A Clockwork Heart (23 page)

CHAPTER 31

Patrice gasped like a goldfish hovering just below the surface of a pond as the world came into focus. It took him a full few seconds to work out that the metal beams before his eyes were roof trusses.

He groaned and tried to sit up, but a terrible pain shot through his chest.

“Be still or you will reopen the wounds,” a woman's voice said with measured calmness.

“You!” Patrice croaked as the sight of Clothilde swam into view. “What have you done to me, you harlot of Shadow?”

“Now, is that really necessary?” she said.

Patrice ran his hand over the thick padded bandages that were strapped tightly around his torso. “What is this?” he mumbled. “Why can't I feel my legs?”

“The wound has been cauterised and sealed up, but I have taken the liberty of numbing your body from the waist down so you won't accidentally hurt yourself by trying to run away too soon. You should be able to move in a few hours—as soon as your insides settle.” She was busy with her equipment and packing things away on the shelves and in cupboards.

“My heart,” Patrice said. “You cut out my heart!” Patrice felt a fresh wave of horror and outrage wash over him, temporarily numbing the pain.

“And I must thank you for that. It was a most useful experiment with surprising results. I have, for the most part, managed to reverse the effects of the organ removal. Apart from a scar on your chest, I expect you will fully recover.”

“Why?” he said. This woman baffled him utterly.

“Well, when the charming Emilian blurted out my secret, I needed to make sure that you would keep your mouth shut. And with the warlock missing, I thought you might make a passable replacement.”

“Then why bring me back?” Even in his current state, Patrice was a pragmatist. Nothing in this world came without its price.

“Well, you are more useful to me fully alive than undead. So here you are.”

“It's the Oracle,” he said. Of course it would be.

Clothilde's expression remained impassive.

“She's hunting you and you need me to tell you how to stop her.” Patrice started laughing at the irony, but the laugh ended up in a painful cough.

“A bit of advice would be gladly received,” Clothilde said with an air of feigned nonchalance
.

Patrice started chuckling again, this time with a little more caution. “And what makes you think I would be inclined to help you?”

“I had a little look at your legs while you were unconscious,” she said sweetly.

Patrice tensed. He hated the hideous half-shadow mess the lower half of his body had become. The anguish and embarrassment of being only half a man—a man who was absolutely no use to any woman—burned and he looked away.

“That's quite an injury you have there. I could not neutralize it completely, but I did manage to turn it to your advantage.”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“Only if you tell me how to stop the Oracle.”

Patrice started laughing again. “Oh you poor simple creature. It was the Oracle who did this to me.” He tried to wiggle his feet, but they were completely numb. “Unless you kill her where she stands, there is no stopping her.” He coughed. “A hapless monstrosity like yourself does not stand a chance. All she'll do is make you obliterate yourself with your own power.”

“But she can be killed?” Clothilde's voice held some hope.

“Oh yes, she's just a mortal girl. But I wish you much luck with that. If I know Eleanor Chance—and I do—she”ll not submit to death without putting up one serious fight.”

“I wouldn't be laughing this much if I were you,” Clothilde said. “You have a powerful
meticule
at work within you. It needs time to settle or you will turn.”

Patrice turned his head toward her. “I laugh,
madame,
because I am already a dead man, clockwork heart or not. And so are you.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice rose to an eardrum-splitting pitch. “Tell me!”

“If you don't kill her, she is going to murder you. You took her husband away from her and that is not going to sit well with the lady.” Patrice wiggled his shoulders as if he were trying to get more comfortable on the wooden table that held him. “And if you kill her.” He started laughing again. “Well, the men who will come after you for killing their Oracle are far worse than she could ever be. You will die slowly, chained up in darkness while they sap every bit of Shadow magic out of you. Drop by drop. And no one will hear you scream.”

“I don't believe you,” Clothilde said.

Patrice turned his head away. “You don't have to.”

“What shall I do?” Clothilde said. She stood before the rows of jars before her. “All my work … it will all be in vain,” she murmured.

Patrice did not answer. He felt too tired to bother. Strange waves of nausea alternated by sensations of giddiness vibrated through him.

She swiveled round and walked over to him. “Perhaps there is a way,” she said.

“Let me alone,” he mumbled.

“Join forces with me. Together we can destroy them,” she said. Her voice assumed a seductive tone, but to Patrice it sounded hollow and false.

Patrice smiled at her. “You may do whatever you want, my dear. I am going to lie here and watch this little performance unfold. At least I will die entertained.”

“No!” she said. “You have to help me! I demand that you tell me what I want to know or else I will end your life right here and now.”

Patrice turned his face away and grunted. Enough was enough. He had been pandering to this crazy witch for long enough and his patience was up. He gathered up what little strength he had and reached up to grab her. Suddenly, a strange sensation of power flooded through him and his large hand closed around her delicate throat without any difficulty. He dragged her face close to his.

Her eyes widened and she let out a noise in the back of her throat in surprise.

“What have you done to me?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Set the power within you loose … was a chance you might become a warlock … it's working,” she choked.

Patrice let go of her and stared at his hand in surprise. It looked exactly like it did before.

Clothilde had stumbled to the ground where she was coughing violently and gasping for air.

“Explain!” he barked.

“Instead of allowing the Shadow to simply eat away at you as it has done so far, I reworked it so you would be able to harness it. It's not the same type of power that the warlocks use, but it works on the same principles. In time, as you adapt, your body should become your own again.”

Patrice stared at her in wonderment. If what she was telling him was true, he would have real power. And he would be whole again.

“I thought we might be good together,” she whispered.

Patrice started laughing again, but this time he tapped into the delicious darkness that swirled within him. His voice rose and filled the laboratory. “And now I am too powerful. You cannot kill me. And the puny tricks you use on men are but an insignificant crumb by comparison. Behold the monster you have created!”

She did not answer him, but her look told him that he had hit the answer squarely on the head.

She rose and turned to the door. “I have neither the time nor the inclination to argue with you,
monsieur
. You have your heart back and I have done what I can to heal you, so the debt has been repaid.” He could see that she was scrabbling to regain her composure.

“
Madame,
” he said as she reached the door.

She turned and for a moment there was a sad loneliness in her face that made him bite back the nasty comment he was about to throw at her. “Here is a little advice that you can have for free … Don't poke anything that looks like a nest unless you are absolutely sure it's not full of hornets,” he said instead.

“I fear it may be too late for that,” she said. “Rest now. You will be ready to move very soon.”

Those were the last words he remembered the lady in white say before the world went black around him again.

CHAPTER 32

“Is everybody ready?” Elle looked over her shoulder at the motley crew of people who made up the Greychester household. They were all assembled in the entrance hall, dressed to kill and ready to set out on what was, quite frankly, an insane plan.

The professor donned his pith helmet and ran his fingers over his moustache, which he had waxed especially for the occasion. “Huzzah!” he said, using an expression from his military days.

Dr. Miller stood beside him, dressed in his white coat and holding his medical bag at the ready. He donned his bowler hat. “Ready, my lady,” he coughed politely in answer. He had agreed to be on hand, in case of any injuries.

Neville and Caruthers were also both suited and booted. Neville had his trusty cricket bat by his side and Caruthers had, with permission of course, taken one of the cavalry swords from the library. It gleamed, finely polished and sharpened at his side.

The Stanley motor had been parked outside the front door, waiting for their departure.

Elle turned to Mrs. Hinges. “And you are sure you will be all right manning the fort here while we are gone?”

Mrs. Hinges waved Elle off. “Of course I will be fine. Never you mind me.”

“Where is Loisa?” Elle looked around, but the Nightwalker was nowhere to be seen. “Has anyone seen Loisa?”

Just then, a black steam cab pulled up to the door. Loisa was in the driving seat and by the way she was swinging the steering this way and that, it was apparent that she was not completely
au
fait
with the driving of the vehicle. She skidded to a halt, just inches away from the bumper of the Stanley and let the engine stall. The cab backfired with a blast of steam that rocked its suspension.

Quite unperturbed by her terrible driving, Loisa waved at them and hopped off the top of the cab. In one graceful motion she was beside Elle at the front door.

“Loisa, what on earth—?” Elle said taking in the Nightwalker's elegant little black goggles and a black-and-white striped scarf.

“I thought we might need more wheels for this evening, so I picked up this little darling up in town. Do you like it?”

“That's very generous of you, but a cab?” Elle said still somewhat surprised.

“Actually, I can't believe it has taken me so long to make the switch to steam. Horses have always been afraid of my kind. And you have to feed them and stable them. And then when you drive through the mountains, wolves try to eat them, leaving you stranded in the snow. Always such a bother.” She shrugged. “But I suppose I am old and very set in my ways.”

“Where on earth did you manage to buy a London cab at this hour?” Elle said.

Loisa shrugged in her typical noncommittal way. “Let's just say that the previous owner and I negotiated an excellent exchange.”

Elle thought better of inquiring any further. What she did not know, she did not have to lie to the police about later. Instead, she hugged her friend warmly. “Loisa, I don't know what I would have done without you.”

Loisa just patted Elle's cheek. “Let's not get too sentimental quite yet, my dear. We still have a way to go before this awful nightmare is over.”

“Quite right,” Elle said, composing herself. “Caruthers, let's load his lordship into the cab. I think he might stand less of a chance of falling out in there.” Elle started directing everyone about. “Neville, I think you are a better driver than Loisa.” She glanced at her friend apologetically. “So I think you should take the cab with the doctor. I will take the Stanley with Caruthers and my father.”

“Yes, my lady.” Neville and Caruthers disappeared back into the house to fetch Marsh.

Elle stood by with her heart in her mouth as she watched them wheel Marsh down the makeshift ramp of planks placed over the stairs to the cab. The bath chair wobbled dangerously and the professor had to step in and grab hold of the one side to stop it from toppling down the stairs, but they made it in the end.

Marsh was trussed up from head to toe in strong canvas that had been buckled down with leather straps. He groaned mournfully and moved his muzzled head side to side when they secured him in his seat of the cab.

Elle put a reassuring hand on his forehead. “Shh, my love, it”s nearly over. We're going to fix this, I promise,” she said softly. Her voice seemed to calm him enough to allow Dr. Miller and one of the maids to get into the cab with him.

“Wait! Before we go!” The professor ran back up the steps and into the house.

Oh, what is it now? Elle wondered, growing impatient.

The professor appeared a few moments later, with a leather carrying case.

“It's the spark blaster. I've been tinkering about with it since Constantinople.” He opened the case to reveal what looked like an old-fashioned blunderbuss with a glass bottle attached to the top. “You'll get about four clear blasts out of this reservoir,” he said.

“Thank you, Papa,” Elle said. She hugged him and kissed his cheek.

“Now you all remember the plan or do I need to repeat it again?” the professor said.

“I think we are all fully briefed,” Elle said. “If everybody is ready, let's be on our way. Time is wasting.”

Elle felt a rush of affection as everyone rushed to take their positions. She would have to remember to tell Marsh all about this later.

As she climbed into the driving seat of the Stanley, Elle gave a little smile. The professor may have planned this expedition right down to the smallest detail, but she still had a few trump cards to play. As a precaution, she had sent an urgent telegram to Ducky up in Farnborough where he was seeing to the repairs to the
Phoenix
.

To her relief, he had telephoned her this afternoon long distance to tell her that he was on his way and that he would meet them at the monastery. It did not hurt to have a contingency plan, in case things went wrong. And an air evacuation was the quickest, safest plan she could think of. She was not going to allow any of the people she loved to be hurt, she vowed.

Elle took a deep breath to calm herself and released the brakes of the car. “Let's go and find my husband's heart,” she said to her passengers.

The full moon fought with the craggy clouds as the Greychester convoy pulled into Battersea Park. Elle had not noticed it the last time she had been here, but the normally well-tended hedges looked shabby as if someone had forgotten to prune them in a while. This was very odd, because the electromancers were known for their fastidious care of plants and gardens.

“Let's stop here, so they won't see the cars.” Elle motioned for Neville to pull up behind an overgrown coppice of trees. The cab shuddered to a halt next to the Stanley.

“There she blows,” the professor murmured.

The monastery rose up before them with its four imposing spark collection towers. The building looked like a gargantuan dreadnought, armed and ready battle.

Elle got out of the Stanley and strode over to the cab. “Neville, I think you should keep the spark blaster with you. Stay here with Marsh until we give the signal. And don't let anyone near him,” Elle said.

“I won't, my lady. The professor had me practice with this thing to test it the other day. Rest assured, no one will come near us, not if I have anything to say in the matter.” He slipped the leather strap attached to the blaster over his shoulder. The blue spark glowed in the glass canister and cast an eerie light over Neville's face. Elle realized, to her sudden embarrassment, that despite the fact that Neville was prepared to die in service, she did not know his Christian name.

She turned and faced him. “Say, Mr. Neville. If you don't mind me asking, what is your first name?”

Even in the half-light Elle noticed Neville color. “It's Giles, my lady. Giles Neville.”

“Well, Giles Neville, if I do not return from this errand, please take care of my husband as long as you can. It has been an honor knowing you, sir.”

“And you, my lady,” he said with a gracious bow.

Elle turned to Loisa who was waiting by her side as always. “Ready?”

“More than ready.” Loisa smiled at her in and in the faint moonlight, Elle caught a glimpse of fang.

She led the way through the park toward the monastery. Behind them, Dr. Miller and the professor made hardly a sound. Everything was deathly quiet. Not even the crickets chirped in the shrubs and bushes around them. It was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.