The rusty old mining car rattled its way down a endless warren of tunnels and trestles, lit by a string of lonely electric bulbs.

Pamela Pants, my arch enemy in love, science, and business, sat in the front, and I was by no means a prisoner, except of my own conflicted feelings.

The clickety clack of the car on the tracks soon became unbearable.

"Pamela," I said. "There's something I must tell you. You see, for all these--"

Pamela's hand whipped back and closed itself over my mouth.

"Hush!" she whispered. "Listen!"

Her hand remained gripped around my lips, but I perked up my ears.

"Wooooohoooooo!" The faint howl of a steam whistle in the distance?

"It's closing time at the factory," she whispered. "We'll lose ourselves in the crowd."

An underground factory? Some antediluvian relic from the age of wage slavery and back-breaking drudgery? Deep beneath our fair utopia above? What madness was this? More likely some of Pamela's bohemian techno artist friends and one of their dreadful "openings." And what of my curious clockwork dog Rufus? And somewhat trustworthy robot manservant Cicero? Were they all in on some elaborate ploy to humiliate me? How long was this going to take? I had appointments!

"Keep your mouth closed, your head down, and follow me," Pamela said.

"Watch your head," Pamela said.

I'd be boiled before taking tips from that evil Science Witch!

THUNK

"And beware the puddles!"

SQUISH

"Just why are we headed through this nefarious pit of darkness?" I enquired, now keeping my head low and torch on the ground before me. "And to what great curse do I owe the pleasure of you becoming involved in my daily jog?"

"A man who can't control his mechanical dog is no man at all," Pamela replied. "But I'd say Rufus has more of a nose for discovery than you. Not to mention treasure."

Another low blow.

"And perhaps your mechanical manservant Cicero was in on it as well. Doesn't he still plan your exercise time? And chose this route?"

Cicero was quite insistent on us jogging past the decrepit old mansion today.

"Perhaps it was the scent of aetheric oil. The purest!"

I took a small whiff. Nothing but mold and earth.

"And you still haven't given up the snuff yet I see."

Curse that woman!

"And now," she continued, "into this rusty old mining car. Mind the gap!"

"Wot?"

Instead of finding my rambunctious robotic hound and steadfast mechanical manservant entwined in a pile of copper crockery, I found myself face to face with my nemesis and peer from the Cogwheel Club.

"Pamela Pants! Good lord! What are you doing here?"

She stood in the kitchen of this abandoned manor at the very pile of pots and pans I'd heard crashing. But my clockwork dog and butler where nowhere to be seen.

"Looking for your servants, Siriso?" she asked. "Perhaps they just needed some time away."

That was a low blow.

"See here," I said. "If this is another of your elaborate revenge scenarios I'll have you know that if you've endangered my techno-mechanical compatriots then you've taken it too far this time, Pamela!"

"My dear Siriso, I assure you it's nothing of the sort. Unlike you, I have a human heart."

Another low blow.

"But it does appear our quests have intertwined," she continued. "After making a mess of things in the kitchen, your wind-up friends headed directly through that open cellar door, which happens to be just where I'm headed too."

There was a darkened stairwell past that door, and a waft of fetid earthy air.

"I'm happy to go first. Look, I brought torches!"

"Rufus! Here boy!"

Where was that confounded mechanical mutt? My calls echoed through the entryway of the dilapidated mansion. The grounds were unkempt and weedy, but the front door was invitingly open.

"Cicero! Are you in here? Bang on something if you can hear me!"

My robot butler Cicero was mute, but could communicate through rapping his metal fingertips on tables and chairs using an ingenious telegraphic code of my own design. He only used this method of communication when extremely frustrated, however. He felt my code was crude.

I heard a terrific crash within the cavernous expanse of the empty manor, as if a shelf of tin pans had been overturned.

Which sounded exactly like the shenanigans Rufus and Cicero were bound to get into.

Sigh. Sometimes mechanical servants and pets seemed more trouble than they were worth!

I was out for a jog with my mechanical dog Rufus when he returned from one of his romps with a curiously large piece of clockwork in his pneumatic jaw.

"Drop it here boy! Drop it!"

Rufus looked at me sideways then turned and ran.

"Drat that canine contraption! Cicero, would you be so good to as, sigh. Retrieve the dog?"

After an exaggerated glass eye role, my faithful mechanical manservant Cicero jogged off in the direction of the decrepit old mansion that had captured the imagination of my horological hound.

For instance, I miss jogging with my mechanical butler Cicero and my mechanical dog Rufus. Oh their jolly jingle jangle!

Really I’m used to having servants. Mechanical ones.