The Technologists

  Farewell, Boston. Not a moment too soon.

  XLIII

  Pathfinders

  “THAT’S HIM!” Marcus said of the etching printed alongside the column about Joseph Cheshire.

  “Could it really be an accident?” Edwin asked.

  “I doubt it,” Marcus replied. “But the evidence to prove otherwise is gone—just like the laboratory.”

  “Well, one fewer problem to worry about, with Cheshire out of the way,” Bob said sardonically.

  “Assuming, Mr. Richards, that Mr. Cheshire didn’t tell anybody about us already, before he was under the sod,” Ellen pointed out.

  Edwin shook his head at his friends in disbelief. “You are talking of a man’s life! Why would someone kill him?” he asked, looking up at Marcus.

  “Perhaps he was threatening other people besides us,” he replied, shrugging.

  “I’d have hanged him like a dog if he tried to stop us,” Bob said. “Not literally a dog, Professor.”

  “Cheshire had been monitoring our whereabouts, our actions,” said Marcus, freshly troubled. “If the experimenter knows that the boy told us about him, he might try to harm him, too. We must find the boy and make certain he is safe.”

  “Who?”

  “Theo,” Marcus said.

  “What? Oh, the little fellow with the hand, you mean,” said Bob indifferently.

  “He helped us and now he could be in danger. We involved him. He’s hardly more than a child, Bob.”

  “Right now, we have other fish to fry,” Bob reminded him. “Don’t we?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “Why, Professor Swallow,” Bob interrupted, transfixed by something he saw in Ellen’s face, “what is the matter?”

  True to form, her concentration had remained fixed. A gleam of possibility was in her eyes. “What if the mixture of chemicals there was not placed in cold water?”

  “But that was how Bob found them,” Edwin said.

  She shook her head. “Mr. Hoyt, you misunderstand what I mean. The water was cold, after what may have been several days, when Mr. Richards came upon it.”

  Edwin stared at her for a long moment. “Yes … I see it.… It might have turned the water cold!”

  “Cold, or, more likely, frozen,” Ellen said, nodding as she thought it through. “Mr. Richards saw what was likely several pounds of chloride of lime that appeared to have been heated before being placed through a sieve and powdered. We now believe, from what he recounted, there was residue of salt, too, and mercury. When combined, this mixture introduced into water could freeze it.”

  “If we have sufficient raw materials, we can find out if it works,” Marcus said.

  “We ought to move our inquiries to the Institute,” Ellen said. “I fear Mrs. Blodgett will have an ear at the door by now, seeing us all come in. Plus, we shall need more materials than we can obtain here.”

  “Already preparing,” Edwin said, wrapping up some of what they needed. Meanwhile, Bob went down to the street to hire a carriage to carry them all to Back Bay.

  Once they arrived at the Institute basement, they arranged the necessary equipment. Using a burner, they proceeded to heat chloride of lime. It gradually formed a porous mass, after which they ran it through a sieve. In a wooden vessel, salt was added and then a glass ball of mercury was inserted with a pair of tongs.

  “Look!” Edwin said.

  The mercury in the glass ball gradually froze solid.

  “Now, Mr. Mansfield! The water!” Ellen said.

  He poured in a container of water. Bob then delicately positioned a thermometer into the mixture. The thermometer dropped down ten, twenty, thirty, forty, then another sixty degrees. The water froze before their eyes, clutching the thermometer in ice.

  “Incredible! This must be it! It must be the purpose of this experiment!” Bob cried.

  Edwin threw back his head and laughed wildly. “We’ve found it!” Then his expression retreated into its normal state of caution. “What did we find, exactly?”

  “An answer, but only to half our question. Now we must discover its use,” Marcus said.

  “Yes. We must ask ourselves: What destruction could this create?” proposed Ellen.

  “We’d have to consider every use of water in Boston,” Bob said, “and how such an experiment could derange its normal function.”

  “We must think like a madman, you mean,” Edwin said, swallowing hard.

  Evening trudged into night, Sunday slipped into the early morning hours of Monday. They had written theories on a chalkboard and crossed them out one by one; they took their turns napping on the bench in the corner of the laboratory. Edwin practically collapsed there during his turn, while the others were preparing the blast furnace to attempt an experiment using iron pieces similar to those noticed near the demonstration table in the private laboratory. Ellen said she did not need to rest, though on several occasions her eyes closed for a few seconds at a time while she was sitting, with her perfect posture, at the microscope. As soon as her eyes opened again, her hands deftly continued her examination right where they’d left off.

  With so much to do, Marcus had no expectation of sleeping, either, when his turn came for the bench. But when he looked at the clock again he found almost an hour and twenty minutes had passed, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to resume his work. The next time he peeled his eyes open, someone swayed above him, shaking him and shouting. His mind returned to the fields in Baton Rouge, the wounded screaming in desperation or writhing in final moments of life. A blurry array of shapes and colors swam into view around the laboratory: his friends, all prostrate around the room. Senseless. They had been attacked while he slept.

  * * *

  THE FIRST FACE THAT HE COULD IDENTIFY among the attackers was that of Albert Hall. The cowlick hanging down on the forehead, the thin, perpetually open lips now saying something Marcus could not hear. He tried to reach out and strike that chubby pink face but could not manage to raise his hand. He fought as he felt himself lifted under his arms and half-dragged, half-pushed out into the hallway, followed almost immediately by a stumbling, groggy Bob. A few moments later, clear vision and sense returned, and Marcus, understanding, hurried back into the laboratory and helped Albert and Darwin Fogg drag Edwin and Ellen into the hall, while Bob crawled on the floor to the furnace and put out the burning irons.

  “You all right, Mr. Marcus?” Darwin asked when they were back in the safety of the hallway.

  “I think so, Darwin,” Marcus said, holding on to his throbbing head.

  “Carbon gas!” Bob said, bringing water to Edwin, who was gasping. “We were all poisoned by it. There was some loose brickwork on the furnace that we hadn’t noticed, and it must have been releasing fumes.”

  They activated the ventilation fan and convened in Ellen’s laboratory while the air cleared.

  “Thank you for your help, Hall,” Bob said.

  “I come early to review the student account ledgers, and look what I find. What were you doing in there?” Albert demanded. “What exactly are you doing down here?”

  “We have permission to use the laboratory, Hall,” Marcus said. “You can confirm that with the faculty office.”

  “Oh, I will do so! But she is meant to be in her own laboratory only, isn’t she?” he asked of Ellen.

  “For classes, yes, Mr. Hall,” Ellen, wiping her cheeks with a handkerchief, answered with proper deference. “Yet I am permitted to assist other students when necessary.”

  “I’ll have to confirm that, too,” Albert said with suspicion. “Something strange—well, I could have been killed trying to rescue all of you, you know.”

  Darwin continued to tend to the students until he was assured they were well, which they were, except for slight headaches.

  “That will set us back,” Bob said when both Darwin and Albert had exited.

  “We’ve run out of time,” said Marcus.

  “What do you mean?” asked Edwin, who was still cou
ghing and struggling for his voice.

  “Think of it, Edwin,” Marcus said. “The experimenter has had his freezing mechanism completed for at least a day and a half, maybe longer. Bob found it Saturday night, and he and Miss Swallow hadn’t seen anyone enter the experimenter’s laboratory for hours before that!”

  “Then why wait?” Edwin asked. “Why would the wretch not just use it yesterday or the day before?” Then, prayerfully, “Perhaps it isn’t intended for any harmful use.”

  “We must not relent!” Bob exclaimed.

  “Enough, Bob. We almost just died in there!” Marcus shouted over him. “If Darwin and Hall hadn’t happened to be passing—”

  “That was bad luck,” Bob interrupted, nodding his head.

  “Or some kind of sabotage,” Marcus said.

  “Why, that furnace probably hasn’t been started more than two or three times since the building was put up, and probably hadn’t been completed when their funds ran low. You know half the basement was left unfinished. We cannot stop when we’re so close!” Bob exclaimed.

  “Cheshire.”

  “What?” Bob replied.

  “Joseph Cheshire,” Marcus went on in a louder voice. “He was conducting some sort of investigation into the events—we know that. Perhaps he was coming closer—he discovered that we were investigating, in any event, and may have known much more than that. Professor Runkle knew we were investigating. One man, Cheshire, is dead, the other, Runkle, may yet succumb from the attempt on his life. This isn’t a schoolyard game—if it ever seemed like it was, it’s not anymore. None of us is safe, not in our homes, not here, not in the streets. The experimenter knew that someone had been to his laboratory and destroyed the building—now he may work faster to execute his plans.”

  “Then what exactly do you suggest?” Bob asked.

  “We cannot wait, and there is nothing left of the private laboratory or its superintendent to give us any further intelligence. We must bring everything we know to the police, and pray for the best.”

  “We will not get past Agassiz’s hatred of the Institute!” Bob cried. “This is the police chief in you talking, Mansfield, not the Technologist.”

  “We’ve done everything so far as a group,” Edwin said, getting in between them. “You vote for one, you vote for the ticket. We must keep it that way, above all else. Let us decide together.” He waited until the others nodded their agreement. “Very well. All those in favor of what Marcus proposes, say, ‘Aye.’ Shall we yield our efforts to the police?”

  “Nay!”

  “One vote nay,” Edwin said, acknowledging Bob’s selection with a businesslike air. “Marcus, I believe we know what you wish, as well.”

  “Aye,” Marcus said calmly, and with no pleasure.

  “So one vote against, one vote for. Miss Swallow?”

  “Miss Swallow, Eddy,” Bob urged. “I know this isn’t an easy decision. Think of all those people who have told you that a school of technology was a waste of your time. This is the chance to prove ourselves, to show the world once and for all why we’re here!”

  Bob directed an imploring glance at Ellen. Her expression was downcast, and she closed her eyes as she said, “I’m afraid Mr. Mansfield is right, Mr. Richards. Without examining additional clues, there are an infinite number of variations as to the use of that experiment. This is why I have always wished I were triplets! There simply isn’t time.”

  “You are an ‘aye,’ then?” Edwin asked.

  “Aye,” she answered.

  “ ‘Where anyone else has not gone, there I will go.’ Wasn’t that your motto, Professor? Where did it fly to when I needed it?” Bob said bitterly, then turned to Edwin before she could answer. “If we tell the police now, our hands will be tied going forward! Eddy, I beg you! Make the right choice!”

  Edwin shook his head. “I cannot find a choice, Bob. Let us gather the evidence we have, all of our materials and whatever papers the Med Fac did not burn. I vote ‘aye,’ also.”

  Bob threw up his hands. “Very well. Vote the ticket. I shall not resist.”

  Marcus stood from his stool and turned to the others. “I wonder if you can speak to the police without me. I have a friend—someone important to me—whose trust I have sacrificed. I wish to try to recover it.”

  “I think that is wise, Mr. Mansfield,” Ellen said.

  They agreed to return to their respective lodgings to recover their energy for a few hours, then Bob, Ellen, and Edwin would go to the central police station while Marcus attended to his personal business. The next time they all came together they would reunite as collegians, just like any of the others at the Institute.

  “Wait—before we leave.” Edwin removed his pocket Bible, and placed it on the table. “Let us pray together that we are doing the right thing for Boston, my friends. Let nothing be done through strife or vain glory, but in humility of mind let each esteem others better than himself.”

  They each repeated Edwin’s prayer, said amen, then contemplated silently; though no one said anything further, they prayed for the safety of strangers across the city; but each also pictured one or two faces in particular.

  XLIV

  The Jaws of Hell

  WHEN IT WAS ALL OVER, the faint perfume of white roses remained with him. As soon as the group divided, he had left a note for Agnes at her father’s house, and then he had gone to the Public Garden. There he circled the pond, went up and down the brick walks, along the flower beds and between monuments and fountains, looking everywhere he could in the twenty-four-acre park.

  Tired, he sat down on the edge of a fountain near a bed of milk-white roses. Two children, a boy and a girl, maybe brother and sister though they looked nothing alike, reveling in the light rain, waded up to their ankles in the fountain, laughing and kicking water at each other to see who splashed higher. He heard bells toll in the distance. If she were coming, she’d be here by now. He wished he could slow the clock or stop it altogether, before all hope of her appearing had vanished, as it inevitably would in a few minutes. He had lost her forever; she had retreated into her closed-off world where he was not welcome.

  This hour would also mark another ending. Bob, Edwin, and Ellen would be starting on their way to the police station house without him, in order to hand over all records of their efforts. Failed efforts.

  The city will be safer once we share our knowledge with the police, he thought, nearly convincing himself. The police, Agassiz, they’ll put a stop to all of it once they see what we’ve found.

  He thought about beautiful Agnes going to confession since she was a little girl. There must have been something uplifting about being obliged to leave behind your mistakes and wash them away in holy tears.

  If he could, what would he say to her? He would say to her, “Miss Turner, I’m here to ask for forgiveness. My hat might have been on too tight, because you helped us, and I only thought of myself.” That part about the hat sounded a bit like Bob might say it, and he smiled at the turn of phrase, repeating it aloud to try it out. That was one way he knew he and Bob and Edwin and Ellen had grown close: They had begun to unthinkingly use one another’s distinctive phrases.

  “I am very pleased to hear that.”

  Marcus looked up. And there was Agnes, sheltered from the scattered showers by a bright, parti-colored parasol. No longer in her servant’s costume, she wore a light dress of yellow trimmed with pink.

  “Miss Turner! You got my note.”

  Agnes looked away for a moment, watching the children and laughing at their happy antics. Her smile remained as she sat down next to Marcus. “I did get your note. Luckily my sister Josie found it before Lucy, who is a do-gooder through and through and would have brought it right to Papa. I did debate with myself whether I would come. I will offer a bargain, if you please. I will tell you when you are obliged to call me ‘Miss Turner’ again,” she said primly, “and until then you will not do it.”

  “Agreed. Have you found another position?”

/>   “Not yet. Papa wants me to enter the convent, and if he found us here together, you know he would want you to enter the catacomb under our church.”

  “Aggie.” He took one of her hands in his. “When you came to me after what happened with your father, I acted as a proper collegey gentleman, but not like a man. I treated you as an outsider, when you had proven yourself a keystone to what we were doing from the very moment Rogers collapsed. You were a Technologist all along.”

  “Though I don’t know what it means, you are sweet to say it,” she said, offering him her other hand.

  “When we did not find what we needed, even after we redoubled our efforts, last night, in the middle of the night, I could only think of this—I must wait until Monday, when your papa would be at work again, to look into the blue of your eyes. I begin to think I know myself best when you are looking at me.”

  She smiled and leaned in to him for a kiss. Just then, water splashed over them.

  “Well, look at that!” she laughed, standing up and rounding on the triumphant children. “Imps!” She splashed them back.

  Marcus stood up to shake himself dry, also laughing, but stopped suddenly. With the shadow of Agnes’s disfavor lifted, his flimsy delusion about the police also dissolved. Edwin’s voice sounded in his mind: Why wait? Why would the wretch not just use it yesterday or the day before?

  “Because the casualties would be greater on a workday than on the Sabbath,” Marcus answered under his breath. “The experimenter seeks the greatest spectacle and injury.” He spun around. “It’s Monday. It’s Monday morning. All of Boston is stepping foot into the streets now.”

  “What did you say about Monday?”

  In the garden and Charles Street beyond, Boston was coming alive, embarking on its day—businessmen striding to their offices from the horsecar platform, women moving along more daintily, covered from the weather by bonnets and parasols, children and dogs running wherever they pleased amid the growing crush of horses, carriages, and carts. He leaned one hand on a streetlight, one of those now linked to the Institute’s electric circuit-breaker system.