Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology (37 page)

He knew what came next.

“Wait, Monsieur,” she said as he set his toes on the floor. She replaced his shirt and uniform, and the glove, which she regarded with mild interest. “Well engineered.”

“Made in Morocco.” He was still feeling somewhat confused.

“Impressive. I do not specialize in hands, only legs and feet for obvious reasons.”

He wanted to ask her how it had happened, but he knew how much he disliked it when people asked him. Besides, there were clues enough from the pictures on the walls: the same beautiful woman riding in an equestrian jumping tournament.

“Can you still ride?” he asked.

“I can do whatever I want,” she replied with a shrug. She then handed him a cane. “You’ll need this to keep your balance for a while.”

He accepted the cane and took it as a sign that he was now allowed to rise. He did so gingerly. It hurt and he stumbled, unbalanced. He would have fallen without the cane.

But he was standing!

“Adieu, Monsieur. Good luck!” The woman nodded and started to leave.

“But, Madam,” he called, and studied her as she turned back. “Why would you do this for me?”

“Why not?” she replied with a smile, and left him alone. Flabbergasted, but grateful.

“Merci . . .” he whispered, too late. “Merci beaucoup!” he yelled to the closed door. Then he turned around with great care, his movements stiff. He wasn’t very good at this. He might even fall if he tried to move too fast.

He laughed almost to tears, despite himself. It was a long distant but familiar sound, followed by a feeling of joy that he’d not experienced since before the accident.

He stumbled to the door, still smiling as he opened it and stepped out onto the street.

“Ah, there you are!” Noël appeared right on queue but sounded alarmed. “I was so worried. You’re a mess, Monsieur, but dear me, you’re walking! How are you walking?”

“I don’t know. It hurts like hell.”

“But is it worth it?”

“Yes. Yes, it’s worth it,” he gasped, still overjoyed.

“It took me forever to find the right building, but sure enough, another payout, and a note.” Noël grimaced.

“Where are we headed this time?” Marcel asked, keeping his epiphany to himself as he watched for any crack in Noël’s façade.

“Home to France.”

“Not by Zeppelin?” “No, I promised I wouldn’t do that to you again. We’ll go by steamer across the Atlantic. You’ll have plenty of time to practice walking. By the time we get back to France, you’ll be almost as good as new.”

Inspector Roux looked down at himself. “Like Frankenstein’s monster.”

“Not quite.” Noël grinned, and then shook his head. “But your poor hands! And you have ruined your trousers.”

“All for a good cause.” He didn’t bother to chide Inspector Noël for scaring him enough that he’d forced himself to climb a hundred stone steps. It would be silly, considering the ultimate scale of the whole endeavor. “Thank you, Inspector Noël. If you are indeed an inspector named Noël. You do not need to carry on the ruse any longer.”

“I am indeed an inspector named Noël,” Noël laughed. “What ruse?”

“There has been no kidnapping aside from this benevolent one. I have figured you out. It took me long enough.”

“I do not know what you mean, Monsieur,” Noël seemed genuinely confused. Maybe the kid wasn’t in on the scheme but was only its facilitator.

“Oh, never mind, let us be going. I think some time to practice walking will do me good. I fear, however, that I am not ready for such stairs as these.”

“Try a few, Monsieur, I’ll keep you steady.”

With the cane in one hand and Noël holding tight to his other arm, Inspector Roux made it down about twenty of the hundred steps before his entire body collapsed. Vigilant Noël caught him before he fell and carried him down to meet the carriage that had inexplicably returned just in time.

Marcel sat back against the carriage seat and groaned, breathing hard from the effort.

“Still worth it, Monsieur?” Noël asked.

“Still worth it,” he sighed.

Inspector Roux was too exhausted to see any more of the sights of Montreal, but he slept well.

A steamship voyage was everything Marcel needed to relax after the insanity of the past few weeks. The frenzy of the Trans-Siberian Express coupled with the Zeppelin ride had left him emotionally drained, and the much slower pace of the steamship was very calming.

It gave him the chance to think.

Who
was
his mysterious benefactor, Monsieur M? Inspector Noël was clueless about the ruse and Marcel was finished trying to get any further information from his naïve friend. It didn’t matter. The boy must have been handpicked for the job of escorting him around the globe to these great and various experts with the ability to help him feel whole again.

He was infinitely grateful.

Now that he was able to better take care of his own needs, what did that mean for his future?

He had no intention whatsoever of finding Zelie. That was a burnt bridge. She didn’t need him to come stumbling back into her life after the way he had ended things. He couldn’t disrupt the life of his now three-year-old son. The boy didn’t need a daddy who was half-machine.

But he could work—with a great side-kick like Junior Inspector Noël at his side he could go back to his former job searching for the missing: the runaways, the lost, and the taken. That would be a reason to keep moving, even when every step caused him pain.

He was getting used to it, though. He still used the cane for unpredictable moments, especially aboard ship, but he could get around. He could walk.

Though he would likely never run, he was still satisfied. It was good enough.

He was glad to be going home.

“What are the chances we’re going to find our victims here at this location?” Junior Inspector Noël asked as they approached the narrow apartment building that bore the Parisian address from their latest note, written in French, requesting fifty thousand francs.

Marcel took in some of the details around him, out of habit. The neighborhood was modest but clean. There was a small park across the street, its trees decked out in an array of fall colors. Not exactly the expected location for a kidnapper to keep his victims, but as the location for some sort of specialist set to help him in some new way, not a bad option.

“I do not know. I guess we’ll see.”

“For their sakes, I would hope this is the end, but frankly, I fully expect yet another payout.” Noël seemed disheartened and shook his head. Marcel was just going to have to play along.

“Then, after we receive the next note, we should check in with the station before we continue and see what they were able to gather since we left.” Marcel wasn’t as worried about being around his former colleagues any more, and almost looked forward to it. There would still be his story that would have to be told, of course, but he felt better able to face those demons now that it had a happier ending.

“An excellent idea, Monsieur.” Noël’s smile returned. “Hmm. There appear to be two apartments here but no apartment number on the note. Shall we split up?”

“Yes, I’ll take the upstairs apartment,” Marcel offered. Climbing up stairs was easier on his leg frames. Gravity was still his worst enemy.

“Then I’ll take the downstairs.” Noël smiled.

It was entirely possible that Inspector Noël could have knocked on both doors in the time it took Marcel just to climb the stairs, but perhaps his friend had already had some luck since he hadn’t caught up yet.

Inspector Roux knocked on the apartment door.

Nothing.

He knocked again, louder.

“Is anyone here?” he called through the door.

“Papa?” a little voice called. His heart leapt, but he knew better. This wasn’t his little boy but someone else’s.

Had he been wrong about the possibility of a ruse? Had there really been a kidnapping all along and he had just run into extraordinary luck along the way? It was improbable but not impossible. Had he just found his patron’s family?

“Papa! Papa!”

“I’m sorry, I’m not your papa,” he called back through the door. “But I work for him. Can you open the door?”

“No, Monsieur,” the little voice replied. “Don’t you have the key?”

Did he have the key?

He’d been wearing a key around his neck for weeks . . .

But it couldn’t be that key. Could it? He would be stupid not to try it, so he took the key from around his neck and put it in the lock on the door.

The lock opened. So this was the place. He should have waited for Noël in case there was danger, but he chose to charge into the room anyway, to save the child.

The little boy laughed. “Papa!”

“I’m sorry—” he only got that far before he realized the truth that dropped him to his knees. “Max . . . Maximilien?”

The little boy embraced him and he wept. He couldn’t breathe. “Max . . .”

Behind him, the stairs creaked and he looked back at Noël with confusion, but Noël only smiled at Max.

“Bonjour, Monsieur M.”

“Bonjour, Monsieur Carpentier.” Maximilien waved.

“Go get your mother.”

The words stuck in Marcel’s heart as Max skipped off into the next room. Zelie was here?

Noël approached and put out a hand to help Marcel rise, but there was no way he was going to be able to stand after such a shock. Instead, Noël dropped to one knee.

“Marcel Roux, please forgive me. You were right; this entire scheme has all been a ruse for your benefit. My name is Cyrille Carpentier; you might remember me by that name.”

“You . . . You’re . . .” Marcel stuttered. It was difficult to put into words. “The little boy I found in the smith’s basement . . .”

“I remember very little from that Christmas Eve, only the face of a man reaching down, and the police emblem on your hat that made me know I was finally free. I’ve thought about you a lot, Monsieur. I’ve looked for you a long time.”

“And what you found . . . Oh,” Marcel gasped. “A broken man.”

“And a broken family. One that needed mending.” Noël—Cyrille rather, smiled humbly. “One that a rich lad like myself could mend with a little help from some of your friends in the police department, a few actors, as well as some of the best physicians and engineers in the world. I only had to get you to travel to where they were, and thus the ruse.”

Marcel could not speak. Astonishment did not even begin to describe his feelings. He had been right. The whole kidnapping had been a set-up from the start. He had figured out the what, but not the why or the who until now.

“Marcel!”

Zelie did not act like a woman scorned as she knelt beside him and kissed his cheeks and whispered his name over and over again as she wept for joy. He wept for joy with her and Maximilien laughed.

“Ah, Marcel!” Zelie gasped through her tears. “Did you like the case we made for you, Monsieur Carpentier and me? It was my idea to make you miss me so much! Did it work, Marcel? Won’t you stay with us?”

He had always known Zelie was clever, but he had to laugh. “I thought of you every moment, both of you.” He smiled at his son before turning back to face Zelie. “But do you want me back after everything I said?”

“Consider it your first second chance.” She put her arms around him. “Like the ones you always gave me.”

When she put it that way, it was much easier for him to accept. He had forgiven her many things in the past. She would forgive him now. It was a fair deal.

“Merci, Zelie. I will stay.” There was a long list of things they were going to have to work through, but he kissed her and forgot all of it for the moment.

“Pardon, one more thing, Inspector,” Cyrille even smiled as he apologized. “I’ll see you Monday at the station. I really am going to be your new junior partner if you’ll have me. Everyone’s expecting you.”

“Merci,” Marcel managed, and nodded with confidence. “I’ll be there, Cyrille.”

“Please, call me Noël. It is my family’s nickname for me. I think you know why.”

It took Marcel a long moment to acknowledge the depth of what he had done for this boy and what the boy in turn had done for him and still be able to speak.

“Noël, how am I ever going to thank you enough?”