Steven Harper - The Doomsday Vault

“Yes.”

“You have reached the age of majority?”

Was that his way of asking if she were a spinster? Slightly affronted, she said, “Yes.”

“And you are unmarried.”

“Now see here-”

“Meaning,” Mr. Stoneworthy said, “you have no husband who would take over the property in your place?”

Her thoughts went to Norbert, but he wasn’t her husband yet. “That’s right. But my father-”

“Is specifically banned from having any part of this,” Mr. Stoneworthy finished for her with another cough into the handkerchief. “That part took some legal work, but it’s all arranged. The house and grounds are yours. Unfortunately, there is no monetary portion to the estate, but once the final legal hurdles are cleared, you could sell.”

“How long will that take?” Alice asked faintly.

“Four or five months, if no one contests the will, but you can take possession now, if you like. Here are the keys and a card with the address. Have you ever visited the house?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Do I need to sign anything?”

“Indeed. Dickerson!”

Alice signed a number of papers she didn’t quite understand, though she did read them to make sure she wasn’t accidentally signing over her firstborn child, and later found herself outside the law offices with a ring of keys in her handbag. Norbert’s carriage was nowhere in sight-apparently it had some sort of command that called it home-so she hailed a cab and let Click jump in ahead of her.

With a nervous glance up and down the street for the grinning figure, Alice handed the address card to the driver and sat back to think. In the space of a few hours, she had received a marriage proposal (of sorts), intercepted a strange message from a rogue clockworker, learned that her aunt Edwina had been missing for months and had managed to declare herself dead, and inherited a large house she had never actually visited. It was all a bit much. And oh yes-she had discovered that Click could talk, after a fashion.

“When did you visit Mr. Stoneworthy’s office so he could give you that message?” she demanded of the clockwork cat. “I quite forgot to ask him. And how long have you been able to reproduce a human voice?”

Click looked out the cab window with phosphorescent nonchalance. Alice made an exasperated sound as the cab rolled over the stony streets. Exasperation was easier to deal with than fear, uncertainty, or sadness. Aunt Edwina was dead. Actually, she was merely missing. Actually, she had failed to alert Mr. Stoneworthy’s office in a prescribed way for one year. Perhaps she wasn’t dead or truly missing at all. Perhaps she had forgotten or grown tired of the arrangement.

After twelve months? she thought. Unlikely.

The ride took more than an hour, and it was nearing dusk by the time the cab arrived at a high stone wall well outside of town, in a place where houses and factories gave way to trees and meadows. The wall ran nearly a hundred yards down the road before curving away and out of sight. Presumably it surrounded Aunt Edwina’s house, of which only the top half was visible. Alice couldn’t see much of it except the roof, or roofs. Several of them poked upward in odd places and directions. A large gate of wrought iron guarded a long driveway, and a smaller entry gate stood beside it. Coming up the road toward them was a barefoot girl of twelve leading a pony. The driver halted near the gate and helped Alice down from the cab with Click jumping down beside her. It occurred to Alice that she had no way of getting home.

“Can you please wait, driver?” she asked, paying him from her meager supply of coins. “I had no idea it would take so long to get here.”

“Not unless you’ll only be a moment, mum,” he said. “I have to put the ’orse up for the night.”

Flummoxed, Alice stared at the set of gates. She would have to go back right now. A long ride for nothing.

“Mum?” The girl leading the pony had approached. “There’s a train station, mum. Less than half a mile up the road. Trains run at night, too.”

“Why, thank you.” Alice gave the girl a farthing from her handbag. “What’s your name?”

“Gwendolyn, mum. My dad calls me Gwenny.”

“Do you live nearby, Gwenny?” Alice asked.

The girl remembered herself and curtsied. “All my life, mum.”

“What do you know about this house, then?”

“I’ll just be going, then, mum,” said the driver, who had climbed back onto the hack.

“Yes, thank you,” Alice said. “If you could just-”

At that moment, beautiful violin music floated by. It pushed the air ahead of itself, floated and rippled, shivered and sighed. All three people listened, entranced. The tune was even lovelier than the music Alice had heard in the mists of Hyde Park. After a moment, Alice realized her heart was beating quickly and her mouth was dry. Click touched noses with the pony, which whickered.

“Where is that wonderful song coming from?” Alice asked.

“The house, mum,” said Gwenny. “Strange lights used to flash in the windows, and we heard odd noises when I was little, but those stopped a year gone. The music is new, something like two weeks old. I don’t like it. It’s ghosts.”

“Don’t be silly,” Alice said. “It’s a person. Or an automaton.”

“The house is empty, mum. No one lives there.”

The music continued, soft and insistent. The driver clicked at the horse and the hack jerked into motion, temporarily ruining the violin. Alice was seized with a desire to slap the man for interrupting the instrument’s perfection.

“What about the lady Edwina?” Alice said. “The woman who lived here?”

“The strange lady, mum? I only heard about her. She never kept no servants, and we always stayed away.”

“Hm. Would you consider coming inside with me? I might have a coin or two for you.”

“Me, mum?” The girl backed away. “I’m sorry, mum, but I couldn’t. Not ever.” And she fled, taking the pony with her and leaving Alice alone on the road.

The sweet strings continued to play. Alice couldn’t think where she’d heard anything more perfect for a spring evening in the country, odd and unexplained though it was. If no people were in the house, it must be an automaton or perhaps a reproduction. Click had come from this house, and he had recently shown an ability to reproduce a human voice. It stood to reason that whoever had created him could do the same with music.

Alice drew the key ring from her handbag and sorted through the cold bits of iron until she found one that would open the little entry gate next to the large main one. When she tried to use the key, however, she discovered the entry gate’s lock twisted and broken, the gate itself slightly ajar. Mystified and a little nervous, she pushed through with Click at her heels and followed the crunching gravel driveway toward the manor.

The house was a rambling affair, clearly put together and added to over at least a hundred years. A stone building squatted in the center with wooden additions piled all about it. Several outbuildings dotted the overgrown gardens, and an attached tower rose up behind. The cool evening air smelled of damp grass intermingled with decaying flowers. The violin music continued, but Alice couldn’t pinpoint the source. She climbed the uneven front steps to the main doors and found them ajar as well. What on earth? Hesitantly, she pushed them open and entered the darkness beyond.

The moment she crossed the threshold, lights blazed to life, revealing a huge room three stories tall. It was filled with machinery that swooped to life with a great, grinding hum. Giant gears whirled; pendulums swung; huge pistons dipped and soared. Spidery automatons far more complex than the ones Alice had at home skittered everywhere on mysterious errands. In the corner, a giant arm swung back and forth with a loud, steady ticking sound. It was like standing inside a three-story clock. Alice glanced down at Click, who was watching the intricate metal dance with twitching tail and glowing eyes. Only one sort of person could have built all this.