Legacy of the Clockwork Key (17 page)

He turned the corner and entered a large room with a high ceiling and tall arched windows. With care, he placed the candle on a small table and pulled the thick velvet drapes, ensuring they were completely shut. He lit a lamp and the room revealed itself completely.

Heavy furniture rested under white sheets, giving the room a ghostly quality. In the corner, cobwebs had formed between the bust of a pompous-looking gentleman with a long roman nose and a globe so coated with dust I could no longer discern the continents. From floor to ceiling, enormous dark bookcases loomed over us, complete with rolling ladders to reach the highest shelves. Oliver began to climb, and I shuddered. I despised ladders.

Oliver pulled himself along the bookcase from his perch on the ladder, inspecting the spines of several volumes before meticulously tipping certain books forward. He then jumped straight to the ground, and walked to a small statue of a foxhound nestled in a corner of one of the shelves. With a single finger, he dusted the dog’s head, then twisted it to the left. A loud
click
broke the silence, followed by a creaking sound.

One of the bookcases turned outward, revealing a secret passage. Will’s eyes grew wide as he watched Oliver and Lucinda disappear through the narrow opening, taking the candle with them.

“You should have seen Rathford’s,” I whispered as I extinguished the lamp and followed Oliver’s candlelight down the narrow passage.

Will came after me. I stopped in my tracks as I entered the small room at the end.

It was an ode to chaos incarnate.

A lamp burned unfettered in the corner, as there were no windows to reveal its light. Papers and armatures of brass and copper stood on an abundance of shelves. The odds and ends completely covered the surface of a small table in the corner. On the opposite side of the room a large round-bodied vessel bubbled as the contraption beneath it whirred. Cogs and pipes sprouted from it like whiskers on some disheveled beast. The lid jittered and Oliver clamped it down. I thought I smelled the unctuous odor of burned onions.

“Pardon the mess, I’ve been brewing—something.” He reached up and pulled rolls of paper down from the shelf. Will tucked himself into the corner as Oliver cleared off the table with a swipe of his arm and spread out the plans. I marveled at the layers of drawings.

“What is this?” I flipped the top page up to peer at the one beneath.

“It’s what I have gathered of the different plans for Rathford’s machine, the ones I could access anyway.” He pushed the curling edge of the pages down and studied them intently. “If the murderer is not Rathford, then it has to be one of
the survivors who worked on the project. None of the other Amusementists knew anything about it. Rathford never brought these designs forward for the general assembly. Only someone involved would know what he was killing for.”

“If no one else knew about it, why have all the Amusementists gone into hiding?” Will asked. “Those who didn’t work on the machine wouldn’t need to fear the murderer.”

That was a good point. I turned to Oliver, who twisted the crank on the crazy kettle. It settled a bit.

“All meetings have been called off until further notice,” he explained. “The leadership fear someone is targeting members of S.O.M.A. to destroy the Order. Such a thing happened once in our early history and the threat of it has lingered ever since. Even I believed such was the case until I received my father’s letter and began digging into the murders. This is everything I’ve found since.”

“What did Rathford invent?” I asked. “When I saw the plans in his workshop, it looked to me like some sort of conveyance.”

“You saw Rathford’s plans?” There was a hint of hope in Oliver’s voice.

“Rathford offered me employment after the fire. I’ve been living as a maid in his house. I discovered his secret workshop, and then he turned me out.”

“Brilliant,” Oliver whispered. He rummaged through the contents of a drawer, then swept a new sheet of paper out over the others and handed me a drawing stick.

“Draw everything you can remember, even if it seemed insignificant,” he ordered.

I did so gladly, thankful for the tutelage in drawing my mother had insisted upon. I had found drawing endless pictures of teacups and roses tedious, but my skill with detail served me well. I couldn’t replicate the notes along the sketches, but when I was done, I had produced a fair replication of the plans I had glimpsed in the workshop.

“Could it be a weapon of some sort?” I asked.

Oliver shook his head. “I don’t know.” He lifted my drawing and inspected it. “I have never seen anything like this, and I have yet to study the pieces of the plans I have managed to gather. Creating weapons goes against the charter. Inventing one is grounds for the most severe punishment of the Order.”

“Which is?” Will stepped closer and seated himself at the bench.

“Death.” Oliver said as if it were nothing of consequence.

“Then what do you call the rifle?” Will asked. He straightened as Oliver met his challenge with an inscrutable stare.

“I didn’t invent the rifle, I only modified it.” Oliver waved
his hand as if shooing away a meddlesome bee. “It’s a world of difference.”

Will crossed his arms. I glanced at him, and I could have sworn we shared a single thought. These Amusementists thought little of their own rules in spite of the consequences.

Lucinda took a step forward and peered at the plans. “The only way to find the murderer is to draw him to us. Once we know who is at fault for all this misery, the rest of the Order can help us stop him,” she said. “But the murderer has been hiding for so long, and in spite of everything no one has managed to see his face. How do we force him to reveal himself?”

“We expose the machine,” I said. My insides twisted with unease, but my heart beat stronger with sudden certainty. “If we unlock the machine, whoever the murderer is will reveal himself. If it is Rathford, he’ll desire unlocking the machine so strongly, nothing will stop him from coming to us to try to use it, and if it is another Amusementist, then he will try to stop us from revealing it at all.”

Will pushed to his feet, nearly knocking over a twisting contraption made of glass with eerie floating orbs within. It rocked back and forth behind him. “This is madness. You’re suggesting we use ourselves as bait.”

Oliver turned to Will. “She’s right. From what I have gathered, Jean-Phillipe, Argus, Victor, Ludwig, Richard, and Alastair all worked on Rathford’s machine, and they are still living. Charles, Henry, Simon, Thomas, Edgar, George, and my father are dead.”

Lucinda seemed pensive. “Argus is in Scotland, and as master of the Foundry probably had little to do with hiding the machine, though he’d know what parts were made and how they fit together. Victor and Richard have supposedly been out of the country for some time, so they must be suspect. They could have easily remained hidden in England and carried out the murders. I haven’t heard anything about Ludwig.”

She huffed and let her gaze drift to the ceiling. “I’m thinking about this all wrong. If the men involved with the machine needed to hide the pieces to the lock quickly, they would have had to use those within their small group with Amusements on their land nearby. They wouldn’t have had the time to traipse all over the country.” Lucinda turned to a map near her elbow. “Charles had Gearhenge on his land. Henry fixed the locks. Your father set up the coach, and my Simon created the raven. The automaton was also probably his doing. So how did the others help?”

Oliver abandoned the plans and turned to the map. “The
only others with land nearby that have had an Amusement installed somewhere on their property are Thomas, Edgar, and Alastair. Since Thomas and Edgar are dead, it would be safer to begin searching there. I’m not sure I trust your father, Luli,” Oliver confessed.

The use of Christian names had me befuddled. Wait, Lucinda’s father? The only Alastair on the list of Amusementists was the Earl of Strompton.

“You’re a lady?” I exclaimed.

She shook her head. “My father and I had a falling-out. I’m nothing but a toymaker’s widow.” She let out a heavy and resigned sigh. “My father certainly has his faults. But I can’t believe he would stoop to murder.”

The conversation stopped cold, leaving me feeling uncomfortably in the middle of a brewing war. I struggled for some means to head it off. “It seems to me the ones who were murdered would ask fewer questions. Perhaps it is best to start there. So, when do we leave?” I said.

They all turned to me. The pot jangled in the background as a coil rolled off the table and clanged against the floor.

Feeling uneasy, I placed a palm on the drawing of Rathford’s machine to steady myself. “Whatever this is, we should destroy it, as my father, my grandfather, and Simon set out to do.”

“I’m going with you,” Will said. I let out a breath, thankful that I wouldn’t have to face the next challenge alone.

Oliver shook his head, but his eyes gleamed in subtle amusement. It made me feel proud of myself for some inexplicable reason. “If anyone discovers I’m here, word will get back to the murderer. He could try to find us.”

“We need more information,” Lucinda said. “We can do little to dismantle this atrocity without first discovering the nature of the machine. I can ride Daisy back to Charles’s manor and search for his plans. It would lead the murderer away from Meg.”

“You’re not going alone,” Oliver insisted.

Lucinda looked to her feet, took a deep breath, then met the duke’s eyes. “Then come with me.”

Oliver drew himself up to his full height. He nodded. “Very well.”

My heart swelled with sudden hope. We’d be able to find the machine and end this. I knew it.

Only then did the realization of what I was about to do weigh fully on my shoulders. We would only be able to end this so long as the murderer didn’t end us first.

We had much to prepare.

“
WE SHOULD LEAVE EARLY IN THE MORNING
,”
I SAID
, “before the first light of dawn. It’s best to travel when fewer people might see the coach.”

“That would be wise,” Oliver agreed. He led us back out of the passage and into the library. He shut the bookshelf then proceeded down the hall to the narrow servants’ stairs.

We descended the steep treads and returned to the kitchen. Oliver helped Lucinda to the bench and handed her a new rag. “Lucinda and I can disguise ourselves with some of the clothing left about here then hitch her horse to one of the carts in the stable,” he said.

Slowly Oliver lit the lamps in a neat labyrinth of clean
white halls and rooms. I could picture the whole area buzzing with prim servants in crisp uniforms, marching with military precision through their large, well-organized barracks. Only now it was silent, though not dead the way Rathford’s house had felt. No, it was waiting.

Oliver showed Lucinda and me to a small room with modest white beds and a simple washstand.

“You can freshen up in the laundry,” he said. “I’ve rigged a few things. If you leave your clothes in the tub, I can have them clean and dry by morning. There’s a chest with some night rails and dressing gowns in the back. We shall make do.”

Lucinda gave Oliver a quizzical look. “You’ve very much changed.”

Oliver seemed to drift away for a moment, lost in a memory. “I spent a lot of time alone. I learned a few things.” He let his hand slide over the soft leather of his sleeve as if soothing a deep wound there. “About what I’m really worth. What I really need.”

His gaze locked on Lucinda with such intensity, even I felt it. Her lips dropped open, just the slightest bit, as if she wanted to say something, but instead she turned and escaped to the beds.

I felt a giggle deep in my chest, but I didn’t dare let it out.
Whatever jealousy I’d felt for Lucinda had abated and turned into a deep curiosity about her past with Oliver.

Why did she scowl so?

Oliver offered me a conspiratorial wink, then disappeared down the hall. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it.

“What are you smiling about?” Lucinda grumbled as she opened the chest and explored the contents.

“He fancies you.” I didn’t mean for my voice to sound so gleeful, but I couldn’t help it.

“I know.” She pulled out a stack of neatly folded clothing and let the lid fall shut with a loud
crack
. “That’s the problem.”

“It’s a problem to have a dashing young duke fall in love with you?”

Her eyes narrowed as she thrust a soft lump of clothing into my arms.

“Yes.” She paused. “When it’s Oliver.”

“He’s the boy from the picture, isn’t he?” I couldn’t help it. I had to know more.

She sighed. “Leave me be and go get cleaned up.”

She gave me a friendly push out into the hall. I nearly bumped into Oliver, who was examining a small jar in his hands. “The laundry is that way. Lock the door and take your time. The water should be hot.”

I entered the laundry expecting to find a pump, a low stove for boiling water, and hanging lines overhead. Instead I found a twisted maze of pipes. A large washtub sat in the corner beneath a lattice of tubes, while a barrel-like tub sputtered and churned in the corner. Hanging shirts spun around a machine, like the skirt of a twirling ballerina floating past a large cast iron stove.

The steam and heat felt both oppressive and soothing, while the churning, squeaking, and rattling of the crazy machines made me feel like a spectator of some peculiar circus.

I carefully removed my clothes and placed them in a basket in front of the waddling contraption. Retreating to the metal washtub, I looked for a pump handle. Finding it to the side, I pressed it in, only to scream like a banshee when warm water rained down on my head. I threw my hand out and knocked over a shallow pan with soap and a comb inside. It clanged against the stone floor.

How had Oliver managed this? He’d made it rain inside. Once recovered from my shock, I found myself delighted. I shook my head beneath the falling water, letting it seep through my muddy hair and wash away the filth from my adventures.