The Impossible Cube: A Novel of the Clockwork Empire (23 page)

“That flood and plague will destroy us all if I fail,” Alice murmured.

“No.” Gavin put his hand on her shoulder. “He said flood and plague will destroy us all if
I
fail. He said that I can cure the world, but
you
have to let go.”

“Let what go?” Alice growled. She held up her spider hand. “This? I wish I could.”

“He said that you have to let
him
go,” Charlie said gently.

Alice rounded on him. “How do you know that?”

“I believe I already explained that. And the fact that I
do
know lends credence to what Adames said,” Charlie replied. “Gavin can cure the world, but only if you let him go. Otherwise the world will perish in flood and plague.”

“How am I to let Gavin go?” Alice was getting truly worked up now. “I don’t hold him. I don’t chain him down. He’s free to leave anytime he wishes.”

But when the words left Alice’s mouth, a pang went through Gavin. He shook his head. “No,” he said.

Alice halted and twisted on her stool to look up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t leave you, Alice.” His throat grew thick, and his jaw trembled. “I could never leave you. I love you always.”

Her eyes softened. “I know, darling, I know.” She
took his hand. “But I’m not
holding
you. I’m not forcing you or chaining you. Am I?”

“You’re leading me, Alice Michaels.” The snaps and sparks that danced across Charlie’s brain created a hypnotic pattern of particles that blurred the edges of Gavin’s vision. Words poured from his mouth in an electric river. “You go, and I follow. You pulled me out of that tower of destruction and changed me, and then you took me through the city of white and changed me again, and now you’ve led me down to the city of sulfur to change me one more time. You bring me places, Alice, and I can’t stop you and I don’t want to stop you.”

“Is it a bad thing, Gavin Ennock?” she whispered.

“I don’t know.” The half trance fell away, and he gave a little laugh. “I’ve never been in love before.”

Alice smacked the table with her free hand. “What’s the point in making prophecies if they don’t make sense? Why can’t a fortune-teller—or priest—simply say, ‘Don’t leave the house on Wednesday; you’ll be hit by a streetcar’?”

“The monsignor did say he couldn’t see everything properly,” Gavin reminded her. “At least now we know that I have a role in spreading the cure, too.”

“There’s one more card,” Linda said. “I saved it for last because it landed some distance from the others.”

From her pocket she pulled another card and laid it face up on the table. It showed a white-haired man seated on a throne surrounded by water. He wore blue robes, a yellow cloak, and a crown. In one hand he held a large cup and in the other he held a scepter.

“This is the King of Cups,” Linda explained. “He’s a fair-haired man, very artistic, patient, and unselfish, but given to flights of fancy. He cares deeply about others and shares their pain.”

Gavin picked up the card to examine it. “That sounds a little like me, but—”

“It’s not you, honey. Kings are older men, and fathers.”

The remark sliced through Gavin like a knife made of ice. His fingers went numb and he dropped the card again. It landed on the table. For a moment he couldn’t speak. Then he said, “This is my father?”

“Probably,” Linda said. “Court cards are usually people, and kings are often father figures. It fell away from the others, which tells me that the person is far removed, but coming closer.”

Gavin touched the card with a shaky finger. “I always thought he was dead. Where is he? What is he doing? Why did he leave me? Us?”

“I don’t know.” Linda looked sympathetic. “I just know he’s out there somewhere, and your destinies are intertwined.”

Alice gathered up the cards and handed them to Linda, her posture once again brisk. “We know nothing of the sort. I’m sorry, Linda. I know you believe what you’re saying, but I simply can’t.”

“Listen, honey,” Linda said, “the reason for casting fortunes isn’t to tell you what will or will not happen. It’s to let you know the choice is coming so you can look at your options and prepare yourself instead of being hit blind. Believe or don’t believe—it doesn’t matter. We’ve had the conversation, and you can’t
unhear it.” She reached into her pocket and handed them each a small candy wrapped in paper. “Butterscotch?”

“I’m not twelve anymore, Linda,” Gavin said, but the remark came out a little dazed.

“Honey, you’re young enough to be my grandson. As far as I’m concerned, you’re six.” She shooed them toward the door. “Now, get out there and change the world before it changes you.”

T
he zombie straightened. Its eyes cleared, and it slowly wiped the drool from its chin with a sore-encrusted hand. Alice lowered the spider gauntlet with a sigh. She’d lost count of the number of people she’d cured now, but the relief and satisfaction she felt for each case never lessened. This was seventh or eighth plague zombie she’d cured tonight, and she was feeling a little light-headed now.

Behind her, Gavin played his fiddle, something sweet and soft, and she drank the music in as the zombie shuffled off into the shadows of Kiev. Berlin had been difficult without Gavin, more than she wanted to admit. She drew strength from every note he played, and Feng was no substitute, even when he played Gavin’s music with the little nightingale.

“My father taught me that song,” Gavin said. “I’m sure he did.”

“Hm,” Feng said. “How can you miss a man you barely remember?”

“I just do.” Gavin sounded testy. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like. You had a father all your life. You got to live with him, work with him, see him every day.”

“And live with his disapproval,” Feng added. “Maybe it’s better not to have a father. Then you have no one to disappoint. Perhaps you should think of that.”

“Now, look—”

“Boys,” Alice said tiredly, “I know we’re all nervous, but I’m not up for mediating an argument. I would prefer to move on now.”

Gavin looked away. “Sorry.”

“Now where?” Feng asked in a subdued voice.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Alice replied, and tried to make herself sound more cheerful. “You know, it’s rather nice to walk about and not worry about being followed by Phipps.”

“Phipps, no,” Gavin fretted, “but Kievite clockworkers are another story. Remember what Harry said—they can take anyone they like off the streets after dark. Every time I play, it draws attention.”

“That’s the entire point,” Alice said, trying not to show she was uneasy, too. “How will people find out the ‘angels’ are in town if they don’t hear your music in the dark? Besides, you’re armed.”

“Hm.” Gavin touched the glass cutlass at his belt and fingered the heavy, brass-adorned bands that encircled both his forearms.

Feng checked the pair of pistols at his own belt, a hard look on his handsome face. “We do not know for sure that Phipps has failed to follow. She will eventually
notice that we twice appeared in the same city as the circus.”

Alice clutched the amber-handled parasol Gavin had given her and stole a reflexive glance down the street, as if Phipps—or a clockworker—might leap out of the smoking sewers to carry them off. Then she admonished herself for being silly. It was well after midnight, and the gritty street was empty of pedestrians, if brightly lit. This latter aspect had taken Alice by surprise. By day, Kiev looked dark and moody, ready to pounce on newcomers. But at night, the city gleamed with lights. Every street and byway was hung with them, and many doors and windows shone with a steady, unwavering glow. Alice actually found it more unnerving than beautiful. Light should flicker and pulse and live, not remain steady and dead as a granite statue. She wondered whether it existed to ward zombies off the main streets, or to let prowling clockworkers see better.

“Even if Phipps does make that connection,” Alice said, “it’ll take her a few days to track us down, and we’ll be leaving soon. How much money do we have?”

“Not as much as I would like.” Gavin took off his cap for a moment and rumpled his hair. “People didn’t donate much in Berlin. Dodd owes us some more for automaton repairs, and he won’t pay us until the circus has done a couple more shows here. But yeah—once we get that money, we should be able to buy enough paraffin oil to make a run for Peking. Ahead of Phipps.”

“Proschennia mene,”
said a quiet voice. A young woman in a head cloth had emerged from one of the
nearby houses and now edged uncertainly toward the trio, ready to run at the first sign of danger.

“That’s you, Feng,” Gavin said.

“I have nothing else to do,” Feng muttered half under his breath. “Nowhere else to go.”

Before Alice could say anything in response to this remark, Feng greeted the girl in careful Ukrainian and spoke with her at some length. Alice was glad Feng, someone she trusted, spoke a certain amount of Ukrainian—China watched the Ukrainian Empire carefully and many diplomatic families learned at least some of the language—but Feng’s behavior was different of late.

“The rumors have reached Kiev,” he reported, “just as Harry said. Lilya here heard Gavin playing, and she has braved the clockwork night to ask if Alice can cure the plague.”

“Lead on,” Alice said.

“Lady mine.”

“Feng,” Gavin said, “is something wrong?”

“No,” he said shortly. “Please, let us merely come along.”

Alice exchanged a glance with Gavin. He had noticed it, too—the closer they got to China, the more shuttered and surly Feng became. They needed to discuss this, but now was clearly not the time. In the tiny, low-ceilinged flat where Lilya lived, Alice cured the girl’s parents, who were both lying abed with fever. Gavin played until their pain lessened. Feng, whose facility with the Ukrainian language was the reason they brought him along, asked Lilya if she knew of
anyone else who needed help. As Alice expected, Lilya did, and she threaded them through grime-laden blocks of houses lit by dead lights, chattering volubly with Feng, who listened with animated interest.

“What’s she talking about?” Gavin asked.

“Nothing in particular,” Feng replied loftily, and said something in fast Ukrainian to Lilya, who giggled.

Keeping a wary eye on dark sky and narrow street, they dodged beneath gargoyles to the next flat, where Alice cured three children, her parasol under her arm. The joyful parents pressed food on Alice and money on Gavin. She still felt odd about taking cash for curing the plague, but she reminded herself that they needed to buy paraffin oil if they wanted to reach Peking, and Gavin never asked for money. He only took what was offered.

“That went well,” Alice said as she brushed bread crumbs from her skirt and straightened her hat. She avoided trousers on most of these outings on the grounds that the spider gauntlet drew more than enough attention. A woman in trousers would only compound the problem. She looked about the flat’s tiny kitchen, which smelled of watery cabbage and rye bread. “Where’s Feng?”

They found him just outside the flat’s back door, which opened onto a stone courtyard shared by several blocky houses. He was caught in a passionate embrace with Lilya. Her skirt was hiked up to an embarrassing level and her blouse was open.

“Feng!” Alice gasped from the doorway.

Feng drew away from Lilya and blinked at her in the light that spilled from the door. There were no
lights out back, and the shadows had half engulfed the pair. An oily smell wafted in from the river, covering everything with an olfactory patina of chemicals and damp. “Do you mind?” Feng said.

“Not this again!” Alice blurted, shocked. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“The same thing you have done for weeks,” Feng said as Lilya straightened her clothes, “only you do it with Gavin.”

Alice became aware that the inhabitants of the flat were standing behind her, as was Gavin, and she felt her face redden. “You’re… This is…” She recovered herself somewhat. “Feng, we have to leave. Now.”

“Of course.” He nuzzled at the girl’s cheek. “Lilya knows of another house of plague and we must go right this moment, must we not? Exactly on your schedule, and no one else’s, because
you
are English.”

Either he was oblivious to Alice’s outrage or he was a master at ignoring it, which only added to Alice’s fury. The girl was all but hanging out of her blouse and Feng’s… arousal was all too evident. There was certainly no possibility she could reenter the house and face the looks of the two strangers, so she marched down the back stoop and around the corner of the house, her face growing hot again as she heard Feng bid the couple good night in Ukrainian. Gavin came after.

“You are quite a… What is it you say? A piece of work,” Feng drawled. He was holding Lilya’s hand, and she was all but skipping along beside him, apparently now enjoying her adventure. She was pretty, he was handsome, and they would have made an attractive couple under other circumstances.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Alice snapped. A few blocks away, a stack erupted in bright yellow flame, then went out with a
whump.

“You and Gavin carry on very plainly, like two animals in—”

“Watch your words, Feng,” Gavin growled.

“Why? Will you strike me?” Feng shot back. “I am tired of hypocrisy. You two have no stronger a connection than sweet Lilya and I do. You are not married or even engaged to be married, so by the rules of your own society, you are a pair of”—Gavin inhaled sharply, and Feng shifted ground—“a pair of very bad people. Yet you enjoy yourselves together for weeks. And then you have the nerve to tell me I should not do the same?”

“Enjoy?”
Alice whirled on the narrow sidewalk to face him, almost too affronted to speak. Smoky fog curled around her body, and the amber-headed parasol banged against her shin. “What do you mean by that?”

Feng made a scoffing noise. “That is so English of you. Perfectly willing to tell everyone else what is right while you ignore your own rules. You and Gavin sent me to hide with those acrobats so you could—”

“What do you mean
enjoy
?” Gavin’s face was turning red. “What are you telling people about us?”