A Clockwork Heart (17 page)

“Are you sure? I could wait for you,” Elle said.

Loisa gave her a wicked smile. “My dear, you forget that I am a very old, very strong Nightwalker. I am quite accustomed to looking after myself. It is the people of London you should be worried about.”

Elle frowned. “Surely, you are not going to grab the first poor fool you find in the street are you?”

Loisa threw her head back and laughed. “What do you think I am? No, I know of a lovely little crypt not far from here where people go to make … donations. It's all perfectly legal.”

“At least let me send someone to collect you when you are finished.”

Loisa tutted. “Don't worry about me. I will see you tomorrow.” And with those words, she whooshed off into the night.

CHAPTER 22

Clothilde threw her hands in the air and howled in frustration. “What do you mean he got away?” she stormed.

Emilian hung his head. “The minders lost him on one of their training walks, mistress.”

“And who told you to let him out? I thought I made it clear that the tall one was special. He was to stay within these walls at all times.” Dark clouds roiled in the sky above Battersea and great purple flashes of lightning crackled between the high towers of the monastery as her temper raged.

“I'm sorry, mistress, but the monks opened the cages for the minders last night. I didn't see that they let him out until he was gone.”

“And whose responsibility is it to supervise these stupid little men?”

Emilian bowed. “Mine, mistress,” he said.

“So it is your fault and more so for trying to blame your underlings. That's very poor, Emilian. I am deeply disappointed in you.”

“I am sorry, mistress.” He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he spoke, but even now he exuded an air of subversive arrogance that she found deeply annoying. As if she could not see through his feigned subservience.

“Did they even see where he went?” she seethed.

“He was with the group that went out hunting for recruits near the Tower Bridge docks. The minders say they were ambushed. People waiting in the shadows as if they were expected. There was a woman and a Nightwalker. I'm not sure if I believe them, but Vargo says that the women stole him and ran off.”

“How is that possible?” she said. “Do you honestly think I am that stupid? All my walkers are spellbound. They cannot be separated from the herd unless I will it.”

“I know, mistress. Vargo must have made a mistake.”

“Well, go and find out what really happened!” she shouted.

“Yes, mistress.” Emilian tipped his hat and made to leave, seemingly grateful for the opportunity to escape.

“And Emilian,” she said as he reached the door. “I want him back undamaged. Whatever it takes. Don't make me regret saving that little sister of yours.”

Emilian turned and glared at Clothilde. His dark eyes blazed with anger. “You leave my sister alone,” he said through gritted teeth. “We may work for you and call you mistress, but know this,
La
Dame
Blanche,
we are no one's slaves.”

“Enough of this insolence, you miserable little cockroach!” Clothilde screeched. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned the power of the storm above her and flung Emilian from her chambers into the hallway. He landed on the hard floor with a satisfying thump. As a final touch, she made the door slam behind him for effect.

She turned and stalked to the large bank of windows behind her. From this room she could see London as it sprawled out before her, shrouded in the purple storm clouds that followed her everywhere she went.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. That Emilian had given her such a headache. Sometimes the temptation to turn the insolent man and his sister to dust was almost too much to resist. But she needed them for the moment. As a trueborn son of the travelling people, he was immune to her powers and charms and it was most necessary that she had someone she could rely on, but whom she did not affect.

Clothilde glared out into the driving rain. Her beautiful warlock was gone. And it was all due to the utter incompetence of the electromancers in her charge. It was yet again time to meter out some much needed discipline.

One of the electromancers knocked softly on the door.

“What is it?” she snapped.

“It's time for the feeding, mistress,” he whispered. “You said to call when it was time.”

“I'll be there in a moment.”

The little monk bowed his head and retreated.

“You!” She pointed at the monk.

The little man froze.

“Tell me … who was the monk in charge of letting our soldiers out of their cages last night?”

“I–I”m not sure, ma'am,” he muttered.

“Well, can you find out?” she said, her voice suddenly silky with menace.

“I surely can, ma'am.”

“Well then, do so. And bring him to me.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Clothilde donned her white robes and strode along the gallery to the control room where she could conduct tonight's feeding. As she passed them by, electromancers bowed and retreated into the shadows and long narrow passageways that made up the galleries.

The monastery was built in a large rectangle with a chimney on each point. Each chimney reached high up into the sky and was designed to collect the lightning the electromancers needed to make spark. In the middle of the complex was a cavernous glass-covered courtyard, which the electromancers called the spark turbine hall. It was in this hall that the electromancers channeled the static electricity that they fed into the turbines, where it was mixed with the magic they drew from the Shadow. Once combined, the bright blue spark was fed into massive holding tanks. Some was pumped into glass cylinders and tanks to be sent off to power airships and all manner of steam-powered machines. The rest was piped along the network into the city where it was used for light, heating and the grinding machines that made the city run.

Clothilde gave a small smile of satisfaction as she climbed the square staircase that led up to the control room. Despite her misgivings, the Consortium could not have chosen a better place to set up a factory. Here she had all she needed to bring their plans to fruition.

But the monastery was so large that it was almost impossible to police on one's own. Especially since she was surrounded by such weakness and incompetence. However, she had to admit that the little men worked hard once motivated, and apart from a few newspaper headlines proclaiming shortages, they did manage to produce enough spark to stop anyone from noticing what was really going on under their very noses. And she liked that.

Emilian was waiting for her in the control room.

“So good of you to join me,” she said as she stared out the finely paneled glass windows. Some of them had been opened, allowing sound to reach her from the hall below.

“It was an invitation I could not refuse,” he said drily.

Below them, a section of the turbine hall had been fenced off with sturdy cattle pens. In these pens, her undead soldiers waited in silence for her to command them. The only sound they made was the ticking of their clockwork hearts that beat in unison with her own. Eight hundred so far. Eight hundred fearless soldiers, incapable of feeling pain. Each one set to obey every command given by the one who held the key. The key she carried around her neck on a long brass chain.

A group of electromancers shuffled in through a side gate. One of them stepped forward nervously.

“Are you the one who was in charge of these, yesterday?” she said through the speaking tube. The voice conveyance replicator squeaked and whined and a few electromancers flinched.

“Well? Are you?” she said, this time a little more carefully.

“Yes … yes I am, my lady,” the monk said.

“Stay where you are. The rest of you, please join me up here. Vargo, Hunch: let the feeding commence.”

Two of the minders she had employed nodded and signaled for the main doors to be opened. A herd of bewildered goats were ushered into the hall. They were wet and shivering from the cold outside.

The undead shifted. A few grunted as the goats leapt and bumped against each other, bleating as they sensed impending danger.

Vargo and Hunch closed the doors, securing them with the heavy iron crossbar. She watched them climb the spiral stairs to the first floor gallery where the other electromancers had taken their places as they had been commanded. They were all to watch the feedings. This was her way of showing them the magnificence of her creations. It was also a warning for those who disobeyed.

“Everything set?” she asked.

Vargo nodded.

The monk who remained on the ground looked at the goats with a growing sense of horror. “M–mistress! What about me?” His voice echoed through the hall.

Clothilde ignored him.

“Electromancers! Let this be a lesson to you,” she said through the speaking tube. “I will not tolerate disobedience of any form. And this is the fate that awaits anyone who disobeys my orders. Is that understood?”

The electromancers stirred. A few muttered and looked on with worried faces.

Clothilde pointed at the guilty monk and in an instant he was floating in the air. The man gasped in surprise as she dropped him in the middle of the cattle.

“Please. Please don't do this. I am sorry for what I have done. I did not mean to let him out. I–I didn't know,” he begged.

Clothilde did not waver. She raised her other hand and made a turning motion—as one would do with a key in a lock.

As one, like the visors of the knights of old but only in reverse, the muzzles of all eight hundred undead slipped down over their faces to reveal their open gaping mouths. Some of them were drooling profusely from the smell of goat and man, so close.

Clothilde closed her eyes and drew a globule of power into herself. Then she exhaled and projected her will across the gallery. “Go, my children. Feed yourselves,” she said.

Suddenly, the undead all started moving. Without hesitation, they set upon the terrified goats, tearing great chunks of living flesh and feeding in the gush of blood that ensued. The last that was heard of the poor doomed electromancer was a thin wailing cry as he was overwhelmed by the surging undead.

Clothilde wrinkled her nose at the sight of entrails and death as she watched the feeding frenzy below. “Soon the only thing left will be a few blood splatters as my soldiers devour everything they can, including bone and skin,” she observed.

Emilian did not answer. He was lounging in one of the tall-backed Queen Anne chairs that adorned the control room. He had thrown a leg over one of the arm rests.

“That was part of the beauty of their design,” Clothilde continued unperturbed by his silence. “They will clean up the mess of war by gorging themselves on the enemy, thus negating the need for supply trains. It is indeed the work of genius, don't you think?”

“Some might call it madness,” Emilian said.

“Madness is often the prerequisite for genius, my dear Emilian. With control of the stock markets of the world, the banks and this army, the Consortium will soon be unstoppable,” she said.

“Then the Fates help us all,” Emilian said. He rose and strode out of the control room.

Clothilde smiled. That was a lesson well learned. Emilian would think twice before defying her again.

“Once the feeding is complete, please ensure that all soldiers are safely in their cells. It is time to commence the next batch of Making,” she said through the speaking tube.

Those waiting for her commands sprang into action as they started preparing the enormous machine that took up the other half of the hall for this evening's work.

But even Emilian did not know about her special project. The Warlock … she felt another surge of irritation. When she had done the conversion, she had made him more intelligent, more capable of being civilized. And while he was settling in with his new heart she had painstakingly unstrapped the nodule of power he held compressed inside him. She was very surprised when once released she could not access his power. It was almost as if he was fighting her, refusing to yield to her will. And even though she knew that it would only be a matter of time before he yielded, the challenge of breaking his resistance fascinated her.

And now he was gone. She slammed her fist down on the counter with such force that the corner one of the glass panes in the windows before her cracked.

Her fingers found the second, more ornate brass key she wore on the chain around her neck and she smiled.

“I don't know where you are my love, but at some stage you will come back to me. For I have worked it that we will seek each other out before the clock spring inside you winds down. And when we are reunited, we will go away from this place. We will go to a place where we will be together forever.”

Clothilde felt a shiver of anticipation. What sweet magic they would make together one day. In response, purple fingers of lightning crackled in the clouds above the building. Yes, it would be good to have a mate to share things with, she thought with glee. Good, because she had been alone for far too long.

CHAPTER 23

The next evening, Elle and Loisa found themselves in a horse-drawn hansom heading for the suburb of Soho where Jasper lived.

His rooms, as was fashionable for unmarried gentlemen living in London, were just off Denmark Street. This was one of the slightly less salubrious parts of the West End, but a favorite with occultists, bohemians, absinthe drinkers and those other folk who liked to indulge in the various opium dens and other clubs that dotted the place.

“Here is good enough, driver,” Elle said. The cab trundled to a halt in Charing Cross Road, causing a slight traffic jam as they got out.

The driver pulled off before she could tell him to wait for them, leaving them standing on the pavement.

“Well, that was ever so rude,” Elle said.

“Oh never mind. This is far too early to be awake,” Loisa muttered. She stretched as gracefully as only a Nightwalker could. “Especially after yesterday's adventure.” Loisa was once again dressed in her black leather trouser outfit and the two of them were drawing more than one surreptitious glance from passersby. Two ladies dressed in leather coats and trousers was something worth noticing, even for Londoners and even in Soho.

Loisa, true to form, started smiling and winking at some of the gentlemen who walked by.

“Loisa, not now. We are wasting time,” Elle said. As the days went by, she found she was struggling to maintain her patience.

Loisa turned her attention to her. “My, we are a little grouchy this evening. But never fear. Jasper's place is just up ahead.

They knocked at the door, which was opened by an ancient lady with a crooked back.

“We are here to see Mr. Sidgwick. He is expecting us,” Elle said.

“I'm afraid he's not here,” Jasper's landlady said. “But do come in.” She stood aside to let them into the hall. It was a damp, sweaty-looking place with paint flaking off the casements and grayish patches on the walls.

“Upstairs?” Elle said.

“Second floor. But I'm telling you, Mr. Sidgwick is not there.” The landlady was looking visibly distressed.

“Loisa, come,” Elle said as she passed the landlady and strode up the stairs to the second floor. They stopped outside a door that was also in need of a fresh coat of paint.

“Jasper?” Elle rapped on the door. The sound echoed through the dank stairwell, but there was no answer.

“That's odd. He did say that we should come shortly after dark.”

Elle tried the door handle. It turned and the door sprang open. “Not locked, then.”

Loisa pressed her perfect lips together for a moment. “Best we proceed with caution. I'll go first,” she said as she entered the rooms.

“Good heavens,” Loisa exclaimed. Jasper's rooms were in a most deplorable state of chaos. The furniture he owned was all upturned. Books, papers and other bits of occult paraphernalia were strewn around, intermingled with discarded bed linen and what appeared to be the complete feather contents of a pillow.

“What a mess! What happened here?” Loisa breathed.

Elle reached inside her coat and drew out her Colt. “Well, my guess is that Jasper did actually know something, but someone has beaten us to the information.”

Loisa looked at her in alarm. “Do you think they've taken him, like … Hugh?”

Elle closed her eyes for a moment banishing the image of the poor creature in the library at home. “It's possible.”

“I told you he wasn't here.” The landlady had finally managed to shuffle up the stairs. “The place was like this when I got up this morning. There has been no sight or sound of poor Mr. Sidgwick. Do you think we should alert the police?”

Elle shrugged. “Given past experiences, I doubt they”'ll do anything about it.”

“Poor Jasper. I was quite looking forward to sharing his turning with him when the time was ripe.” Loisa ran her fingers along the edge of the upturned desk. Her fingers were white against the polished mahogany.

“Would you mind giving us a few moments?” Elle asked the landlady.

The landlady looked a bit dubious. “Well, if you promise not to disturb anything I suppose it should be in order. I will go and make us a cup of tea,” she said.

“Thank you, we are ever so grateful,” Elle replied.

“Just call if you need anything, my dear,” the landlady said as she shuffled downstairs.

“I wonder whether the book is still here. Most of it looks frightfully boring if you ask me.” Elle started rifling through the papers strewn on the floor.

“Strange.” Loisa pursed her lips. “Nothing appears to have been taken. Except Jasper. And the overturned furniture in the room suggests that he put up quite a fight.” She picked up one of the overturned chairs and sat down in it.

“Loisa, have a look at the shelves. See if there is anything that might relate to the undead. Some of the books Jasper mentioned might still be there.”

Elle lifted a leather-bound volume up off some papers where it had been discarded, open and face down. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance as she carefully closed the book and eased the binding into place. She hated it when people mistreated books.

“I'm not sure if this is helping,” Loisa said. “All these tomes look the same to me. See, some are in languages even I can't recognize.”

Elle found a gap in the row of books where a poor abused volume must have been removed. She picked it up to slip it into place, but there was something in the way. She put her hand into the gap and pulled out a manila folder. It had been wedged in between the books on the shelf.

“What is this?” Carefully she opened the folder. “Press cuttings and the back pages of penny dreadfuls where the hanged and missing are reported,” she muttered. “How odd.” She leafed through the pages. “These are all recent. Look.”

Loisa picked up an overturned occasional table and they spread the contents of the folder out on it. Before them, the headlines of newspaper clippings from almost every major London newspaper stood out in bold black letters:

SPARK SHORTAGE LOOMS. ELECTROMANCERS IN TALKS WITH AUTHORITIES.

Another read:

WETTEST WINTER IN LIVING MEMORY RECORDED. FEAR OF FLOODING.

A further article was the same one Elle had read just days before:

TICKING MONSTERS PROWL THE STREETS. PUBLIC ADVISED TO STAY INDOORS.

The rest of the cuttings referred to people disappearing along with various advertisements in the obituary columns for people presumed dead.

“I think he was working on the theory that the problems with the electromancers is somehow linked to the disappearances. But how?”

At the back was a list of names, written in Jasper's scrawl.

Loisa leaned in over her shoulder. “That's a lot of people, if those are the missing. See. He even has Hugh's name.” She pointed at the list. “I think dear Jasper was not entirely open with us about his investigations. He knows far more than he let on.”

“Well, it doesn't matter now.” Elle gathered up the clippings and slipped the folder into her holdall. “I'm willing to bet that whoever is behind what happened to Marsh will lead us to Jasper.”

“Well, then.” Loisa said, gathering up her top hat and gloves. “I suggest that we pay the electromancers a little visit. What do you say?”

Life among the traveling folk is not so bad.

My new mistress has turned out to be a lot kinder than I had feared. Below all the hardness she exudes, there is good in her.

But she keeps me tied to this place with her red silk, even though I am quite content to stay. And all things considered, she does always makes sure that I am looked after for the traveling folk understand the way of fairies. She has even given me my own fern to sit in during the day.

I am starting to enjoy the freedom that the wagons bring. It is far preferable to the stuffiness of my last home. I always dreamed of being a fine lady in a big house with servants, but in the end, all that English pretentiousness did not suit me after all. For no matter where I am or who I pretend to be, French blood will remain in my veins.

My new mistress worries. She spends hours studying the cards laid out on a silk cloth. She peers into the future without really knowing what she sees, for she is no Oracle. It is only when the man with the peacock feather shows up that she relaxes.

He stepped into the wagon, bringing the stink of horses and the street with him.

“Emilian! Boots outside,” my mistress said.

“Sorry.” He kicked his boots off and shoved them out the door.

She went up to him and they embraced. “What news do you bring dear brother?”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes as if to rub away a great tiredness from them. “The same. She is as insane as ever. Would you believe that she actually tried to trick me into making a promise of servitude?”

Florica, for that is the pretty name of my new mistress, tutted with disapproval.

“Have you eaten?” she said.

“No. There is no proper food in that place. The little men live on gruel and dry bread. And her highness lives off her own evil.” He spat into the glowing heart of the stove as if there were an awful taste in his mouth.

“Here, have some stew. Good rabbit. The boys caught some last night. I made it with dried apricots. I saved some for you.” She spooned the stew into a bowl for him and I could smell the hints of clove and parsley that rose up from the pot.

He picked up the spoon and started eating. The flavors must have pressed his hunger, for he cleaned out the bowl, mopping up the last bits with a crust of bread.

“I don't like it, Emilian. We should never have become involved with that woman. The women here say I have the shadow of darkness hanging over me. They make the sign of the eye at me when I go to fetch water.” She sighed. “Perhaps they are right. I have nightmares about all those lost souls at night.” Her fine brow crinkled as she spoke.

“I wouldn't worry if I were you. You know we had no real choice in the matter. She summoned us and we had to heed her call. The alternative does not bear thinking about.”

My mistress sighed. “Don't remind me. But tell me, how is our beloved lady?”

“She's very angry with me. One of the monks let her pet go roaming with the others in the night and someone stole him.” Emilian laughed. “I mean, who would steal something like that?” He took another bite.

“Perhaps someone who cares about him,” Florica said. “You forget that those things were all once people with families. Would you not come looking for me if I went missing?”

Emilian put down his spoon and grinned at his sister. “Of course I would.”

“Well then, I suppose you should find out who the man was and then see if you can find his family, his home. That's where I would look,” she said.

“You are the cleverest little sister in the world, did you know that?”

“Why?” she said.

“Well, Mistress Evil was so angry that she fed the monk who did it to the creatures. And now I am out looking for whoever stole him so she can get revenge. A loved one or family. Of course, that's exactly who took him. All I need to do is trace his steps home and I will find him again.”

“Oh, Emilian. Do be careful,” Florica said.

“Don't worry. I've already got one name. You don't go around making a spectacle of yourself without attracting someone who will be a witness. And I am paying a pretty penny to find out what her evilness wants to know.”

“Do you really have to do this? Can't she just make another pet?”

He shook his head. “Apparently this one was very special. One of a kind. But don't worry about it, little sister. It's only for a little while longer. Her army grows stronger each day and soon she will move on.” He smiled at her. “And when that happens, we will be rich beyond your wildest dreams. I will buy you a house that is painted with real gold. And fine dresses made of silk. And then you can languish in your drawing room while servants bring you cakes. You will never have to carry heavy buckets of water again.”

Florica shook her head and laughed, for this was a game the two of them played often. “I don't want a house painted of gold. It would need too much polishing.”

“Well then I will buy you a wagon of solid silver with four fine white horses.”

“I don't want a wagon of pure silver and fine horses—they eat too much.”

“Well, what do you want then, little sister?”

“All I want is to be happy and free with the whole world to roam.”

Emilian's expression softened. “You have the true blood of the traveling folk in your veins, little sister. And because of that and no matter what happens, we will always be free.”

“But we are not free as long as that woman has a hold over us. I cannot take much more of this, Emilian. I tell you I cannot.” Her lip trembled.

He put a hand on her shoulder to console her. “And that is why we must let her evilness succeed. It is the quickest way to be rid of her. I promise you that it won't be very much longer. You'll see.”