Legacy of the Clockwork Key (30 page)

I swallowed my fear, holding my key like a talisman as we passed by what looked to be old storerooms. The lamplight glinted off gears and tools, tucked into the various nooks. A bed of straw lay in the corner of one of the thick stone cells. Rathford had slept here, like a common prisoner.

The clatter of the lions halted behind me. If they had been alive, I would have felt their hot breath on the back of my neck. I didn’t know what unnerved me more, the thought of them that close, or the fact that they didn’t breathe.

Rathford lit a torch, the firelight blazing to life in the deep
chamber. Flickering orange light played over an immense iron gate. Like the plates, the sides of the iron framework were made up of a tight web of cogs and wheels.

In the center, a large brass rectangle had been fixed to the iron bars. Rathford placed the lamp on the floor and pulled the plates from the sack.

With the grim austerity of a medieval monk, he placed the plates on the floor in a line, inspecting each of them. He chose one from the middle and fit it into the top left corner. It struck the lock with a bell-like tone, then the gears embedded in the face of the plate came whirring to life.

One by one, each in sequence, Rathford fitted the plates with an expert hand. With each new plate, the gears on the others shifted, some extending toward us on delicate pins. Others slid out, locking together with the plates around them.

If any plate had been placed out of order, the gears would have snapped and broken as they tried to fit together in unintended ways.

I never would have been able to open the door.

As the last plate fit into place, all the gears that had emerged from the plates eased back in, locking with the other whirling mechanisms.

A resonant hum filled the chamber, like the sound that
lingers after a grand chord is played on a pipe organ.

Counterweights sank down through the iron gears, bringing the entire gate to life with motion.

“I’ve waited so long,” Rathford whispered. The light caught in his eye as the gate opened inward.

Iron lamps lit themselves, the sparks showering onto them from flint wheels spinning along the walls. A long ramp continued down to the floor of a large open room. Two stone pillars supported the arched roof, like a cathedral had been pressed into the ground.

At the far end, the machine waited.

The brass egg rested on elegantly curved arches of metal, an enormous framework of rings surrounding it in a loose sphere.

It was beautiful, more magnificent than anything I could have imagined when I had looked at the drawings.

“What is it?” Caught in the moment, no warnings came to mind. This elegant creation was a thing of marvelous invention, not destruction.

Rathford grinned. “That, my dear, is the key to time itself.”

TIME? IT WASN’T POSSIBLE. DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN, NO
man could make a machine that could control time.

Rathford patted one of the lions on its hard muzzle. “You see, Margaret, I’ve discovered time is like a fabric, woven with many loops. If you find the right thread, and have enough power to open the portal, it’s possible to go back and reweave the tapestry.”

My heart thundered to life as Rathford twisted a dial on each of the lions’ chests. They bowed and walked up the ramp, exiting the dungeon with their tails twitching like cats on the hunt.

My resolve found new strength. There was no way he
could make me unlock that machine. No man should wield such power. I needed to escape, to find the others. “You have what you want. Let me go.”

“Now, Meg.” Rathford grabbed me by the arm. His grip tightened, holding my elbow in such a crushing way, I couldn’t escape him. “I have been waiting for this moment for eighteen years. Don’t you wish to see the glory of my greatest triumph?”

“No.” I glared at him.

“Of all people, I thought you would.” He shrugged. “No matter. Your grandfather made it clear he disabled my key. I’m afraid I still need your aid. I have some work to do. If you don’t mind, I’ll have you stay put until I need you.”

I stumbled backward, jerking away from him, but I couldn’t pull free. His iron grip caused an aching burn in my arm. I beat him with my fist. “Let me go!”

He pushed me hard, and the floor dropped out from beneath my feet.

I fell.

Screaming, I grabbed on as tightly as I could to Rathford’s coat, but he shook me off. I landed hard on the stone floor of a dark, cramped little room.

My legs crumbled beneath me. The pain of hitting the
stone burned through my shins. I looked up as a heavy iron grate closed over the small opening above my head.

Rathford’s face appeared above me, the only thing I could see in the pit I found myself in. “Enjoy the oubliette. The rats find it quite agreeable.”

“Rathford!” I screeched, but he disappeared, leaving me alone in the dark. I felt the walls close in around me, as if I had just been lowered into my grave. Oubliettes were for the forgotten, tombs that kill their victims slowly through despair and neglect.

I couldn’t let my panic take hold. I concentrated on my breathing. I wasn’t forgotten. The others were out there. They would find me. I knew it. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

I stood, staring at the flickering torchlight through the square grate only four feet above my head. I reached for the squares of light, cut into neat rows and columns by the grate. I jumped to see if I could reach it, but it was no use. Blackness surrounded me. As the stale air choked me, I listened for the scuttle of rats.

Only the relentless
ping
of a hammer striking metal echoed in the chamber above. With my hands outstretched, I took a step forward. I didn’t have to move far before my fingertips brushed the cold wall.

I felt the rough stone, testing every crack of the tiny prison. It didn’t take long. The room was barely big enough to lie down in.

The only way out was up.

I was trapped.

Stepping into the checkered square of light shining through the grate, I hugged my arms and sank to the floor.

What was I going to do?

I had to stop Rathford. My grandfather, Simon, they all were right about the danger of the machine. This was a horror beyond my imagining, and now I was helpless. There was no way to determine how one small change in the fabric of time would affect all events thereafter. Rathford wasn’t going to reweave the tapestry. He would unravel it. I could hear the slow grind of metal turning against metal. How long would it take Rathford to finish?

I wondered where the others were and if they had even found my note. The idea of Will alone and injured on the moors tormented me.

My throat tightened at the thought of losing Will forever.

This was all my fault. If I had never opened the key, none of this would have ever happened.

Rathford’s machine would have remained buried forever.

What had I done?

As I stood in the tiny patch of light, the true torment of the oubliette overcame me. Time passed, marked only by the sounds of Rathford’s hammer. Minutes? Hours? It could have been days, and I wouldn’t have known.

I had to do something. I had to try to escape. Feeling the floor this time, I crawled around on my hands and knees. But there was nothing. My hands simply passed over hard smooth dirt. Escape seemed so close, if I could only reach it. But the oubliette had been designed to make escape impossible.

I thought about making a rope. I even tore more material off my tattered petticoat, but then realized that even if I could hook the rope up through the bars, as soon as I used it to climb, my own weight would prevent me from pushing the grate up.

There was no way out.

I sat alone for what seemed a lifetime, letting my dismal thoughts torture my battered mind. The only way I would ever escape would be if someone came for me.

I had to pray the others would find me.

If they didn’t reach me in time, there was only one thing I could do. I shuddered. If Rathford forced me to use the key, I would have to play the wrong notes. I swallowed a hard lump
in my throat as my insides twisted. I didn’t know what would happen to the machine if I did. Likely it would explode, or something equally horrible would happen. Or Rathford would lose patience and shoot me for my subversion.

No matter what, I was going to die. I had no other choice.

• • •

Sitting in the square of light, I held my hand out and traced the shadowed cross on my palm with my finger. Over and over, I traced one line and then the next, chanting a prayer as I did so. It gave me something to think about other than my impending death.

The cross slid off my palm, leaving my hand bathed in light.

I inhaled, then squinted at the hatch. The grate had been removed and a hand reached down for me. Yet I could still hear the
ping
of Rathford’s hammer.

Yes!

From my angle, I couldn’t tell if it was Will or Oliver who reached down for me. I didn’t care. It was a way out.

I leapt to my feet, stretching on the tips of my toes as I grasped at my salvation. Locking my grip around the wrist, I sent a prayer of thanks for the strong fingers that held tightly around mine.

My rescuer hauled me up in one swift jerk. I scrambled out of the hole onto my knees and looked up.

No!

“Alastair.” I retreated an inch, nearly dropping back into the hole. The torchlight caught in the earl’s pale hair and eyes. I could see that an obsession burned there. Obsession and rage.

“We meet again, Miss Tavernshamton.” There was no amusement in his voice.

“How did you find me?” I whispered.

Dread crept into my heart. I slowly wiped my hand down my torn skirt.

“I knew all our paths would eventually meet here, so I’ve waited, keeping an eye on Rathford. It seems you didn’t disappoint.” He offered me his hand again, but I refused to touch it. There was something frightening about his eyes. I got to my feet.

The warning in my heart felt too stark and clear to ignore. I couldn’t trust him.

Alastair held out his arm as he peered around the gate. “We don’t have much time before the lions return. I’ll distract Rathford. You need to sneak inside the machine, use your key to unlock it, and then shatter the lens inside. It’s the only way to destroy the machine once and for all.”

I nodded. Break the machine. I could do that. But would it destroy me in the process? I had the feeling that this man wouldn’t care if my life were forfeit. Once again, I found I had no choice, and my only options all pointed toward a violent end.

“Wait until I have his attention. Keep out of the light.” Alastair stood to his full height, straightened his lapels, then walked through the iron gate.

“Ulysses,” he greeted Rathford. Alastair’s breeding came out in his voice, which had an air of authority and command I had never heard before. I peeked around the edge of the gate, holding my breath in fear that even a soft sound might give me away.

In the distance I heard a clanking. I needed to move.

Rathford rose slowly, leaving his wrench in the machine. He wiped his hands on a smithy apron and faced Alastair. His sad eyes spoke volumes. Rathford looked as if he were staring at the reaper himself.

“I would like to say it’s good to see you again, Alastair.” Rathford’s voice pitched lower as he fumbled with something in his pocket.

Alastair circled to the left, drawing Rathford’s gaze and giving me the chance to sneak along the chamber to the
right. I tiptoed as quickly and silently as I could, then ducked behind one of the thick stone columns supporting the chamber ceiling.

“It’s been years,” Alastair said. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Rathford took a step back. Luckily for me, he hadn’t taken his eyes off Alastair. “I wish I could say the same for you. When we met you were a decent man.”

“What would make you think otherwise?” Alastair asked. I crept out from behind the column. The time machine was only twenty feet away. The door was open. I could get in, smash it, and be done with all of this.

“Because you’ve been trying to kill me, and I have no doubt you killed the others,” Rathford stated.

I stopped in my tracks.

Alastair drew a modified pistol from his pocket and aimed it at Rathford’s heart. “You were too persistent, Ulysses. The deaths of the others are on you.”

He pulled the trigger, and I let out a shriek, but the pistol exploded as it misfired. Alastair swore, dropping the weapon. It clattered to the floor as he pulled his burned hand into his coat.

Rathford turned to me with wild eyes.

My foot caught on a stone and I stumbled, crashing to the floor. My scraped palms burned, but I didn’t have a chance to recover before a heavy hand grabbed me by the neck. Rathford pulled me into his body, using me as a shield against Alastair.

“I should kill you now, Alastair,” Rathford swore as Alastair rose, reclaiming his pistol even as he grinned a bit like a mad dog. “For months, I’ve lived as a hostage within my own house, watching your assassin prowling at my gates.”

Alastair’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? I’ve hired no assassin.” He raised the pistol. “I need no assassin.”

We were going to die. Alastair would have no trouble shooting me to get to Rathford. This was the end. What could I do? Desperately, I looked around. Rathford backed us toward a column, until the lower tip of one of the torches nearly touched my ear. Yet Alastair hesitated.

“That’s right. Kill her and all your carefully laid plans to secure your bid for control of the Order would be destroyed. I’m sure even now you’re having visions of calling everyone back and announcing your victory.” What did I have to do with any of this? I felt Rathford tremble even as the clatter of metal striking stone grew louder. The lions were coming.

“They already are destroyed. My eldest daughter took
care of that. I’ve nothing left to lose.” Alastair’s expression turned to steel.

I jerked my head to the side as hard as I could, knocking the torch off the wall and onto Rathford, then I grabbed his wrist with both my hands, turned, and bit it.