Steven Harper - The Doomsday Vault

“Emergency message from headquarters,” he said to Alice as Simon twisted his head in an attempt to see what was going on.

From the floor, Kemp said, “Isn’t anyone going to-”

“Is that a wireless communication device?” Alice asked, interested despite herself.

“Yep. Agent Ennock here,” Gavin said importantly into the microphone. “What have we got? Over.”

Static hissed and crackled, and a ringing feedback noise played a note two cents above F-sharp. Gavin winced. Perfect pitch wasn’t always an advantage.

“ This is Lieutenant Phipps, Ennock ,” said the radio. “Put d’Arco on. Over.”

With a sideways glance at Alice, Gavin deepened his voice a little and said, “I can handle the problem, Lieutenant.”

“Put d’Arco on. Now. Over.”

Flushing slightly, he handed the microphone to Simon, who pressed the button. “D’Arco here. Over.”

“Remember that grinning idiot of a clockworker you and Teasdale had it out with last year? He’s resurfaced. At this very moment he is rampaging on Fleet Street with another zombie horde, even though it is broad daylight.”

Alice stiffened.

“Since you have met him before,” Phipps continued, “I want you to get down there and capture him immediately. Acknowledge. Over.”

“What about the clockworker that smashed the metalsmith shop?” Simon asked. “The longer we wait, the farther away he’ll get. Over.”

“You mean you didn’t capture him? Over.”

“He had already left the scene by the time we arrived. Over.”

There was a brief pause. “I need you on Fleet Street, d’Arco, but I don’t want Ennock going after that clockworker by himself. If-”

Alice snatched the microphone. “This is Alice Michaels, Lieutenant. I’ll go with Mr. Ennock.”

“Miss Michaels? What the hell are you doing on this frequency?”

“I said I’ll go with him. There’s no time to argue, and you can’t stop me, anyway.”

“I most certainly can. I can order Agent Ennock to kick you in the head.”

“No sense wasting time. We’re off.” She tossed the microphone back to a startled Simon d’Arco and turned to Gavin. “With that settled, we need to find transportation.”

“Uh …” was all Gavin could say. For months he had dreamed of something exactly like this. He’d constructed elaborate fantasies about swooping into Alice’s life with some grand gesture that would make her fall into his arms, betrothed or not. Now here she was, disheveled and upset after a clockworker attack that he was supposed to remedy, and she was taking charge of the situation.

“D’Arco! Agent d’Arco! Are you there? Over!”

“I’m here. What should I do?”

“I told you to meet Teasdale at Fleet Street! Now! And tell Agent Ennock to get moving. Over.”

Simon shot Gavin a look, and his dark eyes were filled with concern. “Lieutenant, Agent Ennock has never operated solo before. I’m not sure that-”

“It’s an order, Agent d’Arco. Over.”

“I can do it, Simon,” Gavin said hurriedly.

“What about Miss Michaels?” Simon asked the radio. “Over.”

“If she wants to get herself killed chasing clockworkers, that’s her own lookout. Over and out.”

The lights on Simon’s pack winked out. He slowly lowered the microphone. Gavin wanted to leap into the air for joy, but he kept his feet on the ground.

“Well!” Alice said, straightening her hat. “You heard the woman. Mr. d’Arco, you should be off.”

“Give me the pack, Simon,” Gavin said. “And take the extra horse with you before someone steals it.”

“Listen.” Simon slid out of the pack and set it down. “This won’t be like chasing L’Arbre Magnifique through the Forest of Fontainebleau, or the time we fought those floating freaks at Furnival’s Inn. You’ll be operating on your own. I don’t want you hurt.”

“Right,” Gavin said.

“So. Good luck.” Simon abruptly caught Gavin in a rough and uncharacteristic hug.

Gavin’s ribs creaked. “Um … sure. Thanks!”

Simon seemed to realize what he’d done, and he let go with a cough. “Miss Michaels. Fine seeing you, as always. Good day.” And he fled.

“I know I am only an automaton and barely worth bothering about,” Kemp moaned, “but if someone gets a spare moment …”

“Was he that sarcastic before?” Gavin pulled a wand on a wire from the pack.

“No. Something was probably jostled in the accident.” Alice used the crowbar to lever off a chunk of debris, and Kemp sat up. “Can you walk?”

“I believe so.” Kemp got to his feet and staggered in a small circle. In addition to his having a shattered eye, his body was scratched and dented, and his left foot was turned. “I’m half-blind. I work and slave all day, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Go home,” Alice told him. “Tell Mr. Williamson what happened, and I’ll fix you when I get back.”

“I’ll be stripped to my oil pan, and see if I’m not,” Kemp muttered as he limped away. “Not that anyone would miss me. ‘Where’s Kemp?’ they’ll say. ‘No one’s ironed the paper today. Oh well. What’s for tea?’ ”

“Thank you, Kemp,” Gavin called after him.

Alice turned to him. “How are we going to follow the clockworker?”

“The thing is two stories tall. Someone’s probably seen it.”

“And it has a big head start. It could be halfway to Is-lington by now.”

“That was a joke. You Brits have a hard time with American humor.” Gavin waved the wand about in a businesslike manner. “Give the handle on that pack a few turns, would you? I need more power.”

Alice obliged, and several lights on the pack flickered weakly. “What does that object do?”

“It’s an extremely sensitive artificial nose. I smelled paraffin oil when I first got here, so I think I can pick up the mechanical’s exhaust and-aha!” An orange light on the pack gave off a steady glow. “Flip that switch there and help me get this on.”

Gavin winced as the pack’s immense weight landed on his back and shoulder muscles. The beating had been more than a year ago, but his back, crisscrossed with white scars, remained sensitive to sudden jolts. Simon said it was all in his head, but that didn’t make it less painful. He could see the orange light out of the corner of his eye as they picked their way out of the ruined shop, and the glow remained steady, telling him he was on the right trail. A thick layer of clouds covered the sky, but fortunately it wasn’t threatening to rain and wipe out the trail.

“How are we going to catch up with him?” Alice asked. “Run?”

“Better. That switch you flipped sent out a wireless signal. Our transport should be here any moment.”

Heavy footsteps thudded beyond the shop wall and came to a halt amid cries of astonishment from the gathered crowd. Gavin and Alice went outside, where Alice’s eyes widened. Waiting for them was an oak tree as tall as five men, a strange bit of green beauty walking amid the city squalor. Its bottom half was split into a pair of legs that ended in a tangle of roots. Fine vines of copper and brass ran up and down the trunk and wound around the branches. In the sturdier lower branches, seats and benches were carved into the wood. The crowd outside the shop had fled like ghosts fleeing a crucifix.

“What on earth?” Alice gasped.

“It used to belong to L’Arbre Magnifique,” Gavin said, pleased she was impressed. “A clockworker Simon and I captured in France. It’s partly intelligent, which is why it didn’t step on anyone when it followed the signal.”