His Clockwork Canary

CHAPTER 35

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.

Lungs burning, Willie fell to her knees as the frigid fresh air chilled her sweat-soaked clothing. She checked her time cuff.

“What time is it?” Amelia asked, chest heaving from exertion and angst. “How long has it been?”

Willie sleeved tears from her eyes. “Almost six minutes.”

“Crikey.”

Gentry squeezed Willie’s shoulder. “He’ll prevail.”

“How do you know?”

The man smiled down at her. “He’s a Darcy.”

As much as she wanted to trust in Gentry’s confidence, Willie’s world tilted as she braced for an explosion. She could not imagine her life without Simon. Envisioning his handsome face, she whispered a plea and prayed for a miracle. “I cannot change the world without you, my love. Come back.”

“What time is it?” Amelia asked.

Willie could scarcely breathe, let alone move.

Gentry checked his pocket watch, as did Eli.

Amelia nabbed Willie’s wrist, squinted at her time cuff, and squealed. “They’re clear!” The young woman scrambled to the gate, yelled down.

Willie pushed to her feet, green with the collywobbles.

“They shouted back!” Amelia called over her shoulder. “Simon and Phin are on their way!”

Gentry flashed Willie a kind smile. “Never underestimate a Darcy.” He winked, then looked to Eli. “Let’s get this coffin to the dinghy before some copper spots us. We look like a pair of damned grave robbers. Come on, ladies!”

Willie palmed her forehead. Simon was alive. She thanked her lucky stars. She swore to tackle life along her husband’s side. Freak and Vic, united forever and always. She glanced at her timepiece, then over her shoulder at Westminster Bridge. Would Wesley be alone? Would Strangelove be lurking? Or perhaps he’d hired a gunman. She remembered the first time they’d met, a murky memory of Strangelove and the whispered word: assassin.

Palming the bag slung over her shoulder, she verified the welfare of the memory disk.

One last obstacle. One more life to be saved. Then and only then could she embrace the future.