Clockwork Memories: Book Three in the Memory Thief Series

by Sarina Dorie

  “You are much smarter when you think with you head.” I gave his crotch a meaningful glance. “Unlike when you think with your chin-chin.”

  His cheeks turned rosy. “I suspect you took full advantage of that last night. You know where I am most vulnerable.”

  I tilted my head in acknowledgement. “You’re a worthy opponent.”

  “Miss Sumiko, I don’t want to be your opponent. Let us both be friends. We both share a … fondness of Miss Earnshaw, is that not correct?”

  My skin crawled over the way he said the word “fondness.” Was I so obvious? I thought I’d been careful to conceal my feelings for her when we weren’t in private, but love could be difficult to conceal. Would he tell Faith? If he were as dangerous as I feared, he would use this information to blackmail me. He would use it to shame me.

  I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat. If I was smart, I would have kept my mouth closed and pretended indifference, but I was no better than he was when I’d found his weakness. “You will now tell this to Faith-chan to drive us apart.”

  “I think not. That’s between you and Faith. It’s none of my business.” He tugged at the bottom of his jacket, his fists remaining clenched on the hem. His bone white knuckles told me of his anger, though he kept his voice as calm and controlled as a Jomon leader. “You must not think very highly of me if you believe I would want to hurt Miss Earnshaw.”

  I kept my voice low and composed as not to give my own anger away. “If you are so fond of Faith-chan, why will you not give her memories back?”

  “In due time, I will return them to her. But for now, it’s safest to keep them in my care where they won’t harm her.” He offered a tentative smile.

  Was this a jest? I could never tell with a gaijin. But no, his smile was real, his words earnest. He truly thought her memories could harm her. Well, I didn’t.

  “When will you return Faith-chan’s memories?”

  He sighed. “My word! You have a one track mind.”

  The doors swooshed open and in came Faith. She carried her skirts so she wouldn’t trip on them. Her dress snagged on a tiered shelf of plants and she turned to free it from a corner of metal, lifting her skirts even higher. She muttered to herself in those funny words she had once confessed were space sailor swearing words she had learned as a child. Meriwether stared at her slender white ankles and blushed. He turned away as the bulge in his pants swelled.

  I shook my head in disbelief. Even that much flesh enticed his appetites? What was wrong with these poor gaijin that an ankle made them want each other?

  His voice was low as he said over his shoulder, “Men’s clothes suit you, Miss Sumiko.”

  At those words, I was conscious of the clothes I wore and how uncomfortable they were. I felt dirty in them.

  Silently he slipped up to the wall and pressed his hand to the smooth, metal surface. It was absent of panels or buttons, but he found a spot that made it open and exited from the heated room.

  For all the begging Faith had done to get me to remove Meriwether’s clothes that day, it hadn’t the power to convince me as much as his compliment did. It reminded me of all the times my mother had scolded me without openly criticizing when I’d been a child. When I’d been playing too loudly, she had smiled and said, “Why, aren’t you such a talented singer! I should have you stand in front of the entire tribe and let them listen to you.” It was a way of manipulating by using an insincere compliment to draw negative attention. Such subtlety was lost on Faith and had never worked when I complimented her. It did work on me.

  Whether Meriwether truly intended the statement as a criticism in the Jomon style or a compliment, I didn’t know. In any case, I didn’t want to wear his clothes anymore.

  Someone was speaking, but I couldn’t hear. I was lost in the soupy mixture of in-between time, that place between memory exchange and one’s own body. Only it wasn’t warm and comfortable like it was supposed to be. Everything was sharp and made of teeth. It felt like I had lost an organ. Or perhaps just a piece of my kamuy. I couldn’t remember what I’d parted with, only something willingly and something not.

  “Get me out of this chair. Doctor, I order you to unstrap me,” a deep male voice with an accent said.

  I would have laughed at the funny way he spoke, but I hurt all over. My eyes throbbed like I’d drunk too much shochu. The light burned. I gasped in air and tried to move away from rough hands, but I was too weak. I blinked.

  An old grandfather stood next to me, examining my face. He frowned and looked toward someone I couldn’t see. He hesitated, true regret in his eyes. I tried to follow him with my eyes, but he stepped out of view. I couldn’t move.

  The funny, angry voice shouted, “That was revolting. Memory exchange is supposed to be pleasant. What’s wrong with this machine? Eli! Get over here.”

  “Yes, sir,” said a softer voice.

  “Your machine needs modifications. I expect you to work on them all night if need be.”

  The voice grated on my ears and I moaned. My stomach cramped and it felt like the room was moving.

  “Mademoiselle Sumiko, stop toying with me. I haven’t time for games.” A hand cupped my chin, shaking my head.

  Where fingers touched my skin, it felt as though my flesh blistered. My eyes flew open. My gaze rested on a tall man with the beard. It took me a moment for the fog to lift from my brain and to place him. All at once the present came crashing back onto me.

  Jacques turned my chin this way and that. “I asked you a question, mademoiselle.”

  “You can see she’s out of sorts. Don’t be like that with her,” Eli said.

  I tried to work up enough saliva in my mouth to spit on Jacques, but my mouth was too dry.

  “Water.” My voice came out a raspy hiss.

  “The machine obviously works. Just not well,” Jacques said. “What am I to conclude? That Meriwether’s will is stronger than yours? I doubt that. Yet we bled him of memories until we could get no more, and those were few in themselves, n’est-ce pas?”

  He strode over to the engine, tapping his fingers absently against a monitor. The doctor came over and removed the mitts from my hands. I whimpered at the grating sensation of his touch. I tried to recoil, but there was nowhere to go with the straps holding me in.

  “Can’t you see? She’s not well. Leave her be,” Eli said. He rushed to me, held a cup to my lips and gave me a sip of water. Most of it dribbled down my chin, but enough made it down my throat to quench the dryness.

  The doctor looked to his commander. Jacques waved a dismissive hand at him. “Go to the infirmerie and see to the other two. You can leave this one.”

  I sat in the chair noticing the wrongness of the sensations washing over my body. This was more like space sickness than memory exchange.

  Jacques’ eyes narrowed. “Who has Meriwether’s memories? You or Mademoiselle Earnshaw?”

  “Me.” I swallowed.

  He snorted. “You would say that if she had them. And what would you say if you had them? Would you still admit it? I think you would.”

  A box beeped at Jacques’ belt. He unclipped it and lifted it. A voice crackled from the other side. All I could make out from the French words were, “Lord Klark.”

  “Oui.” Jacques let out a rapid string of words I couldn’t understand. He strode to the door. He glanced over his shoulder at me. “No matter. Lord Klark can have his son, so long as I get to keep you and Faith.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Not on your ship. Where our hatches meet, if it pleases you. I know it isn’t a proper welcome on the bridge as custom dictates, but we are both busy men. Between the French military en route and the American and British government headed this way, after you I might add, I am surprised you made time for this little rendezvous at all.

  —hyperspeed message from Commander Jacques Bleu

  Eli unbuckled the remaining restraints. I squeezed my eyes closed and clenched
my teeth to keep from crying out. I knew he was being as gentle as he could, but every touch was torment. I hated to think that Faith and Meriwether had gone through this as well. I could only hope the doctor was giving them painkillers in the hospital.

  “You have to make this better,” I said.

  Eli’s voice was a whisper. “Yes, of course, love. In any way I can.”

  “Bring me more memory moss.”

  He brought me the bowl the doctor had been using.

  “Rub the remains on my hands.” Either this would make the torment better or worse. “And think about something happy as you do so.”

  It was rare to transfer from hand to hand, so I was probably safe from memory exchange. One had to press their hands against someone’s torso. But sometimes the hint of feeling could be transferred, and I didn’t want someone else’s guilt or pain making what I already felt worse.

  Eli smoothed the paste over my hands where there already was memory moss. Immediately the fever in my skin died away. The stabbing was replaced by a pleasant throb.

  “This is how memory moss is meant to be used. Not how he did it,” I said.

  Eli bit his lip. “I’m so sorry, Miss Sumiko. This was never how I intended my machine to be used.”

  “Then you have to make it right and undo what you did.”

  His voice came out in a whisper. “When Jacques is dead I can do as I please. Until then, I’m in his service.”

  “You know where your daughter is being kept?” I asked.

  He sighed and nodded. “Yes, but—”

  I shook my head, making my temples throb with new pain. “Don’t say anything.” Jacques still had a camera watching the engine room. There was a good chance it was the same view I had seen from Faith’s mirror screen.

  I nodded my head to the red curtain. “Over there.”

  My head felt heavy, my limbs made of fish jelly, but I made myself stand. Eli held me under the elbow as I unsteadily rose. My knees buckled before I’d made it a step toward the corner. Eli slipped an arm around me and guided me to his bed.

  “You rest here.” He lowered me to the blankets. “Is there more I can do for you?”

  “More memory moss,” I said.

  None remained in the bowl Eli had used to soothe my hands. He brought me the first bowl the doctor had used on Meriwether. The paste inside was dried and turning brown.

  I nodded to the bowl. “Bring me more water.”

  I splashed a bit into the bowl and stirred it with my fingers. Fresh was always best and if not fresh, freshly ground. The moss tingled enough that I knew it to be usable.

  “You will massage this onto my chest and when you do, you must think of a memory. Something happy, but something you are willing to part with and not have inside yourself any longer. This is the best cure for a bad memory exchange.” At least I hoped it was. I didn’t think any memory exchange equaled what the machine had done.

  Eli struggled with the belt of my attush. I was too weak to help. At last he settled on opening the collar as much as he could. He smeared the paste over my collarbone and just below, where I would have had cleavage if I’d had Faith’s bounty of curves.

  “Is this enough? Am I doing it right?” he asked.

  “Think of your memory,” I urged. “Remember a time when—”

  I sank into the memory as easily as one might step into a stream. I was warm and safe. My arms were dark against the white muslin of my nightshirt and the swaddling around my baby girl. She murmured and smacked her lips in her sleep. She was so tiny and beautiful. My heart swelled with joy. She was mine and I wouldn’t let anyone tell me otherwise.

  The world grew dark. I was in a warm and comfortable place. There no longer was any pain. It had been a small memory. A few seconds was usually the most one could share their first time anyway. As short as it had been, it was enough to undo the feeling that an organ had been cut from my body and thrown to a pack of tanuki.

  Eli let out a gasp and broke contact. I blinked my eyes open.

  He fell beside me onto his pillow. “That was memory exchange, then? Golly, that wasn’t bad at all.” He hugged me and kissed my cheek.

  I snuggled closer. “Do you know what you gave me?”

  “Something about my daughter.”

  I yawned. “Now I should give you a memory.” It was hard to think of anything when I could only think of the present. “That’s how memory exchange works in courtship. We share with each other.” My cheeks flushed with heat after I had said it. I wasn’t sure if this was courtship or pity on his part.

  “In a way, I did get your memory, just not how you mean,” Eli said. “It was that machine. I saw your memories on the screen. I couldn’t feel them like Jacques could, but I could see and hear. It’s all recorded in the machine. I can give them back to you when you’re well. At least, I think I can.”

  I groaned. It was bad enough Jacques had to see it, but Eli and the doctor, too? At least with true memory exchange you only shared yourself with one person, and they were the only record of that piece of your past. Now anyone could know my shame.

  Eli was warm against me, his hand smoothing up and down my arm. The comfort of his body made me forget my worries. My skin tingled where he touched my flesh with the remnants of memory moss on his skin. He leaned in and kissed my neck. His mouth trailed lower, across my collar bone and between my breasts.

  He broke away and wiped his mouth. “Bleh! I got a mouthful of that green stuff!”

  I laughed. “Be careful you don’t eat it.”

  “Is it poison?”

  “No, but more than a mouthful will give you such a belly ache you’ll think it was poison. A little bit more after that and you’ll be sitting on the cistern all day in the water closet.”

  He wiped at his face with his sleeve again. “My lips feel numb. Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “I was too relaxed. I forgot that you gaiyojin don’t know about how to use it properly.” As a matter of fact, it was unlikely anyone other than Jacques and perhaps the doctor might recognize what memory moss was if they were to smell it. An idea prickled in my mind.

  The soldiers on the ship wouldn’t recognize it if it was in their food.

  “Do you have access to the ship’s food supply?” I sat up in excitement. “The kitchen?”

  “Why?” He wiped the remaining green from his hands onto his trousers. “Are you hungry?”

  The swish of doors alerted me someone had entered the engine room. I wiped away the memory moss from my chest and tugged my collar more modestly over myself. From the quick confident strides, I knew Jacques headed our way. I only had a few seconds before I was in his clutches and exposed to new torments again.

  I grabbed Eli by the shoulders, trying to make him understand what needed to be done without giving away my plan to Jacques. “Make sure you don’t go eating any of the memory moss growing in the botanical gardens. We will need it if we’re to ever perform memory exchange with each other again.” I gave the empty bowl and spoon on the tray near the bed a meaningful look.

  He tilted his head to the side, studying me. I could see his confusion. I smeared my hand across the streaks of moss in the bowl and slapped it across his neck. It wasn’t the torso but the quickest place I could place my hand on his body that was naked.

  His eyes widened in surprise. I floated into the black depths. I pushed the memory out my hand.

  I thought of my best friend Shipo when I had been a little girl. We’d been playing in the grove by the stream. The heat of the day made sweat bead up on our skin. Shipo grabbed handfuls of memory moss and placed it in her bowl with the ume fruits.

  One of the grandmothers called our names and we came rushing from the grove, not wanting her to become angry. For all our running it didn’t matter. She was just as angry when she saw Shipo’s bowl.

  “Do you want everyone to become sick? Wash off those fruits. Maybe I should serve you memory moss for dinner a
nd see how your belly likes it, you foolish girls.” She went on and on, scolding us for being careless.

  I broke the connection. I blinked as I came tumbling back into my body. I had given Eli something of my past with with memory moss, something with Shipo. Whatever it was, I didn’t know if it was enough to explain what I wanted him to do with the moss. Nor did I know if I was strong enough at memory exchange to transfer a memory touching him in a place that wasn’t on his torso.

  Eli fell back on his bottom, staring at me open-mouthed.

  Jacques threw back the curtain. His laser pistol was drawn. Two men stood on the other side of the engine, just within the doorway. Eli raised his hands into the air. He moved away from me. I wiped my hands on Eli’s blankets before Jacques could see the evidence.

  Jacques shook his head at me. “Get up. I knew you were only pretending to be ill to try to milk sympathy from me.”

  “Pretending?” I stood on shaking feet, making my face expressionless. I wanted to make my tone neutral and composed, but it was hard with how much I hated him. “Once I thought you were very clever. Now I realize how stupid you are.”

  He grabbed me by the arm, yanking me forward. “Your presence is required in the infirmerie. You will shut your mouth and hurry.”

  My confidence sank. Faith was in the hospital. What had he done to her now?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  If you wish to be a success in the world, promise everything, deliver nothing.

  —Napoleon Bonaparte

  My heart clenched. “Is someone ill? Faith? Meriwether?”

  He jerked me toward the door. He snorted, his smile malicious. “Is someone concerned about her lover?”

  I hated being so transparent.

  “Don’t fret, ma petite poupée. His eyes shifted from the armed guards and back to me. “You will go to the infirmerie and make Faith presentable. Is that clear?”

  “Why?” I tried not to let the relief show on my face. My worry for Faith was one more thing he would use against me.