His Clockwork Canary

by Beth Ciotta

  “Can’t see a thing,” Eli complained as they veered away from the streetlamps.

  “Just follow me.” Utilizing her night vision and Rollins’s landmarks, Willie guided her team to Jewel Tower, a surviving section of a royal palace built in the fourteenth century. A three-story limestone structure that sat across the road from Parliament and upon the same grounds as Westminster Abbey. “Here,” she said, pointing to an entry point as described by Rollins. “Remember,” she said as Simon pushed open a vine-covered gate, “we must trudge through a sewage duct to gain entrance to this particular catacomb. There could be rats and snakes and such, not to mention filth,” she said for Amelia’s benefit.

  The blond woman snorted and adjusted her shoulder harness.

  Phin groaned. “I hate snakes.”

  “Don’t worry, Bourdain,” Gentry said in a condescending tone. “I’ve got your back.”

  “Leave him be,” Amelia whispered to her husband. “It was just a kiss and not even a good one at that.”

  “Bloody hell,” Phin said.

  Gentry chuckled and Simon looked to Willie and rolled his eyes. “Once inside,” he said to everyone, “it should be safe to use your torchlights.”

  Battery-operated tubes of light. A most ingenious alternative to a kerosene lantern, Willie thought. She would have to purchase one for Fletcher.

  Ignoring the putrid smell and the feel of squishy clay beneath her boots, Willie slogged through the sewage tunnel. She ignored the scurrying rats, as did everyone else, including Amelia. Indeed, she was most impressed with her sister-in-law. Senses keen, Willie felt her heart skip when she spied the entrance to the catacombs as described by Rollins. “This way.” No one, including Simon, countered, although once inside the musty labyrinth, Simon, Phin, and Gentry took the lead whilst Eli protected the rear.

  As they were all armed with torchlights, golden beams swept over every wall and crevice. Every coffin, every vault. Every disgusting pile of exposed skulls and bones. On pins and needles, Willie almost yelped when she felt a vibration against her ribs.

  The telecommunicator.

  Strangelove.

  She fell back behind Amelia and, whilst pretending to examine a vault, shone her light upon the device. Upon decoding the message, panic ensued.

  BRING ACC. WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. SECOND LAMP. MIDNIGHT. SENDING COURIER. YOUR BROTHER. FAIL ME. HE DIES.

  How had Strangelove located Wesley? Aye, she and her brother were estranged, but the thought of him dying, let alone because of her, was crushing. The time factor only intensified her angst. By midnight tonight? Willie pocketed the device and noted the time. Eleven oh five. Surely Strangelove would not have given her such short notice. Had there been a glitch in the transmission? Had the message been delayed? Did he perhaps mean tomorrow? She could not take that chance. If she did not show . . .

  “Here!” Phin shouted, his voice echoing down the tunnel and prompting Willie to join the others.

  Five torchlights shone upon one vault, illuminating the safe house like a divine entity.

  “H. Houdini,” she said, noting the inscription and marveling once again that her mother had dedicated so much of her life to protecting a device that committed her to the bowels of the earth. She did not understand her mother. But she respected her. “We must hurry.”

  “You said the mercenary would not show for his shift until predawn,” Simon said.

  “Sometime around predawn,” Willie said, reaching into her pocket for the secret code. “Rollins was not specific about the time, and who knows what other means of security Filmore might have initiated? Rollins was adamant that we enter and exit posthaste.” Whilst they were depositing the engine in the air dinghy, she would somehow slip away. Simon would be worried, furious. Gadzooks. How had it come to this?

  “In addition to the locking box at the bottom of the gate,” Simon said, whilst examining the vault, “there’s a padlock. Did Rollins give you a key, sweetheart?”

  Her upper lip beaded with sweat. “No.”

  “I can break that lock,” Eli said. The big black man pulled tools from the arsenal belt beneath his voluminous coat.

  “Make sure it’s not rigged,” Phin said.

  “A bomb?” Amelia groaned. “The queen would never forgive us if we blew up another artifact of importance.”

  “If we’re blown to smithereens, darlin’,” Gentry said, “won’t be nothin’ left of us to forgive.”

  “I don’t see any wires,” Simon said.

  “Me neither,” Eli said.

  “Just that combination lock contraption,” Gentry said.

  “An astonishing amount of dials,” Amelia noted. “You don’t suppose that’s booby-trapped, do you? Dial the wrong number and kaplooey?”

  Simon shot his sister a look and Willie wondered if they were thinking of their father, who’d gone kaplooey along with his moonship. Indeed, the image was most unsettling. Heart pounding, she knelt beside her husband amongst dirt and cobwebs and studied the locking mechanism. “The combination is quite lengthy,” she said. “Let me read it to you, and that way you can concentrate solely on the dials.”

  He flashed her an encouraging smile. “Teamwork.” Then he focused on the box.

  Willie wet her lips, glanced at her time cuff. Eleven fifteen. She commenced to reading the combination—slowly, deliberately—whilst visions of her brother flashed through her mind. No one else said a word as Simon finagled each gold dial, although Willie’s ears rang with the sounds of childhood bantering and laughter. Where Wesley was concerned, the bad times had outweighed the good, yet this moment only the good resonated. Rattled, she pushed Wesley from her mind, but her angst remained. She realized she’d been anticipating the sound of hostile footsteps . . . or an explosion.

  Simon tweaked the last dial and tripped a switch.

  A compression valve hissed and groaned.

  Eli utilized a compact bolt cutter and the iron lock clanged and thudded to the ground.

  Sweat trickled down Willie’s back as they cautiously swung open the iron-grilled gate. No explosion. No footsteps. They shone their lights on a toddler-sized coffin.

  “Seems small for an engine,” Eli said.

  “Remember,” Gentry said, “I saw the plans that inspired this engine. Ain’t size that matters. It’s the inner workings.”

  “I’m dying to see it,” Amelia said. “Imagine. An engine that enables people to soar through dimensions.”

  “We can gawk at it later,” Willie said, anxious to meet with Strangelove and to vanquish the villain from their life. “Let’s just get it out of here.” She grabbed a handle just as everyone yelled, “Wait!”

  Startled, she paused, but she’d already shifted the coffin and . . . “Oh, no.” She heard a beep and then another. “What is it?” She looked around the vault, along with everyone else.

  “It’s a goddamned bomb,” Phin said. “Here. Time detonator. What jolly good fun,” he said with sarcasm. “Six minutes, fifty-five, nope, fifty-four seconds.”

  “Crikey,” Amelia said, “we’ll never make it out in time with the engine.”

  Simon dropped to his knees. “Eli, give me your tool belt. I’ve seen this sort of mechanism before.”

  “I can help,” Phin said, stooping alongside him. “Wrangled some demolitions during the war.”

  “Ladies, run like hell,” Simon said. “Gentry, Eli, grab the coffin. Get as far from us as possible. Just in case.”

  Sick to her stomach, Willie stared down at Simon. “I cannot leave you.”

  He cast her a confident, earnest look. “I cannot save us whilst you’re here.”

  Amelia tugged at her brace. “Come on, Canary. My brother knows what he’s doing.”

  Breaking free, Willie dropped next to Simon and framed the sides of his mud-streaked face. “I love you, Simon Darcy.”

  “And I you.” Eyes dancing, he smacked a kiss to her mouth, then jerked his head. “Meet you topside, pet.”

  Heart battering
her ribs, Willie flew out of the vault and down the corridor alongside her sister-in-law. Gentry and Eli were close on their heels, carrying the precious coffin between them. Amelia slipped in the muck of the sewage duct and Willie easily righted her with the aid of the Thera-Steam-Atic Brace. It would seem Simon’s recent adjustments had afforded the brace an intensified means of strength. Willie’s eyes burned as she thought about her husband’s kindness, his genius, and she prayed to God his brilliant mind didn’t fail him now.

  “Haul butt, ladies,” Gentry ordered from behind. Indeed, the cowboy and his crewmate fairly lifted Willie and Amelia off their feet as they whisked the coffin from the duct, up the moss-covered stairs, and through the rusted garden gate.

  Lungs burning, Willie fell to her knees as the frigid fresh air chilled her sweat-soaked clothing. She checked her time cuff.

  “What time is it?” Amelia asked, chest heaving from exertion and angst. “How long has it been?”

  Willie sleeved tears from her eyes. “Almost six minutes.”

  “Crikey.”

  Gentry squeezed Willie’s shoulder. “He’ll prevail.”

  “How do you know?”

  The man smiled down at her. “He’s a Darcy.”

  As much as she wanted to trust in Gentry’s confidence, Willie’s world tilted as she braced for an explosion. She could not imagine her life without Simon. Envisioning his handsome face, she whispered a plea and prayed for a miracle. “I cannot change the world without you, my love. Come back.”

  “What time is it?” Amelia asked.

  Willie could scarcely breathe, let alone move.

  Gentry checked his pocket watch, as did Eli.

  Amelia nabbed Willie’s wrist, squinted at her time cuff, and squealed. “They’re clear!” The young woman scrambled to the gate, yelled down.

  Willie pushed to her feet, green with the collywobbles.

  “They shouted back!” Amelia called over her shoulder. “Simon and Phin are on their way!”

  Gentry flashed Willie a kind smile. “Never underestimate a Darcy.” He winked, then looked to Eli. “Let’s get this coffin to the dinghy before some copper spots us. We look like a pair of damned grave robbers. Come on, ladies!”

  Willie palmed her forehead. Simon was alive. She thanked her lucky stars. She swore to tackle life along her husband’s side. Freak and Vic, united forever and always. She glanced at her timepiece, then over her shoulder at Westminster Bridge. Would Wesley be alone? Would Strangelove be lurking? Or perhaps he’d hired a gunman. She remembered the first time they’d met, a murky memory of Strangelove and the whispered word: assassin.

  Palming the bag slung over her shoulder, she verified the welfare of the memory disk.

  One last obstacle. One more life to be saved. Then and only then could she embrace the future.

  CHAPTER 36

  Exiting the claustrophobic bowels of the catacomb and sewage tunnel, Simon had considered himself the luckiest bloody bastard on earth. This night alone he’d coldcocked the famous Sky Cowboy in defense of his sister’s virtue, saved his wife from the clutches of a Mod’s mind, located Briscoe’s clockwork propulsion engine, and, along with Phin’s help, disabled a ticking bomb. In addition to saving their lives, he’d ensured the well-being of a historical architectural treasure—Westminster Abbey.

  In his somewhat dazed and euphoric state, it occurred that he’d spent the last few hours flirting with the kind of danger his brother, a secret agent for the Crown, no doubt faced every day. For once Simon’s timing had been bang-on, and that constant nagging impulse to make his mark upon the world had been miraculously snuffed. In the instant he’d pushed through the garden gate, hugged his sister, then laid eyes upon his wife’s beautiful tearstained face, Simon had imagined himself quite content spending the next few years engineering enhanced prosthetics and aiding Willie in the peaceful emancipation of Freaks.

  He had not considered even an ounce more of excitement this night. So when Willie spewed an astounding tale of blackmail and deceit regarding a devious and powerful noble who went by the name Strangelove, Simon could not believe his ears.

  “I never should have buckled under his threats,” Willie said, her sole attention on Simon even though the others listened intently. “But given the circumstances at the time, I could not afford involving the police. Please know I never truly intended to betray you. I thought I was protecting you as well as my family. I thought I could handle Strangelove, that I could somehow manipulate the situation. Then later, I worried if I told you, you’d be angry. That you’d never trust me again. That you’d . . .”

  Her breath hitched and Simon pulled her into his arms. “You thought I’d leave you. Dammit, Willie.” Simon dropped his forehead to hers, tucked her shaggy hair behind her ears, and willed his temper even. “Why tell me now?”

  “Because I’ve changed. I don’t want to go it alone. I don’t want to endanger my brother’s life, but I no longer want to surrender the ACC to Strangelove. What if he can access the data? What if he’s a threat to the world? He swore once I complied he would leave me and mine alone. But I don’t trust him.” She placed her hand over Simon’s heart. “I trust you.”

  Twisted up with emotion, Simon kissed Willie’s forehead, then glanced over her shoulder at Clock Tower. “Less than thirty minutes to midnight. Not much time to devise a plan.”

  Phin crossed his arms and regarded the former air marshal with a cocky expression. “Tangling with all those Wild West outlaws, you’ve no doubt encountered hostage situations. Any bright ideas, cowboy?”

  “I can think of one or two, Casanova.” Gentry pulled a communication gadget from his pocket, and after seeing the one Strangelove had given to Willie, Simon decided he really needed to start shopping the black market.

  “Tell them the weather could get rough,” Willie said when she heard Gentry speaking with his chief navigator aboard the Maverick.

  “Hold,” Gentry said into the device, then turned his attention to Willie. “What do you mean?”

  “Wesley’s supernatural gift. He can manipulate the weather. He’s been known to stir up violent storms when angered. If he’s anxious because Strangelove threatened him . . .” Willie hugged herself against a blast of frigid wind. “Blizzards, whirlwinds, hailstorms.”

  “The Stormerator,” Amelia said, wide-eyed.

  “That’d be an all-fired coincidence,” Eli said.

  “What are you talking about?” Simon asked, pulling Willie close.

  “Trouble in the form of a bastard sky pirate and his secret weapon,” Gentry said. “Your brother a good sort, Amelia?”

  She dipped her chin. “Not really.”

  “Think he’d use his gift for ill gain?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “But he’s still my brother,” she rushed on. “And he’s still being threatened by Strangelove.”

  “Honey,” Gentry said, tugging his brim low. “My gut says you’ve been hornswoggled. Eli, take the dinghy and hide the coffin in the Maverick’s cargo bay. Amelia, go with him and ready Peg.” He spoke into the communicator. “Watch for a shark in a storm cloud, StarMan, and prepare to tussle.”

  Phin checked his personal arsenal and Amelia jammed her Remington Blaster against Simon’s chest. “That derringer won’t cut it with Dunkirk and his men, Simon. Listen to Tucker, and crikey, shoot to maim.” She shocked Simon further by pulling Gentry down for a swift yet passionate kiss. “Hell of a honeymoon, Mr. Gentry. You owe me.”

  She raced off to join Eli, and Simon marveled at his little sister’s transformation. She’d always been fearless, but smitten by a man? The equally besotted look on the former lawman’s face went a long way to quell Simon’s reservations regarding their whirlwind marriage. Although, good God, his own nuptials had been remarkably spontaneous.

  He noted Willie’s worried expression and strapped the blaster over his chest. Giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, he nailed Gentry with a look o
f fierce confidence and commitment. “I’ve studied the designs of Westminster Bridge as well as Clock Tower and all of Parliament and the Abbey. I know every crook and cranny.”

  “Then I’m in dire need of your intellect, Darcy.” He looked to Phin. “Amelia says you’re a crack aviator.”

  “Nice to know she thinks I excel at something.”

  “Catch up to her and tell her you need to borrow her pa’s dig. With your military training I could use you in the air.”

  “Right, then.” Phin dipped into his coat and handed Willie his cherished Knuckle Shocker Stun Gun. “For backup,” he said. “I tweaked it a bit so it might actually pack the wallop Reggie intended.”

  Phin raced after Amelia, and Willie looked up at Simon, eyes bright. “Somehow it feels like your father is with us.”

  “He always was my greatest champion,” Simon said, heart squeezing. He looked to Gentry, inspired and ready to kick arse. “So what’s the plan?”

  • • •

  Bicycles were all the rage in London. Willie had pedaled more than a few, but none so furiously as the one “borrowed” from a passing citizen by Simon. Fortunately, Westminster Bridge was just down St. Margaret Street and to the east of Clock Tower. Unfortunately, an ominous fog was barreling toward her, obliterating the skyline and landscape, and obscuring even Willie’s most excellent night vision.

  She steered onto Bridge Street and at once was consumed in the dense, swirling mist. She knew the House of Commons and Clock Tower stood to her right, but she could not see either of the magnificent structures. Her mad dash became a perilous crawl as she strove not to veer into a random vehicle or a midnight-strolling pedestrian. Although, from the deafening quiet, Willie would swear she was alone in the world just now. She took comfort in knowing Simon and their band of musketeers were out there, somewhere, poised for a joint rescue and ambush.

  Gentry had doled out direct instructions and Willie had thought his plan most sound, except they’d anticipated a violent storm of sorts, not this insidious, all-consuming pea soup. It occurred to Willie that even though she’d asked for help, she might be going it alone after all. How could anyone help her if they couldn’t find her? The fog was not only blinding but disorienting.