by Arthur Slade
“Yes,” Modo said, trying to sound as confident as possible.
“How can you be certain?”
“I guess you won’t get to tell me that I was wrong.” He let out a forced laugh.
“I feel as though I’ve known you my whole life, Modo,” Octavia whispered. “Somehow I was meant to know you. We are supposed to be standing here together, right now. Do you believe that?”
“I don’t know. Fate is … it’s not rational.”
“Well, feelings aren’t rational. So what! It’s a feeling I happen to have. That I was meant to know you. To be your friend.”
“Friend?” he asked.
“We are more than friends, Modo. You know what I mean.”
No, he didn’t, actually. Once again she was speaking in riddles. He looked away from her. “Don’t talk as if we’re about to die. It’s bad luck.”
“You don’t believe in luck, Modo.”
“I don’t. Nor do I want to think about our deaths or about life beyond tomorrow. I want to think only about our duty.”
“And what is our duty? To Queen and Country?”
“To Colette’s memory. To my mother. To put an end to this Guild once and for all.”
Her hand tightened on his. “But what’s the point if we don’t succeed?”
“We have to.”
The engine rumbled, then stopped, but the Shah was still moving. The masts creaked above them.
“We’ve switched to sails,” Modo said. He took a deep breath in an effort to calm his now racing heart.
“We are closing in on our destination,” Mr. Socrates said from behind them. Modo quickly released Octavia’s hand. “Come and receive your orders.”
They followed him to a cabin, passing the dragoons, who were getting into their armor with the help of the Association soldiers. The soldiers looked like black ants scurrying around wasps.
It was a small cabin lit by a single lamp. The porthole was covered with black cloth. “Quick, the door,” Mr. Socrates said. Modo shut it.
Their master handed them two maps: one of the island, the other of a series of tunnels. “Memorize these,” he said. After they had both studied the images he took the maps back. “You two will have tasks that best suit your skill sets,” he explained, pointing at the tunnel map. “While the dragoons attack you’ll be entering the sea cave. By my calculations the tides will be at a sufficiently low level by four a.m., an hour from now. If possible, you’ll first free Madame Hébert. Given how valuable she is to the Guild’s experiments, my best guess is that she’s in the cave near the center of the island. Hand her over to the protection of the Association soldiers.”
“And what’s the other assignment?” Modo asked.
“To capture the master of the Guild. It will be a tricky job, since a full-out battle will be under way.”
“Assuming we can find him, that is.”
“Assuming he’s a man,” Octavia pointed out. “He could be a woman.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Socrates said, “but doubtful. If it’s unworkable for you to take him prisoner, then I expect you to eliminate him.”
“Kill him?”
“This isn’t a game, Modo. This is how our business is done. If he escapes, then many more Britons will die, perhaps thousands.” The ship shuddered to a stop. “The Shah has orders to begin shelling the island at sunrise, which will be six a.m., or earlier, if targets become clearly visible. You’ll have to work fast. We have arrived. Prepare yourselves.”
He flicked off the light and opened the door to the dark.
38
Sounding the Alarm
It was only chance and sleeplessness that had taken Miss Hakkandottir to the docks so late that night. She had traversed the island and was now standing at the end of the pier looking out at the Pacific. She had just visited Dr. Hyde, who was hard at work on his creations. They were ugly creatures; it was an ugly business, but necessary. She still did not understand the intentions of the Guild Master, but she felt better when she walked. And her presence kept the soldiers alert. She’d caught one guard sleeping and dealt him such a blow with her metal hand that he was now in the medical tent. That would keep the rest of them on their toes.
She missed the Wyvern and how strong she’d felt standing on the deck of such an incredible warship. It had been a part of her, and when it went down, she felt that part of her sink into the ocean too. The airship Hera was another part of her, almost like her metal hand. She had failed far too many times.
The Crystal Palace glowed dimly behind her. The Guild Master would still be working. It was nighttime here, but it would be daytime in other countries. He had a multitude of agents around the world who reported to him.
She stroked Grace’s large skull. The mechanical hound was silent since she had no vocal cords, a design of the good Dr. Hyde. Grace had been a valuable companion for years now. The dog made the familiar clicking sound from the back of her throat that meant she was happy. “Yes, you always stand with me,” Miss Hakkandottir said.
She stared at the dark horizon. How much of her life had been spent as a pirate on those waters? That had been her first introduction to the Guild Master. Even then he’d had no name. She would work hard to get into his good graces again. Then she laughed. “Good graces?” she said. “And you are my good Grace.”
The dog clicked in agreement, then lifted her ears and looked toward the west. She made a rasping sound, as close to a bark as she could get.
“What do you hear, Grace?”
A moment later Miss Hakkandottir heard something too, a sound like the buzzing of giant insects. It was not familiar, though sometimes she discerned a mechanical whine. There were no shipments that she knew of arriving at this hour.
She saw the bow of a craft glinting in the moonlight a fair distance away. Behind it were two other boats. She squinted. They were square-shaped boats with gates at the front. British flags flapped in the moonlight.
“Sound the alarm!” she shouted, and sprinted back across the dock, Grace pounding the boards beside her. “Now! Sound the alarm!”
Sirens began to scream. Guild soldiers took their positions, and orders were shouted as bright electric lights came to life, pointing out to sea. Miss Hakkandottir raced up the circular stairs to the top of the observation tower and watched the boats draw closer. The clear outline of helmeted heads. Soldiers! Rifles on their shoulders.
“Fire!” she hollered. “Fire, now!”
The field guns let loose their first volley—boom, boom, boom! The sound shook the very tower itself, but it was not easy to bring the big fourteen-pounders to bear on moving targets, and the shots landed well past the boats. The enemy gained speed as they approached, engines buzzing like wasps. The first craft hit the shore and skidded several feet onto the beach. Someone jumped off the back and began swimming out to sea.
Then the gate of the boat dropped open. The Guild soldiers, who had gathered along their trenches, fired. The enemy was standing in the boat, guns at the ready but not charging the men. No matter how many shots they fired, the enemy didn’t fall, just rocked back and forth, taking hits here and there. Helmets flew off and still they just stood in the harrowing fire.
Then it dawned on her. They were dummies! At that same moment the second boat struck next to a stanchion on the pier. The third landed near the base of the observation tower. The gates flipped open and more dummies were revealed.
“Cease fire!” she shouted. “Cease fire!”
It took a full minute before her orders were relayed. When the soldiers finally stopped firing all she could hear was the ringing in her ears from the booming of the big guns. The dummies continued to sway, many of them torn in two by rifle fire. What did all this mean?
“Board the vessels!” she commanded. A group of six Guild soldiers approached the first of the landing craft.
The boat exploded, sending a cloud of shrapnel through the approaching soldiers and knocking them to the sand. Then the second boat blew up. She w
atched in disbelief as the pillar on the pier was smashed to pieces. The third boat, which had beached itself directly below the observation tower, burst into flames like a giant Roman candle.
The tower she stood on began to sway gently, and then, as though it were tired, it gave way.
39
The Island Assault
Modo sat in a boat that was cutting silently through the waves. He shivered when he heard the cannon fire begin. They were approaching the opposite, rocky cliffs of the island. Octavia put her hand on his shoulder; it was comforting to feel her touch at that moment. Each boom seemed to shake the island; it certainly shook his confidence. He’d heard smaller cannons before, but these ones sounded like hammers of the gods.
The operation was under way and there was no turning back. To his left and right were six other boats, each transporting Association soldiers and the fully armored dragoons, metal glinting in the moonlight. He was thankful for his mask: none of the soldiers or Octavia would know how frightened he was. As for them, their grim faces seemed carved in stone. The soldiers were silent but for the occasional hissed command. The boats were surprisingly quiet, magically gliding along thanks to their electric engines. “A trick we stole from your friends in the Ictíneo,” Mr. Socrates had explained. “Electric boats provide a swift, inaudible attack.”
With all the rifle fire and cannons going off at the docks, no one would hear the slight humming sound of the boats from such a distance. As they approached, no alarms sounded on this side of the island. It seemed deserted above them. Had the attack on the docks drawn all the sentries to the battle? One could only hope.
At this moment his master would be back on the deck of the HMS Shah, watching the mission unfold through his spyglass. Tharpa would be at his side. Modo wished Tharpa were going into battle alongside him. Maybe he’d feel more confident. He patted himself to be sure his Colt pocket revolver was in its holster and his knife in its sheath.
They glided right up to the rocky cliffs, fully a hundred feet tall, slick with spray, unassailable by ordinary men. Even Modo, an expert and natural climber, wouldn’t risk it. But given what he’d seen of the dragoons, he was fairly certain they could ascend the rocks with little difficulty.
“Do you see any caves?” Octavia whispered. “Footman said they’d be on this side.”
“It’s a big island.”
He squinted, wishing for a bit more moonlight. No cave that he could see. It was so dark it’d be difficult to find it.
“The entrance is here somewhere,” he said. “We just have to keep searching.”
Modo watched as the dragoons stood in their boats, reached up and found holds with their metal hands, then, one by one, began to scale the cliffs. They climbed like insects. It was a glorious sight, seeing them move in perfect unison. Mr. Socrates had long ago spoken theoretically about soldiers in mechanized suits of armor, and now here they were as promised, and about to strike the Clockwork Guild.
Several stones hit the water, and the group looked up to see a dragoon hanging by one arm, scrambling for another handhold. Moments later he plummeted and, without so much as a squawk, splashed into the ocean and sank.
There was no rescue attempt, not even a pause in the operation. “Could it be Ester?” Octavia said. “Or Oppie?”
“We won’t know until later,” Modo said, surprised at how steady his voice sounded.
The lead dragoons were already reaching the summit. Modo expected them to be pushed back, but the last of them reached the top without incident. The cannons went on booming. Ropes were lowered and Sergeant Beatty and the remaining Association soldiers climbed up.
“I do wish we were going with them,” Modo said. “I don’t much like crawling into holes.”
“I’m part sewer rat!” Octavia said. “We’d better find this cave quickly!” She flicked on her pocket lucifer.
“Put that out!” Modo hissed.
“If no one saw the dragoons, no one’ll notice us.”
Modo took out his own light and shone the beam on the rock walls. After a few minutes, he spotted a hole, barely large enough for a grown man. “There it is!”
“You first, since you’re part monkey,” Octavia said. He directed the sailor to maneuver the boat closer, then jumped up, grabbing at the lip of the cave. It took some effort, but he climbed in and lowered a short rope. Octavia was soon beside him and they pulled out their compasses.
They crouched and crab-walked their way deeper into the cave. At times Modo had to squeeze his shoulders together to shove himself through narrower passages. Thankfully, the tunnel eventually widened. He slipped and splashed into a deep pool of water. He kicked and found the floor, and carried on, pushing against the water, holding his pocket-watch lucifer high. “It’s deep,” he said. “Be careful.”
“Yes, sir,” Octavia answered, splashing in behind him. He could see the edge of the pool ahead.
It wasn’t long before the map they’d memorized became useless. There were several fresh tunnels, which only confused them both. In time they found themselves in a small chamber surrounded by numerous openings. A smidgen of light could be seen at the end of a few of the tunnels.
“This way,” Octavia whispered, pointing at one of the partially lit openings.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
They followed the tunnel to a dead end where a ladder was fastened to the stone. The light source was somewhere above them. Modo climbed up first. Footman had warned them of the stench, but it was beyond anything Modo had imagined: a mix of carcasses and sulfur and other foul odors. The higher he climbed, the worse it stank. He was close to retching, so when he reached the top he covered his nose and mouth with one hand and helped Octavia up with the other. When she emerged she took a deep breath as if she needed a gulp of fresh air. Modo wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“How can you stand the stench?” he asked.
“Oh, no worse than the cabbage soup the headmistress used to feed us every day,” Octavia joked, but she looked pale.
There was a sputtering lamp overhead. The tunnel in front of them was partially collapsed, but Modo’s lucifer revealed enough room for them to squeeze through.
Octavia glanced at her compass. “That tunnel goes west, toward the beach. The cave that we’re supposed to be entering is in that direction.”
“Then let’s take it, but we’ll have to do so in the dark,” Modo said. They both put out their lights. After a minute, Octavia flicked hers back on.
“This is madness, Modo. We could fall into a pit or be sucked into slime. I won’t look good dead.”
“That’s for certain,” he said glibly, and then an image of Colette flashed through his mind, how she’d looked after her death. He didn’t want to so much as imagine losing Octavia that way.
He flicked on his light and led the way. With each step it grew colder, as though they were walking into winter. The stink subsided. When they reached a chamber lit by gaslight, he peeked around the corner. No one was there, but along the wall were stacks of neatly labeled crates. Modo and Octavia crept into the room, shivering. Big square chunks of ice were sticking out of a blanket of straw. The crates were labeled with Roman numerals. “Do we dare look inside?” Octavia asked.
“What would they keep at such a blood-numbing temperature?” he wondered aloud as he reached to lift the lid on a smaller crate. The wood creaked as Modo worked the lid back and forth till it finally popped off. They gasped and Octavia clutched her chest. There, looking up at them, were about fifty eyeballs, each neatly tucked into felt holders like they were eggs. They could only be human eyes, plucked out and waiting for … for what? He quickly closed the lid.
“Well,” he said. “I certainly don’t intend to look in any more crates.”
“I’m with you,” Octavia said, her own eyes wide and uncertain.
They crept out of the chamber and along another tunnel. Once again a putrid smell assaulted their noses. He paused at the entrance of the ne
xt chamber and motioned Octavia to stay still. He could hear shuffling, and when he peeked around the rock he saw men in white coats setting down a crate. Then they got into a lift; one pressed a button and they ascended silently.
Modo cautiously entered the chamber. The room was humid and he began to sweat, drops running down into his mask, his eyes burning. In the center were two vast brass cauldrons boiling over a coal fire. Glass tubes led from one to the other, a bloodred substance inside them. He peeked over the edge of a cauldron and saw a bubbling red liquid with pinkish streaks. It smelled horrible.
“That’s worse than boiled cabbage,” Octavia said.
“I can’t imagine its purpose.”
“Best not to.”
A grating noise came from behind them. They turned to see that the lift was on its way down, and quickly hid behind a stack of barrels along the walls.
A man stepped out of the lift, his back to them, and began to pick ice from the top of a barrel, crunching it in his mouth. Modo signaled his intention to Octavia, counted to three using his fingers, then leapt. She jumped at the same time.
But as Modo flew through the air, the man pivoted and gave a glittering smile as he darted out of the way. Lime!
He stopped some distance away and turned. “Ah, a couple of Alices have tumbled down the rabbit hole.” He drew long knives and waved them. “I came down here to escape the booming booms. Boom boom boom. I’m not much of a military man. A little too noisy for my taste.”
“You’re hiding, you mean,” Modo said.
“I’m being selectively brave. And thank you for making an appearance. I’m happy to have you entertain me.”
Modo triumphantly drew his pistol and was pleased to see Lime stop smiling. Aiming to wound, he pulled the trigger. All he got in reply was a click of the hammer. He pulled it again and again. The gun was dripping water.
“Ah, so grievously sad,” Lime said, taking a step toward them, twirling his blades. “ ‘One, two! One, two! And through and through, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack.’ ”