Steven Harper - The Doomsday Vault

The air went out of him. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled. So much for straightforward. Well, what had he expected? A sudden declaration of undying love? She was engaged, for God’s sake.

The fire crackled in the stove, putting out a welcome warmth. Gavin took the nightingale out of his pocket and set it on the table near the roses.

“What is that?” Alice asked.

“A sort of friend gave it to me.” He touched the bird’s head, and the nightingale sang its sweet little song.

“Hm. It lacks soul.” She paused. “Mr. Ennock, would you. . sing for me?”

He blinked. “Sing?”

“I remember your singing voice,” she said. “I’d very much like to hear it again.”

“Sure.” He glanced out one of the tower’s narrow windows and saw the moon rising through Tree’s branches. The silvery light slanted across the floor and played across Alice’s face. “How about a lullaby?”

“Whatever you prefer.”

Gavin sang.

I see the moon; the moon sees me.

It turns all the forest soft and silvery.

The moon picked you from all the rest

For I loved you best.

As the final line left his mouth, he realized what he had just sung. He flashed back to the moment he had sung “The Wraggle Taggle Gypsy” at Third Ward headquarters, when he had carefully chosen a song in which a woman left a man she didn’t love for a man-a musician-she did. Now he had just done the same thing, but by accident-he was thinking of the moon in the trees and had forgotten about the final line. He hurried on.

I once had a heart as good as new.

But now it’s gone from me to you.

The moon picked you from all the rest

For I loved you best.

That only made it worse. The hell with it. If he was trapped in the song, he might as well sing with every bit of power he had. He closed his eyes and put his heart into every word.

I have a ship; my ship must flee.

Sailing o’er the clouds and on the silver sea.

The moon picked you from all the rest

For I loved you best.

That made him think of the Juniper , forever lost among the clouds. Abruptly, he forgot Alice, forgot the Third Ward, forgot everything. He longed to soar again, go back to his true home, and he found tears gathering at the backs of his eyes.

I picked a rose; the rose picked me,

Underneath the branches of the forest tree.

The moon picked you from all the rest

For I loved you best.

He opened his eyes. A single rose from the bunch on the table was lying near his arm on the table. Had it been there before? He couldn’t remember. He looked at Alice, but her face was impassive.

“Thank you, Mr. Ennock,” she said.

“You’re welcome, Miss Michaels.”

“I think after everything we’ve been through we can use our Christian names. Please call me Alice.”

“If you’ll call me Gavin.”

“I shall, Gavin.” She pulled a damp handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at one eye. “Pollen.” She sniffed delicately. “We should think of the sleeping arrangements.”

“You can have Barton’s cot over there.” Gavin gestured. “I’ll take the floor near Barton himself in case he wakes up. I think we could find a way to string a curtain or something for you, if-”

“Not necessary,” she said with a small smile. “Good night.”

Gavin checked his own clothes-they were drying nicely near the stove-and rolled himself up in a spare blanket from the wardrobe. There was only one, and he decided Barton would just have to suffer, though the laudanum would probably give him a better night’s sleep than Gavin would get. The stone floor was hard and chilly, but eventually he fell asleep.

Sometime later, a sound jerked him awake. He tensed, though his training kept him from leaping to his feet.

The moon slanted through the narrow windows, providing just enough light for Gavin to make out Alice moving about in her baggy shirt and trousers. Barton snored on in his drug-induced slumber. Gavin watched through slitted eyes as she wedged a bit of wood underneath the door to keep it from swinging shut. Then she picked up the first of her husband’s little machines and carried it outside. A moment later, she returned for the second and the third. Once Alice had left the final time, Gavin counted to thirty and stole to the door, where he peered outside into the bright moonlight.

Alice had moved the machines some distance from the tower. As he watched, she flipped the machines over and, with a tool from her pocket, popped each one open and yanked various parts out of them. Before Gavin could make out what they were, she took the parts down to the river and threw them in with a splash. Tree, still asleep in the water, didn’t move.

Several things clicked at once in Gavin’s head. Alice hadn’t cared so much about getting the machines back as she had about making sure no one saw what the machines were for, either because their function was illegal or socially unacceptable. She had been especially frantic because Patrick Barton knew her, and he might babble about the machines’ origins to someone else, or worse, improve their design and show them off. Furthermore, Alice had said the machines actually belonged to her fiance and he would be upset if they were lost. Gavin now took that to mean Mr. Williamson would be upset if their secret got out. The robbery had revealed the existence of the machines to several people-Gavin, Simon, Barton, and anyone who read the report that Gavin would eventually write-so Alice had apparently decided to destroy the illegal or unacceptable parts, leaving “clean” machines behind. She could even blame the damage on Barton.

So, what were the machines for? The obvious answers-theft, smuggling-didn’t bother Gavin so much as the idea that Alice was being forced to cover up for her soon-to-be husband. What kind of man engaged in illegal activity and then dragged his fiancee into it? He clenched a fist.

Alice hurried back toward the tower, and Gavin rushed back to his place near the stove. He feigned sleep as Alice crept back into bed. After some time, her breathing deepened and steadied, while sleep eluded Gavin entirely. Finally, he got up and slipped over to the table, where the roses still lay scattered across the wood. With a glance at Alice, he picked up the rose closest to his chair, kissed it once, and crept over to the bed to lay it gently beside her pillow. She inhaled deeply, and he froze, but she only smiled in slumber. Gavin returned to his hard stone floor and lay awake for a long, long time.

Alice awoke with a groan. Her muscles screamed when she rolled over to sit up on the lumpy camp bed, and she prayed she would never go through anything like yesterday again.

No, that was a lie. Yesterday had been the greatest thrill she’d had since. . well, since she had rescued Gavin from Aunt Edwina’s tower. She stretched and grimaced at the soreness. It felt strange to be wearing trousers. By all rights, she should be embarrassed wearing them in front of Gavin, but it didn’t bother her. Perhaps it was because Gavin didn’t care about rules.

The fire in the stove had died out, and Gavin lay before it, wrapped in his blanket. Morning sunshine sliced through the narrow arrow slits and cut strips across the stones near him. His white-blond hair, tousled with sleep, seemed to glow pale in the soft light. She swallowed. Yesterday, when he strode into the ruined shop dressed in black leathers, her heart had nearly stopped. Every moment they had shared came rushing back. His beautiful playing. His hypnotic singing. His bright smile. His optimistic, we-can-do-it attitude. The months fell away, and she was standing next to him while he played the devil’s own music to destroy the traps in Aunt Edwina’s house. He grinned with undisguised joy in the Third Ward’s little airship. He sang to her in Dr. Clef’s laboratory and touched her soul.