“What’s it like?” Alice leaned forward slightly, as if hungry for something other than beans and peaches.
He flashed a wide grin at her. “It’s scary as hell—sorry—but it’s also the greatest job I’ve ever had. I fly to new places and see new people all the time, and the inventions are incredible. Tree is the just the beginning.”
“Tell me about the inventions,” Alice said.
“Well, Professor K. is working on a way to grow a copy of a living creature from a bit of its flesh or blood. He’s done mice and sheep, but Lieutenant Phipps says if he manages humans, she’ll put his research into the Doomsday Vault. Master Prakash, a clockworker from India, is working on a camera that creates photographs instantly. His lab tends to explode at least once a week, so we have to be careful. And Doctor Clef is still working on his Impossible Cube. I also had him cook up more of that alloy that floats when you pump a current through it.”
“It sounds incredible.” Alice sighed. “I envy you, Mr. Ennock.”
“Then why did you say no when Phipps asked you to join?” Gavin blurted out. “We could even have been partners.”
For a moment, Gavin thought she might refuse to answer. Then she sighed again. “I couldn’t.”
“You worry a lot about couldn’t, Miss Michaels,” Gavin said.
“My father was tens of thousands of pounds in debt, Mr. Ennock, and after a lot of work, I managed to catch the eye of a wealthy man who was willing to marry me, despite my advanced age and lack of means. I was also afraid . . .” She trailed off, flushing a little.
“Of what?”
“Er . . . that I wasn’t suited to the job,” she finished lamely.
There was clearly more to it than that, but Gavin didn’t press the issue. In the spirit of being straightforward, he said, “Well, I wish you had joined. You’d be a hell—sorry—heck of a field agent. Besides,” he hurried to add before he could lose courage, “I miss you.”
She smiled tightly and patted his hand across the table. “Thank you, Mr. Ennock.”
The air went out of him. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled. So much for straightforward. Well, what had he expected ? A sudden declaration of undying love? She was engaged, for God’s sake.
The fire crackled in the stove, putting out a welcome warmth. Gavin took the nightingale out of his pocket and set it on the table near the roses.
“What is that?” Alice asked.
“A sort of friend gave it to me.” He touched the bird’s head, and the nightingale sang its sweet little song.
“Hm. It lacks soul.” She paused. “Mr. Ennock, would you . . . sing for me?”
He blinked. “Sing?”
“I remember your singing voice,” she said. “I’d very much like to hear it again.”
“Sure.” He glanced out one of the tower’s narrow windows and saw the moon rising through Tree’s branches. The silvery light slanted across the floor and played across Alice’s face. “How about a lullaby?”
“Whatever you prefer.”
Gavin sang.
I see the moon; the moon sees me.
It turns all the forest soft and silvery.
The moon picked you from all the rest
For I loved you best.
As the final line left his mouth, he realized what he had just sung. He flashed back to the moment he had sung “The Wraggle Taggle Gypsy” at Third Ward headquarters, when he had carefully chosen a song in which a woman left a man she didn’t love for a man—a musician—she did. Now he had just done the same thing, but by accident—he was thinking of the moon in the trees and had forgotten about the final line. He hurried on.
I once had a heart as good as new.
But now it’s gone from me to you.
The moon picked you from all the rest
For I loved you best.
That only made it worse. The hell with it. If he was trapped in the song, he might as well sing with every bit of power he had. He closed his eyes and put his heart into every word.
I have a ship; my ship must flee.
Sailing o’er the clouds and on the silver sea.
The moon picked you from all the rest
For I loved you best.
That made him think of the Juniper, forever lost among the clouds. Abruptly, he forgot Alice, forgot the Third Ward, forgot everything. He longed to soar again, go back to his true home, and he found tears gathering at the backs of his eyes.
I picked a rose; the rose picked me,
Underneath the branches of the forest tree.
The moon picked you from all the rest
For I loved you best.
He opened his eyes. A single rose from the bunch on the table was lying near his arm on the table. Had it been there before? He couldn’t remember. He looked at Alice, but her face was impassive.
“Thank you, Mr. Ennock,” she said.
“You’re welcome, Miss Michaels.”
“I think after everything we’ve been through we can use our Christian names. Please call me Alice.”
“If you’ll call me Gavin.”
“I shall, Gavin.” She pulled a damp handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at one eye. “Pollen.” She sniffed delicately. “We should think of the sleeping arrangements.”
“You can have Barton’s cot over there.” Gavin gestured. “I’ll take the floor near Barton himself in case he wakes up. I think we could find a way to string a curtain or something for you, if—”
“Not necessary,” she said with a small smile. “Good night.”
Gavin checked his own clothes—they were drying nicely near the stove—and rolled himself up in a spare blanket from the wardrobe. There was only one, and he decided Barton would just have to suffer, though the laudanum would probably give him a better night’s sleep than Gavin would get. The stone floor was hard and chilly, but eventually he fell asleep.
Sometime later, a sound jerked him awake. He tensed, though his training kept him from leaping to his feet.
The moon slanted through the narrow windows, providing just enough light for Gavin to make out Alice moving about in her baggy shirt and trousers. Barton snored on in his drug-induced slumber. Gavin watched through slitted eyes as she wedged a bit of wood underneath the door to keep it from swinging shut. Then she picked up the first of her husband’s little machines and carried it outside. A moment later, she returned for the second and the third. Once Alice had left the final time, Gavin counted to thirty and stole to the door, where he peered outside into the bright moonlight.
Alice had moved the machines some distance from the tower. As he watched, she flipped the machines over and, with a tool from her pocket, popped each one open and yanked various parts out of them. Before Gavin could make out what they were, she took the parts down to the river and threw them in with a splash. Tree, still asleep in the water, didn’t move.
Several things clicked at once in Gavin’s head. Alice hadn’t cared so much about getting the machines back as she had about making sure no one saw what the machines were for, either because their function was illegal or socially unacceptable. She had been especially frantic because Patrick Barton knew her, and he might babble about the machines’ origins to someone else, or worse, improve their design and show them off. Furthermore, Alice had said the machines actually belonged to her fiancé and he would be upset if they were lost. Gavin now took that to mean Mr. Williamson would be upset if their secret got out. The robbery had revealed the existence of the machines to several people—Gavin, Simon, Barton, and anyone who read the report that Gavin would eventually write—so Alice had apparently decided to destroy the illegal or unacceptable parts, leaving “clean” machines behind. She could even blame the damage on Barton.
So, what were the machines for? The obvious answers—theft, smuggling—didn’t bother Gavin so much as the idea that Alice was being forced to cover up for her soon-to-be husband. What kind of man engaged in illegal activity and then dragged his fiancée into it? He clenched a fist.
Chapter Twelve
Alice awoke with a groan. Her muscles screamed when she rolled over to sit up on the lumpy camp bed, and she prayed she would never go through anything like yesterday again.
No, that was a lie. Yesterday had been the greatest thrill she’d had since . . . well, since she had rescued Gavin from Aunt Edwina’s tower. She stretched and grimaced at the soreness. It felt strange to be wearing trousers. By all rights, she should be embarrassed wearing them in front of Gavin, but it didn’t bother her. Perhaps it was because Gavin didn’t care about rules.
The fire in the stove had died out, and Gavin lay before it, wrapped in his blanket. Morning sunshine sliced through the narrow arrow slits and cut strips across the stones near him. His white-blond hair, tousled with sleep, seemed to glow pale in the soft light. She swallowed. Yesterday, when he strode into the ruined shop dressed in black leathers, her heart had nearly stopped. Every moment they had shared came rushing back. His beautiful playing. His hypnotic singing. His bright smile. His optimistic, we-can-do-it attitude. The months fell away, and she was standing next to him while he played the devil’s own music to destroy the traps in Aunt Edwina’s house. He grinned with undisguised joy in the Third Ward’s little airship. He sang to her in Dr. Clef’s laboratory and touched her soul.
That day had been the most dreadful in her life. The Third Ward, with its fascinating inventions, its daring female agents, its promise of adventure, called to her. It wanted her, would accept her. The Ward didn’t care that she was a woman or a lady. She could explore the world, dissect dozens of gadgets, and the Ward would pay her for it.
All of which had made it hard to turn Phipps down. Even the Ward’s stunning salary wouldn’t come close to clearing Father’s debts. But that wasn’t the main reason. The main reason, the one she had refused to think about despite Louisa’s prodding, lay asleep in front of her. Gavin. She was already half in love with him, and worse, she was sure he knew it. Alice simply didn’t think she had the willpower to stay faithful to Norbert if she worked in close proximity to Gavin. Consequently, when Phipps had offered her a position with the Third Ward, she had forced herself to refuse.
Alice creaked to her feet and found a tattered rose on the floor. Her feet carried her over the floor to the stove. Patrick Barton snored in drugged sleep a few feet away from Gavin. Her heart beat quickly at the sight of him. Gavin had grown in the past few months. His shoulders had broadened, and his movements had become more confident. He had always been handsome, but now he was breathtaking. His black leathers contrasted sharply with his pale eyes and hair, his features had sharpened, and he showed a strength she hadn’t noticed before. Last night, she hadn’t been able to resist asking him to sing for her. The lullaby’s beauty nearly made her weep, and when he closed his eyes, her treacherous hands flipped one of the roses to the table in front of him. She had half hoped he would confront her about it, but he’d kept quiet.
What would it be like to touch him? He wouldn’t know—he was asleep. Even as the thought formed, that same treacherous hand reached down to caress his cheek. She could almost feel its raspy warmth beneath her fingers.
She snatched her hand back. That was quite enough. Alice set her mouth and turned to check on Barton. He was still unconscious. She didn’t want him to wake, but she didn’t know anything about dosing a man with laudanum, either, so she decided to let him be and get breakfast.
At the last moment, Alice stole back to the bed and slipped the battered rose into her pocket.
The sounds she made rattling through the tins woke Gavin with a start. He came to his feet before he fully woke, apparently ready to fight.
“Good morning,” Alice called over a tin of pears. “I hope you like fruit.”
Breakfast had nothing to do with hot chocolate. There was neither sausage nor newspaper. But a madman slumbered on the floor. When he showed signs of stirring, Gavin forced more laudanum down his throat.
“Won’t that hurt him?” Alice asked.
“It might eventually,” Gavin admitted, “but we have to keep him quiet until I can get him back to headquarters. Simon and I kept L’Arbre Magnifique asleep for almost a week, and he was fine.”
“He’s a clockworker. How would you know?”
After breakfast, Gavin changed back into his own clothes, which had dried overnight, and went outside to examine his backpack. He fiddled with the switches and gave the crank a few turns. No response.
“I think it died,” he said. “I was hoping to radio London before we left, but—”
“I can have a look.” Although she could now afford another set, Alice still kept the portable tools from Aunt Edwina in her handbag. She had used them last night to disassemble Norbert’s machines and throw the incriminating parts into the river.
The backpack came apart in short order, and Alice peered inside with delight. It was refreshing to examine something that wasn’t designed for . . . that had another purpose than the one she had become accustomed to. Almost instantly she saw the trouble. Water had shorted out several connections and circuits.
“How can you repair that?” Gavin said.
“Easily, Mr. Enn—Gavin.” She gestured at the mechanical. “Mr. Barton stole a large number of spare parts. Why don’t you check on Tree while I handle this?”
Tree, it turned out, had almost entirely recovered overnight. Gavin was even able to refasten the brass pieces that Barton’s barrage had knocked loose yesterday.
Alice, meanwhile, finished her own repairs and switched the backpack’s wireless on. Feedback whined and screeched.
“You did it!” Gavin said. “You’re fantastic!”
“Thank you,” Alice replied, glowing at the praise even as she realized she shouldn’t. “Can you raise London?”
Gavin tried, and got nothing but static. “We’re out of range. We can try again when we get closer.”
“Speaking of which,” Alice put in, “how are we going to handle the travel and explanations?”
Gavin looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“Gavin,” she said gently, “as a traditional woman, I can drive about London with a man who isn’t my husband or father as long as we’re in public. But I can’t go away overnight with him. Even an Ad Hoc lady couldn’t do that. I’m not even coming back in my own clothes.”
“Oh. Right. It’s always something stupid.” He scratched his cheek, which was growing raspy. “Look, I don’t think anyone saw you leave London with me. Tree scared away the crowd outside the shop, and you can’t really see who’s riding him. And if we give you Barton’s hat for the ride back, you’ll look like a boy. If anyone does know you left town overnight, we’ll tell him Barton captured you. I, an agent of the Crown, rescued you in a daring raid at dawn, and now I’m seeing you home. Your dress was badly torn in the rescue, so you bravely donned a spare set of man’s clothing. How’s that?”
“Why am I the one who gets captured?”
“You’re the traditional lady.”
Alice let that pass. “And what do we tell my fiancé? He certainly knows I was gone.”
“Tell him whatever you want. If you trust him,” Gavin said, his tone carefully neutral, “tell the truth. If you don’t, give him the lie. Simon and Lieutenant Phipps will back you up.”
Alice thought about that. On the one hand, she had rushed off only to ensure Norbert’s filthy machines remained a secret, so he had little right to be
angry. On the other hand, she had spent the night in a tower with another man, begged him to sing for her, and more or less handed him a rose, which would give any fiancé the right to be upset. Perhaps there was a third option—if no one but Gavin and the Third Ward knew the truth, Alice could give Norbert an edited version of what had happened, a version that left Gavin out of it. She had tracked Barton to his lair, cracked him over the head, disguised herself with his clothes, and brought him back to the authorities in his own mechanical. That might work.
Spinning lies and donning disguises felt suddenly stupid and frustrating. Gavin was a good friend, and nothing more, but the rules of traditional society made it clear that men and women could only be lovers, especially if they went away overnight together. For a moment, she considered casting it all aside. So what if someone recognized her and gossiped? What was the worst that could happen?
Norbert might become angry. Some of the people he did business with might lose respect for him and take their business elsewhere. Her children, when she had them, could end up with the social stigma of an unfaithful mother. A heavy sigh escaped her.
“I think your solution will do,” she said. “I’ll drive the mechanical. You take Barton in Tree, though we’ll have to find his hat first.”
The trip back to London went quickly, and Alice thoroughly enjoyed driving the mechanical. The metal shell gave her a sense of height, strength, and power quite new to her. Earth thudded beneath the mechanical’s feet, and the landscape sped by or slowed at her command. She had become a giant, a great warrior from mythology. The damp English air rushed over her, teased at her hair, pulled at her clothes. The feeling of speed and freedom exhilarated her in ways she had never thought possible. No one could stop her or stand in her way. Beside her, Gavin was just visible through Tree’s branches with Barton chained nearby, and Alice couldn’t decide which was stranger—driving a great mechanical beast or walking beside an ambulatory tree.
The Doomsday Vault Page 22