The Kidnap Plot (The Extraordinary Journeys of Clockwork Charlie)

by Dave Butler

  The carriage shook, and Charlie flinched.

  There had been no explosion, though. Still, Charlie was going to die. He was hundreds of feet off the ground. There was no way down, and no way to stop the explosions.

  He should at least check on his friend.

  Charlie crawled across the carriage floor, avoiding the splashes of blood. Ollie lay in the corner, his pistol beside him. He bled from his side and from one leg.

  He was breathing.

  Ollie was going to die in the explosion, too.

  Thump!

  The noise came from the roof. What new mischief did it signal? It didn’t really matter.

  “Ollie,” Charlie whispered, and then stopped. If they were going to die, maybe it was more merciful to let Ollie stay unconscious.

  Thump!

  “It ain’t my fault, Bob,” Ollie muttered. His eyes were still shut. “Everybody’s got a dad. Not everybody can have a good dad.”

  “It’s not your fault, Ollie,” he reassured his friend.

  “What?” Ollie opened his eyes.

  Thump!

  “There’s something on the roof,” Charlie said. Now that Ollie’s eyes were open, Charlie felt like he had to act. Charlie was responsible.

  As long as they were alive, wasn’t there some hope?

  “You ain’t leaving me here.”

  “You can’t follow me where I’m going.”

  “Yeah, I can.” Ollie muttered under his breath.

  Bamf!

  Ollie the Snake looked bruised, but he slowly wound his way up Charlie’s leg and back and settled in around his neck. He hissed in Charlie’s ear, and Charlie nodded.

  “Yes, you can.” He climbed out the window.

  The ground spun beneath him, the cloud of airships above. All around, the spokes of the Eye inched forward without mercy. Charlie couldn’t see the police zeppelin, and he deliberately didn’t look at his bap’s body.

  He just climbed.

  One hand and foot over the other, up the outside of the carriage. Charlie’s lurching leg was tricky; when he moved it, it slammed into place with a hard blow. Charlie clanged and rasped his way up the brass like a monkey with one wooden leg.

  He heard distant yelling, but he couldn’t make out the words.

  Thump!

  Charlie pulled himself to the lip of the roof and laughed in relief. Ollie hissed and slithered around Charlie’s shoulders in a snaky dance.

  It was Bob.

  She was turned away from Charlie and couldn’t see him. Her arms were still looped into the wings of the flyer, which she held very still. She was crouching to keep out of the way of the wheel’s spokes as the carriage rolled under her feet. She had one boot jammed under a long bar that ran across the carriage top, and she raised the other to stomp again.

  Thump!

  “Come on, Charlie!” Bob hollered into the wind. “Get up ’ere; I can’t ’old on forever!”

  Charlie shot a glance in the direction of the Extradynamit. The fuses had burned very short.

  “Bob, we’re here!” He pulled himself up.

  Bob craned her head around and saw them. “Lads!”

  Charlie skittered across the carriage top on his belly. It lurched and swooped under him, and he clung to the same rod that anchored Bob. “No time!” He stood up into a crouch, pressed against Bob. “We have to take off!”

  “Right,” Bob agreed. “Buckle up!”

  She hadn’t seen the explosives. Charlie stood to his full height and grabbed the flyer’s harness straps. “No time!” He dragged Bob and the flyer forward off the top of the carriage.

  “The ’eck!” Bob yelped.

  They fell.

  Charlie held tight with both hands and stared at the pavement.

  They plummeted toward a crowd. Bob flapped the flyer’s wings.

  The ground rushed closer. The flyer’s nose began to pull up.

  Charlie saw faces. Expressions of fear and surprise.

  “Run!” he yelled.

  Bob flapped her wings and the flyer pulled level, barely over the heads of the scattering crowd.

  “Run!” Charlie yelled again. “The Eye is going to—”

  KABOOOOOOOM!

  A hot wind at their backs threw the flyer forward. The crowd screamed.

  KABOOM! KABOOM!

  “The ’eck!” Bob yelled, flapping her arms and twisting her body with each new blast of burning air. Ollie hissed. The flyer whipped around like a bit of newspaper blasted down the Gullet in a heavy storm.

  Charlie risked a look back. Fire had swallowed the hub of Mr. Ferris’s leisure wheel. It really looked like the city’s eye now, a big flaming eye staring evil and hatred right across the river at the Houses of Parliament and Buckingham Palace.

  A final explosion rocked the center of the Eye.

  KABOOM!

  Spokes and carriages shook—

  tipped—

  tumbled off the tower that held them—

  and crashed to the ground.

  The leisure wheel landed upright. Glass and bits of torn metal flew in all directions. The remaining crowd scattered.

  And the London Eye rolled.

  In Charlie’s direction.

  It hit a broad, gentle slope of pavement that dropped toward the river. The wheel began to pick up speed.

  “Go, Bob!”

  “I’m trying!” She flapped the flyer’s wings.

  Charlie looked away from the giant flaming eye. To the right rose Waterloo Station. Before them the progress flotilla stretched out over Waterloo Bridge. The airships flew in multiple tiers, and together they blocked out the sun, casting a long ribbon of shadow across the bridge, past Big Ben, and on toward Buckingham Palace.

  On the bridge pranced a parade line of cavalry. They were almost to the far side of the river. In the middle of all the high-stepping horses, Charlie saw a puffing steam-carriage. It was red and gold, like the traffic montgolfier. It was far away, but if he squinted, Charlie thought he could just make out the royal coat of arms on its door.

  The queen, he thought. The queen is in danger.

  “Bob!” he yelled. “The queen!”

  “I’m busy!” Bob flapped her arms frantically and the wings flapped with her. She was slowing down. Her left arm seemed not to work much at all. They gained altitude, but not very fast.

  Maybe not fast enough to avoid getting squashed.

  Charlie twisted to look again at the wheel. It was getting closer. The compartments crunched and shattered as they rolled under the Eye, and as they rolled around its top some of them were flung off as missiles. Charlie winced when he saw carriages impact: in the river with a distant splash, on the concourse with a crunch, or splattering with a loud ka-changgg! against the tracks of the Sky Trestle.

  As Charlie looked, a carriage crested the top of the London Eye and broke free. It shot straight at them.

  “Faster, Bob!” he yelled.

  “I can’t!”

  The compartment hurtled past them. Charlie heard the crash over his shoulder as it struck something, but he didn’t take his gaze off the big wheel.

  The London Eye crunched down the slope, still gaining on them.

  Charlie watched Bob awkwardly pull down at the wings again. She winced with pain, and he realized the problem.

  Bob was still hurt. She had been shot, and here she was trying to get them out of the Eye’s path by flapping her injured arm.

  Charlie swung himself right next to Bob.

  “ ’Ey now, what’re you doing?”

  Charlie twisted himself around and backed against Bob. All three of them were very close: Bob pressed against Charlie’s back and Ollie slithering about on their shoulders.

  “Stop it!” Bob flapped furiously. “Ouch!”

  Charlie grabbed Bob by one wrist.

  He heard the gigantic crunch of the wheel behind them.

  He grabbed Bob’s other wrist.

  CRRRRRUNCH!

  Charlie pulled with both
arms. He flapped Bob’s wings for her.

  He flapped as hard and as fast as he could. The flyer shot up into the air—

  and the London Eye rolled just inches beneath their feet, flattened a stretch of hand railing at the edge of the pavement, and plunged into the Thames.

  Water surged up onto the shore. A huge wave threw itself over the bridge, taking cavalrymen and their horses with it. Even the queen’s steam-carriage, just touching the far side of the river near the clock tower, was splashed.

  Charlie let go of Bob’s arms and scooted back into his place. “The queen’s carriage!” He pointed.

  “I see it, Charlie!” Bob turned the flyer over the river, cutting toward the carriage. “An’ thanks!”

  Ollie hissed. The snake had transferred to Bob’s shoulders.

  Below them the leisure wheel tipped onto its side. It threw a second wave up onto the shore, and then the black waters of the Thames swallowed it.

  Charlie thought about his father, lying dead on the pavement. He would never see his bap again.

  But it didn’t matter what he felt right now; he had to save the queen.

  The progress flotilla splintered. A wave had snapped the anchor rope of the traffic montgolfier, and the balloon drifted; without guidance, each airship went its own way. The neat lines and spinning circles drifted apart into confused clouds.

  Charlie looked for the police zeppelin with the Sinister Man aboard, but couldn’t see it.

  The cavalrymen who hadn’t been washed away turned and rushed back across the river toward Waterloo Station. Charlie’s mouth fell open—how could they just abandon the queen?

  But of course, he realized, they almost certainly thought she had told them to do it. The simulacrum had probably ordered them to rescue the other horsemen, or respond to the explosions, and they were obeying.

  The steam-carriage chugged on alone.

  “Get as low over the queen’s carriage as you can!” Charlie shouted.

  Bob nodded and swooped down. Charlie saw the red-and-gold trim, the big gold-colored wheels, the crimson top hat of the queen’s coachman, and the broad roof of the carriage.

  “Thanks, Bob!” he yelled. “Be safe!”

  Charlie jumped.

  Charlie slammed down onto the roof of the steam-carriage. He tumbled forward over the flat carriage top. The coachman, who had bushy eyebrows and was dressed in long gloves, a tall top hat, goggles, and a driving coat, turned to see what the commotion was.

  Charlie bumped past him, grabbing for anything he could.

  The coachman tried to catch Charlie with one hand, but Charlie ignored him and seized the long-axled steering wheel; in his fingers it spun sideways, and the carriage lurched to the left—

  people in front of the carriage scattered out of the way—

  CRASH!

  The carriage slammed into the wall of the big clock tower.

  Charlie and the coachman flew off the carriage and landed in a heap on the ground. Charlie’s side smarted, but he untangled himself from the driver and rolled to his feet.

  The street itself was empty. Crowds filled the sidewalks and peered from all the windows. Fifty thousand eyes had come to see the queen’s progress from Waterloo Station to Buckingham Palace on her Jubilee, and fifty thousand eyes now stared at Charlie.

  He gulped.

  “Get him!” the coachman croaked.

  Bobbies in blue capes and hats rushed Charlie. The cutlasses slapping in their belts reminded Charlie what he was there for.

  “Your Majesty—” He jerked open the door of the steam-carriage.

  The carriage was empty. Across its red-carpeted floor and past its leather-upholstered seats he could see that the carriage’s other door was open. Beyond it stood the wall of the clock tower and an open door into the building.

  Charlie saw the last swish of a skirt disappearing into Big Ben.

  “Stop!” the nearest policeman shouted.

  Charlie hopped up into the carriage, lurched through it at top speed, and then leaped across the intervening space and into the clock tower.

  Behind him men collided with each other trying to catch him.

  Charlie’s whole body hummed. He was alive. He was powerful.

  Behind the door were a small room and a hallway with more doors. A stairway climbed up toward the top of the tower and its famous bell, Big Ben. Charlie was reaching for the first doorknob when he heard footsteps above him.

  Looking up the square stairwell, he could see an elbow in a red-and-gold dress, turning as the person whose elbow it was raced up the steps.

  Charlie raced after her.

  It had to be the simulacrum, the fake queen. Who else could it be? And the kobold and the real Victoria must be with her, because they weren’t in the carriage. But why would Henry Clockswain—Heinrich Zahnkrieger—run up the inside of the tower? He’d be trapped.

  “There he is!” “Up the stairs, lads!”

  The policemen were inside the tower. Charlie ran.

  Charlie wanted to stop the Iron Cog, and he wanted revenge for his father’s death. But also, in a way that Charlie couldn’t quite explain even to himself, he felt like the queen was family.

  The queen was his mum.

  Charlie had to be cautious, especially on the turns. He could lurch really fast with his bad leg, but the combination of speed and his limp made him knock against the whitewashed walls. If he wasn’t careful, it might throw him over the banister.

  Above him, he saw two queens. He was gaining.

  One Victoria ran. She carried the other Victoria in her arms and sprang full tilt up the stairs. She had the kobold on her shoulders, too.

  The two Victorias looked identical, down to matching dresses.

  The stairwell had no windows. Charlie climbed up, hopping on his bad leg through a white tunnel with a black iron railing in the center of it. He steadily pulled away from the puffing policemen below him, and gained on the ersatz Victoria.

  Careful not to accidentally throw himself over, Charlie ventured a glance down.

  The ground was far below.

  And there were a lot of blue capes swarming up the stairs.

  “There it is!” “What is it?” Charlie heard from the policemen, with much puffing.

  Ahead of him, Victoria disappeared.

  Charlie raced around the last flight of steps and saw a door, slamming shut.

  He leaped—

  and Charlie crashed into the door just before it could close, bowling it open with his body. He rolled like a ball through the doorway and into the room beyond.

  Bang!

  Someone shot at him. Charlie kept doing somersaults, as fast as he could. They weren’t quite straight, with his bad leg, but they were very fast.

  Bang! Bang!

  Charlie’s vision was confused because he was in motion. He saw gears of all sizes, swinging pendulums, walls of glowing white glass, and an enormous bell.

  This was the belfry.

  Charlie broke out of his roll and scrambled, diving behind a cluster of gear shafts. He had survived one gunshot already, but he was pretty sure enough shots would kill him.

  Also, they hurt.

  Bang! BONG!

  The shooter had hit the bell. The sound of the bell was much louder than the gunshot.

  Charlie pressed himself up against his shelter.

  The shots had stopped.

  He peeped up from behind the gears. Queen Victoria sat on a stool, hands tied and mouth gagged. The kobold Zahnkrieger jammed a second stool under the doorknob, and then turned to yank two brass rods out of the clock’s machinery. Another Victoria stood to the side of the door, head slumped and arms at her side.

  “Gehorche mir!” the kobold shouted at the simulacrum. Charlie didn’t know what the words meant, but the ersatz Victoria heard them and snapped to attention. “Get him!” Zahnkrieger pointed at Charlie.

  The fake queen charged.

  Charlie scrambled back, wishing he hadn’t left his cutlass
behind at Waterloo Station.

  He saw now that the four glowing glass walls were the four faces of the giant clock. And the bell, that was Big Ben itself.

  The kobold shoved the rods underneath the door, fixing it shut, then turned his attention back to Charlie.

  The real queen sat very still, her back straight, glowering at the kobold. Even her harsh glare made Charlie feel warm inside. It made him want to sit down and have tea.

  Fake Victoria lunged for Charlie. He ducked under her arms.

  She wheeled and jumped at him again.

  Charlie’s heart sank. The simulacrum was every bit as fast as he was.

  Maybe faster.

  He jumped. He meant to spring vertically, but as he leaped, his bad leg shot out sideways, so he flew up and into the air diagonally.

  The ersatz queen jumped, clawing at him, but her spring was straight up, and she missed. She knocked her shoulder into the high ceiling.

  BONG!

  Charlie struck the bell and bounced along its curving surface. It trembled powerfully from the collision, but he managed to scramble to the hinge where Big Ben hung from a horizontal axle just below the ceiling.

  The fake queen grabbed at the axle on her way down and caught it with both hands. She glared at Charlie with the same expression the real queen had. Her fierce stare and her puffy silk dress dangling from under the big axle made Charlie laugh.

  She looked like a second bell.

  Seeing the two queens in the same room, it was easy for Charlie to tell which was real and which was fake. There was something missing from the fake queen.

  “Enough of this!” Zahnkrieger barked.

  Charlie flattened himself against Big Ben.

  Bang! BONG!

  Charlie scooted around, trying to keep the bell between him and the little man.

  The ersatz queen shuffled closer, hand over hand along the bell’s axle.

  “Charlie,” Zahnkrieger laughed. “You can’t win!”

  The fake Victoria reached out to grab Charlie, and he kicked her hand away. She reached up to move closer along the axle and stopped.

  The axle was greased close to the bell, Charlie realized. She couldn’t crawl along it any farther.

  “Clock off!” Charlie shouted.

  She swiped again at Charlie, and again he kicked her hand away.

  “The funny thing, Charlie,” the kobold said, “is that you get to be the hero. We’ve made your father take the fall as a villain, you know. His body will be found with papers in his pockets identifying him as a member of the Anti-Human League. When the league takes credit for the explosion, people will think he was the bomber. Poor, mad inventor, working away in his little slum shop and plotting to kill the queen.”