“Name?”

“Charles Babbage.”

He didn’t even think, couldn’t think. The words simply blurted out of him.

“You don’t say. Someone has a sense of humour. Business?”

“Detective. Investigating a death off Grid.”

“Murder most foul and all that, hmmm? And what has led you here detective?”

“This.”

He looked down and the memory stick was in his outstretched palm.

Her eyes seemed to spark a little brighter as she looked down on it, and she reached out and touched a button on the arm of her chair. The music released its grip and Babbage felt his mind clear.

“I would apologise detective, but I find it unnecessary. This saves a lot of time, though some find it unpleasant. Saving time becomes important when you get to my age.”

The voice which just a moment ago had been so eager to leap out of him seemed to have disappeared back down inside. He sat and stared.

“Here.” She whirred her way across the room to him holding out a glass of water. “Drink, it will help.”

Her eyes seemed kinder somehow, dimmer. Younger.

Babbage drank and felt his throat loosen.

“What was that?”

“The music? It is my gift, detective, my power. My weapon.”

Babbage continued to drink. He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was.

“It can leave you dry and weak afterwards. Poor detective.”

There was a glint to her smile now as she waited. Eventually Babbage downed the glass and took control.

“What is your name?”

“Of course, how rude of me. Madigan wouldn’t have wanted to spoil the surprise, not him.”

She turned her chair and slid away again, moving back and forth to some hidden beat.

“My name. I’ve gone by many over the years. Which one would you recognise? Gretchen perhaps.”

“Gretchen?”

“Or perhaps not. Seems I’ve been keeping my head down more that I thought, hmm? No matter.”

Her movements were jerkier, quicker now. Angry, perhaps? Babbage wondered if she was as easy to read as that.

“What can you tell me about the music on this memory card? Madigan sent me to you because he thought you’d know more.”

“No doubting that, child. It’s whether what I know is worth telling you. Whether you can make it worth my while.”

There was another buzz in the air, and Babbage felt the constriction around his throat.

“What is that noise?”

“Noise detective? I hear nothing.” She was grinning at him again, relishing her display of power.

“Stop it!” Babbage felt himself stand and the air around him cleared.

Gretchen ceased her swaying and stared at him.

“I see you do have some talent, detective. Not many men could shrug even such a simple shackle alone.”

She continued to stare, and Babbage had the uncomfortable feeling she could see more than he intended. Alone?

A moment later she turned again and the tension dropped.

“Here detective, as a gesture of truce, I’ll show you.”

She motioned him over to the control panel in front of her and pointed to a small dial.

“A simple emotional control. This dial primes the speakers that surround you, causing the air particles to vibrate. This vibration ends up in your inner ear, which is why you hear that buzz. It electrifies the air around you, putting your emotions on edge, ready to be guided one way or the other. Very effective on those with less self control. Not so on you, hmm?”

The dial had numbers all around it. Babbage doubted he’d felt more than a shade of its possibilities.

“Oh yes, detective. It can do much more than make you tell the truth. But that’s not what I want from you.”

Now they were getting to it.

“There are times even old travellers like myself need a little help from those like you detective, those who walk the Boulevard, keeping it straight, or at least, clean.”

Babbage opened his mouth to speak but Gretchen waved him away.

“You, detective, are here to find out about whatever is inside that memory stick of yours which seems to do so much damage when let out. I am here to learn a little about you along the way. We can help each other, hmm? Sit.”

A chair had risen up underneath him again. Whatever this room was, underneath its veined, cabled skin was something almost living.

The thought flashed across him - how did she know about what was on the card?

“Perhaps we should start with something simple.”

Gretchen reached out and took the memory card from his hand and placed it delicately on the control panel.

“Tell me detective, what do you know about sound?”