Beth Ciotta - His Clockwork Canary

Tucker Gentry had guaran-damn-teed he could secure a private audience with Queen Victoria. According to her new sister-in-law, the sovereign of the British Empire had taken a shine to the transcontinental tabloid hero. So much so, the queen had promised to intercede with the president of the United States, securing a pardon for the ill-accused Sky Cowboy and his crew, as well as providing safe passage to England for his younger sister, Lily.

Amelia also had hopes that this “discovery and donation” on behalf of the Darcys would help to appease the queen for the trouble she had caused in Italy. As it was, she and Gentry were still on shaky ground and had, in fact, been dispatched to retrieve an invaluable artifact they’d stolen from Leonardo da Vinci’s secret vault (an Italian treasure) and then lost to the Scottish Shark of the Skies.

Willie’s mind reeled with the Gentrys’ ongoing adventure. They’d been married just earlier today, a quiet ceremony in London. They’d docked at the Milky Way for a brief celebration before setting off in search of the dreaded Captain Dunkirk. And now they’d interrupted not only their honeymoon but their royal mission in order to aid Willie and Simon on their quest.

Two weeks ago, Willie had been fairly alone in this world. Now she had family and friends. She had a husband who had somehow saved her from the chaos of another man’s mind and a sister-in-law who, although leery regarding the Canary’s report on her father, hadn’t flinched at accepting a Freak as a Darcy. As her brother-in-law navigated the Maverick ’s air dinghy over the Thames, past Clock Tower, and toward the narrow road running between Parliament and Westminster Abbey, Willie’s entire being buzzed with optimism. It was an unfamiliar and wondrous feeling and infected her with a sense of invincibility.

“What are you smiling at?” Simon asked as they came in for a landing.

“I’m envisioning your monorail,” she whispered back. “The draft in your library. The Abbey, Parliament. It looks exactly as you sketched it. All that is missing is your magnificent monorail. Promise me you won’t give up on your dream.”

Simon squeezed her waist. “I have other dreams now.”

Moments later, they disembarked and hid the small transport behind a copse of manicured bushes. After analyzing the situation, Willie, Simon, and Phin had joined forces with Amelia, Gentry, and his crew in order to procure the infamous engine. They’d chosen the Maverick , the fastest airship in Europe and far and away more reliable than the Flying Cloud , as their main transport. Gentry’s crew, with the exception of Eli Boone—a master tinker, according to Gentry—had stayed aboard, watching for trouble from above and preparing for a fast escape. Amelia had refused to stay behind and as Simon wouldn’t think of barring Willie from this recovery, Gentry had been forced to acquiesce to his wife’s demand. But not until after he and Axel had armed her with a stun cuff and a Remington Blaster.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Amelia whispered to Willie as the motley crew of five proceeded down St. Margaret Street.

“Rollins’s directions were quite specific,” Willie said as she pushed on. “And I am well acquainted with London.”

“As am I,” Simon said.

Because of the late hour and because this was a business district, there was nary a pedestrian to be found and road traffic was scant. A rolling fog added to the already eerie ambience, and although Willie did not celebrate Jefferson Filmore’s death, she was most grateful that friends and family would not be subjected to his deranged presence nor that of his hired mercenary.

Her shoulder twinged just thinking about the hired thug who’d shot her in Edinburgh. Indeed, her arm had been paining her most of this day. After the time-tracing debacle with Rollins she had felt the need for as much fortification as possible and was glad she had stowed her Thera-Steam-Atic Brace aboard the Flying Cloud . She wore it now with pride and confidence. She stole a glance at Simon, in awe of his ingenuity and the depth of her admiration. At one point, she’d accused him of arrogance. Now that she knew him better, she was most certain his success was hindered by a streak of humbleness and a dash of insecurity, which only deepened her regard.

“Can’t see a thing,” Eli complained as they veered away from the streetlamps.

“Just follow me.” Utilizing her night vision and Rollins’s landmarks, Willie guided her team to Jewel Tower, a surviving section of a royal palace built in the fourteenth century. A three-story limestone structure that sat across the road from Parliament and upon the same grounds as Westminster Abbey. “Here,” she said, pointing to an entry point as described by Rollins. “Remember,” she said as Simon pushed open a vine-covered gate, “we must trudge through a sewage duct to gain entrance to this particular catacomb. There could be rats and snakes and such, not to mention filth,” she said for Amelia’s benefit.

The blond woman snorted and adjusted her shoulder harness.

Phin groaned. “I hate snakes.”

“Don’t worry, Bourdain,” Gentry said in a condescending tone. “I’ve got your back.”

“Leave him be,” Amelia whispered to her husband. “It was just a kiss and not even a good one at that.”

“Bloody hell,” Phin said.

Gentry chuckled and Simon looked to Willie and rolled his eyes. “Once inside,” he said to everyone, “it should be safe to use your torchlights.”

Battery-operated tubes of light. A most ingenious alternative to a kerosene lantern, Willie thought. She would have to purchase one for Fletcher.

Ignoring the putrid smell and the feel of squishy clay beneath her boots, Willie slogged through the sewage tunnel. She ignored the scurrying rats, as did everyone else, including Amelia. Indeed, she was most impressed with her sister-in-law. Senses keen, Willie felt her heart skip when she spied the entrance to the catacombs as described by Rollins. “This way.” No one, including Simon, countered, although once inside the musty labyrinth, Simon, Phin, and Gentry took the lead whilst Eli protected the rear.

As they were all armed with torchlights, golden beams swept over every wall and crevice. Every coffin, every vault. Every disgusting pile of exposed skulls and bones. On pins and needles, Willie almost yelped when she felt a vibration against her ribs.

The telecommunicator.

Strangelove.

She fell back behind Amelia and, whilst pretending to examine a vault, shone her light upon the device. Upon decoding the message, panic ensued.

BRING ACC. WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. SECOND LAMP. MIDNIGHT. SENDING COURIER. YOUR BROTHER. FAIL ME. HE DIES.

How had Strangelove located Wesley? Aye, she and her brother were estranged, but the thought of him dying, let alone because of her , was crushing. The time factor only intensified her angst. By midnight tonight ? Willie pocketed the device and noted the time. Eleven oh five. Surely Strangelove would not have given her such short notice. Had there been a glitch in the transmission? Had the message been delayed? Did he perhaps mean tomorrow? She could not take that chance. If she did not show . . .

“Here!” Phin shouted, his voice echoing down the tunnel and prompting Willie to join the others.

Five torchlights shone upon one vault, illuminating the safe house like a divine entity.

“H. Houdini,” she said, noting the inscription and marveling once again that her mother had dedicated so much of her life to protecting a device that committed her to the bowels of the earth. She did not understand her mother. But she respected her. “We must hurry.”