Authors: Gloria Harchar
A flash of light was Glissando's only warning before ink-black webs dropped over him
, trapping him
. He had decided against meeting with the
Mrasek
this time.
The last two missions he'd been on were enough of a debacle that he'd decided to lie low this time. Because of his work with the Mrasek, he had enough money to last him awhile, so he really didn't need them. Besides, h
e wanted to play this mission straight, and not complicate it with the
Mrasek's
machinations because he discovered a spark of truth in his soul—that he wanted to do right by Nicola, and by Allegro.
Unfortunately, they had found him with one of their magical monocles.
Although the Mrasek were human and didn't have magic, he owned gadgets that had been imbued with dark magic.
Resigned to his fate, he gazed between the gossamer-thin strands of his prison and waited
until he was freed.
Tom Ryder
, the leader,
slid out from behind the wheel of a nearby steam car
, followed by three of his men
.
A hard, menacing darkness surrounded him as he sauntered up to Glissando. "Lost your way to my den, heh?"
"I was just headed in your direction
,
"
Glissando fibbed smoothly.
Tom stared at him in a way that made Glissando feel as if
every secret was being torn from him.
"Now, why don't I believe that."
Glissando reached behind his neck to scratch.
"Why wouldn't you."
"
Perhaps b
ecause you are on the wrong side of London?"
"I couldn't go straight to you.
Maestro is beginning to suspect.
"
"He is, is he? Or is it because you are on a mission?" Quick as a hornet, Tom snatched the hot-air balloon, dug in the basket and pulled out the missive.
Glissando's heart leapt into his throat.
Wings aching in dread, he watched as Tom unfolded the missive and read
the contents
, hoping against hope the villain didn't put two and two together
.
Then the Mrasek leader folded the letter and handed it to one of his men. "Tell me the mission. Now."
"I'm supposed to keep Ramsey in Nottingham so that he will be able to halt the upcoming Luddite Rebellion," Glissando quickly improvised, hoping his tale would make the Mrasek do just the opposite.
"If that is true, then why are you delivering a letter to his tutor to take him abroad?"
"Because I'm working for you. Didn't you tell me to always do the opposite of what my mission entails?"
Glissando held Tom Ryder's gaze long after he stopped talking, willing the other man to believe him.
"
Diderot. Now why does that name sound familiar?"
Oh, no, please don't let him know the name was the same as the clan from the Woodland Faeries. If he did know, then he would soon discover the magical properties of the Clockwork Blue. "I don't know. Perhaps because his name has been in the Nottingham Post? He tends to be a hothead and gets into trouble."
"There's something else…
Forgive me for being suspicious, but I'm going to hold onto the missive for a while." Ryder lifted the netting off Glissando. "Now go ahead about your duties, and I'll see you in a fortnight."
He took a couple of steps toward his steam car, and then turned back. "Oh, and Glissando."
"Yes?"
Ryder flipped out a pen-shaped gadget from his cuff. Several pieces of sand-sized granules shot out, hitting Glissando's face, arms and torso, causing him to cry out and double over in pain. "That's just a warning. Don't ever cross me."
"You cur," he choked out. Sharp stings burned his skin, and he was sure he would be bruised. Slowly he glided back toward his hot-air balloon and got it air
-
born
pointing the vessel toward the tutor's home
. Never
mind Tom Ryder. The threat only made him more determined to defy the bully.
Since he didn't have the missive, he would have to improvise.
Two hours later,
a
bell sounded from
Glissando
'
s pocket watch, signifying yet another summons from Allegro.
Glissando
sat on a d
usty
shelf in
a school
room
on the third floor of a townhouse on Mayfair,
trying to
force
down a piece of boiled mutton. He gagg
ed at the taste and spit it out
, even as a spasm of pain ripped through his swollen jaw. The beating had left him sore and smarting. Ignoring the pain, he concentrated on the problem at hand.
Wilbur Hamilton, Ramsey
Diderot
'
s former tutor, rolled
the meat in his mouth. A look of pure ecstasy brightened the tutor
'
s homely face as he swallowed, his Adam
'
s apple bobbing in his scrawny neck. Then Hamilton licked his fingers as if savoring every morsel, his flabby lips making sucking sounds.
"
What
'
s wrong with the idiot?
"
Glissando
muttered, amazed. He glanced at his pulsing watch, deciding he would answer Allegro as soon as he finished there. Pushing a button
to signify
he would
return
the summons soon
, he hoped that would satisfy his domineering partner for a while.
"
Are you practicing your letters, young Peter?
"
Hamilton called, not bothering to look across the austere schoolroom at his charge. The lad was small;
Glissando
guessed between five and six
ye
ars in age.
"
Uh
,
yes
, Mr. Hamilton,
"
Peter said,
and then
slipped something into his pocket.
Glissando
realized the boy had captured
a lizard when it peeked out of its hiding place. Disgusted with the tutor for not paying attention to his duties,
Glissando
flew toward the boy, careful to keep his invisibility bubble around him. Peter petted the reptile, his hazel
eyes
wide in his freckled face. Satisfied the boy was preoccupied,
Glissando
sucked in air to draw the bubble tight around him—at the same time he retrieved the chalk. Then, carefully, he wrote a message on the slate, taking pains to make it plenty big enough for a
human
to read.
Help Ramsey
Diderot
. Take on Tour
—
Before he could write
"
now,
"
he heard a gasp. He glanced up to see the boy staring in awe at the airborne chalk.
Dropping the writing implement,
Glissando
released his breath, changed into a
dragonfly, and became visible—
fearing the lad would erase the message before Hamilton got a chance to read it.
Hamilton continued to look down at his mutton.
"
Keep writing, Peter.
"
"
I am, sir,
"
the boy replied. Quick as lightning, he snatched at
Glissando
.
Glissando
felt the whoosh of air and managed to tumble, narrowly avoiding the grasping fingers. The boy knocked his slate off the desk with a crash.
Hamilton threw down his napkin and stomped over.
"
Now, see here, Peter, I
'
ll not have any foolishness.
Give me your lesson. I will grade it now.
"
Peter had already jumped off his chair. He grabbed the slate before Hamilton could get to
it and hid it behind his back.
"
I
'
m not ready for you to look
ye
t,
"
he said, backing into a comer.
"
Peter, give your slate to me.
Now
.
"
Hamilton held out his gnarly hand, bits of grease shining from his nails.
Reluctantly the lad held out the board, cringing as he did so.
Hamilton stared at the missive for a long while.
"
Very good, Peter.
"
His voice held surprise.
"
But what does it mean?
"
"
I don
'
t know, sir,
"
Peter said sheepishly.
"
Just some nonsense that popped into my head.
"
"
And you don
'
t know Ramsey
Diderot
?
"
Hamilton asked.
"
N-no, sir,
"
Peter answered, biting his lip.
Glissando
held his breath as he watched the tutor frown in thought, certain that Hamilton would take the strange words as a sign. Obviously the man wasn
'
t interested in his post with Peter.
Then Hamilton looked up, his loose lips curled in a smile that looked more like a grimace.
"
I didn
'
t know you could write so well. Although you didn
'
t write your practice words. Now, copy your lesson.
"
Without any hesitation, the tutor retrieved a rag and erased the message that
Glissando
had so painstakingly written, then handed the slate back to the boy.