Clockwork Looking Glass (Heart of Bronze Book 1)

by Michael Rigg

  That was when I decided to come awake. Stretching slightly under the greatcoat, still clutching it tightly against me, I said, "Where are we going?"

  Bryce offered a comforting smile. "The Philadelpha Tesla Bridge is in the heart of Philly. We'll need transport, and probably disguises to get there. We're goin' to ride the Network home to Louisiana, but not before we meet a friend of mine who will help you out." He gave me a wink. "For starters, find you somethin' presentable to wear in public."

  My blank stare must have disturbed him. He added, "Did none of what I just said make sense to you... Alice?"

  "Louisiana and Philadelphia are familiar. A state and a city. Tesla...." I frowned. The name seemed familiar to me but I wasn't sure how it fit with a bridge. Still, it could be a bridge I'm not familiar with. I told him so.

  "Well, that's somethin'," Bryce nodded, turning his attention forward as the carriage dropped altitude and angled toward a wide canopied platform suspended between two tall buildings. "At least you're familiar with the map. You do know that our planet is called Earth, correct?" His smile was warm as he joked.

  "Of course," I tried to smile back but couldn't despite his warmth. "And this is North America, on the east coast of the United States."

  Bryce and Lucien exchanged glances.

  It was the butler who spoke up over the rattle of the engine as the carriage descended. "The Imperial United States, you mean?"

  I shifted the coat around me and turned the sleeve to examine the patch. It was a red flag with a blue field of stars in the top left corner like the one I saw on the tower where I woke. "And this is...?"

  Bryce's eyes dimmed. I could tell that my lack of memory indicated in him that my condition was probably far worse than he had imagined since I apparently forgot huge chunks of history.

  "That's the flag of the Confederation, my dear," Bryce said. "It's the standard for both nations since the South won the first Civil War in 1863." His voice was proud as he gave me my first lesson, but I could tell there was worry in his words too, worry that I didn't recall such a huge turn of events.

  The term 'Confederate' meant something to me, as did Civil War, but it came to my mind in a totally different context than Bryce was giving me. How could I recall a completely different historical outcome if I only had amnesia? If I was a brainwashed sleeper cell, what purpose did my handlers have washing away huge lengths of reality? Unless that was part of the programming. Such a huge twist to my subconscious might make me more amenable to other planted suggestions. If I am a sleeper agent, I hoped my trigger word or phrase brings it all back. I frowned in frustration.

  I decided it was best to hold my tongue on the matter until after we landed. Who knew what would happen if I said the wrong thing. Hell, a butler flying a carriage almost shot me.

  The aerocar descended and touched down with a bounce on springy wheels. It rolled under a wide awning and toward a group of soldiers dressed in gray uniforms similar to Bryce.

  As we wheeled closer and turned, Bryce said, "Lucien, Alice. Let me do all the talkin' now."

  "Very good, sir," Lucien nodded and lowered his goggles so they hung around his neck. He pushed the spectacles up to the bridge of his nose. I simply bobbed my chin and hugged the coat tighter around me, twisting and squirming in the seat so I could actually put my arms through the sleeves.

  A soldier with a short rifle slung over his shoulder stepped up to the driver's compartment, but he didn't look at Lucien. Instead, his eyes traveled over me—more like leered over me—then flashed with recognition on Bryce's tunic collar.

  "Captain!" The man snapped off a salute. He spoke with the same English accent as the butler.

  "Corporal. I'm Cap'n Landry of the Dixon Overwatch Guard. I'm here on personal business."

  The man eyed me once more and, barely concealed an amused smirk. He pulled a pen from an inside pocket of his uniform coat and took down tag numbers from the front and rear of the vehicle, scribbling on a small clipboard.

  "Are you carrying any weapons, sir?"

  Bryce nodded and held up the small black pistol he'd taken from Lucien.

  "And you have a Corporate Ident, Captain Landry?"

  Bryce nodded again as he leaned across me and pushed open the carriage door. "Excuse me, my dear," he smiled and winked before nimbly stepping over me and hopping out. I watched as he followed the corporal to the group of soldiers now standing around some kind of check-in desk. I couldn’t help admire the broadness of Bryce’s back, the purposeful timber to his stride, the way he casually brushed back his thick hair with a gesture.

  Makeshift panels separated the outdoor 'room' from the rest of the 'garage' and I saw things that looked like Scuba tanks with hoses and levers attached to them hanging on a wall nearby. A small flag, like the one at the tower and Bryce's coat, hung on another wall. I took that as a good sign.

  The platform beneath the enormous awning appeared half-full of vehicles like the one we were in, but there were also one-, two- and three-winged airplanes here, and small blimps with wings and hissing motors hovering in their moorings just outside in the rain. Apart from the soldiers, a couple stood talking to one another by one of the larger planes. The man wore a black greatcoat and top hat. The woman wore a dark green dress with a bustle and frilled collar. She wore a small hat with a veil. They looked like they stepped out of a storybook, not—from what I knew—like they belonged, at least not in the world, or screened memory, I was just starting to remember.

  I leaned forward and eyed Lucien as he watched his captain deal with the guards. I hated the idea of speaking to him, a little afraid he’d try to kill me again, another part of me thinking he’d ignore me completely. Still, my deep curiosity won out and I cleared my throat. "Lucien? What did he mean by Corporate Ident?"

  The butler huffed as he pulled a pipe from a pocket in his vest. He tucked it between his teeth and grumbled around the stem. I sat back, sure he wasn’t going to answer me until he did. "A Corporate Ident is a pass code. Only corporate families and upper echelon employees have them. Only those with Corporate Idents may carry weapons."

  My jaw dropped slightly and I looked to where Bryce had been escorted. "But that gun was yours," I said in a harsh, but low, voice as if the guards could hear me if I didn't. "Do you have a Corporate Ident?"

  He chewed the pipe stem. "No, madam, I do not," Lucien said. In the rear view I saw his beady eyes and rosy jowls glow as he struck a match and lit the pipe. The smell of cedar and apples wafted toward me, mingling with the aroma of rain-dampened canvas.

  I watched as Bryce removed his tunic and allowed one of the soldiers to roll up his sleeve. Another approached with a machine. The hand-held device looked like a gun, but there were wires and exposed gears on one side of it. A bright, piercing red light glowed from its wide rectangular barrel.

  Some of the guards glanced in my direction. I tried to keep my head down, to avoid being the object of attention. I was sure they'd call me out on something any second, maybe even finger me as a witch as Lucien had done.

  The guard with the 'gun' held it to a mark on Bryce's arm and pulled the trigger. The red light flashed and a metallic 'ping' sounded. An amber light on the metal desk turned green and the guards loosened up, a couple of them actually laughing. A moment later, Bryce returned to us, buttoning up his tunic.

  It seemed we were free and clear.

  Not quite.

  "Oh, Captain?" the Corporal called out. Bryce, who was smiling at me as he approached, dropped the smile as he stopped and turned.

  "Yes, Corporal?"

  "The lady?" The soldier nodded toward me with a smirk. He glanced toward Lucien. "I can assume that he's your man, but who is the lady?" Lucien slightly nodded his head and touched his bowler as he was identified.

  Bryce glanced back at me. I saw worry flash across his eyes even in the dim gaslight of the sky carriage platform.

  "I only ask, sir, because she seems preoccupied with covering herself with your officer's coat
. Is there a reason she—?"

  "Property," Bryce blurted. "She's Property I won in a game of chance just outside New Yorke."

  "Ah," the man nodded. His previous leer had now become a sour look of distaste. "Can't imagine a man of your position would have a need for Property, Captain Landry. You appear to be a man of taste and good humor."

  "I don't," Bryce chuckled. He avoided my eyes as he said, “As I said, I won her in a game of chance. I’m considering givin' her to my brother for an early Christmas present. He already has one. I thought it would be entertainin' to close the set." I couldn't tell from this angle, but I thought I caught a wink from Bryce toward the Corporal.

  The guard only nodded, then pointed toward a wide set of double iron doors on the far side of the platform. "Those will take you to the Market Landing, Captain. Haley's is two blocks down to your right and down three levels."

  Bryce touched his forehead with a friendly salute. "My thanks, Corporal."

  Lucien took a nod from Bryce and stepped out of the carriage, opening the door for me while Bryce looked on, his jaw set and tension behind his eyes. Whatever scheme he was pulling to get me in, it seemed to be working, but also seemed to carry a high price. I glanced once toward the collection of guards. The Corporal was pointing in my direction and speaking in low tones. The others chuckled or snorted. One of them made fists and pulled his arms back quickly to his sides as he thrust his hips forward, “air humping” in my direction. I quickly looked away. I figured the term 'Property' as Bryce used it was something less than its literal meaning as I knew it, and I felt a pang deep in my heart for anyone of this world who would be branded with such a title. The word “slavery” played across my shrouded memory, but this was somehow different if only slightly. I knew it was a ploy, but it didn't keep me from feeling more naked than I already was under the coat, used, discarded, sub-human.

  And it made me wonder if there were other women kept in dungeons where Bryce Landry lived; sex slaves held as Property to be traded in card games for the enjoyment of others. I refused to believe it. He certainly didn’t look to be the type to own slaves, sexual or otherwise.

  Bryce led the way to the doors as Lucien and I fell into step behind him, the butler with his hand on my back as I hugged the coat to my body. Rain dripped through the canvas awning in several worn spots. The wet deck below my bare feet was ribbed with metal bands, making it hard to maintain my footing, but I did my best to keep up. Lucien whispered, "Keep your head down, woman, and don't make eye contact with anyone."

  I bobbed my chin once and kept my eyes down as we entered the area known as Market Landing. As soon as the double doors closed behind us, I looked up and took in the surroundings.

  Built between twelve and eighteen stories in the air, bridging the tall concrete, iron and bronze buildings of downtown Philadelphia, Market Landing looked to be a series of wide and inter-connecting bridges with ornately carved balustrades. Wide awnings above the walkways kept the rain off the people walking from shop to shop, pouring in guttered streams hundreds of feet to the streets below. Somewhere in the distance I heard the chuffing of a train, either down below or up among the skyscrapers, I couldn’t tell from the echo.

  There were a few people out and about in the early damp evening, couples dressed in top hats and long dresses, others dressed in leather jackets and goggles, soldiers like Bryce, and several men in jackets or suit coats wearing various bowlers or wide-brimmed hats. A policeman nearby wore a knee-length blue leather coat with brass buttons and epaulets, his left arm clad in some kind of plated armor hinged with gears. A shield-shaped badge adorned his chest as well as the English Bobby-styled helmet he wore. The officer touched his nightstick to his helmet brim as we passed, saluting Bryce, paying little attention to Lucien, and turning his nose up at me.

  We had only gone a few yards when Bryce stopped so suddenly Lucien and I almost ran into him.

  "Well, if it ain't Bryce bedamned Landry!" shouted a diminutive girl with a long black braid and a leather pilot's jacket. Her left eye sported a dark bruise and her jaw was swollen. She ran up to him and jumped into his arms, kissing him on both cheeks.

  "Pandoralicious!" Bryce smiled as he effortlessly grabbed her by the waist and set her back down. "You're gettin' smaller."

  "So are you," she teased with a glance to his trousers. She chewed and the swell of her jaw moved from one side to the other. The girl looked past Bryce to me and offered a wave as she looked me up and down. "Damn, Cap, you caught yourself a looker here. Figures you’d bring home a broad. She pregnant?" Then she spit and I saw it was chewing tobacco. The girl couldn't have been more than 17 or 18.

  I couldn't see Bryce's face in the dim wet lamplight of the street, but I imagined by his downcast eyes that he was blushing, or going crimson with anger. When he spoke, however, his voice was measured and ignored the girl’s question. He said, "We call her Alice—as in Wonderland. She appears to have amnesia."

  I nodded, poked my hand out of the giant coat sleeve to wave my fingers. The girl smiled at me. “Hiya, Alice. I'm Pandora. Like the box.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said weakly.

  She turned her attention back to Bryce. "No foolin'? Jeez, how'd you get her in here past the Graycoats on the platform?"

  Bryce's mouth curled up on one side before he said, "Don't ask. I thought we were meetin' you at Haley's?"

  The girl shrugged as she nodded a greeting to Lucien who touched the brim of his bowler in response, "I ran into some trouble."

  "Why am I not surprised. Is Wilco nearby?"

  Pandora said, "Bless you," then Lucien sneezed.

  Bryce narrowed his eyes at her. "Dora."

  "Ah! Don't call me that. It ain't my name."

  "None of your tricks."

  Lucien tugged at his collar as he glanced behind us nervously. "Bryce, we should move along."

  "Right you are." Bryce turned to the girl and gestured up the street. "Pandora, if you please?"

  Pandora released a sound that sounded like a snake hissing before looking at me. "Okay." Then she turned and spit the dark wad of tobacco over the edge of the walkway. I cringed, but that only seemed to make her smile with teeth smeared brown. "I think we can get somethin' for her to wear, somethin' simple, unassuming, prudish." She said the last word with an emphasis I took as some kind of stab at Bryce, something perhaps related to her earlier comments about the Captain's apparent habit of rescuing women.

  Bryce said, "Anything would be better than my oversized coat." He smiled down at me, “Though I do find it appealin' in contrast to your lovely Irish tresses, Alice.”

  “Oh, jeez, already!” Pandora looked me up and down again and nodded as though reaching a decision about something. "Okay, tootsie. I got somethin' that might work for ya."

  "Thank you," I offered quietly.

  Bryce said, "Let's go," and the three of us followed the girl down a dank alley created by bridging grates and fire escapes. The metal grids beneath our feet clanked and creaked as we approached an open door. A small man with a large beard stood in the warm glow of the doorway. I moved slowly and they all walked at my pace. The grates were cold and painful, and not meant for the bare-footed.

  As we got closer, I heard Pandora whisper something to Bryce, tip-toeing to reach his ear. "She ain't what Lucien says she is."

  "I know that," Bryce nodded. "But it's good to have you confirm it nonetheless."

  Pandora glanced over her shoulder at me. She winked. "Yeah. It takes one to know one... and she ain't one.

  "Bless you!" she shouted back toward Lucien. Lucien glanced up and sneezed.

  Wiping his nose with a hanky from his back pocket, the butler said, "Ah, thank you, young lady," then muttered something about "Damnable dampness."

  Pandora and Bryce exchanged smiles.

  As we entered the back room of a shop that smelled of leather and candle wax, I wondered for the first time if I was dreaming all this. After all, I still didn't know where I was from, but
I knew it wasn't a place where a soldier, a butler, a witch and a dwarf would gather in secret to protect someone posing as property.

  CHAPTER 6, “The Corporate Man Cometh”

  Perek Grubbs wasn't an aristocrat or even a soldier. He wasn't faithful to the Imperial United States or the Confederation. He had no home or property (human or otherwise). He was exactly what Nigel Wolfe and Bradford Thorne needed, a heartless weasel who would stop at nothing to maintain his subservient status for his bosses. The money was good enough, and it was all he needed. It paid his gambling debts, kept him up to his pockets in Irish whiskey, and allowed him enough to flash a fist of bills at a Lady of the Evening for a night's company. He had no Corporate Ident. He had no pull or authority except that which the Thorne & Wolfe Corporation gave him.

  That didn't mean he wasn't a tad ambitious. After all, money meant more money. More money meant more power.

  He stood on the bridge of the airship SS New Frontier between the distrusting, and at times outright disgusted, glances of the captain and first officer.

  "Slow one quarter," the captain ordered.

  "One quarter," the helmsman replied, ringing the engine order telegraph to notify the engine room that it was time to cut back the steam.

  Thunder rolled ahead of them and Grubbs squinted through the wide viewport. "Looks like a storm over Philadelphia."

  "Won't be a problem," the captain hummed. "I've sailed her through far worse."

  "I'm sure," Grubbs shrugged and turned to the black-clad man standing at the rear of the bridge.

  Frederick Denk leaned against the wall next to the ship's radio, idly turning a toothpick between his teeth with a gloved hand. A full head taller than Grubbs with wavy black hair and a thick bushy mustache, his ice blue eyes stared ahead into the approaching clouds as Grubbs stepped up to him.

  "Tell me again what you heard."

  Denk made a ticking sound with his mouth, though that may have been the toothpick anchoring in a cavity. He spoke after a long pause. "I told you. Landry contacted a known rebel saboteur in Philadelphia, a man named William 'Wilco' Rink."