I take my line of police officers to the trap door and down to the lower level workshop, splurging for the occasion by turning on the electric lights. I can only hope my employer doesn't sneeze or have to scratch any body parts. The tiniest noise made in the oxidation chamber is amplified by the copper sphere and feeder orifice. 

"This is his workshop? How long since you have seen him?" the commander asks. He sweeps his gaze over the large room, and manages to frown even deeper than before. 

"Nearly four days," I say. Ping! goes the chimer.  

"What happened exactly?" 

"He just disappeared," I say, watching the chimer from the corner of my eye. Each ping is accompanied by gold, so far. 

"Did he say where he was going when he left?" 

"No." Ping! 

"Has he tried to contact you since then?" 

"He hasn't been able to reach me if he's tried," I say, cringing. Ping — gold! Technically, he can't reach me with his hand through the feeder orifice. The tube is too narrow.

"Do you know what this is?" The commander shows me a diagram on a heavy sheet of paper. 

"It looks like a vertical energy acceleraugmentor." Ping! 

"Have you seen it?" 

"We have one like this, but it's a sixer. That one is a twelver, it looks pretty expensive. Are those double-knotted fillidarts?" I ask, moving towards the back wall. My last comment — a question — elicits a red button. The machine can't judge the truth of a question. 

In the meantime, the other policemen have spread out, opening drawers, lifting machine parts, inspecting loose steam-powered pistons and wires, flipping through notes and diagrams, and poking their noses in grungy, forgotten corners. 

"What is this strange beast, Miss Nabel?" asks the handsome officer, patting the side of the huge machine that Humphrey is stuck in.  

"That thing? Hard to say," I answer.  

No pings; the chimer is waiting for the commander to ask the questions. He promptly does. "What is the machine?" 

"Well, Mr. Stricton told me it's an alloy purifier." Ping! 

Snorts of derision sound from several of the previously mentioned corners. Alloy purifiers, or ones that can actually separate the metals in common alloys without costing more than the precious metals they extract, are myths. 

"Is that true?" 

"That's what he told me. Here's the acceleraugmentor." I show the commander a half-wired, six bolt acceleraugmentor worth pocket change in the market for its spare parts.  

"Where do you think Mr. Stricton is now?" 

"I'm sure he's not far, he is certainly still in the area." Ping! Gold! Look at the gold! 

"Can you be more specific? An address or acquaintance?" 

"Could you please tell me what this is about?" I ask. Ping! Red. 

"Hmm. What is your position in Mr. Stricton's household?" 

"I'm Wrench Assistant under Master Wheelworker Stricton." Ping!  

This knocks them speechless. They all check the chimer for the gold button. They obviously thought I was a maid, and not a very tidy one at that. 

"But aren't you a girl?" the handsome one asks.  

I must have made an impression on him. "Women assistants cost less in salary." 

"But...but you're a girl," he insists.  

I'll have to start lacing my bodice tighter to avoid any confusion in the future.  

"How can you hope to achieve Master level?" 

Not the first time I've heard or asked myself that question. At one point, I even considered seducing Humphrey to get a promotion. Romantically speaking, he is not my type; chubby around the middle, thinning hair and a weak chin, although, I would be willing to look past his outer flaws if he possessed any inner beauty. Humphrey has none, though, and in addition, the only woman who sparks his interest is the Widow Bowdey. She is without a doubt the richest person in the city; more so than Slick-Handed Alfred and his entire network of thieves and thugs. Humphrey's adoration is quite one-sided. The widow would not deign to let him open her jars of preserves if he were the last man alive in the city. So while he pines, I roll up my sleeves and learn everything I can about mechanical engineering.  

"There's a first time for everything, right?" I answer. 

With a sniff, the commander dismisses my dreams for advancing my lot in life. After a second of reflection, he sends the handsome officer to search the rest of the house. "We will be confiscating all the material in Mr. Stricton's workshop for examination as evidence," the commander informs me. 

"Evidence for what?" I ask, watching with a distinct pang of disappointment as the god-like form of the handsome officer disappears up the stairs. 

"Of the theft of this twelve bolt, double-knotted fillidarts, vertical energy acceleraugmentor." 

"I see." 

"We will return this afternoon with the warrant. I assume you are not going anywhere?" 

"No." Ping! Gold; it must be true. Apparently, I am not going anywhere.  

After they leave, I let Humphrey stew in his sweat and fear so I can watch the policemen through the spy-scopes. The three junior officers find positions at the street corners, and the handsome one with his luscious, mouth-watering good looks stands watch at the baker's in front. 

A sudden, overwhelming desire for fresh bread nearly sweeps me out the door before I can restrain myself. The time for dilly-dallying is over. I knew the moment would come when I have to actually get Humphrey out. As fun as it's been leaving him trapped in there, I can't risk them finding him and destroying the machine when they remove him themselves. 

Slick-Handed Alfred wants that alloy purifier and Humphrey has to deliver it or both of us will be in his disfavor. So it's back to the workshop for me. 

"All right, they're gone," I announce, fitting my new triple lens goggles over my eyes. I pull an electric lamp close by and pedal the generator for a moment to get the light shining brightly.  

Humphrey mumbles pathetically. 

"I'm getting you out. They are confiscating everything," I tell him. 

During the four days since I discovered Humphrey stuck in his machine, I have basically determined how to remove him without cutting the expensive wiring or disconnecting the apex focalizer line — the root of the problem. Master Wheelworker Stricton may be a genius for ideas, but for execution he has the finesse of a drunken sea chef after five days in a crusty port. 

The officer was right; the alloy purifier is a strange beast. Sitting on four stumpy iron legs, it has a round copper belly (that Humphrey is squished into), two bulbous steel heads: one with the feeder orifice and the other with the metal renderer opening. Arms and tentacles are attached haphazardly to the belly and heads, and wires and tubes cover the whole surface. It's as if the creature's intestines and blood vessels are confused about which side is in and which is out. 

"Tell me again how you became...caught in there," I say. I settle onto the floor and pick up where I left off mapping and marking the puzzle of wires. I have heard the story six times already. It's so good. 

He mutters something that sounds rather insulting. 

"I am simply trying to visualize how it happened," I explain. 

Actually, I can picture it pretty well: Humphrey crawling into the back half of the oxidation chamber while the front half hangs open, him pulling on the apex focalizer line to hook it through the metal renderer, it causing the front half to close and connect in place, him — blissfully ignorant that he has just locked the belly shut — continuing to attach the apex, thereby activating the focalizer.  

Now, once the focalizer is activated, the apex cannot be cut or disconnected. What Humphrey did not stop to think about from inside is that the line is snug against the copper chamber, or belly. The mess of wires and tubes that are snaking around on the belly with it make it difficult, but not impossible, for me to create a free surface where I can cut through the chamber, performing an extremely weird Caesarian section. 

To be honest, though, I'm not sure I can get him free without slicing him up or removing any of his body parts. I chew on my lips for a moment, and the faint taste of grease fills my mouth. I'm going to have to try it, anyway.