The Doomsday Vault (35 page)

“I know how that aspect of the clockwork plague works,” Alice said icily.

“Your family is well acquainted with it,” Phipps acknowledged. “But clockworkers are different. People who will, through a mechanism we do not yet understand, become clockworkers, begin with different symptoms. The plague seems to work
with
their brains instead of against, at least for a time. In the first phase, which lasts three or four months, they show increased intelligence, insomnia, an interest in good music, and a strong dislike for bad music. They are not contagious, and we still don't know why. In the second phase, their intelligence increases vastly, often within one or two specialties, such as biology or art. Their sensitivity to bad music leaps to include a sensitivity to tritones. They sleep very little, and they gain heightened physical endurance, as if their bodies were burning up future resources all at once. This allows them to work tirelessly on their strange machines and abstract mathematics. They also begin to think differently from normal people, which lets them commit acts of great brilliance or stunning cruelty. This stage can last anywhere from fourteen months to three years. The longest time on record that a clockworker in this phase lived was three years, two months, and four days.”

“Until your aunt Edwina came along,” Gavin added. “We're still looking for her.”

“The third and final phase,” Phipps said, “is the one you just observed. The disease seems to devour the clockworker's brain all at once. He loses all touch with reality.”

“What does this have to do with—oh! ” Alice exclaimed. “I see! If Patrick Barton was healthy at the Greenfellow ball just a year ago, he hasn't had time to go through the entire plague yet. That's what worries you.”

“Correct. We'll interview his family and friends, of course, but even if he was somehow exposed to the plague at the ball—and it seems likely he was infected rather later—he should still be within the first or second phase. Why was the plague so advanced in him?”

“Was that a rhetorical question?” Alice countered. “Because I have no way of knowing the answer.”

“I can't answer it, either,” Gavin pointed out.

“A great many odd questions seem to come up where you're concerned, Miss Michaels.” Phipps straightened her uniform jacket. “As Agent Ennock pointed out, we still don't know the true fate of your aunt Edwina. The clockworker who plays to zombies also seems to have an attachment to you, and you just happened to be in that shop when Mr. Barton robbed it. It's very curious.”

“Are you insinuating something?” Alice asked hotly. “Because I resent the implication.”

“I'm insinuating nothing. I want you to
work
for me and bring all this clockworker strangeness with you.” She handed Alice a piece of paper from her pocket. “Look at this.”

Alice unfolded the letter and froze. Graceful script flowed across the page, and at the bottom was a seal in scarlet wax of a woman in a flowing dress mounted on a horse. The paper suddenly felt both heavy and delicate. “This is from the Queen. The Queen wrote to
you
.”

“In her own hand,” Phipps agreed. “She's polite—she's never anything else—but she still regrets to inform me that if I can't capture the maniac who's been stirring up plague zombies and wreaking havoc in London, she'll find someone who can.”

Alice's mouth was dry. She could imagine Victoria sitting at a desk with a gold pen and inkpot, her brow furrowed in thought. Her hands had caressed this bit of paper, and now Alice held the same bit. The connection felt almost too powerful to bear. “The Queen,” she murmured again.

“We need to find this grinning clockworker,” Phipps said, “and I think you can help. Please, Miss Michaels. Come work for us.”

“No.” The word popped out by reflex.

“Is it because of your position?” Phipps pressed. “A traditional lady doesn't labor for money, I know, but actual
work
doesn't seem to bother you. You could work for free, you know, or donate your salary to charity.”

“No.”

“You think your fiancé would object? We might be able to persuade him. The Prime Minister doesn't know we exist, but a few high-level officials do, and I'm sure one of them would be willing to discuss the matter with him and—”

“No.”

Alice couldn't help flicking a glance at Gavin. His eyes, blue as an April sky, caught her earth brown ones and held them. At that moment, a powerful rush of emotion made her knees tremble beneath her borrowed dress. This man had saved her life, and she had saved his. He was handsome, and thrilling, and made the angels weep for envy of his music. If she joined the Third Ward and worked with this man, she would either give in to base temptation or weep every night for what she couldn't have during the day.

Alice cleared her throat and spoke, though every word was a stone that crushed her down. “It's simply impossible. But it's nice to be wanted.”

Gavin's face fell. He looked unhappier than Phipps, and Alice nearly recanted then and there.

“Lieutenant Phipps,” Alice said suddenly, “are you an Ad Hoc woman?”

A look of surprise crossed Phipps's face. “Of course.”

“So you vote,” Alice pressed. “And your husband . . . ?”

“Doesn't object in the slightest,” Phipps said. “He died of the clockwork plague years ago.”

“How do you cope?” Alice asked in abrupt desperation. “How do you deal with the death and hell you see in London every day?”

“Work, Miss Michaels. It keeps the body busy and gives the mind time to heal. Pick a cause and work for it. You'd be surprised at what can be accomplished by one person. Or by a small committee.”

Alice stared at her. Phipps stared back. “I've heard rumors,” Alice said slowly, “of an anonymous benefactor who helped the Hats-On Committee retain power by providing funds and connections. Someone who moves outside the normal social circles and has access to incredible resources. You wouldn't know anything about such a person, would you, Lieutenant?”

“My offer of a position still stands, Miss Michaels,” Phipps said.

Alice felt Gavin's eyes on her. Before she could give in to weakness, she shook her head and marched woodenly back to the lift.

Just as she was shutting the gate, Gavin darted between the closing bars. “Hold the lift, please,” he said with a weak smile.

The gates clanged shut, and Alice wordlessly pulled the lever to start their ascension. She didn't want to be in the lift with Gavin, not now. But it would have been rude to slam the gate shut on him. The lift rumbled as it climbed the shaft.

“Listen,” he said, “I don't know why you keep pushing me—us—away, but—”

“Did Phipps send you after me?” Alice interrupted.

“No!” He touched her elbow, then quickly withdrew his hand. “I . . . I like you, Alice. I missed seeing you all those weeks and months, when I was training and then in the field.”

She folded her arms, partly to conceal that her hands were shaking. “That's not a proper thing to say to an engaged woman, Mr. Ennock.”

“What happened to Gavin?” He shifted uncomfortably, and his leather jacket creaked. “Alice, I'm not trying to be a . . . a cad. But we can be friends. Why do you believe everyone is so suspicious all the time?”

The words spilled out of her with unexpected vehemence that filled the lift with hot oil. “Because everyone
is
suspicious, Gavin. Everyone is waiting to think the worst. I watched it happen to my family after the clockwork plague took my brother and mother and crippled my father. Rather than try to help us, our former friends shunned us because they blamed us. They don't trust me. I don't trust me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Ennock, if I work with you, I won't be able to . . . to keep my distance. You know why.”

“Do I?” His voice was thick.

“You do.” A lump formed in Alice's throat. “And when my control breaks—as I know damned well it will, Gavin—the harpies will be waiting to pounce. They'll tear me to shreds with their nasty claws and spread my heart and lungs to dry in the sun. I won't let that happen, Mr. Ennock. I won't. Too much is at stake.”

He looked her up and down with those damnable blue eyes, and she knew he was seeing through her. “That isn't all of it,” he said.

“It is.”

“No.” Gavin yanked a lever, and the lift halted with a
clank
. Somewhere, a faint alarm bell rang, but he ignored it. “In the end, it has nothing to do with me. Tell me the rest.”

She looked around in desperation, wanting to flee, but there was only the cage. “I've as much as told you how much I—There isn't any more.”

“No.” His face was stony, but his jaw trembled. “Your face changed when you were talking about blame. Tell me about that, Alice. We have lots of time now.”

“I—I don't—”

“Alice, when the pirates took my ship and killed my captain and my best friend and flogged my back and . . . tried to do other things, I blamed myself. I thought it was my fault for a long time. I hate the pirates, Alice. I hate the horrible things they did to me, and I hate this dirty city they dropped me in. But now—just this moment, just now—I realized that if they hadn't done those things, I would never have met
you
. I would be so unhappy and not even know it.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Bad things happen sometimes. That's just the way the world works. But sometimes bad things send us in a good direction. None of it was my fault. None of it was your fault. It wasn't.”

“You don't even know what it was,” Alice choked.

He touched her face with the back of one finger as the alarm continued to shrill in the distance. “Then tell me.”

“They did blame me, and it
was
my fault.”

“What was?”

Words spilled out of her. “When I was little, I managed to slip away from my governess and got outside the walls of our garden. It was so much fun! I found a group of street children, and they let me play with them in exchange for the ribbons in my hair. My parents were frantic, as you can probably imagine. My mother thought a child-snatcher had taken me for ransom or to steal my clothes. Near sunset, Lady Greenfellow, of all people, happened to be riding by in her carriage and saw me with those children. It was bad enough that a baron's daughter was playing with street urchins, but, worse still, a plague zombie was rummaging around in a dustheap not far from where we were playing. We didn't even notice. Lady Greenfellow snatched me away and delivered me home. Everyone was horrified, and I was spanked. Only a few days later, fever struck my brother and both my parents. My mother and brother . . .” Tears choked her voice, but the words continued to flow. It was the first time she had ever told this story to anyone, and once she started, she found she couldn't stop.

“They died,” she finished. “My father survived, but he was crippled. When the news came out, people whispered. Lady Greenfellow had seen a plague zombie only a few yards away from me, so everyone knew.”

“Knew what?” Gavin's eyes were filled with sympathy, and Alice couldn't bear to meet them.

“That it was my fault!” she exploded. “The zombie had brushed against me, or I had touched something it had contaminated, and I brought the plague into my family's house. And later, Father arranged for me to marry Frederick, the son of an earl, but then
he
took sick and died of the plague, and that was my fault, too. It was all my fault.” Tears were dripping off her chin. She fumbled in her dress pocket and belatedly realized she had no handkerchief. Gavin pressed one into her hand. She thanked him and turned her back to wipe her face in an attempt to get herself back under control. The faint alarm bell continued its shrill, unhappy cry.

Two strong arms encircled her from behind, engulfing her with strength and the smell of leather. “It's all right,” Gavin murmured. “It wasn't your fault.”

“It was,” she whispered. “Oh God, it was. And now I've finally earned my way back into society's good graces. I'm engaged to a proper man, and I'll live in a proper house, and I've finally begun to pay back my father for bringing the plague into his house and killing my family and making everyone say dreadful things. I won't give them a chance to say those things again, Gavin. I won't. That's why I can't ever be with . . . why I can't join the Third Ward.”

He said, “I understand.”

His arms were still wrapped around her. For a moment, Alice let herself relax against his male strength, let herself imagine that this moment would go on forever. She felt safe here. Then she straightened and stepped from him. He let his arms drop.

“I need to go.” She handed him back his handkerchief. “Start the lift before someone panics.”

He did. They emerged at the main floor and found a small crowd of people looking anxiously at them.

“We're all right,” Gavin said. “Small malfunction, I guess.”

“I guess,” said Simon d'Arco. He looked between Alice and Gavin as the crowd dispersed. “Miss Michaels looks a bit upset.”

“I'll be all right.” Alice forced a smile. “Agent Ennock offered to summon a cab for me.”

Outside, the chilly fog surrounded them like a damp fist. Alice could barely make out the street from the gate and heard only the clopping of hooves and rattle of wheels on the stones, both of them slow and cautious. It was perfect plague zombie weather, which meant everyone who could stayed indoors, but two English institutions—the Royal Mail and London carriage drivers—were famous for ignoring the plague zombie threat and making their services available at all times. A hack was waiting just outside the gate, in fact, and whether it had been there all along or whether someone had summoned it for her, Alice didn't much care.