Clockwork Looking Glass (Heart of Bronze Book 1)

by Michael Rigg

  "Wha' for?"

  Denk shrugged. "Looking for something or someone called Pandora."

  "Did he say anything about Atlantis?"

  "No." Denk picked more at his teeth. "Something about a guest they had with them and needing some help getting to the bridge. Tesla bridge, I'd imagine."

  Grubbs looked down at the deck, wondering who the guest would be and what that guest might know about Thorne & Wolfe. The only reason Landry would high tail it from the contract signing would be that he found something to use against the corporation, maybe something huge. Such information would be valuable to T&W, and if it meant a balance of power shift, maybe Landry Holdings had a place for a young entrepreneur. Grubbs nodded and frowned, craning his head to look up at the henchman. "If they get to the Network, we'll lose them."

  Denk discarded the toothpick with a flick of his gloved fingers and pushed off from the wall, rising to his full six-three. "Yup."

  Grubbs leaned in and spoke so the New Frontier's officers didn't hear them above the airship's motors. "I'll need an accident, something to delay them until I get more answers for the bosses."

  Denk nodded. "Leave that to me and my squad, Mr. Grubbs. We'll take care of 'em."

  Grubbs nodded as he turned back toward the bridge's wide series of windows. One of the bridge crew had opened a pane and was hoisting a landing marker flag on a cable that ran up the side of the ship's balloon. "No deaths, ok? I want to know what he's doing and —"

  But when Grubbs turned around, Frederick Denk had already ducked out.

  ~~~~~~~

  The meeting place where Bryce and Lucien brought Alice was a small haberdashery owned by a friend of Wilco Rink. The store was closed, but Wilco had a key, and made quick work to set up the back room of the place so they could meet in private without drawing attention, and find Alice some clothes. The back room was used primarily for storage. Crates and boxes served as a makeshift table and chairs. A small cooking hearth nearby contained a freshly-stoked crackling fire that filled the room with flickering yellow light and the smell of burning wood and lamp oil. Wilco had set a teapot over the flame. Open boxes of buttons, ribbons and various bits and pieces of sewing equipment cluttered the room.

  Wilco sat on the surface of a roll-top desk, his little porcine eyes studying Bryce carefully as the Captain paced the three steps he could within the cramped room. Lucien's attention was on an adjoining door to a bathroom where Pandora had taken Alice to get dressed.

  The dwarf spoke after counting fifty footfalls from Bryce. "Nervous, are ya, Cap'n?"

  Bryce stopped and studied the old man. "Just curious is all."

  "About where she come from?"

  "Wouldn't you be? Especially after hearin' her story?"

  Wilco shrugged and produced a long-stemmed pipe from inside his leather jacket. Bryce watched as he fiddled with a drawstring pouch filled with tobacco that smelled of sweet cherries.

  Lucien, who caught the smell, raised his eyebrows and re-lit his own pipe with a glance toward the diminutive pilot. The group had already made brief introductions, and Bryce recounted the story about how Alice was found nameless and clothesless atop the Center of World Trade in New Yorke.

  "I would be, yeah," Wilco muttered through his whiskers before blowing a perfect smoke ring that framed Lucien's round face.

  Lucien ignored the smoke, blowing out a puff of his own. "I have maintained from the start that she's a witch," he quietly blustered, raising his eyebrows to Bryce in brief, albeit mock, defiance.

  Bryce looked to Wilco and raised an eyebrow, then tilted his head slightly in a silent signal to the little man. While studying him, Bryce said to Lucien, "Well, we can end that mystery right now." He winked at Wilco. "Can't we, good sir?"

  Lucien looked from Wilco to Bryce, "Why whatever do you mean? How—?"

  "Wilco here is a registered Witchteller."

  "A Witch—"

  "—Teller, yes." The old man nodded to Bryce before hopping off the desk and digging into a back pocket.

  Witchtellers were typically employed by corporations buying their protection from witches and ghouls by paying exorbitant sums of money to individuals registered as certified Witchtellers, individuals with a built-in talent for sniffing out those with mystical powers and abilities. It's been said that a Witchteller actually sees the mystical aura of a witch and can spot them miles away. Others say it's a cleverly angled scam built from tales more than a decade old, that Witchtellers, like the trial judges of the original colonies, simply made declarations of witchcraft by hearsay and political whim.

  Bryce had known Wilco and Pandora for years. He knew that Wilco was nothing more than a first rate scam artist and pickpocket, and that the man held cleverly forged documents 'proving' his status with the WAC (The Witchtellers Association of the Confederacy).

  Opening a thick billfold he'd plucked from a back pocket, Wilco produced a wrinkled and folded piece of paper and opened it before holding it out to Lucien. Lucien examined the document, his eyes wide. To Bryce he said, "My God, man!"

  "Tell 'im, Wilco," Bryce winked.

  Taking back the certificate and folding it into his wallet as he chewed his pipe stem, Wilco simply blurted, "She ain't a witch."

  Lucien glanced between the Captain and the Witchteller. "What? Are you sure? But how can you be?" he blustered.

  "She ain't a witch," Wilco repeated with a shrug, resuming his perch on the desk and puffing his pipe.

  Lucien clapped his hand on his knee and sighed through a chuckle. "Well. That settles that, then."

  Bryce turned and rolled his eyes. It humored him how easily it was to bait and string his father's butler, and the little bits of magic Pandora used to incessantly tease Lucien were a constant source of amusement. All the years they'd known the girl, and Lucien was completely oblivious to her nature.

  The valet continued, "Bryce, my boy, if Alice isn't a witch, what was she doing outside the Thorne & Wolfe offices? And where did she come from?"

  Bryce sighed and finally sat on a crate. "Welcome to a conversation from earlier this afternoon, Lucien. It's nice that you could join us."

  Wilco chuckled and coughed through a puff of smoke.

  ~~~~~~~

  "This will do," Pandora smiled, and tossed a pair of breeches to Alice. "This too." She found a gusseted shirt, shoes, linens, and a vest.

  Alice didn't catch everything thrown at her since she was still holding Bryce's coat closed around her with one hand. With the other, she tried catching the items and laying them out to see how they'd fit. When Pandora turned and saw what she was doing, she giggled.

  "What's so funny?"

  When the girl stopped giggling, she said, "You're not gonna be able to put anything on over that soldier's smock coat."

  Alice frowned and looked down at the coat.

  "Probably don't wanna drop it, huh? It probably smells all like him, all musky and manly and stuff." She wrinkled up her nose as if finding the thought distasteful, though she was obviously teasing along a line Alice hadn’t considered.

  Alice stared at Pandora for a moment before huffing and stepping into the linens. The coat was long and she had difficulty getting them up past her thighs.

  Pandora sighed and said, "Oh, you're kiddin' me."

  "What?" Alice blurted impatiently.

  "You're puttin' 'em on backwards."

  "I—"

  "Here." Pandora stepped up to the taller woman and grabbed the coat by the collar, half-spinning Alice as she wrestled it off. Alice only wrestled to keep it on.

  "What are you doing?"

  The teenage pilot laughed as she wrestled with Alice, finally getting the coat down her back, but Alice's elbows locked and wouldn't let the coat come off. She bent over, pushing Pandora away with her hind end while she fought to hold on to the coat.

  "Relax," Pandora laughed harder. "I'm tryin' to help you. I'm a girl too, ya know. Ya ain't got nothin' I ain't seen."

  "No," Alice complained, though
she was starting to laugh a bit herself at the ridiculousness of the situation.

  Then Pandora released her hold on the coat and stepped back. "Fine. Have it your way."

  Alice looked around the cramped wood-planked bathroom. There was no mirror over the nearby sink, so she couldn't see herself. The bathtub was tall and had claw feet. The toilet was shaped like a box and smelled strongly of bleach. Sighing, she stood up and frowned. "All right, all right, but you have to leave."

  Pandora crossed her arms and slowly shook her head, a playful smirk on her face. "Na-ah. I'm stayin' right here to make sure you don't drown yourself."

  Alice smiled and glanced at the rusty bowl of the sink, then the toilet. "Why would I do that?"

  The kid shrugged. "I dunno. Why would you be layin' around naked on a skyway promenade?"

  That was the question of the day, and of course Alice didn't have an answer. Everything was flowing according to an unforeseen plan, whether she was some kind of planted spy or the victim of some other bizarre set of circumstances, she was a stranger in a strange land, forced to conform as best she could until those answers came to her. Frowning, Alice admitted, "Fair enough, but can you at least turn around?"

  Pandora sighed and turned. She listened to the rustling of clothes as Alice began to get dressed.

  "This is crazy," Alice said. "None of this seems real. I just don't understand how I could lose my memory, wind up where I did with no clothes, and now not have any idea what any of this is. I keep hoping I'll remember... something."

  All witches have a physical tell in order to activate a spell or concoct a potion from simple items. For seventeen-year-old Pandora, her tell was crossing the fingers on her left hand. She did it when she made Lucien sneeze, and she did it again now, as she reached back to pull her braid over her shoulder, to open an eye that appeared in the back of her neck.

  ~~~~~~~

  Perek Grubbs approached the group of guards at the Market Landing platform after stepping out of the Kite he piloted out of the SS New Frontier. He was alone, still dressed in a common shirt and trousers, rumpled jacket and riding cap.

  Grubbs waved at the Corporal as the guard approached, rifle slung over his shoulder. The other guards remained by the check-in desk, watching with only passing curiosity. "Good evening!" Grubbs shouted above the hissing rain on the enormous canvas awning overhead. His smile was as fake as it was wide.

  "Evening, sir," the Corporal smiled, "Welcome to Market Landing." He looked over Grubbs' shoulder to the Kite and noted the SS New Frontier on the aileron. He wrote down the information on his clipboard.

  "I'm looking for someone. May have come through here within the last couple hours or so."

  The Corporal shrugged as he dotted the i on his clipboard. "We don't give out that information, sir. If you'll come with me to the desk?"

  Grubbs nodded. "Yeah, sure. He's one of you, a Confed. Name o' Bryce Landry. He's a Captain with an Overwatch unit."

  The Corporal chuckled to himself, but said nothing.

  "Something funny there, Corporal?"

  They arrived at the desk. One of the guards brought out the red glowing Ident reader. Grubbs waved it off as if declining dessert.

  "I need to scan your Ident, sir," the guard said.

  "I don't have an Ident."

  All four men stopped and looked at each other, then to Grubbs. The Corporal looked back at the Kite moored in the rain. He said, "You came in on a corporate merchant vessel, sir. If you don't have an Ident, the vehicle was stolen."

  Grubbs shrugged. "There's another possibility you haven't considered," and reached into an inner jacket pocket.

  The guards snapped into action, unslinging rifles and cocking them as they brought them to bear on Grubbs' face. The weapons released tinny whines in an electric chorus as they heated up. The Corporal stepped back and pointed at the hand tucked into Grubbs' jacket. "Sir?"

  Moving slowly, Grubbs pulled out a wallet. "I'm just going to show you my identification," he said with a greasy smirk. "Nice rifles there, boys. What are they? 57 Cal TW Springfields, I'd gather, with forced breech clockwork arming mechanisms." Grubbs handed the wallet to the Corporal. "Who do you think manufactured them fancy toys o' yours?" Grubbs smiled to himself, amazed at how easily he could slide into a drawl when it suited his purpose. He'd done many things for his masters at Thorne & Wolfe, and discovered in his travels that if you act like the Romans, the Romans will allow you into their fort.

  The Corporal relaxed, but the others maintained their aim. He took the wallet and opened it to the I.D. window. To the guards the Corporal read, "Grubbs, Perek J., Licensed Acquisition Officer for Thorne & Wolfe, Imperial United States, New Yorke."

  "Incorporated," Grubbs smirked.

  Acquisition Officers acted on behalf of corporations to seize buildings, properties and assets on both sides of the border and overseas. Depending on the size and level of the company employing them, Acquisition Officers could carry as much, or more, authority as someone with a Corporate Ident. They served as ambassadors and judges, and in many cases were the catalysts behind everything from takeovers to bloody riots. Thorne & Wolfe was one of the top three corporations in the Empire. It was within Gubbs' power to declare an annexation on the Market Landing, any vehicle here, or Philadelphia as a whole. Naturally, the bigger the buy the more messy the red tape and potential for a riot or Corporate War to breakout. Grubbs wasn't authorized to push any buttons on this particular mission, but the ignorant Confederate guards in Philly didn't know that.

  Grubbs looked the soldiers over, curled a lip at their uniforms. He felt the tables turning in his favor, so he dropped the drawl. "And I would remind you gentlemen that you're in Imperial territory, even though Philadelphia is managed by the Confederation... For now."

  The soldiers immediately lowered their weapons as Grubbs took back his wallet and tucked it into a pocket.

  "Now," he grinned to the Corporal. "I would like that information I mentioned. I would also like a side arm and ammunition.... Unless you boys want to transfer so far south you're seeing polar bears."

  Perek Grubbs allowed his smile to widen as he pondered his next move. Mr. Thorne wanted to know what Bryce Landry was up to. Armed with the new information that the Captain was meeting with a known rebel saboteur, and whatever the guard tells him about this "mystery guest," Grubbs knew he could do one better. He could arrest Bryce Landry and bring him back to New Yorke for questioning. Thorne would get all the answers he needed that way, and I, Grubbs mused, would move up the food chain. There was a nice penthouse overlooking the skylanes near Central Park. That had a nice ring to it.

  And he really didn’t care who he stabbed, shot or purchased to hear that ring.

  CHAPTER 7, “Connecting the Dots”

  When I finished dressing, I smoothed out the vest and puffy sleeves and turned to face Pandora. "Well? How do I look? Isn't this what pirates wore—or wear, I suppose?"

  The girl turned slowly, her leather jacket creaking, and looked at me with an expression I didn't expect. Sure, I probably looked grossly out of place, even dressed in the fashion of this time and place, but Pandora's eyes grew wide and studied me the way someone might stare agape at a lion at the zoo, realizing the cage door stood wide open between them.

  "What's wrong? Still backwards?" I looked down at the dark blue trousers and frowned. The buttons lined the front, and the pants were a little baggy, but otherwise I was clothed. I pulled my hair back and tied it with a ribbon I found in a box of string and ribbons on a shelf nearby.

  Pandora shook her head slightly. "Do... Do ya feel... okay? I mean... Does your back hurt or do ya feel anything... weird? You sick?"

  I frowned. The childish behavior from moments ago was gone. Pandora's face seemed aged somehow, worn and experienced beyond her apparent teenaged years. I slowly shook my head and offered a smile. "I'm ...fine. I mean... apart from still not knowing who I am, or where I—." I shook my head. Then something she said clicked and made me bl
ink. "My back? Why?"

  The girl took a tentative step toward me as though suddenly afraid I'd run. She chewed her lower lip as if considering something dreadful. Shaking her head slightly, she said, "I think we should get back. Let Bryce take a look at ya." Her smile was terse before she turned for the door.

  "Wait." I reached out without touching her to stop her from leaving, sidestepping to block the door. "What's wrong? Why did you say that about my back?"

  "You're fine," she blurted, and quickly pushed past me and out into the back room where Bryce and the others waited.

  I grabbed Bryce's gray coat and followed her. I nearly tripped on the oversized shoes she'd given me, cursing silently to myself.

  I was certain Bryce and the others would laugh at me as soon as they saw me, but instead I was met by more peculiar reactions as I stood with Bryce's coat folded over my arm.

  The little man, Wilco, barely looked up from his pipe as Pandora hopped up on the desk to sit next to him. She whispered into his ear causing him to glance warily in my direction with a slight cough of what may have been surprise.

  Lucien looked at me with a broad smile. He gave me a quick look up and down and touched the brim of his bowler in a respectful salute. "A proper dress would have been nicer, but... yes, I suppose it will suffice. Rustic, but most genteel on you, err Alice." This was the same man who tried to kill me only an hour ago.

  Bryce stared, his mouth slightly open, his eyes lingering on my face. "Alice, my dear lady," he said, "You look lovely."

  Everyone in the room turned their attention to the Captain, all of them matching my own expression at Bryce's apparent poor vision. Pandora was the one who vocalized their faces.

  "You're nuts. She looks like a dogsbody! I should know. I found the clothes."

  I frowned at her. "Dogsbody?"

  "An old term for a valet's valet," Lucien huffed, casting a spurious glance to Pandora, “A lower officer in the Royal Navy who does the drudgery of higher officers.”