A Clockwork Heart (2 page)

There was something oddly familiar about this man, but she could not say what. “Well, Captain Dashwood, let's play,” she said.

She picked up her cup and took a sip of the lukewarm liquid. It tasted tinny and so foul that she could not help making a face.

“That coffee looks like it could strip-clean the tanks of a spark engine,” Ducky said.

“You are not wrong.” Elle put the mug to the side. The wedding band she wore on her left hand glinted in the watery light of the mess hall.

Dashwood's smile broadened. He reached over and took her hand in his. “Not married that long then, I see?”

“Long enough,” she answered, drawing her hand away.

“That wedding band is still very shiny. Does your husband approve of you gallivanting around the world in the company of men, Mrs. Marsh?”

Elle glared at him. “I am not gallivanting. I am working. There is a big difference between the two,
Captain
Dashwood.” She used his title with extra emphasis, but the subtlety of the
faux
pas
he had just made by not addressing her by her correct title was completely lost on the man.

He held up his hand. “I was just trying to be friendly. No need to be so prickly.”

She could tell that he was laughing at her, but she was no stranger to the reaction. She had spent years fighting the perception that she was some spoiled rich girl who took to flying because she was bored.

“So, Ducky, how was Japan? You must tell me all about it.” She turned to her friend, ignoring Captain Dashwood entirely.

Ducky's eyes lit up. “Japan is like nothing you have ever experienced. Had to get out of there in a hurry, though. All the signs are that there is serious trouble brewing out there.”

“It's all over the London papers,” Elle said. “Such a worry, isn't it?”

“I found myself without a commission. That was until I heard that the good captain over here was in need of a first officer, on account of a slight problem with crew …”

Ducky broke off what he was saying, for Dashwood gave him a very stern look.

“And so Mr. Richardson found himself stationed on the
Phoenix.
And a finer first officer no captain could hope for,” Dashwood finished Ducky's sentence for him.

Ducky swallowed and picked up the deck of cards. From the looks of things, they had been playing that American card game called poker, which had recently become all the rage.

Captain Dashwood placed a small stack of matchsticks in front of her. “Shilling a stick? Or is that too rich for your blood?”

“Wager accepted, Captain Dashwood.” Elle gave him a slow smile. Her friend the Baroness Loisa Belododia had taught her how to play when Elle and Marsh had stopped by to visit her at her winter castle in the Carpathian mountains. Loisa was an excellent card player and Elle had learned a few tricks from her.

Ducky dealt the hand for them.

Elle felt the soft hum of magic from the amulet around Captain Dashwood's neck the moment she checked her cards, but she said nothing.

He won the first two games easily as Elle observed him play. Each time she looked at her hand, the amulet strummed with an energy that could not be ignored.

So the good captain was cheating. Well, she had a few aces up her sleeve too.

“Another game?” He sat back in his seat with arrogant satisfaction.

“Why not? You seem to be on a winning streak, Captain.”

He laughed softly as Ducky dealt again.

Elle closed her eyes and thought of two cards that would make up a bad hand on the table. Carefully she reached out with her mind and sent the image along the trail of energy back to the captain. His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second and then he gripped his jaw with glee.

Elle glanced at her cards again. She had an ace.

She bet her matchsticks to the growing pile in the center of the table. The game was on.

Expressions grew serious as they concentrated on the cards.

Ducky bet. Elle took another card.

Dashwood drew a card and bit the corner of his lip.

Ducky placed his cards on the table, facedown. “That's as far as my bravery allows me to go,” he said shaking his head at the small fortune in front of him.

Elle and Captain Dashwood stared at each other for a few long moments and Elle felt the crackle of energy from the Shadow side course through her.

“What about you, Mrs. Marsh?” the Captain said.

“Oh, I am still very much in the game, Captain.” She added more matchsticks to the center of the table.

“Hmm, a woman with gumption. I am impressed. But let's see what you are made of. I raise you,” he said as he pushed all of his matchsticks into the center of the table. Then he looked up and gave her a sly smile.

Elle felt the strum of his amulet and fought against it.

“Very well, Captain.” She put all her matchsticks onto the pile. “What else have you got?”

Dashwood scratched his chin and a look of uncertainty flashed across his face. “What did you have in mind, Mrs. Marsh?”

This time it was her turn to give him a sly smile. She leaned forward and pulled the docking papers out of her holdall. “The
Water
Lily
for the
Phoenix.
Winner takes both ships.”

Dashwood's eyes widened in surprise for just a second, but it was enough to tell her that he had not expected her boldness.

“Elle, no! Dashwood never loses,” Ducky put his hand on her arm to stop her.

“There is a first time for everything,” she said without taking her eyes off the captain. “What do you say, Captain Dashwood?”

“Very well then, if you are so eager to part company with your ship. I'll take that wager. Perhaps you could even ask your husband to buy it back for you later,” Dashwood said.

Elle kept her features neutral, but she was sorely tempted to put him in his place. The arrogance of the man was absolutely incredible. And to think, he had been cheating all this time without anyone knowing.

“Show us what you've got,” she said.

“Full house,” he said as he laid the cards down on the table. “Three aces and two kings.”

Elle stared at his cards without saying anything.

He hooted and lifted his arms in the air. “I win and you, madam”—he pointed at her—”owe me a ship.”

“Perhaps, you celebrate a mite too quickly, Captain,” she said.

He sat forward in his chair. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, there are four aces in a deck of cards. And I happen to have the fourth one right here. Along with a king, a queen, a jack and a ten. Of hearts.” She laid the cards out one by one as she named them.

“Blimey,” said Ducky before he burst out laughing.

“I think they call that a Royal Flush. Is that right?”

Dashwood blanched. He stared at the cards before him. “How is that possible?” he muttered.

Elle shook her head. “Well, Captain, I would recommend that you check whether your opponents have special abilities before you start cheating at cards.” She waved her hand over the table. “See?” she said.

Even in the harsh spark lights of the canteen, Elle's arm cast no shadow on the table. It was one of the many peculiarities that being the Oracle brought, for she was the one who walked between the two worlds.

She turned to Ducky. “Ducky, how would you like to come and work for me? I suddenly find myself the owner of an extra airship in need of a pilot,” she said sweetly.

Ducky gawked at her.

“You dirty cheater!” Captain Dashwood slammed his fist down on the table with such force that it made the matchsticks jump.

“Oh no, Captain. It is
you
who are the cheater. I just happened to spot that little mind-reading amulet the moment we sat down. You really should be more circumspect about these things. Now, if you'll excuse me.” She gathered her holdall and rose from the table. “Ducky, will you bring the
Phoenix
to Croydon? Greychesters has rented a hangar there. Take on whichever crew members you consider to be good men and necessary in order to fly her home safely. I will ask Mr. De Beer to arrange the papers for us.” She turned and inclined her head at Dashwood. “Good day to you, sir.”

Ducky rose and gave Dashwood an apologetic shrug. “A wager is a wager, Captain. I'm sorry.”

Dashwood said nothing, he just stared ahead of him as Ducky followed Elle downstairs.

Mr. De Beer looked up from his desk when Elle strode into his office with Ducky at her heels. “The
Iron
Phoenix
is now part of the Greychester Flying Company Fleet,” she said.

“Is she now?” Mr. De Beer said in surprise.

“Yes she is indeed,” Elle said with a little nod. “Can you arrange her papers for Croydon please? Mr. Richardson will pilot her as soon as she is cleared for take off.”

“But what about Captain Dashwood?” Mr. De Beer said.

“What about him?” Elle said.

Her docking agent dabbed his thinning hair with his handkerchief. “Captain Dashwood is not a man I would like to have for an enemy, madam. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“We had a bet and I won. Fair and square. Now the ship is mine and I make no apology for it.”

Mr. De Beer shook his head in dismay. “Very well, then. I will arrange it. You had better get ready for cast off, Mr. Richardson. As luck would have it, I have a departure opening right after the
Water
Lily.
You had better take it before the captain decides to change his mind. We don't want any trouble, now do we?”

“I think that is an excellent idea, sir,” Ducky said. He too was looking slightly out of sorts. Elle noticed him glance over his shoulder at the direction of the mess as he spoke.

“Come, Ducky, you had better show me my new acquisition.” She smiled in triumph as she left De Beer's office. Today was truly a great day for the Greychester Flying Company indeed.

CHAPTER 2

INGOLDSTADT

The icy winter fog swirled and spilled along the cobbled streets, rendering the stone-clad buildings slick as they stood firm against the biting cold.

Clothilde crouched silently on the roof amidst the slow-crumbling gargoyles that guarded the city. She watched as day fought night and the light dissolved into a murky dawn.

It followed her wherever she went, this fog. Ever present, ever swirling. She lifted her head and sipped the air. It would rain soon, as it always did.

Below her, a single lonely bell tolled, warning the good people of this place that it was still time to be indoors. The bell was not wrong, for there were dark creatures afoot at this early hour. And she was one of them.

In anticipation of the icy rain that would soon fall, she tightened her cloak around her, making sure that the hood covered her extraordinary hair. As white as sea-bleached bone, it reached down to her knees. Her skin was pale and fine; her features perfectly molded as if from the finest porcelain. Her lips were bloodless and sculpted, the face of a marble statue.

She knew many glamours of disguise and so she could change her appearance as she pleased, but in her unguarded state, Clothilde was almost entirely devoid of color except for her eyes, which were a startling shade of sea green.

She was one of the last of her kind:
La
Dame
Blanche
—a lady in white.

The promised rain started sifting down, pinpricks of sleet, soaking everything before freezing to a black shell that covered everything.

Clothilde was used to waiting in cold places, for that was her lot in life, and most of the time she welcomed the numbness that it brought. But this morning she had an appointment to keep and so she dare not tarry.

She had chosen the roof of the great cathedral with care. The apex of the dome was a powerful crossroads between the realms of Shadow and Light. Far below her the on the floor was a fine mosaic circle, its Shadow purpose cleverly disguised by the religious symbols of the Light.

This was ironic, because here, high above this city of learning and enlightenment, were all the Shadow elements she needed in one place.

She closed her eyes and reached out to the barrier that held the two realms apart. The barrier was everywhere, visible in the shadows that are cast by every single thing here in the Light. But here, high above the circle, the portal lay open, ready for anyone who had the skill to tap. How stupid these humans were. Thinking that a few puny rules enforced by
Warlocks
could stop someone like her.

The energy reacted to her touch as if it were alive. Some said the barrier had assumed a life of its own after all this time and Clothilde was inclined to believe that. It was certainly unusual for a Shadow creature to touch the void from the Light side. Unusual and highly illegal. The penalty for being caught was instant death. Or so they said. But Clothilde had lived for a very long time and she cared little for the rules imposed on her by men.

She braced herself for the next step. It was big risk to take, reaching into the divide like this—back to front—but she was hungry and the need for nourishment was strong, so it was a risk she was willing to take. She took solace from the fact that no one was watching. No one would know.

Carefully, she reached in between the folds of space and time. It opened up before her—a small rent in reality, fringed with gold. She rooted around until her hand closed around the pocket of trapped energy that hung suspended between the realms, ripe for the picking. The energy pulsed against her palm with a warm life of its own and the sensation sent a delicious shiver through her entire body. Unable to contain herself, she slipped her fingernails into the soft metaphysical membranes. It took only a second, the space between heartbeats, before the magic slipped though the fissure she had created. The sensation was like biting into a ripe, exotic fruit—lush and exquisite. Clothilde could not help uttering a low moan as she felt herself fill with power.

No man could ever match the sensuousness that tapping into the void could evoke. She was young when measured against those of her kind, but she had spent more than one human lifetime searching for a man who was strong enough to withstand her voracious appetites, but they all shriveled up and died, crumbling to dust between her fingers. Such fragile creatures, such a pity.

Sated, she stood and straightened her cloak. A gentle psychic tug caught her attention and she stared in the direction of the university. The pull she felt was the desire of men. She could feel herself being summoned.

The entrance to the small wing in the engineering faculty of Ingolstadt University was through a heavy door made of pure iron. Clothilde wrapped her fist in her cloak to lift the knocker, flinching at the sting of the metal through the fabric.

A young man opened the door for her. He was impeccably dressed in a fine suit, his hair still damp from when he had combed it this morning. The only sign that indicated his association here was the discreet little silver medallion he wore pinned to the lapel of his jacket. His eyes lit up with lust as he took in the full impact of her presence, but she stopped his thoughts before they could go too far. He would be such easy quarry, but this was no time for seduction.

The young doorman frowned with a disappointment he did not fully comprehend before his sense of duty took over. “This way, miss. They are expecting you.”

He led her down a chilly corridor. From the cobwebs that hung in the high corners of the ceiling it was clear that this was a place few visited.

The metal doorframes briefly crackled with a glimmer of blue electricity as she walk by and she had to stop herself from wincing as she passed each one. All these precautions, while understandable, were most annoying.

She was led into an opulent room, decorated with heavy baroque gilding and filigree. A bright fire crackled in the oversized fireplace and filled the room with warmth.

A group of men were seated around a long table that was placed perpendicular to the entrance. They were all dressed in black and each man wore a white mask tied at the back of their heads by a black satin ribbon. Apart from their hair and a few bald patches, the masks completely obscured all recognizable features of the attendees.

This was the Consortium: a group of international financiers who controlled the financial markets of the world.

The power that emanated from the group assembled around the table was almost tangible. But this was a power that had nothing to do with magic. This was the power of the Realm of Light, the power of money and influence.

“Miss de Blanc. We are pleased that you answered our invitation. Apologies for meeting so early, but our members are all busy men and we thought it would be more discreet if we assembled out of sight.” She was not sure which one of the men had spoken.

“Thank you for inviting me. It is an honor to be in such auspicious company.” She made a slow, careful curtsey.

“We have been watching your progress at the medical faculty here with great interest. Your intellect coupled with your other talents makes you truly unique.” He paused for a moment. “A most extraordinary achievement. And a woman too.”

“I thank you, sir,” she said. A shiver of arousal passed through the room as the men reacted to her low voice, but Clothilde felt nothing but contempt for them.

The chairman cleared his throat. “As mentioned in our invitation, we believe that you are ideally suited to the task we have in mind.”

“I am flattered by your praise,” she said. None of the masked members moved. It was most disconcerting.

“It is correct that you are familiar with spark monasteries?”

“Yes, I briefly lived in one as a foundling many years ago.” Clothilde kept her face impassive. She was far older than any of the men she faced. Older even than their grandfathers, for she had lived with the electromancers in the days before the men of the Realm of Light had found ways to use spark to power their machines. It was a fact she would keep to herself. Instead, she smiled sweetly. “The electromancers found me and I stayed with them until they sent me to the convent. I think they always sensed that my talents lay in the workings of the human body, so they sent me to the sisters at a convent that specializes in the healing arts when I was old enough. I worked as a healer in the hospice until the world had changed enough for me to enroll here at the university to study.”

“Splendid.”

“I live to serve,” Clothilde murmured the mantra of the electromancers and inclined her head. “But tell me, what would you have me do?”

“Well, we are most interested in the experiments you have been conducting in the field of galvanism. Most scientists had dismissed the theories long before, but you have persevered.”

“I am not most scientists,” she said with a little smile. “I have always been most interested in the application of spark electricity to flesh and the reanimation it brings.”

“Well, yes, and so we believe that your findings have been most extraordinary.” One of the masked men motioned to a leather knapsack that lay on the table before them. “Your instructions are contained therein. You are to burn the papers once you have read and memorized them.

“I understand,” she said.

“Inside you will find a folder with the necessary letters of introduction. You are to show these to the abbots on the list who are designated to assist you. And most important, you will contact us with news, by means of the method described in the instructions once each stage of the process is completed.”

“I understand,” she said again.

“And you are to follow these instructions to the letter. No exceptions, is that clear?”

“Clear, sir.”

“And Miss de Blanc, we are well aware of your … weaknesses. If the electromancers did anything noteworthy in this regard, it would be that they taught you temperance and control. We do expect that you exercise this at all times. The weather, well, there is not much one can do about that, but we absolutely forbid the seduction of any men for the duration of this contract. Have we made ourselves clear?”

“Yes. No sorcery apart from that needed to complete the task.”

One of the Consortium motioned to the young man who had been waiting discreetly in an inconspicuous corner. He stepped forward with a writing tray complete with pen and ink.

“Then sign the contract please.”

Clothilde picked up the pen. A thick contract lay before her on the tray.

The young man flicked the pages over and showed her where to sign.

She scribbled her name without even looking at the document. There was no point, for there would be no negotiation with the Consortium and besides, she would be long gone before any of them would ever be able to do anything. But if it made them happy, then she would oblige.

She inclined her head in a gesture of subservience when she put the pen down, but inside she felt her emotions roil at their arrogance. In answer, the windows lit up with a flash of lightning and outside thunder rolled as rain lashed against the roof.

“Very good,” the man said. “You are to leave for London without delay. We have booked you a first-class passage on an airship that leaves tonight. We are told that the factory is installed and ready to start up.”

The young man stepped forward and handed her a wallet that was thick with bills.

“You should find enough in there to cover all expenses,” the member of the Consortium said.

“Thank you,” Clothilde said.

“The war between Russia and Japan has created an opportunity for us to move our plans forward sooner than we had envisioned. This venture is therefore an imperative. The emperor is awaiting his first consignment as per the specifications in the papers.”

“War with Russia and Japan?” Clothilde said.

Someone laughed. “Yes, we expect war to be declared at any moment. And we look forward to it with great anticipation. The dawning of a new era.”

“I am honored by the faith you have placed in me,” she said.

“It has nothing to do with faith, Miss de Blanc. We will be watching your every move. There is no room for error. Do you understand?”

“Yes, perfectly,” she said sweetly.

One of the masked men leaned over and whispered something. The one he had spoken to inclined his head.

“Furthermore, we have an additional task for you.”

The man who had whispered nodded and stood up from the table. He walked up to Clothilde and presented her with a wooden case. As she took it from him, she thought she could hear a faint ticking from within.

“We want you to find suitable candidates for these. They need to be strong, as we will be testing this new invention for future use. One of our members known only as the Clockmaker will send you all the additional equipment you will require for this experiment. It must be conducted with the utmost secrecy.”

“I will do my best,” said Clothilde.

The men at the table grew silent. “We do not want your best, Miss de Blanc. We demand your complete and utter compliance with our every request. Any questions?”

“No. I understand completely,” she said. Outside more lightning flashed, filling the room with white light, followed by another rumble of thunder.

The masked man reached into his pocket and pulled out a brass key on a piece of string. He presented it to her with an air of reverence. “The master key for the hearts,” he whispered. “Take care of it.”

As she touched the key to put it round her neck, she felt a tremor of thaumaturgy pass through her. This was very strange magic indeed.

“Very well then, you may go,” one of the men said.

Clothilde gathered up the satchel and case, carefully tucking the wallet inside the folds of her robes.

She gave the Consortium another low curtsey, pausing for an alluring moment before rising and leaving. But as she turned to leave the she kept her face turned to the floor in order to hide the slow smile that spread across her face.