The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(65)

“What if you were to direct it into a structure?”

He cleared his throat, uncertain if he should reveal more. “I would most likely raze it to the ground.”

Tesla’s eyes were bright, his face lit with excitement. “Aetheric oscillation,” he said in a slightly reverent tone, moustache twitching. “You inspired me, Your Grace. I have recently begun work on a machine that I believe will absorb Aetheric energy much like you and then expel that same energy.”

“To what end?” Griffin asked. “I could see it being used to replace the treacherous practices now in place for blasting out railway lines or in building demolition, perhaps.”

“Or in war,” Tesla added. “Imagine if an army marched on New York, one could Aetherically destroy the Brooklyn Bridge to prevent penetration of Manhattan Island, but without the risk to life or other property that comes with explosives.”

War? Griffin didn’t like that idea at all.

“Entire cities might be toppled,” Tesla went on. “But that’s not the manner in which I would use such a creation, no. Imagine being able to peel back the earth’s crust like one peels an orange. Only wonder at what discoveries await there!”

For the first time since meeting the man, Griffin wondered if Tesla wasn’t a little mad. Certainly he was brilliant, and with brilliance there was often a certain detachment from the rest of the world, but wondering at building something that could destroy the earth, just because you wanted to see if you could build it, well, that was just asking for trouble.

And for that matter alone, Griffin did not tell the man that the Aether was an organic energy, and while small amounts could be harnessed by machines, even manipulated—such as with Tesla’s device that could have brought down the building and worse—the amount needed to topple an entire city or split the earth’s crust could only be absorbed, and therefore unleashed, by organic material.

Basically, that to the best of his knowledge, he was the only being or thing on the planet capable of such destruction— and even then, taking in that much Aether would undoubtedly kill him.

No, he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he raised his teacup in salute. “I wish you the best of luck with that, sir.” Meanwhile, he knew in the back of his mind that if Tesla ever did succeed in creating such a machine, he would personally hunt it down and destroy it.

“Now,” he said, after taking a drink of tea, “I assume that we need to get close to this machine of yours to stop it.”

“No, not necessarily.” Tesla smoothed the fingers of his left hand over his moustache. “The device was designed to be operated up close or at a distance. Your criminal will not need to have it on his person to use it.”

Griffin clenched his jaw. Nothing had been easy during this trip. Not a bloody thing. And why was Tesla smiling at him? Did the man not realize they were shagged?

“What’s so amusing, sir?” He ignored the sharp look Emily shot him for speaking so hotly to the inventor.

Tesla chuckled. “Because it should be obvious to you, Your Grace. You do not need to touch the device to stop it. You are one with the Aether. All you must do is locate its signal on the Aetheric plane and use your incredible talent to render it inert.”

Had he said what Griffin thought he said? Griffin couldn’t help but chuckle. In fact, they all did.

Finally something he could control.

Since Whip Kirby wasn’t affiliated with the New York City police, he didn’t take Finley to the Tombs, but rather to the set of rooms he’d rented from a bounty-hunter associate, complete with holding cells in the cellar and on the ground floor. The ground floor ones obviously being for the less dangerous captures.

At the moment, Finley wasn’t locked up on either floor. She sat at the table with Whip, enjoying a cup of coffee and a hot breakfast of griddle cakes and sausage. She had spent the night on a cot in the small spare bedroom, and she’d been grateful for it, sleeping far later than she should have. Once she realized Kirby meant her no harm, it had been easy to relax. They had stayed up fairly late, talking. She had tried to contact Griffin, but her P.T. was still a bit dodgy, and she didn’t know if the message made it to him.

“You don’t think I’ll run away?” she had asked when he showed her to the guest room.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. For an old man, he wasn’t bad looking. He had to be at least thirty. “Don’t matter much to me if you stay or leave. But it might be more convincing if you let Dalton come looking for you.”

She made a scoffing noise. “He won’t come for me.”

“I think you underestimate yourself. Dalton considers you his. He sent men to London to fetch Jasper. He’ll come for you.”

Finley didn’t have the energy to argue with him. “Do you really want to clear Jasper’s name?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“Why?” she asked as she sat down on the bed.

Kirby leaned against the door frame and folded his arms over his chest. “Because I married his sister six months ago and I promised her I’d find the real murderer.”

Her jaw dropped. “Does Jasper know you’re family?”

The toe of one of his scuffed boots rubbed against the threshold. “Nope. He doesn’t know he’s going to be an uncle soon, either. My wife hopes he’ll be able to come visit us after the baby’s born.”