A Clockwork Heart (19 page)

“And besides, you are the kind of man who believes in keeping one's options open, are you not? I believe on doing so too.”

“And you said the thief was a woman with red hair and a gun.” he said slowly.

“That's what they tell me. And they say she was dressed in trousers. Who would have thought it?”

Patrice rose from his seat. In two strides he walked over and struck Clothilde in the face. The impact of the blow sent her flying to the floor.

Emilian looked up in surprise at the suddenness of his attack.

“You stupid woman,” Patrice panted, spittle flying from his mouth as he spoke.

Clothilde stood up and wiped a thin trickle of blood from her face, too shocked to say anything.

“Do you even know what you have done?” Patrice shouted back. He loomed over her again, fist at the ready. “Tell me, do you?”

She shook her head.

Patrice sat down heavily on the bench and loosened his tie. “
Merde
. How on earth did you manage to capture the viscount Greychester?”

“Viscount?” she said.

“Hugh Marsh, Lord Greychester. Master Warlock. Former member of the Council of Warlocks. Special envoy to the Ministry of Intelligence. And to top it all off, husband to the current serving Oracle.”

“The Oracle?” Clothilde's eyes widened in surprise. “The Oracle is in London?”

“Yes, the Oracle. And I happen to know for a fact that she is little, has red hair, carries a gun and wears trousers. That is her husband you took and she will stop at nothing to get him back.” Patrice rubbed the back of his head and started laughing. “Oh, this is just perfect. And the best part is that you don't have the faintest idea what you have done.”

Clothilde had grown deathly pale. The only color in her face was the angry red welt from where Patrice had struck her.

“What are you talking about?” she said.

“Never mind that now. But you were very lucky that you called me and not the chairman with this news.”

“So what do we do?” she said.

“That is my question exactly. And while we are at it, why are there spark shortages across the city? I thought your orders were to maintain a low presence and to ensure that none of our preparations drew anyone's attention.”

“We have been busy. The monks are lazy. After a long night of processing soldiers, they refuse to work the next day. It has been all I could do to get them to do as much as they have.” Clothilde rubbed her brow. “In fact, I have executed so many already that I can hardly afford to lose any more. And yet, it has only made a limited impact on the stupid little brutes.”

Patrice shook his head. “Well, madame, in a very short time you have brought the city of London to the brink of chaos. You are very lucky that the Consortium have influential contacts within Scotland Yard who have been able to quash most of the questions which have been raised as a result of your activities.”

“I have done exactly as the Consortium ordered,” Clothilde said with no small amount of indignation.

Patrice shook his head. “Added to that, you have provoked the wrath of the most powerful Oracle of our age by stealing her husband. I would say that you have done an extremely poor job. And I shall have to make mention of this in my report.”

“Surely she cannot be all that?” Clothilde said looking uneasy.

“Oh yes she can!” Patrice shook his head and lifted his trouser to reveal his leg. It was a very unpleasant sight. Part of the limb was black as night and translucent as if it was in a completely different plane of existence. The skin around the affected area was covered in an array of terrible bruises that ranged from yellowy-green to the blackest of purples.

Clothilde gasped when she saw it.

“Yes, gasp and feel horrified, my lady. For this is what that little redhead in trousers, as you call her, did to me. And she is going to crush you until you are nothing more than a little pile of meaningless dust, you stupid, stupid woman.”

Clothilde sank into a chair. She stared at Patrice for long moments before she spoke. “There must be a way we can salvage this situation.”

“There had better be. Because I am not leaving London until you have fixed this mess.”

She turned and gave him a radiant smile. “I think I have a plan. And one that will resolve all of our obstacles in one brilliant stroke. But first I need to think about the details.”

A gong sounded somewhere deep inside the monastery, signaling nightfall.

Clothilde closed her eyes and moved her hands in a swirling motion. Patrice felt an icy draft in the back of his neck and then great big clouds of fog started swirling upward and out of the chimneys above them.

She opened her eyes and stood. “The fog is set and it is time to set the hunters free. Every night they bring more and more candidates. We process them as fast as the machine can produce chest devices and muzzles. By day, it stamps out the spare parts and by night it implants them into the new recruits. It is quite a remarkable thing.” She gestured out of the control room window at the machine in the turbine hall. “Once we have built the chairman's army, I intend to diversify. Just think of the legions of servants, drivers and workers we could create. They would require minimum food and lodgings and would be capable of doing three times the work that a living worker could do. We are sitting on a veritable goldmine of opportunity.”

Patrice frowned. He wasn't sure that he wanted to adapt the machine to diversify. But then again, if there was a chance that money could be made … 

“Well, the automaton market has never quite taken off as everyone had hoped. The machines are too unreliable and expensive to maintain. But with these organic automatons, we could be onto something,” he said.

“My thoughts exactly,” Clothilde said. “But say, let's go and watch as the monks set the hunters free.” Below them, a group of undead soldiers were being marched out into the pens. Some of them were shackled.

“Those ones are the most aggressive. We stole them from a prison. They are the best ones for the task of finding more recruits. They run well as a pack and we can send them out completely unsupervised, so effective has the training been.”

“Fascinating,” Patrice said. He heard a small sound to his left. Before he could react, a large hand grabbed him by the neck and pushed him to the floor. A pair of cold shackles clicked around his wrists with alarming finality.

“What is the meaning of this?” he shouted. “Release me immediately!”

“Thank you, Emilian, well done. You may have bought a few more days of life for yourself.” Clothilde laughed and pressed her fingers to her décolletage in amusement. “Oh, Mr. Chevalier. Can I call you Patrice? Did you honestly think you could walk in here, assault and intimidate me, and I would meekly sit back and endure it?”

“You don't know who you are dealing with. Now let me go immediately!”

She smiled. “I am dealing with a former airfield clerk who, by virtue of a series of unfortunate events, managed to acquire a lot of money and a dip in the black vortex. And while it is most unfortunate that my servant here let the cat out of the bag, as it were, I also know that you arrived in London alone and that despite all your bravado and brutish behavior, you really cannot do anything else but shout.”

“I said, release me immediately!” he screamed.

Clothilde patted him affectionately. “All in good time, my dear.”

She turned to the two undead guards who had appeared at the door. “Take him to my laboratory. And make sure he is locked up securely. I don't want this slimy little worm from the provinces escaping.”

“What are you doing?” Patrice said. He was starting to get extremely worried.

“I am working on that solution you so violently demanded a moment ago. I must say that these brass muzzles are truly excellent at silencing people who ask awkward questions. Granted, you are not nearly as desirable as my warlock was, but with one foot firmly within the Shadow Realm, I suspect that you would nonetheless be useful to me.”

“You can't do that! I am your boss!” he shouted.

“Oh yes, I can,” she said. “And now that you have given me the information I needed, I think I just did.”

“Wait! Let me go,” Patrice said as the two guard hoisted him up. “You cannot do this! The Consortium will ask questions,” he said. “Let me go!” he yelled. But no one listened and all he could hear were the sinister sounds of the
La
Dame
Blanche
laughing.

CHAPTER 26

“Do you think she will be all right?” Elle asked Dr. Miller. They were both staring at Loisa as she lay in her coffin in the guest room. The black lines under her skin had faded, but she was still asleep.

“Well my lady, I have to be completely honest when I say that I am not exactly a specialist when it comes to Nightwalker physiology.” Doctor Miller rubbed his chin as the contemplated the matter “But, if you ask me, I would say that she must have expelled most of the toxin in the park. She has fed and she seems to be resting comfortably. She is now in the hands of Mother Nature because there is nothing more I can do for the lady.”

Elle nodded gravely. “Shall we go and take a look at my husband while you are here? I think I have noticed a little bit of an improvement in him,” she said hopefully.

The doctor looked at her with much sympathy in his eyes. “You certainly have had your fair share of run-ins with tragedy, my lady. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

“You don't know the half of it, doctor. But my husband is not dead yet and I refuse to give up hope, so please let us go downstairs.”

Marsh was trussed up before the fire in the drawing room. It was the turn of the professor and Mrs. Hinges to watch him. The two of them were engaged in a most animated card game. An outraged Caruthers hovered in the background. The sight of the housekeeper playing cards in the drawing room with the family was almost more than the poor man could take.

“How is he?” Elle rested her hand on Marsh's forehead.

“Much the same, my lady,” Caruthers said solemnly.

“Ah, Elle. How is the baroness?” the professor said looking up from his cards.

“Good evening, Papa. All we can do is wait and see,” Elle said. “But Loisa is strong and I have every confidence that she will recover.”

“Well, I have more splendid news!” the professor said. “Come and sit here with us while the doctor does his examination.”

Elle took a seat next to Mrs. Hinges.

The professor's eyes twinkled. “I think I have discovered how that device in Hugh's chest works.” He pulled out a set of drawings he had shoved under the seat of his chair. “Look.” He handed Elle the plans.

She spread them open on the card table. They were a complicated set of diagrams and mathematical calculations, written in her father's neat hand. Elle's brow furrowed as she studied the diagrams.

“I believe that in theory, that device is powered by some sort of agent.”

“Spark?” Elle said.

“I don't think spark is enough, although it does seem to play an integral part in the process. I suspect it's something elemental. Possibly mineral.”

“That makes sense,” Elle said, still poring over the drawings.

“I also believe that the real heart is connected to this element somehow. If we build this machine and we find the real heart, I do believe that with reverse-suction vacuum thaumaturgy and a healthy blast of spark to get it beating again, we could remove the device and reverse the effects.”

Elle looked up from the plans. “And what about Hugh? Will he emerge from this once it is over?”

The professor sighed. “Ellie, my dear, there is no way of telling what the long-term effects of this operation will be.”

Elle nodded slowly.

“What do you think, Doctor Miller?”

The doctor looked up from listening to Marsh's chest with his stethoscope. “Well, it would certainly be worth a try. There are many new rehabilitation techniques we could try afterward, but more than that I cannot promise, my lady.”

Elle pressed her lips together. “When can you start building?” she said to the professor.

The professor gave Mrs. Hinges a conspiratorial smile.

“You didn't think we sat here idly while you did all the rescue work yourself, did you?” Mrs. Hinges said.

“I never thought about it, to be honest,” Elle said.

“My dear, your father has already started work on the mechanics.”

“Good,” Elle said.

“And I have also taken the liberty to make some of my own inquiries. Let it not be said that Mathilda Hinges sat by idly when something could be done.”

“Oh, Mrs. Hinges.” Elle hugged the older woman, deeply touched by her determination.

“There, there my dear. It is all going to be all right.”

The doctor gave a polite cough.

“Yes, doctor?”

“My examination is complete. And while I don't want to get your hopes up, I do believe that being in his home environment has brought about a slight improvement. It's just—”

They all looked at the doctor.

“Well, I just wish there were some way we could slow down the ticking. I've noticed that the warmth of the fire and any excitement seem to hasten the process. Perhaps you should keep him somewhere cooler.” The doctor shrugged.

“Thank you, doctor.” Elle rose and pulled the bell pull. Caruthers appeared at the drawing-room door in order to see their guest out. “Good evening, doctor. And thank you for coming to see us,” she said.

“Not at all my lady.” He smiled at her warmly before taking his leave.

As soon as the doctor was gone, Elle rose. “Well, Papa, Mrs. Hinges, I will bid you a fond good evening.”

“Now, Eleanor, I don't want you going off into the night by yourself. Not without Loisa to help you,” the professor said. “You've had an extraordinarily lucky escape so far.”

“I suppose walking up to the monastery without a proper strategy was a little foolish,” Elle admitted.

“A little foolish?” Mrs. Hinges huffed.

Elle nodded slowly. She had omitted the part where she shot a man when she had relayed events to Mrs. Hinges and the professor. She had acted on instinct and it had been a matter of life and death, but images and sounds of his lifeless body dropping to the ground had haunted her dreams all day. She wondered if the man was still alive.

Mrs. Hinges laid down her cards and stifled a yawn. “Well, I think that's quite enough fun and games for me. I had better get myself off to bed. There will be much to do tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, my dear Mrs. Hinges. And thank you as always for your charming company.” The professor winked at her and bit down on the stem of his pipe.

To Elle's surprise, Mrs. Hinges blushed slightly. “Always a pleasure, professor,” she managed to say.

Elle paused to stare at Marsh. He seemed to be asleep, trussed up in his heavy canvas straightjacket with the leather straps and buckles. She rested a hand on his pale forehead. He gave a soft grunt, which Elle hoped was an acknowledgment of her presence, but that was all.

Elle swallowed down the lump of sadness that was constantly in her throat these days. This had been her fault. She should never have taken that charter to Singapore.

The professor rose from his seat and came to stand next to Elle. “We will find a way to save him, my dear. I promise you that.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Elle said. She wondered briefly whether she should tell him about her brief encounter with the spirit who claimed to be her mother. That too had been a most upsetting incident and one she hadn't really given herself much time to think about. In the end she decided against it. There were enough upsetting things going on around them as it was. Reigniting her father's grief would not be helpful at all.

But the spirit had told her to seek out the traveling folk. And the voices of the Oracle may sometimes be inscrutable, but they were rarely wrong. The man with the peacock feather in his hat seemed to be her only clue right now.

On impulse she kissed her father. “Goodnight, Papa. I will see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, my dear,” The professor said, but she could tell that his mind was already elsewhere, deep in problem-solving thought, which was just as well, for there was much to do before morning.

The Black Stag public house was a dingy old place with a narrow entrance that leaned to one side. Gelatinous yellow-grey light glimmered through the windowpanes, which were sorely in need of a clean.

Within, the pub was as grubby as without. Dirty sawdust crunched under her boots when she walked inside. A few grim-looking patrons looked up from their ale and gin.

Good heavens, this is a sorry place, Elle thought.

“Ladies” saloon on the other side,” the landlord barked. He was pushing a sour-smelling mop through what looked like a puddle of blood and glass.

“I'm sorry, but perhaps—” Elle began.

“I said: ladies' saloon on the other side. Now get out before I throw you out!” he shouted.

Elle put up her hands in a conciliatory gesture and slowly retreated out the door. She stood outside in a moment of indecision. The eel-coster had been right. This was not a friendly place, but she had to find out if anyone knew something or saw something.

And the Black Stag was her only clue. She needed to find someone who could help her find a way into the monastery.

She squared her shoulders and walked into the saloon entrance, which was really nothing more than a second entrance that led to the other side of the bar counter.

This side of the pub was as dingy as the other, except here a few bare-shouldered women clung to counters and doorways.

Elle walked up to the counter. As she did, she felt a familiar shimmer of magic wash over her. She looked up at the ceiling and spotted the flicker of yellow light above. Gin fairies lived here.

“What will it be?” The landlord had stepped behind the counter and was eyeing her suspiciously.

“Pint of London Pride and a bowl of sugar please,” Elle said.

He snorted knowingly as he pulled her a greasy pint.

Elle met his gaze. Let him think she was a gin whore if he wanted. She did not have the time, energy or inclination to rectify his perceptions.

The landlord plonked the pint and a bowl of brownish sugar lumps in front of her.

“Say, does anyone know how to speak to those fairies?” Elle asked as she handed the man payment for her drink.

“That'd be Georgie over there,” he said pointing to a woman who was sitting on her own at a table.

Elle took her glass and the sugar cubes and walked over to the woman. “Excuse me, but are you Georgie?”

The woman glanced up and nodded.

Elle noted how thin and tired the poor girl looked. There were deep purple hollows under her eyes, even though she could not have been much older than Elle herself.

“What do you want?” she said in a voice roughened by hard living and tobacco.

“The landlord tells me that you know how to speak to fairies.”

“I might.” Her voice softened into a lilt, which seemed to have its origins in Ireland.

“Do you think you could ask them a few questions for me?”

Georgie nodded and extended her hand, palm up. “Five pence, for your fortune told.”

Elle sighed inwardly and pulled the money out of her pocket. Five pence was ludicrously expensive for fortune telling, but she put the coins into the woman's hand.

Georgie glanced up at the roof and clicked her fingers.

Little yellow lights dropped down from the ceiling and morphed into fairies before her. There were three of them. Up close they were strangely ugly and beautiful at the same time. They all had gray hair and large dark eyes with queerly long lashes. They reminded her very much of Adele, Elle thought with a pang of guilt. She had not even started looking for the absinthe fairy with all that was going on.

“I don't need my fortune told, I just need to know if they've seen someone,” she said as she placed the sugar cubes on the already sticky table.

Georgie stared at the fairies and nodded briefly. “They thank you for the sugar and they say that you are touched by the magic of the Fey. They say they will speak to you because of this.”

“Thank you,” Elle said, relieved that she had passed the first test. Fairies had a way of making people feel so inferior. Fortunately there was nothing that fairies loved more than sugar. It was the great negotiating tool.

“I am looking for a man. They tell me he wears a peacock feather in his hat. I am also looking for this man. He may have come here sometime in the last week or so.” Elle pulled the photograph of Marsh she had taken from the house and laid it on the table.

The fairies started chattering amongst themselves. Every so often one of them would look up from their huddle, stare at Elle for a moment and then re-join the conversation.

“What are they saying?” Elle whispered to Georgie after a few moments.

“Don't know. They are whispering. I think they are deciding whether or not to talk to you. You seem to have some sort of a mark on you, miss.”

Elle took a deep breath and waited.

After a good few minutes one of the fairies turned to Georgie and spoke.

“They say that the man was here. He was followed by one of the Fey. One of the wormwood clan, far from home and not welcome in this place.”

Elle felt a surge of excitement. “Was the fairy French? Where did they go?”

“She was from the absinthe,” Georgie said after a bit more of conference with the fairy. “The man was here and then he left. He followed the peacock feather. That's all they seem to know.”

“Where can I find the man with the peacock feather in his hat?”

The fairies shrugged.

Elle felt her hopes fade. “Did they see what direction they went?”

“No. Fairies don't care about things like that,” Georgie said.

“Does the man with the peacock feather come here often? Do you know his name or where to find him?”

Georgie's shoulders tensed slightly at her question and she briefly joined into the conversation. The leader of the fairies folded her arms and lifted her nose in the air with disdain. Georgie shrugged and all three of them blinked into light, scooped up the sugar and dashed back up into the rafters.

“What is happening now?” Elle asked.

“That's all they have to say on the subject.” Georgie shrugged. Then she looked Elle in the eye. “The man you are looking for comes here from time to time. But you are better off staying well away from him. He brings bad luck wherever he goes.” She grabbed Elle's arm. “Go home, fine lady. This is no place for you.”