The Steampunk Detective Read Online Free Page A

cheese?” the detective asked. “I think I have some in another cupboard.”
    “No thanks, Mr Doyle.”
    The detective led Jack back to his bedroom. He paused outside the door. “I have arranged a tutor for you. Miss Bardle. She will teach you maths, French and Latin, history and politics.”
    “Ah yes, Latin,” Jack said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
    “Yes, I always hated Latin too.” The detective motioned towards the chest of drawers. “A selection of clothing is in the drawers. I hope it fits. I checked your size with Mr Daniels at the orphanage. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it and see you in the morning.”
    Jack nodded. He closed the door and changed for bed. The pyjamas were a little large, but very comfortable. Before he turned off the lamp, he reached into his pocket and took out the picture of his parents. It was the only one he owned. It showed the three of them in their costumes. Above them hung a banner – The Flying Sparrows.
    He missed them. He missed the fun and the laughter and everything that made up their small family. It was always The Flying Sparrows versus the world. Outside he heard the sounds of London; horse drawn carriages, steam cars, men and women walking the streets. The faint glow of the gas lit streets cast faint shadows across his walls.
    Now there’s just me , he thought.
    He remembered Bertha the tarantula. Well, me and Bertha. He hoped the lid on her glass enclosure was properly closed.
    Forcing the image of the spider from his mind, he finally surrendered to sleep.
     

Chapter Four
     
    Jack stirred himself from a deep sleep. He had been dreaming of a mine in Saudi Arabia where he had been forced to work until overcome by exhaustion. Cheese had been his only food source. The overseer had just approached him with a deadly looking whip when he was saved by the sound of knocking.
    He sat up groggily. Light streamed through his window. The clock on his bedside table read ten o’clock.
    “Come in,” Jack called.
    Ignatius Doyle appeared in the doorway of his room with a piece of toast jammed between his teeth.
    “The game’s afoot,” the detective said.
    Jack blinked away sleep. “Uh, what’s that? You want to play footy?”
    “No, no,” Mr Doyle assured him. “That’s just an expression. We have a client in the outer office. I need you showered and ready in five minutes. Chop chop, old chap.”
    Mr Doyle disappeared. Jack quickly showered and dressed in only four minutes. The clothing provided by the detective was all clean and new. Jack put on a pair of dark trousers and a blue and white striped shirt. It was the best quality clothing he had ever worn. He discovered the detective at their living room table surrounded by plates of toast, condiments and hot tea. Jack Mason buttered the bread and slapped on jam while Mr Doyle explained.
    “There is a young lady outside,” he said. “She arrived quite early without an appointment so I asked her to wait until you were ready.”
    “Sorry,” Jack said though a mouthful of toast. “I must have been tired.”
    “Understandable, dear boy,” Mr Doyle said. “Shall I call in the young woman?”
    Jack nodded and sipped at his tea. He felt like he was in some foreign land with someone asking him for directions. In the brief time since he had woken, he had begun to wonder if Mr Doyle were perhaps quite mad and Jack’s role was simply to keep him under control. He had already decided to ask Gloria to confirm this when the door opened and the most beautiful young girl Jack had ever seen walked into the room.
    She had clear green eyes and fair skin and looked to be about eighteen years old. Her long hair was bright red, like the colour on the union jack. She wore a slim fitting white dress, a black leather bustier and aviator goggles to protect her eyes from the sun. A black, short sleeved bolero encompassed her shoulders. Clutching a handbag in one hand and an umbrella in the other, her clothing looked expensive.
    She was a