Steven Harper - The Doomsday Vault

“I see.” Alice paused. “How do we get up there?”

Gavin put his cap back on and whistled. The tree leaned down, bringing its lowest branches within reach of the ground and allowing Gavin and Alice to climb aboard. Handholds carved into the bark made it easy, and Gavin helped Alice settle into one of the carved wooden seats before choosing his own seat, one near a control panel and in the center of a series of levers, pedals, and ropes. He strapped himself in. The tree straightened with a stomach-dropping swoop that always made Gavin think of a glissando.

“GAVIN. . GO. . NOW. .?” the tree said.

Alice jumped. “It speaks?”

“A little.”

“Where? I don’t see a mouth.”

“Yeah, we haven’t been able to figure that out, either. Tree, this is Alice. She’s a friend.”

“ALISSSSS. . LEAFY. .” The voice creaked and hissed, like wind rushing through treetops on a summer night.

“Leafy?” Alice wrinkled her forehead. “What does that mean?”

Gavin started to blush. Then he straightened. What the hell was he doing? He had fought pirates, watched his best friend die, survived a brutal beating, and faced down a number of mad geniuses who had all tried to kill him. Compared to any of those, a beautiful woman was no threat. Time to stop acting like a stammering boy. He put his hand in his pocket and touched the mechanical nightingale. He had kept it with him all these months, and never once had it been damaged or even scratched. It had become a talisman that kept death away.

“It means he thinks you’re pretty,” he explained, then added, greatly daring, “He’s right.”

“Oh. Well,” Alice said, clearly flustered, and Gavin wondered whether Tree’s remark or his were the actual source of her embarrassment. “Thank you, Tree.”

“LEAFY.”

“We’re off!” Gavin said. He worked pedals and pulled levers. Tree, responding to signals sent through the metal vines, stomped away amid a swish of leaves. Houses and shops rushed past them nearly as fast as a train. People pointed and gawked. Lips parted, Alice clung to her seat, her gaze darting in a dozen directions, and Gavin felt a little thrill at her excitement, as if he had invented Tree just for her. Through it all, he kept an eye on the orange light just over his left shoulder. When it flickered or dimmed, he pulled Tree around to change direction until the light glowed more strongly.

“Does your instrument tell you how far ahead Mr. Barton has gotten?” Alice asked.

“No,” Gavin said. “It only tells direction. And how did you know his name?”

Alice muttered a curse, the second one Gavin had heard from her that day. “We met briefly at a ball in the spring, before he’d contracted the clockwork plague. His full name is Patrick Barton.”

“OIL. . MAN. . FAR,” said Tree.

“You can tell how far away he is, Tree?” Gavin asked.

“YESSSS. BAD. . SSSMELL.”

“How far, then?”

“MANY. . SSSSTEPSSS. SUN. . KISSESSSSS. .”

“Sun kisses?” Alice said. “What does that mean?”

Gavin hauled on a rope and pressed a pedal. In some ways, it was similar to piloting an airship. He could feel Tree’s movements as vibrations through his own hands and feet, and the creaking of Tree’s joints reminded him of the sounds an airship made as it coasted through the air, but there was also a definite jolt each time one of Tree’s feet came down, and the overall movement had an up-and-down swing to it instead of the steadier glide of the airship. Tree’s speed and his ability to step over and around traffic let them make excellent time.

“He means we’ll catch up at sunset,” Gavin said. “When the sun kisses the horizon.”

“That’s very poetic, Tree.” Alice reached out and stroked a branch. Gavin felt a bit of envy.

“YESSSS.”

They were already leaving London proper, and the houses were thinning out, fading into farmland and wooded country estates. Herds of sheep grazing near the road in their paddocks fled at Tree’s approach, and a cool breeze cleared the clouds away to reveal a heavy sun.The air smelled cleaner, more like grass and forest. Gavin inhaled appreciatively. He hated being trapped in London, with its grime and demon smoke and stony streets, its square buildings that hemmed him in and ground him down. Clean air stripped away the demonic ashes.

Just as the sun touched the horizon, Gavin and Alice saw a stone tower rise up ahead of them. It was surrounded by a ruined stone wall, and from his vantage point in Tree’s foliage, Gavin could make out the remains of several other foundations lying around it. Rose vines grew over many of the stones and climbed all the way up the tower, and a river drew a silver ribbon along one side.

Perfect place for a clockworker to hide, Gavin mused.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the mechanical unfolded itself from atop the tower like a metal blossom, and the glass bubble gleamed in the setting sun. The figure of Patrick Barton was barely visible inside.

“What do we do?” Alice said.

“First we try to talk to him,” Gavin replied. “He might come peacefully.”

Light flashed from one of the mechanical’s arms. A moment later, the ground near Tree’s right leg erupted in a small explosion that showered all three of them with bits of sod.

“Or he might be hostile from the outset,” Alice said. “I hope you’ve prepared for this eventuality.”

“You’re awfully calm,” Gavin observed.

“Panic never solved anything, Mr. Ennock.”

Another flash of light. Gavin hauled on the lines and swung Tree around toward the river just as another explosion hit the ground where they’d been standing.

“ROCKY,” Tree said.

“That means he doesn’t like it,” Gavin explained before Alice could ask.

“ Run, little mice! ” boomed Patrick Barton.

“What is he shooting at us?” Alice asked.

“Simple gunpowder bombs, I think. He’s good at timing the fuses, but not so good at launching them.”

“I’m not complaining, Mr. Ennock.”

“ROCKY.”

Gavin pulled a speaking tube down to his mouth and whistled a hard G into it. The note sang out clear and loud, meaning Tree’s amplification system was working. Tree was now a few steps from the river.

“ Mr. Barton! ” Gavin shouted at him. “We don’t want to hurt you. If you come with us, we’ll give you a fully equipped workshop and let you work on anything you want.”

“ Can you give me a moving target to practice on? ” Barton shot back. “The moon is too far away.” Another bomb whistled toward them. Gavin eyed it, then yanked a line. Tree swatted the object aside, and it exploded harmlessly above the river beside them.

“Bombs bursting in air,” he muttered.

“Well-done, Mr. Ennock!” Alice called.

“LEAFY.”

“Now let’s shut him off.” He took two tuning forks from his jacket pocket, one tuned for C and one for F-sharp. He struck them against Tree’s bark and held them up to the speaking tube. A tritone, strong and ugly, rang out across the clearing. It dragged like a fingernail across Gavin’s eardrums, and he felt a twinge of actual nausea.

Barton’s mechanical put metal hands to the sides of the glass bubble. “La la la la! I can’t hear you!”

“Damn,” Gavin muttered.

“What happened?” Alice said from her own chair.

“He built sound baffle into his bubble,” Gavin told her.

“Then how can he hear you shouting at him?”

“We’ll ask after we’ve captured him.”

Barton, meanwhile, began to sing. “ ‘Hi, diddle diddle, the cat and fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon’!” Part of the vine-covered tower wall ground aside to reveal an enormous cannon, but with glassy fixtures on it. Power whined, and sparks snapped from the gaping mouth. Gavin made a small sound, and his mouth went dry.