Steven Harper: The Doomsday Vault

Gavin tossed the nightingale into the air. The tiny messenger angel fluttered its wings and skimmed away.

“To tell you the truth, I find myself relieved,” said Ambassador Jun Lung. “Your difficulty solves a problem for me.”

They were standing at the crossed pathways where Gavin had first rescued Feng from trouble all those months ago. Alice and Gavin faced Jun and Feng while Kemp busied himself with a shovel near Edwina’s canvas-wrapped body. For once, he didn’t complain. Click stayed on the airship, which had landed on a nearby field. Dr. Clef stood a few feet away, clutching the sack he had salvaged from the Third Ward. He had offered to stay on the ship as well, but Alice didn’t trust him enough to leave him alone. Night was lifting like raven wings, revealing soft light beneath. The chilly air rang with traffic sounds from the distance. London was nearly awake.

“What kind of problem, sir?” Alice asked.

“I have come to the regretful conclusion that my eldest son is unsuited for statecraft.” Jun bowed his head briefly, his hands folded within his sleeves. “He is talented at language, but often fails to choose his words wisely.”

“My father is correct,” Feng said without a trace of embarrassment. “I would start a war between our countries.”

“So you would like us to escort him home,” Gavin said.

“Precisely.” Feng winced and slapped his neck. A bit of green came away on his fingers. “I do not remember London suffering from biting insects at this time of year. Is this normal?”

“We would be pleased to take Feng home, Ambassador,” Alice said, ignoring the question. “Can he leave-”

“Immediately, yes,” the ambassador said. “I believe certain people of ill repute are already seeking him, and diplomatic immunity would not be helpful.”

“We should go ourselves,” Alice said. “I’m sure Phipps is rallying the Third Ward to look for us once the sun rises, and it’s still dark enough for plague zombies to-”

“Look!” Dr. Clef pointed.

Half a dozen plague zombies, possibly those once controlled by Edwina, shambled toward them over the grass. Their arms were outstretched, and thin skin hung in tatters ragged as their clothes. One of them was a child, perhaps six or seven years old. Alice and the others backed away, toward the ship. Then the first bright beams of sunlight came over the horizon and struck the zombies full on. They flinched, but, instead of fleeing for the shadows, they stopped. Identical looks of wonder crossed their mottled faces as the sun slipped gold slowly over their bodies and faces. They faced the dawn and let the light wash over them. Even as Alice watched, some of their sores stopped weeping, and their bloody tears ceased. The child jumped once, then twice. Then he smiled.

“It’s working,” Alice whispered. “Oh, Aunt Edwina! Oh, Father! It’s working !” She hugged Gavin, who whirled her around with giddy joy. “It’s working!”

“I do not understand,” Feng said. “What is working?”

Tears were streaming down Alice’s face. “I didn’t think I could be happy again, but I am! Can you forgive me, Gavin?”

“What for?” he asked, laughing.

“For being happy, even when you’re. .”

“Sick? Alice, I never want you to feel sad or guilty. I love you always.” He kissed her. “Let’s fly.”

The Lady of Liberty skimmed steadily over the English Channel. Gavin stood at the helm, feeling every creak of the ropes, every movement of the deck. The fresh, clean air washed over him, and the sun shone overhead. His back bothered him not at all. He should have been tired, but he wasn’t. Alice was sleeping belowdecks, as was Feng. Kemp was in the galley attending to lunch, and Click, perched on the tiny bowsprit, was pointedly ignoring the seagulls that screeched at him. Gavin should have felt frightened or unhappy about the disease rampaging through his brain, but he didn’t. He was back where he belonged at last, Alice was with him, and they were heading off to explore a new land. What more did he need? He tipped back his head and sang:

With a host of furious fancies whereof I am commander,

With a burning spear and a horse of air to the wilderness I wander.

And still I’d sing bonny boys, bonny mad boys, bedlam boys are bonny,

For they all go bare, and they live by the air, and they want no drink nor money.

A hatch opened, and Dr. Clef climbed out with a machine under one arm. He stumped over to Gavin and pushed his goggles up to his forehead in a way that reminded Gavin of Old Graf.

“That workshop you have below is primitive and dreadful,” he spat. “How am I going to re-create my poor Impossible Cube without a decent laboratory?”

“You’re lucky to have a laboratory at all, Doctor,” Gavin pointed out. “What is that?”

“My first attempt. I have tried to find ways to stretch across to other universes to find my cube, but all I did was reach back to old hypermagnetic frequencies. Look at this nonsense.”

He twisted dials on the machine. Two parabolic reflectors spun, and a square of glass lit up. The machine made eerie pinging noises, and bits of light danced across the glass.

“What am I looking at?” Gavin said.

“Sources of power for automatic machinery,” Dr. Clef said impatiently. “You see? This one is Kemp. It is very close. And this tiny one is the clicky kitty.”

“What’s this one?” Gavin pointed. “It’s a different color.”

“That one has a different power source than the others.”

Gavin studied the glass a moment. His brow furrowed. “Is it. . following us?”

“Yes, of course.”

The connection clicked instantly, and a feeling of dread came over Gavin. He knew the answer, but he had to ask the question anyway. “Why is it a different power source?”

“This kind of machinery demands it. It is what happens when one grafts machine parts to human flesh.”

“Like the machine parts grafted to Susan Phipps?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Dr. Clef shut off his machine, and Gavin pushed the Lady ’s engines harder, speeding them toward the Orient.