His Clockwork Canary (31 page)

She was lost.

•   •   •

The moment Willie had grasped Rollins’s hands, Simon had started pushing through the
crowd. Unbeknownst to her, Gentry had offered Simon his American duster and cowboy
hat so that he could lurk inside the grogshop incognito. Brim pulled low, chin dipped,
he reached their table just as Willie slumped forward in a catatonic state.

Rollins gasped when she wilted into him, her derby tumbling to the floor. Before he
could wrench away, Simon and Phin took action.

“Don’t break contact, Thimblethumper.” Simon exuded calm even as his heart bucked.

Phin grasped the old man’s shoulder and held him steady whilst Gentry and his men
circled, affording a modicum of privacy and protection from prying eyes.

“Chit can’t hold her liquor,” Simon heard someone joke as he stooped down and wrapped
his arms around his wife.

“Is that it?” Rollins asked, wild-eyed. “Is she gassed? High?”

“Tracing. She’s lost in your memories, old man.” Simon swallowed hard, racking his
brain for a way to pull her out. “Willie, sweetheart,” he said close to her ear. “Come
back. Come home.”

She did not respond and Rollins fidgeted. “What’s going on? Leave me be. Let me go.”

Phin squeezed the man’s shoulders. “What were you thinking about? Before Willie passed
out?”

The man blanched. “I cannot say.”

“Jesus,” Simon said as Willie’s glazed eyes rolled shut and her breathing grew shallow.
This was different from before when she’d “gotten lost” whilst searching for her mother
in Filmore’s memories. She was deeper in, farther away. The seconds ticked on, and
swear to God, Simon could feel Willie slipping away, languishing in a stranger’s memories.
A man from another time. Was she disoriented? Scared? Resigned? He swept off his borrowed
hat, wrapped his hands over hers to reinforce her hold on Rollins and to strengthen
his own physical connection.

“I know you,” Rollins said in a scratchy voice.

Adrenaline surged.

Prompt the transmitter. . . .

Holding Willie close, Simon caught and held the old man’s panicked gaze. “Simon Darcy.
I came into your shop a couple of weeks ago with a young lad. Remember?”
Please God, remember.

Rollins drifted. “Ah, yes. The lad who bought the yo-yo.”

“That’s right.” Simon then prompted Willie. “Do you see me, kid? I’m right there.
Right beside you. We’re in Thimblethumper’s shop. He’s tinkering with some toys behind
his desk. I’m tugging on your scarf. Feel that? Come on. Take my hand, Canary. That’s
it.” His pulse tripped as he felt her fingers tighten around his own. “Hold tight.
We’re done here. Time to leave.” Her grip eased and his stomach knotted. Desperate,
he gave her a squeeze and a shake. “I love you, Willie. Yield to me, dammit. Let me
help.”

He glanced at her time cuff. The second hand ticked and ticked . . . and he realized
that the pub had fallen silent and the ticking sounded like a death knell.

Dear God. Had he failed his wife as he’d failed his father? “Don’t leave me, Wilhelmina
Darcy,” he pleaded in a thick voice. “I can’t change the world without you.”

She gasped. Once. Twice. Her eyes flew open and she flinched, sucking air like a drowning
woman pulled from the sea. “Simon?”

Relief blew through him with the ferocity of a summer storm. Heart pounding, he pulled
her away from Rollins and crushed her to his chest. “Right here, sweetheart.”

“Thank God,” Phin said.

“Drawin’ a boodle of attention,” Gentry said. “We should go.”

“Who are you?” Rollins asked. “Are you with the Mechanics?”

“No,” Simon said. “We’re with Willie.”

Still the old man looked frantic to escape.

“Let him go,” Willie said in a weak voice. Holding tight to Simon, she shifted her
gaze to Rollins. “You have to go. Someplace far away.”

The man nodded. “The . . . device.”

“Will be safe. I promise.”

Rollins gave a jerky nod, then pushed out of the chair, hastening away without a single
look back.

“Should I follow him?” Gentry asked.

“No,” Willie said. “I have what we need and he has paid for any transgressions with
his soul.” She looked up at Simon, tears clouding her rainbow eyes. “You came for
me. How—”

“A mystery and a miracle.” Heart overflowing with relief, Simon swept Willie up into
his arms. Phin and the other men surrounded him as he carried her from the grogshop,
away from curious onlookers.

“Just when I thought I’d seen everything,” StarMan said.

Birdman Chang scratched his head. “And Doc thinks he’s got it bad.”

“What now?” Gentry asked as they breached the main deck of the
Enterprise
.

“I’m taking Willie home,” Simon said.

“No.” She pushed against his shoulder. “We have to go after the engine. Now. Timing
is crucial.”

Simon shook off a sense of foreboding as he eased Willie to her feet. “Shite.”

“What’s wrong?” Gentry asked whilst tugging on his hat.

Simon looked to Phin, who knew his history well. “Where timing is concerned, I’ve
been cursed since birth.”

Although she’d physically recovered from her time-tracing fiasco with Rollins, Willie’s
heart and mind remained shell-shocked even two hours later. Pride somewhat battered,
she accepted that Simon had been right and that she could not continue tracing as
she had in the past. There’d been a shift in her powers and she did not understand
the new parameters. Perhaps it was merely a matter of honing her skills even more.
To intensify her ability to resist interacting or to explore new ways of pulling free
of a transmitter’s memory. The matter required thorough consideration. She could not
imagine shunning her gift forever. She was not sure that she could. She would, however,
strive not to time-trace again until they’d managed this crisis with the clockwork
propulsion engine. Until she’d cleaned up the Houdinians’ mess and bested that bastard
blackmailer Strangelove. Surely she would hear from him tomorrow, but by then at least,
the engine would be under royal protection.

Tucker Gentry had
guaran-damn-teed
he could secure a private audience with Queen Victoria. According to her new sister-in-law,
the sovereign of the British Empire had taken a shine to the transcontinental tabloid
hero. So much so, the queen had promised to intercede with the president of the United
States, securing a pardon for the ill-accused Sky Cowboy and his crew, as well as
providing safe passage to England for his younger sister, Lily.

Amelia also had hopes that this “discovery and donation” on behalf of the Darcys would
help to appease the queen for the trouble she had caused in Italy. As it was, she
and Gentry were still on shaky ground and had, in fact, been dispatched to retrieve
an invaluable artifact they’d stolen from Leonardo da Vinci’s secret vault (an
Italian
treasure) and then lost to the Scottish Shark of the Skies.

Willie’s mind reeled with the Gentrys’ ongoing adventure. They’d been married just
earlier today, a quiet ceremony in London. They’d docked at the Milky Way for a brief
celebration before setting off in search of the dreaded Captain Dunkirk. And now they’d
interrupted not only their honeymoon but their royal mission in order to aid Willie
and Simon on their quest.

Two weeks ago, Willie had been fairly alone in this world. Now she had family
and
friends. She had a husband who had somehow saved her from the chaos of another man’s
mind and a sister-in-law who, although leery regarding the Canary’s report on her
father, hadn’t flinched at accepting a Freak as a Darcy. As her brother-in-law navigated
the
Maverick
’s air dinghy over the Thames, past Clock Tower, and toward the narrow road running
between Parliament and Westminster Abbey, Willie’s entire being buzzed with optimism.
It was an unfamiliar and wondrous feeling and infected her with a sense of invincibility.

“What are you smiling at?” Simon asked as they came in for a landing.

“I’m envisioning your monorail,” she whispered back. “The draft in your library. The
Abbey, Parliament. It looks exactly as you sketched it. All that is missing is your
magnificent monorail. Promise me you won’t give up on your dream.”

Simon squeezed her waist. “I have other dreams now.”

Moments later, they disembarked and hid the small transport behind a copse of manicured
bushes. After analyzing the situation, Willie, Simon, and Phin had joined forces with
Amelia, Gentry, and his crew in order to procure the infamous engine. They’d chosen
the
Maverick
, the fastest airship in Europe and far and away more reliable than the
Flying Cloud
, as their main transport. Gentry’s crew, with the exception of Eli Boone—a master
tinker, according to Gentry—had stayed aboard, watching for trouble from above and
preparing for a fast escape. Amelia had refused to stay behind and as Simon wouldn’t
think of barring Willie from this recovery, Gentry had been forced to acquiesce to
his wife’s demand. But not until after he and Axel had armed her with a stun cuff
and a Remington Blaster.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Amelia whispered to Willie as the motley
crew of five proceeded down St. Margaret Street.

“Rollins’s directions were quite specific,” Willie said as she pushed on. “And I am
well acquainted with London.”

“As am I,” Simon said.

Because of the late hour and because this was a business district, there was nary
a pedestrian to be found and road traffic was scant. A rolling fog added to the already
eerie ambience, and although Willie did not celebrate Jefferson Filmore’s death, she
was most grateful that friends and family would not be subjected to his deranged presence
nor that of his hired mercenary.

Her shoulder twinged just thinking about the hired thug who’d shot her in Edinburgh.
Indeed, her arm had been paining her most of this day. After the time-tracing debacle
with Rollins she had felt the need for as much fortification as possible and was glad
she had stowed her Thera-Steam-Atic Brace aboard the
Flying Cloud
. She wore it now with pride and confidence. She stole a glance at Simon, in awe of
his ingenuity and the depth of her admiration. At one point, she’d accused him of
arrogance. Now that she knew him better, she was most certain his success was hindered
by a streak of humbleness and a dash of insecurity, which only deepened her regard.

“Can’t see a thing,” Eli complained as they veered away from the streetlamps.

“Just follow me.” Utilizing her night vision and Rollins’s landmarks, Willie guided
her team to Jewel Tower, a surviving section of a royal palace built in the fourteenth
century. A three-story limestone structure that sat across the road from Parliament
and upon the same grounds as Westminster Abbey. “Here,” she said, pointing to an entry
point as described by Rollins. “Remember,” she said as Simon pushed open a vine-covered
gate, “we must trudge through a sewage duct to gain entrance to this particular catacomb.
There could be rats and snakes and such, not to mention filth,” she said for Amelia’s
benefit.

The blond woman snorted and adjusted her shoulder harness.

Phin groaned. “I hate snakes.”

“Don’t worry, Bourdain,” Gentry said in a condescending tone. “I’ve got your back.”

“Leave him be,” Amelia whispered to her husband. “It was just a kiss and not even
a good one at that.”

“Bloody hell,” Phin said.

Gentry chuckled and Simon looked to Willie and rolled his eyes. “Once inside,” he
said to everyone, “it should be safe to use your torchlights.”

Battery-operated tubes of light. A most ingenious alternative to a kerosene lantern,
Willie thought. She would have to purchase one for Fletcher.

Ignoring the putrid smell and the feel of squishy clay beneath her boots, Willie slogged
through the sewage tunnel. She ignored the scurrying rats, as did everyone else, including
Amelia. Indeed, she was most impressed with her sister-in-law. Senses keen, Willie
felt her heart skip when she spied the entrance to the catacombs as described by Rollins.
“This way.” No one, including Simon, countered, although once inside the musty labyrinth,
Simon, Phin, and Gentry took the lead whilst Eli protected the rear.

As they were all armed with torchlights, golden beams swept over every wall and crevice.
Every coffin, every vault. Every disgusting pile of exposed skulls and bones. On pins
and needles, Willie almost yelped when she felt a vibration against her ribs.

The telecommunicator.

Strangelove.

She fell back behind Amelia and, whilst pretending to examine a vault, shone her light
upon the device. Upon decoding the message, panic ensued.

BRING ACC. WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. SECOND LAMP. MIDNIGHT. SENDING COURIER. YOUR BROTHER.
FAIL ME. HE DIES.

How had Strangelove located Wesley? Aye, she and her brother were estranged, but the
thought of him dying, let alone because of
her
, was crushing. The time factor only intensified her angst. By midnight
tonight
? Willie pocketed the device and noted the time. Eleven oh five. Surely Strangelove
would not have given her such short notice. Had there been a glitch in the transmission?
Had the message been delayed? Did he perhaps mean tomorrow? She could not take that
chance. If she did not show . . .

“Here!” Phin shouted, his voice echoing down the tunnel and prompting Willie to join
the others.

Five torchlights shone upon one vault, illuminating the safe house like a divine entity.

“H. Houdini,” she said, noting the inscription and marveling once again that her mother
had dedicated so much of her life to protecting a device that committed her to the
bowels of the earth. She did not understand her mother. But she respected her. “We
must hurry.”

“You said the mercenary would not show for his shift until predawn,” Simon said.

“Sometime around predawn,” Willie said, reaching into her pocket for the secret code.
“Rollins was not specific about the time, and who knows what other means of security
Filmore might have initiated? Rollins was adamant that we enter and exit posthaste.”
Whilst they were depositing the engine in the air dinghy, she would somehow slip away.
Simon would be worried, furious. Gadzooks. How had it come to this?

“In addition to the locking box at the bottom of the gate,” Simon said, whilst examining
the vault, “there’s a padlock. Did Rollins give you a key, sweetheart?”

Her upper lip beaded with sweat. “No.”

“I can break that lock,” Eli said. The big black man pulled tools from the arsenal
belt beneath his voluminous coat.

“Make sure it’s not rigged,” Phin said.

“A bomb?” Amelia groaned. “The queen would never forgive us if we blew up another
artifact of importance.”

“If we’re blown to smithereens, darlin’,” Gentry said, “won’t be nothin’ left of us
to forgive.”

“I don’t see any wires,” Simon said.

“Me neither,” Eli said.

“Just that combination lock contraption,” Gentry said.

“An astonishing amount of dials,” Amelia noted. “You don’t suppose that’s booby-trapped,
do you? Dial the wrong number and
kaplooey
?”

Simon shot his sister a look and Willie wondered if they were thinking of their father,
who’d gone
kaplooey
along with his moonship. Indeed, the image was most unsettling. Heart pounding, she
knelt beside her husband amongst dirt and cobwebs and studied the locking mechanism.
“The combination is quite lengthy,” she said. “Let me read it to you, and that way
you can concentrate solely on the dials.”

He flashed her an encouraging smile. “Teamwork.” Then he focused on the box.

Willie wet her lips, glanced at her time cuff. Eleven fifteen. She commenced to reading
the combination—slowly, deliberately—whilst visions of her brother flashed through
her mind. No one else said a word as Simon finagled each gold dial, although Willie’s
ears rang with the sounds of childhood bantering and laughter. Where Wesley was concerned,
the bad times had outweighed the good, yet this moment only the good resonated. Rattled,
she pushed Wesley from her mind, but her angst remained. She realized she’d been anticipating
the sound of hostile footsteps . . . or an explosion.

Simon tweaked the last dial and tripped a switch.

A compression valve hissed and groaned.

Eli utilized a compact bolt cutter and the iron lock clanged and thudded to the ground.

Sweat trickled down Willie’s back as they cautiously swung open the iron-grilled gate.
No explosion. No footsteps. They shone their lights on a toddler-sized coffin.

“Seems small for an engine,” Eli said.

“Remember,” Gentry said, “I saw the plans that inspired this engine. Ain’t size that
matters. It’s the inner workings.”

“I’m dying to see it,” Amelia said. “Imagine. An engine that enables people to soar
through dimensions.”

“We can gawk at it later,” Willie said, anxious to meet with Strangelove and to vanquish
the villain from their life. “Let’s just get it out of here.” She grabbed a handle
just as everyone yelled, “Wait!”

Startled, she paused, but she’d already shifted the coffin and . . . “Oh, no.” She
heard a beep and then another. “What is it?” She looked around the vault, along with
everyone else.

“It’s a goddamned bomb,” Phin said. “Here. Time detonator. What jolly good fun,” he
said with sarcasm. “Six minutes, fifty-five, nope, fifty-four seconds.”

“Crikey,” Amelia said, “we’ll never make it out in time with the engine.”

Simon dropped to his knees. “Eli, give me your tool belt. I’ve seen this sort of mechanism
before.”

“I can help,” Phin said, stooping alongside him. “Wrangled some demolitions during
the war.”

“Ladies, run like hell,” Simon said. “Gentry, Eli, grab the coffin. Get as far from
us as possible. Just in case.”

Sick to her stomach, Willie stared down at Simon. “I cannot leave you.”

He cast her a confident, earnest look. “I cannot save us whilst you’re here.”

Amelia tugged at her brace. “Come on, Canary. My brother knows what he’s doing.”

Breaking free, Willie dropped next to Simon and framed the sides of his mud-streaked
face. “I love you, Simon Darcy.”

“And I you.” Eyes dancing, he smacked a kiss to her mouth, then jerked his head. “Meet
you topside, pet.”

Heart battering her ribs, Willie flew out of the vault and down the corridor alongside
her sister-in-law. Gentry and Eli were close on their heels, carrying the precious
coffin between them. Amelia slipped in the muck of the sewage duct and Willie easily
righted her with the aid of the Thera-Steam-Atic Brace. It would seem Simon’s recent
adjustments had afforded the brace an intensified means of strength. Willie’s eyes
burned as she thought about her husband’s kindness, his genius, and she prayed to
God his brilliant mind didn’t fail him now.

“Haul butt, ladies,” Gentry ordered from behind. Indeed, the cowboy and his crewmate
fairly lifted Willie and Amelia off their feet as they whisked the coffin from the
duct, up the moss-covered stairs, and through the rusted garden gate.