His Clockwork Canary

CHAPTER 34

After much hullabaloo, the proprietor of Java Jupiter had shown the vexatious rabble-rousers, as he called them, to a private salon at the rear of the small coffeehouse. Though Willie longed to sort through this family mess, she was immensely concerned with the time. According to her time cuff it was half past eight. Shouldn’t she be making her way to the USS Enterprise?

Tucker Gentry’s crew—StarMan, Eli Boone, and Birdman Chang—had remained in the main room trying to rouse their boneheaded mate, the ship’s engineer, Axel O’Donnell. Phin had been shut out of this meeting as well and was currently nursing his bruised jaw and pride with a shot of whiskey.

Seated across from Amelia in an upholstered booth, Willie tried to focus on her sister-in-law’s (good God, she had never thought to have a sister) animated rambling regarding her exploits over the last two weeks. Against her brothers’ wishes she had joined the Triple R Tourney, taking off on something called a kitecycle and nearly crashing into the Maverick midair. She’d lassoed the Sky Cowboy into her search for a legendary invention, their adventure had taken them to France, then on to Italy and then, following an international incident, back to England—their penance doled out by none other than Queen Victoria.

“And that is how we came to be wed,” Amelia said matter-of-factly.

“By royal decree.” Simon drummed his fingers on the table, his expression somewhere between astounded and explosive.

“She would have married me regardless, Darcy. Eventually,” Gentry said. “We’re very much in love.”

“Astonishing, but true,” Amelia said with a smitten smile. She leaned into her husband and the handsome crack aviator wrapped his arm about her in a possessive manner that warmed Willie’s heart.

Simon, on the other hand, looked as if he wanted to strangle the both of them. Bad enough his little sister had married a notorious rake and purported outlaw, but they’d embarked on a spectacular adventure that dazzled and shocked far more than anything Simon and Willie had experienced in their venture thus far. At least in Willie’s eyes. It was just the kind of story that would rivet the readers of the Informer, and indeed, Willie was considering asking the Gentrys’ permission to weave their adventure into her chronicled serial. Although she’d probably opt to temper the portion about the Maverick’s physician, a Freak named Doc Blue, who’d betrayed them in support of his brother, a volatile Freak Fighter. As if the Freaks needed more bad press.

She glanced at her time cuff, deeming the serial a subject best approached later. She shifted in her seat, eyed the door.

“Are we keeping you from something?” Amelia asked, brow raised.

“As it happens, I have an appointment.”

Simon consulted his own watch. “Willie’s right. We should go.”

Amelia gawked. “Surely you jest! I explained my circumstances and now you think to leave me dangling regarding yours? You claim to be married, yet how can this be, Simon? Marriage between Vics and Freaks is forbidden!”

“Yes, well, sometimes one is inclined to thwart the law,” he said, looking directly at Gentry.

“I told you,” Amelia said. “Tucker is innocent. Queen Victoria believes him.”

“As do I,” Willie said as she slid from her seat.

“You seem familiar to me, Mrs. Darcy,” Gentry said as he, too, stood. “Have we met before?”

“Please call me Willie. And, aye, we have met. I interviewed you once.” Her cheeks burned with the past deception. Her male guise, her probing of the cowboy’s memories without his permission. “You knew me as the Clockwork Canary.”

Gentry merely angled his head as though absorbing and reconciling the Freak woman he saw before him with the so-called Vic male who’d written a story about him months before.

Amelia, however, took a menacing step forward, fists balled at her side. “The Clockwork Canary? Lead journalist for the Informer? The insensitive sensationalist who maligned my father?”

“I can explain.”

Amelia launched forward like a human cannonball.

Willie swore she felt the brush of the woman’s knuckles as her fist swung past her nose. The only reason the blow didn’t land was that Gentry had caught her by the waist and hauled her back in the nick of time.

“Easy, Flygirl.”

“Dammit, Amelia.” Finessing Willie behind him, Simon dragged his hands through his already disheveled hair. “I can explain. We can explain all of this. But not now. Willie has an appointment with a man who’s going to relay the location of the clockwork propulsion engine.”

Still holding tight to his wife, Gentry tipped back his hat. “The time-traveling engine from the Briscoe Bus? It was destroyed—”

“No, it wasn’t,” Willie said. “That was a ruse concocted by a renegade trio of Peace Rebels. One of them being my mother. As Simon said, we can explain, but . . .” She glanced at her time cuff.

Simon checked the safety mechanism on his derringer.

Amelia palmed her forehead. “What in the devil are you doing with a Disrupter 29?”

“Making a point if need be,” Simon said.

“But that’s an advanced weapon and you’ve never even used a slingshot!”

“Aim. Fire. Think I can handle it.”

“Why do you need a gun?” Gentry asked as Simon pocketed the pistol.

“Because twelve days ago the people we’re dealing with didn’t think twice about o’blasterating my wife. Willie was severely wounded trying to protect me,” Simon said specifically to his sister. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone harm her again.”

Amelia blinked at Willie with shock and perhaps a smidgen of gratitude.

“I promise, we’ll explain at length later,” Willie said, pushing out of the salon and into the crush of the rollicking coffeehouse.

“Where are you meeting this yahoo?” Gentry asked.

“USS Enterprise,” Simon said. “The Vulcan Grogshop. The contact is wary of me, so I can’t be seen. Phin’s going inside with Willie. That’s if his wits are about him.”

Phin pushed away from the bar and a bottle of whiskey. “My jaw’s sore,” Phin said, whilst scowling at Gentry. “But my wits are fine.” He checked his holstered weapon. “Let’s do this.”

“I know the Enterprise and the Vulcan,” Gentry said over the ear-blistering music. “I’ll come with you.”

Amelia pushed forward. “Me too.”

“Like hell,” Gentry said. “Stay here with Eli. Get Axel back on his feet and talk him down from his all-fired fury. StarMan, Chang, you’re with me.”

Willie’s nerves jangled. “Too many people.”

“He won’t even know we’re there,” Gentry said, then doubled back to kiss his wife and whisper something in her ear. She didn’t look happy, but she didn’t follow.

“I don’t want Amelia to come,” Simon said as Gentry rejoined them. “But I don’t want to leave her here.”

“Eli will kick the ass of any man who looks sideways at her. Axel will do worse. That’s if he regains consciousness anytime soon. You pack a hell of a wallop, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Stun cuff,” Willie said, flashing her wrist as they hit topside. “Phin’s idea.”

Gentry nodded. “Long as Mr. Bourdain keeps his hands and lips off Amelia, guess we’ll get along just fine.”

Simon shot his new brother-in-law a look as they crossed over to the next dig. “I could say the same thing about you, cowboy.”

• • •

The Vulcan Grogshop was twice the size of Java Jupiter and easily as crowded. A blessing, as it meant Phin, Gentry, StarMan, and Chang were difficult to spot. Even Willie was unsure as to the exact location of each man. As discussed on the walk over, they’d entered in intervals, dispersing to different areas of the smoky, chaotic pub.

There were several raucous gaming tables and the stage at the far end featured a burlesque show of sorts. Lively music and boisterous conversation filled the air, as did the clinking of glasses and the hissing and clanking of steam-powered metallic robots serving up smokes and snacks.

Willie was not the only woman in attendance, but she was certainly in the minority. She felt a twinge of unease as a few men at the bar looked her way. She wished Simon were with her, even though he couldn’t be. She wished Rollins would have declared a more specific place to meet. She glanced at her time cuff. Nine p.m. sharp.

“Miss Goodenough.” Rollins stepped in beside her. “You’re alone?”

“Not precisely. Skytowns are notoriously wild. I thought it best to have an escort.” She did not wish him to think her foolhardy or vulnerable. She did not fully trust the man. He had, after all, ratted out his own people in a bid for personal peace. “He’s waiting outside whilst we conduct our business, so you need not worry.”

“Do I look worried?”

“Indeed you do, Mr. Thimblethumper.” The old man looked as if he’d aged ten years in two days.

“My world draws to an end. It is . . . unsettling.”

“What do you mean—”

“I don’t have much time. Please.” He grasped her forearm and guided her to an empty table in the thick of the crowd. “You must act quickly,” he said as they sat side by side at a table littered with empty glasses and smoking butts. “Tonight. The engine is unprotected this moment, but the mercenary will show for his shift sometime before dawn.”

“Why is it unprotected?” Willie asked. “Where is Filmore?”

“The engine is hidden within a vault,” he plowed on in a brittle tone. “It is marked H. Houdini and you will find it the catacombs near Westminster Abbey.”

“Beneath the Abbey?” Willie scrunched her brow. She had pored over maps along with Simon and Phin. She did not recall tunnels under Westminster.

“The tunnels are ancient and dangerous. You must not linger. Get the engine and get out.” He shoved a piece of paper in her hand, then rattled off directions.

The collective noise was such that Willie found herself focusing intently on Rollins’s every word and expression. His milky eyes were somewhat dazed behind his thick spectacles. His wrinkled skin was ashen and clammy, his urgent manner troublesome.

“There is a lock on the vault,” he said. “A special lock. I’m providing you with the code and entrusting you with the engine. Follow through for your mother. She was the best of us. Protect the world from further mayhem, Wilhelmina. The Houdinians are no more.”

“What do you mean? What about Filmore?” Willie grasped the old man’s hands when he tried to leave. “Why are you spooked? What have you done?”

“What had to be done.”

“I knew you would come to your senses, Ollie,” Filmore said. “Although it took far longer than I anticipated.”

“I had thought to live out my life in peace. But now a Freak rebellion is rising. There was an incident over the Atlantic. Surely you read about it. Freaks are dangerous, Jefferson, and they exist because of us. We must right our wrongs and save the world from further mutation and destruction. Think of the atrocities those supernatural beings could commit upon Vics if they all band together as we once did.”

“You are once again in league with my thinking. I’m encouraged by the timing. This past week I had decided to take extreme measures. I’ve been researching engineers, a man suited to my purpose. Ingenious, fearless, a fellow Utopian. And now here you are. We must go back in time,” Filmore said as he paced amongst marble and granite tombstones. “Perhaps to the day we first arrived. Before Mods mated with Vics. We could alert the other Peace Rebels, caution them against having sex with anyone other than another Mod. Mickey would help us to instill the importance of remaining faithful to our fellow Peace Rebels.” He stopped and caressed the sculpted angel marking one particular grave. “Mickey would still be alive.”

“Yes. Yes, she would, Jefferson.” Rollins latched on to the glazed look in Filmore’s eyes. “And you and Mickey could be together again. But this time forever. I’ve already begun the construction of a compatible vehicle for the clockwork propulsion engine. We must make haste. This Race for Royal Rejuvenation has ignited interest in extraordinary inventions. I worry the engine is at risk now more than ever.”

“It is. There was an incident, Ollie. A thwarted robbery.”

Filmore looked frazzled and Rollins moved in for the kill. “Where is the safe house, Jefferson?”

“Where do you think?”

“You stuck to Mickey’s original plan?”

“Why would I deviate? The woman was brilliant.”

“Yes. Yes, she was.” Rollins swallowed bile. “I can safely say she would not have advised repeating past mistakes.”

“What are you saying? What are you . . .” Filmore blanched as Rollins pulled a black-market weapon, a modern weapon, and aimed it at Filmore’s heart. “Traitor!”

Rollins’s hand shook. “Yes. Yes, I am. A traitor to our fellow PRs who voted to destroy the engine. A traitor to our century. We should have stayed and fought for peace in our own time. We never should have played God. And yet you are willing to do it all again. To wreck more havoc.”

Filmore lunged for the gun.

A loud blast.

A painful cry.

Filmore crumpled and blood pooled next to the grave marked MICHELLE GOODENOUGH.

Rollins stumbled back.

Panic. Remorse. Exhilaration.

“What have you done?” Willie cried. She was a mere shadow. A fly on the wall. Even so, Rollins flinched. The memory glitched, shifted, and suddenly she was catapulted back to Rollins’s childhood. Back to the future where she was overwhelmed by foreign innovations and bizarre references. She was out of her element. Out of her time.

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.”