Be quickly hobbling together an explosive pocket watch to replace with that pesky guard's. Or were you supposed to be replacing it with the pirate's? Oh bother, just whose side are you on again?
Be in the lab adding the final brass nut to your newest automaton. Why the blazes would you care about gold when there are entire nations that need conquering?
Be following the ship in your dirigible--from a distance, of course. We can't have the mark know he's the mark, or tha whole hijack thing would be an instant failure.
Be protecting the gold delivery, your trusty pistol at your side and your clockwork eye scanning every which way for signs of trouble.
Be at the wharf waiting, parasol and/or top hat in hand. It is your gold, after all.
Build a make-shift fighting force of automatons. Hmmm...those brooms there...and those decorative swords. Now can someone please find a telegraph and some magnets?
Call your servants to deal with them. Honestly, what a nuisance! The last time you checked, the gears that run politics were not for public viewing.
Make sure the wolves reach their target this time. Your last attempt to wreak havoc on Parliament ended in the loss of four wolves, and you're next shipment of quartz eyeballs won't come in for another three months.
Haul out the guns and ammunition. Dynamite? Check. Rapid-fire brass goggles? Check. Starched and ironed uniform? Always.
Follow those wolves inside! They're the perfect distraction! Why you can slip in, nab every minister's wallet, and be back on your dirigible before anyone even notices.
Lab coats, elbow-high gloves, protective-eye wear, and clockwork hat with four extendable arms (for extra dexterity with those particularly sensitive experiments).
Trousers, matching waistcoats, sturdy boots, and aviator goggles. Oh, and of course all the belts, bandoliers, and purses for your lockpicks, pistols, knives, and monoculars.
Whatever you have around. Though you always have your leather apron (with lots and lots of pockets), and brass goggles capable of extreme magnification.
Your uniform (clean and crisp), your belt and holster, and all the medals Her Majesty has awarded you through the years.
Whatever the latest fashion is in Paris, mais oui.
You don't recall--you think your mum was a scullery and your pa was a scalawag. Doesn't much matter, though you are grateful for these slick fingers you've inherited.
By a hard-working maid in Her Majesty's summer palace. You went into the military academy as soon as you could shoot.
In a ship's boiler room by some kind-hearted engineers that found you on a shipwreck.
You were kidnapped by a secret society of scientists bent on world domination. The usual stuff.
In a mansion and by the aristocracy. What a ridiculous question--can't you tell by simply looking at me?
Machiavelli only, please.
H.G. Wells for me, thank you.
Dickens, don't ya know, guvna?
Hmph, I'm more of a Henry James fan, myself.
There's this great chap called Jules Verne.
Your automaton, Victoria. She has sharp-shooting technology and keeps all unwanted invaders out. Oh, and you also programed her to play chess. She's really quite vicious--though she's yet to beat you.
Only one? You cannot possibly function without your entire serving entourage. James, bring the tea, if you please.
Your parrot, Phillip. He's got a clockwork voice box, and he's fluent in twelve languages. Plus he can pick locks like no other. Bird feet--they're the wave of the criminal future.
Your hound dog, Mercy. Her keen sense of smell, flawless ears, and steel-teeth keep you and, more importantly, Her Majesty, safe at all times.
You wrench, Pearl. You couldn't live without her on your tool belt. From tightening loose bolts to rendering enemies unconscious, Pearl always has your back.
Good thing you packed this potato and coil of copper wire today. Now, if you can only get a hold of some matches, you'll have a explosives in no time.
What!? Whose army is this? You called dibs on London months ago! Honestly, people, you can't call yourselves a society if you don't at least stay off each others' turf.
Hmmm...you think you'll hold off on fighting until you see which way the battle's gonna go. Don't want to end up helping the losing side, after all.
Drat. This really interferes with your afternoon tea. Good thing you have that family heirloom that destroys all things electric.
First, you secure Her Majesty and the royal family. Then, you smile big and haul out your largest, most deadly array of shotguns. This should be a fun afternoon…