Doctor Obolensky eyed the main gear of the Doom Clock. It still wasn’t turning, but the clock had been in storage for several years…and until he had a proper supply of lemming oil for lubrication, it was best not to attempt to start it up.
Although, oddly, the hands on the clock were already moving on their own. That would require some research on another day, for today was a day to relieve a bit of the stress of overseeing the construction. Yes, a nice relaxing holiday.
“Is the fireboat ready? I want to have the Babbage docks ablaze by lunchtime.”, he asked one of the ever-present Smashington Mechanical Men.
It responded with a series of clicks and clatters, it’s glowing eyes flickering in time.
“Empty? How in the blazes did the mixture B tank end up empty? Wait…don’t tell me…somehow, the drain plug went missing again. I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d say the mer’s are drinking the stuff. Well, craft another plug and refill it from storage, maybe a nice evening inferno….”
The Smashington lurched back a few steps, emitting a few more clicks and whirrs.
“What?! Follow me.”, the Doctor’s brows narrowed, and he stomped down the metal-lined corridors of his new lair, until he reached the workshop.
It was, to be generous, in disarray. Transferring parts and supplies from both the Observatory, and his secret warehouse in Carpania had left tools, boxes, barrels, and crates stacked haphazardly about, waiting to be organized. Doctor Obolensky was quite looking forward to it, but at the moment, he was glaring at huge stack of cans dominating the center of the room.
“Mixture B….Triple-refined grizzly bear grease, in equal measures with Mrs. Sulpheric’s Dish and Laundry Powder, all in a rich tomato sauce base…with a few chemical additions of my own. When combined with Mixture C, it produces a firey syrup capable of melting steel like it was creamery butter. I’ve had it stored in Carpania the last few decades, well away from my Mixture C stores….but now, it’s time for me to *literally* rain devastation down on those ignorant fools!”
He turned to the Smashington, who had finally trudged up behind him. “See, it’s all right there, now load the….”
The mechanical man trudged past him, and picked up one of the cans, and returned with it to the elderly scientist, lifting it up to display the label.
“Little Leonardo – Firehouse Red Poster Paint. Tough as nails, won’t fade, chip, or peel, or your groat back.”, read the doctor. He turned to the Smashington. “All of them?”
“What in the blazes has been going on in Carpania? I can’t set fire to Babbage with….”, he glanced at the stack. “Five thousand gallons…”, he paused.
“Pump the Mixture C from the fireboat back into storage. Then fill one of the boat’s tanks with this…paint. And fill the other one with that blue paint that was delivered last week. I may not be burning down Babbage this week, but at least I can…cover it with paint! Yes…paint.”
The old man sighed as the Smashington slowly stomped away. “I used to have staff to keep this sort of thing in order. Well, perhaps I can drown some of the rabble with paint, that would be diverting.”