The Dragon Men (31 page)

But at last they separated. “That,” Alice said, “was a wonderful kiss.”

“I've got lots more,” he said with mock seriousness. He started to stretch again, then halted. “Oh! Oh my God.”

“What is it? What's wrong?”

He grinned, surprised that he could feel even more wonderful. “I just realized—I slept and woke up. Like a normal person. First time since that day the pirates captured the
Juniper.
No nightmares, no jerking awake. I'd forgotten what it was like.”

She grinned back. “That's fantastic! I'm so glad for you. No, that sounds tepid. I'm thrilled, darling, absolutely thrilled!”

They embraced again, and he sighed as her arms went back around him. It felt so good to be alone with her here in Prince Kung's palace, far away from the chaos of the Forbidden City. The rooms Kung had set aside for Gavin were large and luxurious. A set of sliding doors opened onto a tranquil courtyard, where the sun was peeping over the compound walls. Soft summer breezes slid idly through the room, carrying the scent of flowers and running water.

“What's Lady Orchid doing now?” Gavin asked when at last they parted.

“Her name is actually Cixi, I've learned, and she's very busy consolidating her new empire,” Alice told him. “She's grateful to her new friends from England. I also hear she was quite upset that she wasn't able to fulfill her promise of finding a cure for the clockwork plague.”

“Well, that was only because I . . . it doesn't really matter,” Gavin finished lamely.

“It does to her. The Chinese take these debts seriously. At any rate, she persuaded the Dragon Men to do some final work.”

“Persuaded?”

“The Jade Hand doesn't control them anymore. She has to persuade them like anyone else must. I expect it must be
very
trying.”

He laughed. “I'm sure. But the plague is gone. How are there still Dragon Men?”

“Your . . . cure affects different people differently, darling. Some Dragon Men—and, I assume, clockworkers—became normal men and women right away. For others, their intelligence seems to be fading gradually over time. It appears that a tiny minority may even retain their powerful intellect, though whether they'll go mad or not remains to be seen.” She paused. “How do
you
feel?”

“I'm not sure.” He thought a moment, trying to find the patterns and the particles. But all he saw was an airy room. And Alice. Always Alice. “I'm not very . . . I don't think I'm a clockworker anymore.”

She breathed out heavily. “Oh, darling. That relieves me more than I can say.”

He took her hand. It was a great relief not to feel the impinging madness all the time. But he also had to admit it was hard giving up everything he had seen and learned. The clockwork plague was gone, and now he was just himself. It would have to be enough.

“So, what did Lady Orchid—Cixi—ask the Dragon Men to do?” Gavin asked.

“They repaired the
Lady of Liberty
from stem to stern, and while they were working, they uncovered one of your projects and arranged for its completion.”

“Project? What project?”

Alice raised her voice. “You can come in now.”

The door slid farther open and a mechanical man entered. He was painted black and white, in a sort of butler's uniform, but with a distinctly Oriental sensibility, and he was carrying a fiddle case. Gavin clambered to his feet with a little shout. “Kemp!”

He almost hugged the automaton, then stopped, considering the gesture silly. Instead, he shook the mechanical man's free hand. Even that much seemed to put Kemp off a bit.

“It is good to see Sir again,” he said. “Very good indeed. Thank you, Sir.”

“How do you feel, Kemp?” Gavin asked. He looked the automaton up and down, half expecting his mind to analyze how he was put together, but nothing came to him. It was both odd and exhilarating.

“I am much improved, Sir,” Kemp replied. “The Chinese Dragon Men finished the body you started and were able to reattach my head very nicely. I am quite ready to resume my duties. As a start, I have brought Sir his fiddle from the ship.”

Gavin accepted it gratefully, checked it, and set it on the bed. “Thank you, Kemp. You always remember.”

“Would Madam or Sir like something to eat? I have learned Chinese and can communicate with the kitchen staff quite readily.”

“We would, Kemp.” Alice said, and Kemp bustled off. “Thank you for that, darling. I missed him so.”

“The Dragon Men—”

“Only finished what you started. And you started it when you were in that fugue state, didn't you? It means a lot that you were thinking of me, even when the plague had you.”

Moments later, Kemp returned with a tray of tea and food. To Gavin's relief, it had no feeding spiders on it—just chopsticks. Click followed Kemp in and sat at Alice's feet while they ate. It was the most relaxing and wonderful thing in the world to simply share a meal with her, and what made it even better was knowing that he could do it over and over again for the rest of their lives.

“What are you smiling about, you devil?” Alice asked over her cup.

He rested his chin in his palm. “How beautiful you are. And how it must be a relief for you to be rid of that spider on your hand.”

“Thank you. You're a dear.” She held up her bare left hand. “It does feel nice. As far as we can tell, the clockwork plague is completely gone. The people who have it are recovering. The zombies will still be scarred—there's nothing for that—but no new cases, no new deaths.”

“Humans can be what they were supposed to be,” Gavin said. “No more, no less.”

“Here's to no more.” Alice raised her cup, and they clinked in a toast.

“Where's Phipps, by the way?” Gavin asked. “We need to talk to her about leaving, since the ship is finished.”

“Oh. Susan. Yes.” Alice cleared her throat. “Susan is staying on. As the new cultural attaché. I believe she and Lieutenant—that is
General
—Li have formed an . . . understanding, and Susan wishes to explore it.”

“You noticed that, too, did you? Huh. I never thought I'd see Susan Phipps with a gentleman caller, and definitely not one from China.”

“Yes, well, I never thought I'd fall for a cabin boy from Boston.”

“Street musician. I was a street musician. Starving artists have a lot more cachet, you know.” He devoured a bean bun. “There's something I'm forgetting, though. It's important, but it won't come.”

“Well, we do need to talk about where we'll go.”

Gavin set down the chopsticks. “You know, I hadn't thought of that at all. I'd been so focused on China and the cure that I didn't think of afterward.”

“We could stay in China,” Alice said. “Cixi would keep us as honored guests forever.”

“That's a kind offer, but I want to be closer to home when we raise our children.”

At the word
children
, Alice wordlessly took both her hands in his across the table. “I agree.”

“Should we head for Boston, then? You haven't met my family.”

“Your pardon, Sir.” Kemp poked his head into the room. A brass nightingale fluttered around his head. “You have a visitor.”

“Hello, hello!” called a new voice. “You there, Gavin?”

The doors to the courtyard slid completely open and Uri Ennock strode into the room, his white-blond hair shining in the morning sunlight. Alice stared, mouth agape.

“That's what I forgot,” Gavin said sheepishly. “Alice, I'd like you to meet my dad.”

Epilo
gue

T
he rickety stairs creaked under Gavin's shoes as he and Alice climbed the steps of the old tenement building. The place was dirtier and dingier than he remembered, and smaller, too. But the stairwell and hallway still smelled the same—boiled cabbage, urine, unwashed bodies. Doors cracked open, and eyes stared at him and Alice. Their clothes stood out as richer and finer than anything the people here might own, though Gavin had taken care to wear simple twill and flannel while Alice wore a plain blouse and skirt. He swallowed and kept climbing.

“Don't be nervous, darling,” Alice murmured. “I'm not.”

Gavin didn't respond to this. Any number of things could go wrong. The worst was that Ma or Gramps might be dead. Or Ma might be angry with him for not writing in so long, or for not sending money. Or worse, she might just be disappointed.

They reached the fourth floor, and Gavin automatically turned right, just as he had done every day when he was a child, though the hallway was narrower than he remembered. The only light came from a high paper-covered window at the end of the hall. The place was scorching in summer and freezing in winter. Right now, in early autumn, it was tolerable, at least. He went to the first door, and for a moment he was six. He even had his fiddle with him.

“I haven't been here in years,” he whispered. “Do I knock or just go in?”

“Oh good heavens.” Alice reached around him and rapped smartly on the wood.

“Who is it?” came a voice from inside. The familiarity of it stung Gavin's eyes.

“Ma?” he said hoarsely. “I'm home.”

The door banged open. Carrie Ennock, a short, thin woman with work-reddened hands and graying brown hair pulled into a bun, popped into the hall. “Good God! My Gavin! It's Gavin!”

She reached up with both hands to pull him down for a kiss, then hugged him hard. The top of her head barely came up to his chin.

“I knew you were coming. I knew it!” Her low voice was filled with emotion. “After that long note that everyone heard. It was
you.
I heard
you.
Oh, I'm so glad you're back!”

“I'm here, Ma.” Gavin's own eyes were wet. “I'm sorry I didn't write. It got complicated.”

“You're here. You're safe. That's all I care about.” She hugged him again. “You're so
tall
now. A man.”

“I never noticed you were so short, Ma,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

She tapped his chest with her hand. “That's enough from you, young man. And who's this?”

He stepped aside. “Ma, this is Alice, my fiancée. Alice, my mother, Carrie Ennock.”

“How do you do?” Alice extended her hand.

“Well, that's wonderful!” Carrie shook Alice's hand, then embraced her, too. “Alice. I have a daughter named Alice. But I'm being stupid. Come in! Come in! This is your home, after all.”

The little two-room flat was just as Gavin remembered it—cramped and bare and cold. Carrie kept it clean, but sewing was spread out everywhere. Clearly she was still doing piecework for seamstresses and tailors, and Gavin wondered about her eyesight.

“Where is everyone?” he asked.

Carrie rushed about, clearing cloth off two ancient ladder-back chairs and offering one to Alice, who took it as if it were an easy chair in a high-class tearoom. She seemed not to notice the lack of light or heat or the cracks in the floorboards or the smoke streaks on the plaster, and for that Gavin was grateful.

“Well, let's see,” Carrie said. “Jenny is with her Elmer, of course. They have two little ones now—Benjamin and Louise. You're an uncle! Harry is . . . well, he's out looking for work, I imagine.”

Drinking,
Gavin mentally filled in.

“Patrick found work down at the docks, which is helpful, but he hasn't found a girl yet.” Carrie picked up needle and thread and started sewing again, an automatic gesture. She had to sew, Gavin knew, until the sun went down. Even her wayward son's return wasn't reason to stop, since she was paid by the piece. “And Violet's at the factory. She'll be off in a few hours. We can all have dinner together!”

Gavin could see she was calculating how to feed two more people on whatever was—or wasn't—in the little cupboards. He reached out and stilled her hands with his own.

“Ma,” he said, “you don't have to do this anymore.”

“What do you mean, honey?” She pulled away and went back to sewing. “I'm nearly done with this piece, and I can just get in another before dark. And what have
you
been doing? Talk to me while I work.”

“I mean, Ma, that you don't have to sew anymore. Or work. Or live here.”

Her needle never stopped moving. “How's that?”

From his pocket, Gavin took a thick stack of bank notes. He laid it on the table where Carrie could see it. She glanced at it but kept sewing.

“What is it?”

“It's yours, Ma,” he said.

“Just like your father,” she replied, still sewing.

At one time, that remark would have made him angry. Now he was just curious. “How so, Ma?”

“You vanish, and you think money makes it all right.”

“Did Dad ever send money?” Gavin asked, surprised.

“For a while. Then it stopped. Just like—well, it stopped.”

“I talked to him, Ma. I
found
him.”

Now she did stop sewing. “Gavin Eric Ennock, don't you dare come back into my life with wild stories that—”

“It's true, Ma. He's alive. I found him. In China. He's not coming back, but he wrote a letter that explains everything.” From his pocket he took a handkerchief and unwrapped the silver nightingale. “I don't blame you for being angry at him, or at me. Not all of it was his fault or mine. Part of it was the clockwork plague, though the plague was more our fault—mankind's fault—than we knew.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Carrie held the nightingale up to the light.

“It's hard to describe. I'll try, but after we've all had something to eat. At a nice hotel with a fine restaurant.”

“With that?” Carrie said, gesturing at the bank notes. “It's a little hard to believe. Where did it come from?”

“I'm a baroness, Mrs. Ennock,” Alice put in. “And, not to put too fine a point on it, I'm quite wealthy. Filthy rich, I believe you Americans say, and I've given a portion of my fortune over to Gavin. That money is his quite legally, and he has a suite of rooms reserved for you and your family at the Revere House.”

“Oh!” Carrie looked overwhelmed. “I—I wouldn't know how to behave at such a fancy place.”

“Mrs. Ennock.” Alice leaned forward to touch her hand conspiratorially. “When you have pots of money, no one cares one bit how you behave. It's a
lot
of fun, believe me.”

At that, Carrie laughed. “All right, then. Please call me Ma. And I want to know how my son ended up with a baroness.”

“You'll hear all about it,” Gavin said, relieved. “But Ma—what about Gramps? You didn't mention him.”

Carrie hesitated, and Gavin's heart jerked. “Your grandfather . . . isn't quite the same, honey. He doesn't eat much, and he sleeps a lot.”

“Where is he?”

“In the sleeping room. Go on, then.”

Gavin took up his fiddle and went into the back room. Alice followed. Just as he remembered, there were no beds, just narrow pallets of threadbare blankets on the floor. A narrow window let in grudging light. His grandfather lay on one of the pallets. His hair was all but gone, his skin deeply wrinkled and mottled, his eyes closed.

“Gramps?” Gavin knelt beside him. “Gramps, it's me, Gavin. I'm back.”

At first Gramps didn't move. Then he stirred slightly and his eyes opened. They were the same blue as Gavin's, though filmy with age.

“Boy?” he said gruffly. “That you?”

Gavin took his hand. “I'm here, Gramps. I'm back.”

“Well, where the hell have you been all this time?”

Alice put a hand to her mouth to smother a laugh, and Gavin smiled. “It's a long story, Gramps.”

“Don't tell me now, boy. I don't have time. Just do one thing for me, will you?”

“Anything, Gramps. You know that.”

“Play.”

Alice gave Gavin his fiddle. Carrie appeared in the doorway, holding the nightingale as Gavin tuned up. He sang:

I see the moon, the moon sees me.

It turns all the forest soft and silvery.

The moon picked you from all the rest,

For I loved you best.

Gramps gave Gavin a proud smile, exhaled once, and died.

*  *  *

They held the wedding a month later on the deck of the
Lady of Liberty.
Alice wore a white gown, which was still the rage for brides, and her spiders and whirligigs accompanied her down the aisle to the helm. Gavin awaited her in a new set of white leathers of his own, and he couldn't stop smiling. Click flatly refused to carry the rings, though he did deign to sit on the generator and watch. The priest, hired from a local parish, seemed a bit overwhelmed at marrying a baroness aboard an airship high above the city, but he performed the ceremony without a hitch. Carrie Ennock, her hands no longer reddened with work, looked ready to burst with pride and happiness, and Gavin's brothers and sisters cheered when Gavin lifted Alice's veil to give her a long, lingering kiss.

They held a reception directly afterward, with a great deal of drinking and music from hired musicians. Gavin thought it strange to have music played for him instead of by him, but it was his wedding day, so nothing was likely to be normal.

After the sun went down and Alice's whirligigs shuttled the guests back to the ground, they abruptly found themselves on an empty deck. The lights of Boston spread out below them like snowflakes scattered across velvet.

“Alone at last with my wife,” Gavin said, trying out the phrase.

“Alone at last with my husband,” she replied, doing the same.

“So why are we up here instead of in our stateroom?” He held out his arm to her. “Madam?”

She took it. “Sir.”

He paused to kiss her one more time. “I love you—”

“Always,” she finished. “Yes. Yes, indeed.”

They strolled below, and Gavin couldn't stop himself singing. Alice joined in.

The moon picked you from all the rest,

For I loved you best.