“That sounds magical,” replied Charlotte as McClellan climbed down to join them. The air was sharp with the tang of salt, and another brisk gust tugged at her bonnet.
“Not magic, milady, science!” Seeing the ribbons flap around her face, Tilden hurriedly added, “How rag-mannered of me for making you stand in the cold!” He offered his arm and called for the boys to come away from admiring the thirty-two-gun war frigate that was tied up at the near wharf. “If you and your maid will please follow me, milady.”
The noise grew even more pronounced as they passed from the entrance foyer into the central corridor. Tilden led them through a set of thick oak doors. The machinery sounds were muffled as they swung closed behind them.
“This section of the building holds the offices of our inventors.” His lips quirked. “We need a modicum of quiet in which to think.” He continued on to a closed door halfway down the corridor and opened it with a key that he pulled from his pocket.
“The work we do here is—”
“Secret,” intoned Peregrine.
Tilden nodded. “Well, yes, we must protect our innovations, as they contribute to keeping our nation safe.” He offered Charlotte a seat in the chair facing his large and cluttered desk. “But there is no need to worry. We are very careful to maintain a high level of security to thwart spies from other countries.”
He paused and smiled, as if seeking to lighten the mood. “And closer to home, heaven forfend if a fellow like A. J. Quill managed to poke around in our restricted areas and see what we are doing.”
“Dear heavens,” exclaimed Charlotte, exchanging a furtive glance with McClellan.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to alarm you.” A nervous laugh. “I assure you, our defenses are more than a match for foreign agents, as well as the likes of A. J. Quill.”
Charlotte inclined a polite nod and changed the subject. “What magnificent pictures of our stalwart fighting ships!” she said.
“They represent some of our most fabled naval victories—the Battle of the Nile, Trafalgar, Copenhagen . . .” Tilden’s eyes lit with patriotic pride. “They remind all of us of the importance of what we do here.”
“Indeed,” she said softly.
McClellan whispered a warning to the Weasels to stop fidgeting.
“Ho, the boys are rightly impatient to see the machinery,” exclaimed Tilden with a friendly wink in their direction. “Though I hope the noise will not be an unpleasant experience for you, milady.” A pause. “Er, what with all the metal shavings and drops of oil that are inevitably spit off by the machines, it can also get a little . . . messy.”
Charlotte chuckled as she slipped off her heavy cloak. “With three lively boys in our house, I assure you, I am not the least bothered by noise or less-than-pristine surroundings.”
“Excellent!” Tilden looked relieved. “Though I also must warn you that it’s a bit cramped in the aisles between the machinery.”
“Why don’t I stay here with our outer wraps and reticules?” suggested McClellan. She lifted the bag looped over her arm. “I have brought along some knitting.”
“Does that meet with your approval, Mr. Tilden?” asked Charlotte.
“Yes, that works out very nicely,” he replied.
After offering his arm to Charlotte, Tilden turned to the Weasels and Peregrine. “Come along, lads. I hope you are not afraid of getting your hands a bit grimy.”
McClellan choked back a snort.
Raven glanced at her with an evil grin before scampering off.
“Lead the way, sir,” said Charlotte. “Though I daresay I won’t comprehend much, I am very much looking forward to seeing what it is you do here.”
* * *
The chatter of moving steel, the whir of spinning gears, the chuff of steam-engine pistons rising and falling—the laboratory was alive with a symphony of industrial sounds as Tilden led them into a long, narrow room with three lathes spaced along its length. All were humming along at full speed.
Peregrine’s eyes widened in wonder as the man in charge of running the nearest one clamped a small block of iron into a central worm screw and flicked a lever, sending it through lines of different milling blades that cut it into an intricate shape.
“I-Is it really possible that every piece that the lathe operator makes is identical?” demanded the boy.
“Thanks to the genius of Henry Maudslay, the answer is yes. He’s invented a whole new range of innovative machines that are key to making improved versions of other machines!”
“What do you mean?” asked Hawk, venturing closer to the whirling levers.
