The next morning, Imelda and Fritz were in the laboratory early, well before Doctor Witherspoon had even awakened. This was normal, of course; one of the eccentricities cultivated by inventors — especially the more wealthy of them, which certainly fitted Witherspoon — was rising late and dallying over eggs, bacon, toast, and tea while reading the Byronton Times or doodling what they claimed were new ideas on a pad of paper. It would be nearly eleven before Witherspoon stepped out for his appointments around the city, by which time Fritz and Imelda would have been at work for nearly six hours.
As she had suggested the night before, Imelda addressed the puzzle of how Professor Q’s automaton was powered while Fritz worked out the mechanics of how a bipedal machine might balance itself and walk. They each used their preferred method of inquiry in the early stages of an invention; Imelda pored over some of the most obscure volumes in Witherspoon’s library and Fritz constructed a series of small metal models, refining the problem down to its essentials.
By the time Witherspoon arrived at the laboratory that evening, impeccably (if eccentrically) dressed, Fritz had a small device walking precariously around the workbench on two legs that appeared to have been made from pencils, most of a pocketwatch, and a variety of spare parts. It appeared to use a set of pendulums to remain precariously balanced. Imelda had made less tangible progress, but she emerged from a pile of old books now surrounding her reading table looking pleased. While some of the books were modern theoretical treatises, the majority were, puzzlingly, historical studies of the mysterious ancient civilization called Perenth. Perenthian artifacts were rare, valuable, and although most appeared to be utilitarian in some way, the secret to their operation had never been discovered.
Fritz demonstrated his walking mechanism, which he called his “toy”, when the doctor arrived. The almost comical stumblings of the little device as it reeled drunkenly around the tabletop amused the doctor greatly. Imelda, having nothing to demonstrate, remained serious. “Doctor, my researches have shown me a possibility. To pursue this I am needing more materials. I must go to the library at the university.”
“Byronton University? But surely you realize, Imelda, that is out of the question!” said the doctor. “The library is not open to the public, and in any case women are not to be admitted.”
“But doctor,” said Imelda, “you are free to use the library, no?”
“Well of course,” the doctor said, preening a bit, “I earned my diploma there, of course, and as such…”
“And you can bring a guest if you wish, no?”
“Well yes, I suppose a guest can accompany me,” said the professor.
“Then if you would, wait one moment,” said Imelda, and she abruptly left the laboratory in the direction of her rooms.
Doctor Witherspoon was harrumphing and asking Fritz “what was this all about” and “what’s the meaning of this” when there was a knock on the laboratory’s outer door.
“Heavens, now what,” grumbled the professor, making his way to the door. He opened it to see a short bearded man dressed in a somewhat archaic waistcoat and cape. The man addressed him in a deep, slightly accented voice.
“Ah, my good doctor, I am here on behalf of my kinswoman Imelda Vonsteagen. I believe she is in your employ. She tells me she has need of admittance to the great library at Byronton University. As she is not to be admitted, sadly being the wrong gender for such privileges, she has asked me, her cousin Haniman, to perhaps take her place. Begging your pardon, sir, but would that be at all possible?”
“But…what…how…” sputtered the doctor.
“Is only me,” said the man in Imelda’s voice. Pulling off the hat and the beard, Imelda revealed herself.
“Imelda!” exclaimed the doctor, “that voice…”
“Is device from Fritz,” said Imelda, loosening her ascot to reveal a watch-sized brass disk worn around her throat. She turned a knob on its side and said, her voice again deep as a man’s, “it works well, no?”
“Er…works quite well,” said the doctor, now completely off balance, “I was not aware…”
“And so in disguise, I go, yes?” said Imelda in her own voice.
Fritz had silently appeared at the doctor’s side. “Imelda fools many people,” he said reassuringly, “never been found out.”
“You’ve used this disguise before?” said the doctor, nonplussed.
“Of course yes,” said Imelda. She seemed quite pleased with herself. “Many places around this city are open to men but not women. When I need, I go as man. As Haniman.”
“What do you say, doctor,” asked Franz, “Imelda can go to library?”
The doctor sighed. “I suppose so,” he said. “My reputation is besmirched as it is. One more mark against me shan’t make much difference.”
“Will be no mark,” said Imelda. “Disguise never fails.”
