The Doomsday Vault (20 page)

“It's fascinating,” she breathed.

“It's the most wonderful place to be,” Gavin told her, and she noticed how closely they were forced to stand in the confines of the tiny gondola. He looked happy, even thrilled, and that started a warm bit of happiness glowing inside Alice. She almost took his hand. He leaned over the side, and for a moment she thought he might leap over the edge and soar away.

“How do you know where to go?” Alice said. “Don't you get lost?”

“It's the same as on a ship, ma'am,” Pilot said. “We can use a chart with coordinates. We're coming up on Buckingham Palace, for example, and that's at fifty-one degrees, thirty minutes north, zero degrees, and eight minutes west. Of course, over London, it's easier just to look down. You learn your way.”

“Does this ship go any higher?” Gavin asked of Pilot.

“Not with all these people in it,” the man grumbled.

Simon clapped Gavin on the back. “Lots of chances for flying in the Third Ward, Gav—Mr. Ennock.”

“You can call me Gavin,” he said. “I don't mind.”

“I'm Simon. We're very informal around the Ward, you see. It sets us apart from... everyone else.”

“What exactly is the Third Ward?”

“It'll be easier to show you than tell you,” Glenda said.

As Pilot predicted, they passed almost directly over Buckingham Palace, official residence of Queen Victoria for twenty years now. Alice felt her own excitement and almost jumped up and down like a little girl at the sight. The Queen had ascended the throne when Alice was a baby, and like many English, Alice couldn't remember or imagine a time without Queen Victoria and Prince Albert ruling the Empire. Alice looked down at the square, stately building surrounded by green gardens and wondered if the Queen were at this moment signing a proclamation or receiving an important dignitary or perhaps just sipping tea from a porcelain cup in a lavishly decorated hall. How wonderful and strange to glide above her.

Another section of the city passed beneath them, and then the airship passed over a stone wall surrounding another generous section of greenery, in the center of which lay a white mansion surrounded by outbuildings. The airship drifted gently downward to land with a soft bump on the lawn in front of the great house, and a pair of workmen dashed over to secure the ship. Everyone scrambled to disembark, and Glenda led them up the steps into the house.

The interior bustled with activity. Men dressed in business attire, servant livery, and ordinary workaday clothing hurried about on mysterious errands. There were even a number of women, though that shouldn't have surprised Alice by now. Glenda guided them down a series of corridors, past rooms large and small. Alice and Gavin caught sight of several laboratories and workrooms. An enormous half-constructed automaton stood in one of them, while two men attached sheets of metal to it. Another laboratory sported bubbling beakers and winding copper tubes. A cage in the corner held half a dozen plague zombies who watched Alice with empty eyes as she passed. Yet another room was coated in fog, and a male figure appeared to be frozen in a block of ice. Alice couldn't keep from staring.

“You're very busy here,” she said breathlessly.

“They keep us occupied,” Simon replied with a smile.

“Where are we going?” Gavin asked.

“Here.” Glenda knocked once on a closed door, then ushered Gavin and Alice into an office, or perhaps it was a library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held books, maps, scrolls, and strange instruments Alice couldn't identify. Tall windows looked out over the grounds, and thick Persian rugs covered the floors. The center of the room was dominated by a large desk piled with neat stacks of papers. An odd combination telegraph machine and typewriter occupied one corner. Behind the desk sat a tall woman with black hair pulled into a French twist. She wore a man's military uniform, crisp and blue, with gold epaulets. It was specially cut to expose her left arm, which was entirely mechanical. Alice noted with a start that it had six fingers. An elaborate brass-rimmed monocle covered the woman's left eye, and a small sign on her desk read LIEUTENANT SUSAN PHIPPS.

“The ones from our report, Lieutenant,” Glenda said. “Alice Michaels, daughter of Arthur, Baron Michaels, and Gavin Ennock from Boston.”

“Thank you, Glenda,” said Lieutenant Phipps. Her voice was quick and sharp as a pair of scissors. “Excellent work, both of you. Simon, please meet us down in the sound laboratory in ten minutes.”

Glenda and Simon withdrew. Phipps pointed to a pair of wooden chairs across from her desk. “Sit. Please.”

Alice and Gavin sat. Gavin looked solemn but at ease, and Alice supposed that as an airman, he was used to a military chain of command. For her own part, Alice found Lieutenant Phipps more than a little intimidating, and she forced herself to sit with her hands in her lap, though she wanted to twist at her skirt as she had as a child. She tried not to stare at Phipps, this woman who dressed and spoke like a man, and broke so many traditional rules. But of course, she was part of this Third Ward, and the Ward clearly welcomed Ad Hoc women.

Phipps set a packet of papers aside and pulled the telegraph-typewriting machine toward them on its rolling stand. The machine had a recording horn on it. Phipps spun a crank on the side and fed a long scroll of paper into the typewriter's platen. “I'm sure you're wondering what's going on and why you're here, so I'll come straight to the point. First, I need to hear from you everything that happened at that country house. Don't leave anything out. Mr. Ennock, you start. I understand you used to play fiddle in Hyde Park.”

Gavin told his story. As he spoke, the machine sprang to life. The typewriter clacked, and Gavin's words skittered across the scroll. Gavin paused in surprise. Alice leaned forward. Her fingers itched to take the side panels off the machine so she could examine how the insides worked, discover how many memory wheels it took to translate sound into written words. Phipps pressed a switch on the machine and it stopped.

“Ignore the transcription, Mr. Ennock,” she said. “It's for our records. Continue.”

He did. When he finished, Phipps had Alice tell her story as well. The machine wrote it all down. Phipps tore the scroll off, rolled it up, and put it in a drawer.

“Is that all?” Alice asked. “Are we free to go?”

“One more point.” Phipps steepled her fingers, brass and steel on flesh. “I need you both to listen carefully. The Third Ward is a busy and chronically understaffed organization, and we're crying for talent. Based on what I've learned about the two of you over the last several days, I'm prepared to offer you positions as agents with us. The salary starts at five hundred pounds per annum, and room and board at cost, if you desire it.”

Alice gaped. It was the last thing she'd been expecting to hear. She exchanged a quick glance with Gavin and understood that he felt the same way. “I don't understand,” she said slowly. “What exactly does the Third Ward—”

“Did you say five hundred pounds?” Gavin interrupted.

“I did,” answered Phipps. “And before you answer, let me show you what it means to be an agent of the Third Ward.”

She strode for the door without looking behind. Alice and Gavin rushed to catch her up. Phipps marched ahead of them, her bearing straight as a tin soldier's.

“You've probably guessed that I've already looked into your backgrounds,” she said. “Both of you are quick, intelligent thinkers, and you have talents we need. And”—she lifted a metal finger before either of them could interrupt—“I'm going to explain what we do as we walk, so listen and look.”

They passed a gymnasium where groups of men and women sparred with fists and feet. “The Third Ward was established during the reign of King George the Fourth by the Duke of Wellington,” Phipps began.

“The Iron Duke,” Alice said.

“Yes, and if you interrupt again, this will take longer,” Phipps admonished. “Wellington defeated Napoleon at Waterloo, but only just. The French had access to horrifying machines of war created by three clockworkers Napoleon had... persuaded to work for him. Wellington decided then and there that the best thing he could do for England was to gather up these madmen and -women and keep their inventions under control before one of them managed to destroy the country—or the world. He established the Third Ward to do that.”

“His Majesty George the Fourth was amenable to this?” Alice said. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but that doesn't sound like him. King George wasn't known for—well, he was more of...”

“An insular sybarite? A man who found the contents of his bedchamber more important than the contents of his country? Yes. That was why Wellington kept the Ward a secret. He diverted Crown funds for it and kept it hidden from His Majesty until William the Fourth took the throne in 1830.”

“William was Victoria's uncle, right?” Gavin said.

Phipps gave him a curt nod. “By then, the tradition of secrecy was well established, so even though the Crown supports the Ward, we don't officially exist. Too many people would be unhappy if they were aware of what we were doing right under their noses.”

“What
are
we—you—doing?” Alice asked.

“I told you—we gather clockworkers. We give them a supervised place to work, and we harvest their inventions to serve the Empire. Why do you think England rules most of the known world?”

“And what about China?” Alice couldn't help asking. Phipps's snappy tone set her a bit on edge.

“They have their own system for dealing with clockworkers,” Phipps acknowledged. “And it's why they've managed to hold their own against us.”

“The revolt over the Treaty of Nanking,” Gavin said. “And Lord Elgin's fight with Emperor Xianfeng.”

Phipps looked at him. “Yes. How does a cabin boy from a shipping dirigible know about that?”

“I'm young, but I'm not stupid,” Gavin said airily, and Alice suppressed a smile.

“Quite.” Phipps took them into a small, square room and pulled shut an iron gate. “Other countries look at clockworkers and see a threat. They think of plague zombies carrying disease, and never mind that clockworkers don't communicate the clockwork plague. And they see terrifying technology, of course. So they shun clockworkers or kill them.”

She turned a crank and flipped a switch on the wall of the room. The floor gave a sharp jerk, and the entire chamber descended. Alice squeaked and grabbed Gavin's elbow.

“It's called a lift,” Phipps said. “It's perfectly safe. One of our clockworkers modified the original design from America. It runs on electricity.”

“Oh,” Alice said. “I'd like to examine it sometime.”

“If you come work for us.” Two floors passed by them, followed by a thick layer of stone.

“Why do clockworker inventions remain so rare?” Gavin asked. “I mean, we saw that giant automaton upstairs, and you mentioned the war machines at Waterloo. Why doesn't the Crown build more and more of them?”

“We can't,” Phipps told him. “A few inventions can be re-created, certainly. Babbage engines. Electric lights. Hardened glass. Designs for dirigibles. But the vast majority of clockworker inventions, especially the ones with any sort of power source, are so complicated, so complex, that no one can re-create them. Not even if the clockworker manages to draw extended diagrams.”

“As my aunt has done?” Alice asked.

“Exactly as your aunt has done. That's one of the reasons why we're interested in you, Miss Michaels. As far as we know, you're the only person able to follow a clockworker's thinking well enough to assemble a clockworker's inventions. Your cat Click, for example, and that automated valet.”

“But I don't
understand
them,” Alice said. “I just assemble them.”

“That's a singular ability, Miss Michaels. With few exceptions, only a clockworker can create the pieces of advanced technology we need to keep the Empire running, and once something has been created, only a clockworker can maintain or re-create it. Perhaps you can assemble these inventions because your family has been touched by the clockwork plague so often. Or perhaps you're some sort of clockworker yourself. A demi-clockworker, if you will.”

All the strength drained out of Alice's body, and the blood left her face. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I hadn't considered that.”

“Don't go all fussy,” Phipps growled. “If you were going to die of clockwork plague or infect someone else, you would have done it long ago. I don't put up with the idea that women are the weaker sex or that females are particularly prone to hysterics, so if you're going to prove me wrong, do it elsewhere.”

The words stung like a slap, and Alice came to herself. “You may have researched my background, Lieutenant,” she snapped, “but you know nothing of
me
, so you may keep your comments to yourself, thank you.”

Phipps gave her a curt nod, and Alice wondered if that had been some sort of test. “At any rate, America is starting to see the value of clockworkers, but it remains too deeply divided over slavery and economic issues to make proper use of them. India treats clockworkers as untouchables, of course, and the Africans and Muslims stone them to death. Ever since we've colonized these places, the Ward has been able to snatch clockworkers away for our—the Crown's—use. China, as I said, has its own clockworkers, and we seem to be locked in a constant struggle to stay abreast of them.”

“We invent something; they invent something a bit better; we have to invent something a bit better than that,” Alice said.