At that very moment, there was a terrible rumble and a crash. The dirigible hull above them shifted sideways and tapped the panes. Great cracks appeared in the glass and spread across the roof like spider webs. There was one loud crack and then the air filled with sounds of shattering glass. Great deadly shards started falling to the ground.
Clothilde screamed. Great bolts of lightning flashed and started hitting the ground all around them.
“Loisa run! Get out!” Elle covered her face with her hands and made for the door. The bits of glass slashed at her right though the hide of her sturdy leather coat. She felt the skin of her arms and scalp slice a few times before Loisa grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and shoved her through the open doors.
Outside the monastery, Elle skidded to a halt. Before them a state of utter chaos reigned.
The undead were running about lashing out at anything and everything. Around them groups of people, armed with a startling array of home-made armor that ranged from frying pans to sheets of corrugated iron, were trying to round up the herds of undead. It looked more like a giant game of tag at a village fete than a battle to the death.
“Where did all these people come from?” Elle looked at Loisa in amazement.
Loisa shrugged, but before she could say anything, she was interrupted by someone shouting and running at them at full speed.
It was Jasper. He was covered in grime and his clothes were tattered, but he was alive and at that moment, he was waving his arms frantically while shouting, “Take cover!”
The sound of wood splitting and the groan of distressed metal rose up from the general pandemonium around them. It was a terrible sound that Elle had heard only once before—they were the sounds of an airship dying.
Elle spun round in the direction of the noise and stared, transfixed with terror. Two dirigibles, locked together like beasts at each other’s throats were hovering just above the roof of the monastery. The tether ropes of the bigger ship had become entangled in the roofing. As if suspended in water, the two vessels slowly tilted sideways and crashed to the ground, taking most of the monastery roof with them. The patch of land that was immediately to the east side of the monastery was suddenly filled with billowing canvas as the impact of the crash made the ground shudder.
Splinters of wood, the size of a man’s forearm along with other debris flew through the helium-laced air, piercing everything in their path.
“Get down!” Elle shouted, but her voice was drowned out by the general din of the crash.
A few people, undead or not, were knocked to the ground by bits of flying plank and Elle watched in horror as one of the undead was skewered by a piece of metal and pinned to the ground. He continued to move, his arms and legs flailing pitifully.
“Look out!” Loisa cried. Her voice was comically high from the helium in the air. A large chunk of metal came hurling toward Elle. She grabbed onto Loisa and they sidestepped the missile which rolled to a stop before their feet. Elle peered at the hunk of metal in amazement. It was the head of a fierce-looking bird.
“Oh my goodness, that’s the Phoenix. Ducky!” They both turned to the mangled wreckage in horror and dismay.
As they watched the settling mass of wrecked ship, a few planks shot in the opposite direction, as if someone had kicked them away from the inside. From the wreckage, two men stumbled. One was dragging the other in a makeshift fireman’s hold.
“This way! Over here!” Elle called to them. To her amazement, she realized that it was Captain Dashwood, carrying Ducky.
With much care, Dashwood lay Ducky down on the ground. “There you go, old fella,” he said. “He got hit by a falling beam. Knocked him out cold,” he said.
Ducky groaned and opened his eyes.
Elle crouched beside him and rested her hand on his forehead. “Ducky? Can you hear me?” she said.
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Sorry about the ship, Bells. Made a bit of a mess of the landing.”
“Oh Ducky,” Elle said with a sob of relief.
“He’ll be fine,” Dashwood said.
“How did you get here?” Elle blurted.
“Ducky asked me to co-pilot for him. The Phoenix needs two pilots, remember,” He looked at her. “And you, lady, owe me a ship.”
“Rally! Rally! Come on, ladies, secure those stragglers!” someone shouted through a loudspeaker behind them. “Left flank! Suffragette unit! Send in the medics and get someone to look for survivors on those ships!”
Elle put her hand before her mouth in amazement as they turned their attention to the spectacle that was playing out before them. Loisa’s cab, which at that moment was being driven forward ever so slowly by a rather flustered-looking Caruthers, came into view. On top of the cab, Mrs. Hinges stood with a loudspeaker before her face. She was directing the crowd of people before like an army general.
“To the left. To the left! They are escaping!” Mrs. Hinges waved her arms directing the troops.
“Jasper!” Loisa said catching Mr. Sidgwick by the scruff of the neck. “How on earth did you get here?”
“They jumped me in my rooms, and the next thing I knew I was in a cell, ready for processing into one of those things. But something must have gone wrong, because they never got round to me. Good evening.” He rubbed the little patch on the back of his head which was starting to thin and nodded at Dashwood. “The monks were whispering about someone who had come to save them and I thought to myself that it had to be you two. So I lifted a key off one of the minders and opened the cells.”
“Bravo, Jasper!” Loisa said. Jasper beamed back at her.
Someone had switched on the monastery’s outside lights and they beamed across the open space on with blinding intensity. Elle peered through the spark-light illuminated half-dark. People from all walks of life loomed out of the dark. Some were servants, dressed in uniform as if they had abandoned dinner to come here. Others were wearing green and purple sashes over their dresses.
A woman ran up to them. “Elle! Thank goodness you made it out of the building.” It was Christabel Pankhurst and she had a streak of mud on her cheek.
“What on earth are you doing here?” Elle asked, forgetting her manners in amazement.
Christabel winked at her. “Mrs. Hinges told the lady’s maid of one of the Mandevilles, who in turn told their mistress, who told me. You didn’t think we’d let you try to save London all on your own, now did you?”
“I suppose not,” Elle said.
Christabel smiled. “The Mandevilles are manning the medic and refreshment station that has been set up in the park.”
Mrs. Hinges made Caruthers sound the cab horn through her loudspeaker, signaling to the troops to change maneuvers.
“The electromancers! The electromancers are revolting! Join us, brothers!” someone shouted.
True enough, the little monks started pouring from the building. They were linking arms in a line that effectively flanked the undead, herding them in to a group and preventing them from re-entering the monastery.
“About my ship,” Dashwood said.
“Christabel,” Elle said, ignoring the captain. “This is Captain Logan Dashwood. He is most interested in the ladies” cause and would like to join in the fight for the vote. He told me just the other day that he would love to discuss the issues in detail. Perhaps you could take him under your wing, as it were.”
“How do you do,” Christabel said as she took in the handsome captain. She ran her hands over her hair to make sure her fashionable Gibson girl knot was still in place.
Dashwood blanched and gave Elle a horrified look. Ducky started laughing.
“Well then, let’s get this wounded fellow to the medic tent. He looks like he could do with a bit of a patch-up. I see my squadron of ladies is faltering without me and we need to round up as many of these tickers as we can so they can be restored to health. There is no time to waste. I’m sure we can have a lovely long talk about all this later. Come along then. Chop chop,” she ord
ered the captain. Between them, they lifted Ducky and headed off toward the park.
The last Elle saw of Dashwood was his pleading look for help, as Christabel led him into the squadron of suffragettes.
“We need more light!” Mrs. Hinges bellowed.
To her left, Elle caught sight of flashes of yellow that were almost as bright as sunlight.
At least a dozen fairies of various descriptions were blasting shafts of their light into the undead, illuminating the whole area. From the corner of her eye, Elle could have sworn she saw a flash of green light, which could only have been Adele, but she wasn’t sure and there was no time to check. Clearly the travelling folk and the patrons from the Black Stag had somehow also decided to join in the fight and Elle caught a glimpse of Emilian’s peacock feather bobbing through the crowd as he sprinted toward the fairies.
The undead seemed utterly disorientated by all the activity and started huddling together in a big herd in the middle of the open ground in front of the monastery.
“Is anyone we know not here tonight?” Elle asked Loisa.
“We had better go and see how your father is faring,” Loisa said. “Hopefully that breaking glass has killed the witch once and for all.”
“Let’s hope we are so lucky,” Elle said. She looked back at the wreckage and bit her lip. About half a dozen Suffragettes were sifting through the rubble, looking for the other pilot.
“There is nothing you can do for him now,” Loisa said, who could see better in the dark.
“As always, you are the voice of reason, Loisa,” Elle said, feeling suddenly and utterly exhausted. “Let’s go and collect Hugh. I want to go home.”
CHAPTER 35
Patrice stood in the shadows under a tree on the opposite bank of the Thames. He watched the dirigibles plunge to the ground and shook his head. What a debacle.
He bunched his fists at his sides. Once again the Oracle had ruined his plans beyond the point of redemption.
There was one consolation though. At least this time, he could blame it on La Dame Blanche when it came to reporting to the Consortium. The Consortium, Patrice chuckled. These men, the captains of industry; rulers of the world’s stock markets—how utterly foolish of them to place such an important project in the hands of a mere woman.
But it mattered not, because for once, he, Patrice Chevalier or Sir Patrice Abercrombie as he was also known, had come up trumps.
He closed his eyes and felt the surge of dark magic flow through him. The energy that flowed through him was more powerful than anything he had ever imagined. No wonder Marsh had always been so smug.
He chuckled lightly, but this time the wound in his chest did not hurt. He had sent a little bit of his own magic to the area and he seemed to be healed up entirely. This filled him with much excitement, for he was one of the few people in this world who knew the true secrets of the Council of Warlocks. For years they have been nothing but an impotent group of posers, pretending that the power they had once yielded still existed. They were nothing but a bunch of stage magicians putting on a show.
But all that was about to change.
A smart black car rumbled up the road and came to a halt before him.
“Evenin’ sir,” the driver said.
“Ah, Mr. Chunk. I am so very pleased you found me.”
“Not at all sir. Always a pleasure to be of assistance,” Mr. Chunk said. He hopped out from behind the driver’s seat and opened the door for Patrice.
Patrice settled into the back seat with a sigh.
“Where to sir?” Mr. Chunk said.
“Hmm. King’s Cross station. I think I might go up north to have a look at my factories there while I’m here.”
“Very well, sir,” Mr. Chunk said as he took his place behind the wheel.
Patrice sat forward. “Actually, we might stop off at Madame Colette’s first. It’s on the way to the station, is it not?”
“It most certainly is, sir,” Mr. Chunk gave a small chuckle of amusement.
“Yes, I suddenly find myself in possession of a raging appetite. And they do serve a splendid plate of roast beef there too,” Patrice mused. It was true. He did suddenly feel better than he had in a very long time. He sat back and lit one of the little black cigars he loved so much. He felt the smoke fill his lungs and he breathed out with deep a sense of satisfaction as the current state of affairs dawned upon him.
Hugh Marsh had been turned into one of Clothilde’s undead creatures. It was unlikely he would survive. And that meant that Eleanor was alone. The Oracle was alone and unprotected. Stubborn and immature, she was ripe for the plucking.
A slow smile spread across Patrice’s face. Just think of what he would be able to achieve if he could use her to channel and amplify his newfound power. The thought sent shivers of pleasurable anticipation through him.
But he would have to plan it carefully. Nothing could go wrong and so he would take his time before making the next move.
“Mr Chunk. I have changed my mind. Could you please see if you can book an air ticket for me while I am at Colette’s?”
“Council of Warlocks, sir?”
“Yes, I need to go to Venice without delay.”
“Very well sir. First class?”
“If you can,” said Patrice. “But speed is more important than comfort in these circumstances. Is that understood?”
“Understood sir,” Mr. Chunk said as he negotiated the London traffic.
Patrice sat back and watched London rush past him from the seat of his luxury motor. It had stopped raining and the whole city was shimmering and icy-wet under the bright light of the moon. The sight of it was extraordinarily pretty after the fog and ice.
Yes, things did indeed go very well for him this time. And now it was time to seize the day.
CHAPTER 36
The monastery felt eerily empty after the deafening crash of the dirigibles outside. The gaping hole in the glass roof caused freezing cold air to fill the building. Elle shivered as they crept along to the narrow corridors.
“Stay close,” Loisa whispered. “I still don’t trust this place.”
“Neither do I,” Elle said.
Outside thunder rumbled ominously. Elle and Loisa looked at one another. “I suppose she is not dead after all,” Elle said as they reached the laboratory.
“Dr. Miller, Papa? Are you in there?” Elle called.
“Down here,” the faint answer came.
Elle rushed down the stairs and into the laboratory. “How are things going?” Elle said. Her voice echoed through the room, loudly.
“Shh!” the professor said. “We are at a very delicate stage of the procedure.”
Marsh was laid out on a long operating table before her. His handsome face was as pale and still as a wax death mask. The only sign of life in him were the rubber and brass tubes protruding from his chest. The tubes were connected to the large machine that groaned and belched air into him at regular intervals.
Elle bit her lip at the awfulness of the scene before her. Seeing him like that was almost too much to bear.
“Right, doctor, are you ready?” the professor said, seemingly unfazed by the bizarre situation they found themselves in.
“Wait!” Elle interrupted. “Are you sure you have the correct heart?”
The professor sighed. “Yes, my dear. It was the one marked with the corresponding number marked on his arm. The one that woman picked out. Now let us get on with it. We really don’t have a lot of time.”
“Doctor, on the count of three,” the professor instructed, resuming the procedure.
Dr. Miller pulled back his shirtsleeves and reached into the glass jar before him. Carefully, he wrapped his hands around the heart suspended within the illuminated blue liquid. It was an act, so strangely intimate, that it made Elle gasp.
“Better look away now,” Loisa said
“No, I need to see,” Elle said, bracing herself”
“One … two … three!” The professor flipp
ed up the connector switch and a series of valves started moving vigorously inside the professor’s device, which he had installed onto the side of the table.
“Extracting the clockwork now!” In one swift move, the professor lifted the clockwork heart out. The little device whirred and spat globules of dark blood all over the white aprons the professor and the doctor were wearing.
Marsh jerked violently, but remained restrained by the fabric bindings that held him to the table.
“Now, doctor. When you are ready,” the professor said.
Dr. Miller nodded and lifted the heart from the liquid. Every so gently, she eased it back into Marsh.
“Insertion complete,” he said lifting his hands out the way.
“Reattachment sequence commencing.” The professor flicked another switch and the machine started humming. Soon the smell of burning flesh filled the air as the probes cauterized and sealed up tissue and muscle.
“Apply probes,” the doctor said.
A little squiggle of smoke rose up as they sent a little current of spark through Marsh.
“Now the rest of this is up to you, Hugh. Will your heart to start beating,” the professor murmured.
Everyone stood very still as they watched for the needle of the beat measurement gauge to move.
Elle was too frightened to breathe. And then, in the space it took for a miracle to occur, the needle lifted.
… thump-thump … thump-thump.
Marsh’s heart had started beating with the slow steady rhythm that promised that all would be well.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Elle gasped. She wanted to jump up and scream, but she forced herself to stay calm. She glanced over to Loisa. The Nightwalker was smiling from ear to ear.
“Let’s close that chest wound,” the doctor said. “Hold that side, professor. “He started removing the tubes, all the while stitching up the hideous gaping hole in Marsh’s chest as he went.
“Not so fast,” a voice said behind them.
Elle and Loisa swung round.
A Clockwork Heart Page 28