The Ire of Iron Claw: Gadgets and Gears, Book 2 (Gadgets and Gears, 2) - Softcover
The evil magicians called the Mesmers are still plotting to take over the world, and the Kennewicketts, recently recruited into the spy business by President Roosevelt, are at the center of the battle for world domination. Now the Amazing Automated Inn has been compromised: someone is smuggling secrets out of the lab and selling them to unscrupulous sorts in Italy. Worse, their friend Nikola Tesla's latest invention—a device that will provide a limitless and free source of electrical power for all—has been sabotaged. Determined to stop the villains, the Kennewicketts and their staff of automatons travel to Italy in the Daedalus, a lighter-than-air ship. At first, the trip goes as planned, but then another airship manned by murderous sky pirates chases the family over the Atlantic. Luckily, Wally's latest invention, a man-lifting kite, allows them to reach land safely, where they are rescued by the Arachne, a giant steam-powered mechanical spider with a luxury yacht interior that can move at over seventy miles-per-hour! An exciting adventure over the Alps aboard Arachne with the pirates in pursuit ends in Italy, where the Kennewicketts and their robotic staff must face the perilous pigeon Iron Claw and Madini, leaders of the Mesmers, alone. Will Wally, the noble boy scientist, and his daring dachshund, Noodles, be able to defeat the Mesmers and their minions a second time? Or will the darker side of the Kennewickett family line prevail?
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
James Hamilton is an artist and designer who lives in San Mateo, California.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Kersten Hamilton is the author of several picture books and many novels, including the middle grade Gadgets and Gears series and the critically acclaimed YA trilogy The Goblin Wars. She splits her time between her home in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and her farm in Kentucky. For more about Kersten, please visit www.kerstenhamilton.com.
James Hamilton is an artist and designer who lives in San Mateo, California.
1
If you reside along the rails, you may have heard of a boy named Wally and his best friend, the f lying dachshund. You may have heard rumors that this daring duo saved a train full of passengers from plummeting to their deaths. The rumors are true.
My name is Noodles. I am that dachshund.
More had rested upon the brilliant boy’s shoulders than even the rail men guessed. Walter Kennewickett, scientist in training, had not only invented the wings that saved the train, but also stymied Madini the magician and the peculiar pigeon Iron Claw in their attempt to capture President Theodore Roosevelt and subvert his will.
“Subvert” is a very unpleasant word. It means to overthrow completely.
Madini was apparently the mastermind of an evil organization that called itself the Mesmers. As everyone knows, the first and most famous rule of evil organizations is: Try to take over the world. The second and only slightly less famous edict of evildoers happens to be: When foiled, seek vengeance.
“Vengeance” is a particularly unpleasant word. In the weeks since Iron Claw and Madini had appeared at the Kennewicketts’ Automated Inn, I had become acutely aware of many unpleasant words, including subvert, sabotage, and mind transference. When the Mesmers sought vengeance, I felt it would be against the fearless boy who had foiled their plans. But by far the most unsettling word I had overheard in recent weeks—more unsettling even than vengeance—was the word mole.
You might think a mole is a small brown creature that lives in the dark and eats worms. But there is another kind of mole: a person you know and trust who is betraying you.
Calypso, Wally’s mother, believed that there must be a mole at the Automated Inn. Oliver, Wally’s father, could not believe any of the Kennewicketts’ friends or family capable of such subterfuge.
But neither could he explain how top-secret research papers had disappeared from his seemingly secure lab, subsequently to be published in Italy as the works of one Signore Giuseppe, a man famous not for science but for his copious coops of racing pigeons.
Both Oliver and Calypso agreed that the amazing automaton Gizmo should add one more job to her already busy schedule. In addition to scientific assistant and head cook, they had appointed her chief of security of the Automated Inn. Being an automaton, Gizmo was immune to the Mesmers’ mind control. Being Gizmo, she had the architect’s original drawings of the Inn stored in her mechanical mind. She was familiar with every nook and cranny where a mole might try to conceal himself.
Gizmo’s tireless toil left the Kennewicketts free to attend to other business. On this particular morning, that business was our Annual Open House.
I had been flitting about the crowds all morning, wearing the wonderful wings Wally had designed for me. I searched the skies above for pigeons—and the crowds below for somnambulists, mustachioed Mesmers, or bizarre behavior that might betray a mole. My tail was tired, and an undeniable emptiness was gnawing at my middle. Wagging to keep myself aloft was a great deal of work, and it had been hours since I’d eaten breakfast, but I dared not rest.
I’d appointed myself Wally Kennewickett’s personal security force. I had failed once, when I had not detected the scent of approaching danger. I would not fail Wally again. Everyone from the townspeople to the hobos who camped by the river had been invited to the Open House. I had a lot of patrolling to do.
“Hello, Noodles,” Mayor McDivit called from the deck of the Daedalus as I flew past. Oliver and Calypso were conducting tours of the aerostat extraordinaire, a lighter-than-air craft designed to resemble a sailing vessel.
The citizens of Gasket Gully fled in fright the first time the Daedalus weighed anchor over Irma’s Ice Cream Parlor so that Wally could descend by rope ladder to buy a treat. They had mistaken her for the Flying Dutchman, a ghost ship that sails the sky as a harbinger of doom.
Oliver appeared on deck, bullhorn in hand, to explain that what appeared to be masts, bowsprit, and spars were actually vanes for recording wind direction, electrometers for detecting atmospheric electrons, and various versions of lightning rods.
I tipped my wings to the mayor and dove lawnward, where Prissy Kennewickett, Wally’s almost-grown-up cousin, was performing a one-woman circus show. A stray ball from the lawn tennis tournament that her twin, Melvin, was officiating arced toward me. I caught it in midair and returned it to the court before rising into the sky again.
Everything seemed peaceful.
But no matter how hard I shook my ears, I could not dislodge the feeling that had settled over me as the sun rose that morning. Something horrible was about to happen. Such a feeling of dread can keep even a hungry dachshund aloft.
“Noo-dles!” Wally’s call drifted to me on the wind. “I need you!” I wheeled, wagging wildly, my every whisker alert as I rose above the parapet that crowns the Inn. There were neither Mesmers nor moles in sight. At the far end of the roof stood the original stone turret, topped by Oliver’s Gyrating Generator and accessible only by scaling a wind-swept ladder. A mysterious new tower had risen beside it.
Closer at hand, a cluster of townspeople were watching the boy scientist. Walter Kennewickett’s contribution to the delights of the day was a demonstration of his clever man-lifting kite. Today, however, it would be a watermelon-lifting kite instead. Calypso was not yet convinced of the contraption’s safety.
Wally had designed the kite in order to test the principles of wing angle as described by Mr. Wilbur Wright, a bicycle builder and aeronautical experimenter. Wally was adjusting the altitude of the rail cannon, the device that would launch his invention into the air.
I realized the problem at once, of course. The folded kite, with its cleverly concealed deployment device, which should have been affixed to the back of the chair that sat on said retractable rail cannon, was missing.
“Noodles,” Wally said as I settled on the rooftop beside him, “could you find Gizmo for me? She hasn’t delivered the kite, and I’m sure I shouldn’t leave our guests!”
I barked agreement and prepared to make my way through the gathered gawkers to the belvedere.
A “belvedere” is a building or room set on a high spot and situated in such a way as to command an excellent view.
Our spacious rooftop belvedere was completely enclosed due to the constant winds. Three walls were of stone, but the fourth was constructed of glass. The guests gathered around Wally had no doubt taken the time to look out over their town and the valley beyond before they’d stepped through the door in one of the stone walls and onto the roof. There were several more huddled around that doorway now, most of them awed by the expanse of blue sky above.
I saw a few familiar faces among them.
Theoden McDivit, Mayor McDivit’s son and Wally’s second-best friend, had brought his camera to document the day. Old Mrs. Dory McDivit, Theoden’s great-grandmother, was there to watch over him.
Mr. Jones, the engineer, train driver, cookie chef, and collector of conspiracy theories, was standing beside her.
Mr. Jones had been of great service to the Kennewicketts during the incident with Iron Claw. It was his train that we had saved. Even now, his Iron Road Irregulars, fashioned after the information-gathering organization of Mr. Doyle’s fictional detective Sherlock Holmes, were collecting clues along the railways of America. Mr. Jones claimed his Irregulars were more ubiquitous than Mr. Roosevelt’s Secret Service. By that he meant that they were everywhere. They must have been invisible as well, because I had never seen them.
Mr. Jones was very fond of Dory McDivit. I could not imagine why. She smelled of pickled beets, slipped extra pastries in her purse whenever she came to dinner, and sometimes said terrible things about Wally. But I was certain she was neither a Mesmer nor a mole.
Before I reached the belvedere, Gizmo and Jeeves, the mechanical butler, appeared in its doorway, bearing the bundled kite.
“The folding device needed oil,” Gizmo apologized, “and had to be shut off for a moment.”
“I am sure you did your best,” Wally said. “Noodles can attend to the guests while we finish here.”
I wagged, eager to help Wally, even though I was uncertain of how much longer my wag might last. I raced in circles, then leaped into the air and executed a loop-the-loop. Mr. Jones led the citizens in a rousing round of huzzahs.
“Why are they cheering?” Mrs. McDivit demanded, turning her ear trumpet toward her great-grandson. “Don’t they know bats are dangerous?”
Theoden pulled his head from beneath the canvas hood of his camera and shouted into the trumpet. “It’s not a bat, Grandmamma. It’s a dachshund. One more loop, Noodles!” he called. “I want to capture you on camera!”
I wasn’t sure I had the energy. My wager was starting to wilt. In fact, I was beginning to sink when Mr. Jones pulled a snickerdoodle from his pocket and tossed it into the air.
“Mad Mars kept bats,” Mrs. McDivit bellowed as I swooped for the sweet. “I used to throw rocks at them!”
I caught the cookie in midflight. Strengthened, I hovered before Theoden’s lens.
“Bats carry hydrophoby,” Mrs. McDivit declared. “It’s deadly!”
She meant “hydrophobia,” of course, known in canines as “rabies.” Well-bred dachshunds do not get rabies.
“All set, Noodles!” Wally called.
Apparently unaware of my excellent breeding, several citizens of Gasket Gully backed away from me as I settled on the rooftop.
“Never mind, Noodles,” Mr. Jones said, scooping me up. “Dory means well. But she knew old Mars, you see.”
“I’ll want a photo before you pull the lever, Wally,” Theoden said. Theoden planned to sell photographs of Wally’s inventions to Ogden’s Collectible Trading Cards. Theoden and Wally have two hundred and fifty-four of the trading cards between them.
Most recently Wally had traded three cards—a Quadrant Motorcycle with a Minerva Clip-On Engine, a Croudus Electric Carriage, and a Locomobile Steam Automobile—to Theoden for a single coveted card: the eight-legged land-and-air yacht Arachne, created by Monsieur Fevre of France.
Arachne was a very rare card. I could not imagine why. Watching a spider crawl across the floor always gave me the shivers, and their method of aerial transport is worse. Perhaps you have observed an arachnid performing this unnatural act? It leans forward as if kissing the ground, tips its abdomen up, and emits a silken parachute, which carries it into the sky.
There is nothing so unsettling as coming face-to-face with a spider a thousand feet above the ground.
Wally had been encouraged to correspond with Monsieur Fevre by Theodore Roosevelt himself. Our president not only had a keen interest in science; he also had friends and admirers all over the world. Happily, the Arachne’s inventor still resided in the country of his birth. Wally wasn’t likely to inveigle a visit to the mechanical monstrosity.
To “inveigle” means to entice or coax.
“Wait,” Wally said, glancing at the wind gauge. “It’s gusting!”
“Disgusting!” Mrs. McDivit shouted. “I quite agree!”
If you reside along the rails, you may have heard of a boy named Wally and his best friend, the f lying dachshund. You may have heard rumors that this daring duo saved a train full of passengers from plummeting to their deaths. The rumors are true.
My name is Noodles. I am that dachshund.
More had rested upon the brilliant boy’s shoulders than even the rail men guessed. Walter Kennewickett, scientist in training, had not only invented the wings that saved the train, but also stymied Madini the magician and the peculiar pigeon Iron Claw in their attempt to capture President Theodore Roosevelt and subvert his will.
“Subvert” is a very unpleasant word. It means to overthrow completely.
Madini was apparently the mastermind of an evil organization that called itself the Mesmers. As everyone knows, the first and most famous rule of evil organizations is: Try to take over the world. The second and only slightly less famous edict of evildoers happens to be: When foiled, seek vengeance.
“Vengeance” is a particularly unpleasant word. In the weeks since Iron Claw and Madini had appeared at the Kennewicketts’ Automated Inn, I had become acutely aware of many unpleasant words, including subvert, sabotage, and mind transference. When the Mesmers sought vengeance, I felt it would be against the fearless boy who had foiled their plans. But by far the most unsettling word I had overheard in recent weeks—more unsettling even than vengeance—was the word mole.
You might think a mole is a small brown creature that lives in the dark and eats worms. But there is another kind of mole: a person you know and trust who is betraying you.
Calypso, Wally’s mother, believed that there must be a mole at the Automated Inn. Oliver, Wally’s father, could not believe any of the Kennewicketts’ friends or family capable of such subterfuge.
But neither could he explain how top-secret research papers had disappeared from his seemingly secure lab, subsequently to be published in Italy as the works of one Signore Giuseppe, a man famous not for science but for his copious coops of racing pigeons.
Both Oliver and Calypso agreed that the amazing automaton Gizmo should add one more job to her already busy schedule. In addition to scientific assistant and head cook, they had appointed her chief of security of the Automated Inn. Being an automaton, Gizmo was immune to the Mesmers’ mind control. Being Gizmo, she had the architect’s original drawings of the Inn stored in her mechanical mind. She was familiar with every nook and cranny where a mole might try to conceal himself.
Gizmo’s tireless toil left the Kennewicketts free to attend to other business. On this particular morning, that business was our Annual Open House.
I had been flitting about the crowds all morning, wearing the wonderful wings Wally had designed for me. I searched the skies above for pigeons—and the crowds below for somnambulists, mustachioed Mesmers, or bizarre behavior that might betray a mole. My tail was tired, and an undeniable emptiness was gnawing at my middle. Wagging to keep myself aloft was a great deal of work, and it had been hours since I’d eaten breakfast, but I dared not rest.
I’d appointed myself Wally Kennewickett’s personal security force. I had failed once, when I had not detected the scent of approaching danger. I would not fail Wally again. Everyone from the townspeople to the hobos who camped by the river had been invited to the Open House. I had a lot of patrolling to do.
“Hello, Noodles,” Mayor McDivit called from the deck of the Daedalus as I flew past. Oliver and Calypso were conducting tours of the aerostat extraordinaire, a lighter-than-air craft designed to resemble a sailing vessel.
The citizens of Gasket Gully fled in fright the first time the Daedalus weighed anchor over Irma’s Ice Cream Parlor so that Wally could descend by rope ladder to buy a treat. They had mistaken her for the Flying Dutchman, a ghost ship that sails the sky as a harbinger of doom.
Oliver appeared on deck, bullhorn in hand, to explain that what appeared to be masts, bowsprit, and spars were actually vanes for recording wind direction, electrometers for detecting atmospheric electrons, and various versions of lightning rods.
I tipped my wings to the mayor and dove lawnward, where Prissy Kennewickett, Wally’s almost-grown-up cousin, was performing a one-woman circus show. A stray ball from the lawn tennis tournament that her twin, Melvin, was officiating arced toward me. I caught it in midair and returned it to the court before rising into the sky again.
Everything seemed peaceful.
But no matter how hard I shook my ears, I could not dislodge the feeling that had settled over me as the sun rose that morning. Something horrible was about to happen. Such a feeling of dread can keep even a hungry dachshund aloft.
“Noo-dles!” Wally’s call drifted to me on the wind. “I need you!” I wheeled, wagging wildly, my every whisker alert as I rose above the parapet that crowns the Inn. There were neither Mesmers nor moles in sight. At the far end of the roof stood the original stone turret, topped by Oliver’s Gyrating Generator and accessible only by scaling a wind-swept ladder. A mysterious new tower had risen beside it.
Closer at hand, a cluster of townspeople were watching the boy scientist. Walter Kennewickett’s contribution to the delights of the day was a demonstration of his clever man-lifting kite. Today, however, it would be a watermelon-lifting kite instead. Calypso was not yet convinced of the contraption’s safety.
Wally had designed the kite in order to test the principles of wing angle as described by Mr. Wilbur Wright, a bicycle builder and aeronautical experimenter. Wally was adjusting the altitude of the rail cannon, the device that would launch his invention into the air.
I realized the problem at once, of course. The folded kite, with its cleverly concealed deployment device, which should have been affixed to the back of the chair that sat on said retractable rail cannon, was missing.
“Noodles,” Wally said as I settled on the rooftop beside him, “could you find Gizmo for me? She hasn’t delivered the kite, and I’m sure I shouldn’t leave our guests!”
I barked agreement and prepared to make my way through the gathered gawkers to the belvedere.
A “belvedere” is a building or room set on a high spot and situated in such a way as to command an excellent view.
Our spacious rooftop belvedere was completely enclosed due to the constant winds. Three walls were of stone, but the fourth was constructed of glass. The guests gathered around Wally had no doubt taken the time to look out over their town and the valley beyond before they’d stepped through the door in one of the stone walls and onto the roof. There were several more huddled around that doorway now, most of them awed by the expanse of blue sky above.
I saw a few familiar faces among them.
Theoden McDivit, Mayor McDivit’s son and Wally’s second-best friend, had brought his camera to document the day. Old Mrs. Dory McDivit, Theoden’s great-grandmother, was there to watch over him.
Mr. Jones, the engineer, train driver, cookie chef, and collector of conspiracy theories, was standing beside her.
Mr. Jones had been of great service to the Kennewicketts during the incident with Iron Claw. It was his train that we had saved. Even now, his Iron Road Irregulars, fashioned after the information-gathering organization of Mr. Doyle’s fictional detective Sherlock Holmes, were collecting clues along the railways of America. Mr. Jones claimed his Irregulars were more ubiquitous than Mr. Roosevelt’s Secret Service. By that he meant that they were everywhere. They must have been invisible as well, because I had never seen them.
Mr. Jones was very fond of Dory McDivit. I could not imagine why. She smelled of pickled beets, slipped extra pastries in her purse whenever she came to dinner, and sometimes said terrible things about Wally. But I was certain she was neither a Mesmer nor a mole.
Before I reached the belvedere, Gizmo and Jeeves, the mechanical butler, appeared in its doorway, bearing the bundled kite.
“The folding device needed oil,” Gizmo apologized, “and had to be shut off for a moment.”
“I am sure you did your best,” Wally said. “Noodles can attend to the guests while we finish here.”
I wagged, eager to help Wally, even though I was uncertain of how much longer my wag might last. I raced in circles, then leaped into the air and executed a loop-the-loop. Mr. Jones led the citizens in a rousing round of huzzahs.
“Why are they cheering?” Mrs. McDivit demanded, turning her ear trumpet toward her great-grandson. “Don’t they know bats are dangerous?”
Theoden pulled his head from beneath the canvas hood of his camera and shouted into the trumpet. “It’s not a bat, Grandmamma. It’s a dachshund. One more loop, Noodles!” he called. “I want to capture you on camera!”
I wasn’t sure I had the energy. My wager was starting to wilt. In fact, I was beginning to sink when Mr. Jones pulled a snickerdoodle from his pocket and tossed it into the air.
“Mad Mars kept bats,” Mrs. McDivit bellowed as I swooped for the sweet. “I used to throw rocks at them!”
I caught the cookie in midflight. Strengthened, I hovered before Theoden’s lens.
“Bats carry hydrophoby,” Mrs. McDivit declared. “It’s deadly!”
She meant “hydrophobia,” of course, known in canines as “rabies.” Well-bred dachshunds do not get rabies.
“All set, Noodles!” Wally called.
Apparently unaware of my excellent breeding, several citizens of Gasket Gully backed away from me as I settled on the rooftop.
“Never mind, Noodles,” Mr. Jones said, scooping me up. “Dory means well. But she knew old Mars, you see.”
“I’ll want a photo before you pull the lever, Wally,” Theoden said. Theoden planned to sell photographs of Wally’s inventions to Ogden’s Collectible Trading Cards. Theoden and Wally have two hundred and fifty-four of the trading cards between them.
Most recently Wally had traded three cards—a Quadrant Motorcycle with a Minerva Clip-On Engine, a Croudus Electric Carriage, and a Locomobile Steam Automobile—to Theoden for a single coveted card: the eight-legged land-and-air yacht Arachne, created by Monsieur Fevre of France.
Arachne was a very rare card. I could not imagine why. Watching a spider crawl across the floor always gave me the shivers, and their method of aerial transport is worse. Perhaps you have observed an arachnid performing this unnatural act? It leans forward as if kissing the ground, tips its abdomen up, and emits a silken parachute, which carries it into the sky.
There is nothing so unsettling as coming face-to-face with a spider a thousand feet above the ground.
Wally had been encouraged to correspond with Monsieur Fevre by Theodore Roosevelt himself. Our president not only had a keen interest in science; he also had friends and admirers all over the world. Happily, the Arachne’s inventor still resided in the country of his birth. Wally wasn’t likely to inveigle a visit to the mechanical monstrosity.
To “inveigle” means to entice or coax.
“Wait,” Wally said, glancing at the wind gauge. “It’s gusting!”
“Disgusting!” Mrs. McDivit shouted. “I quite agree!”
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- PublisherClarion Books
- Publication date2016
- ISBN 10 0544668545
- ISBN 13 9780544668546
- BindingPaperback
- Number of pages192
- IllustratorHamilton James
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Book Description Paperback. Condition: new. Hamilton, James (illustrator). Paperback. The Wild, Wild West meets Tom Swift: book two of a inventive series filled with history and cool scientific fact. Someone is smuggling secrets out of the Kennewicketts' lab and sabotaging their experiments, putting everyone at the Amazing Automated Inn at risk. In pursuit of the villains, the family of scientific geniuses board their dirigible and take to the skies. Together with their robotic staff and the inventor Nikola Tesla, they must face murderous sky pirates, cross the Alps in a giant mechanical spider, and defy the perilous pigeon Iron Claw and the malevolent magician Madini once more. Will boy inventor Wally and his daring dog, Noodles, be able to defeat the evil Mesmers and their minions a second time? History and technology collide in this fast-paced series narrated by a daring dachshund and brimming with mad science. AGES: 9 up AUTHOR: Kersten Hamilton is the author of several picture books and many novels, including the acclaimed YA paranormal trilogy 'The Goblin Wars'. When she's not writing, she hunts dinosaurs in the deserts and badlands near Albuquerque, New Mexico, where she lives. For more about Kersten, please Illustrated ALL TITLES IN THIS GADGETS AND GEARS: Bk 1HB9780547905686 Mesmer Menace (06/15) Bk 1PB9780544439344 Mesmer Menace (08/15) Bk 2HB9780544225022 Ire of Iron Claw (09/15) Bk 2HB9780544668546 Ire of Iron Claw (07/16) In this second book of an inventive series filled with cool scientific details, the loyal dachshund Noodles, the boy inventor Wally Kennewickett, and his scientific genius family and staff of automatons join forces with Nikola Tesla to defeat sky pirates, cross Europe in a giant mechanical spider, and defy evil magicians. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability. Seller Inventory # 9780544668546
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The Ire of Iron Claw: Gadgets and Gears, Book 2 (Gadgets and Gears, 2)
Published by
Clarion Books
(2016)
ISBN 10: 0544668545
ISBN 13: 9780544668546
New
Paperback
Quantity: 1
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Book Description Paperback. Condition: new. Hamilton, James (illustrator). New Copy. Customer Service Guaranteed. Seller Inventory # think0544668545
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US$ 28.04
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