Legacy of the Clockwork Key

by Kristin Bailey

  Lucinda chuckled then smiled as if she knew a secret. I didn’t like that look. I felt as if she were playing some sort of game but I didn’t know the rules. It left me with only one option: keep quiet.

  “Come, Meg. Let’s collect our things. It seems we’re going for a ride.” Lucinda gathered her skirts.

  “I thought you wished to be left alone,” I said, following her up the stairs.

  “That was before I witnessed part of Simon come alive again. Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome.” If the Amusementists were family, I hoped she could consider me one. I would have loved to have had a sister.

  • • •

  We met Will outside behind the mews, where he’d hitched a light two-wheeled calash to a pretty little chestnut mare. She tossed her head and fidgeted as if she wanted to dance.

  Lucinda stroked the horse’s nose. “You ready to run, girl?”

  I gingerly held the raven as I hunched my shoulder to keep the satchel from falling off my arm. It contained Simon’s book, and a bit of cheese and bread. The raven vibrated with its wings outstretched, waiting. “Where should we let it go?”

  “Here’s as good a place as any,” Will suggested, pointing down the long narrow alley. He collapsed the top of the carriage, folding it back behind the seat. “It’s probably going to fly straight into a wall.”

  “Have some faith in my husband.” Lucinda took the raven and wound it until the crank couldn’t turn any more. It let out another caw. She placed it on the ground, adjusted her own feathered bonnet, and then pressed the button on the bird’s back.

  The crank sank back down into the body of the raven as Lucinda and I climbed in the carriage and Will jumped into the driver’s seat.

  The raven’s wings jerked once, twice, then the pinwheels began to spin. The pinwheels gained speed and, with a caw, the bird raced down the alley then rose swiftly into the air.

  “After it!” I shouted, taken with the excitement of the moment as Will urged the mare into a quick trot. We flew out of the alley and turned down Bond Street. Will snapped the reins and we charged into a run.

  The raven kept climbing, sunlight glinting off its gears.

  “It’s turning to the west,” Lucinda cried, clinging to her bonnet.

  We raced up Bond Street and turned left on Oxford. Will expertly weaved through the street, leaving angry curses from fellow drivers hanging in the air as we passed. The clatter of hooves and wheels drummed out all other noise as we chased the raven along the north end of Hyde Park.

  The tree branches blurred as I watched the raven gliding through the sky. Lucinda laughed as we surged forward again, Will pushing the mare into another swift canter.

  “Hold on!” I clung to the seat as we swerved to avoid a cab crossing in front of us. The carriage leaned, and I fell against Lucinda.

  “It’s turning to the north!” Lucinda gripped my arm. Will turned to the right so suddenly, it threw me to the side of the carriage.

  We chased the bird through Paddington, but it continued veering north, forcing us off the main roads as we headed into the countryside.

  The wide avenues of London degraded to rutted paths and farm roads as we careened down the hills toward the creeks of Cricklewood.

  The bird descended, and I nearly lost it in the trees. Spring rain had swollen the creeks, turning the country lanes into a muddy trap.

  Will slowed the mare to a trot, but the enthusiastic chestnut pulled the cart with endless vigor, bouncing us along farm roads.

  “I see it over there.” Lucinda pointed over the edge of the carriage as a low-hanging branch whipped overhead. “It’s disappeared beyond that barn.”

  A small rise hid a sharp right turn. Will tried to keep the calash on the road, but the wheels of the carriage slipped. The whole contraption leaned precariously to the left. I tried to hold on and lean into Lucinda, but it did no good. The carriage continued to overturn.

  “Jump!” Will shouted. I leapt as hard as I could, but my skirt caught, twisting me before we splashed into a watery ditch to the side of the road. I struggled under the carriage, but couldn’t pull myself up. I could barely keep my mouth above the water. I tried to breathe but the muddy dreck filled my mouth.

  I tried to push my way out, but my hands sank into the soft mud of the ditch. I couldn’t lift my head. I panicked, afraid I’d taken my last breath.

  Strong hands grasped me under the arms and yanked. I choked as my head burst above the water, but my skirts were caught beneath the wreck.

  “Hold on,” Will urged as he kept my head up. I clung to his wet sleeve as he came around to the front of me and pulled. I kicked at the wreckage, struggling to get free. I felt my skirts ripping along the seam at my knee as Will pulled.

  Whatever I was caught on broke loose, and Will tumbled backward, pulling me on top of him. I felt the heat of his body through the cold water, even as he lifted me up so I could grab onto the roots overhanging the edge of the bank. I scrambled up the bank, with the long loop of the ripped hem of my skirt and petticoat slogging about my feet.

  “Are you harmed?” Will was beside me in a moment as I coughed and sputtered. “Were you crushed?”

  He gripped my exposed knee right where the ribbon from the bottom ruffle of my drawers tied. The wet cotton of my thin stockings clung to my skin, becoming transparent.

  My heart beat heavy in my chest as I stared at his hands clasped about my knee. They felt so warm and strong, and I could feel the firm pressure of his touch deep within me.

  His eyes met mine, and I could have sworn I became part of the puddle. “Does this hurt?” he asked. His voice deepened, yet sounded softer than I’d ever heard it.

  “No,” I answered, though I hardly made a sound. I couldn’t stop looking at his hands.

  They slid down my exposed stocking, smoothing over the leather of my boot. His thumb brushed over the long line of buttons closing the leather in a curving seam along the inside of my ankle. His large hands clasped around my foot. I became aware of how delicate and shapely my ankle looked wrapped in the sleek black leather and resting in the strength of his hands. My heart stopped and I couldn’t find my breath.

  “How about this?” His eyes burned into mine.

  I kicked out, overcome, unable to stand his touch any longer.

  “I’m fine.” In truth, I felt I was slowly dying, but I couldn’t tell him that. I pulled my feet closer to the ruined hem of the dress, feeling the loss of his touch. “Nothing is broken.” Even as I said it, I wasn’t sure if it was the truth. My feet were fine. The rest of me was in question. “Where’s Lucinda?”

  I turned around to see Lucinda pulling her mare up.

  Thank the dear Lord the creature was unharmed and Lucinda was well.

  The carriage lay on its side, half submerged in the mud of the ditch. “I suppose this means we’re walking,” I grumbled.

  Will shook his head in disbelief. “Can you stand?”

  I nodded as I got to my feet. “I can’t go very far with this dress, though.” I gritted my teeth and clenched the hem. Yanking on the seam, I pulled the rest of the tattered fabric off, shortening my skirt to just past my knees, then did the same for the soggy petticoat.

  “Thank heaven no one will see me like this,” I mused as I looked up. Will’s eyes were fixed on my shapely boots. He blinked and swallowed as if he had a lump in his throat.

  I felt hot so suddenly that I had to fight the urge to unbutton my collar.

  He looked away, turning his attention to the horse. “Is she sound?” he asked Lucinda, who had managed to escape the mess with a muddy skirt, but her crinoline as full, fashionable, and modest as ever.

  “She’s fine.” Lucinda handed the horse’s reins to Will, who immediately ran his hands down each of the mare’s legs just as he had mine. A tickle climbed up my back. “Meg, are you injured?” Lucinda called.

  I crossed the road. My hands were shaking, and I felt choked from the murky water. My dress cl
ung to my body, soaked through, but I was alive.

  “My skirt suffered the worst of it,” I answered.

  How was I supposed to walk knowing Will could see my feet? Hell, how was I supposed to walk when I could still feel his hand upon my knee?

  “I believe the raven landed near that barn. It isn’t far at all,” Lucinda said as I fell into step beside her. She smoothed a hand over her wildly mussed hair and pulled the wrecked bonnet from her head, then picked up the satchel containing the book and what little food we had hastily packed before leaving the toy shop. Thankfully, it was dry.

  “Lovely shoes,” she whispered in a conspiratorial manner. “Such a pity we have to hide them all the time, don’t you think?” In spite of the misery we found ourselves in, I laughed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE RAVEN HAD PERCHED ON A ROTTING THATCHED roof. As we drew closer, I realized the crumbling heap of stone it topped had been a sheep barn. Now it was hardly more than four rough piles of mortared rocks with molding sticks clinging to the top.

  The raven cawed over and over, a beacon of sound in the otherwise peaceful countryside.

  With my sopping dress still dripping on my shoes, I shivered as I passed into the shadow of the barn and turned the latch of the large arched door. Gaps had opened up between the weathered slats, but I couldn’t see anything through them.

  “Careful, that roof could come down any moment,” Will warned as we pushed the door open. A flock of sparrows took wing in a flurry of motion and noise. I recoiled, ducking my head, and they darted out of a hole in the roof with swift precision.

  “Look at that.” Will’s voice was filled with awe. I drew my gaze down the shaft of sunlight streaking through the open roof. Particles of dust glittered and swirled in the sun, then came to rest on the elegantly bowed heads of two metal horses.

  “Gracious,” I whispered. The sight drew me forward. The horses were just like the illustrations in the book, and yet to see them real before me took my breath away.

  Silver plates formed their bodies, making them look like armored horses from the days when knights jousted for a lady fair. Each line, each seam in the plates was a graceful work of art. Instead of legs, they stood on large wheels with woven spokes that looked like shining frost on perfect spiderwebs. Every detail, from the soft curl of brass that made their long eyelashes to their wire manes tied neatly into little knots along the crests of their necks, was exquisite.

  Behind them waited a coach that looked like something from the court of King Louis XIV, only each ornament was a small piston or gear so artfully created I had a hard time believing they were functional and not purely for the pleasure of the eye.

  Lucinda let out a girlish squeal. “I haven’t seen this since I was a child! Come.”

  She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to the coach. With complete abandon, she threw open the door and climbed in with no mind of her crinoline. The wide hoops of her skirt nearly tipped up in a very unladylike manner. We tumbled in, landing in a pool of damp skirts.

  The interior overwhelmed me, and I found I couldn’t speak, only gaze with amazement. A rich velvet bench lined the back of the coach. Along the front, a single velvet-topped stool perched before a variety of knobs, levers, and wheels beneath the large window. Between my muddy dress and my habit of unintentionally dismantling things, I didn’t want to touch anything.

  Will stepped up on the footboard. The whole thing shifted under his weight as he hung on to the frame and marveled at the interior. There was a wonder in his eyes I hadn’t seen since the key first opened in his hand. “How does a man make such a thing?”

  Lucinda beamed. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Never in my life could I have dreamed of this,” I admitted. “How does it work?”

  A thoughtful expression creased Lucinda’s brow. “We have to find the right tumbler. Open the doors to give us more light,” she ordered.

  Will jumped off the footboard and pulled open the barn doors. Sunlight streaked in, shining on the magnificent horses.

  “Meg, look.” Lucinda pointed to the flower medallion in the center of the levers and wheels. “You have the key.”

  I smiled as I lifted the key from around my neck. Lucinda slid the medallion to the side and I fitted the blossom in place. I pressed the button and the song filled the interior of the coach. Lucinda tried to hum along, but she was horridly discordant, and got lost only two phrases in. I knew how it should sound. I knew what to do as the panel opened just beneath the medallion.

  A piece of paper and a thick wheel that looked a bit like the tumbler in a music box fell out of the panel. Lucinda barely caught them as the song coming from my key stopped. I played the next phrase.

  A great crank emerged just beneath the window. It settled into place with a grinding noise and a single loud thunk.

  Lucinda unfolded the paper and began to read. The paper fluttered in her hand like a dry leaf in a hard autumn wind. She dropped the tumbler. “What is it?” I asked, moving closer to try to see over her shoulder.

  “It’s from Simon,” she whispered.

  Will returned and pulled himself into the coach even as Lucinda fell to a seat on the bench. She handed the letter to me, then pressed her unsteady hands in a steeple and touched them to her lips.

  “ ‘Dear Henry,’ ” I read, for Will’s sake.

  I looked to Lucinda. It was a letter to my grandfather? She nodded and circled her hand to indicate I should continue. I brought my gaze back to the letter, but my hand was trembling now too.

  “ ‘It is as you feared. So long as the heart of Rathford’s atrocity is intact, he can re-create the pieces we’ve made, and so destroying them is useless. We must undo the heart of the machine to truly render it powerless.

  “ ‘Someone must convince him to forsake this mad obsession for reason. The only advantage we have is the lock guarding the machine. We’ve sabotaged it to give us time until we can convince Rathford to abandon this folly and relinquish the heart. Charles and I have alerted the others. We were unable to reach the machine, but we’ve broken apart the pieces of the plate lock and hidden them within our Amusements. The only single man who could open them all is you. Rathford’s efforts will be futile until he sees reason and abandons his terrible ambitions.

  “ ‘You are the only one we all trust. The tumbler will lead you to my piece of the puzzle. Stay safe, for if you perish, we will have no chance to truly undo what has been done.

  “ ‘If you are reading this, I am likely no longer alive. I hope that you’re able to finally end this. Good luck. Please give Lucinda all my love. Keep her safe for me. —Simon.’ ”

  By the end of the letter I could hardly speak. Lucinda was biting her lip, her eyes shining.

  I looked at Will, not knowing what to do next. He lifted the tumbler from the floor and turned it over in his hands.

  Lucinda took a deep breath. She lifted her chin. “What do we do?”

  “Go forward,” I decided. “If your Simon gave his life to destroy this thing, we have to find a way to do it.”

  She nodded, her expression hardening with her resolve.

  “Will?” I waited for his protest. I could hear him in my mind. ’Tis dangerous. You’ll get yourself kilt. Perhaps the accent in my mind was a modest exaggeration.

  Will nodded as the muscle in his jaw tightened. “Let’s see where it leads.”

  I stood with my mouth agape.

  Finally I regained my composure. “Lucinda, can you work this thing?” My query broke her out of the shock from Pricket’s letter.

  “Yes, of course.” She took the tumbler from Will and fitted it into a half tube of brass, then lowered a metal arm so it nestled into a groove on one end. She reached out and struggled to turn the crank.

  Will stepped in and took over the job, winding the coach until a loud clicking echoed through the barn. He was so strong. I had to admit, it was a relief to have him with us.

  “Get the raven,” Lucinda or
dered. “And tie Daisy to the back.”

  Will and I climbed out as Lucinda spun two of the control wheels. The mechanical horses tossed their heads, their perfectly round onyx eyes shining as they blinked. They pushed their noses forward, and the wheels beneath them began to turn. I thought I might go behind to give them a push, but it wasn’t needed. They rolled forward with confidence. The sunlight reached through the fine sheen of dust and glimmered on their silver haunches as they exited the barn.

  After following the coach out, I unwound Daisy’s reins from the fence and walked her to the back. Will scaled the stone wall of the barn with catlike grace, scrambled over the rotting thatch, then plucked the now silent raven off the roof. Any moment he could fall through. I tied Daisy’s reins to the coach then winced as I watched him slip back down the thatch, jump on top of the wall, then down to the ground. Honestly, he was worried about my ankles?

  “What?” he asked as he passed me and stepped on the footboard with the raven tucked under his arm.

  Boys.

  I grabbed my skirt out of habit, then realized I didn’t need to lift it as I climbed in. Lucinda sat on the stool, her hands on the wheels. I fought the urge to start flipping levers and wheels just to see what they would do. Knowing me, I’d irrevocably jam the gears with my fiddling.

  “Where do we go?” I asked, focusing on the task at hand. Lucinda pushed a lever forward and the silver horses began to roll, turning northwest on the country lane.

  “I don’t know, but the coach does,” Lucinda said. “It was made for the Duke of Chadwick, who often found himself hopelessly lost because he had such a terrible memory for places. Part of the challenge was to create a conveyance that could remember where it had been. The tumbler is a recording of every turn the coach last made. When you turn it around, it retraces its steps.”

  “Remarkable,” Will muttered. “So the lever controls the speed?”

  Lucinda nodded. “Yes, and this wheel controls direction, but we won’t need that just yet. It really was brilliant.”

  “It is brilliant.” I felt a swelling in my chest, a strange sense of pride. The coach was more fantastic than anything I had ever believed to be real, yet it was real. My family was a part of it.