Sigmund Shaw: A Steampunk Adventure by Mark C. King Page A

brass plate slowly and quietly to the side, Sigmund peered through the glass of his viewing apparatus. A functional design, it allowed him to see who was on his doorstep and be moved around to see if anyone was perhaps hiding off to the side. His initial fear was that there would be a troop of constables waiting to arrest him but that proved unfounded. All that was there was a lone man, definitely not a constable in his dark gray, tailored suit, black top hat, and what looked like a gold handled walking stick in his gloved hand. A detective perhaps? That didn’t seem likely either, as Sigmund didn’t believe detectives made enough to dress quite this well – also the look on this dark stranger’s goateed face was calm, almost amused. Certainly not the look of someone trying to bring in a criminal.
     
    As another knock sounded, Sigmund unlocked his door, opened it slightly, and greeted the stranger, “Good evening. May I help you?”
     
    “Ah, well put, Mr. Shaw. That is precisely why I am here. I need your help.”
     
    He knows my name, thought Sigmund. Looking intently at the dark eyes of the stranger, he could read little. This man knew his name and yet Sigmund was quite sure that they had never met before. A very sour feeling was starting to well up in Sigmund’s gut. What kind of help could this well-dressed man be wanting from Sigmund – a carriage driver – at this time of night? The words of Lewis Carroll came to his mind, curiouser and curiouser . “Sir,” Sigmund said, “you have me at a disadvantage. You obviously know my name, may I ask yours?”
     
    “Knowing my name, Mr. Shaw, is not important.” The dark stranger replied unrelenting with his calm expression. “In fact, not knowing my name is very important, as you shall see. May we step inside?”
     
    The man started taking off his gloves as Sigmund stared in confusion. After a few moments Sigmund decided to try and force things a little, test the resolve of this stranger. “I’m afraid that without a name, I cannot possibly let you in. The hour is quite late, or early, and you see, I consider myself a cautious man.”
     
    A smile broke onto the stranger’s face – the first show of emotion. “Quite so, Mr. Shaw. That is much of the reason I am here.” He looked to the side for a moment, evidently considering something, then looked back into Sigmund’s eyes, the smile gone, “Mr. Shaw, I did want this to go a little differently, but in the end, it probably matters little. Don’t think that I will just turn away as if a salesman who lost a sale. Truth be told, in harmony with my analogy, I believe you will have to buy what I’m selling.”
     
    Still confused, Sigmund was starting to feel anger combine with his other emotions. A stranger who will not give his name and is insinuating – what? Some deal that is too good to refuse? Some deal that cannot be refused? He did not like to have his hand forced like this and said, “Goodnight, sir.” And started to close the door. To Sigmund’s surprise the stranger put a forceful arm on the door to stop it.
     
    “Mr. Shaw, please. I am aware of your robbery tonight.”
     
    Sigmund froze as his body clenched with surprise. The dark stranger stared at him for a few moments and then continued, “I’m also aware that the box was empty. Shall we talk inside now?”
     
    Sigmund reeled a little. He allowed the possibility, however small, that he could have been found out in his crime. But how could anyone know the box was empty? Did this man work for the hotel owner? Whatever the case, Sigmund’s situation was getting worse by the moment. His sleepy thoughts of returning to bed were becoming clear thoughts of handcuffs and jail. Run now? he considered.
     
    Interrupting Sigmund’s considerations, the stranger casually said, “Please don’t bother to run Mr. Shaw, I am not alone. But you need not fear. For as I said, I need your help. I think we can both benefit by sitting down and