Magnificent Devices 01 - Lady of Devices

protect the mechanism, see, otherwise the whole shebang would melt.”
    Claire’s eyebrows rose. “And the copper itself does not melt?”
    “No, ma’am. Copper’s a conductor. So when you pull the trigger, it sets the current free, in a manner of speakin’, and it travels down the barrel and out to your target.”
    “What’s the range?” Tigg asked.
    “That’s a good question, pardner. Depends on the size of your cell. This here model, why, she’ll zap a fly off the back of a horse from fifty feet.”
    Tigg’s eyes widened as he contemplated this picture in his imagination, and Andrew smothered a smile.
    “And what of a cell about this size?” Claire curved her hands one on top of the other, as though she were cradling a rubber ball. “What range would it have if the barrel of the piece were about three feet?”
    “Ah, now you’re talking rifles, which are a whole other animal. A cell that size paired with a barrel that long, why, it could take that same fly off my hypothetical horse from the end of this here exhibit hall.” He pointed to the exit doors. “It’s the barrel, don’t you know. The bolt gets going in there and nothing can stop it. I hope you ain’t planning to heft one of those, young lady. Purty little thing like you could get herself hurt.”
    Claire gave the Territorial a winning smile. “Of course not, sir. I’m merely seeking instruction for my young charges. Now, could I impose upon you to explain a little further how exactly the bolt is created within the cell?”
    By the end of the half-hour, the American exhibitor had somehow been convinced to disassemble the Winchester and tell them about it in such detail that most people’s eyes would have glazed over. But Claire Trevelyan was not most people, and neither were her companions. Andrew expected the kind of incisive questioning that Claire gave the man, but the mind of young Tigg surprised him. It was clear that a career as a chauffeur was the best he could do, considering his station—but what a waste of a fine brain. He would no doubt be the kind of driver who would while away his off days taking apart the engines and landaus of his employers and putting them back together again, just to relieve his boredom.
    Claire finished her impromptu engineering class by reciting, along with Tigg, the parts that comprised the power cell, and the order in which they were assembled. From memory.
    Concealing his amazement, Andrew waited as Claire thanked the gentleman for his kindness. They walked slowly down the length of the exhibit hall, stopping from time to time to examine the electrick cells on a pair of pistols, an icebox, and even on a serving trolley.
    “I wonder.” She halted, idly watching the trolley as it trundled from one end of a mocked-up parlor to the other.
    “What’s that, Lady?” Tigg’s gaze followed the trolley as well.
    “How big a cell do you suppose it would take to power a landau, Tigg?”
    Andrew stopped himself from laughing aloud just in time. Not only would she never forgive him, but it would show disrespect in front of her students. Having been in the position of instructor before, he knew how important respect was.
    “A right fair size, Lady,” the boy answered. “Size of a mother’s helper, for sure.”
    “At least.” Her tone was thoughtful, as he imagined her brain turning over and over under that heap of russet hair and that ridiculous hat. Andrew wished she would share her thought processes with him, outlandish though it might be. Were they well enough acquainted that he could inquire? If only to advise her of the impossibility of such a scheme—anything bigger than household appliances had to be powered by steam. Everyone knew that.
    “Hm. Yes?” She looked down as Willie tugged urgently on her skirt.
    Tigg took his other hand. “Looks like ’e ’as to take a leak, Lady. Come to mention it, I do too.”
    This time Andrew did laugh out loud as Claire turned scarlet and clapped a hand to her mouth. “Mr. Tigg, I—really, I insist that you not—that you—oh, dear.”
    Andrew stepped into the breach. “Would you allow me to take them? And on the way I’ll instruct them in the proper expression of such things. Shall we meet again at the ice rink to collect the girls?”
    Her color still high, Claire nodded and gave him a speaking look that conveyed—what? Surely that soulful expression was more than gratitude for such a simple favor?
    “Thank you. Dear me. Willie, you and