Lazarus Machine, The (A Tweed & Nightingale Adventure): 1 Read Online Free Page A

least Barnaby was still alive.
    Which meant Tweed still had time to find him.
    As he absently drummed his fingers on the thick canvas, wondering exactly what his father had gotten himself mixed up in, a second dirigible rose into view alongside him, drifting into a higher lane of traffic. A small boy stared out of one of the portholes, clearly bored out of his mind.
    When he saw Tweed lounging on the top of the airship, his mouth dropped open in shock.
    Tweed raised a hand and waved at him. The boy hesitantly waved back, and a moment later his dirigible was swallowed up by the clouds.

Octavia Nightingale sat next to the fire in a large, wingback chair and attempted to focus on her stitching. Her father would approve. It was a lady-like pursuit, something he was always encouraging her to take more of an interest in.
    It was also fiendishly difficult and incredibly boring. She squinted at the stitches, tilting the black cloth toward the fire so she could get a better look at her handiwork. She still couldn't see much. She clicked her tongue in irritation and glanced across at Manners, standing at attention next to the door.
    “Manners, come here, please.”
    The automaton moved smoothly toward her. It was the newest model, released only last month. Only the best for her father. She stared at it in distaste. The constructs seemed to be getting more human with every iteration. Octavia wasn't sure she approved. She liked her tools to look like tools. Manners even had articulating facial expressions. It could smile slightly and blink. Unfortunately, it didn't quite know when it was appropriate to use these newfound abilities. Having an automaton tell you it was time for bed with a frozen, creepy smile on its face was quite an alarming experience that had Octavia's fingers itching for her Tesla gun.
    “Manners, stand there.” Octavia pointed to the carpet directly in front of her. When the automaton had done as instructed, Octavia lifted the protective cover that some of the newer models had over their æther cages. The white light of the soul that powered the construct shone through the thick glass, casting a clear, bright glow across her handiwork.
    Octavia had always found it incredibly disturbing to think thatmost of the automata in the city were powered by human souls. Many decades ago, some government department discovered that it was easier to use human souls extracted from the deceased and trapped inside special “æther cages” to power automata. The discovery was quickly embraced. Finally, an answer to the insolvable problem of delivering instructions to automata out in the street without them having to trail miles upon miles of wires behind them to receive their commands. And the supply of souls? No problem. The Crown offered to “rent” the souls of the deceased from their families, an offer that was enthusiastically embraced by the lower classes.
    Of course, nowadays the Tesla Towers helped with all that, but the old-fashioned æther constructs were still the more popular (and affordable) models. Especially as the Crown liked to keep a tight grip on the secrets of Tesla power.
    Unfortunately for Octavia, the light from Manners's æther cage only served to illuminate her own failings. Her stitches were large and unevenly spread. Not very nice. Not very nice at all.
    Oh, well. At least the thread matched the material, so nobody was likely to notice.
    Her father opened the door and peered into the room.
    “Oh, hello, Octavia. Not at the paper today?”
    Octavia repressed a sigh. It was already past eight in the evening. She had been home from her job at The Times for two hours already. Well, she called it a job, but she wasn't paid anything. It was more of a volunteer research position that she was allowed to keep because her mother used to work there as a journalist, something Octavia hoped to one day emulate. She forced a smile onto her face. “Finished up for the day, Father. I just wanted to practice my