The Doomsday Vault (19 page)

“Father?” Alice called, dumping Click on the floor. “Are you up?”

An affirmative response came from a back room, and an old man emerged, pushing the wheels of his chair with frantic, gnarled hands. He blinked at the roomful of people and automatons.

“Alice!” he said. He voice was tremulous with worry, and he sounded close to tears. “Thank God! I thought you had been attacked by zombies or worse. What happened to you? Who are—?”

“I'm so sorry, Father.” Alice knelt by his chair and took his arm. “I didn't mean to worry you. I didn't know things would turn out this way, or I would have sent a message.”

He put a shaking hand to his mouth in a gesture that Gavin had seen Alice use. “I didn't get a wink of sleep. This is not what a proper daughter does to her father.”

Alice looked down, clearly ashamed. “No. I'm very sorry. I can't explain or excuse it. I should have come straight home after meeting with Norbert. Can you forgive me?”

“Your aunt Edwina acted like this,” he continued, still distraught. “Even before the Ad Hoc ladies. And look what happened to her.”

Alice's face tightened. “I'm sorry, Father.”

“Well.” He patted her shoulder. “I'm glad you're all right.”

“May I introduce Mr. Gavin Ennock?” she said in a different tone. “He quite saved my life. Mr. Ennock, this is my father, Arthur, Baron Michaels.”

Gavin didn't know if he should bow or shake the man's hand or grovel on the floor. He waited to see what Arthur would do, and when he held out his hand, Gavin took it. He wondered why Arthur was in a wheelchair. Old age? Lost limb hidden by the blankets? Disease? The last thought made him wonder about the safety of shaking hands, but it was too late. Arthur's grip was devoid of strength, and Gavin was careful not to press the frail fingers.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” he said.

“And you,” Arthur said a little faintly. “What happened, exactly? And where did this automaton come from?”

“It's quite a story,” Alice said.

“Perhaps,” Kemp said, “Madam could tell it after a wash and a change of clothing? You must look after yourself.”

“That's a fine idea, Kemp. Thank you. Gav—Mr. Ennock could use a wash as well, and I think some of Father's old clothes might fit him until we can launder the ones he's wearing. And perhaps you could also arrange for Father's breakfast? He usually has tea and toast.”

“Immediately, Madam.”

The washtub hung in an alcove just off the kitchen. A bath and new clothes made Gavin feel much better, though he was yawning to split his head. He returned to the front room where Alice, who had cleaned up in her own room, was just finishing the story of their long night.

“Good Lord,” Arthur said at the end. “And you say there's nothing left of the house at all?”

“Just Kemp,” Alice replied. “And Mr. Ennock, here. He has nowhere to go, Father, and considering that he saved my life, I thought you could offer him a place to stay for a while.”

“Er...”

The hesitation was obvious. Gavin kept a pleasant expression on his face, but was mentally heading for the door: So much for a reward, or a return to Boston. Or the chance to see Alice again. He felt like a bird covered in lead feathers. “I couldn't impose, sir,” he said.

“I'm not sure about the proprieties,” Arthur said. “As a newly engaged woman, Alice, you can't invite a young man to—”

“I won't invite him, Father,” Alice interrupted. “You will.”

“Ah. Quite. In that case . . .”

“I'm afraid the only room available has no window, Mr. Ennock,” Alice apologized. “It's across the hall from mine.”

Some of the lead lightened, and Gavin managed a wider smile. “It's better than a basement.” He covered another yawn, which made Alice yawn.

“You're falling over from exhaustion, Madam,” Kemp said. “I must insist on a lie-down while I fix a place for Mr. Ennock.”

Moments later, Gavin was lying on a pallet in a warm, windowless room. He touched both his fiddle case and the nightingale for reassurance and thought there was no way he would actually be able to sleep after everything that had happened. Then he fell asleep.

A
lice stared at the ceiling. By all rights she should be asleep, but the events of the previous day replayed in her mind. It was the night of the zombie attack all over again. She should have found it all horrifying and frightening, but here, in the honesty of her own bed, she was forced to admit she had found every moment fascinating and invigorating. Even multiple brushes with death hadn't so much filled her with dread as thrilled her with excitation, as if being close to the grave had made her find more sweetness in life. Perhaps that was why she couldn't sleep—she felt she was wasting breath.

Her mind also kept returning to Gavin. He was handsome, with a smile that made her think of sunshine and musical skill that made her soul soar. But he was the wrong social class, and Alice was
engaged.
It wasn't proper for any woman in her position to be interested in him, and certainly not for a woman from a traditional family.

But she couldn't have turned him out into the street after he had saved her life—twice. That wouldn't have been proper, either.

Alice sat up and moved to her worktable, where she fiddled idly with a driveshaft and a pair of gears. Perhaps Norbert would consent to hire Gavin as a footman in his country home, where Alice could hear him anytime she wished. Then she scoffed to herself. Now she was just being foolish. She looked down at her hands and realized she had set the gears down and was toying with Glenda Teasdale's calling card, the one Louisa had commented on earlier.

Alice didn't need a change in her life. For once, everything was going where it should. But the entire affair with Aunt Edwina continued to puzzle her. Where had Aunt Edwina gone? Who had broken into her house and destroyed her laboratory? Why had she kidnapped Gavin? How had she survived the clockwork plague for so long? And why was that clockworker in the skull mask spying on her?

The Third Ward clearly dealt with questions of this sort. And so, although Alice Michaels definitely didn't need a change in her life—most certainly did not—she scribbled a quick letter, folded it expertly into an envelope, and turned back to the calling card. Glenda hadn't written an address on it. After a moment's thought, Alice wrote
Miss Glenda Teasdale, The Third Ward,
√
2.

“Kemp!” she called.

The door opened. “Madam?”

She handed him the letter. “Post this for me right away, please.”

“Of course, Madam.”

Alice climbed back into bed and surprised herself by instantly falling asleep.

 

Alice awoke, thinking only an hour or two had passed, but Kemp informed her she had slept through the entire day and the following night. So had Gavin.

“Baron Michaels wished to wake you earlier, but I wouldn't hear of it,” Kemp said as Alice's little automatons brought her a dress. “I have seen to his needs.”

“Thank you, Kemp.” Alice almost ordered Kemp out of the room while she dressed, but although Kemp was shaped like a man, he was only a machine. Still, she ordered him to turn his back.

“Madam, I must ask,” Kemp continued. “Why do you and Lord Michaels live in such frightful conditions? The Michaels family lineage is long and proud.”

“It's what we can afford.” Alice slipped into the dress and waited while two little automatons fastened the buttons behind her. “Titles and wealth don't always go together.”

Kemp gave a mechanical sniff. “Yes, Madam. I have taken the liberty of doing the shopping. Previous Madam still had a bit of petty cash money on account at a local bank, and I restocked the larder with something better than day-old bread and dried cheese. I think fresh fruit will do Lord Michaels some good.”

“That's a relief, Kemp. Thank you.”

“And when you are finished with your toilette,” he said, “I will inform your callers that you are ready to receive them.”

Alice paused, a hairbrush in her hand. “Callers?”

“A Miss Glenda Teasdale and a Mr. Simon d'Arco arrived something over an hour ago. It's the reason Lord Michaels wished to wake you.” Another sniff. “Mr. d'Arco appears to be of Italian extraction.”

But Alice wasn't listening. She stuffed her hair into a serviceable bun and rushed down the stairs to the front room, where she found Gavin seated with Glenda Teasdale and Simon d'Arco. Simon, his dark eyes sparkling, was engaged in lively conversation with Gavin while Glenda, dressed in skirts and a puffy-sleeved blouse instead of trousers, sipped at a teacup.

Father was nowhere to be seen. The men rose when they caught sight of Alice. Gavin looked very fine; well-rested and dressed and combed. His white-blond hair shone in the gaslight. He caught her eye and smiled. She started to smile back, then caught herself.

“So good to see you, love,” Glenda said, taking Alice's hand with Ad Hoc familiarity. “I was hoping you would contact us. We clearly have a great deal to discuss.”

Alice hesitated.Yesterday—or the day before—contacting the Third Ward had seemed a good idea. Now, with Glenda and Simon in her drawing room, it seemed less so.

“I prefer Miss Michaels,” she said carefully, “and I'm glad you came. My aunt—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Simon said, doing so, “but this whole affair is a bit delicate, and we should probably talk about it at headquarters, where it's safer.”

“Definitely.” Glenda, who hadn't released Alice's hand, was already towing Alice toward the stairs. “Shall we?”

“I can't leave my father alone again,” Alice said. “It's not right.”

“Your automaton can see to him,” Glenda breezed. “He's only napping.”

It would be so easy to go with her. Then Alice thought of her father again, and of her new fiancé. She crossed her arms. “No. I can't.”

Simon looked uncomfortable. “Please don't put us in a difficult position, Miss Michaels. We speak with authority granted by the Crown, which gave us legal jurisdiction over anything to do with clockworkers, and this isn't a secure place for a discussion. By authority of the Queen, we must insist. If you please, Miss Michaels.”

His tone was polite, but Alice heard the iron beneath it. She set her mouth and nodded once. “Fine.”

“Coming, Mr. Ennock?” Glenda asked.

Before Alice quite knew what was happening, the four of them were clattering up the steps to the second floor, Gavin with his fiddle case strapped to his back.

“Why are we going up here?” Alice asked.

“It's how we came in, of course,” Glenda replied. She pushed open the half door at the end of the hall and stooped to crawl through, barely slowing down. Gavin shrugged and followed. Alice almost refused, but Simon d'Arco was standing right behind her, obviously expecting her to go, so she went. The little door led to a dusty airing cupboard that Alice hadn't entered in years. A trapdoor opened onto the roof. Gavin turned to give her a hand out, and Simon came behind. A damp breeze teased at her hair, and a dizzying drop fell away to the street below. People bustled past on the narrow byway, looking tiny and unimportant. Even the noises they made were small. Alice prayed no one would look up and see her. But even as the thought crossed her mind, a boy pointed, and several people paused to stare upward. Alice turned her back. If word got back to Father that Alice was climbing about on the roof . . .

“Don't worry. We're not staying up here,” Glenda explained.

“We're going in that?” Like the boy, Gavin pointed upward, his face shining with excitement.

Above them hovered a small dirigible, perhaps the size of a cottage. The dirigible's gondola hung suspended by silken ropes, and the entire thing was tethered to one of the chimneys. Alice had been concentrating so hard on the people below that she hadn't even noticed its presence. A wooden ladder extended itself toward them as she watched in startled amazement. Dirigibles she had seen, but never one hovering over her own house.

“There's no space to land it on the street, which is why we're on the roof. Up we go,” Simon said. “Does it make you nervous, Miss Michaels?”

It did, but the thought of appearing nervous in front of these people spurred Alice forward. “Not at all. Eyes down, Mr. Ennock. You, too, Mr. d'Arco.” She swarmed up the ladder. At the top, a thin, balding man with elaborate muttonchop whiskers gave her a hand into the gondola, then helped Glenda, Gavin, and Simon aboard. Simon folded up the ladder.

“You're Pilot?” Gavin asked.

The thin man nodded and wordlessly turned to a small wheel Alice remembered was called a helm. Gavin expertly flicked the tether free, and the little propeller engines on the sides of the gondola whirred to life.

“Have you ever flown before, Miss Michaels?” Gavin asked.

“No,” Alice said as the city slid away below. Bitter-smelling coal smoke rose from a thousand chimneys, and a thousand people, horses, and automatons filled the streets. From up here, she could even see into the alleyways, where plague zombies shambled through the shadows, looking for garbage. A trio of well-dressed women in emerald dresses strolled the cobblestones, carrying signs that read DON'T THROW YOUR VOTE AWAY and THE AD HOC NEEDS YOU, unaware that only a few paces away a zombie lurked in the shadows, forced to hide from painful sunlight. Alleys emerged into side streets and joined larger streets, like tributaries joining rivers.