Clockwork Cabaret
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The door was of stout wooden construction, which might have significantly impeded our entry. Fortunately, George had noticed a stout fire axe in a cabinet on the previous landing, which he retrieved in short order and started applying it with great effect. It took only a few blows to loosen the lock, and George was able to force the door open. Inside, three men were feverishly at work, all of whom were dressed in the overalls and flat hats common to those who work with steam-powered machinery on a frequent basis. All seemed to be delving into the innards of various of the Clockwork Cabaret automatons, stripping out the interlinked set of varnished punched cards which represented the programme instructions and throwing them on a blazing fire. The crackle and roar of the fire had covered the noise of our forcible entry, it seemed, as well as making the room unbearably hot, even by African standards. "Stop that at once" I shouted in my most commanding voice; I was ignored, of course. All three looked up like startled rabbits, then attempted to escape though the door that George had just forced open, the others being obviously locked and barred. George managed to lay one out with the handle of the fire axe but the other two forced themselves past me and Mister Wallace, extremely rudely, I thought, and sprinted up the stairs we had so recently traversed. I recalled a most interesting conversation with a Master cyberneticist some years ago, the young man's enthusiasm for his craft having overridden his shyness and polite reticence in the presence of a grand lady. He said that every computing engine had certain combinations of operations which which simply cannot be performed; the machine being physically incapable of forming its moving parts into the directed combination. Any attempt to do so would result in a serious failure of the engine itself: the device would jam and freeze, pistons becoming immobile, gears stripped, boiler pressure pushed beyond limits. "So, Mister Wallace, we have an explanation," I said, having caught my breath, "Sabotage, by your trusted employees, rather than some unlikely external attack on your automata." "I am afraid you are quite right, dear lady," Wallace said gruffly. He had stepped over to one of the machines which had not, it seemed, been subjected to the predations of the artificers, and reached inside. He pulled out a length of the interlinked programme cards and inspected them closely. "See here, he said, "This card has been inserted into the run." I looked closely. The woven fabric on both edges of the card in his hand, which keeps each with the next and previous in sequence, had been patched expertly; of course, such patches needed to be made regularly, but a new card had definitely been inserted exactly where the machine had so dramatically stopped. Since each of the automatons were different, a separate card would need to be specially designed for each device to have the desired destructive effect. This must have represented a considerable amount of work and taken a lot of time, perhaps during the long air voyage from England. My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the Chief of Police, slightly breathless, accompanied by Thomas and the Theatre manager, Mister Mwanajuma, as well as some fraction of the cohort of newspaper reporters which had, in the way of that type, divined that something of considerable interest might be taking place in the bowels of the Grand Victoria Theatre. They were accompanied by the two artificers who had so recently fled the scene. They had apparently been recognised by Mwanajuma and detained by a couple of burly police officers when they failed to adequately explain their hasty departure. I greeted the Chief warmly; Wallace, observing the grand uniformed personage I was addressing, rushed over and demanded the immediate arrest of his erstwhile employees as saboteurs and vandals. The Chief glanced at me; I nodded minimally. stout shackles were promptly produced and all the artificers, including the one floored by George earlier, were bundled away by the police. The press corps looked on with considerable interest during these events. I spoke briefly into Wallace's ear, suggesting that he immediately brief the newspaper reporters but avoid mentioning any aspect of blackmail. He readily agreed and, as befitting one who used to standing on a stage in front of hundreds of people, he was soon waxing eloquent on the villainous nature of his ex-employees and fielding questions with aplomb. The headlines of the Mombasa Telegraph and the Kilifi News the following morning were exactly as I had hoped. "Sabotage at the Clockwork Cabaret" in huge type, followed by a glowing report of the performance up to the point when the failure had occurred. Later editions of the paper reported that a consortium of businessmen from the Manchester Corn Exchange, prompted by the Honourable George Lancaster, MP, had pledged funds for the rebuilding of the Clockwork Cabaret, and that the machines would be returned to Wallace's workshops in Manchester for repairs. No doubt the London newspapers would report much the same in a day or two; I was unsurprised to observe that foreign papers declined to make any reference to the incident. I made a mental note that i needed to speak in private with both Mister Alexander Abrahams and Mister Furaha at the earliest opportunity. Perhaps they too had received blackmail demands, which might explain their reaction when the Cabaret had come to such a precipitous halt. And perhaps they knew more, which might held future investigations. General Conrad von Hötzendor I would not address directly in this matter, since I retained a suspicion that he knew much more about this event than he would readily admit. The General would have diplomatic immunity, of course, but I expected to make a report to certain contacts I have in Her Majesty's Imperial Diplomatic service which might mean that his actions would be more closely monitored in the future. Edith would soon receive another invitation to one of my ladies' afternoon tea parties where, naturally, nobody would be so indiscrete as to mention the calamity at the Grand Victoria Theatre, Nyali or indeed speculate on the cause of the problems. My part, for such as it was, in this episode was not reported in any the newspapers, which is exactly the way I like it. Still, I received an unsigned note a few days later thanking me for averting a potential political timebomb. This was all the thanks I really needed, ensuring the stability of the Empire in the face of global opponents.
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Part 5
