Quicksilver Soul

by Christine d'Abo

  “Apparently I am gifted.” Jones moved to the side and plucked the book from Emmet’s hands. “I’ve recovered far faster than most. Piper is the only other one to have responded this well in recent years. Hooray for me.”

  Emmet resisted the urge to cringe. The ability to recover quickly from having one’s memory wiped after an extraction was rare. It would mean Jones would be slated for more cases faster than the others, each one stretching the hole in his eidetic memory until it would eventually ruin him.

  The average archivists who survived their service typically went on to serve as Guild Masters, mentors to the apprentices. They would be assigned their students, shuffling the ones suited for memory extraction duties from those who would serve the guild in other roles. But men like Jones didn’t live long enough to claim such a post.

  “Are you well?” Emmet stood, knowing he wouldn’t get a truthful answer from his friend if they weren’t eye to eye. “I must admit, I’ve been worried.”

  Jones smiled. “Not really. Piper tried to explain it to me once, what it felt like after the memory wipe. She said it was as though her brain were itchy, as though she knew there was a wound and she wanted to pick at the spot but lacked the capacity to reach it.” He licked his lips and looked over Emmet’s shoulder. “But that’s not exactly right.”

  Emmet didn’t want to be fascinated by what Jones had to say. Still, he couldn’t deny his morbid curiosity about what the experience was like. Someday soon he’d know firsthand, but until then…

  “Do you remember when we were children and I’d burned my arm?” Jones reached out and touched his cloth-covered forearm. “Remember how the skin gave off heat and I said I could feel my heartbeat pulsing around the wound?”

  “Yes.” Emmet cleared his throat, hating how tight he sounded, that he couldn’t ease his friend’s burden. “You couldn’t bear to have anything near it, even the bandages the doctors made you wear.”

  “This is worse.”

  “Shit.” And Jones would be subjected to this over and over until he was left a shell of a man.

  So would he.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Before Emmet could say anything else a large metal casing fell to the floor several feet away from where they stood. The clang was so loud and unexpected that he jumped and Jones let out a less than manly scream.

  “What the bloody hell was that!” Jones scurried back several steps, his gaze locked on something above them. For a brief flash, he was his old self again.

  “That was the reason I’ve been stuck in this hole.” Emmet watched Nicola as she slid down the length of rope she’d used to go up and down to repair the fans over the past week.

  “I’d heard about her.” Jones relaxed and moved closer again. “Is she like they say?”

  “Frustratingly pigheaded? Yes.”

  “No, I meant attractive.” Jones cleared his throat and shot Emmet a shy smile. “I overheard some of the apprentices talking. They claim she’s quite lovely, though you know how boys can be. Though I see in this instance they are more than correct.”

  Nicola landed with a thud, unhooked the rope from the rigging she wore, and slipped from the harness. Her corset and form-fitting pants left nothing to the imagination, clinging to her firm thighs and thin waist. Emmet had done his best to ignore her more enticing feminine qualities, but with each passing day that had proven more difficult. Snapping his book shut, Emmet got to his feet and tossed it on the chair.

  “Lovely isn’t the term I’d use for her.” What else could he say about the woman who’d done little more than infuriate him for the past week? Any comment he’d make would put him on a path that would lead to problems. Best if he shoved away his baser attractions toward her until she was gone. Then he’d let those thoughts get him through his lonely nights.

  Emmet turned away from watching Nicola, and caught sight of Jones’ smirk. “What?”

  “Not a thing.” It was the first time Emmet had seen the sparkle return to his friend in ages.

  “That’s not the look of a man with nothing to say.” He crossed his arms and faced his friend. “Out with it, man.”

  Jones was full-out grinning now. “Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You look like a man with plenty to say. But for once in your life you seem to be keeping the comments to yourself.” Jones nodded toward Nicola as she made her approach, their gazes already having found each other. “Mind presenting me to our guest, Dennison?”

  Most women would abide by social convention and wait for Emmet to conduct the social niceties by providing an introduction. He should have known that Nicola wasn’t one of those women. Nudging Emmet aside, she held out her hand for Jones. “Hello there. Nicola Tesla, at your service.”

  “Alastair Jones, ma’am.” Bending over her hand, Jones kissed the back of it before smiling up at her. “A pleasure.”

  “My, my. I find it hard to believe that a gentleman such as yourself is friends with this cad.” Nicola patted Jones’ hand before he released her. “Though I suppose given your environment, you have few choices of friends.”

  “It’s a burden I’ve endured for years now.”

  Emmet wanted to be angry at Nicola for presuming to know the constructs of his friendships. If this exchange had taken place a year ago, Emmet would have flown off and put her in her place. But before his mouth caught up to the arrogant side of his brain, he noticed something. Nicola wasn’t treating Jones any different.

  She was treating him as a normal man. He knew she was aware of what the rings meant. She’d been here long enough, and had asked him more than a few pointed questions about the effects of the extractions, to appreciate their significance. But she didn’t seem to mind, allowing herself to flirt and chat with Jones the way she had with him. She was doing what Emmet should be naturally. Something he’d forgotten to do himself.

  Clearing his throat, he waited until Nicola turned to face him. “If you’re done attacking my character—”

  “For the time being.”

  Emmet growled. “How are your repairs going? Done? Ready to fly home? Tonight, you say? I shall fetch you an airship promptly.”

  Jones didn’t bother to hide his ever increasing grin. “Oh, he only gets like this when he’s really annoyed. Well done, Miss Tesla. I’ve only known a few others who’ve accomplished that task with the same degree of ease you’ve shown.”

  “Please, call me Nicola.”

  “Well, I’m Jones to all my friends around here. I’d be pleased to count you amongst them.”

  Nicola winked at Jones. “The honor is mine.”

  “Shall I leave you two alone?” Their playful flirting shouldn’t bother him the way that it was. He had no designs on her time, or reason to be seeking her affections. Jones was a good friend and the banter was harmless. Still, there was something that had gotten beneath his skin watching their back-and-forth, something Emmet wanted to dig out before it took root.

  When Jones shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder, Emmet’s relief was palpable. “No need, Dennison. I was only stretching my legs. I’d best return to my quarters for a rest. Nicola, it’s been a pleasure.” One quick kiss to her hand and he was gone.

  Emmet watched as Nicola’s gaze followed Jones’ departure. There wasn’t any desire or longing, a look he’d grown accustomed to seeing on his friend Piper as she’d watch Samuel. No, this was curiosity.

  “How long ago did he do the extraction?” He’d half expected her to have a clinical tone, that detached curiosity she’d mastered. It was a surprise to hear instead concern.

  “Nearly three weeks ago. He’s a natural.”

  She cringed. “Do you know when they’ll send him out again?”

  “No, but I imagine it won’t take them long to find another. People are always dying in this city.”

  She turned and took one of his hands in hers. Her fingers were grease-smudged and her nails discolored from dirt. Bu
t her skin was still soft and fit perfectly to his as she held on. Nicola looked into his eyes, causing his heart to stutter.

  “I know he’s your friend and I’m certain you’ve already noticed this, but your Jones is hurting quite desperately. And I need to assure you that I’m one of the least socially adept people of your acquaintance. If I’ve noticed—”

  “I know.” He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “I’ve been concerned. I did try to talk to him before, to let him know that I’m here for him, but he’s kept me at arm’s length. This was the first time I’ve seen him since your arrival.”

  “He’ll need you. Friends are better than family in that regard.”

  “How?”

  “Family cares because they must. Friends do because they choose so. That’s why the pain of losing a friend hurts as much as losing a family member.”

  Nicola stepped back, turning to grab her gear. It was obvious that someone had hurt her terribly in her life, and even more so that she had no desire to discuss it. They’d both spent too much time in the dark in recent days, and clearly it was taking a toll on their mood.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  She looked up at him, her harness draped over her shoulder as she adjusted her belt. “Where?”

  “You said you wanted to see New London, let me show you.”

  “I’m still in the middle of—”

  “Are you honestly going to stand there and tell me you can’t finish whatever it is you’re doing well within the time frame they’ve given you?”

  She snorted.

  “I thought not. Let’s go and get some air. You claim our New London weather isn’t as cold as what you experience in Canada, so you can’t use that as an excuse. Unless you find my company so very distasteful?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well then?”

  It was fun to watch her turn the idea over in her mind. Even better when he saw her enthusiasm spread across her face in the form of a grin and a sparkle to her eyes. “Why not. Even the Company doesn’t expect its employees to work every day.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I’ll get cleaned up and grab my coat. Then we can be off.”

  Emmet watched as she tidied her equipment and washed her hands in the steam basin that Master Tolan had brought for her after the second day of her complaining. He shouldn’t be as fascinated as he was watching her scrub the muck and grime from her skin. Shouldn’t enjoy seeing her run her fingers through her hair to smooth down the strands before tucking them behind her ears and coving them with her hat. These weren’t feelings that a man should have for a woman who was in his care.

  Not at all.

  “I’m ready.” Her grin was blinding. “So, what do you plan to show me, Emmet?”

  He hadn’t given it much thought, the suggestion being one of impulse. Nicola wasn’t like the other women of his acquaintance, and none of his normal ideas seemed right. A walk in Hyde Park? No. A shopping excursion down Oxford Street? Hardly. It wasn’t until he thought back to that first evening when they’d shared dinner and the conversation that had kept him amused for hours that he knew where to take her.

  “How would you like to visit Big Ben?”

  * * *

  Nicola’s hands had been shaking for the better part of an hour, though she’d done her best to conceal that fact. No one who knew her well would understand her fascination with something considered to be so simplistic in nature. It was a bell in the middle of a giant clock. But Nicola had desperately wanted to go inside, see the mechanism room, and watch the dance of the gears ever since she’d heard of its construction.

  She wanted nothing more than to lean her head out the window and gauge the amount of traffic that blocked their way, to calculate the time it would take them to reach their destination. It would occupy her mind for a few moments if nothing else, help her to fight off her excitement and maintain at least the illusion that she was a mature individual.

  “How did you say you could get us in? It was my understanding that visits were off-limits.”

  Dennison was seated in the carriage facing her. He’d been kind enough to take the rear-facing seat after she’d discovered that her stomach didn’t agree with the rocking motion in such a position. “My uncle is one of the clockwerkers who designed the tower and the works.”

  “An archivist and a clockwerker in one family. A talented lot you are.”

  “Not according to my father.”

  She let the comment pass, having learned quickly that Emmet didn’t speak about his father with any great kindness. It was yet another thing she wanted to learn about the man, another strange inconsistency in his life’s story that called to her. Sooner or later, she’d unravel the mystery that was Emmet Dennison.

  The afternoon had taken on a warmth Nicola hadn’t anticipated given the time of year. Her skin had grown clammy beneath her leathers, making her discomfort grow alongside her anticipation. Soon, she’d be back out on her feet and making the climb up the 334 limestone stairs to the top. She’d need to consider leaving some of her gadgets secreted away in her coat behind in the carriage if she were to undertake such a trek. Though the mere thought made her uneasy.

  The carriage jerked to a halt, nearly sending her forward into Emmet’s lap. He grabbed for her arms, preventing her from falling all the way, but not enough to stop her from making contact with his body. For a heartbeat, time slowed around them and all Nicola could focus on were his intense and surprised eyes. Once more she fought the urge to push forward and kiss him. The carriage shifted, reminding them of their current situation. He helped her back to her seat, though with what appeared to be regret.

  “We stopped.” She tried to ignore the way his hands lingered on her, or how a nervous tremor flowed through her body. “Not normal, I take it?”

  “No. The horses don’t normally halt unless we’ve reached our destination. Or if there’s trouble.” Emmet withdrew his pistol from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. “I would ask you to stay in the carriage—”

  She didn’t even bother with a reply. Taking her own pistol from its hiding place in her inner pocket, she checked to ensure she had a full complement of bullets loaded. “I’m ready.”

  Surprisingly, Emmet didn’t protest her following him. He pushed open the door, pistol at the ready, and jumped to the cobblestones. Nicola wasn’t familiar with the layout of New London, but she was fairly certain that Big Ben’s Clock Tower didn’t reside in the rougher quarters of the city.

  “Took a wrong turn, did we?” She flanked Emmet, scanning the empty road for signs of trouble.

  “I’ve never seen the horses go wrong before. Not unless Samuel was at them. And as much as my friend has good reason to make my life difficult, he wouldn’t do anything to put your life in peril.”

  “I guess that means I best take a look.” If there was a mechanical glitch, then she was the best candidate to conduct the repairs. Tucking her pistol back into its holster, she made her way to the side of the metal automaton and removed the panel along its flank with a pop. The horse protested with a burst of steam through its nose, and stamped down twice.

  “Oh, settle down. I’m just peeking.” The beast turned its head, as though it were listening to her words. “I promise I won’t mess up your works. You’re far too beautiful a creature for that. Plus, I’m far too talented.”

  Another release of steam and then the horse settled. Fascinating.

  After a few moments of checking the tiny gears and intricate pumping mechanisms, Nicola knew that everything she’d ever thought about the horses paled in comparison to their reality. These weren’t simple automatons; they were practically engineering works of art. There was more to these creatures than steam-powered cores. They wouldn’t be easily influenced or altered by someone who didn’t have intimate knowledge of these types of mechanisms. In fact, Nicola only knew of a few men who would have been able to pull these creatures off course.

  Reaching deep inside t
o run her fingers along one of the inner sets of gear teeth, she was nearly immobile when Emmet tensed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Miss Tesla, we need to move. Now.”

  “I thought you said we were safe—”

  “Someone is approaching.”

  Nicola was able to crane her head around to see a group of three men racing toward them.

  “Can you fix them?”

  Nicola looked back at where Emmet stood. “This one isn’t broken.”

  “Shit.” Emmet cocked his pistol and sunk further into his stance. “We’re out of time. Run.”

  Squashing her regret at being unable to explore the inner workings of such fabulous craftsmanship, Nicola pulled her arm back only to have her sleeve catch between the gears. She pulled again, harder this time, but the fabric of her sleeve was jammed.

  “Miss Tesla!”

  “I’m stuck.” She jerked repeatedly in a vain attempt to free herself. “I can’t—”

  The men were upon them. Emmet fired his pistol, hitting the largest of the trio in the shoulder, sending the brute staggering back. It was the only shot he managed before his pistol was knocked away. The uninjured attackers jumped on him, their fists landing in Emmet’s stomach and chest. Nicola’s body shook as she was forced to helplessly watch the assault. “Emmet, behind you!”

  The wounded man had regained his composure and picked up a brick. Emmet ducked beneath the swing of the next punch coming his way, landing one of his own. The wounded man tried to get behind Emmet and swung the brick at his head. Emmet somehow twisted out of the way to avoid a fatal blow, but the brick connected with his shoulder. His scream of pain fired Nicola’s determination.

  “You bloody metal beast, let me go!” She yanked harder on her sleeve until the beautiful sound of fabric ripping reached her ears. “That’s it.”

  Emmet was thankfully holding his own against his attackers. When one man grabbed his arms from behind, Emmet lifted his feet and kicked an approaching assailant in the chest and face. The brute fell to the ground and didn’t get back up. His compatriots retaliated with brutal force. Nicola’s breath caught as the man with the gunshot wound had somehow found the strength to land several short, sharp blows to Emmet’s gut.