The City in the Sky

The trip to the morgue didn’t provide Mulligan with much more than he already knew. It was definitely the work of their suspect, right down to the head peeled like an orange. As he stood in the coolness of the stone room staring at the flayed skeleton of Edwin Devonshire by the beam of the overhead lantern he found disgust growing in the pit of his stomach like a poisonous weed. This seemed strange to him as he had heard that repeated exposure to atrocities such as these usually diminished such feelings. His thoughts turned empathetically to Eliza Devonshire. After their encounter he had written her off as a suspect. He felt a sadness about her. She would be alone in this world now. Alone like himself before he had met Lucy. The thought of Lucy’s name ticked something off in his mind. Memories fell like snowflakes before his eyes and then melted away. Lucy standing in his doorway nervous and smiling at her interview. Him showing Lucy the spare bedroom where she would be staying. Him helping carry her few possessions into her room. She had had only a couple changes of clothing, a suitcase, and a photograph. How remembered he had thought it strange for a Clockwork to have a photograph. The photograph had been of a woman seated in a portrait setting. A small woman with impeccable posture who looked much like Eliza Devonshire. When he had asked who it was in the picture, she had called the woman her “Aunt ’liza.” Despite the obvious fact that Clockworks had no blood relatives, he had thought little of it and left it at that. It was clear now that Lucy had some connection to Eliza Devonshire, but what did it mean? He had never bothered to ask Lucy if she had a surname as the question seemed irrelevant. Mulligan realized he needed more information. He checked with the coroner on duty who directed him to the Ministry archives.

The lift stopped on the top floor. The surly human lift operator ushered him into a large room with cathedral style ceilings and buttresses. The stacks of books almost reached the ceiling and created a maze like atmosphere. As it was still dark, no light came through the large windows on either side of the room leaving Mulligan to muddle about in the soft glow provided by the several desk lamps scattered throughout the hall. With the countdown to his departure time only hours away he roused the archive night attendant. The sleepy looking fellow looked raised his head from his desk and asked as politely as he could manage how he might help.

Mulligan, who now was also suffering from mild sleep deprivation, fought to maintain a facade of courtesy and asked, “I am in need of some information regarding Clockwork relations.”

The man blinked several times and rubbed his eyes before answering, “Check with the Clockwork Historical Archivist. His office is in the back.”

Given the late hour, Mulligan was surprised to hear the consultant would still be on duty.

The attendant shook his head and said with a yawn, “Oh yes, Harold’s a bit off his rocker if you ask me. I sometimes wonder if he has a home to go to.”

Mulligan thanked the attendant, who responded by laying his head on the desk once more. Mulligan traversed the labyrinth of books till he found himself outside a row of offices built into the back of the room. The walls were wood paneled up to waist level then finished in glass windows that terminated at a lower set ceiling. He briskly walked down the row until he came to the corner office. H. Krundler, Clockwork Historical Archivist was printed on the door in golden, block letters. An oil lamp inside the office gave off a low warm light which bounced off of various metal and glass objects settled on tables and shelves around the room. As he peered more deeply into the recesses of the room he saw a large wooden desk situated in the middle of all the confusion. He wrapped his knuckles sharply on the glass window of the door and, to his surprise, what had appeared to be a pile of rubbish laying across the desk popped up to reveal the face of a small elderly fellow who had been bent over a book. The old man’s face turned towards the sound of the knock, one of his eyes comically enlarged by a magnification lens hinged in front of his glasses. His wild silver hair was pushed back out of his face. Finally seeing Mulligan through the glass, he motioned the detective inside.

The office’s interior was a veritable microcosm of technological activity. Devices of varying purpose and size hissed, bubbled and spat steam from every darkened corner. As a result the humidity level of the room seemed, in Mulligan’s opinion, almost oppressive.

“Hold on a sec”, said the old fellow, his voice quavering with age. He searched about the office and finally located a small leather bound chair underneath a pile of various pieces of Clockwork related items. He returned to his seat on the other side of the desk and asked, “Now my friend, what can I do for you?”

“You are Harold Krundler, the Clockwork Historical Archivist?”

The old man nodded sagely.

“I’m Detective Mulligan of MCA Central. I need some information about the Devonshire family.”

“I assume you mean the Devonshire Importation Magnate, Detective?”

“That’s correct.”

“It’s interesting that you chose to call them a family. Clockworks have no bloodlines, as I’m sure you already know.”

“I am aware, however, having met some of them, it seems they choose to refer to themselves that way.”

The old man laughed. “So, you actually met them? Remarkable. Last I had heard, the Ministry had lost track of at least half of them. And why, then, would you need information about them?”

“I believe that anyone associated with this family may be in danger. I need to know who is attached to the Devonshire coal conglomerate and why they have been targeted.”

The statement brought a hint of surprise the old man’s eyes which quickly yielded to a look of understanding as he said, “‘Why?’ That’s a very interesting question, detective. The ‘who’ will be a little tougher, but I would think the ‘why’ would be obvious.”

Mulligan stared at the man in silence for a while before the elderly fellow snorted and said, “Come now Detective Mulligan. Surely as an agent of MCA you must have extensive knowledge of Clockwork law?”

“Yes, but I don’t see how...”

“How about a history lesson?“,Krundler interrupted.

“Very well, I’m listening.”

“You may recall how Clockworks came to control coal production. No? Goodness, what are they teaching at the academy these days? We shall start from the beginning, then”, the old man said sounding as if he were quite enjoying his little lecture. “After the Ascension, humanity was, for the most part, cut off from the earth’s surface which had become a hostile and uninhabitable place. However, this did not remove our need for fuel. Since man’s ability to remain on earth in order to procure coal and other minerals was greatly diminished, the task fell to those who could: Clockworks. Fortunately for us they were willing to do it, and for a pittance. But as time went on the young race gradually grew wiser and started asking for more.

“Money?“, inquired Mulligan.

“No. Equality. Of course they were denied. Undaunted the Clockworks banded together under production models one through six. The Clockworks call them “The Prime Models”. You know them better as the Devonshires.”

“How odd that these models chose to share a common name”, Mulligan thought out loud.

“That’s the rub. You see, they did not choose this name for themselves. It was given to them by their creator.”

“What? Why would only these six models be named?”

“You are jumping ahead of yourself, Detective. We will get there soon enough. Now where was I? Oh yes, Clockworks were not legally allowed ownership of anything. Nor could they will or be willed any property. But now the Clockwork race was united and they controlled all of the coal production. With this leverage they were able to force the Royal family into concessions. Namely, setting up the business of coal production in the name of the Devonshires.

“A victory for Clockwork-kind?” interjected Mulligan.

Krundler smiled and said, “Ironically they were denied their cherished equality, but ended up with monetary superiority. All Clockworks are given a monthly stipend, disseminated through the Devonshire holdings.”

Mulligan almost smacked himself. He had thought Lucy was bound to the job he gave her out of the need to support herself. Now it seemed probable that the only reason she took it was to fulfill the Clockwork need of purpose.

“Okay, so why were the Devonshires designated the Clockwork leaders? And why were they given names.”

“That depends on what you believe. The Clockworks have their own mythology, like all races I suppose, but the most plausible explanation is much simpler. These six individuals were the first Clockworks finished by their creator before the race went to mass production. The prototypes, if you will. This makes them the first born and the eldest of the race. Thus, in theory, they will always be the wisest and most experienced. It would seem only natural that they would be given the reigns of leadership. As for why they were named, I can only speculate that as the first born, their creator had a greater bond with them and decided to bequeath his own surname to them.”

The sleep flew from James eyes. “What?! I always thought their creator was a Japanese fellow. Ayumu or something like that.”

Krundler laughed at Mulligan’s reaction. “That is correct. Ayumu was the man’s first name. When he emigrated to the U.K. he apparently dropped his given last name and took one that allowed him to better blend in with his new found culture. That name was Devonshire.”

Mulligan allowed this revelation to sink in before asking, “You said the Royal family gave the rights of ownership to the Devonshires?”

“Yes.”

“What would happen if all these individuals ceased to exist?”

“Ah, now you are asking the real question. This would seem unlikely as Clockworks have the uncanny trait of near immortality. However, I believe there is a provision in the contract that stipulates should the contracted no longer be able to manage the importation of fuel, the duty would fall to the Crown.”

“So no other Clockworks can inherit the business?”

“No, I’m afraid the law was not changed in that respect. The Devonshires were named the sole keepers of the holding, and, as I said before, a Clockwork cannot will or be willed property.”

A burst of anxiety tore through Mulligan’s insides. “Please, Mr. Krundler, can you provide me with the names of models one through six?”

“Hmm, yes I believe so. It’s going to take a moment.”

He rose from his desk and disappeared among the stacks. Darkness still cloaked the windows like velvet drapery. Mulligan pulled his watch from his pocket and flipped it open. 3:20 a.m. it read. If his hunch was right, he hadn’t much time left. After several minutes, Krundler returned with an enormous volume and dropped it on the desk with a loud bang. He flipped it open and began thumbing through the pages at such a leisurely pace that it took all the self-control Mulligan possessed to keep from shoving the old man aside and frantically continuing the search himself. Finally, the aged archivist stopped turning and said, “Aha, here we are!” He flipped the book around towards Mulligan who held his notepad at the ready. He quickly scanned the page which provided a photograph and outdated biography for each subject. He was able to connect models one through four to the list of victims right down to Edwin Devonshire. As he suspected, model number 5 was Eliza Devonshire, but when he flipped the page his heart skipped several beats. Staring back at him from the page, looking demure and beautiful as ever was none other than Lucy. He read and re-read the caption next to the picture just to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, but each time it stated “Lucille Devonshire, production model #6". He became aware that his jaw was hanging open and quickly closed it. He looked up at Krendler who was regarding him with a smile.

“I see you are quite taken with number six. The ‘unofficial’ Prime Model. I must admit she is rather attractive for a machine”, said Harold.

“I have to go!“, said James heading towards the door not hearing the mystified sounding “You’re welcome” from behind him.