Roland the Inventor

(Following this post.)

Roland was a very clever inventor! He invented the electric ear-trumpet and the flying gyrosquid by the age of twelve, and at thirteen created a greater invention yet - the Motor-Cat, elevated by engineering from cripple to physical paragon. For Roland's formative years, his Motor-Cat was his closest companion. But when Roland turned twenty-four, his cat died!

Roland was disconsolate. But he was an engineer, and he thought like one, even in his grief. "What if my cat did not die of natural causes, but was poisoned?" he wondered. So he began to search. First he checked the food and water with various solutions and chemicals, finding them clear of arsenic, lead and other toxins. Then he tested the air. There was no chlorine, nor bromine - but on his third test, he found cyanide gas in the air!

At his shout of "ah-ha!", a dark figure sprang out of the eaves. "You! Roland!" he shouted. "I had hoped to kill you slowly - but I see that this cannot be the case! We must duel!"

Both of them drew rapiers and closed. Roland attacked furiously, incensed at the murder of his cat and the attempted murder of himself. His opponent fenced more cautiously, with a half-dozen parries employed for every riposte attempted. Roland scored twice - on the arm, and then the leg - but his third lunge left him overextended, and his opponent drew back his sword for the kill. Roland, fallen to the floor, heard only a slight thunk, and then heard the pitter-patter of light footsteps on the roof. There was a double thump, and then Roland looked up - but by this time the room was empty.

His opponent was dead. An arrow was in his back, wrapped in paper. Roland unwrapped it. Written on it, in English (which, as a well-read young man, Roland knew, as well as French, Latin and Greek), was the cryptic message "The cake is a lie." A crude drawing of a slice of cake filled the rest of the paper, covered by a circle with a line through it.

Roland set to work at once. He searched his assailant's body for clues, but found nothing other than the clothes he was wearing and the sword he carried - not even a money-purse. He found the source of the arsenic gas, and disabled it. Then he set to investigating all these things: his opponent's effects and equipment were taken in turn to Paris in hopes of finding the maker. This was to no avail. Roland searched the paper, seeking hidden messages and ciphers, but found only a single word, impressed onto the paper even after it was written over: "Help."

This was not very helpful.


After six months of vain effort, Roland resigned himself to defeat on the matter of the assassin, and set his mind to new pursuits. "This tragic affair has much damaged my reputation - making me seem quite the odd-ball," he thought, "and while I would not act otherwise after my beloved motor-cat died, I should still make some effort to repair the damage. The World Fair comes soon to France - and I must win it!"

Roland considered various plans. The mobile windmill/jousting dummy was rejected shortly; the flying palace, to Roland's own sadness, was also unsuitable. Roland even went so far as to draw up schematics for the winged hatbox (with included women's choir), but was insufficiently musically inclined to finish the design on his own - as he was determined to, filled with youthful pride. In a burst of inspiration while lying abed one night, he conceived the perfect idea, and at once set to build it. From his rapidly dwindling funds, he hired workmen and acquired parts, himself taking part in the construction. The hull took shape quickly - wooden-bottomed and steel on the top, for the necessary strength. The drill took longer to build (and cost the most of any part of the invention), but was fixed to the front in good time. A funnel connected front to back. Instruments were installed hastily (rendering them somewhat less reliable than was desirable), and the steam engine was emplaced last, nearly collapsing the hull with its weight. It was done.


When the day came for the World's Fair, Roland's assigned lot lay empty. Spectators and judges gathered, wondering what had become of the prodigy. Speculation ran wild: some suggested that he had failed to create a suitable device. Others thought him dead. One particularly popular theory was that he had been assassinated by jealous Germans. But, at precisely the strike of noon on the first day, a great rumbling arose. With a crash, Roland's Landsub burst through the surface of the earth in his assigned lot, virtually leaping into the air like a whale, front-mounted drill throwing clods of dirt in all directions.

And, it was generally agreed among spectators and judges alike: It was goode.