The Reckless Skies (The Society for General Inquiry Book 1)

PART THREE

PART THREE

Jonathan Farrow had to admit that he was lost. And that they had the most inept cabby escorting them through half of London in an effort to find Clarence’s address. Farrow would learn later that Clarence had given the cab driver specific and peculiar directions, telling him to drive past over half a dozen landmarks before finally coming to their destination. Farrow would feel foolish for not having seen it sooner, but, as he would discover that night, Clarence was capable of hiding many secrets from him, and he should not judge himself too harshly for being gulled so easily.

The cab finally stopped before an unremarkable building in a nondescript part of town. Farrow could just make out the rusted number 72 next to the front door. He had no idea where they were. After paying the cabby nearly double the fare (another detail Farrow would overlook), Clarence led the way up the stairs and produced a key to unlock the front door. The two went inside, leaving the confused cabby to drive away into the night.

What had once been a modest town house was now divided into separate living quarters, and Clarence took Farrow up the stairs to the second floor. Farrow thought it an unlikely place for a secret workshop, but said nothing as he followed the engineer inside.

The rooms beyond reflected the character of their owner perfectly. Aided by the light of the streetlamp outside, Farrow looked about the darkened room and spotted the detritus of a scientifically-inclined bachelor littering the place: grease-stained clothes, broken mechanical pieces, spare tools and scribbled technical schematics. A large trunk sat in the middle of the parlor, its contents—mostly clothing—spread around it as if it had exploded and sent every last article flying.

“For heaven’s sake, Duncan, it looks as if you’ve been ransacked,” Farrow observed with no small amount of judgment.

Clarence rummaged about on a small table by the front door. “Hmm? Oh, yes. Just ignore all that.”

He found and lit an oil lamp, and though Farrow could hardly believe such a thing possible, the room looked even worse in the light. Piles of books and boxes of various sizes formed little pillars all over the room. A large chalk board rested on the sofa, and though its contents had been erased, Farrow thought he saw the shadow of a drawing of an airship still visible on its surface.

“Remind me to never yell at you for the state of our office again,” Farrow said. “It could clearly be a whole lot worse.”

Clarence shot him a slanted grin. “That’s the spirit! Well, follow me. My workshop is just through here.”

The engineer led the way down a narrow hallway and passed through the last door on the left. Farrow realized with a start that Clarence had just ushered him into his bedroom and he paused on the threshold. The oil lamp illuminated the room, and Farrow’s eyes fell on the bed and its tangled mess of blankets and pillows. He coughed lightly, his throat suddenly very dry. 

Clarence did not see Farrow’s discomfort, for he had gone directly to the tall wardrobe set against the back wall. “This building has been in my family for generations,” he explained, pulling open the wardrobe doors. After pushing aside the empty clothes hangers, he leaned into the wardrobe and began feeling around the back. “The whole block once belonged to us, as a matter of fact, though it’s been sold off piece by piece.”

Curious, Farrow took his first step into the room. “You never told me that you came from a family of landowners,” Farrow remarked.

“I suppose that’s because you never asked.”

Something clicked within the wardrobe and Clarence stepped back. Craning his neck to see, Farrow watched as the back of the wardrobe swung backwards to reveal a dark room beyond. The engineer gave him a mischievous grin. “You’re only the third person alive to know about this. Best keep it under your hat, eh?”