The Doomsday Vault (31 page)

“Boadicea?”

“I'll explain later.” Alice sighed. “We should check on Tree.”

Tree, it turned out, was already struggling to an upright position in the river. Water rushed from his branches and bedraggled foliage, and a chunk of the brass vines had been torn away.

“SLEEP,” he said, and went still.

Gavin sloshed into the water and climbed into the branches, where he retrieved the machine pack. Alice had slashed the straps with her knife, and water had shorted out all the machinery. Still, he sloshed back ashore with it.

“Wireless is dead,” he said. “No way to contact London for a pickup. We'll have to make camp here tonight.”

“What about Mr. Barton?” Alice gestured at the man in question, who now lay sprawled on the ground near his mechanical.

Gavin produced a small bottle from a drawer on the pack. “Laudanum. It'll keep him quiet until we can get back. Let's check the tower and see if it's livable for the night.”

The first floor of the tower contained a single room with a stove and a small bed. The upper floor, destroyed in the explosion, had apparently been the laboratory. “At least he didn't set traps and machines down here,” Gavin said. “I'm too tired to hunt them down. Let's get Barton in here before he wakes up.”

“Oh!” Alice put a hand to her mouth. “In all the excitement—how could I have forgotten?”

She rushed outside. Gavin hurried after her. The late-evening air was damp and chilly, and night birds called. Tree formed a tall shadow at the edge of the river. Already Alice was climbing into the mechanical.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “Miss Michaels!”

She dropped into the seat, her wet skirts sticking to her legs, and examined the machinery in the rapidly fading light. “Nothing's labeled,” she muttered. “So how does it work?”

She pulled a lever, and the mechanical's right arms swung down and around. Gavin ducked beneath it just in time. “Oh dear! Sorry, Mr. Ennock!”

“What in—?”

“If that's right, then this one is left.” The mechanical's left arm swung, but this time nowhere near Gavin. “And these are the feet.” The mechanical stomped in place. “This must be the bubb—” The glass dome snapped shut. Gavin retreated to a safe distance, watching Alice fiddle with the switches and levers inside the mechanical, until at last the front popped open and machine parts spilled out onto the grass. Of course! The machines Alice had been so hot to find. The bubble opened and Alice scrambled down to the ground, where she sorted frantically through the materials until she came up with three hatbox-sized automatons. These she stacked like firewood and struggled to pick up.

“Let me help with that,” Gavin volunteered.

“I'll do it, Mr. Ennock,” she snapped. “Please leave them alone.”

He stepped back and let her haul them into the tower. She set them on the stone floor while he built a fire in the stove. His wet clothes were starting to chill him, and it would only get worse as the night wore on.

“Check that wardrobe over there, would you?” Gavin asked as he tried to coax larger flames. “See if Barton has any spare clothes.”

Barton did. Though a little large for Gavin, they would do for the moment. Alice obligingly turned her back while Gavin scrambled out of his wet things and into some of Barton's dry ones. In the process, he found the silver nightingale still in his pocket, and he hoped it hadn't been damaged. The dry clothes felt immensely better, in any case, though he was forced to remain barefoot. He held out a set of trousers and a shirt to Alice.

“You should put these on,” he said. “They aren't women's things, but you'll catch your death in those wet skirts.”

“I couldn't,” Alice said.

“You have to. I don't want you catching a chill or pneumonia.”

“You don't understand, Mr. Ennock,” Alice said. Her face flushed red in the firelight. “This dress requires assistance. I can't reach the buttons and laces.”

“Really? Oh. Um . . . I guess I could . . .”

“No,” she said evenly, “you definitely could not.”

“I don't mean anything . . . you know.” He gestured helplessly. “I could just undo the buttons and turn away while you handle the rest.”

“Including the unmentionables?”

Now Gavin flushed. “Oh. Right. But you can't stay wet all night. You'll get sick.”

She sighed. “Hand me that knife, please, and turn your back.”

He obeyed, though he had to admit that the intriguing sounds of ripping cloth were a little exciting, and he forced himself to stare at a single block of stone, memorize its contours, and not think about the fact that the woman he had dreamed about for more than a year was standing half-naked—maybe even completely naked—only a yard behind him. His heart pounded faster than it had when Tree had fallen into the river.

“You may turn around now,” Alice said.

Gavin did. Alice looked strange in trousers, though she wore Barton's shirt untucked, like a tunic, to create the illusion of a short dress. She had twisted her hair back up, and the firelight playing over her face and neck lent her warm brown eyes a glow that set Gavin's heart racing again. She held a handful of tattered red blossoms.

“Great,” he said. “You look great. Where did the roses come from?”

“They were caught in among my things.”

“Even something damp and bedraggled can be pretty,” he said without thinking.

There was a pause, and Gavin flushed.

“I feel strange,” Alice said. Her dress lay in rags at her feet. “And immodest. Like an Ad Hoc lady.”

“Everything's covered up,” he replied. “No one will know but me, and I'll never tell, Miss Michaels.”

“I believe you.” She sighed, and a certain amount of tension seemed to leave her. “Thank you.”

Gavin recovered himself. “Let's see if we can find any food. I'm starved.”

Barton had a stash of canned fruit and beans. While they were eating, the man started to come around, and Gavin forced some laudanum-laced water down his throat. He quieted quickly.

“Are you sure he's not contagious?” Alice asked anxiously. They were sitting at a rough set of table and chairs pulled near the stove for warmth. The damp roses lay scattered on the table between them, scenting the air.

“Very sure,” Gavin said. “Clockworkers do something to the clockwork plague, or the clockwork plague does something to clockworkers. We don't know how it works or why, but clockworkers don't spread the disease. If they did, I'd be dead by now.”

“How many clockworkers have you encountered since you joined . . . them?”

“The Third Ward?”

“I can't talk about it directly. Your . . . superior saw to that.”

“Right. Standard procedure.” Gavin moved beans around in the tin with his spoon. “I've encountered three or four, not counting the ones we keep at headquarters. And I work with Doctor Clef all the time.”

“What's it like?” Alice leaned forward slightly, as if hungry for something other than beans and peaches.

He flashed a wide grin at her. “It's scary as hell—sorry—but it's also the greatest job I've ever had. I fly to new places and see new people all the time, and the inventions are incredible. Tree is the just the beginning.”

“Tell me about the inventions,” Alice said.

“Well, Professor K. is working on a way to grow a copy of a living creature from a bit of its flesh or blood. He's done mice and sheep, but Lieutenant Phipps says if he manages humans, she'll put his research into the Doomsday Vault. Master Prakash, a clockworker from India, is working on a camera that creates photographs instantly. His lab tends to explode at least once a week, so we have to be careful. And Doctor Clef is still working on his Impossible Cube. I also had him cook up more of that alloy that floats when you pump a current through it.”

“It sounds incredible.” Alice sighed. “I envy you, Mr. Ennock.”

“Then why did you say no when Phipps asked you to join?” Gavin blurted out. “We could even have been partners.”

For a moment, Gavin thought she might refuse to answer. Then she sighed again. “I couldn't.”

“You worry a lot about
couldn't
, Miss Michaels,” Gavin said.

“My father was tens of thousands of pounds in debt, Mr. Ennock, and after a lot of work, I managed to catch the eye of a wealthy man who was willing to marry me, despite my advanced age and lack of means. I was also afraid . . .” She trailed off, flushing a little.

“Of what?”

“Er . . . that I wasn't suited to the job,” she finished lamely.

There was clearly more to it than that, but Gavin didn't press the issue. In the spirit of being straightforward, he said, “Well, I wish you had joined. You'd be a hell—sorry—heck of a field agent. Besides,” he hurried to add before he could lose courage, “I miss you.”

She smiled tightly and patted his hand across the table. “Thank you, Mr. Ennock.”

The air went out of him. “You're welcome,” he mumbled. So much for straightforward. Well, what had he expected ? A sudden declaration of undying love? She was engaged, for God's sake.

The fire crackled in the stove, putting out a welcome warmth. Gavin took the nightingale out of his pocket and set it on the table near the roses.

“What is that?” Alice asked.

“A sort of friend gave it to me.” He touched the bird's head, and the nightingale sang its sweet little song.

“Hm. It lacks soul.” She paused. “Mr. Ennock, would you . . . sing for me?”

He blinked. “Sing?”

“I remember your singing voice,” she said. “I'd very much like to hear it again.”

“Sure.” He glanced out one of the tower's narrow windows and saw the moon rising through Tree's branches. The silvery light slanted across the floor and played across Alice's face. “How about a lullaby?”

“Whatever you prefer.”

Gavin sang.

As the final line left his mouth, he realized what he had just sung. He flashed back to the moment he had sung “The Wraggle Taggle Gypsy” at Third Ward headquarters, when he had carefully chosen a song in which a woman left a man she didn't love for a man—a musician—she did. Now he had just done the same thing, but by accident—he was thinking of the moon in the trees and had forgotten about the final line. He hurried on.

That only made it worse. The hell with it. If he was trapped in the song, he might as well sing with every bit of power he had. He closed his eyes and put his heart into every word.

That made him think of the
Juniper
, forever lost among the clouds. Abruptly, he forgot Alice, forgot the Third Ward, forgot everything. He longed to soar again, go back to his true home, and he found tears gathering at the backs of his eyes.

He opened his eyes. A single rose from the bunch on the table was lying near his arm on the table. Had it been there before? He couldn't remember. He looked at Alice, but her face was impassive.

“Thank you, Mr. Ennock,” she said.

“You're welcome, Miss Michaels.”

“I think after everything we've been through we can use our Christian names. Please call me Alice.”

“If you'll call me Gavin.”

“I shall, Gavin.” She pulled a damp handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at one eye. “Pollen.” She sniffed delicately. “We should think of the sleeping arrangements.”

“You can have Barton's cot over there.” Gavin gestured. “I'll take the floor near Barton himself in case he wakes up. I think we could find a way to string a curtain or something for you, if—”

“Not necessary,” she said with a small smile. “Good night.”

Gavin checked his own clothes—they were drying nicely near the stove—and rolled himself up in a spare blanket from the wardrobe. There was only one, and he decided Barton would just have to suffer, though the laudanum would probably give him a better night's sleep than Gavin would get. The stone floor was hard and chilly, but eventually he fell asleep.

Sometime later, a sound jerked him awake. He tensed, though his training kept him from leaping to his feet.

The moon slanted through the narrow windows, providing just enough light for Gavin to make out Alice moving about in her baggy shirt and trousers. Barton snored on in his drug-induced slumber. Gavin watched through slitted eyes as she wedged a bit of wood underneath the door to keep it from swinging shut. Then she picked up the first of her husband's little machines and carried it outside. A moment later, she returned for the second and the third. Once Alice had left the final time, Gavin counted to thirty and stole to the door, where he peered outside into the bright moonlight.