Clockwork Looking Glass (Heart of Bronze Book 1)

by Michael Rigg

  It wasn't until the aero began its circle of Baton Rouge that Jefferson Landry finally spoke.

  "I am sorry, my boy."

  Bryce only glanced at him. He said nothing.

  "I did not behave as a gentleman."

  "You behaved as Lord Landry," Bryce said, gazing out the window. The comment was a thinly veiled insult hearkening back to a field of memories of Jefferson Landry outbursts, tirades and violent declarations and threats thrown to strangers, business partners and family alike. The only ones he never raised a hand or voice to were Adeline, Savannah and mother.

  Jefferson huffed a laugh. "You're right, my boy. But I had to make you see what it is you'd done."

  Bryce looked at his father. As the aero turned, bright sunlight combed through Jefferson's white hair and made it glow like a halo. "I know what I'd done, Daddy. I saved a woman's life—a very special woman who—"

  "You already have a special woman, boy, or did you forget about Lady McFerran when you picked up that trampy Property?"

  The chord in Bryce's neck bulged and his face grew hot, but he held his temper. "She's not Property, Daddy, she—"

  "She's what?" Jefferson's fierce blue eyes stabbed at Bryce. "She's what? What in God's name was so damnable special about her that you brought her home to the Sevens? Why, boy!? Why... did you cast the entire security of the Confederacy to the winds over some piece of tail?"

  And like that Lord Landry's apology evaporated.

  Bryce flinched. His fists clenched as he turned his face toward the window and gritted his teeth, forcing the growing fury down. What could he say in response to his father's fury? In truth, Bryce knew there was still nothing he had learned about Alice that would placate his father or explain his actions. It was just something he felt.

  "Do you realize what you've given Thorne & Wolfe?"

  Bryce slightly shook his head and slowly turned to face forward. "It's not like that, Daddy. She was—"

  When Jefferson spoke again, his voice was calm but hard as he cut through Bryce's reply. "Atlantis is the greatest discovery since the Tomb of Christ, boy. It's a city buried beneath the waves and filled with more riches than the world has ever known, and—we think—somethin' more."

  The “we” in his father's speech referred to the armies of specialist Daddy employed, the earth-combig experts who followed Jefferson Landry's intuition to parts unknown to scoop up rarities so they could be sold to corporations in exchange for power. There was a lot about that Bryce didn't agree with, but he had to admit that his father's actions had managed to buy peace with the Empire. Still, Bryce sneered. There was a lot to be said about the Confederate Peace Machine, thousands strong with more airships and seafaring vessels than any other nation in the world. "So what? All the wealth in the world will not arm the Yankees. None of them have the manhood to stand against a Confederate Corporation." He looked at his father. "You and Clayton can bluster all you want about a third Civil War, but it won't happen, Daddy. It won't. And even if this archeological underwater hole of yours gives Thorne & Wolfe clear passage to the United Kingdom, it won't mean they have ins over there. The King and Queen are solidly supported by our efforts, and the Yankees of the Soviet Union are the weakest bunch of ignorant rabble that ever walked the earth."

  Jefferson reached into his coat and dug something out of a pocket. He handed a folded square of paper to Bryce. "Open it."

  The driver called back, "Setting down at the Hall of Records, Lord Landry, suh."

  "Thank you, Edward."

  Bryce opened the paper and looked at it as the aero began its slow descent. It was a grid marked off in inches with each inch equaling one square mile, according to the key on the lower left. The image was muddy and covered with dark blue-black ink, but lighter shades of blue showed squares, rectangles, pyramids and circles of an underwater city partially obscured by a shelf of what Bryce guessed was rock. A pattern of orange and yellow splotches decorated the edge of the shelf. "What's this?"

  Jefferson pointed to the map in Bryce's hands. "It's a geodetic survey map taken by an airship over the Atlantic Ocean one year ago. The city was uncovered by an underwater eruption of hydrothermal vents just under the mid-Atlantic shelf. These spots here," Jefferson indicated the orange, "Are what the science boys are calling uninterrupted linear conversion patterns."

  Bryce shot his father a questioning glance.

  Wincing, Jefferson said, "Hell, I don't know, boy. That's why I have them. That's why we're goin' to see 'em at the Hall of Records—to show you what they told me."

  "And what's that, Daddy?" Bryce asked, nonplussed as he handed back the map.

  As Jefferson re-folded the map and tucked it into his pocket, he said, "Nearly four-point-six miles down, under an ungodly ton of pressure... there's life."

  Bryce paused a moment before shrugging. He had heard of deep sea discoveries before. Giant jellyfish, squids, blind whales. It didn't phase him. "So?"

  "The scientist boys have determined that those linear conversion pattern things are man-made, like generators or somethin'. Powerhouses strong enough to fuel a city—or a weapon powerful enough to level a continent, and there's more that you can't see on this map."

  Bryce's brow creased as he studied his father's sincerity.

  "The generators were running long before the vents attracted out attention." Jefferson shook his head. "At first, we thought it was a fluke, some kind of channeling thing in the rock, but nope. No, no. It's definitely by design—intelligent design, and it started heating up bright about four years ago."

  "Daddy, what are you sayin'?"

  "Life, boy." As the aerocar landed gracefully with a soft bounce on a platform attached to an immensely wide fourteen-story building made of red steel, Jefferson said, "Human life. A new continent under the waves... and they have more power than all the nations put together."

  CHAPTER 17, “Clockwork Memories”

  Maybe it was because it was such a pleasant morning. Maybe it was because I was finding Adeline to be such welcome company after the traumatic scene on the front steps of Seven Orchards, But "Addy" and I gravitated toward the shade under the west wing porch and a pair of lounge chairs next to a glass table, choosing to—as she put it—"Set a spell" before taking me in to get me settled.

  Admittedly, just sitting down and not being on the run anymore seemed like a good idea to me. I was curious to know more about Bryce and Lydia's engagement. I wasn't sure why, but it was the latest bombshell to hit me since yesterday and Addy would surely be able to cover that one. She might even be able to give me some clue as to where, when or how I got where I am.

  I opened my mouth to ask, but Addy beat me to the punch. "I don't know your full story, Alice. What can you tell me that daddy'd be too blind to hear?"

  It was up front, but not unwelcome. My thoughts of Bryce and Lady McFerran could wait. I felt I needed to talk to someone. I had to tell a sympathetic ear my story, and it was possible someone as simple and wholesome as Adeline Landry would have an answer or two. True to Bryce's words so far, she certainly seemed to be the wise one of the family despite her youth.

  "Well." I looked out at the fountain in the middle of the circular drive, the orange and green of the groves beyond, the dappling shade of the enormous oak trees, and the enormous ivory pillars of the estate. "My memory started yesterday afternoon. I woke up in the World Trade Center thinking it was nine-eleven."

  "Nine eleven?"

  "September 11th. The clock between the towers had stopped there, according to Bryce—which is really strange—because that date and those towers mean something to me. Them, and a cop—police officer—named Ray Simcoe, are the only connections I have to my own reality."

  Addy smiled crookedly and leaned closer to me as though begging a secret. "Memory, you mean, right? Your own memories? You said 'reality'."

  I shook my head and glanced at her before turning back to the fountain. "You're going to think I'm crazy."

  Her laugh was light and sweet.
"Darlin', if you weren't here not ten minutes ago and saw that mess my daddy made, I'd be askin' you not to think I was crazy for bein' part of this family."

  I gave her a weak smile. I really had nothing to lose by telling her the truth. I was cleared of being a witch by the Witchteller Wilco. The only mystery I now possessed that I thought it best to keep secret were the scars on my back and the nightmare that went with them. I took a deep breath and said, "As far as I know... The World Trade Center was destroyed on September 11th 2001. I don't quite remember how, but I have an intense feeling of sadness and fear in the bottom of my gut when I think about it."

  "The Center of Trade, ya mean? Fourteen years ago?" Addy started to say something else, but I held up my hand.

  “Didn't you say your father started all this digging around, as you called it, about fourteen years ago?”

  She nodded, her face still forming questions. “That's right, round about this time o' year, 2001.”

  I frowned. “How did it start? I mean, was there something that he sought first, or...” I let my questions drift. I had no idea why I was asking, but my only clouded memory of my own reality now had a connection here. Adeline Landry said her father began looking for metaphysical artifacts around the only date I actually knew something about—or thought I knew.

  Addy shrugged. “Can't say for certain. I think it was a rusted ol' sword or somethin'.”

  “Excalibur,” I smirked. She nodded in response with a disinterested shrug.

  She said, “Daddy traded it for Tesla Bridge access to the Northwest Territories. Two Confederate Holdings and a military base were established in Oregon.” She shrugged again. “Made for some big money and a lot of clout, I reckon.”

  I nodded slowly, my mind grinding at the possibilities, but I still felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff looking out across broken bridges to my past with no way to draw them together.

  “What else do you recall, Alice? Any scraps at all?”

  "Well, there was Ray... His uniform was more familiar to me than Bryce's, and it was nothing like what I'd seen here." I felt my brow tighten. "I actually don't recall if he was a friend... or an enemy. I have... mixed feelings, somehow," I said as I felt my frown deepen.

  "Ray? Someone you remember? An Imperial policeman, maybe?" Addy shrugged one shoulder and held a hand up as she smirked. "Educated guess. You have a Yankee accent."

  I looked at her. Addy leaned closer, her eyes smiling with curiosity. She was eating this up. Whether it was for dinner table gossip once I'd left, morbid curiosity, or because she really wanted to help, I couldn't tell by her expression. I said, "No. The patch on his uniform, it was like your flag, but instead of the red field, it had red and white stripes."

  "Red n' white stripes..." Addy muttered to herself, staring off at the ground for a moment before her eyes brightened back in my direction. "Oh! Wait here a tick, Alice! Don't ya move!"

  I watched as she leaped up from the lounge chair and ran down the long porch toward the main doors.

  It wasn't long after that, and moments before Addy returned to me, that I saw a flying car curve through the sky over the gables of the mansion. I could make out Bryce, and his father's white hair, as the smoke-chugging machine angled its way toward Baton Rouge. I frowned slightly, feeling sorry for Bryce's humiliation, though a small part of me—I don't know why—thought at least one of the smacks from his father's newspaper was well deserved. How dare he act all sweet and nice and gentlemanly toward me and never mention a fiancee.

  My mind wandered as I thought about them together. I couldn't really picture it. She seemed so stuck up and snotty to his gentleman calm. She was overly prim, spoon-fed, a spoiled brat rich-kid, and he was home grown, hard-worked and honest to the core. Maybe their marriage was arranged, though I had to admit, she and I both have red hair. Didn't Pandora or someone make a comment about Bryce's attraction to redheads? But Lydia McFerran? Really?

  My thoughts were broken by Addy's return. She held an enormous book in her hands, opened to a spread somewhere in the middle which she marked with her thumbs. "History of Flags and Banners," she announced. She plopped herself down on the footrest of my lounge chair as I sat up and pulled my legs back and crossed them. "It's some junky coffee table book of Clayton's he had in the study," she smirked. She turned the book around and slid it over my legs. I shifted so I could support the large book on my thighs so we could both see it.

  There, across two glossy pages, were colorful rectangles of flags about two inches wide each. My eyes widened as I took in the history and an involuntary laugh gasp escaped my throat.

  "Seem familiar?"

  I pointed to the flags on the left page. Most of them were, indeed, very familiar. "I know these. Yeah."

  Addy pointed to the first one with stripes. It was next to a yellow flag emblazoned with a snake, its embroidery declaring "Don't Tread on Me." The one she pointed to had thirteen red and white stripes in its field. The stars in the upper left corner formed a ring on a blue field. The caption of the image said, "Flag of Betsy Ross." Next to that was a similar flag with a British Union Jack in the upper left corner. It was marked, "1776-1777."

  I nodded. "Yeah. Like that, but with..." I pointed to the current flag on the bottom right. "With those stars." I silently counted. "But wait a second. If the North and South divided into their own countries after the Civil War, why does your flag have 50 stars?"

  "Because we won, of course," her voice rising as she leaned back with a wide smile. "The Confederacy has a major corporate holding in each of the fifty." Addy smiled consolingly as she added, "The red field represents the blood shed by the Confederate soldiers to win our independence from the Yankee oppressors. Sure, we are separate sovereign nations, but the Empire of the United States is technically under Confederate influence since we maintain ownership of every major industry on the continent." Her innocent smile was small compared to what she'd just told me. Then she waved a bored hand and added, “It's all rather convoluted if you ask me. Why we all didn't just run the Yankees off and lay proper claim is beyond me.”

  “You didn't? I mean, why?”

  She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “More money to be had makin' slaves of the Imperial holdin'.” Addy pouted her lower lip. “Kinda ironic, ain't it?”

  “Hm,” I said. My eyes panned over the flags.

  I realized at that point as I gazed over the pages, that the Union, or “Imperial,” side of flag history was conveniently omitted. I pointed to a pair of flags, one with a ring of stars on blue and three broad stripes in a red-white-red pattern, and the other with a blue X over a field of red, stars lining the X. "Confederate flags," I nodded. The caption identified them as the "First Confederate National Flag" and the "Confederate Battle Flag." I looked up at Addy, "What was the Yankee flag at this time?"

  Addy shrugged. "Didn't cover much on other countries when I was in school—not that that was all that long ago," she added, tossing her hair playfully before smiling at the book. "But that sure is curious—maybe you really are a Yankee? No offense, Miss Alice, but that's probably where you're from." Her shoulders bobbed again. "Could be why Bryce was all-fired about gettin' you home to the Sevens."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  Addy pouted her lower lip and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Now Alice don't go thinkin' ill of him."

  I blinked. Thinking ill of Bryce? Besides how he made me feel like a pathetic stray dog in front of his overly mature fiancee? Nah.

  "I'm sure with your accent and all, and the fact you were at the C of T, Bryce probably figured you for a spy. He's probably talkin' to Daddy now about tradin' you to Thorne & Wolfe for some huge processing fee."

  I smirked, then it was my turn to shrug. "I honestly don't think so, Addy. We were well on our way before I could even speak. Bryce didn't hear me talk until we were almost to Philadelphia."

  "Hm," was all she offered. She kept her eyes on me still locked on her thoughts behind Bryce's motivations. I di
dn't want to think that was why Bryce brought me here, but I had to admit there was a sense of urgency to bring me such a long way so guardedly. I remembered the looks between Bryce and Lucien, the almost expected way they handled my security and our pursuers, not to mention being very specific that I'd be safer here than anywhere else. I shook that off and turned back to the book. I pointed to the flags of 1861-1863. "To be honest, I remember the Civil War—"

  "Which one?"

  "Hm?"

  "Which Civil War, darlin'? we had two."

  "Oh, um... the first one. 1860s. Here." I tapped the Confederate Battle Flag in the book.

  Addy nodded. "What do you remember about it?" She smirked before breaking into a mischievous grin, "And don't tell me you was in it. You ain't near that old."

  I smiled, then let my face fall serious as I speculated: "I remember the Union won the Civil War. Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves before the war was over. And I remember the Gettysburg Address. He was assassinated in a theater... John Wilkes Booth shot him." As I recited my own history, my memories were becoming clearer, sort of. I remembered things I'd learned in school. I still didn't know anything more current or recent. My only recent mental images surrounded the image of Ray Simcoe and the nightmare about the pale people with the electric forks.

  Addy studied me with that crooked smile again. "You are a caution, Miss Alice. I don't know how you come up with such fiction." She reached to my lap and turned the page. There was an old ink drawing of men in uniforms gathered around a desk. I recognized the man in the center of the image as General Robert E. Lee. The caption, however, struck me. I read aloud: "President Robert E. Lee, hero of the Battle of Gettysburg, takes the oath of office as the second president of the Confederate States of America."

  Addy tapped the page. "There's your great emancipator. President Lee freed all the slaves under the terms of the Confederate Articles of Humanity." She smirked. "I don't rightly know about Mr. Lincoln. Lived on as Yankee president for a spell, I believe, succeeded by someone else at the end of his term. Hmm, I don't know his name, but he was the first emperor of the United States, changed all the politics after a spell. Lotsa jobs lost. Rebellion. People movin' south for safety. More shootin' started. It was a nasty piece, that. Both sides lost a lot more in that one."