Zan had just finished screwing in a new dome—this time made of an iron and nickel alloy rather than copper—onto her project when she heard someone opening the door to her basement laboratory. She did not look up when she started checking the battery for leakage. The battery itself was a rather crude invention as she had rather hastily cobbled it together earlier. It consisted of a glass tube with two bits of metal wire coming out of the stoppered top to be connected to a magnetized motor that was running the lower pulley. Inside the glass tube was a voltaic pile which consisted of pieces of cloth soaked in salt water between alternating zinc and copper discs.
“What are you doing here, Caradon?” She peered closely at the battery, appearing completely absorbed in her work. “I thought you had your business to attend to.”
“It can wait for a few hours.” He walked over to her bench and looked over at the metal parts she had strewn about her work space and the breakfast tray which had an empty bowl, a half-eaten piece of toast on a saucer and a barely sipped tea cup. “Have you had breakfast?”
“Yes, I have.” She reached out for the cup and took a sip of the tea. She made a face before putting it back down on the tray. Finally, she looked up at him. “Cold tea,” she explained. “Have you come to oversea my meals, then? I’d have to tell you that Boreas and Mrs. Philomon wouldn’t be pleased with that new development.”
“Another person reminding you of meal times wouldn’t hurt anything,” he replied. Caradon looked at the long glass tube stuffed with layers of cloth and metal in her hand. “What on earth is that?”
“My hastily put together battery,” she replied. “This will contain the power source for running the motor that is connected to the bottom pulley. The cloth is soaked in salt water which will provide the medium in which an electric current could flow between these metal discs.”
“I see,” he said, although it was obvious that he did not grasp the basic concepts of how that would work.
“You don’t see at all,” she told him. “But that doesn’t matter. All you have to understand is that this will provide the power to turn the generator. You’ve come just in time to see me connect this to the motor.” She opened a drawer and rummaged around until she found a pair of pliers. She used this tool to help her wrap the wires of the battery onto a pair of nubs sticking out of the motor.
Once she was done, she flipped a switch on the motor and the moving arms that were attached to the motor and the pulley began to moving in a regular clacking motion. A faint sizzling sound also accompanied the noise of the pulleys as the silk belt that she had attached rubbed against the amber needles she had broken off of a comb.
Puzzled, he asked, “What is this supposed to do?”
“Watch this.” She began pulling the pins out of her hair.
His eyes gleamed as he watched her dark locks tumbled to her shoulders. “Is this something that I will like?”
“In the way you mean? Doubtful.” She tossed the last pin onto the work bench and then put her hand on the metal dome. “In my uncle’s prototype machine, the idea was that the negative charge would be stored up here on this metal dome. Because all the charge is the same, they repel each other so they spread out on this dome, seeking a way out. When something touches this, the negative charges immediately jump to the next object in order to get away from each other.”
Caradon’s eyes were widening as he watched her hair rise and stick out like a puff ball. “Uh, Zan. Your hair…”
“It’s sticking straight out, isn’t it?”
“Like a porcupine!”
She grinned, which made Caradon chuckle nervously. “It’s supposed to be like that. Haven’t you been listening? All of that charge is going through this dome to my body. In an effort to get away from each other, the charges are pulling at my hair…”
“All right. So I get the point. Is this all that this machine can do?”
She took her hand off the dome and flipped the switch. The motor and the pulleys’ grinding sounds stopped. “As I recall, it was what the prototype did—but everything was made of metal, including the needle that was grounded to the base.” She reached up to try to smooth her hair down. “But I’m sure that my uncle hypothesized or guessed that something else would happen as well, just with different materials. But I am using an amber needle this time—the tree resin that my uncle had been looking for—but the effect is the same as the prototype. I think I may be missing something.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually. Meanwhile, try not to experiment on yourself next time, hm?”
“What do you mean? This little generator is completely harmless. I can envision this as a future toy where children could use it for amusement.”
Caradon grimaced. “Amusement?”
“Yes, amusement. In fact, I have a knick-knack that I made a year ago on another project. It’s quite fun. Here, you should try it.” Zan began rummaging through a nearby drawer, but when she finally withdrew an object, it wasn’t what she was looking for. “Oh. This rosary again. You know, I haven’t quite figured out what sort of stone this is. Do you have any ideas?”
“The first that come to mind is jet. Or obsidian. There are many types of black rocks but not very many that can be polished to such a sheen. Could it possibly be onyx or maybe even black spinel?”
Her fingers rubbed against the beads, testing the hardness. “Maybe. But it feels a bit waxy and I think it could be fairly soft. Doesn’t amber come in black varieties?”
“I believe so. What makes you think that it may be amber?”
She shrugged. “Could you hand me that mallet at the end of the table?”
“Whatever for?” he asked, even as he passed the tool to her.
“I just want to see…” With a loud whack, she slammed the mallet onto the rosary. There was a crunch as the piece of jewelry splintered into tiny pieces. “Did I ever tell you that Mr. Southmore had one of these on his wrists?”
“No, you didn’t. And you never told me what he was talking to you about either. You do know what that means, don’t you? He’s connected in someway to those ruffians who came in here and stole your uncle’s notes.”
“That does make a sort of sense,” she replied as she sorted through the black shards on her bench top and picked out a likely looking piece to test the sharpness on the end of her finger. “He was pestering me again about patronizing my research—if I took up my uncle’s research instead of my own. Of course, I didn’t mention that I am doing it anyway, but his reaction to my refusal was telling. Besides, he had made the same offer to my uncle when he had been alive. He’s probably the person that my uncle was worried about having all of his work falling into.”
“So Southmore is intensely interested in your uncle’s work. But if he already has your uncle’s plans yet still asked you to work for him—that means that he still hasn’t figured out how everything is put together. But it still doesn’t come together. He’s part of a group that is planning a coup against the Queen and he wants this invention. From what I’ve seen, I still don’t know why he wants it. As you’ve said, it’s merely a toy.”
“It’s a toy now, but that’s with the materials I currently have to work with.” She made an approving sound at the back of her throat when she finally found a black shard sharp enough to suit her. “There’s a knife and some glue over at that end. Put them over here, please.”
“Am I your assistant now?” he said as he did what she told him. “You seem awfully fond of giving me orders.”
“But you’re so eager to obey.” She took the knife and used it to pry off the amber needles that she had grounded at the base of the machine and then used a daub of glue to attach the black shard where the amber needles used to be. “That ought to do it. The glue will dry in a few minutes.”
“What will that do?” he asked doubtfully. “If it is indeed black amber, won’t the properties be the same as the lighter amber?”
“Yes, that’s the prediction,” she said. “But if it isn’t, the effect won’t be quite the same. Would you like some tea while we wait?”
“No thank you. It’s already cold, isn’t it?”
“Hm.” She grabbed the half-eaten toast and nibbled at it as she stared at the black shard. Then after a long moment, as Caradon opened his mouth to say something to fill in the silence, she tossed the rest of the toast back on the breakfast tray. “We’ll try again, shall we?” And she flipped the switch.
At first, nothing seemed different. The motor and the pulleys were whirring and the silk belt was being rubbed on the black shard. Then, she began to sense a bit of movement at her feet. Energy was moving inward toward the work bench, toward the machine. She put a hand on the metal dome.
“It’s quite cold,” she said promptly as Caradon watched her closely.
“You’re hair isn’t acting strangely,” he replied.
“That would mean that it isn’t generating any charge. I suppose that didn’t…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at her hand. The nails were lengthening and curving—and she was feeling perfectly in control of herself. In her mind, she willed her hand to remain a hand, but it didn’t listen. Her fingers were becoming claws. “Caradon, I think I’m changing, yet I haven’t willed myself to do anything.”
“Zan, your eyes and ears…”
She could feel her teeth lengthening and her voice was rough as she said, “This sort of energy isn’t the same.”
“Zan, take your hand off of that at once!”
She tugged, but her hand, fast becoming a paw, was stuck. “I can’t.” With her free hand, she tried to pull at her wrist, but to no avail. Caradon reached out and took hold of her elbow in order to help free her, but she yipped, frightened, and unable to speak aloud. Caradon, your hand! All of this energy is transferring to you as well!
But I can’t let you stay stuck on this thing.
She could feel the energy, the magic or the chi or whatever it was called, coursing through her arm, forcing fur through her skin. With an effort, she reached over with her free hand-paw and grabbed at the switch. A bright spark sizzled between the motor and her hand which made her hiss in pain. But with the flip of the switch, the motor stopped and the strange energy coursing through the machine halted. Her hand became unglued from the metal dome. Caradon gave one final tug at her wrist that was a little too hard and the both of them tumbled backward onto the floor.
Zan’s will began to reassert itself over the sudden rogue flow of energy and she felt herself, as well as Caradon’s hand on her wrist, fade from fox form back to human form.
“I suppose we shouldn’t turn that thing on again.”
Caradon grunted an assent beneath her.
There were footsteps on the stairs and then Simkins appeared at the entrance of the laboratory. Hastily, Zan got up and dusted her dress off. “We just had a small accident, Simkins.”
The butler gave them a disapproving stare. “Really? Your hair is in disarray, Miss Hu.”
“Oh. Well, I was just doing this demonstration…”
Her patron grinned as she babbled. She gave him a repressive glare.
“Miss Hu,” the butler interrupted. “There was a visitor who came not a moment ago.”
“Who was it?”
“A Detective Moren from the police headquarters. He wishes to take you in for questioning.”
Zan blinked. “Me? For questioning? I haven’t done anything. Is he still up there?”
“No. I told the detective that you were indisposed for the next couple of hours. He said that he would be back later to see you. And he said he would see Mr. Caradon as well since he had been informed by his sources that he has come here to visit.”
“I think it is a bit suspicious, don’t you think, that the police want to question us at this time?”
“I suppose so. I did meet the detective at the Museum while he and his constables were investigating the robbery there, but I never gave him my name.”
“There is one other thing, Miss Hu,” said Simkins. “The rest of the staff and I have discretely observed the neighborhood through the windows and have seen policemen stationed around the house. I think the detective knows that you are here already. He and his men are just waiting for you to come out so he can take the both of you into custody.”
