Print

Lucian sat in the smoking room of his townhouse, dejectedly nursing a glass of port. He had avoided leaving his house all day. He had instructed Gerald, his butler, to cancel all but one his appointments due to illness. Most of his associates would accept that excuse; he had never been one to shirk work before except for rare occasions when he had truly been ill. The truth of the matter was that he desired to avoid the joshing and scorn that was inevitably heading for him due to the incident involving Morris' hot temper. He would be lucky if the Prime Minister did not censure him for landing in prison.

Instead, he had spent the day reading case files and strategizing the next moves in his campaign to free the dynamos. It had been dejecting. The previous demonstration had been the first to implement the use of manacles and he had considered it rather effective. He had originally planned to use it widely throughout Haggeston and gage the public's reaction. If there had been a spread of public outcry, he would have sent the designs for the special trick manacles to his confederates throughout the Loop'd Empire. It would have brought a swell of support that the Peers in the Low House could not ignore when it came time to have his bill introduced.

Now, though, the sun had sent its last rays over the town, and most people had retreated to their homes. It was almost time for the one appointment that he had kept on his agenda. He pulled the bell chord to summon Gerald. The small, balding man appeared within moments of being summoned.

"You rang, sir?"

Lucian set the wine glass on the side table and stood up. "I'd like you to have the carriage prepared for my errand tonight."

The servant bowed. "As you say, Master Lucian." With that, he departed.

Lucian picked up the port glass again and drained the contents. He then walked to his dressing room to change from the comfortable dressing gown and pajamas he had worn all day to something a bit more appropriate. He slipped on a roughly woven brown shirt and pants and a jacket that had been smeared with dust and oil. His ensemble was completed with a pair of scuffed work boots and a shapeless hat he pulled low over his eyes. He checked himself in the mirror and nodded. The very model of a working class man.

As he was exiting his dressing room, he heard a familiar voice.

"You know I hate it when you do this."

He looked over to the opposite side of the hall and saw his wife standing by a bust of his father. The two of them had never really gotten along well. It had been a marriage of strategy arranged by their parents rather than one of romance. And while they had grown accustomed to each other, it was a far stretch to say that love had bloomed between them.

"Ettie, I've no time for this." He turned his back and began walking toward to the servant's stairs.

"Well, when are you going to have time? When you're dead? All you do is work, you've no concept of anything else!"

The accusations cut him deeply. As he reached the top of the stairs, he turned and looked at her morosely.

"I am my work. You should know that by now."

 Before she could say anything else, he rushed down the stairway. The carriage was waiting for him at the servant's exit and he rushed into it before he could be stopped by anyone else. The driver cracked his whip over the flanks over the withers of the two horses that drew his carriage, and they rattled off.

Lucian watched the alternating darkness and light that dappled the residences. We should be right over the northwest offices of the power plant. After that initial trip with Mr. Lavender, Lucian had been embarrassed to realize he had only see a small portion of the subterranean facility. He had gone back several times to become more intimate with the plant's operations. He had also spent a large amount of time in the Archives Hall, examining the working plans for the power plant. He now knew by heart every step of the city that rested over the power plant. It