The Squirrel Works

By Brian Lambert

Olivia’s life is hanging by a thread. Hunted as a spy by the British Empire, and now by her own countrymen, she needs to do the impossible to survive – bring the Empire to its knees.
The company forging a golden age of steam for the Empire is the Fanshaw & Fotherington Electro-Mechanical works. Destroy it and the British Empire will follow.
But before Olivia can put her deadly plan into motion she must first locate the almost mythical creative heart of the Double-F company – the Squirrel Works – run by the reclusive Tiberius Fanshaw.
The seed of its destruction is a secret hidden for many years concerning Nathaniel, the son of a widowed London steam-cabbie. Now he is caught in Olivia’s deadly web his life is in dire peril.
But what hope has Nathaniel when, in order to save her own life, Olivia must destroy two empires?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Lambert
• Release date: Feb 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310630835

Brian Lambert

Brian Lambert has wanted to be a writer since he was nine and, being a fierce traditionalist, is most eager to know if he’s done this Smashwords thing correctly. He is a serial backpacker, clouder, beach walker who also writes the blog The Sheep Was Here (thesheepwashere.com). He lives in Melbourne, Australia.

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The Squirrel Works

By

Brian D Lambert

Story Copyright © Brian D Lambert 2014

Cover Art Copyright © Collette J Ellis 2014

Distributed by Smashwords.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your own use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Squirrel Works

Sequel to The Glass Galleon

Olivia’s life is hanging by a thread. Hunted as a spy by the British Empire, and now by her own countrymen, she needs to do the impossible to survive – bring the Empire to its knees.

The company forging a golden age of steam for the Empire is the Fanshaw & Fotherington Electro-Mechanical works. Destroy it and the British Empire will follow.

But before Olivia can put her deadly plan into motion she must first locate the almost mythical creative heart of the Double-F company – the Squirrel Works – run by the reclusive Tiberius Fanshaw.

The seed of its destruction is a secret hidden for many years concerning Nathaniel, the son of a widowed London steam-cabbie. Now he is caught in Olivia’s deadly web his life is in dire peril.

But what hope has Nathaniel when, in order to save her own life, Olivia must destroy two empires?

Prologue

An experiment

Summer, 1752. Philadelphia.

Thunder rolled across the sky like a world-sized kettle-drum being beaten. The storm seemed like it had been brewing for days. The air was dry and dusty; tempers were frayed by the hot wind. This storm would clear the air and also, he hoped, prove his theory.

Benjamin Franklin glanced out of the window to gauge how much time he had. The sky to his left was pitch black and, judging by the wind he had roughly ten to fifteen minutes.

Was everything ready? The simple kite made from white silk and a cross of cedar with the metal wire at the top, attached by a long length of twine to the Leyden jar to collect and store electricity, the silk ribbon to try and prevent the lightning bolt reaching him; but most importantly of all, the key. It had taken a lot of experimentation to create it from the mix of metals he’d used, and he was glad the storm had held off long enough for him to finish it. Was it an omen? He gave a mental shrug. God worked in mysterious ways. Who was he to know the unknowable?

The window banged open and his hair blew about in the sudden gust. This was going to be a big storm. Sudden fear gripped him. Was he doing the right thing? Risks were everywhere in life from the time you were born to the time you breathed your last. He’d planned this out as carefully as possible, knowing full well how dangerous a bolt of lightning could be; even more so when trying to catch one.

Before closing the window he looked if anyone else was outside, but the street was deserted. They’d probably run for cover at the first blast of thunder. No one would be a witness at what he was going to do. Good.

Suddenly bright white light flashed around the wooden shutter and he cried out in surprise. Almost instantly his ears were assaulted by a noise that was so loud it almost beat him to his knees.

Jamming a hat on his head he gripped the kite and other items under his arm to prevent the wind blowing them away and ruining his experiment. He opened the door and held it to prevent it from slamming against the wall. With one hand on his hat and the equipment under his arm he pulled the door closed behind him.

Dust blew along the street and he partly closed his eyes as he passed the other houses and headed up a path into the hills. He knew the higher he got to the storm clouds the better his chances of success.

A sudden squall of rain soaked him to the skin chilling him. He turned and looked back down at his home feeling a sudden urge to go back and ride the rest of the storm out in warmth and dryness. But if he did that how could he ever prove his theory was correct? Knowing the only possible answer he turned back and walked further up the hill.

At the top he stopped and made sure the knots connecting everything were tight. A gust of wind found the kite and mischievously buffeted it as if it were a large cat playing with a toy.

With the final checks complete there was no reason to delay, although he couldn’t help whispering a quick prayer under his breath. He made sure there was enough loose twine and then threw the kite up into the air. The wind instantly grabbed it and blew it high in the sky. He held tightly to the twine preventing the wind from ripping it away before the kite got high enough. The weight of the Leyden jar was but a momentary drag on the kite as it dodged and spun like a living thing climbing higher and higher. He fed out the last of the twine and, as a side-thought, realised what a good contrast the white kite was against the bruised dark clouds.

The landscape around him lit up and the loudest noise he’d ever heard hit him from behind. The experiment was ready. All he had to do now was catch a bolt of lightning. The trees around the bare hill thrashed to and fro in the gusts; the kite was so high now that it was almost disappearing into the clouds as they raced overhead. He held tightly onto the silk ribbon attached to the key.

A spark appeared at the topmost point of the wire atop the kite. In less than a blink of his eye the massive electrical charge raced down the wet twine aiming to complete itself with the earth. The Leyden jar was filled to capacity in an instant but then the lightning bolt met the key at the end of the twine.

The unique amalgam of various metals and their impurities in its forging prevented the key from explosively melting. But the charge had to go somewhere, but where? The sub-atomic particles within the mix of materials felt the colossal charge trying to force its way through. They rearranged themselves millions of times in an eye-blink until a unique solution was found. Like a breach in a dam the energy flowed not to the ground but through to somewhere else, fixing the unique pattern into the key’s atomic structure. The only visible outward appearance of this was that the shiny metal blackened. All of this was unknown though to the now temporarily blinded and deafened scientist lying on his back on the wet ground.

With some surprise he found he was still breathing, but his hat had fallen off and his wet hair was being whipped around by the wind. The silk ribbon was somehow twisted around his fingers. As his sight slowly came back he saw the key and Leyden jar were both lying next to him. The twine led across the hilltop into the trees and he realised that both he and the kite had been thrown to the ground.

Elated that the experiment had worked, but feeling his age, he decided he’d need to rest for a bit before detailing his research to his colleagues.

He rolled over onto his front and crawled to the key. There was something strange about it. The once shiny bronze metal was now dull black as if it had been in a furnace and covered in soot. But it wasn’t just a black key; it was like he could only see the outline of an intensely black key-shaped hole. He reached towards it and heard a faint buzzing as if a mosquito had braved the storm with him. His fingers made contact and he pulled them back in surprise. The key was vibrating. Breath stuck in his throat in his excitement and he reached for it again. The vibration was constant. Ignoring the storm passing over his head he tried scratching the black off the once shiny key. He couldn’t. The vibration didn’t die down, it continued on. What had he created?

He heard a cry and looked up to see someone waving at him. It was his son. Suddenly he realised where he was and that he was soaked through. He struggled to his feet and picked up the Leyden jar. But something made him hide the vibrating key in a pocket. A thought came to him. He was due to visit Britain in a few months. He’d show it to his friends in the Royal Society. He smiled to himself; it would certainly be a talking point.

Chapter One.

A solo breakfast

The clock by the side of the bed ticked one last time then a sound like the Hounds of Hell began. Nathaniel woke up with a cry and a racing heart. He quickly pressed the top down on the clock to stop the awful noise. Then, stretching and yawning, he slowly swung his legs out from under the warm blankets. He gave a shiver as he felt the cold air and knew his father wasn’t back yet.

He sat up and reached over the bedspread for his tartan dressing gown and quickly wrapped it around himself. His father had been late before, it was just annoying that he’d not got back yet and put the heating on. Ah well, he’d have to do it himself.

Still half asleep he touched the wooden floorboards where he thought he’d left his slippers. His toes tapped around searching for the promise of fluffy warmth. There! He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief and slipped his feet into the momentarily cold slippers. He let his feet warm them before he cracked open his eyes. Still dark. He hated waking into night-time - it felt like he should still be asleep. He risked a glance towards his alarm clock in case it was wrong and he could go back to sleep for a short while. It was a foolish notion, and he knew it was a foolish notion because he was the one that had designed and constructed it. There was no possible error - the time was correct for him to get up.

Yawning he ran his hand through his blond hair feeling the length of it and imagining the instruction soon to come from his father that he visit the barbers. Hugging the dressing gown around him he got up and shuffled to the bedroom window.

The dawn slowly lit up the curtains. He pulled them open and shuddered as a lone ray of light hit his eyes. It looked like it was going to be a bright but cold day. He also saw the dust motes fly into a frenzy in the brightness. He’d better do some cleaning again before his father tried to do it.

Somewhere there must be someone that could repair the Daguerreotype of his mother and father and him hanging on the wall. It would be a nice present for his father now that mother was no longer with them. His mood saddened as he realised he’d almost forgotten her smell, and the warmth of her smile.

He left his bedroom and walked down the wooden-floored hall into the bathroom. Using some wooden tongs he lifted the handle of the black metal boiler that stood in the corner by the window. The coals glowed dimly inside. He often wished that his father would pay to have their house connected up to the mains gas pipes – he’d heard tales of gas fires in every room (the luxury of it!), and warmth wherever you walked – but the answer was always a resounding NO! Using a small shovel he picked some pieces of coal and fed them into the boiler getting it ready for his father’s end-of-shift wash and his own get-ready-for-the day wash.

Satisfied it was going to be ready shortly he headed back down the hall to the warmer kitchen. At the large blackened metal boiler with pipes leading off it, he knelt down and, with a heavy cloth glove, opened the boiler door and moved the glowing coals with the poker. When he was satisfied he picked some new coal up from the pile next to it, put them inside and closed the door, glancing at the gauge on top of the boiler. Behind the dial were different coloured