Fiddlehead (The Clockwork Century) (44 page)

Likewise, Jefferson Davis was there, looking tired. He looked like a man watching other men finish something he’d started, and he was neither happy nor unhappy—he barely looked present.

Desmond Fowler was not in attendance. He was in a grave, beyond the edge of Arlington, for I would not see him buried with the heroes. According to the doctors who examined him, he committed suicide after his involvement in the treachery that nearly ended us all was discovered. There was a note. I was never privy to its contents, but I do not care what he had to say for himself, if in fact the note was even real. If in fact the gun in his mouth was put there by his own hand, and no one else’s.

I have my doubts.

It is possible that he was heartbroken when his puppet-mistress abandoned him, leaving him to face trial alone for the war crimes they perpetrated together.

But even as those of us who remained stood there and signed, holding our breaths for this momentous occasion—this moment in history—we heard unsettling scrapes from outside, the sound of ragged breaths being drawn through shredded lungs.

The courthouse was evacuated, and we finished the ceremony in the Capitol, on the steps of Congress. The taps lit up around the globe.

The world was watching.

“Good night, dear.”

“Good night,” Grant replied, turning his cheek for her to kiss on her way to bed. “I’ll be up before long.”

“Do you promise?”

“One drink, and no more.”

“And one pipe,” she chided.

“And one pipe,” he confessed. “I’m restless, that’s all.”

She nodded, and kissed the top of his head. “The new routines have been difficult for everyone.”

“You’ve adjusted easily enough.”

“You know me—I’ve always been able to sleep through anything.”

“Must be nice,” he mumbled, reaching for his glass, then rising to fill it. “Some of us are not so lucky. Still, I’ll join you soon.”

She retired upstairs.

He was as good as his word. He put the bottle away when he’d finished pouring, and once his pipe was stuffed and lit, he put the tobacco pouch away as well.

One more drink. One more smoke.

The tobacco comforted him in a way the drinks did not, anymore. Once he had been delighted for the blurry feeling of brandy, or the wobbly pleasantness of whiskey. Now he needed his faculties too much to dull them, much as the temptation remained. His memoirs were nearly finished, and that was a relief—one project accomplished before he reached the end.

As for the rest …

He walked to the window and looked out over the stretch of grass behind his house, bright with floodlights that would blind him if he gazed straight into them. They were electric, designed by Bardsley and installed with haste at the same time as the fence—which was also electric. A powerful current ran its length, created by the noisy diesel generator that ran day and night. Anyone who touched the fence would surely fry, and notices to that effect were posted round its length. The host of warnings declared:
FENCE IS ELECTRIFIED FOR THE OCCUPANTS’ SAFETY. DO NOT TOUCH.
These warnings were underscored by the Secret Service agents who patrolled in full body armor, night and day. Grant was getting used to them. He was even beginning to learn their names.

At the fence’s far left corner, a bright burst of sparks announced the sizzling demise of something human-shaped, but no longer human. It shuddered and jerked, and collapsed into a smoking pile of flesh.

He closed the curtains and finished his pipe.

Then he left the remainder of his drink on the sideboard, and joined his wife in bed.

Tor Books by Cherie Priest

THE EDEN MOORE BOOKS

Four and Twenty Blackbirds

Wings to the Kingdom

Not Flesh Nor Feathers

Fathom

THE CLOCKWORK CENTURY NOVELS

Boneshaker

Dreadnought

Ganymede

The Inexplicables

Fiddlehead

About the Author

CHERIE PRIEST is the author of several books, including
Boneshaker,
the first Clockwork Century book, which won the Locus Award for Best Science Fiction Novel and was nominated for the Hugo and Nebula awards. She lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and keeps a popular blog at
www.cheriepriest.com
.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

FIDDLEHEAD

Copyright © 2013 by Cherie Priest

All rights reserved.

Cover art by Cliff Nielsen

Cover design by Jamie Stafford-Hill

Edited by Liz Gorinsky

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

Tor
®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Priest, Cherie.

    Fiddlehead / Cherie Priest. — First Edition.

        p. cm.

    “A Tom Doherty Associates Book.”

    ISBN 978-0-7653-3407-7 (trade paperback)

    ISBN 978-1-4668-0789-1 (e-book)

  1.  Inventors—Fiction.   I.  Title.

    PS3616.R537P75 2013

    813'.6—dc23

                            2013018477

e-ISBN 9781466807891

First Edition: November 2013