Clockwork Looking Glass (Heart of Bronze Book 1)

by Michael Rigg

  Bryce's voice was low and steady as he waved off the question. "Was it Wilco?"

  Lucien looked glum, even more so in the dim streetlights. "I don't know, sir, to be honest."

  Alice said, "We should get up there." She took a step around Lucien but Bryce held her back by placing his hand gently on her elbow. He glanced at her. "We shouldn't be too hasty."

  "What do you mean? Wilco. Pandora. They could be hurt." She hadn't known them all that long, but she couldn't bare the thought of someone being hurt or killed because of her, and they were after all doing what they were doing to keep her safe.

  Lucien narrowed his eyes at her. "The Captain is right. If we rush into the midst of a struggle with you in tow, and it is discovered that you are not who you say you are, there's likely to be grave consequences, witch or no." He shifted his stance to squarely face Alice. “This is no time to run off and play hero before we know what's going about.”

  Bryce looked at Lucien. “Alice was alone with you. Grubbs didn't seem to know who she was, and you said he was goin' to kill one of you randomly.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “Why sabotage the SkyTrain? I think Thorne is flyin' blind.”

  Lucien looked at Alice and smirked. “So much for her being a witch—or an agent—unless, of course, Grubbs simply didn't know she was one of them.”

  “I'm not,” Alice said quickly before shrinking back. In truth, she still couldn't be sure.

  Bryce grumbled. “Lucien, you knew more about this contract signing from the start. I was going in blind on father's wishes.” He waved a hand toward the tower. “Think, man. What does this accomplish when all Grubbs had to do was plug you and run off with Alice? Thorne & Wolfe are ruffians, but they don't play at games without knowin' somethin'. Grubbs was fishin'. That much is clear.” He waved a hand in the general direction of New Yorke. “Bradford Thorne knows nothin'.”

  Alice said, “Bryce, I don't know anything about this.” She looked to the butler and lowered her tone. “If I was part of it, why would I attack that Grubbs man?”

  “I know, Alice. We believe you're innocent. I just need time to puzzle this out.”

  Lucien shrugged one shoulder, his gaze unreadable. “It is a puzzle.”

  “Well,” Bryce sighed. “We should keep movin', at least.”

  Alice fidgeted and glanced between them. "Agreed."

  "Not without forethought and plan, however." He turned to Lucien. "You go on ahead. See what you can discover. Alice and I will be along presently."

  Lucien huffed and waddled his way quickly toward the bridge tower, nodding and touching the brim of his bowler as he shrank into the shadows.

  Bryce looked at Alice and saw that her eyes glistened. He stepped up to her, leaning down to get a closer look in the yellow glow of the lamp lights. "Alice... They'll be all right. Pandora's a soldier, and a scrapper and she—"

  "It's not that." She raised her arms and let them drop. "This is all my fault, Bryce. I'm the one causing all of this. Lucien was right before.”

  He regarded her closely, his hands resting on her upper arms.

  “What if I am some kind of sleeper agent for this company, Bryce? I mean, I don't feel like I am, but I don't even know where I came from. What if—”

  “You're not.”

  “How do you know?” she said, her voice high and almost keening as she tried to keep it low.

  “Don't ya think you would've shown your hand more directly by now? And why would you be tellin' me you're an agent if you really are one, Alice dear?”

  “But, I—”

  “No. Think about it.” He stepped closer and lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger. His smile added a glow to the lamp light. “If you're an agent of Thorne & Wolfe, you are the worst one I have ever seen.”

  Alice sniffed and nodded. A smile opened her face. “Yeah... Yeah, I guess.”

  “Lucien, Pandora, Wilco and I, we can all defend ourselves—even from a red-headed spitfire such as you,” he winked.

  Her smile faded and she rolled her neck with a groan. “Oh, but Bryce, if anything happens to Wilco or Pandora it's still because of me—it's because I was somehow thrown into your lives and now I'm causing people to get hurt!" Her breath hitched as she turned away from him and looked toward the entrance to the alley where Perek Grubbs lay unconscious... because of her.

  Bryce knew she had been holding her emotions in check for the past several hours, ever since she was discovered, and now they were starting to show through. She clamped her jaw and pinched her lower lip between her fingers as if in thought. He knew it was to hide a quivering chin.

  "Hey now," Bryce stepped up to her and took her by the shoulders. Turning Alice to face him, he met her eyes. "That's nonsense. Now you know quite well that Lucien and I could have left you to your fate at the tower. You were, to put it plainly, none of our business. Yes, Alice, things are happening beyond our control or any predilections we may have had." His voice softened and he leaned closer. "But this is not your doin', my dear, and as I said before I would not have changed a lick o' what we'd done."

  Alice wiped her damp cheeks and eyes, then looked into Bryce's sudden smile.

  "You're my challenge, Dear Alice. You're my charge. My quest. Somethin' out of a fairy tale, I'm sure. Call it what you will, but your mysterious appearance has meanin' to me I cannot escape, somethin' far more important than what father wants guarded below the ocean waves.” He took a breath but continued immediately, “I can neither stop nor change the way I was raised. And I will not rest until you are squarely safe, home and happy. Is that clear?"

  She nodded slightly and looked into his eyes. She didn't realize how close his face was to hers before he lifted it away.

  He said, "I have every faith in Wilco and Pandora. They're not only my friends, they're fellow soldiers, well decorated." Bryce took her gently by the arm and turned her toward the tower. "Now come. Let's stroll and enjoy the city lights. By the time we meet up with Lucien I'm sure the authorities will have everything in order, and we'll be ready to embark."

  Bryce offered the hook of his arm to her and Alice took it. Together they walked along the gas lamp-lit elevated streets of Philadelphia.

  ~~~~~~~

  The main offices of Thorne & Wolfe were located several stories below the promenade where Alice was found. Only three corporations were housed at the Center of Trade, two of them Confederate. Thorne & Wolfe was the only Imperial interest in the towers since the end of the last Civil War and occupied the upper third of the south tower.

  The corridors and offices of the Office of the Directors were lined with riches. Pottery and pelts from distant lands dotted the grand entranceway. Rich mahogany furniture and marble pillars lined a red carpet path beyond bronze gates adorned with golden initials, T on the left and W on the right. The reception area occupied almost a third of the floor, and two receptionists sat at a wide, round marble greeting desk. The red, green and white blinking lights of passing airships moved across the tall dark windows.

  One of the receptionists picked up a phone as the other signed for a delivery. "Thorne and Wolfe, how may I direct your call?"

  Bradford Thorne watched the shifting forms of light and shadow through the frosted glass pane of his office door. His office was otherwise windowless, crowded with artifacts collected or “acquired” from around the world. A wide leather throne, trimmed with gold and platinum that once belonged to the King of England, sat near a crackling fireplace. Thorne's wide desk was next to that, its surface dotted with mind-bender puzzles and small statuettes, jewel-encrusted boxes and a pearl handled revolver. On the wall behind the desk hung a four-foot high oil painting of himself. Bookcases lined the room, the spine of each the story of a first edition print or antique parchment copy.

  The intercom on his desk buzzed. "Mr. Thorne, it's Lord Landry for you, sir."

  He skipped two steps to the desk and pounded the call button before loosening his tie and plopping down on the oversized throne, a tune on his lips
. "Ah... Jefferson, how are you this fine evening?" He plucked the pocket watch from his waistcoat and looked at it, then called out toward the speaker on his desk, "Rather late for you, isn't it?"

  The voice on the other end was deep but smiling, thick with the same southern accent as Bryce. "Mistah Thorne.... I trust all our affairs are in order. I have yet to hear from my boy, but I presume the contracts are signed and we can proceed with discussing the traffic arrangements in the North Atlantic. I can assure you, the Landry Holdings Company will be most generous...."

  Thorne allowed himself a very wide and weaselly smile as he twirled his handlebar mustache with one hand while twirling the other in the air, silently encouraging Jefferson Landry to speed it along. Finally, he interrupted. "Now now, Jefferson, you're jumping the gun a bit. No contracts were signed. You, sir, defaulted. The deadline for signature was at five today. It's now nearly eleven."

  The pause was brief before Jefferson Landry's voice boomed from the tiny speaker on Thorne's desk. "The hell you say! You're a scoundrel, Bradford Thorne, and a liar. You aim to tell me, suh—"

  "Your son was here, but never signed. He never even sat at the table with me, Jefferson. Now how is it you raised such a rude child?" Thorne examined his fingernails. “I'm insulted.”

  As Lord Landry flustered on the other end of the line, Thorne continued. He stood and rounded his desk, sat down behind it with a satisfied sigh and said, "It seems he left here with a … girl."

  "A girl? That's absurd! Bryce knew the importance of this signing, Bradford, I doubt most strenuously that he—"

  "Left with your manservant... and a scantily-clad female. I have it on good authority."

  The tiny speaker buzzed as it vibrated. "Bradford, you're playin' at some kind of game. Now, you know I'm a patient man, but I swear my tolerance for this is wearin' thin."

  "You can ask your boy yourself, Jefferson. He's on his way home now.... With the girl."

  "Insane!"

  "Yes,” Thorne hissed. “My thoughts exactly." Thorne eased back in his desk chair, the rich dark wood creaking as he flicked at the edge of the desk. "I thought it was crazy of the boy to allow a default on the single most important piece of real estate on the planet since the dawn of man. I mean the archeological findings alone are worth more than all the Imperial corporations combined. How long have we been in negotiations for this? Four years now? And thanks to this little—stunt—of your ill-conceived progeny, I had the last few hours to actually discover certain things you were trying to hide from me."

  "Bradford—"

  "Oh, but I'm glad it's finally settled. I imagine you'll get to keep your flag, your institutions, but I dare say the Confederacy as we know it will crumble over the annexation that's sure to follow. Frustration builds, Jefferson. Frustration builds... for you. Can you handle frustration as well as I?"

  "Bradford—"

  "This is so much better than a shooting war, isn't it, Jefferson?"

  "Bradford—"

  Click.

  After snapping off the intercom, Thorne removed a cigar from a gold humidor next to his desk and placed it between his teeth. Then he stood and loosened his trousers while he hummed "Dixie." He let his pants fall as he clicked the intercom.

  A receptionist's voice came through. "Yes, Mr. Thorne?"

  "Crystal, be a dear and please step into my office, lock the door behind you, and disrobe."

  "…Y-Yes, Mr. Thorne."

  As Bradford Thorne unbuttoned his waistcoat, he smiled broadly around the cigar. This had been the greatest day of his life.

  ~~~~~~~

  Far below the Philadelphia Tesla Bridge, over one hundred stories to the dark wet streets, a train chuffed into a tunnel, its whistle blaring out and echoing off the wet black brick and rusted iron, the boarded windows and padlocked doors. Waste and garbage from the homes and offices high above littered the streets and the train tracks built over them. Tall clumps of weeds and clinging vines grew from oily puddles, and discarded vehicles sat on flat tires at nearly every intersection, some gutted by long-ago flames, others tipped over by long-ago warfare. Every pane of glass in every car and building had been shattered.

  Unlike New Yorke, Philadelphia had fallen repeatedly during the last Civil War, and again during the Magis Riots of 1987. During the riots, which broke out as the last cluster of known Imperial witches were tracked to the surface streets and subways of Philadelphia, The Crane & Loft corporation unleashed a dark and forbidden weapon meant to level the city of flesh, and clear it of its people and animal life without harming buildings or industry. The weapon left no radioactive trace and would release exponential damage until recalled.

  It wasn't a bomb. It was ghouls, male witches who, at the time, obeyed like well-tamed animals and were a dozen times more dangerous than their female counterparts.

  The operation lasted only three days before the disaster. Crane & Loft's failure led to their bankruptcy in 1989. It seemed the ghouls had no interest in scaling the skyscrapers of the city. They preferred the darkness, the depths far below. They barricaded themselves on the city streets, forcing Philadelphia to seal off every building at fifty feet. Every man, woman and child who were not brought up to the safety of the upper levels were consumed by the ghouls, leaving the ground level a gritty, vile and filthy ghost town where no one ventured and—beside the passing trains on their way along the coast—nothing moved but hungry shadows.

  It was here, in the discarded blackened wastes of Philadelphia that a long-fingered gray hand with sharp fingernails retrieved a crumple of papers. Carefully, the hand unfolded the paper. The name on the Writ of Acquisition was compared to the name in the wallet, which was recovered earlier.

  Blood red eyes turned skyward, peering through the darkness of criss-crossing landings and grated walkways, searching.... For a human called Perek Grubbs.

  ~~~~~~~

  Alice kept her travel papers clutched tightly in hand. Bryce had instructed her on what to say and do, smiling with confidence and telling her to simply glance in his direction should she become confused.

  "You're Alice Hampton, a haberdasher's assistant. Simple enough, thanks to Wilco," he had said. She nodded.

  Bryce and Alice stepped up to the first line of SkyTrain passengers, all of them muttering and grumbling about the delays. One man said, "I hear a worker fell to his death." Another answered, "That shouldn't affect transport.” “I need to get home. What is the holdup?" A woman said, "I hear the police are investigating. It's murder."

  Alice exchanged glances with Bryce but otherwise tried to act nonplussed. She smiled and tugged Bryce's sleeve when she saw Lucien approaching from an upper level. He made his way down the empty exit stairwell adjacent to the packed boarding stairwell that went to the upper level and the waiting SkyTrain. Workers with welding masks were busily repairing the fin Wilco had damaged to get rid of Frederick Denk. By the tone of the bustling waiters and gawkers, the train would proceed... eventually.

  Bryce lifted his chin. "What have you heard?"

  "Well, I spied no sign of Pandora, but it seems Wilco has been pinched."

  "Pinched?" Alice asked.

  "Arrested," Bryce explained. "What was the charge?"

  Lucien pushed up his spectacles. His mustache twitched. "I would hazard to guess murder. He was identified as a saboteur on the dorsal fin of the SkyTrain, his accomplice having been vaporized by the Network current."

  Alice cringed and looked toward the gleaming ship's fuselage high above them.

  "You said murder."

  Lucien glanced around before continuing in a lower voice. "Indeed. While they're calling the Network death the righteous cost of a saboteur's work, a body was found on the deck above us. I would guess it's one of Grubbs' henchman. Half his head's gone." Mustache twitching again, Lucien touched the brim of his bowler and nodded to Alice. "Sorry, madam."

  Bryce muttered, "Pandora."

  "I fear so."

  A police officer appeared with a transit por
ter up the line from where they stood. The authorities were checking boarding passes and identification. Bryce said, "We can't stay in Philadelphia. It's far too dangerous."

  Lucien said, "Agreed. No telling how many other slugs Thorne & Wolfe have creeping about."

  Alice turned her eyes up to Bryce, "What about Pandora and Wilco?"

  "If Pandora wasn't captured too, she'll get 'im out." He smiled knowingly, the only one of the three of them—as far as Bryce knew—who knew Pandora was a witch. Of course knowing what he knew, Bryce had every confidence in his high-spirited little friend.

  "But—"

  Bryce's smile froze her. "She'll get him out. I trust her... And she'd want us to high tail it out."

  What he said was true, and Bryce knew the scrapes the young pilot had escaped before. Her witchcraft and anonymity were her best weapons. Releasing Wilco from custody would be as easy as blinking... or, quite literally, crossing her fingers.

  Before too long the policeman and porter stepped up to them.

  The porter said, "Papers and ticket, please," and took Bryce's boarding pass and identification. The policeman stared at Alice as she tried to shrink behind Bryce's coat. "Here you go, Captain," the porter said and handed Bryce back his papers after punching a hole in his ticket.

  "Papers?"

  Alice handed them to the porter as he tipped his cap to her, surprised her hand wasn't trembling.

  "Haberdasher, eh?"

  "Yes," Alice said, keeping her answers as small as possible.

  "Shoulda come by to see ya. Always on about by my wife o'er these damn breeches." The man routinely stamped her boarding pass and handed it back, then moved on to Lucien. Alice only smiled and nodded in response.

  She released a long, slow breath.

  "Seem nervous, miss," the policeman said.

  Alice swallowed. "Me? no."

  The policeman tilted his head and squinted. Water dripped from his Bobby helmet. He must have been near a drain pipe or the fire brigade who sprayed down the fins of the SkyTrain since the rain had stopped almost an hour ago.

  So as not to arouse any suspicion, Bryce maintained his gaze on the cop without looking down at Alice.