know that Miss Isabella was hoping that you would.”
    “Then I shall not disappoint her.”
    “Shall we go up then, sir?” said Bingle anxiously. “It is getting rather late.”
    Silas waved his hand. “You go, Bingle; I wish