A Clockwork Heart (8 page)

CHAPTER 9

They come in the night when the fog is at its thickest. They shuffle along softly in broken shoes while the city sleeps. For the most part, they are silent. The only thing that can be heard as they pass is the ticking of their insides and, to those who know how to listen, the soft insistent hum that comes from the hunger that drives them.

These creatures have a new type of hunger, unlike anything seen or created in the world of Shadow. The stench of the strange new power that oozes from them causes the very barrier between the two realms to shiver. For these are amalgamations of science and magic that should not be.

And yet, the new creatures come, bringing death to those who encounter them on their way. They are abominations, who carry within them the very essence of greed and destruction that will ultimately bring the world, as we know it, to an end.

And far in the distance, the Clockmaker sits back and watches with glee. He does not care for the horror and misery he has created. To him these creatures are his children. And as he gazed upon them, he saw that they were good.

Elle snorted rather inelegantly and sat up in her seat. She rubbed her eyes and listened to the discordant thrum of the ship's engines in the background. The left engine sounded dangerously out of tune, which was most worrying, given that they were high up in the sky and thousands of miles from anywhere.

Around her, the
Iron
Phoenix
creaked and groaned as if it was almost too much effort to stay afloat. She had once been magnificent, but years of neglect had turned her rickety. Not for the first time, Elle tutted at Captain Dashwood's slovenly ways.

“It's a good thing I rescued you from that oaf when I did. Just look at what he's done to you.” Elle always spoke to her ships as if they were alive.

The only thing of beauty the
Phoenix
still possessed was her iron figurehead. She had the body of a shapely, bare-chested woman and the head of a fierce bird. The spirit of the phoenix sat proudly at the prow, her long, wings spread open, trailing down the side of the ship behind her, as if she was about to take flight.

Elle rolled her neck to release the tension that had accumulated there from sleeping in a strange position. She and Ducky had been flying for almost three days now, taking turns in shifts at the helm, but somehow the way wasn't getting any shorter.

Elle was thoroughly bored and restless. With all this time and silence to do nothing but think, a dark sense of unease had settled over her. And every time she closed her eyes those awful things haunted her dreams. They were even gnawing at her when she was awake.

“Ah, you're up,” Ducky said, coming up from the galley below.

“Ducky, how could you let me fall asleep at the helm? That's so irresponsible of you.”

“Oh, don't be silly. I had her well under control,” he said. “And besides, you looked like you could do with a jolly good nap.”

He sat down in the worn leather seat next to her and opened the tin of Mrs. Hinges' excellent biscuits he had found.

“What's wrong, Bells? You are not the kind of girl who goes wandering around with dark shadows under her eyes.”

Elle smiled at his use of her nickname. He used to call her
‘ells Bells
or later simply Bells for short. “It's nothing,” Elle rubbed her face and looked away. Ducky had a way of being utterly on point. There was no hiding the truth when he was around.

“That new husband of yours had better be treating you well. Or else me and the boys will give him a jolly good thumping.”

“It's not that,” she said in a soft voice.

“Well, something has spooked your horses up into the hedges. I've been watching you for three days now and in all the years I've known you, I've never seen you this out of sorts. Come on, out with it.” Ducky put the biscuits down, sat back in his seat and pulled out a cigarette.

Smoking inside the ship was a habit Elle disapproved of most strenuously and she gave him a look of displeasure. But Ducky simply ignored her and carried on tapping the end of the cigarette against the tin, as he waited for an answer.

“I haven't been sleeping well lately,” she admitted.

“And why is that?”

“I've been having these strange dreams. I can't really explain them, but they feel so real. It's like I'm watching things happen.”

“Hmm,” he said. He stood up and opened one of the small windows and lit his cigarette. He took a long satisfied draw and blew the smoke out into the freezing night air.

Elle shivered. “Each time I close my eyes, the dream comes. Each time, it's the same thing, but in different aspects.” She kept quiet about her fear that the dreams might be real.

“Sounds like you should lay off the after-dinner brandies, my dear,” Ducky said.

“No, it's not like that. I know it's a message and I am supposed to do something about it, but I don't know what. I'm telling you, Ducky: when I'm dreaming I feel like I am there.” She wondered briefly if she should confide in him, tell him the truth about her newfound abilities, but she decided against it. Ducky was a pragmatic man on whom the nuances of the Shadow were largely lost. He would not understand. Even the fact that she had demonstrated to Dashwood that she had no shadow had passed largely over Ducky's head.

Elle wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her shoulders against the draft that came in from the open window.

“I'm sorry, but I don't believe you. The Eleanor I know would not be daunted by a few silly nightmares. Good try though,” he said.

She sighed. “It's Marsh.”

“I knew it. What's he done?”

Elle gave him an admonishing look. “I really should not be discussing the intimacies of my marriage with you, you know.”

“Ooh. Intimacies. Now you've got me interested. What, is the old boy not up to scratch when it come to opening the batting,” Ducky said.

“Ducky!” Elle blushed. “It's nothing like that. It's more about me, really.”

Ducky flicked his cigarette butt out the window, shut it, and sat down opposite her. “Tell me. Your confidences are safe with me. You should know that.”

“I think he wants me to give up flying,” she said.

Ducky burst our laughing. “Oh, come on, Elle. Really?”

She nodded. “Seriously, he's always talking about a wife's duty being beside her husband and such things. He's desperately unhappy about me taking this charter. We had a frightful row over it.”

Ducky opened the cubbyhole and pulled out Elle's half-jack of brandy. He opened the bottle and handed it to her. “Marsh is right, you know. It's not just about you anymore. You have to think about the both of you now. And perhaps more than just the two of you, in time to come.”

“Why do I have to be the one who blinks out of existence though?” Elle said.

Ducky shook his head. “Do you even see how selfish you are being? He bought you your own flight charter company and all you do is pout about the fact that you are not flying as much as you used to!” Ducky folded his arms. “If you were my wife, I'd put you over my knee and spank you for being a brat.”

Elle stared at him. “How can you say that?”

“Think about it,” he said, taking a swig from the bottle.

The
Phoenix
suddenly bucked and groaned as they hit a pocket of aether turbulence. Elle felt her stomach do a backflip as the thrusters righted them.

“Either I am finally losing my mind, or something is telling me that I shouldn't have taken this charter,” Elle said once the rattling of the ship had died down.

Ducky put the cork back into the brandy bottle and strode over to the helm of the
Phoenix
. With a deft hand, he spun the wheel and the
Phoenix
groaned and tilted to the side as the thrusters slowly started turning the ship about. Like the war galleons of old, it would take about a mile in distance for her to make the wide half-moon turn through the air.

“Ducky, what are you doing?” Elle said.

“I'm changing course,” he said.

“But we've only just cleared the Arabian Desert.”

“Exactly! And if we hurry, you can be back in London in a few days.”

“Ducky, no! What about the charter?”

“The charter can wait. Or they can hire someone else. We'll send them a message to say that we were having mechanical difficulties. Which, by the sound of things, isn't that far from the truth.”

Elle stared at him, not sure if she comprehended.

“I am taking you home, Lady Greychester, whether you like it or not,” he said. “You have a husband at home waiting for you who requires an apology.”

“I suppose you are right,” she said, reluctantly. “The ship does sounds like she needs to be pulled up into the ground docks for a proper overhaul and service. I'm thinking the repairs might be more than she's worth, if the sound of that engine is anything to go by.”

As if in answer, the
Phoenix
listed slightly and two of her engines backfired, releasing a greasy cloud of spark-laced steam into the night air. “Surely Dashwood could have taken a little bit more care with his ship. I mean, honestly,” Elle said.

Ducky laughed. “You don't know Captain Dashwood. And I wouldn't worry too much.” He patted the help. “This old bird is unstoppable.”

“I don't think I want to know Captain Dashwood any better, given what I've seen.”

Ducky just laughed as he kept his eye on the horizon.

“Seriously though,” Ducky said. “If there is one thing I know, it's that you should always trust your instincts. You need to find your place beside Marsh before you start thinking about flying. Otherwise you will spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

He's right. You must go home,
the voices suddenly spoke inside her.

Elle sat back in her seat. “I am outvoted, it seems,” she said drily.

“Not for long, Bells. Not if those Suffragettes get their way,” Ducky said, oblivious to the other presence on board.

“When did you suddenly become so wise?” she said to him.

“Oh, I've always been a fount of wisdom,” he shot back. “You've just never noticed.” He set the steering lock into place once they were back on course and came to sit next to her. “I've seen the two of you together and if there is one thing I know, it's that Lord Greychester loves you.”

“And I love him too, Ducky. Very much,” Elle said.

“Well then, don't mess it up, you silly thing.”

Elle sat back in her seat and rubbed her face. Perhaps Ducky was right. She was being extraordinarily silly.

“I need to think things through,” she said.

Ducky smiled. “Well, don't look at me. Up here there is very little else to do but think. Perhaps this is why I am so wise.”

Elle laughed and rose from her seat. “I am going to make some tea. Would you like a cup?”

“Yes, please. And perhaps also a nice sandwich to go with it,” Ducky said with a cheeky smile.

Elle shook her head and went down to the galley to make the tea. As she filled the kettle with water, she felt as if a cloud that had been hovering over her had lifted and life did not seem so grim. And suddenly she realized that there was nowhere in the world where she wanted to be more than at home, with Marsh.

And so the
Iron
Phoenix
trundled and backfired her way on a high-altitude course back to England.

CHAPTER 10

Marsh drummed his fingers on his upper lip as he contemplated the letter he had just opened. Around him, the Greychester house was as quiet as a mausoleum. The only sounds that reached him here in his study were the relentless patter of rain against the window casements interspersed with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. It had been four days since she'd left in the airship. Four days of worrying and waiting and the silence was slowly grating away at his nerves. He was constantly surprised at how she filled his life with noise and activity. For one so small, his wife certainly had a way of making a large impression. He cursed his own stubbornness again for not going with her on the charter.

He glanced at the letter again. Police Commissioner Willoughby had invited him to luncheon at his club. The invitation was certainly tempting. Goodness knows it was dull enough around here without Elle, but he could not help but wonder about the sudden gesture of friendship.

It was true that he had met the commissioner on a few occasions, but he certainly would not count the man within his circle of acquaintances. What would Willoughby want with him?

He shifted in his chair to release the crick that had formed in his back. Giving up the Shadow was proving to be more difficult than he had thought. He was certainly not enjoying the tinges and aches that were starting to plague him. It reminded him daily of his new mortality and the fact that time was ticking by. Most warlocks were oblivious to time, for they lived lives that were ten times longer than those of mortal men. They went through life in a state of perfect fitness and health until the end. Then their powers simply faded until they blinked out of existence. But that was no longer his chosen path. He was going to have to endure the slow steady decay into a gout-ridden rheumatic old age.

An ember popped in the fireplace sending a burst of sparks up the chimney. Marsh stared at the glowing coals as he thought things through. The Council of Warlocks had not been amused when they received his resignation. Threats and admonishments had flown; it had taken all of his control and influence to walk away from them. But he did not mind, because was doing it for her.

For Elle.

Marsh felt his heart constrict at the thought. She was slipping away from him. He could feel the distance between them widening—every day a little more. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he fought, to keep things as they were when they had first met; the way she smiled at him in Florence when they stood huddled in a doorway to take shelter from the rain, but it was like trying to hold on to desert sand.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes at the thought. He should never have let her go off to Singapore like that. And with Richardson of all people. The chap was decent enough but he could not fight his way out of a paper bag. What on earth could he do to protect her if they ran into trouble?

He sighed with frustration. Why did she have to go running off at every opportunity? He knew the answer to that, for the same passion for adventure that drove his wife, drove him too. But at least he was able to control his urges. Suppress them for her sake.

Marriage. Him. It wasn't enough for her and the thought made his insides quiver. Perhaps it was because she was so young, but after all they had fought for and all they had survived, she simply refused to acknowledge how vulnerable she was.

He had nearly died a thousand deaths when she had run off after whatever Shadow creature had been in the audience at the opera the other night.

That's it, he thought. Sitting alone in this house brooding was not going to help anyone. So perhaps Elle was right. Perhaps he needed to get out of the house. He would meet Willoughby to see what the man had to say. The distraction would help the time pass.

He knew it would take almost a week to get to Singapore and that Elle would be unable to contact him until then, but he found the silence was almost unbearable.

He picked up Willoughby's invitation from his desk. Yes, he would go. At the very least he would have an amusing story to tell her when she finally did come home. He stood and rang the bell pull for Neville to bring round the car.

Willoughby's club was a small obscure Georgian building hidden in an alley off Dean Street in Soho. Marsh hitched the collar of his gray wool coat up higher to keep the drizzle off his neck and knocked on the door.

An elderly footman with extremely old-fashioned powdered hair greeted him. “May I help you, sir?” he said, raising an eyebrow at the scuffed and slightly frayed top hat Marsh wore. He had deliberately dressed in his simpler street clothes today. They were the ones he had worn when on Shadow business for the Council. He liked the anonymous, comfortable feel of the worn fabric. It made him feel unobtrusive, like he blended into his environment.

Marsh handed him the invitation and his visiting card.

The doorman scanned his visiting card and glanced back up at Marsh. The only indication of surprise the man gave was a slight rise of his carefully plucked eyebrow. “Please, do come in from the rain, my lord. May I take your lordship's coat?”

The doorman snapped his fingers and a footman appeared from behind the counter to assist.

“Thank you.” Marsh shrugged out of the soggy wool and handed it to the man.

“Right this way, my lord,” said the footman said as he led Marsh up the narrow stairs that led into the main sitting room of the club.

Commissioner Willoughby looked up from a table where he was reading the newspaper near the window. His spider-veined face split into a smile when he saw Marsh. “My Lord Greychester, so good of you to come.” He half rose from his chair in a gesture that created the impression of exceptional rudeness given that Marsh outranked him considerably and should have therefore been the one to speak first.

“Police Commissioner, how do you do,” Marsh said, ignoring the slight. Willoughby had always been a brute with ideas above his station in life.

“Please, sit. Do make yourself at home. Would you like a drink?”

“Don't mind if I do,” Marsh said. “A nice brandy to banish the cold perhaps?” He settled in the leather-covered Queen Anne chair opposite Willoughby.

“Ah yes, a good brandy. Just the thing for a day like today,” Willoughby nodded at the waiter who had appeared by their side with a tray. “I am pleased you decided to join me.” Willoughby's smile did not quite reach his eyes as he spoke.

“I thank you for the kind invitation,” Marsh said “But I must admit that I was somewhat intrigued by your letter.”

“Yes. I thought we might meet here where we could speak in relative privacy as the matter is a delicate one.” Willoughby picked up his pipe and set about preparing a smoke. “You see, I am in need of a man with your unique talents,” he said after a few moments.

“And what talents are those?” Marsh said lightly.

“We at the Metropolitan police make it our business to know people's business, my lord. We know of your history with the Council of Warlocks.” He paused for a moment. “Let's just say that you were recommended to me as a man who might be able to help.”

“And who, may I ask, would be making such recommendations?”

Willoughby gave him an oily smile. “Oh, I don't think I'm at liberty to say. But they spoke very highly of the excellent work you did for the Ministry while in service of the Council. How is your lovely wife, by the way?”

“The viscountess is well. Thank you for asking.” Marsh kept his expression neutral. Willoughby knew more about his personal business than he was entirely comfortable with. But Marsh was a seasoned negotiator and he would not allow this man the pleasure of letting his discomfort show. “With such a recommendation, how could a man refuse?” he said instead. “But tell me first what this is about and then, perhaps, I might be able to confirm whether rumors about my work are true.”

Willoughby gave a little short bark of laughter. “Well played, my lord.”

Marsh inclined his head slightly.

The waiter served the brandies. Marsh picked up his glass and swirled the brown liquid, watching it warm in his palm.

Willoughby took a sip of his drink and wiped his moustache. “Lord Henry Alcott, the heir and seventh Earl of Mallory disappeared four nights ago.” Willoughby struck a match and held it up to his pipe. “His family have been beside themselves with worry. We have commissioned a search, but my men have found nothing. The boy has simply disappeared into thin air.”

“I see,” said Marsh.

Willoughby sucked on his pipe. “We've had word that the newspapers are going to publish news of his disappearance any day now and they are not going to be kind about the police.”

“And how is this my business? I'm sure young Alcott will turn up.”

“Yes, well, this is where the problem arises. The earl does not want news of his son's disappearance to be made public.” Willoughby looked uncomfortable. “Let's just say that the lad was last seen in less than polite company.”

“Who hasn't gone missing for a few days after a night out at his age?” Marsh said.

“Well, he was involved with a girl who was entirely unsuitable. Well bred, but poor, weak and sickly. They did all they could to discourage the affair, but the lad was hell-bent on finding a way to save her. He was in search of a cure for her when he disappeared, along with the earl's valet.”

“I see,” said Marsh.

“And well, we suspect that Shadow creatures were involved. He was last seen following one of those traveling folk out of the Black Stag. It's in the docklands. I don't expect you know it.”

Marsh flinched at the commissioner's use of what was a slightly pejorative term, but for the first time since he sat down Marsh felt his interest piqued. “But the traveling folk are not necessarily connected to the Shadow. And besides, creatures of Shadow can only cross into the Realm of Light if they speak a binding oath to do no harm.”

Willoughby nodded. “Yes, that may be so, but there are reports of strange things going on in the dark of night.”

“Such as?”

Willoughby reddened and took a quick sip from his glass. “Perhaps another time. We are here to discuss the business of the Mallorys.”

Marsh frowned. “In almost all cases, a broken oath would mean instant death to the creature in question. Of course the Nightwalkers, wolves and other half-shadow creatures who were created on the Light side are the exception, but surely you are not insinuating that someone has found a way around the decree?”

Willoughby held up his hands. “No. Not in so many words. I am simply sharing my suspicions.”

The last sip of Marsh's brandy burned his throat as he swallowed it down. He was starting to see why Willoughby had called on him. It was true that Shadow creatures did no harm in the Light, so their usual modus operandi was to abduct victims to the Shadow side where anything was possible. Usually these attempts failed, but if someone or something out there had found a way around the barrier, there could be trouble.

“This is really a matter that should be reported to the Council. They are more than equipped to deal with situations such as these,” Marsh said. “And you know well enough that I am no longer a member of the Council. I am finished with the Ministry. Retired.”

Willoughby coughed. “We were hoping that we wouldn't have to create an international incident by notifying the Council. Matters are so delicate politically at the moment. We were hoping that you might agree to make a few discreet inquiries. See if there are Shadow creatures out there that are up to no good. At least that way we will know what we are dealing with before we sound the alarm.”

Marsh nodded slowly. He felt a profound sense of worry unfurl in him. Had the incident with the alchemists in Constantinople upset the balance of things that much? But Elle said that there was nothing wrong with the divide. She performed her duties as Oracle when they arose as she had promised. Not that she actually cared for the cause or even appreciated the sacrifices that had been made, he thought in a surprise moment of bitterness.

“Tell me what you know.” Marsh sat forward and spoke in a low voice.

Willoughby nodded. “We've had an increase in complaints from people who have had loved ones go missing over the last week. One or two of the workhouses have been found empty. It was as if someone had gone into the building and cleared everyone out overnight. These people had simply disappeared, leaving everything as it stood.”

“Is that so?” Marsh said.

“It only happens when the fog is thick. People go out into the night and simply never come back. It's a most curious state of affairs. And then there are the rumors …”

“Rumors?” Marsh said.

“Something about creatures people are calling the Tickers. It's all probably just rumors that have gone wrong, but apparently groups of two or three of these so-called Tickers are prowling the streets at night, stealing people away. But none of my men have ever seen one, so it probably is just mass hysteria. You know how people can be when there's a good story doing the rounds.”

Marsh pressed his lips together. “All right, Willoughby, you have my interest,” he said. “I will have a look round for you. If I find evidence of Shadow creatures being involved, I will need you to report this to the Ministry, who will in turn refer the matter to the Council of Warlocks. If not, then you may rest assured that this is nothing more than a silly boy who got more than he bargained for on a night out.”

Willoughby's face lit up with relief. “We would be ever so grateful, my lord,” he said.

“But I work alone. And I do not want people bothering me at home about this. You will hear from me and not the other way round. Is that agreed?”

“As you wish. I will send you the official appointment letters tomorrow. You may commence the investigations at your earliest convenience.”

“Agreed,” Marsh said.

Willoughby inclined his head and smiled. “You might find, my lord, that this is the beginning of a most rewarding mutual arrangement. Our department is at the forefront of the world when it comes to investigating crime and I can see that a man like you would be most useful to our endeavors.”