Clockwork Looking Glass

by Michael Rigg

  He nodded before resting his hands on my arms. "If anythin' befalls you, Alice, you call out."

  I nodded and moved down the aisle toward the restroom, absently tucking the Spork into my vest pocket, amazed that I felt no momentum at all as we glided through the sky on an electric grid.

  At the end of the aisle I found an extremely narrow doorway with the smell of chowder and fresh bread. The tiny kitchen held scores of swaying pots and pans on hooks, and two men in white coats toiling over various orders that must have been placed prior to our departure—unless they were complimentary since I noticed no one in the role of flight attendant taking orders. Across from the kitchen was a narrow closet door marked FIRE CLOSET and next to that two narrow doors marked GENTS and LADIES. The very end of the corridor terminated in a large opening in the floor and the top of a spiral set of stairs that went to the deck below us. A gilded sign in fancy lettering said, "Personal Travelers ~ Keep Out."

  "Hmpf," I smirked to myself. "First class sounds better." I worked my way into the narrow wooden closet labeled LADIES and pulled a chain that illuminated the space with three bare bulbs above a mirror. Next to a tiny sink was a toilet. Behind me was a small brass rack with towels. But I couldn't take in more than that because I was faced, for the first time, with my own reflection.

  My long auburn hair lay flat against the sides of my head and over the shoulders of my gusseted shirt and vest. My green eyes appeared gray, crow's feet stretching out from them and dark circles forming below them. My lips were dry and starting to crack. I remembered how Bryce looked at me in the haberdashery and shook my head. He must have been kidding. I was a homely wreck.

  Nothing in my reflection sparked any memories, no flash of applying lipstick or makeup, not even brushing my teeth in a steamy mirror back home, wherever home was.

  Nothing... until a "bump" turned out the lights.

  The smooth coasting of the SkyTrain hitched and we were jostled by turbulence. I heard the crackle of electricity overhead, a loud snap as the metal fin above reconnected with the current. The lights flickered out while I was staring at myself in the mirror. That's when I saw the face over my shoulder and my blood turned to ice.

  It was only a flash, but I clearly saw a woman in her fifties, platinum silver hair curled around her ears and eyes so dark I couldn't make out the color of her irises. I gasped and spun around as the lights flickered back on but no one was there. I reached out to touch the wall, to see if something in the wood grain or brass towel rack fixtures formed a face-like pattern. But it was too real, too well defined. It was a woman's face, and she was dressed in a black corseted dress. I had almost felt her breath on my shoulder, the smell of mint.

  Clutching my chest, I forced myself to take several long breaths before turning back to the sink. Keeping my eyes off the mirror, I ran some cool water into my hands and splashed my face. When the lights flickered again, I gripped the sink tightly and gasped, whimpering as they strobed back to life.

  I stepped out of the ladies room without looking back. I didn't even bother to pull the light chain.

  Bryce met me in the aisle. "Alice. Are you all right? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

  "I think I may have," I stammered in a weak voice.

  "You're pale and trembling... Come." Bryce took me by the arm and led me toward the sleeper section. "You should lie down, my dear. You've had quite the day."

  I flinched. In my mind I saw the woman's face with the alabaster skin, the dark eyes. "No." I pulled back from his grip and he turned to me.

  Swallowing hard, then taking a deep breath, I said, "Don't leave me? Please, Bryce."

  He stepped up to me and rested his hands on my arms. I could feel myself shaking against him. I felt so weak, so vulnerable. It didn't fit with how I felt against Perek Grubbs. The coiled dragon inside me was gone, washed away by my vision of the ghost woman.

  He said, "You can lie down. Leave the curtain open. I'll sit with you on the edge of your bunk until you nod off."

  I swallowed again and nodded.

  "We'll talk until you drift off, all right?" I could see the concern in his face, his deep brown eyes holding my very soul in their protective light. They were not the eyes of the mirror. The ghost's eyes were dark and cold, hurtful and callous despite the pale woman's innocent expression.

  We made our way to the sleeper section, passing Lucien on the way. His bowler sat on the seat next to him as he thumbed through a newspaper. Bryce told him, "I'm takin' Alice to lie down. Keep your eyes peeled."

  “Like grapes,” Lucien nodded and licked his finger before turning the page.

  At the sleeper bunk I slipped out of my shoes and climbed in. The bed was deeper than it looked, and soft. I could feel the spines of feathers under the padding, but the bunk itself was like a cloud, the fine cotton sheets hugging me close. Bryce kept his word and sat on a hip facing me. He smiled down as I brushed back my hair and returned the grin.

  "I need a bath," I muttered with a sour frown.

  "Adeline will see to it once we've arrived home. We'll get you proper clothes, a hot meal—I'd imagine an early breakfast—and a nice comfy bed to sleep in."

  I smiled brightly. "Adeline? You mentioned that name once before."

  "The elder of my two sisters." Bryce smiled warmly, his eyes catching the golden glow of the cabin. "She is truly the wisdom of our family. I dare say she'll take a kindness to you and may even be instrumental in findin' out where you came from."

  "Do you have any other siblings?"

  "I have an older brother, Clayton, a colonel with the Confederate Air Cavalry to which Pandora belonged. I have two sisters, Adeline and Savannah."

  My smile brightened. "Savannah is a lovely name. I'd guess she's probably, what, about thirteen? Fourteen?"

  Bryce chuckled. "Twelve, with the mischievous spirit of a toddler and the iron will of a senator. Steer clear of her. She'll charm you—or vex you."

  I studied his face, smiled at the glint of light off the military insignia on his collar. "It sounds like a wonderful family." I reached up and touched the wreathed CSA on his collar. "You know.... This was one of the first things I saw when I woke up."

  He continued looking at me. His smile lost some sincerity but not its warmth.

  My voice was softer than I'd meant it to be. I don't think I was used to being thankful or self effacing in any way. If what I did to Perek Grubbs was any indication, what I said had probably never come out of my mouth. "I can't thank you enough, Bryce. You probably saved my life. If not my life, for sure my sanity, though... I'm not to sure about that... yet." I tried to smile.

  He took my hand and kissed the back of it. His lips were soft and warm. His mustache tickled. "I'm not yet finished savin' you, young lady."

  I remembered my reflection and wondered aloud, "Young lady.... I don't even know how old I am. I could probably be your older sister."

  He chuckled and moved my hand, resting it across my stomach. "Nonsense. You look to be no more than twenty-five, if that, and I'm sure I'd know if my mother'd had such a lovely young daughter... with Irish eyes and a perfect smile."

  I blew a puff of air through pursed lips. I felt my face catch fire. I spoke with the best Southern accent I could muster. "You flatter me at every turn, Captain. Are you always so gallant?"

  "Yes," he answered as evenly as if I'd asked if his name was Bryce Landry.

  I looked at him for long time, and he back at me. I wondered what he was thinking, if the desire had crossed his mind to kiss me. I don't know why I wondered that myself except that I felt like I should kiss him, hold him. My anchor. My rescuer. But, then again, maybe in this world such a thing wouldn't be proper. Everywhere I looked, I saw men opening doors for women, bowing to them, offering them their plac
es in line. Something told me that's not how it should be, that women should be just as forthcoming, and even sometimes as rude, as men. As of this hour, seventeen-year-old Pandora was the only “liberated” woman I had seen.

  He finally spoke. "You should rest, Alice. We'll be home before too long." He stood up and bent down. He kissed my cheek before reaching to close the curtains.

  “No.” I reached up and touched his hand. “Please... stay? You said you'd stay until I fell asleep.”

  Bryce sighed, but smiled. He sat back down on my bunk, adjusting himself to sit more comfortably as though he intended to stay until I nodded off.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “Tell me about Pandora. What's her real name?”

  Bryce's grin betrayed dimples under his mustache. “Dorothea Cervella Rink. She used to be called Dora before her infusing.”

  “Infusing? That's....” I lowered my whisper even more, “That's how she became a witch?”

  Bryce's eyes widened and he turned and looked down at me with curiosity. “What makes you say that? You've heard about the infusing? Or, did you perhaps already know she was a witch?”

  “Your confidence that she can care for herself, for one. She's just a girl, Bryce—I- I know she's a soldier and all, a pilot, but she's still just a kid. A kid like that can't survive without having an edge of some kind.”

  “You're very observant, Alice.” He leaned a bit closer and smiled as he whispered. “I think more of the real you is comin' through. Observant, strong, fast, quick-thinkin', but still charmin', and beautiful.”

  I shrugged against my pillow. “It's not all that. You've said a few things that tipped me off, and.... And she spoke to me... I-In my mind.”

  Bryce raised his chin, his curious look becoming more serious. “And what did she say?”

  This was it. I swallowed hard. “She just told me to look after you. Keep my eye on Cap', she'd said.”

  He reached out and moved a strand of my hair. “We'll watch for one another, Alice. Agreed?”

  “Yes, Captain.” I released a sudden, long yawn and covered my mouth. “Oh, my.... Sorry.”

  He patted my arm. “Rest, sweet Alice. I'll not leave your side.”

  Moments later, I fell asleep.

  This time, I dreamed.

  CHAPTER 12, “Collateral Damages”

  Perek Grubbs woke with the worst headache he'd ever known. His face throbbed, his left eye was almost swollen shut, and every bone in his body felt like splintered wood. It hurt like hell when he breathed.

  "He's coming around," a woman's voice said in an Imperial accent.

  Grubbs slowly opened his eyes and looked into the face of a young woman with blond hair in a bun. She wore a dark blue dress with flared sleeves and an apron and arm band decorated with a red cross within a blue and white shield. The letters E and S curled around a medical staff in the middle.

  "Emergency Serv..." Grubbs began.

  The Medic hushed him. "You'll be all right. Can you stand? ...Nothing is broken but your nose and perhaps a rib or two. I set your nose for you." She smiled. “I need you to stand.” It was a pitiable smile and Grubbs knew it. Then it all started coming back to him. Bryce Landry and his Property did this to him.

  "I'm ...Perek ...Grubbs."

  "I'm sorry?" The nurse said as she, and someone who appeared behind Grubbs, helped him to his feet.

  "Grubbs," he said again slightly louder through a gauzy nasal voice. He touched his face and felt where the tape covered the metal brace over his nose. Broad bands of tight medical tape were wrapped around his chest. He found his shirt and jacket on the ground and lifted them with the same effort to heft a boulder. "My name is ...Perek Grubbs." As the nurse looked on without a word, he struggled into his shirt and jacket, then he reached into his jacket pocket, then the other, then patted down his other pockets before he realized what had happened. That damn Landry stole his identity.

  After making sure Grubbs was steady on his feet, the nurse backed away a bit. She looked past Grubbs to the person standing behind him. She nodded slightly.

  A man with a thick Irish accent said, "He's okay to transpart?"

  The Medic nodded again before turning to leave as Grubbs said, "I'm an Acquisitions Officer for Thorne & Wolfe. My identification was stolen. I—" He turned and saw the man who had spoken. A policeman. Beyond him on the raised platform stood a dark blue paddy wagon on spoked wheels and two more officers. The sputtering engine of the wagon idled. "What's this?"

  "Mr. Grubbs—if that is yar name," the officer grumbled, "I'm placing you under arrest for suspicion."

  "Suspicion of what?"

  "Marder, sir."

  “Murder?” Grubbs instinctively pulled back as the officer stepped up to take his arm, but stopped when he saw the man brandish a pistol with a humming stun tube on the barrel. One of the officers by the paddy wagon leveled a rifle in his direction. Grubbs looked around and saw the Medic had gathered up her things and moved off to join another by their hand-drawn cart. They loaded up and moved off, glancing back once or twice.

  "This is ridiculous! I'm an A.O. I have rights!"

  "You would if you had an I.D., Mr. A.O.," the cop grunted a laugh as he spun Grubbs around and cuffed him.

  “Ah!” Grubbs grunted in pain, “Watch the ribs, flatfoot!” His mind reeled. Obviously, this was all Landry's doing. He'd been framed, and he knew there was nothing he could do about the fact he had no identification of any kind. He could be held in Philadelphia for days until this was sorted out.

  "You 'ave the right to remain silent. If you choose to give up tha' right, I have the right to declare you for non-trial and render judgment. Should you wish to be represented in a Cart of Imperial affairs, but cannot affard judiciary, one may be appointed for you at a rate of fifteen percent debited against yar Imperial Allowance. Do you understand these rights?"

  Grubbs gritted his teeth and sneered. He nodded, then barked out, "Yeah." As soon as he could make one call—just one call—he'd have this cop's job and be free, with any luck. "Fine!"

  "Come on then." The cop whirled him around and walked him to the waiting wagon. The officers by the wagon opened the doors and helped their prisoner into the compartment before un-cuffing him and re-cuffing him to a rail built into the cramped space. One of the guards, a short fellow with red hair, climbed in across from Grubbs. "This here's Officer Doone," the arresting sergeant told Grubbs. "He'll be ridin' with ya to make sure ya don't go bumpin' yar head." He laughed.

  I'll bet, Grubbs thought. They weren't alone. He saw a dwarf sitting in the corner near the small sliding door that enabled the driver to look back at his cargo. The little man had a long wiry beard and beady little eyes. He was cuffed to a rail in the wagon and wore a russet leather pilot's uniform with a Confederate patch on the sleeve.

  Perek spat, "Billy Rink."

  The dwarf looked up "Friends call me 'Wilco,' so I guess you can call me Mr. Rink."

  "I ain't callin' you nothin'."

  Wilco regarded him coolly. "Good thing, 'cause that ain't my name neither."

  They heard the grind of a clutch and the gears catch before the wagon nudged forward and began rolling in a jerky motion that soon leveled out.

  Grubbs turned to the red haired Officer Doone across from him. "When do I get my call?"

  "Shut up. Both of ya."

  Grubbs allowed himself a long, exasperated sigh and closed his eyes. That would be another job gone. Hell, after his call, he'd wipe out the entire Philadelphia P.D.

  ~~~~~~~

  Pandora watched the whole thing from two stories above. She only glanced up once to see that Bryce's SkyTrain was under way. She smiled knowing they'd done their job, but now she had to get her father out of the clinker wagon.

>   She ditched the revolver in a waste bin two blocks back, and wouldn't use it against cops anyway. Besides, it was too damn big and heavy. She made her way down, then up, then down again to the metal platforms over the elevated street level where Wilco and another man were being taken to a local precinct house two blocks away. She knew her father had been instrumental in helping Bryce and party escape, but she was the one who had taken out the goons from TW. The guy who got fried on the Network had been collateral damage. Either way, she had to get her father out.

  Pandora skulked in the shadows, keeping to the alleys that were made of grates or ribs of metal, so she could watch the wagon below, waiting for the driver to turn into a shadowed street before crossing her fingers and casting a charm to release her father. It would be three-fold magic, difficult but nothing she hadn't done before. The first part of the charm would hold them all frozen in a bubble of time, the second would unlock the doors and her father's cuffs, and the third would erase the last hour of memory from the three policemen and the other man in the back of the wagon.

  Him, she decided, she'd leave to his fate.

  She didn't know Perek Grubbs was part of the attack tonight. She figured Emergency Services simply called the police to handle a drunk they found in an alley behind Spoilery. Had she known Perek Grubbs was a lieutenant for Thorne & Wolfe, her plan might have been totally different.

  ~~~~~~~

  The paddy wagon stopped when all the lights on the block winked out. It was late, so no one else was around. Music curled through the air from a distant lounge, an airship in the distance hummed along and a dog barked, but the only sounds close by were the creaking of the wagon's wheels, the rusty squawk of the elevated metal street and the whistling of winds through the tall buildings.

  The wagon driver's name was Officer Ardon Tyler, the sergeant who hauled in Grubbs was Mike O'Halloran. Neither one had expected much on tonight's shift, but the explosion at the Tesla Bridge and resulting murder investigation had certainly sparked things up a bit. Nearly every officer was called in tonight and nearly every roaming person in the vicinity of the Universal Electric Building was under suspicion. This wagon crew had already transported three winos to the precinct house and all three of the officers were irritated and edgy.