In recent years the new government's investments in the infrastructure have started to provide better roads. As a result, the unkept streets of the eastern suburbs were giving way to the cobbled lanes expanding out from the seat of government in the north.

Emma and Mr. Wolf had left the Eastern suburb to travel with Amelia. The powered cab, arranged by Duncan, was emitting continuous chittering and bubbling sounds. The boiler built up and released steam heads, repeatedly driving a piston that ultimately drove iron-shod wheels not too dissimilar from the wagon wheels of the oxen-drawn carts; Wellington was and is a picture of modernity for the arse end of the world.

Occasionally, one or more of the four wheels would slip and spin in a mud hole or clang and spark as the cab slowed and lurched on cobbled streets. Outside the cab's window, many of the sites of modernity could be viewed from the warehouses with cranes powered by the back of workers heaving on ropes and tackle blocks, too. Plimmer's Ark, a massive ship in the middle of its construction, loomed on the shore. The builder, John Plimmer, was convinced that a great flood would come again, and what more, it be in his lifetime, and he fancied he would be the next Noah.

Plimmer and his ever-present Jack Russell terrier were always the 'talk of the city.' The man was rich, crazy, and sharper than the Wilkinson steel at Captain Cook's waist. The town's gossipmongers implied that he talked to the dog and even considered its council when making the most critical decisions, such as building a new track connecting the Lambton and Terrace areas or an Ark ship.

In the interior of the cab, Amelia's attention focused on Mr. Wolf, looking for any signs of madness, which would reveal his almost specific intention to kill her. She felt somewhat safer with her right hand wrapped around her hatpin. Fortunately, the hatpin was far beyond the recently government-regulated hatpin length and could, if needed, be quite deadly. Her left hand held her clutch, covering the concealed pin or spike of death depending on Mr. Wolf's following actions. Mr. Wolf, for his part, kept his attention on Miss Rollins, who explained how wrong he had been in her mother's home.

"Really, Mr. Wolf, your action and the treatment you gave Duncan were out of order. And you gave my mother quite a scare. She could have died of shock!" Emma chastised, yet she could not remove a smirk from her face.

"Yeah, sorry about that. But I liked your butler boyo. He got me a cake," said Mr. Wolf.

"And you hate cake that much?" Emma quirked

"I thought your call. Was sort of a signal." Mr. Wolf said, bowing his head.

"That's not the point, and you know it. What sort of danger could I have possibly been in?" Emma continued.

"That's what you said in Singapore. And that did not turn out so well. So now, as then, I hold, you swing first. And only ask for the parlay if the swing target does not go down or at least wobbles on their heels." replied Mr. Wolf.

On that note, Emma felt that she should change the nature of the conversation. It would not be appropriate for the driver or fire stoker outside the carriage to hear the business of their betters.

"Miss Rollins, you were in Singapore? Is that not one of the more dangerous seaports in the world?" Amelia interjected in an attempt to bring the uncomfortable conversation to an end. Emma turned from Mr. Wolf and looked at Amelia.

"Yes. And yes." She replied to the closed questions, shifting slightly in her seat.

"Mrs. Rollins, has spoken of your years in England at the Oxford finishing school? Were travel to the far east and danger a large part of the curriculum?" Amelia asked another closed question with what could be a limited set of answers.

"No," replied Emma.

"That one never got to England." Mr. Wolf said, pushing himself into the conversation.

"Now, is that not interesting? Do tell us the tale. Mr. Wolf," Amelia asked him directly, sensing a good piece of gossip was close at hand.

"Well, you see, it is like this..." Mr. Wolf, suddenly realizing that he was about to give away the secret of Emma's life, turned to Emma and, looking for permission to continue, met with a shrug of her shoulders as she opened her handbag.

"I was sure there was a cat in here," Emma told herself. Mr. Wolf took this as a queue that all was good.

"Some years ago, I was serving on an airship that had run into a spot of trouble. The long and short of it was the crew, including myself, had been betrayed by a somewhat crazy pirate Captain. And I was in a Singapore jail waiting to be hung for being... a pirate myself. And the Captain was also being held..." Mr. Wolf abruptly stopped talking. At that moment, Emma's leg moved under her long skirt and kicked Mr. Wolf in the shin.

"It was not that shocking," Emma interjected.

"The Truth of the matter. My ship was indeed a prize for pirates long before it reached England. And through coincidence and luck. Mr. Wolf and I escaped. Chained together, running from dogs and guards charged with our return or our deaths. This leads to the two of us having to make a few packs and agreements, shall we say, with various individuals to get us out of the country." Emma said.

"Yeah, packs that needed repaying. If you get my meaning", Mr. Wolf excitedly interjected with a grin that bordered on the maniacal.

"Oh, do tell. Were you ever able to attend the finishing school?" Amelia prompted Emma as she looked Mr. Wolf up and down, tightening her grip on the hatpin.

"It is a story for another time. And should we ever have the time, I will provide you with every detail that is fit for public consumption," Emma said.

"And one or two details that aren't fit, eh." Mr. Wolf added.

Three sharp knocks on the cab's roof stopped the conversation as the driver announced clearly, "Now stopping! The Tinker's Club. Now Stopping!".

* * *

Mr. Wolf pulled the cab's privacy shade aside to see out the window to see a large building to the left-hand side of the cab that must be the Tinkers Club. The club could be called a compound; the more educated would have called it a campus. The main building was connected by walkways, and a few skyways, to smaller buildings likely to be the private workshops of the more affluent inventors and tinkers.

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Even at this late hour, with the sun falling over the hills towards the Tasman Sea, the sound of invention continued unabated. A central barn was receiving materials; the building appeared to be mercantile. Racks of metals and timbers stacked on the outside walls and people moving in and out of the building, clipboards in hand with people pointing to material piles and racks, shaking their heads, walking to a new spot, and pointing down at the spot. Others lending a hand to pile long beams on a trolley, Mr. Wolf thought this was a well-run organization.

The three of them exited the cab and approached the doors of the Tinkers Club. The sounds of a metal foundry and the smell of coal and smoke permeated the air. The forge constructed next to the Tinkers Club empowered the Smiths to cast or heat and hammer any manner of part requested by the tinkers. In truth, the tinkers were not typically educated or trained as engineers or smiths. Still, they were people with fantastic ideas, passion, and foolishness supporting and type of individual and, in some cases, collected madness.

Amelia led the way, followed by Emma and the ever-present Mr. Wolf. A series of ramps were included in the veranda to the side of the stairs. An older man with the whitest hair and a handlebar mustache greeted the three of them. Unfortunately, his mustache was not having the best day. The beeswax had lost its battle with gravity on one side and dropped to point down toward the ground. At the same time, the other side remained proud and pointed up. Reminding Emma of a cow she had seen once, the poor beast looks so forlorn.

Finally, the man called out, "Miss Amelia, good day to you," he said, extending his hand in a greeting.

"I am well, Major, and yourself? How are you?" Amelia replied.

"Quite well, my dear, and this is?" the Major said, gesturing to Emma.

"I was wondering if you could help us? This is Miss Rollins, Kincade's sister." Amelia introduced Emma.

"Pleased to meet you, lass, Major Godfried Reginald Smyth, retired," the Major replied, offering his hand and taking Emma's with a slight shake.

"I am sorry to be forward, Sir. I was wondering if you were aware of my brother's location?" Emma got to the point straight away.

"Yes, what quite dreadful business, that. I was not here on the day in question, of course. But it has been quite the discussion amongst the tinkers, though," he replied.

Emma raised her gloved hand. "Excuse me, Sir, business? What is that you mean by business?" Emma asked, seeking clarification.

"It's not quite savory. But Kincade and his partner Harry were arguing about money, which is not done. So Hutchens had to step in." the Major whispered the word money.

"Not cricket. Eh." The major trailed off.

"Quite," Emma responded, following up with a question.

"So either Mr. Hutchens or this Harry fellow was the last to see Kincade?" she asked.

"What? Well, yes, Hutchens seems to have been the last man to have seen him." said the Major.

"And where would I find him?" Emma asked.

"Him? Him who?" the Major responded.

"Let us start with Hutchens," Emma said.

"Arr, yes, right you are; his laboratory is in the north wing." the major pointed down one of the corridors, and Emma moved swiftly in the direction The Major had indicated. While Amelia offered her hand to The Major.

"Thank you, sir, for your help," said Emma, then looked back to Mr. Wolf, giving him a look to say, "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's get moving."

* * *

Amelia and Mr. Wolf joined Emma at a set of large iron doors with a sign that said Hutchinson's Engineering, Combustible Powder, and Robotic Inventions followed in Latin, "ignis currere pellem" Emma struck the door with the end of her parasol. The sound of the metal end rang out. Then, after a few moments, the door opened, and a small hunchbacked man stood on the threshold, looking at the trio, weighing each of them.

"Let me guess…Igor?" said Mr. Wolf with a smirk and chuckled to himself.

"O hardy har har," said the man. "How did you come up with that? A quick comparative assessment of modern literature and a penny-sized brain? Eh?" retorted the small man.

"Now! Now! Gentlemen," interjected Emma, looking at Mr. Wolf disapprovingly.

"Not helping," she said under her breath.

"Mr. Hutchens, my name is Emma Rollins," she said, offering a gloved hand.

"I am not Hutchens," the man said, and he shut the door, leaving the trio facing the sign, which confirmed that they indeed had the correct room.

"He's right. That's not Hutchens," said Amelia.

"Who is he?" asked Emma.

"I don't really know?" Amelia replied.

"I could kill him. We may find out that way," offered Mr. Wolf.

"Is that really his answer to everything?" Amelia asked Emma.

"I am afraid it is. But, in his defense, it's normally the right answer to the sort of questions we're normally asked," Emma replied.

"Yes, Quite. So," Amelia squinted slightly. Placing her hand into her bag to hold her pin.

"Of mother, England's finest finishing schools in Oxford are something of a legend. But I never thought it was ever considered life-threatening. It shall be a good story when it is told. I trust," Amelia said, looking at Emma, then back to Mr. Wolf with an arched eyebrow.

The door opened again; this time, another man stood on the door's threshold.

"Hello, I am Hutchens," he said, the bright lights of the room behind framing his muscled body; the blonde hair fell to either side, framing chiseled cheeks with piercing blue eyes.

"Reggie, finally," replied Amelia. Emma noted just an ever so slight blush in Amelia's cheeks.

"This is Emma, Kincade's sister," Amelia said.

"Good day, Sir," Emma offered her hand.

"Arr, yes. Miss Rollins—-" Hutchens said.

"Oh, I am sick of all these polite 'Please' and 'Sirs," said Mr. Wolf. "Look, mate, we need to know what happened to her brother," Mr. Wolf interjected. "And you are going to tell us," Mr. Wolf continued.

Hutchens looked at Mr. Wolf, his eyes narrowed, "And why should I tell you anything?" he asked.

"Because I have this unsurprising sharp knife," Mr. Wolf stepped forward, his hand reaching under the back of his jacket.

"Hey, this not the time for that sort of behavior," Emma said forcefully. She slapped Mr. Wolf on the back of his head, knocking his bowler forward. The weight of the brass goggles brought the hat brim down to cover his eyes.

"Sir, please forgive these impertinent actions of my servant," said Emma, with a pointed sideways look at Mr. Wolf.

"A servant who has by his actions embarrassed me," she said in a clipped tone out of the side of her mouth.

"Madame, I am not accustomed to such behavior.," said Hutchens.

"Reggie, we're sorry. Please, help us. I need to know what happened to Kincade. I am terribly worried." Amelia said.

"Amelia, anything I can do to be of help… I am at your service," Hutchens said with a heavy emphasis on your.'

"Thank you. Please let us know what happened the last time you talked to Kincade?" Amelia continued.

"It's a simple story. Kincade was in the smoking room with Harry. They were arguing about business, and I asked them to keep the conversation civil," Hutchens said.

"Who was fore? And who was against it?" Emma probed.

"Well, I don't want to be talking out of school. But it does seem that..."

Hutchens glanced at Amelia.

"That Kincade was going to be almost giving away his walking invention. And Harry was in favor of a more one-sided financial arrangement." Hutchens finished with both hands up, palms facing out, and tilted his head to the side.

"And Harry was not happy about their decision?" Emma asked as she noticed that a shadow started to creep across the door's threshold from behind Hutchens.

Over Hutchen's shoulder, an automaton came to a clanking stop and knelt with a jolting sound of gears. The machine was fashioned after a silver-backed gorilla. But, where the head and chest should have been sat, Igor. His hand worked the leavers with a clunk.

"All's is well, boss?" asked Igor.

"All is well, Igor. You can put the suit away," Hutchens said.

"Are you sure, boss? I could squash the furry one, just to make sure," offered Igor.

"Give it a go, you hunched over, fool. But, I say, the bigger they look, the more feed they make for the sharks," answered Mr. Wolf. His hand moved quickly, making it look like the cleaver leaped into his hand.

"Enough, the both of you; honestly, why is there so much animosity?" interjected Emma.

"Reggie. Is it!? Have you seen Harry today?" Emma asked.

"Not recently. You could try Harry's home.," he offered.

"Thank you for your help," Emma replied, then turned and headed down the hallway. Mr. Wolf backed away from Igor and Hutchens. As he did, he held up his left hand, two fingers pointing at his own eyes and then back towards Igor.