Clockwork Heart: Clockwork Love, Book 1 (8 page)

“I do. I promise to take care of you.” He kissed Johann’s cheek and sat back down to put his proper leg in place. “Pack your bag. Tell me how to help.”

Cornelius rose unsteadily, staring blearily around the room. It was full, floor to ceiling, with his most precious collections: his books, his inventions, his gadgets, his tools. He would need three great carts to carry it all away. The idea of selecting down to a knapsack made him ill.

Reminding himself the thought of dying or watching Johann die as they tore him open to steal his heart would make him far sicker, he steeled his resolve, picked up a leather satchel and began making difficult choices.

* * * * *

Johann thoug
ht about Cornelius all the way to the docks. Specifically, he thought about
kissing
Cornelius.

It had been good, he thought. Johann wasn’t the most skilled at lovemaking, but kisses, it turned out, were kisses. And either Cornelius was being very polite, or he’d found Johann adequate enough. The handy thing about kissing a man was his mouth didn’t have to tell you he thought you were worth kissing. His trousers would do it for you.

Johann still found it a bit odd, to think he’d just kissed a man not for a pretense, but because he’d wanted to. It felt good. Right, even. He’d planned to die on that barge of corpses. He hadn’t intended to be reborn in the arms of a man, but there were definitely worse ways to live. He wasn’t certain others would agree with the acceptability of this kind of thinking, but Johann was highly disillusioned with what others expected him to do, especially since most of those expectations involved his misery or death.

Cornelius had given Johann back his life. Now he intended to make sure Cornelius had every means to keep on living too.

The sea docks at Calais would never die out, but they would forever now be the dingy cousin of the elegant, efficient sky docks farther along the pier. Sea travel was for fishermen, the poor, and any cargo so mundane even the insurance adjusters didn’t mind paying out a loss when the poorly maintained ships spoiled the cargo with their leaky holds, or something so heavy and awkward the cost of spending the aether was too prohibitive. Johann could understand, theoretically, a situation where a fine gentleman needing quick passage out of country would go by sea ship instead of airship. But having helped more than a few fugitives during his time on
The Brass Farthing
, he knew anyone taking that route had to be very poor and very desperate, and very badly connected. The heavy wax seal and expensive stationery said Cornelius’s mother was rich, and if she was a well-known actress and former spy, she would be awash in connections. This left only desperate.

This made Johann highly suspicious.

Eight ships lay in the sea harbor, and another three larger vessels weighed anchor farther off shore, bobbing gently in the fog. Johann paced the pier casually, lifting his patch so he didn’t trip whenever he glanced sideways to catch the names painted on the ships’ prows. None of them put him in mind of a childhood game of any kind. He did his best to memorize them anyway, in case one rang a bell for Cornelius. He made one more pass, checking to see if any crew appeared hopeful a handsome young tinker might wander up looking for passage. No one particularly stood out—they were all bored and watchful, and they narrowed their eyes at Johann, all but begging him to start something.

Johann tipped his hat at them and headed on down the pier.

He wanted to go back to The Alison, where he’d left Cornelius with Valentin, but he’d promised he wouldn’t return until nine, and he had another hour to burn. He decided he might as well see if he could secure a more pleasant passage out of Calais. Cornelius hadn’t seemed particular about where they went, so that meant he could hire anyone who felt suitable. They couldn’t hire a regular passenger ship, obviously. Even using an alias wouldn’t be enough to hide them, and on one of those they were at the mercy of the captain. On a cargo ship, only the dockmaster on the receiving end would complain about a ship being bribed off course, and every air captain knew about blaming turbulence.

There were far too many airships for Johann to know more than a few on sight, and of course none of the illegitimate businessmen would lay into port where overeager customs officers could ask bothersome questions about manifests. Johann gave the legitimate cargo ships a good study, but they were too small, too full or too fussy for his taste. No one looked particularly bribable.

He continued even farther down the pier to the north dock, down the cliff to Hangman’s Landing.

He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever been actually hanged at that dock, but knowing the sort who hung out there, it was even odds on truth or someone’s romantic fancy. Whether it was the high altitude or the brandy, airship pirates were, in Johann’s experience, caricatures of themselves. Oh, yes, all the leather vests and hats and goggles were necessary to keep out the cold and wet, but there was absolutely no need for so many rivets and buckles, and what in the world all the decorative gears were for, no one would ever know. The excessive use of brass did make things look nice, but to Johann’s practical Austrian soul, it all seemed ridiculous.

On the upside, every single ship in the dock would turn themselves inside out to take a skilled tinker on board. If they didn’t have one of their own at the moment—airship pirates were also notoriously high-strung—they might even
pay
Cornelius to take a ride.

At Hangman’s Landing, Johann knew every ship in port. He arrived during the span of hours the customs officials took bribes to be somewhere other than the landing, so the air harbor was full to bursting. Several of the ships were works of art, a few of them known for their cunning crew and skill at thieving. But it was the ship on the far end that stole Johann’s breath, and he stood and stared at her moorings for nearly five minutes, drinking her in again.

The Brass Farthing
was here. And he absolutely could not make up his mind if that was a sign he should attempt to hire her or run away from the docks altogether.

A hand fell on his shoulder, a too-rough “friendly” slap becoming a rather painful pinch on the back of his neck. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Johann set his teeth to stop his mouth, but he couldn’t do anything about his nostrils flaring.

Captain George Crawley let go of Johann with a less-than-playful shove that almost knocked him into the water. “Six months, and here you are, all toffed up and full of swagger. You imagine that’s all it takes, a fancy coat, and I’ll take you back, because I’m such a friendly chap?”

No, Johann was fairly sure he’d have to beg on his knees just to keep Crawley from poisoning all the other captains against him. Trouble was, he hadn’t quite worked out how to kneel with the clockwork. He swallowed his anger and did his best to make nice. “I’m looking for passage for a friend. And myself. Tonight. We can pay.”

“You can pay all day long, my love. The only trip I’ll help you with is off the end of the pier.”

Crawley looked too thin, and not remotely as fine as Johann knew he wished to appear. “You left me. I was drunk and beaten bloody—and then the army found me.
My
army.”

Crawley rolled his eyes. “So sad for you. And yet
I
was the one who lingered long enough for you that we stayed past bribing time. I lost five thousand dollars’ worth of aether that day. All because you picked a fight over a girl.”

“I didn’t pick a fight.” He didn’t even remember any girls in the tavern. “Men hit me, and I hit back. Except there were ten of them and one of me. And I’d had a bit of beer.”

“Yes, well, the end result of your little adventure was that I lost everything but my ship, and I only got that back last week by sheer luck. This is my first voyage after getting her refitted, and it cost me blood. I have enough crew to not get laughed out of the sky and nothing more, and only Heng from the original crew. I owe you, Johann Berger, and I shall happily pay you back by making certain you never get a ride out of Calais on anything more exotic than a teacup.”

Johann grabbed Crawley as he started to turn away. “Do you have a tinker on your ship?”

Crawley pulled himself free with a snort. “If you want to rub my nose in my misfortune, I can burn you in
every
port I visit.”

“The man who needs passage is a tinker. A tinker-surgeon. The most skilled I’ve ever seen.” Before Crawley could do more than give him a dubious look, Johann pulled off his left glove and lifted his eyepatch. “He did these, and both my legs as well.”

Crawley’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “
Both
legs? That’s not possible.”

Johann lifted first one trouser leg, then the other. “The left begins mid-calf, but the right goes all the way up to my thigh. It’s a bit like walking on stilts, but I’m getting the hang of it. He wanted me to look more like a pirate as a disguise—before he knew I had been one—so I have a wooden peg leg I use sometimes.”

Crawley’s expression turned half-wistful, half-incredulous. “And you aren’t wearing it now?”

Johann ignored this for the sake of not insulting the man he was trying to woo. “He’s not particular about where he goes, but away from the Empire wouldn’t be a bad start. As I said, he can pay.”

“
He
is welcome anytime, for as long as he likes. If he’ll work while he flies, I’ll give him a cut.”

“He won’t fly without me.”
I hope.

Crawley’s lips flattened in annoyance. “I don’t want you on my ship.”

“I don’t want to be on your ship either, but I have no other choice. He’s in danger. He must leave, tonight.”

“As I said, he’s more than welcome.” Crawley arched what was, in all likelihood, a plucked eyebrow. “Why exactly is it
you
must go with him? Are you married and expecting a child?” When Johann blushed and looked away, Crawley gasped. “You
arse.
We all flirt with you, and then you run off and fall for a tinker.”

Johann blinked. Repeatedly. “You—
what
?”

“God in heaven, you’re as green as when I left you. Yes, we flirted with you. You had a nice bum, and we wanted to fuck it.”

Johann pressed the fingers of his good hand in two points on his forehead, holding back a headache. “Will you let us come, or do I go on to the next ship and offer his services instead?”

“If you do, I’ll tell them—”

“You can tell them anything you like, you arrogant sot, but I’ll offer them a tinker and show what he can do by lifting my sleeve and trouser leg, and they won’t care if you tell them I’m Jack the Ripper.
They
will take me on to get
him
. And you bloody well know it.”

Crawley folded his arms and glared at Johann. “I pull up five minutes before the bribery period is over. I won’t wait for God, not after the last time.”

“We’ll be here before then.” Johann held out his hand. In afterthought, he pulled it back and extended his clockwork hand instead.

Crawley took it carefully, shaking his head in awe as he felt his way around the artificial hand. “I can feel the intricacy of the clockwork through the leather. You’re wearing three fortunes in the arm alone. Where did you
find
him? Who funds him?”

“He found me. And who funds him is his business, not mine.”

Crawley let go of Johann’s hand with a sigh. “Very well. We rise at ten bells.”

With a dramatic swish of his heavily riveted, ratty leather tailcoat, he swung onto the ladder leading up to his ship, pausing for a moment as he swayed, staring out at the setting sun, likely imagining what a fine portrait he’d make at that particular moment.

Rolling his eyes, Johann turned with no drama at all and made his way back toward The Alison.

He hurried down the streets, glancing at his watch. He’d arrive a bit earlier than instructed, but he rationalized this because matters had altered—now they had passage out. He would interrupt their meal long enough to alert Cornelius to the plan, let Valentin glare at him, and then he’d order a meal for himself and eat it outside. They’d arrive at the
Farthing
with plenty of time to spare. Unless of course Cornelius decided one of the ship names did mean he should accept their passage, in which case Johann would use careful English to explain why he didn’t think that was a good idea even if his mother herself waved at him from the deck. In fact, if she did, that would be perfect—he’d take them
all
aboard the
Farthing
.

It was a perfectly sound plan, one he was quite proud of.

Three steps into the tavern, someone grabbed him forcibly and shoved him into a chair. Before he could so much as shout in protest, his attacker straddled him and pressed both his shoulders into the wall. He went still as he perceived a pale, tousled,
beautiful
and intensely drunk Cornelius leering a mere inch from his face.

“
Bonjour
.” Cornelius grinned wider and breathed what could only be described as vaporous alcohol into Johann’s face. Then Cornelius cupped Johann’s balls, ran a thumb along his rapidly rising cock and shoved his tongue down Johann’s throat.

Chapter Six

Johann knew one second of sanity, acknowledging this was not the time for kissing and he should absolutely disengage from the embrace to get Cornelius to the ship. He registered also that his lover reeked of strong alcohol—of licorice, in fact, meaning Cornelius had been drinking the devil absinthe, which he knew the French often liked to lace with cocaine. He knew also that this was a public tavern, and while France might be more accommodating than most places, there were still limits and standards of decorum to be observed.

Then Cornelius’s deft fingers began to undo the buttons to Johann’s trousers, and Johann could only groan, spread his legs wider, and grip Cornelius’s shoulder and waist.

Cornelius took full advantage of that moan, dipping his tongue inside Johann’s mouth at the same moment his fingers found their way through the trouser flap and past the fastenings of Johann’s pants.

Johann had no defenses, and what little shame he could resurrect melted under the intensity and skill of Cornelius’s touch. His cock filled Cornelius’s questing hand, and his mouth opened eagerly under the onslaught. When Cornelius pushed his other hand beneath Johann’s shirt, laying a cool palm against the scars on his abdomen, Johann’s belly quivered, and his cock swelled in Conny’s grip.

“
C’est ça,
darling,
oui. Laisse-moi te baiser
.” Cornelius trailed a wet mouth down Johann’s chin and sucked on the cleft. “
Je te veux dans la bouche. Prends-moi par derrière, là sur la table, et fais-moi hurler de plaisir. Tu veux bien faire cela pour moi, mon doux Johann?”
He pumped Johann’s cock with slow, wicked intent and laved the pulse of Johann’s throat with his tongue. “
À Calais, est-ce que tu vas montrer ta belle bitte avant de me la forcer dans la gorge? Dans le cul?
”

Johann moaned into Conny’s mouth and gripped his lover’s arms as he fought to keep his hips from thrusting. He wasn’t entirely sure what Conny had said—he’d called Johann darling, demanded to suck something, to be pushed onto a table…and someone was apparently meant to scream. Also something about mouths. And cocks.

It had never occurred to Johann to put a cock in his mouth, but he wanted Conny’s
very
much right now. He wanted
everything
about Conny.

No one had ever kissed him like this. Touched him like this. Mastered him like this, taking away his quiet caution and making him feel, respond,
be
. He couldn’t stop Cornelius, couldn’t slow him down. He didn’t want to. As Conny began to undress him, Johann felt everything but his clockwork parts give way, every muscle yielding to Cornelius’s heated, lyrical whispers. The clockwork appendages became reminders of how much of Johann was crafted by Conny. Without Cornelius, Johann was barely functional, barely alive in every way. If it pleased him to make love to Johann in a public bar, then he would oblige.

The moment ended abruptly as Valentin pried Cornelius off of Johann and away to the side. Cornelius mewed and complained vehemently in lewd, surprisingly articulate and eloquent French given how inebriated he was, but Valentin held him fast.

“You cannot fuck him in the front booth of the tavern. Not at this hour.” Valentin cut a glare at Johann, nodding at his groin without looking at it. “Do yourself up,
pirate
.”

Blushing, Johann fumbled with his shirt and trousers as blood rushed back into his head, and with it, a bit of common sense. “We must go,” he said to Cornelius in English. “I’ve secured passage for us on an airship. None of the sea ships had names sounding like games, but I remembered them in case—”

“What the
devil
are you saying?” Valentin’s nostrils flared, and his chin tipped up so high he had to look down to glare at Johann. He had spoken in French. “You speak
English
?”

“Yes,” Johann replied carefully, switching back to Valentin’s language. “Better than French. Do you speak it also?”

“Of course I don’t speak that mongrel tongue. And I won’t have you whispering it in front of me when I can’t understand.”

Never mind that this had been the entire state of Johann’s life, up until recently. “I must give Cornelius important information. I am better in English.”

Valentin rolled his eyes as he fought a still-swearing Cornelius. “Good luck telling him anything. I haven’t seen him this drunk in years.”

And on the night Johann needed, desperately, for Cornelius to be sober. “Why did you let him drink so much?”

“He wouldn’t slow down. I thought I had his measure, but I think he’d had more than a bit before he arrived, and knowing him, he skipped lunch, which means at best he had a bit of toast this morning. He has more alcohol than blood in his veins at the moment. And they always lace the absinthe here, so he’s a fine mess.”

Johann didn’t understand all of that, but he comprehended enough to glean a general summary. “What did he tell you about the dangers he’s facing?”

Valentin stilled. “Dangers?”

Cornelius swatted at Johann. “
Shh.
I didn’t want to tell him,” he said in English. His fiery mood turned abruptly sad and nervous. “I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know what to do.”

Johann caught Cornelius’s hands. He continued in French despite hating to after the freedom of English so Val wouldn’t interrupt him again. “I found the sea ships. They do not look good. No game names. Rough men.” When Cornelius’s eyes filled with tears, Johann drew a hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles, shivering for a second in desire as he caught the musky whiff of his own cock. “I have passage on an airship. My airship, from my pirate days. But we must hurry.”

“What airship is this? Why?” Valentin looked alarmed. “Conny, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know who I can tell,” Cornelius whispered, then burst into tears.

“Do you have the letter from your mother?” Johann prompted him.

Cornelius patted his waistcoat clumsily, and when it became clear he was too drunk for something as complicated as reaching inside, Johann did it for him. This inspired him to clunk his head against Johann’s as he attempted to nuzzle his face. “I want to kiss you. All this time, we could have been kissing. I want to make love to you now.”

Johann fumbled the letter. “Let me get you to safety first,” he murmured in English. “Then we can do anything you like.”

Conny cooed and bit Johann’s lip. “I want you to fuck me while people watch us. Is that all right? Will you hate me if you find out I’m a terrible slut?”

“I could never hate you,” Johann whispered, pressing his lip close in case Cornelius wanted to bite it again.

“Stop speaking that language.” Valentin glared at Johann as he pulled out the envelope. “What is this letter? Why are you talking about leaving? And what does he mean, all this time you could have been kissing? You
haven’t
been? So I was right!”

Johann ignored him and opened the letter. “It is in English. I will read and say in French, but find patience.”

“How can I trust you’re telling the truth?”

Johann had endured enough of this. “You will trust me. Or you will find him taken, or dead.”

Valentin fell into furious silence, and Johann did his best to translate from his second language into his third.

“‘Dear Cornelius. I…wish letter is in time. Read it with tea and…thinking hard. It is an important letter.’”

“Read it with
tea
? What in the world does that mean?”

Johann stared at the letter. Yes, what
did
that mean? Cornelius had said the letter didn’t make sense, and it seemed odd to list off such dire news but first suggest he have tea. Yes, he should calm down, but…it seemed odd.

“I detest tea,” Cornelius murmured in French.

Like Cornelius dropping cogs into his clockwork hand and making it start again, all the little wheels fell into place in Johann’s head.
His mother is a spy. He doesn’t like tea. The letter makes no sense. No ship is right.
A barmaid passed him, and he put out a hand to stop her. “Please. Bring a pot of tea.” He passed over several large coins Cornelius had given him earlier. “As quickly as possible.”

She bobbed a curtsey and hurried away, and Valentin made several very French noises. “Are you so stupid you think you must literally drink tea as you read it?”

“The letter asks Cornelius to take a sea voyage. But the clue to find the ship makes no sense. Then there is the tea. Also, his mother was a spy.” Johann rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “I think this is code. I think this is not the message.”

Valentin appeared to be warring between disdain and intrigue. “A spy code? You use every third word, yes?”

Johann tried variations on skipped words, but nothing made sense. “I want to try the tea.”

“Tea is disgusting.” Cornelius slid free of Valentin and curled like a cat against Johann’s side. “Darling, have a drink with me.” He ran a finger down Johann’s nose. “Not tea.”

Johann willed himself to resist, but flirty Cornelius was almost as intoxicating as absinthe. “We must reach the docks by ten, or they will leave us.”

“I don’t want to leave Calais.” Cornelius pressed an openmouthed kiss on the exposed skin at Johann’s neck. “I want to take you home and make love to you.”

He sucked lightly at Johann’s neck, and Johann gripped his hair, though he couldn’t seem to bring himself to pull Cornelius away.

Valentin crossed his arms over his chest. “Where is your peg leg?”

It was difficult to form his reply in French as Cornelius made love to his neck while re-unbuttoning his shirt and sliding a hand into the back of his trousers. “It…is clockwork.”

“He gave you a clockwork leg?” This seemed to upset Valentin more than anything else. He glowered harder.

The barmaid returned with the tea, setting it on the table near them. “Here you are, sir.”

Johann extricated himself from Cornelius as best he could and lifted the lid on the pot. It seemed steeped enough, though he wondered if he shouldn’t let it go a bit longer, in case. But as he set the lid back on, Cornelius slipped a finger between his nether cheeks, and when Johann yelped and startled, he spilled the tea all over the letter, which he’d laid on the table.

As the liquid sloshed in thick droplets across the paper, most of the words faded, but a few of them remained.

Buzzing with triumph, Johann picked up the teapot and poured it liberally all over the letter. He hadn’t even placed the pot back down before the old letter had vanished and a new one entirely remained.

Dearest Cornelius,

Danger, this letter is false. Hide yourself and tell no one where you are, not even friends. Do not trust your father. Stay away from France and England at all cost until the war is over. Pray God that day comes soon. I love you always, my darling tinker boy, and hope to see you again soon.

Thinking of you always, Mama

Valentin squinted helplessly at it. “What does it say?”

Before Johann could attempt to translate, Cornelius, abruptly sober, swiped the letter from the table and stared at it intently. Lowering it, he stared first at Johann, then at Valentin, his pain acute even through the haze of his inebriation. “I must leave Calais. Not by the sea ships.
Those
men mean to kidnap me. They forced my mother to write the first note, and she hid this one inside.” He stared again at the letter, looking as if a new wound pierced deep. “She says I’m not to trust my father.”

Valentin paled. “You cannot leave. Wherever would you go?”

“I have a ship waiting,” Johann reminded them. “We must leave now and go to the pirate docks.”

“You think
you
get to take him to safety?” Valentin puffed up, indignant. “
I
am his oldest friend.
I
will keep him safe.”

Johann clenched his jaw, hating Valentin, despising having to fight through French to express himself. “My ship is good. Many men will fight to keep him safe.” He switched to English to soothe Cornelius. “They are eager to have a tinker. They’ll give you anything you ask for. They’ll pay
you
to come aboard. And as a member of the crew, they would protect you against any attackers.”
Unless they decide to leave you dying on the docks for the army to find.

But Johann would be there to ensure that didn’t happen, not this time.

“Stop speaking English!” Valentin shouted.

Then everyone began shouting, and screaming, as five large, angry men burst into the tavern.

Johann pulled Cornelius beneath the table as he surveyed the scene with both a soldier and a pirate’s gaze. He flipped up his patch so he could use his clockwork eye, which let him see so much better in the dark. Not five but
eight
men, all of them large and angry, wearing uniforms. They were searching for something.

For someone. They were searching, he knew in his bones, for Cornelius.

“We must go. Now.” He scooped up the letter, stuffing it into his waistcoat before collecting Cornelius’s heavy satchel from the floor. His
very
heavy satchel.

Valentin crouched beside them too, uncertain. “We don’t know they’re here for Cornelius.”

As if they heard the name, which possibly they had, one of the men locked his gaze on Cornelius, pointed and shouted again. In German—but it was not good German. It was German, in fact, as bad as Johann’s French. As the men moved into better light, Johann saw they were Austrian uniforms. Except the insignia was all wrong, and several crucial bits of dress were missing.

This situation, he realized, was bad, and it was about to get much, much worse.

Johann pushed Cornelius and the bag into Valentin’s arms. “Take him out of here. Head to Hangman’s Landing. Do you know it?”

“Yes, but—I can’t fight these men!”

“I can.” Johann rose, gaze fixed on the approaching faux-soldiers as he mapped out several different ways to fight them in his head. “Go. I will keep them away and come after.”

He shoved them out of the booth and toward the rear of the tavern, then placed himself squarely between the attackers and his lover.