Flights and Chimes and Mysterious Times (24 page)

The airships spread out against the horizon, a half dozen of them in a row neat as a line of buttons, lamps scattered on their decks. Billow-sailed, hulls gleaming, they hovered twenty feet above the fields, ready to rise at the first call.

“That one,” said Jack quietly, pointing to the very end. It was only sense not to choose one in the middle.

“Your shout, Xeno,” said the doctor.

The bottles clinked. Xeno whistled a sweet, pretty tune, all the richer for the warm brass of his jaw, and the sky turned silver.

Faeries, thousands upon thousands of them, descended on the four, a roaring hailstorm of fluttering, wicked metal wings. Xeno waved a bottle of nectar at the one in front of his face and gave instructions, which passed from faery to faery in tinny, cackling whispers. As quickly as they had come, they were gone, swooping off in a dense cloud toward the ship. Beth clapped her hands. All four held their breath.

“Oy!”

“Attack!”

“Pointy wee blighters! Argh!”

The shouts rang out on the deck. Jack lifted the binoculars to his eyes, and it was difficult not to laugh at the utter mayhem. Faeries ripped plumes from helmets; soldiers found their pistols dangled just out of reach. A whole clutch of the creatures swarmed the captain, poking and pulling at him until he abandoned the wheel.

“Save yourselves!” he bellowed. “That’s an order, chaps!”

The other ships, roused by the noise, ran to their cannons and raised their guns. Laughter filled the air as the faeries spread out, and soon not a single ship was spared.

From the belly of the first, the airship Jack wanted, the ramp opened. He remembered ascending one just like it with the Lady and Lorcan. Its edge was still several feet
from the ground when the first men tumbled down, two of them landing with horrid, squishy thumps, never to rise again.

Jack tried to shut that from his mind.

The plan was working. Soldiers ran past in a line, paying no mind at all to Jack or the others as they took off over the hill. Screeching with victory, several faeries landed on the wheel, working as one to steer the ship. It drew to a stop right over Jack’s head, the ramp at his feet.

“Nothing they won’t do for nectars,” Xeno said. The doctor chuckled. “Right then. All aboard!”

W
IND WHIPPED AND
Slapped at Jack. He grinned into it, steering the ship for Londinium. Below, Beth manned the cannons, cheerfully ready to take aim at any of the rest of the fleet foolish enough to follow. Alongside the ship the faeries soared, passing the bottles between them until not a drop was left and they flew in drunken, crooked lines.

At the other end of the deck, Xeno and the doctor argued in hushed voices. Jack strained his ears hard as he could, so that they actually moved on his head, far back as they would go. But still he couldn’t catch more than the odd word.

“Tell him!” That was the doctor.

“Matters not a whit . . .” And Xeno.

Ahead, with the aid of his binoculars, Jack saw the spiky roofs of Londinium, its towers and turrets, factories and steam. Footsteps approached; Jack kept his metal hand on the wheel and turned to Xeno, the crack in his eye looking out over the horizon.

He cleared his throat.

“
Mephisto
,” Xeno began in a slightly sharp voice, “seems to think that seeing as we’ve got this far, we should have a wee chat.”

“What about?” They couldn’t stop now; that would just be daft. And he was close, so close to being able to get home.

“Well, see, we’ve got to build the thing first, of course. Put it back to rights, poor creature. But if Sir Lorcan
is
using it to keep himself alive, as is clearly the case, and it summons its soul back . . .”

“Lorcan will die,” said Jack. “Yes, I know.” He
hoped
so.

Xeno’s face cleared. “Told ’im you were made of strong stuff. You can go home knowing you’ve done a fine thing, young Jack. We’ll all be better off without that man, with his whisperin’ and whatnot in the Lady’s ear. And we’ll ’ave the Gearwing back.”

The Empire had needed him, after all. No one else had discovered the secret of the Gearwing. Even to Dr.
Snailwater, who was very clever, it had been only a myth. But he wasn’t meant to stay here forever. A home of his own waited in London, full of Mother and Father and Mrs. Pond, who would be so proud of the things he’d learned here.

“Steady now!” cried the doctor. Londinium was beneath them, the first scattered hovels coal black in the night. Around them the faeries cheered, or at least Jack believed so. It was a bit hard to tell with faeries. The melting Thames rippled, a great steely ribbon flung across the city, and beside it the clock tower rose to needle at the sky, the top hidden by clouds.

Jack slowed the airship. The wind died a little in his ears. Gas lamps behind the clock faces beckoned them, a lighthouse on land. So close, he could see the individual flames behind the thick white glass, a dozen of them fuzzy and flickering.
Tick, tick,
went the Gearwing’s feathers, counting the minutes.

“Going up,” he said to the others. Beth had joined them and stood at the prow, hair streaming behind her. Choking, blinding fog swallowed the airship whole, so Jack couldn’t even see his hands on the wheel. It soaked his clothes with filthy drops. He couldn’t breathe, could only hold the wheel with all his might. The world spun around him and he didn’t know which way was up or down.

Suddenly, the masts pierced through the thickest of
the cloud, letting in streams of moonlight, brighter and brighter until the whole deck was lit with it and glorious air filled Jack’s lungs.

“Everyone all right?” the doctor asked. Jack nodded, turned to look at the others. Xeno held fast to a railing. Beth, completely unperturbed, hadn’t moved an inch. And there, right before them, was the enormous iron bell that would never ring for this clock again.

Closer, closer. The wooden hull nudged against the stone tower, and Xeno lowered the gangplank, sprinting across it with an armful of heavy rope. The faeries formed a wide circle all around the tower, wings flapping, ready to pounce on any who came their way.

Tethered to the thick columns at two of the belfry’s corners, the airship rocked only a bit in the wind. Beth skipped into the tower, causing the doctor to clutch at his heart before he edged with slow, cautious footsteps, weighed down with his sack of tools. It was really a very long way up; Jack’s stomach knotted tighter with each step, relaxing only when he landed on the solid belfry floor.

The greasy smell of the clock room made Jack feel ill. He’d spent a great deal of time imagining the Gearwing trapped here with it, each tick a tiny scream. The doctor handed out tools, and Jack, who had the deftest hands, skin and metal alike, crawled beneath the mechanism with
a turnscrew. The constant motion above filled his head.

“We’re saving you,” he told it, which made him feel better even if it couldn’t hear him.

Again and again, they filled Dr. Snailwater’s sack with pieces. The ones that were too large were carried between Xeno and the doctor, carefully up the winding staircase and over the plank. Sweat beaded on Xeno’s brow as he hauled the escapement up through its hole in the floor, hand over fist on the thick cables.

Silence, deafeningly loud, filled the room. The clock had stopped ticking.

This would be the thing. Many times they had wondered whether Lorcan would feel this moment, sense it with the magic he’d used to steal lifetimes. Jack was sure of it. Somewhere in his exile, this was the moment Lorcan would know and would surely set sail for Londinium with every haste.

Time, now that it wasn’t being measured, seemed to speed up. The four worked faster, wiping eyes with grimy arms so as to see the tiny slots in the heads of the screws. Hands were wiped on rags when they slipped on bolts thick as thumbs.

“That’s the last,” said the doctor, and it was. All that remained of the clock was a dark smudge of grease spread over half the floor. “In here, leastways.”

He was worried. Jack knew why, but it’d be all right. It
had
to be all right.

Though Jack himself was a little worried, too.

Rust-red metal covered the deck of the ship, bright, yet dull at the same time in the moonlight. The faeries giggled and pointed, but Jack did not laugh. He took the wheel and prepared to hold his breath, ready to descend through the miasma of cloud.

“Ready,” said Xeno. The ship began to drop. It was easier this time, knowing the disorientation would come, but still Jack was relieved to break free, gasping and cold though he was.

“Oh, don’t be such worrywarts,” said Beth when Jack had pulled the ship to a stop, the bottom of the ship level with the clock’s westward face. “You’ll put me back together if I fall, won’t you, doctor?”

“Of course, dear,” said the doctor in a hoarse whisper.

She knotted a rope about her waist, the other end tied to the sturdiest mast.

Jack looked over the ship’s prow, regretting it immediately. At once the ground seemed very far away and near enough to be terrifyingly solid. Beside him, the doctor shook with nerves.

Oh, he couldn’t watch. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, so as not to see the moment she climbed onto the railing and jumped to hang below the ship.

“All right,” she called up. “Close as you can, please, and quick before I lose a shoe.” Jack brought the side of the ship flush to the tower, the fingers of his metal hand crossed in a wish.

But she did not fall. The rope did not break. Piece by piece, she removed each feather marking the minutes from the first face, slipping them into a satchel around her neck. With a larger turnscrew, she pulled free the long, copper hands, the tail feathers of the magnificent Gearwing, so nearly alive and no longer a myth. Beyond the sentineled faeries, the sky was lightening. Together, they hoisted Beth back to the deck to empty her arms and the satchel; then Jack steered the ship carefully around to the next face, then the next and the next. A mountain of feathers grew, weather-dull, razor-sharp. When the last one dropped atop the pile, the four gathered around it, looking at one another for a moment.

Every last part. They were ready.

•  •  •

They flew westward through a faery storm, the sky clogged with the creatures until Xeno called to them and thanked them for their assistance; it had been very useful, thank you very much, but here, take more nectars and be on your way. Now Jack could see, and he steered the ship for the spot they’d chosen, deep in a thick forest just outside the city, where the ship could hide among the trees.

Landing was only slightly tricky. The bottom of the ship snapped branches, sending tiny steel birds into shocked flight. It scraped against rocks, bouncing about until Jack felt fizzy as a bottle of champagne, his head about to pop right off.

“That’ll do,” said the doctor. He and Xeno busied themselves with ropes, throwing and tying until the vessel was properly moored. It hung just a little ways in the air, enough to open the ramp and leave, should they wish to.

None of them wished to. Jack wasn’t even sleepy, though he’d been awake a very long time. The fingertips of his normal hand itched to begin; the tips of the others felt like they did. The doctor ordered him into warm, dry clothes and to eat some bread and cheese, washed down with tea made in the ship’s galley.

“I . . . I . . . ,” said Beth, her eyelids fluttering. She sat down, her back against the railing, beneath a branch furred with leaf buds.

“Leave her,” said the doctor. “We’ll wind her up again in a bit.” Jack’s hand stopped an inch from her key.

“The soul needs rest, even if the body can thunder on like a steam train,” said Xeno. “There’s beds below if you—”

“No, thank you,” said Jack.

The doctor chuckled. “Not surprised. All right, lad, this is your show.” He waved a hand at the gathered pieces,
hundreds of them, perhaps thousands. Chilly doubt crept into Jack, but if he gave up now, he would never get home.

And they didn’t have much time, if Lorcan knew.

Jack walked among the parts, careful not to tread on a single one. Just in case. He was good at this, he reminded himself. Hadn’t he always known just how to fix the gramophone or the bellpull without even looking in a book?

He thought of Beth, broken on the tables.

These long pipes, those were legs, yes. And the shorter ones, for the joints of wings. He began to separate the pieces, just as they’d done in the workshop, gathering them in groups. Hoping he had the faintest clue what he was doing. The doctor ran about, taking measurements and jotting them down in a notebook, muttering.

Xeno had been right; the talons, which had been tucked away in the back of the clock, looked like nothing else. By the first pinking of dawn, the feet were assembled and attached to the legs. The deck was hard beneath him as he sat for hours, squinting, comparing bits side by side. Xeno and the doctor brought cups of tea that grew cold, bread that hardened to rocks. His fingers slipped with oil, and when his normal hand grew too stiff with ache to turn another screw, fix another rivet, the doctor took over, then Xeno, who wasn’t as skilled at this sort of thing, but who knew the story of the Gearwing best.