The Girl and the Clockwork Cat (Entangled Teen)

by Nikki Mccormack

  The rat sniffed her forehead then turned and ambled out from under the ashbin. A heavy boot slammed down, crushing it, and she squeezed her eyes shut to block out the sight. Her chest hurt. Stars began to flash behind her eyelids. Above them, she could hear an airship passing over and tried to focus on guessing what it might be—a Literati patrol, a bold pirate vessel, or spoiled wealthy folk out for a joy ride. In that moment, she didn’t really care who it was, she despised them for being in a better place than this.

  “Bloody rat!”

  She heard his footsteps receding followed by the violent slamming of a heavy door. Had he gone through the open door into the building in search of her? She opened her eyes again and counted to sixty once, twice, using her strained breathing to set the cadence of the count. For good measure, she counted to sixty a third time, fighting panic and the lightheadedness of too little air. Finally, she started to struggle toward the front of the ashbin. She couldn’t get her heels up to push with her toes, so she reached forward, digging into the dirt with her fingertips and pulling.

  One ragged nail bent back and another tore up into the quick. She bit her lip against the sharp pain. When her chest came free, she sucked in a huge breath. Her head spun, making the alley tip and sway like a ship at sea. She heard the sound of footsteps coming back her way and terror burst through her again. She thrashed free of the ashbin and dove into a broken crate, tucking herself into the shadows and pulling her knees in to her chest. She put one grimy hand over her mouth and nose to muffle her breathing. The bent over fingernail stung. She pushed it back down, watching blood well beneath it.

  Hatchet-face kicked the ashbin and swore. Then he kicked some of the crates again. If he hit the one she was in, would he notice the resistance of her weight? She tucked her head down into her arms to bury a panicked sob. Tears ran down her dirty cheeks as she silently cursed Captain Garrett for getting her into this mess.

  “I’ll find you eventually rat. I promise.”

  A door slammed somewhere nearby.

  Hatchet-face took off at a run. His footsteps receded and she stayed there, curled and trembling, almost screaming when a hand grabbed her arm.

  “C’mon, Pigeon. We need to get out of here before that bludger comes back.”

  The familiar voice sparked giddy relief. She climbed out of the crate with Chaff’s help as raindrops began pattering on the street, echoing hollow on the metal top of the ashbin. She hurried after him on shaky legs, keeping her thoughts to herself in case Hatchet-face was in earshot.

  The rain picked up, coming down hard enough to wash away some of the worst grime from crawling under the ashbin and rinsing out gummed blood in her hair from where Tagmet had struck her. Now that the immediate danger was past, she noticed stinging pain from that strike and the accompanying headache. It was just one of many aches, not the least of which was the throb in her bum from Hatchet-face yanking her over by her leg. Her injured fingers stung as well and she took a moment to chew away the hanging part of the torn fingernail, scowling at the well of blood. She wiped it off on her trousers.

  With it overcast and heavy with rain, the only real harbinger of morning’s arrival was an increase in traffic. Coaches, steam-powered and horse-drawn, increased in numbers along with the occasional steamcycle. Pedestrians began to fill the pavements and a few bicycles joined growing traffic. A lanky gentleman in top hat and spectacles trundled by on a peculiar clockwork bicycle. The contraption didn’t have the speed of the steamcycles, but it was smaller, quieter, and the motion of gleaming gears created a lovely dance as it traveled along. It also didn’t alarm horses the way the labored chugging and sharp exhales of steam-powered engines did.

  Too bad the Lits don’t ride those. I could outrun them without breathing hard.

  They wove between ladies in bustled skirts and men in frock coats, doing their best to avoid attention while discreetly pointing out good marks to each other out of habit. They finally stopped at a shop front sheltered by a red and gold striped awning. A boy several years younger than either of them was waiting there. He greeted Chaff, staring at him with the wide-eyed admiration of a novice criminal in training.

  Maeko turned to Chaff. “You got away.”

  “I did.” His tone said there hadn’t been any doubt. “Checked myself into that fancy new Lit orphanage for a late dinner. What do you think of the haircut and the fancy togs?” He gestured with flair to the ensemble, a pair of black trousers and a clean white shirt under a dapper black waistcoat. It gave him an upstanding appearance that he appeared to enjoy a little too much. Despite the trim, dusty blond hair still hung in his blue eyes that sparkled with the promise of mischief. “I took the togs and the meal and beat feet.”

  “How’d you find me?”

  “Could’ve been the pen and ink.” He waved a hand under his nose for emphasis and winked at her.

  Recalling Ash with his pretty green eyes saying a ruder version of the same thing, she sniffed her arm and recoiled. I do stink. “Really, how did you find me?”

  “Diggs tracked me to the orphanage to tell me he heard you’d been nicked by the Lits. I was headed to JAHF to see if I could perform a rescue when they moved you. I saw you running from that bloke. When he didn’t give up, I made a ruckus to draw him off. I guess rumors of your captivity were exaggerated.”

  “Thanks for the help. I was nicked last night, but I took my leave before they could move me out of JAHF. There were a few smelly ashbins involved.”

  “Bugger and blast!” Chaff straightened. The devoted attention of the younger boy next to him became all hers. “How’d you scarper out of there?”

  Sometimes less information was best. “I slipped out between the bars.”

  He laughed. “I always said you were about as wide as a lamppost. Good thing you haven’t filled out too much up top yet.”

  She felt her cheeks grow hot and beat down the urge to wrap her arms around her bound chest.

  He punched her shoulder playfully. “Don’t go getting all shy on me, May.”

  The strands of her temper frayed. She’d spent the night breaking out of jail and fighting for her life while he got a haircut, new clothes, and a meal. The least he could do was pronounce her nickname correctly. “It’s Ma-eh.”

  “Whatever, Pigeon.” Chaff turned to face the young boy who shrank before the direct gaze of his mentor. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “This is Benny.”

  She sidestepped out from under his hand. He didn’t get to be chummy if he couldn’t be bothered to say her name right, not today. “Teaching him the ropes?”

  A brief tightening around his eyes was the only indication that he noticed her evasion. “Indeed. I was about to explain to him how you shouldn’t offend the delicate faculties of your marks, such as their sense of smell, if you want to be successful on the streets.”

  She swiped out for a punch, but he danced to the side, dodging her strike. His wink and roguish grin were almost as irritating as they were comforting.

  “I nicked him from the orphanage when I snuck out. Told him to wait here while I went for you.”

  Recalling Garrett’s betrayal and the meal she’d lost brought another welling of bitterness up in her. “So you thought you’d abandon me at the clock shop? Go have some warm food and relax?”

  He stepped back from her glare. “I did look for you first, but you weren’t in any of the usual places. I couldn’t do much without knowing where you’d gone. It’s a big city, Pigeon. The minute I had a lead, I went after you.” He eyed her then, taking in the extent of her disheveled state. His brows pinched together with a gratifying hint of distress and the burn of defensive anger sparked in his eyes. “Are you all right? That bludger didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  His response smoothed the edge off her anger. “I didn’t give him much chance.”

  “That’s my girl.” The distress lingered in his regard for a few seconds more, then he smiled. “C’mon. Let’s get you washed up and fed.”

  “Wa
it, Chaff.” Hatchet-face meant to kill Macak’s family. She had to do something. The wild-eyed killer wouldn’t go before dark, and probably quite late to give the family a chance to go to sleep. If she got there in the early evening, she could warn the family and tell them who had Macak. She didn’t want to put Chaff in danger, but she couldn’t face Hatchet-face alone if things went awry. If she wanted him along, however, she needed to spin it the right way.

  Chaff was watching her. Waiting.

  “I got a lead on a job. Could be better than the clock shop.”

  He perked up. “What is it?”

  “It’s at that new building. The Airship Tower.”

  He looked skeptical. “Place that fancy will have security.”

  “I met a bloke last night who promised a big cut if I helped. I’d feel better having you along. I’ll give you half my cut. We’d need to go early tonight though.” It wasn’t a lot of information and she knew he didn’t like working with strangers. Would he trust her enough to go along?

  One of the fancier steamcoaches, a lacquered black carriage with elegant brass accents, gave a sharp exhale on its way past, catching their attention. The coaches were supposed to be warm inside because of the boilers, never a bad thing in London. Luxury models like the one chugging past were built, so she had been told, with plush velvet seats and a convenient beverage cabinet inside for the refreshment of passengers.

  What would it be like to ride in such a thing?

  The only steamcoach she’d ridden in, the cheap Literati prisoner transport they had dumped her in the back of last night, lacked even a whisper of such refinement, though she had been next to the boiler. It was foolish even to fancy the idea. Those who rode in such luxury wouldn’t deign to see her, which did make it easier to pick their pockets.

  When she turned back to Chaff, he nodded. “I’ve got your back, Pigeon. We’ll head that way after you’ve had a bite and aren’t so pungent you’d blow the best cover.” He put a hand on her shoulder to steer her around.

  She let it stay this time. Names and teases were only so important when weighed against a meal. “I hoped you’d say that.”

  Chapter Five

  Maeko and Chaff stood close in the shadows, gazing up at a large gleaming building in the deepening darkness.

  The Airship Tower.

  They had finished construction less than a year ago, creating a haven where the wealthy could escape the squalor of the common rabble. The Lits called it neighborhood improvement. The pirates called it class separatism. Whatever they called it, it wasn’t the kind of place she expected to visit and not one likely to allow her kind entrance either, even in the clean, hole-free clothes they’d gotten for her from the charitable widow who fed them lunch.

  The tower had been the talk of the streets for a while. Looking through the windows validated those tales of frivolous luxury. Elegant signs, framed in elaborate brass scrollwork, directed patrons from the two-storey lobby into adjacent conference rooms, the warm glow of an expensive restaurant, and a ballroom at the rear beyond the lift, with ten floors of residential flats above that. Some said that the upper flats had access to a private landing for the fancy little airships that had gained in popularity with the well-to-do.

  An airship was docking now, lowering down to the roof through the soup of smog and soot. It wasn’t one of the sleek new models she would have expected at such an affluent residence, but rather a stained, hulk of a thing that sported several mismatched patches on its outer hull. She watched until it dropped out of sight, then moved close to the front windows to scope out the entrance.

  The problem now was how to get past security. There was no doorman. The door itself ran on steam power with a floor plate on either side that triggered it to open, the Clockwork Enterprises brand stamped upon the center of each plate. The sound of the engine kicking in to open it would draw attention.

  Though she had spotted piping for gas, the lobby glowed cheerful with the light from an array of elegant brass electric lamps and two massive scrollwork chandeliers hanging in the center of the soaring ceiling. A single attendant waited at the front desk to one side of the lobby, the wood of the desk so polished that the chandeliers reflected in its surface. Two security guards watched the room, one from a corner between a tall plant and a carpeted staircase, the other standing by the lift in the center of the back wall.

  “We need a distraction,” Chaff muttered.

  The guard by the lift left his post, stopping to say something to the guard by the stairs before he walked away and disappeared down a hallway.

  She shifted her feet. “Right about now would be good.”

  “Ask and you shall receive,” Chaff said in a hushed voice.

  Maeko followed his gaze to a woman striding up to the door flanked by two men. The woman captured her attention, not only because she wore trousers and an underarm holster peeked out when her long men’s coat swept back as she stepped through the door, but because she moved with the confident air of someone in charge. The two men with her, in their long wool coats and pushed down bowler caps, kept close on her heels, showing no interest in taking the lead as the unusual trio tromped into the building and made for the front desk.

  As soon as they entered, the security guard at the stairs perked up and walked toward the desk on an interception course. Spotting opportunity, Maeko and Chaff locked eyes.

  He smiled. “Ganbatte.”

  He had the most charming smile. She’d taught him the word and it had become an exclusive parting wish between them, taking the place of the customary good luck he wished his boys. It meant do your best, which she liked better than relying on luck. His Japanese accent was still dreadful, but that only made it cuter.

  She grinned. “Ganbatte.”

  They darted through the door before it finished shutting, careful of the trip plates, and slunk around to the staircase, keeping to the far wall.

  “Hold up,” the guard said. “We don’t need trouble here.”

  Maeko cringed, afraid the guard had spotted them, but a glance over her shoulder revealed that he was addressing the trio now at the counter, speaking over the desk attendant who was too busy scowling at his interruption to notice her. They scurried up the stairs, getting out of sight as fast as possible. The suite was 1001. The top floor.

  A driving sense of urgency kept the pace up until they panted their way to the tenth floor. The stairs opened onto a landing. A stark white door warmed with an elaborate floral carved frame and the brass numbers 1001 on the wall beside it stood across from the lift. Was it the only flat on this floor? She urged herself forward, her gaze drawn to the fancy scrollwork door handle. She didn’t belong in a place like this. It was too nice for a street rat and the tidy refinement made her nervous.

  Chaff was digging for his lock picks.

  She reached for the handle and pressed on the thumb latch. It sank smoothly. It was unlocked.

  Chaff met her eyes and mouthed “careful.”

  Heart racing, she nudged the door open a crack. It glided with quiet elegance on bright brass hinges. The room beyond was dark. Pushing the door open more, she slipped in. Chaff followed and shut the door gently behind him. The pungent aroma in the room washed over her, a stench of urine, feces, and the faint stink of rot that whispered of death.

  When her eyes focused in the dim candlelight flickering through from an adjacent room, she first noticed a pile of scientific journals on the table nearest the door. Myriad detailed sketches of clockwork and steam-powered devices were hung on the walls and set in frames on polished tables where most moneyed families might have artwork and flower arrangements. As her eyes skimmed over the odd items, she spotted two figures lying still on the floor, a woman and a little girl stretched out as if in sleep, the child’s head resting on the woman’s chest. They lay too still and a chill raced up her spine.

  Could Hatchet-face be here already? Had he killed them? No. She’d been around death enough to know by the smell that these two had been dea
d more than a day. Hatchet-face had only escaped with her a little before dawn. Someone else had done the deed.

  I just wanted to help. It didn’t matter. They died anyway.

  “What do we do now?” A woman’s high, frantic voice came from the next room.

  Maeko ducked beside a table, a move that put her closer to the woman and child on the floor, close enough to see blood on the woman’s blouse and confirm that neither breathed. She put a hand over her nose and mouth to block some of the smell and scuttled back away from them until a plush settee blocked further retreat.

  “We need to get out of here, I just...” A man’s voice from the other room. He sounded familiar.

  Chaff, crouching beside her, took her hand. She met his eyes and he gestured toward the door with a jerk of his head.

  “So do we,” he whispered.

  She held her breath, listening for the man to speak again. Silence ensued, broken only by the sounds of quick, nervous breathing. A plaintive meow came from a box set on the credenza along the wall near the entrance to the occupied room.

  “Let’s go.” This was the woman again, her voice shaking.

  “I need to think a minute.”

  Captain Garrett. As much as she despised him for betraying her trust, she wouldn’t have thought him the type to be involved in murder. She looked at the still forms and shuddered. To think she had fallen asleep in the same room with him and his band of merry killers. They needed to get out of here, but she wasn’t going to leave Macak with these people. First, she needed to get Chaff out of danger.

  “Go,” she whispered. “Start looking for a way to create a distraction so we can get through the lobby. I’ll be right behind you.”

  He held her eyes and she thought he might argue, then he nodded and crept around to the door. He listened then slipped out, clicking it shut again behind so the people in the flat wouldn’t see it open and know someone else was there.