His Clockwork Canary (32 page)

Lungs burning, Willie fell to her knees as the frigid fresh air chilled her sweat-soaked
clothing. She checked her time cuff.

“What time is it?” Amelia asked, chest heaving from exertion and angst. “How long
has it been?”

Willie sleeved tears from her eyes. “Almost six minutes.”

“Crikey.”

Gentry squeezed Willie’s shoulder. “He’ll prevail.”

“How do you know?”

The man smiled down at her. “He’s a Darcy.”

As much as she wanted to trust in Gentry’s confidence, Willie’s world tilted as she
braced for an explosion. She could not imagine her life without Simon. Envisioning
his handsome face, she whispered a plea and prayed for a miracle. “I cannot change
the world without you, my love. Come back.”

“What time is it?” Amelia asked.

Willie could scarcely breathe, let alone move.

Gentry checked his pocket watch, as did Eli.

Amelia nabbed Willie’s wrist, squinted at her time cuff, and squealed. “They’re clear!”
The young woman scrambled to the gate, yelled down.

Willie pushed to her feet, green with the collywobbles.

“They shouted back!” Amelia called over her shoulder. “Simon and Phin are on their
way!”

Gentry flashed Willie a kind smile. “Never underestimate a Darcy.” He winked, then
looked to Eli. “Let’s get this coffin to the dinghy before some copper spots us. We
look like a pair of damned grave robbers. Come on, ladies!”

Willie palmed her forehead. Simon was alive. She thanked her lucky stars. She swore
to tackle life along her husband’s side. Freak and Vic, united forever and always.
She glanced at her timepiece, then over her shoulder at Westminster Bridge. Would
Wesley be alone? Would Strangelove be lurking? Or perhaps he’d hired a gunman. She
remembered the first time they’d met, a murky memory of Strangelove and the whispered
word:
assassin
.

Palming the bag slung over her shoulder, she verified the welfare of the memory disk.

One last obstacle. One more life to be saved. Then and only then could she embrace
the future.

Exiting the claustrophobic bowels of the catacomb and sewage tunnel, Simon had considered
himself the luckiest bloody bastard on earth. This night alone he’d coldcocked the
famous Sky Cowboy in defense of his sister’s virtue, saved his wife from the clutches
of a Mod’s mind, located Briscoe’s clockwork propulsion engine, and, along with Phin’s
help, disabled a ticking bomb. In addition to saving their lives, he’d ensured the
well-being of a historical architectural treasure—Westminster Abbey.

In his somewhat dazed and euphoric state, it occurred that he’d spent the last few
hours flirting with the kind of danger his brother, a secret agent for the Crown,
no doubt faced every day. For once Simon’s timing had been bang-on, and that constant
nagging impulse to make his mark upon the world had been miraculously snuffed. In
the instant he’d pushed through the garden gate, hugged his sister, then laid eyes
upon his wife’s beautiful tearstained face, Simon had imagined himself quite content
spending the next few years engineering enhanced prosthetics and aiding Willie in
the peaceful emancipation of Freaks.

He had not considered even an ounce more of excitement this night. So when Willie
spewed an astounding tale of blackmail and deceit regarding a devious and powerful
noble who went by the name Strangelove, Simon could not believe his ears.

“I never should have buckled under his threats,” Willie said, her sole attention on
Simon even though the others listened intently. “But given the circumstances at the
time, I could not afford involving the police. Please know I never truly intended
to betray you. I
thought
I was protecting you as well as my family. I thought I could handle Strangelove,
that I could somehow manipulate the situation. Then later, I worried if I told you,
you’d be angry. That you’d never trust me again. That you’d . . .”

Her breath hitched and Simon pulled her into his arms. “You thought I’d leave you.
Dammit, Willie.” Simon dropped his forehead to hers, tucked her shaggy hair behind
her ears, and willed his temper even. “Why tell me now?”

“Because I’ve changed. I don’t want to go it alone. I don’t want to endanger my brother’s
life, but I no longer want to surrender the ACC to Strangelove. What if he
can
access the data? What if he’s a threat to the world? He swore once I complied he
would leave me and mine alone. But I don’t trust him.” She placed her hand over Simon’s
heart. “I trust you.”

Twisted up with emotion, Simon kissed Willie’s forehead, then glanced over her shoulder
at Clock Tower. “Less than thirty minutes to midnight. Not much time to devise a plan.”

Phin crossed his arms and regarded the former air marshal with a cocky expression.
“Tangling with all those Wild West outlaws, you’ve no doubt encountered hostage situations.
Any bright ideas, cowboy?”

“I can think of one or two, Casanova.” Gentry pulled a communication gadget from his
pocket, and after seeing the one Strangelove had given to Willie, Simon decided he
really needed to start shopping the black market.

“Tell them the weather could get rough,” Willie said when she heard Gentry speaking
with his chief navigator aboard the
Maverick
.

“Hold,” Gentry said into the device, then turned his attention to Willie. “What do
you mean?”

“Wesley’s supernatural gift. He can manipulate the weather. He’s been known to stir
up violent storms when angered. If he’s anxious because Strangelove threatened him . . .”
Willie hugged herself against a blast of frigid wind. “Blizzards, whirlwinds, hailstorms.”

“The Stormerator,” Amelia said, wide-eyed.

“That’d be an all-fired coincidence,” Eli said.

“What are you talking about?” Simon asked, pulling Willie close.

“Trouble in the form of a bastard sky pirate and his secret weapon,” Gentry said.
“Your brother a good sort, Amelia?”

She dipped her chin. “Not really.”

“Think he’d use his gift for ill gain?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“But he’s still my brother,” she rushed on. “And he’s still being threatened by Strangelove.”

“Honey,” Gentry said, tugging his brim low. “My gut says you’ve been hornswoggled.
Eli, take the dinghy and hide the coffin in the
Maverick
’s cargo bay. Amelia, go with him and ready Peg.” He spoke into the communicator.
“Watch for a shark in a storm cloud, StarMan, and prepare to tussle.”

Phin checked his personal arsenal and Amelia jammed her Remington Blaster against
Simon’s chest. “That derringer won’t cut it with Dunkirk and his men, Simon. Listen
to Tucker, and crikey, shoot to maim.” She shocked Simon further by pulling Gentry
down for a swift yet passionate kiss. “Hell of a honeymoon, Mr. Gentry. You owe me.”

She raced off to join Eli, and Simon marveled at his little sister’s transformation.
She’d always been fearless, but smitten by a man? The equally besotted look on the
former lawman’s face went a long way to quell Simon’s reservations regarding their
whirlwind marriage. Although, good God, his own nuptials had been remarkably spontaneous.

He noted Willie’s worried expression and strapped the blaster over his chest. Giving
her hand a reassuring squeeze, he nailed Gentry with a look of fierce confidence and
commitment. “I’ve studied the designs of Westminster Bridge as well as Clock Tower
and all of Parliament and the Abbey. I know every crook and cranny.”

“Then I’m in dire need of your intellect, Darcy.” He looked to Phin. “Amelia says
you’re a crack aviator.”

“Nice to know she thinks I excel at something.”

“Catch up to her and tell her you need to borrow her pa’s dig. With your military
training I could use you in the air.”

“Right, then.” Phin dipped into his coat and handed Willie his cherished Knuckle Shocker
Stun Gun. “For backup,” he said. “I tweaked it a bit so it might actually pack the
wallop Reggie intended.”

Phin raced after Amelia, and Willie looked up at Simon, eyes bright. “Somehow it feels
like your father is with us.”

“He always was my greatest champion,” Simon said, heart squeezing. He looked to Gentry,
inspired and ready to kick arse. “So what’s the plan?”

•   •   •

Bicycles were all the rage in London. Willie had pedaled more than a few, but none
so furiously as the one “borrowed” from a passing citizen by Simon. Fortunately, Westminster
Bridge was just down St. Margaret Street and to the east of Clock Tower. Unfortunately,
an ominous fog was barreling toward her, obliterating the skyline and landscape, and
obscuring even Willie’s most excellent night vision.

She steered onto Bridge Street and at once was consumed in the dense, swirling mist.
She knew the House of Commons and Clock Tower stood to her right, but she could not
see either of the magnificent structures. Her mad dash became a perilous crawl as
she strove not to veer into a random vehicle or a midnight-strolling pedestrian. Although,
from the deafening quiet, Willie would swear she was alone in the world just now.
She took comfort in knowing Simon and their band of musketeers were out there, somewhere,
poised for a joint rescue and ambush.

Gentry had doled out direct instructions and Willie had thought his plan most sound,
except they’d anticipated a violent storm of sorts, not this insidious, all-consuming
pea soup. It occurred to Willie that even though she’d asked for help, she might be
going it alone after all. How could anyone help her if they couldn’t find her? The
fog was not only blinding but disorienting.

A slight incline alerted Willie that she had reached Westminster Bridge. Her heart
hammered against her chest as she now walked the bicycle whilst squinting through
the supernatural veil in search of the glow from a streetlamp. Big Ben rang out, the
first of twelve chimes, and never in her life had the Clockwork Canary been more aware
of the time.

She saw it then, the hazy glow of three connected lamps atop the first pole. She quickened
her stride, tempered her anxiety. This was her brother. Her blood. Even though they’d
been at odds most of their life, surely he would not harm her. She’d hand over the
memory disk as Gentry had instructed. Wesley would return to the
Flying Shark
and when he did, Gentry and crew would follow. The element of surprise was on their
side and Gentry assured her and Simon that, in addition to reclaiming the Aquarian
Cosmology Compendium, he would capture Strangelove. If the bastard was not on board,
he would determine his true identity—information known to her brother as well as Captain
Dunkirk—and hunt the man down. He strongly believed that the villain who’d masterminded
the attempt to steal away Amelia’s targeted invention was the same man who’d manipulated
Willie in a bid to bamboozle Simon.

Spying the second streetlamp, Willie slowed, her bootheels sliding over the icy road,
her mind replaying Gentry’s instruction.
“Give Wesley the disk. He’ll take it to Dunkirk. Lead us to Strangelove.”

Unless Wesley absconded with the disk himself.

She spotted her brother, leaning insolently against the lamppost, shrouded in a veil
of fog and an arrogant manner. He looked much as he always had, dressed in ModVic
attire, shocks of red hair stabbing out from underneath a purple fedora.

The last chime of twelve faded and Wesley’s mouth quirked. “On time, as always.” He
held out his hand. “Fork over the goods, Sis, and I’ll pass it on to Strangelove.”

“The way you were supposed to pass my letter on to Simon?”

Wesley blinked.

Willie allowed the bicycle to tip over as she moved closer to her traitorous kin.
“Why, Wesley? Twelve years ago, I entrusted you with an important letter, with my
heart
. You said you would take it to the rail station. You promised you would give it to
Simon, but you didn’t.
Why?
”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, then shrugged. “I was saving you from your knobhead
self. You’re a Freak, Mina. You’re meant for another Freak. Stick to your own kind
and someday Freaks will rule this world.”

“You’re crackers!”

“I’m smart. Which is more than I can say for you. You could be capitalizing on your
gift, yet you drudge away in a Vic’s world, looking after the old man even though
he barely provided for us.”

“What are you talking about? We never wanted for anything.”

“Didn’t we? They doled out attention and affection with an eyedropper. They moved
us all over hell’s half acre and then some. Dad was obsessed with Mom. Mom was obsessed
with protecting some twentieth-century icon. I knew it was volatile, maybe valuable,
but I never guessed it was the compendium. Now give it to me and be on your way before
my employer intercedes and takes a shine to you. He happens to like pretty young things.”

Reminded of her present mission, Willie scrambled to focus. She envisioned her brother
and the pirate escaping under this suffocating cloak of supernatural fog and taking
the ACC and Strangelove with them. In order for Gentry’s plan to succeed, he had to
be able to see the
Flying Shark
. In order for her and Simon to move on, they had to put Strangelove behind them.

She needed to break the fog, and that meant breaking Wesley’s concentration.

“Mom never told us what it was that she was protecting,” she prodded. “How did you
know it was from the twentieth century?”

“Because I followed her one day and overheard her talking to two other Peace Rebels.
Because I cornered her later and told her we should sell whatever it was, make a fortune,
and if she didn’t, I would. I’d find a way.”

“My God, Wesley!
You’re
the traitor!”

“Matter of perception, although I guess that’s how she saw it. Our tiff rattled her
enough to consume her thoughts. She walked in front of that automocoach and my plan
died with her. Those other two PRs disappeared with the stash, Dad went bonkers, and
we were left high and dry. I tried tracking those Mods for over a year before giving
up and making my fortune my own damned way.”

Shocked and sickened, Willie squeezed back tears. “How can we possibly be related?”

“Something I asked myself the day you took on the mundane job of a pressman.” Stone-faced,
her brother pushed off the lamp pole. “Give me the bloody ACC.”

“Go to hell.”

He reached for her and she swung out with her injured right arm. The Thera-Steam-Atic
Brace offered strength and her smack landed hard, knocking Wesley into the pedestrian
wall.

Her brother roared and the fog diminished by half. Lightning cracked, illuminating
the hazy night sky, and there it was, hovering over the Thames—the
Flying Shark
!

Willie heard the scraping of an iron grate and she knew it was Simon, beneath the
bridge. She knew he’d heard enough and that he was coming to her rescue, only the
fog started to thicken as Wesley shook off her blow. She dipped into her pocket, slipping
her fingers through Reginald Darcy’s invention just as Wesley charged. Her swift uppercut
connected with his chin with a loud
ZAP!

Hair smoking, he literally sailed through the air, plowing once again into the bridge’s
wall, only this time the force sent him toppling over.

Willie lunged, catching his arm before he plummeted into the dark, wintry river.
Deadweight.
The Knuckle Shocker had stunned the marbles out of her brother and if she lost her
grip, her brother was fish bait. Thank God for her enhanced strength via Simon’s brace.

“Let me help.” Simon was there beside her, reaching down, grasping her brother’s arm.

Willie heard horse hooves clopping against the pavement. She glanced over and saw
the Sky Cowboy galloping toward them on a black steed. She could see him clearly.
No fog!

She heard an explosion and looked up to see the
Flying Shark
’s zeppelin in flames and the
Maverick
flying out from behind Clock Tower, cannons blasting.