His Clockwork Canary (28 page)

“He heard that,” Willie said with a slight smile.

“I heard that,” Fletcher echoed.

“So what did you learn from Thimblethumper?” Simon asked as he seated Willie at a
small table in the kitchen.

“My findings were quite astonishing and somewhat complex. Would you like me to help
you?” she asked as he rooted through cabinets.

“You concentrate on expediting our expedition; I’ll manage dinner.” No matter his
good intentions, using sex to ply Willie’s secrets had been a rather seedy affair.
In the end he had not been able to take advantage of the moment. Instead of questioning
her in the aftermath of their mind-bending alliance, he’d held his curiosity at bay
whilst she’d drifted to sleep in his arms. At this point he was sailing on a wing
and a prayer that she would come clean of her own accord. “Go on, then. Astonish me.”

Willie blew out a breath. “Let me preface this by saying most of what I learned resulted
from a live interaction prompted by minimal time-tracing.”

Simon glanced over his shoulder. “In other words, your interviewing skills are as
honed and beneficial as your supernatural gift. Noted and acknowledged.”

She smiled a little and his heart skipped. Christ.

“Bear with me,” she said, “whilst I try to report my findings in a succinct manner.
There was much to absorb, and dare I say, I believe you will be as shocked as I was
by this revelation.”

Simon couldn’t think of anything more shocking than learning his brother was some
sort of bionic man, but he held his tongue and set out plates and flatware.

“I’ll start with the most surprising discovery,” Willie said. “Thimblethumper is in
fact Ollie Rollins.”

Simon nearly fumbled a fork. “The missing Houdinian?”

“Indeed. If you recall, I had mentioned that I had seen Ollie Rollins in Filmore’s
memories and that he looked familiar. That is because I’d met his much older self
in person only a couple of weeks prior. He’s been living under the alias of Thimblethumper
for the last several years.”

Simon frowned. “Why didn’t Jules tell me this straight out?”

“He did not know. Thimblethumper shared a plethora of information with the Mechanics,
including names and descriptions of prominent Peace Rebels—such as Professor Maximus
Merriweather—in exchange for being set up with a false Vic identity and business.
He also spilled the beans regarding the existence of the Houdinians, but he never
admitted to
being
a Houdinian. Like Filmore, he’d been utilizing aliases for years. Hence, he dangled
a carrot in front of the Mechanics whilst leading them on a bit of a merry chase.”

So, Simon thought, she finally knew for certain the agency Jules worked for. If she
was vexed with Simon for withholding that detail, she did not show it. Indeed, Willie
seemed fully focused on her unfolding tale. He raided the icebox—chicken, cheese.
“If Thimblethumper, that is, Rollins, set the Mechanics on the trails of his own people,
then he must be the traitor your mother referred to in your father’s memory.”

“A logical assumption,” Willie said as she worried the edges of a linen napkin. “Except
Rollins didn’t seek the protection of the Mechanics until
after
my mother’s death. It was then that he felt most vulnerable. Then that he saw the
world as he knew it crumbling around him. Her death is what drove him into informing
on other Mods—although he swore he never put another PR in harm’s way. He cooperated
with the Mechanics because he was desperate to live out his remaining days in peace.
The same reason he resigned his post with the Houdinians in the first place.”

“He resigned?” Simon asked. “Whilst your mother was still alive?”

“Aye.”

“Perhaps that was enough for her to label him a traitor. After all those years, to
suddenly break their sworn pact. To leave the protection of the engine to her and
Filmore alone. Surely she felt pressured and betrayed.”

“Probably.” Brow furrowed, Willie reached for a slice of fresh bed and slathered it
with butter.

Simon didn’t comment when her right hand fumbled a bit, but damn, he worried that
her injury still caused her difficulty.

“So much information and still so many holes,” she said. “My mind is awash with summations
and theories. And Rollins was only helpful in certain aspects. He seems to be teetering
on the edge of a breakdown.”

“All the more reason not to be alone with the man again,” Simon said earnestly. “If
he snaps—”

“Warning noted,” Willie said, his eyes narrowed.

“Easy.”

“Sorry.” She shook off her irritation whilst Simon poured them each a glass of red
wine.

“Perhaps we can fill in some of the gaps together.” He took his seat and together
they sampled bits of Fletcher’s delicious fare. “We have our three Houdinians. Your
mother, a security specialist. Filmore, a peace activist—”

“A radical peace activist,” Willie said, whilst picking at her cold chicken. “A professor
who specialized in political science, most specifically sociology. Quite brilliant,
according to Rollins. Definitely paranoid and, at this point, dangerously unstable.
Driven to compulsive, obsessive behavior due to the extraordinary failure of the Peace
Rebels and his solitary focus upon protecting the clockwork propulsion engine. Believing
he is a vital force in nurturing mankind, he has now taken the role of protector to
the extreme—the sole guardian with the aid of an occasional mercenary.”

“Sounds like a bloody lunatic. Although that’s often the case with fanatics.” Simon
staved off thoughts of pulverizing the man who’d been responsible for Willie’s near-fatal
injuries. Instead he focused on everything Willie had learned. Impressive that she’d
convinced Thimblethumper/Rollins, the tight-lipped curmudgeon, to be so damned forthcoming.
“How does Ollie Rollins fit into this?”

“He was one of the several Americans who’d united with the Brit faction of the Peace
Rebels. A mechanical engineer and a fierce and loyal supporter of Professor Jefferson
Filmore and his high-profile lectures regarding the end of the world. Filmore was
a most passionate and persuasive man. Again, according to Rollins.

“On the day the Peace Rebels voted to destroy the Briscoe Bus,” she went on, “Filmore
convinced my mother and Rollins that it was in the best interest of mankind to preserve
the engine that had catapulted them through time. As you had pondered, Filmore foresaw
the need for a backup plan. An escape pod, should things not work according to plan.
A way to travel even further back in time—in the name of global peace. Filmore, who
had indeed had an intimate liaison with my mother,” Willie said, cheeks flushing,
“and who continued to command her devotion and allegiance even after they were no
longer intimate, knew he could trust Mickey to devise a security plan to keep the
engine safe. At the time Rollins had also been under Filmore’s charismatic and idealistic
spell and had fallen hook, line, and sinker for the professor’s backup plan. When
and if the time came that the trio felt compelled to activate their emergency exit,
Rollins would build the vehicle and install the engine.”

“Yes, well, things did go wrong,” Simon said. “Abominably wrong. Instead of changing
the world for the better, the Peace Rebels instigated a global political divide as
well as a transcontinental war.” He sipped his wine, marveling as always at the mayhem.
“Why didn’t the Houdinians jump dimensions in an effort to right that wrong? That
was
the motivation behind their pact, yes?”

“Aye.” Willie nibbled on bread and cheese, then lingered over a long drink of wine.

Simon could tell she was fighting to mask her emotions, to remain objective. Her journalistic
training at play, no doubt. Or perhaps her pride. However, he sensed a hint of melancholy,
as if all this knowledge weighed heavily upon her heart. “Perhaps we should leave
the rest of this story until morning.”

“No. Let us press on. I’m fine. Truly. Just sorting through my memories. Thimblethumper—
Rollins
—rambled most vigorously as though confessing a lifetime of sins to a priest.”

Simon topped off her wine, noting that in the midst of the upset and intrigue, he
had never felt more settled. Yes, he was worried about Jules. He worried about the
financial fate of his mother and sister. He worried about Willie and her father, and
his own future as a professional engineer. On a grander scale, he harbored anxiety
regarding the intolerance of Freaks as well the fate of the world should the clockwork
propulsion engine fall into unscrupulous hands. So much unrest, and yet this moment,
in this small, warm kitchen partaking in a cold meal with his intelligent, beautiful
wife, Simon felt very much at peace.

“Rollins said the Houdinians were essentially paralyzed by the Peace War,” Willie
went on as if garnering a second wind. “They wanted to stay and help their fellow
Mods. Those who had not been corrupted and remained true to the cause. Those who still
thought they could make a positive difference. Those who refused to abandon this time
even if they had the chance.

“But then when the dust settled,” she plowed on, “and it became apparent that the
Peace Rebels had perpetuated everything they stood against—civil intolerance, political
corruption—and had perhaps set the future on an even more abysmal course . . . when
Mods and their Freak offspring became the focus of derision instead of curiosity,
those that had survived the war went into hiding. Some continued on a corrupt course,
selling advance knowledge and expertise. Some merely tried to integrate into society,
living under false identities. Others, like Professor Merriweather, went on the run
and continue to run. Filmore deemed it time to utilize the Houdinian backup plan.
To escape and start over in another time, but Rollins declared himself too old and
too weary and my mother . . .” Willie licked her lips. “Rollins said she refused to
abandon her children, nor would she risk hopping dimensions with them, fearing they,
Wesley and I, might not survive or that time travel would somehow mutate our already
altered genes even more.”

“So she chose you and your brother over the cause,” Simon said, knowing that must
have touched her deeply.

She nodded, eyes bright. “Apparently so.”

Simon had never once questioned his own father’s love and support. And though his
mother was somewhat aloof in nature, he trusted in her affections. Never had he been
so aware of his good fortune. Humbled, Simon reached across the table and clasped
Willie’s hand. Because of her time-tracing gift, her parents had held her at bay.
Was it any wonder she guarded her heart so fiercely? “Why didn’t Filmore make the
jump himself?”

She sighed a little.
Exasperated?
Weary?
Another sip of wine and then she rallied on. “Rollins thinks it boiled down to a
few factors,” she said. “First of all, he wouldn’t get far without a vehicle that
was compatible with the clockwork propulsion engine, and Rollins refused to construct
one.”

“Surely another twentieth-century engineer could have performed the task. More than
one arrived here on the Briscoe Bus,” Simon said whilst stroking her knuckles.

“Aye, but Filmore trusted no PR outside of the Houdinians. Rollins said as the years
progressed, Filmore became more and more paranoid, always spouting one or another
conspiracy theory. He also believes that Filmore was secretly afraid of landing in
an unfamiliar time on his own. When you think about it,” Willie said, “that is a daunting
adventure indeed.”

“Briscoe did it. And Jules is about to do it,” Simon said, gut cramping. “If he hasn’t
already.”

“Aye, but Filmore strikes me as someone who cannot operate without minions, so to
speak. Rabid followers. Devoted admirers. People who hang on his every word. Even
living undercover he chose a job where he could talk people’s ears off, the pub bartender
who enraptured patrons with passionate, exaggerated ghost tales.”

“Must have knocked him off-balance,” Simon said, “losing Rollins, and then your mother.”

“According to Rollins, Filmore went a bit batty after my mother died. Even though
he’d respected my mother’s marriage to my father, he’d harbored . . . affections.
It seems to me a most complex and muddled relationship,” Willie said. “I don’t need
to make sense of it, I just want to ensure that the clockwork propulsion engine doesn’t
fall into dangerous hands. Neither I nor Rollins deem Filmore the best person for
the job anymore.”

“So you’re stepping into your mother’s shoes as guardian of the engine?” Simon asked.

“Not forever,” Willie said, catching and holding his gaze. “Just until the engine
is safe. As far as I’m concerned, this Triple R Tourney is a godsend. The Jubilee
Science Committee will guard that engine as keenly as the Tower’s yeomen guard the
crown jewels. Once it is presented to Queen Victoria during the jubilee, given Her
Majesty’s disdain for modern technology, she will no doubt have it locked away. Aye.
That will be the way of it,” Willie said. “The engine will be as protected as a royal
secret.”

Either that,
Simon thought,
or the queen would order someone to destroy the engine.
That notion vexed on multiple levels. Mind reeling with his brother’s predicament
as well as Willie’s latest findings, Simon downed the last of his wine. “So we’re
back to scouring a plethora of catacombs in search of the engine.”

“No.” Willie squeezed his hand. “There is a spot of good news in all of this. Rollins
promised to intercede.”

“The revolving safe house.” Simon all but thunked his own forehead. “But of course,
Thimblethumper—hell,
Rollins
—would know the precise London location.”

“
If
Filmore maintained protocol. Rollins ventures he has not. What he is certain of is
his ability to track Filmore.”

“So we wait.”

“Hopefully not for long. Perhaps even as soon as tomorrow.”

“Then by all means we should get some rest,” Simon said, noting the weary set of his
wife’s shoulders. “I’m eager to leave this particular adventure in the dust.”