The Golden Owl (Clockwork Calico Book 1)

by Lana Axe

  “Morning, Florence,” Lionel said. “You want some breakfast?”

  “Actually,” she said, producing a small bundle from her basket. “I brought these.”

  Wrapped in brown paper, Cali recognized immediately what was inside the bag. Pastries! Florence opened the parcel, confirming what Cali already knew. A half-dozen assorted pastries awaited inside, some filled with red jelly, some with creamed sugar. Cali loved the cream-filled pastries best of all. Twirling her tail around Florence’s legs, she hoped to be given a bite.

  Florence did not disappoint. Pinching off a portion of the pastry, she dipped it in the cream before passing it to Cali. Purring with delight, Cali lay on the floor, licking at her prize. It was the perfect dessert to complement the breakfast she’d already eaten.

  Lionel chose one filled with jelly and took a few bites. “Mmm,” he said as he chewed. “I’ll get you some tea.” He hurried into the kitchen area, where a pot of water was piping hot on the stove, a soft whistle alerting him to its readiness. Returning with two cups of tea, he sat down at the table.

  Florence did likewise, nibbling on a bit of pastry and sipping at her tea. “How was the exhibition?” she asked.

  “Oh, it was marvelous,” Lionel replied, wiping the jelly away from his mouth and licking his fingers. “Cali was spectacular. The crowd loved her.”

  Smiling, Florence replied, “I wish I could have been there.”

  “I’ll tell you who I wish hadn’t been there,” Lionel said. “Jamison Morcroft.”

  Shaking her head, she asked, “Why was he there?”

  “Stalking me, I suppose,” he replied with a shrug. “He came to all three shows. Looked Cali up and down and sideways,” he added. “Mark my words, he’ll try to replicate my invention.” The tinker’s eyes sparkled, and he giggled quietly. “He won’t succeed.”

  Pursing her lips, Florence replied, “He doesn’t have the soft touch for such work.”

  “That’s exactly right,” Lionel agreed. “And he doesn’t have the patience. Cali’s enhancements were delicate work. I pity any poor creature Morcroft experiments with.”

  “Maybe the Guilds will keep him in check,” Florence offered.

  “Pfft,” Lionel replied, waving his hand. “They’ll let him do as he pleases. Heck, they may not know that he’s up to anything. But I’ll keep an eye out. I won’t have him harming any animals. If I can do anything to stop him, I will.”

  “Just be careful,” she cautioned. “Morcroft is a dangerous man. I think he’d do more harm to a person than an animal.”

  “You might be right about that,” he replied. “Still, I’m going to let the police know to keep a close eye on Morcroft’s workshop.” The police were not run by the Guilds, but they often backed down where Guild members were involved. And some of them could be bribed to look the other way. Still, there were many officers Lionel trusted. They were a good lot who tried to do right by the law in spite of the Guilds.

  Finishing her pastry, Florence wiped her hands and dabbed a handkerchief to the corners of her mouth. “The boiler’s gone out on the conveyor again. I had to move Adelaide off it. I know it’s her fault, but I thought she’d learned her lesson last time.”

  “I can fix it this morning,” Lionel said. With a grin, he added, “Just don’t let Adelaide near it afterward.”

  “You have my word on that,” Florence said, laughing. Taking a final drink of her tea, she stood and brushed at her long yellow skirt. “I guess I better get over there,” she said. She gave Lionel a kiss on the cheek before turning toward the door.

  Her brother shuffled along behind her, opening the door and bidding her good day. As she left, he spotted the daily newspaper waiting on his doorstep. “Hoo hoo!” he called as he saw the front page. Bringing the paper inside, he said, “Look here, Cali! We made the front page.”

  Cali didn’t move closer, instead adjusting her mechanical eye to see it from a distance. There she was, photographed in black-and-white, proudly seated on her pedestal. Pictured next to her were two less-interesting inventions: a steam-powered engine for a horseless carriage, and a contraption made of magnets that supposedly heated food. They were nothing compared to Cali. Her only regret was the lack of color in the photo.

  “Exhibition Center’s finest inventions,” Lionel read aloud. “You made the list, Cali.” Setting the paper aside, he said, “I better get over to the factory before the shift starts. I don’t want them getting behind.” He disappeared into the washroom to make himself presentable. After donning a fresh set of clothes, he put on his hat and headed for the door. “I almost forgot,” he said. Trotting back to the kitchen, he retrieved a small tin. “Dried fish,” he said, placing the tin on Cali’s windowsill. “Now don’t eat it all at once,” he told her. “Save a bit for later. I might be a while fixing that machine.” He stroked Cali’s fur and scratched under her chin before taking his leave.

  With a full belly and ego, Cali plopped herself in the sun puddle spilling over her cushion. The warmth overwhelmed her, and her eyelids grew heavy. Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

  * * * * *

  “That should do it,” Lionel said as he tightened the last bolt. It had taken nearly three hours of work, but the boiler was working once again, and production could continue.

  “That’s wonderful news,” Florence said. She handed him a few coins and two paper bills for his work.

  “That’s too much,” he said. When it came to his sister, Lionel had a tendency to undervalue his work.

  “It’s the same as I’d pay any other engineer,” she replied. There would be no argument, nor would he try to give back the money. She’d paid a fair wage, and he would accept it, like it or not.

  Tucking the money into his pocket, he said, “Thanks, Florence. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “You know I will,” she said with a smile. In a swirl of her skirt, she headed out onto the production floor.

  Lionel cleared away his tools, tucking them neatly into a leather holder. One wrench hadn’t been cared for properly and had nearly rusted through. He found out the hard way when he tried to use it and it snapped neatly in half. It was time to find a replacement. There were a few other supplies he needed for his workshop, so he decided to make the trip across town to his favorite smithy. An old friend of his ran the forge and made some of the finest tools Lionel owned. He always gave a fair deal and a fine product, far better than items produced in a factory.

  A light drizzle of rain fell from the sky as Lionel stepped out onto the sidewalk. The cobblestones glistened with wetness, the city’s guttering systems doing a decent job of draining most of the puddles. Never one to remember an umbrella, he pushed his hat down on his head and proceeded despite the rain.

  Three blocks away he checked for a carriage, but there were none to be found. The rain wasn’t letting up, and he was quickly becoming chilled. One more block and he knew of an alleyway that would serve as a fine shortcut. Overhangs on the buildings on either side would block most of the rain and give him a chance to warm up.

  The streets were empty as he crossed, the sky growing ever darker. He proceeded down the alleyway, happy to be out of the rain. A door opened behind him, but he took no notice. The only sounds he heard were his own footsteps and the rain pelting the roofs above him. Catching him unaware, a set of hands reached out for him, and a burlap sack was forced over his head. Lionel struggled and kicked, but the hands were far too strong.

  Lionel began to shout, “Let me go!”

  “Quiet,” a voice grumbled.

  Lionel shouted again, earning him a blow to the stomach. He doubled over, the breath escaping his lungs. A second set of hands grasped his feet, the first not letting go of his arms. Together the thugs strung him between them, carrying him off to places unknown.

  No matter how hard Lionel tried to keep his bearings, he lost track as they moved along the alleyways. Twice they flipped him upside down, laughing at his predicament. He kicked and sq
uirmed, but it was no use. It only resulted in tiring him and angering his captors. Several minutes passed, and he knew they’d gone at least five blocks. They turned again, circling, he suspected, to throw him off-guard. It didn’t matter. Lionel had no idea where they were.

  Finally, a heavy door opened, its metallic joints creaking from the effort. Lionel was plopped onto a chair, the sack still covering his head. The two men made short work of tying him to the chair, the thick ropes squeezing his chest and arms. His feet were also bound, preventing him from running away. One man finally lifted the sack slightly to place an oily-smelling gag in Lionel’s mouth. Crying out was no longer an option, not that it had done him any good. It had already earned him a beating, and he wasn’t about to ask for another.

  The two strong men walked heavily away from him, their footsteps disappearing with the clang of a door. Lionel was alone. Behind him somewhere he heard the whirring of machines. They puffed and vibrated, but he smelled no burning fuel. For all he knew, they were in the next room. It was impossible to tell what the machines were for or which building he’d been brought to.

  A clock ticked somewhere to his left, but he couldn’t be sure of the time. It was less than an hour since he’d left the factory, of that he was sure. No one would miss him yet, and that meant no one was coming to help.

  His mind turned to his beloved Cali, and how she might worry that he was so long away. She was a good cat, and he didn’t want any harm to come to her. Someone might have kidnapped him in order to get to her. His worst fear was that someone might try to take her apart in an effort to duplicate the technology. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He tried to convince himself that this situation had nothing to do with her. Florence would look after Cali, and she would be fine. It was that thought alone that kept him from panicking.

  Minute after minute, Lionel listened to the ticking of the clock. He began to count the ticks, attempting to keep track of how long he’d been tied up. Not that it mattered. Whoever had done this had a plan, and he had no choice but to sit and wait until someone cared to share it with him.

  After twenty minutes to Lionel’s count, a different door opened. This one was not nearly as heavy when it closed again. Footsteps tapped along the hardwood floor, a third tap the sound of a gentleman’s cane. Lionel knew whoever it was, he was no gentleman.

  “Lionel Cogg,” a voice said, followed by a deep, throaty laugh.

  Fingers lifted the burlap sack, removing it from Lionel’s head. At last Lionel could see who was responsible for his mistreatment. Jamison Morcroft stood before him.

  Cali napped away the morning. When she finally awoke, the sun had disappeared, leaving her cushion in the shadows. The smell of dried fish flakes on her windowsill set her stomach to rumbling, and she helped herself to a few mouthfuls. Licking her paws clean, she looked out the window. The clouds had gathered while she slept, dousing Ticswyk with rain. She was glad to be indoors.

  Hopping from her perch, she padded toward the kitchen. Lapping up some water from her dish, she contemplated what to do next. Lionel was still away. His scent lingered in the apartment, but it was not fresh. She searched the apartment for her favorite ball of yarn, finding it tucked away behind Lionel’s chair. She batted it for several minutes before losing interest and returning to her window.

  An hour passed and then another as she observed the world from her perch. Carriages and horses trotted along the cobblestone road, and a few citizens hurried along, hidden beneath their umbrellas. Two pigeons sat across from her on a neighboring roof, their feathers masterfully shedding the rain. She wondered what they might be talking about for so long before they finally flew away. Sleep overcame her once again.

  It was dark before Cali awoke, her stomach reminding her that she’d missed her dinner. The apartment was dark, but Cali’s keen eyes needed no light. She moved expertly through the apartment, wondering if Lionel had returned. Still her nose could not track him. He hadn’t yet returned home.

  There were many possibilities that could keep Lionel away. He might have needed special parts for the machine he was working on, or he was needed for some other task around the factory. He could have been called away on urgent business, or he was invited to dine somewhere. None of those, however, would have kept him from his duty to feed Cali. The tin of fish was empty. It hadn’t been enough to last all day.

  He was diligent and methodical, always returning home at a reasonable hour. The height of the moon let Cali know it was late, far later than her friend would normally stay out. I suppose I shouldn’t worry, she said to herself. After all, Lionel was a responsible adult, even if he didn’t have her superior feline qualities. He could look after himself.

  Cali could look after herself as well. She was hungry, and there was likely a mouse or two in the factory next door. Through a small flap in the apartment’s rear door, Cali let herself out. This door did not lead into the street. It led straight onto the factory floor, where a cat could tend to her duties as mouser.

  Inside the factory was dark except for a few gas lamps which hung from the ceiling. With no light at all, the factory’s security system would not work. It was one of Lionel’s designs, though several such contraptions had been invented in recent years. It was a set of six egg-shaped brass fixtures with lenses attached. They were orange in color and worked similarly to Cali’s mechanical eye. They were programmed to detect human shapes moving through the factory. Anyone walking through here while the system was armed would set off alarm bells that could be heard for several blocks. Cali’s ears were grateful that her feline form would not trigger the alarm.

  She had heard tales of other security systems, some far more sophisticated than Lionel’s design. His served its purpose, though. Theft at a gas lamp factory was rare since it offered little worth taking. Florence kept the strongbox in a hefty safe right underneath one of the orange-eyed fixtures. It would take ten men to carry the safe away and a load of dynamite to blast the door. No doubt, the money was quite safe. Other than that, only a few strands of precious metal could be found, and a person would have to know an awful lot about the construction of lamps to find it. By screening her workers carefully, Florence avoided the possibility of someone sharing that knowledge.

  Scanning the perimeter with her eye, Cali checked for any sign of movement near the floor. There was no kitchen or cabinets full of food, so rodents had a better chance of finding a bite to eat on the ground. The workers often snacked while they worked, as most were unwilling to halt production for a lunch break. Florence didn’t mind, and she was quite happy to pay them for the extra time worked.

  Cali appreciated it too. Whenever she visited in the daytime, the ladies would share whatever they were eating. If not for them, Cali would have missed out on a world of flavors. Peanut butter, powdered cheese, and brioche were among her favorite forbidden snacks. Lionel would never feed her such things. He considered them junk. But the factory ladies were all too happy to treat her.

  Occasionally, Cali would choose a lap to sit in, making it impossible for the chosen worker to complete her work. Temporarily relieved of her duties, the worker would stroke Cali’s tricolored coat and listen to her soft purr. That was until Florence came to see why production had come to a halt. Then she would shoo Cali away, insisting she return to the apartment. Florence was all business at the factory, but she was kind enough when not at work.

  On silent paws, Cali crossed the factory floor. Rows of workbenches stood idle, wiped clean after a day’s work. Her eye scanned beneath them, searching for anything that might whet a mouse’s appetite. Nothing. The area had been swept—not a speck of dust remained behind.

  Moving along, she passed the conveyor belts and made her way to the boiler where Lionel had been working that day. It still held his scent, and she wondered if he had returned home since she had gone out. A high-pitched squeak sounded from the shadows, her ears standing at attention. Swiveling them right and left, she homed in on the source. Slowly she turned to
face her prey, a blue-gray mouse approximately twenty yards away.

  There was little cover for stealth in this area, so Cali skirted along the boiler and crept between rows of tables, hiding herself behind their wooden legs. The mouse was oblivious. He sat near a chair in the glass polishing area, holding a small crumb in his paws. His teeth worked at the treat, his nose and whiskers twitching.

  Cali’s stomach rumbled, and she stopped in her tracks for fear the mouse might hear it. She was soon moving again, her mouth watering in anticipation. Closing in on her prey, she lowered her posture, her tail jutting straight behind her. With a wiggle of her haunches, she activated the implants in her back legs. Armed with the strength of three cats, she leapt. Flying a little higher than she had planned, she gave the mouse time to see her. He turned and ran. The chase was on.

  Dashing through the factory, hot on the mouse’s heels, Cali could almost taste him. Manipulating her implants, she adjusted her stride to that of her prey, ensuring she would not overrun him again. The mouse was hers. His tiny legs carried him surprisingly fast, his will to live strong. In an unsuspected twist, the mouse stopped dead in his tracks, sending Cali flying past him. As she spun around to continue the chase, he darted beneath Florence’s desk.

  “You’re trapped now,” Cali called to him. “Come out and I’ll make this quick.” Swiping her enhanced claws beneath the desk, she pulled out a large wad of dust and fuzz. Tossing it aside, she swiped with her long tail, its brass implant scraping against the wood. When she felt nothing, she peered beneath the desk, her pupil widening in surprise. The mouse was gone! Yowling in anger, she checked again, this time with her mechanical eye. A faint trail of heat left behind by the panicked mouse led inside the desk. A small hole had been chewed through the bottom, leading inside a drawer.