The Falling Machine by Andrew P. Mayer Page A

thick boiler-plate iron, held together with quarter-inch rivets. Cut into its surface at regular intervals were a series of small glass portholes. Each one was covered with a sliding brass plate held in position by a pin and a wing nut, allowing it to rotate down once the nut was loosened. She found one that was already hanging on its hinge, and peered inside. The smoked-glass plug was at least an inch thick, and she could see nothing through it. She turned her head and looked up at the Sleuth. “A steam engine?”
    Tom replied, “It is not, technically, an…engine. A…boiler would be more precise.”
    She looked over the machine again. “Then I'm afraid I'm confused.” She pressed her hand up against it and felt the cool metal. “There's no firebox.”
    Tom, limping his way across the floor, managed to catch up with them. Wickham pointed at the metal man as he drew closer. “Tom has no flame inside of him either, but somehow he manages to find the power he needs to move.”
    She supposed at some point she must have wondered what it was that gave Tom his power. She had taken to assuming it was some kind of spring wound up inside of him, although she had never been told that was true, nor seen anything to support that theory. Exposed to the light of reason the idea of the Automaton being a man-sized wind-up toy suddenly seemed ridiculous. “Then I'm afraid I don't understand.”
    The Sleuth nodded, then smiled. “Perhaps it will become clear when I show you how the machine works.”
    Pulling off his right glove, he used his bare hand to slip open the second button down on his gray shirt. He reached under his tie with his left hand and pulled out a dull metal key on a chain. “Does this look familiar to you, Sarah?”
    She stared at it for a moment; then her eyes went wide with recognition. “That's the key! The same one Sir Dennis was wearing! But…the Bomb Lance stole it!” She reached her hand up toward it and then drew it back. “If you have it, then…”
    “I did nothing sinister to get this, I can assure you. It is simply a copy of the other.” He pushed open a small clasp and slipped it off. “One of only three that exist in the world.” He put his ungloved hand on her shoulder. “And I must trust that you will let no one else know that I have it.” The intimacy of the request felt almost…fatherly, although her own father rarely ever took her into his confidence. When Alexander Stanton wanted something from someone it was expressed as a statement, never an inquiry.
    Wickham lowered his gaze to catch her eyes. “I hope you understand the magnitude of what I'm telling you.”
    Realizing that she had been lost in her thoughts, she quickly glanced up at him and nodded. “Of course, Mr. Wickham! I'll guard your secrets with my life.” As the words came out of her mouth Sarah felt like a character from one of the boys’ adventure magazines that she had “borrowed” from Nathaniel when they were growing up. She had suddenly become young Jim Hawkins heading off to Treasure Island with a map in his hand. “But why did he want that iron key? What does it open?”
    He held the dull metal closer to her, his index finger and thumb wrapped around the ornate metal head. “Not iron my dear: lead.”
    She looked closer. “Another one of Dr. Darby's magical door openers?”
    “What would lead you to that conclusion, my dear?”
    “Lead is too soft for a normal key. It would twist apart the first time you tried to use it.”
    “Just so.” Grabbing the top of the blade end he tugged upward. The lead covering slid away, revealing a slim rod of a brighter metal underneath. It gleamed brightly, but Sarah realized it wasn't a reflection. The key cast out an unearthly light of its own.
    She stared at, mesmerized. “It's like a mirror….”
    The Automaton was standing next to her now, and his voice surprised her. “Please…Sir Wickham. The exposed metal can be dangerous.”
    He slid the lead cap back onto