Ticker (21 page)

“But he’s hurt so many people. Why, Sebastian? Why would you help him?”

He gave a short laugh, one entirely lacking in mirth. “Do you have any idea how much money people would pay to live beyond their time? There’s a fortune to be made in Augmentation, my dear.
You know I never let a profitable business opportunity pass me by.” With great effort, he started to stand.

I leveled the pistols at his chest. “Don’t move.” He didn’t stop. Every dragging step was a struggle, but still he came at me. “I mean it.” I took another step back. “Damn it, I don’t want to kill you, Sebastian!”

“That’s the genius of it all.” He gifted me with his lady-killer smile, except now it was the sort that strangled women and left them in alleyways. “You’re not going to kill me, Penny.” Giving me a wide berth, he made slow and terrible progress to the far wall. With the pull of a lever and a soft grunt of effort, he opened a hatch. A small rowboat was moored to the side of the
Palmipède
. Beyond that extended a black canvas unrelieved by lantern or lamplight. “You’re going to get in the boat and let me take you to Warwick.”

“Like hell I will.”

“He’s going to fix your Ticker. Nic and your parents are waiting for you.”

I stepped toward Sebastian, but only so I could take better aim. “Where’s he keeping them?”

“Get in the boat.”

Finally losing my patience, I shouted, “Tell me where he’s keeping them!”

Hands hammering at the door distracted us both, and the wood-muffled cry of “Penny!” came from the far side in two-part harmony.

“Stirling, what’s going on in there?” Marcus shouted, following that with a vehement kick to the door.

Sebastian lunged for me. Had I fired then, at close range with the guns aimed at his chest, I surely would have killed him. But if I wouldn’t pull the trigger, I wasn’t going to let him turn the weapons on me either. I twisted in his grasp and threw them as hard as
I could out the open hatch. They hit the water with twin splashes. Looking out at the limitless darkness, I was momentarily tempted by Sebastian’s insanity, by how comforting it would be to reunite with my family, to have my Ticker fixed, to see this come to an end.

Still trapped in the hallway, Marcus ceased pounding on the door. “I’m setting explosive charges,” he warned through the wood. “Move back!”

“Get in the boat, Penny!” Sebastian urged again.

The wall behind us blew inward, showering everything with splinters. I could resist, or I could jump.

When I ducked under Sebastian’s arm, his own forward momentum and my swift shove launched him out the escape hatch. I pulled the hatch shut with a heave and a gasp as Marcus and Violet emerged from a cloud of plaster dust, weapons raised.

“Where is he?” Marcus demanded.

“Learning the finer points of rowboat operation,” I answered, pushing past him and heading back into the hall. “Have him followed. He’s working for Warwick.”

“I’ll wring his highborn neck!” Then Violet let loose with a string of profanity the likes of which I hoped never to hear again.

Marcus only blinked once and muttered, “I was afraid of that,” before relaying the information via his RiPA.

A loud and wrenching shudder rippled through the floorboards, and the ship slowly, inexorably tilted to one side, throwing everyone off-balance. I fell against the wall as the lights flickered. Back in the gaming room, shouts broke out.

Unperturbed, Marcus grasped me by the elbow and towed me down the hall in the opposite direction. “Step lively, Tesseraria. We’re on contingency plan H already.”

A second shudder was accompanied by the scream of iron against rock, and I winced. “What’s happening?”

“Backup finally arrived, and they’re running this ship aground,” he answered.

“When we lost sight of you, Marcus messaged for reinforcements,” Violet added.

By now, the
Palmipède
listed horribly to starboard, making it even more difficult to walk through the water pouring down the hall and swirling about our ankles.

“It seems the good Mister Stirling played merry havoc with our plans this evening,” Marcus said as he hurried us along. “My soldiers didn’t make it aboard until I called them in. They’ll clear everyone out of the vessel, and I just sent a secondary unit out to the river to search for Sebastian.” Striding through knee-deep currents now, he led us to a passageway that sloped unnaturally downward. At the bottom, he opened another door; beyond that was only gently sloshing darkness.

“Can you see him?” I asked, peering under Marcus’s arm.

“Visibility is at zero, and perhaps that’s for the best. If we can’t see Sebastian, he can’t see us.” Marcus pulled a handheld water-surface propulsion vehicle off the wall. “Take one of these and swim for shore.”

“Swim?” I repeated, wondering if the Quick-Heal had clouded my brain.

“With help.” By the light of the lamp hanging on the wall, he gestured to a switch on the handlebars. “I’ve used these Skimmers in training exercises. This button activates the motor. Point it toward the opposite bank, keep your head above water, and stay close to each other.”

“I’ll go first.” With a grim expression, Violet silently pulled off her petticoats, and I followed her example. There was only time enough for me to give her elbow a quick squeeze before she jumped.

Looping my purse over my wrist, I clutched the Skimmer’s handlebars. Hitting the water was like falling chest-first onto a sheet of ice. My Ticker seized in shock.

Don’t you dare, you piece of junk!

After a long moment, the Ticker righted itself, leaving me free to activate the Skimmer. Vibrating with barely restrained power, the apparatus slowly but surely towed me forward, the weight of my sodden skirts dragging at me all the while. Filtered by the fog, the warm blur of a streetlight gradually appeared. The dripping smudge under the post coalesced into Violet. By the time I felt the shore under my shoes, Marcus caught up with me and we exited the river together, leaving the Skimmers in the shallows.

Behind us, the
Palmipède
rested sadly on its side. The area around it was bedlam, with soldiers rounding up fleeing patrons and loading them into waiting boats. Marcus’s RiPA sputtered, relaying half a message before it shorted out. He swore as he removed the frizzled device from his wrist, but a thunderous crackle interrupted the oath. I might have wanted flash trays and shooting stars, but this was no fireworks display. Sparks hissed and sizzled as flames erupted from the side of the steamboat. The surprising heat of it pushed us back several feet, and Violet drew nearer to me, shivering. I looped my arm about her waist and looked to Marcus.

“We need to clear out of here. Have you any idea where we are?”

Struggling to regain his trademark composure, Marcus nodded. “Stay close and keep quiet.”

We crept down the dockside alleys until we arrived at a tavern. A cracked wooden sign declared it to be “The Second Buttonhole,” but it certainly didn’t rate above the fifth or sixth. The three of us crammed ourselves into a booth in the farthest recesses of the
common room, and a dour man with a face like a bowl of risen bread appeared.

“Bit late to be out and about, isn’t it?” he remarked. “What will you have?”

“A bottle of whiskey,” Marcus said firmly and pressed a coin into his hand.

The payment disappeared into a pocket, and the innkeeper backed away from the table. Half of Marcus’s false mustache had peeled away from his upper lip, and he winced as I gently tugged the rest of it off. When he opened his silver cigarette case, a miniature tidal wave streamed out of it. In silence, we set out fans, billfolds, and card holders to dry. The air- and watertight seals on the pocket watches were examined and determined to have done their job. My father’s compass and sundial were no worse for wear after their washing, and my winnings added up to a shocking amount.

“Now what?” Waterlogged and worried, I rolled the bottle of Quick-Heal to and fro across my palm.

The innkeeper returned with a large glass bottle, its label yellowed and peeling, and a tray of grimy glasses. He set everything on the table, eyes raking over the miscellaneous items culled from our pockets before pursing his lips and departing.

“I fear we look like a band of thieves meeting up to pool the night’s take.” Marcus sloshed the liquor into the glasses and lifted one. After a hesitant sip, he grimaced. “Not the best vintage, I grant you, but it’ll warm you up.”

“A good thing, given the meager fire our host keeps.” Though I didn’t like to say anything, my Ticker hadn’t yet recovered from our impromptu swim. Thumping erratically in my chest, it threatened every few seconds to cease working altogether. Uncorking the Quick-Heal, I downed the contents of the vial. Remembering what Sebastian had said about alcohol aiding in the delivery to
the bloodstream, I chased the medication with a shot of whiskey. Instantaneous heat bloomed in my stomach, rushing through every appendage, and I could well imagine what Vinterviken Blasting Oil must taste like.

“What was in that vial, Penny?” Violet looked at me over her glass, her carefully applied eyeliner running down her cheeks like gothic tears. “And should I have asked for some?”

I explained about the Quick-Heal and the revelations made in Private Room Seven. My time in the river had numbed me, but no more than the shock of realizing Sebastian was a turncoat.

“I can hardly believe it,” Violet said, biting the corner of her lip.

I couldn’t help but remember the mad zeal in his eyes when he tried to convince me to get in the boat. “I certainly never thought he’d get his hands dirty like that.”

“How long has he been working for Warwick?” Marcus asked.

“Long enough to help plan his escape from the courthouse,” I said. “And to have arranged for my parents’ kidnapping. I messaged him when Nic and I were driving across town on the Vitesse. He knew precisely when we would arrive.” I wanted to put my head down on the table and cry, but it wouldn’t help anyone. “He could have secreted them away and turned right around to meet us at Glasshouse.”

Similarly frustrated, Marcus repeatedly bashed at his RiPA to no avail. “Hopefully the secondary unit caught up with him before we ran aground. If not, there’s little chance they found him in the chaos afterward.”

“True enough,” Violet said, finishing her first glass of whiskey and pouring a second.

“I need to get back to the waterfront,” Marcus said, gathering his things. “Reporters and more Ferrum Viriae officers should be arriving at the scene.”

Violet snatched up her purse. “You stay here with Penny. She needs to rest.”

I started to protest, but Marcus was already nodding.

“I suppose I do have a slightly better stature for a bodyguard,” he said.

“You have slightly better stature for a brick wall,” Violet countered, wresting her dripping dress from the booth. “I’m going after Sebastian. He’s going to wish he escaped down a rabbit hole.”

Someone else might have cautioned her; Marcus only held up a hand to signal a server. “Call the young lady a hansom cab, please.” He turned back to Violet and pressed a stack of coins into her palm. “Go straight to the docks. Find Frederick Carmichael, and take him as your second.”

Violet crammed the money in her purse. “How will I find you later?”

“You won’t,” Marcus said. “We’ll contact you tomorrow.”

“I hope the two of you behave yourselves,” she admonished with mock solemnity.

The muscles along Marcus’s jaw jumped before he answered, “I think she’s safe from my advances, at least until morning.”

“She is sitting right here, and she is perfectly fine, thank you.” I strived to make the lie sound convincing. The Quick-Heal’s other effects now made themselves known, and it was as though I’d wrapped my Ticker in a flannel blanket and lulled it to sleep.

“You needn’t fib to me,” Violet said, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to my cheek before hustling out the door.

“I need to get you somewhere more secure,” Marcus said, glancing down at me. “Wait here a moment and turn your face toward the wall.” He held a whispered conversation with the innkeeper in which yet more coins exchanged hands, and then he
returned with a key that appeared well-oiled with kitchen grease. “Come on.”

I found my feet but discovered they were much farther away from my head than expected. “I shouldn’t have partaken of that second dose.” My Ticker lurched, and so did I, but Marcus caught me before I fell. As he carried me up the stairs, I hiccupped and wished I hadn’t. “Just leave me here on the carpet.”

“Like hell I will,” was his grim answer. When we gained the upper landing, he propped me against the wall until he could wrangle the door open.

I stumbled inside to find that the room’s appointments were better than we’d any right to expect: one narrow bed that would fit an adult, provided he or she didn’t roll over, a wooden chair, several hooks in the crumbling plaster wall, and a blessedly hot radiator that I used to warm my backside.

“It looks as though we are going to have to spend some time in close quarters,” Marcus said, shucking his coat. Though it was no longer sopping wet, it left a series of drips on the floor. Hanging it from one of the hooks on the wall, he removed his shoes and socks next and tucked them under the radiator.

“I’m fine with that, given the alternatives.” I was surprised to find that I meant it. The anger and resentment I’d harbored toward him for funding Warwick’s research had been left behind in the river. “Your clothes will dry out faster if you get them off.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he started unbuttoning his shirt. “My dear Miss Farthing, what would your mother say?”

“You’ve worked with her.” Already without petticoats, I removed Mama’s gown. The silk was ruined, no doubt about it. Standing there in my frilled bloomers, chemise, and corset, I wrapped my arms about me and tried to stop my teeth from chattering. If anyone had told me last week that I would be keeping
company with Marcus Kingsley whilst a band of marauding terrorists tried to kidnap me, I wouldn’t have believed it. “I’m pretty sure she’d say ‘Stop standing on ceremony and get out of those wet things.’ ”