Beth Ciotta - His Clockwork Canary

Willie admired Simon for not taking advantage of hired help. She liked not having to hold to strict conventions. The undercurrents of true friendship between these two very different men bolstered her outlook on a more utopian state where Old Worlders and New Worlders, Vics, Freaks, and Mods could coexist equally.

Fletcher stopped midway to the servants’ stairs that led to an upper level. “I say, Mrs. Darcy, are you able to move objects with your mind?”

“Telekinesis?” She shook her head. “Definitely not.”

“Pity. It would have been a boon in helping to clean up the mess Mr. Darcy will no doubt make of my kitchen.” With that, he disappeared up the stairs in a haunting wash of flickering flames and shadows.

With the distinct impression that she’d been officially welcomed into this household and accepted by yet another Vic, Willie’s spirit soared.

“Fletcher may be mired in old ways,” Simon said as he guided Willie to the landing, “but that vexatious coot has a big heart.”

“He heard that,” Willie said with a slight smile.

“I heard that,” Fletcher echoed.

“So what did you learn from Thimblethumper?” Simon asked as he seated Willie at a small table in the kitchen.

“My findings were quite astonishing and somewhat complex. Would you like me to help you?” she asked as he rooted through cabinets.

“You concentrate on expediting our expedition; I’ll manage dinner.” No matter his good intentions, using sex to ply Willie’s secrets had been a rather seedy affair. In the end he had not been able to take advantage of the moment. Instead of questioning her in the aftermath of their mind-bending alliance, he’d held his curiosity at bay whilst she’d drifted to sleep in his arms. At this point he was sailing on a wing and a prayer that she would come clean of her own accord. “Go on, then. Astonish me.”

Willie blew out a breath. “Let me preface this by saying most of what I learned resulted from a live interaction prompted by minimal time-tracing.”

Simon glanced over his shoulder. “In other words, your interviewing skills are as honed and beneficial as your supernatural gift. Noted and acknowledged.”

She smiled a little and his heart skipped. Christ.

“Bear with me,” she said, “whilst I try to report my findings in a succinct manner. There was much to absorb, and dare I say, I believe you will be as shocked as I was by this revelation.”

Simon couldn’t think of anything more shocking than learning his brother was some sort of bionic man, but he held his tongue and set out plates and flatware.

“I’ll start with the most surprising discovery,” Willie said. “Thimblethumper is in fact Ollie Rollins.”

Simon nearly fumbled a fork. “The missing Houdinian?”

“Indeed. If you recall, I had mentioned that I had seen Ollie Rollins in Filmore’s memories and that he looked familiar. That is because I’d met his much older self in person only a couple of weeks prior. He’s been living under the alias of Thimblethumper for the last several years.”

Simon frowned. “Why didn’t Jules tell me this straight out?”

“He did not know. Thimblethumper shared a plethora of information with the Mechanics, including names and descriptions of prominent Peace Rebels—such as Professor Maximus Merriweather—in exchange for being set up with a false Vic identity and business. He also spilled the beans regarding the existence of the Houdinians, but he never admitted to being a Houdinian. Like Filmore, he’d been utilizing aliases for years. Hence, he dangled a carrot in front of the Mechanics whilst leading them on a bit of a merry chase.”

So, Simon thought, she finally knew for certain the agency Jules worked for. If she was vexed with Simon for withholding that detail, she did not show it. Indeed, Willie seemed fully focused on her unfolding tale. He raided the icebox—chicken, cheese. “If Thimblethumper, that is, Rollins, set the Mechanics on the trails of his own people, then he must be the traitor your mother referred to in your father’s memory.”

“A logical assumption,” Willie said as she worried the edges of a linen napkin. “Except Rollins didn’t seek the protection of the Mechanics until after my mother’s death. It was then that he felt most vulnerable. Then that he saw the world as he knew it crumbling around him. Her death is what drove him into informing on other Mods—although he swore he never put another PR in harm’s way. He cooperated with the Mechanics because he was desperate to live out his remaining days in peace. The same reason he resigned his post with the Houdinians in the first place.”

“He resigned?” Simon asked. “Whilst your mother was still alive?”

“Aye.”

“Perhaps that was enough for her to label him a traitor. After all those years, to suddenly break their sworn pact. To leave the protection of the engine to her and Filmore alone. Surely she felt pressured and betrayed.”

“Probably.” Brow furrowed, Willie reached for a slice of fresh bed and slathered it with butter.

Simon didn’t comment when her right hand fumbled a bit, but damn, he worried that her injury still caused her difficulty.

“So much information and still so many holes,” she said. “My mind is awash with summations and theories. And Rollins was only helpful in certain aspects. He seems to be teetering on the edge of a breakdown.”

“All the more reason not to be alone with the man again,” Simon said earnestly. “If he snaps—”

“Warning noted,” Willie said, his eyes narrowed.

“Easy.”

“Sorry.” She shook off her irritation whilst Simon poured them each a glass of red wine.

“Perhaps we can fill in some of the gaps together.” He took his seat and together they sampled bits of Fletcher’s delicious fare. “We have our three Houdinians. Your mother, a security specialist. Filmore, a peace activist—”

“A radical peace activist,” Willie said, whilst picking at her cold chicken. “A professor who specialized in political science, most specifically sociology. Quite brilliant, according to Rollins. Definitely paranoid and, at this point, dangerously unstable. Driven to compulsive, obsessive behavior due to the extraordinary failure of the Peace Rebels and his solitary focus upon protecting the clockwork propulsion engine. Believing he is a vital force in nurturing mankind, he has now taken the role of protector to the extreme—the sole guardian with the aid of an occasional mercenary.”

“Sounds like a bloody lunatic. Although that’s often the case with fanatics.” Simon staved off thoughts of pulverizing the man who’d been responsible for Willie’s near-fatal injuries. Instead he focused on everything Willie had learned. Impressive that she’d convinced Thimblethumper/Rollins, the tight-lipped curmudgeon, to be so damned forthcoming. “How does Ollie Rollins fit into this?”

“He was one of the several Americans who’d united with the Brit faction of the Peace Rebels. A mechanical engineer and a fierce and loyal supporter of Professor Jefferson Filmore and his high-profile lectures regarding the end of the world. Filmore was a most passionate and persuasive man. Again, according to Rollins.

“On the day the Peace Rebels voted to destroy the Briscoe Bus,” she went on, “Filmore convinced my mother and Rollins that it was in the best interest of mankind to preserve the engine that had catapulted them through time. As you had pondered, Filmore foresaw the need for a backup plan. An escape pod, should things not work according to plan. A way to travel even further back in time—in the name of global peace. Filmore, who had indeed had an intimate liaison with my mother,” Willie said, cheeks flushing, “and who continued to command her devotion and allegiance even after they were no longer intimate, knew he could trust Mickey to devise a security plan to keep the engine safe. At the time Rollins had also been under Filmore’s charismatic and idealistic spell and had fallen hook, line, and sinker for the professor’s backup plan. When and if the time came that the trio felt compelled to activate their emergency exit, Rollins would build the vehicle and install the engine.”