The Clockwork Wolf

by Lynn Viehl

  “I used a spell as soon as you went outside.” He touched the hollow at the base of my throat with one finger and watched my face intently. “He won’t wake until I break it.”

  In another time Lucien and I had acted on our unreasonable passions and had become lovers. My trip through time had eliminated that event, but not my memory of it. I knew the pleasure he could give me and I wanted to feel it again—but surrendering once more to temptation would only lead to disastrous consequences. He would not be satisfied with a single dalliance and, I suspected, neither would I.

  “I will not be seduced,” I said as firmly as I could manage. “By you or any man.”

  His eyes darkened. “You would rather die a virgin than have me.”

  “Someone may offer me marriage one day.” He didn’t like hearing that any more than I cared to say it. “If I surrender to you now, what shall I tell him? I couldn’t resist you? It seemed like a good idea at the time? You didn’t want me to die a virgin?”

  He smiled a little. “If that is your resolve, then why are you shouting at me?”

  “Because you’re not helping, you nummox. We’re supposed to be friends this—” I clamped my mouth shut.

  “This time?” Other fingers joined the one beneath my chin and drifted lower. “We were lovers. I knew it.”

  “It never happened—”

  “I dreamed it,” he said, stunning me. “I chased you through the garden maze at Morehaven. You injured your hand.” He grasped my wrist and brought my palm to his mouth, pressing a kiss in the center. “We made love by the reflecting pool.” When I tried to pull my hand away he held on to it. “And you, madam, were most willing.”

  “In your dreams.” But how could Dredmore dream of what to him had never happened? “Did I also stand on my head and recite the Territorial Settlement Acts in Talian?”

  Someone knocked at the door, and I brushed past him to open it. “It’s time you woke—” I was talking to an empty hall, and glanced down it toward the front entry. “Harry?”

  Something cold and heavy latched on to my trouser leg, making me jump, and when I looked down I saw a gleaming brass rat wrapped round my ankle and gnawing at the tweed.

  I tried at once to kick off the horrid little mech, but its paws stabbed through my trousers and curled to hold tight. “Lucien.”

  Without a word he came to me and began unfastening my trousers.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded, slapping at his hands before I realized what he was about and tore at the fastenings with him. I yelped as I felt something like tiny daggers scrape against my shin. “It’s biting me.”

  Dredmore yanked down the trousers as I braced myself with a hand on his arm and jerked my leg up. The rat began whirring furiously as it tried to hold on, and I yelped again as it bit me a second time. It felt ridiculous, being attacked by an animech no bigger than my foot, but the memory of the one that had been sent to my office and the very real pain this one was inflicting didn’t entice me to laughter. “Get it off, Lucien. Hurry, please.”

  A blade flashed, and with a few swipes Dredmore cut away the trouser cuff, freeing my ankle. I stepped out of the pants as he wadded them round the rat, bundling it inside the tweed.

  “It’s another bomb,” I said, but he shook his head and carried the writhing bundle out of the dressing room.

  I grabbed my night robe as I followed him across the house to the back entry. “Where are you going with that?”

  “Stay in the damned house,” he ordered over his shoulder before he kicked the door open and rushed outside.

  I went to my kitchen window and watched as he strode across my small patch of yard and into the street. There he dropped the bundle and backed away, removing something from his coat and tossing it up into the air.

  A shower of iridescent crystals fell over the bundle, piling atop it and solidifying into a sparkling faceted globe. I could see the bundle of tweed inside the beautiful thing, but it wasn’t moving. Streaks of frost rayed out from the globe, shooting across the cobblestones and grass in every direction.

  I opened the window. “Why are you freezing it? If it’s a bomb you have to put it in water.”

  “The ice will preserve the mech and the magic,” he said, crouching down to examine the globe. “I’ll take it to Morehaven so I can examine it.” He glanced my way. “Don’t come out here.”

  What he meant was, don’t come out and ruin his spell. “I wasn’t planning to. Do enjoy the bomb.” I slammed the window shut, thought for a moment, and then reopened it. “Will you be needing your driver back?”

  “Yes.” He gave me one of his brooding looks. “But not with your grandfather in him.” His cloak swirled as he stalked off into the shadows.

  Mrs. Cartwright, my neighbor to the right, came trundling out onto her back stairs. “Miss Kittredge, do you mind? I’m trying to get our little Oscar down for his nap, and . . .” She stared at her frost-covered flowerpots. “Sweet Mary, what’s all this?”

  “Spell gone wrong, Mrs. C. Sorry about your geraniums.” I shut the window and went directly to Connell, who lay snoozing peacefully on my chaise. The moment I touched his shoulder he blinked, yawned, and then scowled.

  “Charm.” My grandfather sat up quickly. “That black-hearted demon—”

  “—spelled you to sleep,” I finished for him. “He’s ready to leave now, so you have to give up the body.”

  He squinted up at me. “Do you think that’s wise? I could hang on to this one until dark without any worries. You can tell him I’ve gone, he’ll never know—”

  “Dredmore will know,” I assured him. “Get out of the man’s driver, Harry.”

  “Oh, very well.” Harry got up and frowned at the floor. “If that evil sod did nothing to you, why is your foot bleeding?”

  “I stubbed my toe,” I lied. “Time to be a ghost again, Harry.”

  “I never stopped,” he muttered, closing his eyes and separating himself from Connell in a shimmering mist. As my grandfather’s spirit evaporated, Connell staggered, nearly falling over the chaise.

  “Careful.” I caught his elbow to steady him. “His lordship is waiting in the back for you, Mr. Connell. You’ll need to drive the carri round the block.”

  The driver turned his head toward the front entry. “I was just standing over there, and then . . .” He shook his head. “Can’t remember.”

  “Probably for the best.” I handed him his cap. “Thank you for looking after me, Mr. Connell.”

  “My pleasure, miss.” Still frowning he walked out.

  I sat down on the chaise and lifted my robe, grimacing at the bite marks the rat had inflicted, one of which was still bleeding. I hobbled into the kitchen to wash the wounds and bind them with some of the clean rags I kept for wiping dishes. There I saw something floating in my tube port, and opened it to retrieve a cream-colored envelope marked with a scrolled B.

  The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the message was short and to the point:

  My Dear Charmian,

  I have news of great urgency to impart. Please call on me at Bestly House as soon as possible.

  Yours Faithfully,

  Eugenia

  I read the note twice more before I decided it was a forgery. Lady Bestly would never address me by my proper given name; I doubted she even knew what it was. Nor would she refer to herself by her own. Whoever had written this must have seen her calling on me and assumed we were friends—and that I would drop everything to rush to her side.

  “So an idiot wrote it.” I crumpled the note in my fist. “But not the same one who sent the rat.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Borrowing Mr. Cartwright’s horse to ride to the Hill required me to bargain with his wife. Already annoyed by the ice spell that had frozen over most of her garden, she extracted as much as she could from me without physically removing any of my teeth.

  “So you’ll replace all me flowers, sit with the children for our anniversary dinner next month, and run me ma
rket errands for a fortnight.” She switched her drooling little Oscar from one broad hip to the other as she frowned. “I don’t know, Miss Kittredge. Women aren’t supposed to go riding about, particularly after dark. If anything happens to that horse me husband’ll kill me after you. He might be a foreman but he’s not all that clever, so they’ll catch him and he’ll hang for the murders, and then who’ll raise our little Oscar?”

  “If it comes to that you can always say I stole Daisy,” I suggested. “You’ll live, I’ll go to prison, and your husband won’t kill anyone. Little Oscar keeps both his parents.”

  That seemed to mollify her. “I suppose.” She held out the stable key. “You’ll have to go and saddle her yourself; I’ve got to put me boy in the tub now—and you’ll bring her back before midnight, when my husband’s shift at the factory ends, promise.”

  “He’ll never know I borrowed it,” I assured her.

  I walked to the end of the block where the neighborhood horses were stabled, and walked back to the community stalls. Daisy gave me a placid look as I unlocked the latch and took down her saddle and bridle.

  “I brought you a bribe, too,” I told her as I took the oatcake from my reticule and fed it to her. “Don’t mind my skirts, and I won’t make you gallop.”

  Once I had her saddled I gathered up my gown and used the slats of the stall to climb up high enough to mount her. The old mare swung her head round to eye me but didn’t object, and I led her out at a slow walk through the back of the stable.

  The cool night air seemed to perk up Daisy, who shuffled into a lazy trot as I guided her down the back streets. Not having the weight of the Cartwrights and their brood and buggy to pull might have cheered her, too. It was only as we approached the road to the Hill that she slowed; the Cartwrights had never driven her near it.

  I gave her some encouraging pats. “No worries, my gel, we’ve an old friend of mine to call on tonight.”

  I deliberately rode past the avenue leading to Bestly House and continued on until I reached a sparkling pink manor. On the walkway at the side of the great house a slim figure dressed in a dark cloak waved for me to follow, and led us back to the matching carriage house where a servant waited.

  “Good evening, Miss Kittredge.” Lady Diana Walsh pulled back her hood to nod at the footman, who opened the door and helped me to dismount before taking Daisy inside. “I confess, as soon as I received your note I was most intrigued. Shall I have Jones escort you to your ultimate destination?”

  “That won’t be necessary, milady.” I glanced at the nobber striding quickly toward us. Riding Daisy to Lady Bestly’s would have drawn too much attention, and it would still be a trick to get to her without attracting the notice of her neighbors’ servants. “I’d much rather walk there with the patrolman, if you wouldn’t mind having a word with him.”

  Diana nodded and intercepted the nobber, who listened and agreed to accompany me there and back.

  “Jones will attend to your mare until you return,” Diana said, smiling a little. “While I will look forward to hearing all about the matter when we next meet for tea in town. Good luck, Miss Kittredge.”

  “Thank you, Lady Diana.” I bobbed a curtsey before joining the nobber on the walkway.

  All of the Hill’s private patrolmen were sizable fellows, but this one moved with the speed and surety of an experienced chaser. Whoever wrote the note to lure me to Lady Bestly’s home would not easily escape him.

  Once we turned the corner he gave me a sideways look. “Ask you a question, miss?”

  “No one can hear us,” I said, peering down the empty street. “Have at it.”

  He grinned. “You’re the spell-breaker gel what saved Lord Walsh and his from the Talians, aren’t you?”

  The intelligent thing to do would be to deny it; the Walshes had gone to considerable trouble to keep the matter private. On the other hand he already knew almost everything about it. “It was my honor to be of assistance to his lordship and the family during a difficult time.”

  “Aye, that it was.” He rolled his eyes. “You been doing business regular on the Hill, then.”

  “I’ve tried to stay away,” I admitted, “but they keep getting into trouble and offering me money. Is it a problem for you and your men?”

  “Not at all, miss. Way I see it, after a fashion we’re doing the same job.” He sounded as if he approved, too. “I’ll put out the word to the boys, let them know. From now on no one’ll give you any grief.”

  I didn’t know any common people who were given free access to the Hill by the nobbers. “That’s very decent of you.”

  “I expect you won’t abuse it.” His eyes narrowed and his smile disappeared. “Seems Lady B’s right popular tonight.”

  I followed the direction of his gaze to a large, grand coach and four waiting at the curb in front of Bestly House. The driver wore the ornate gold-and-red livery of a city official’s household, but I didn’t recognize the elaborate crest adorning the coach’s doors. “I’m guessing that’s not the undertaker.”

  “Almost as bad,” he muttered. “That’s Lady Raynard, his honor’s wife.”

  The tip of a fan emerged from the coach’s window and rapped sharply on its side, which brought a footman who hurried to open it and help down the passenger.

  Lady Raynard stepped out like a queen, standing serenely as a maid appeared and shook out the folds of her mistress’s voluminous gown. I took in what must have been fifty yards of ruched lace fluttering from seven tiers of glossy satin skirts and crawling up a pearl-encrusted bodice to encircle a thin neck and drape along sleeves of lace buttoned with gleaming cabochons of polished shell from wrist to elbow. To make matters worse, the entire ensemble—including the pearls—had been dyed a particularly livid shade of yellow-green.

  The lady snapped open the fan she held, which sent the maid back into the coach, and then held out one hand. The footman positioned his arm beneath her ladyship’s and escorted her as she approached us.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her wig, the whitened curls of which had been fashioned into the shape of a swan. A real swan’s head sprang from the powdered nest and bobbed regally with every step she took.

  “Is that a bird on her head?” I murmured to the nobber as I watched her closing the gap between us.

  “Aye,” he muttered back as he surreptitiously straightened the line of his sleeves by tugging on the cuffs. “It matches her brains.”

  “Good evening, citizens.” Lady Raynard halted with the languid elegance of kind condescension, her movements sending a thick waft of French perfume to roll over me and the patrolman. As we both tried not to breathe it in, she dismissed her footman with an elegant flutter of her fan. “It is a pleasant night, is it not?”

  As the nobber bowed I bobbed, but after his perfunctory, “Yes, madam” I had to say something. “Very pleasant, milady.”

  She turned her gaze on me. “You are not a resident here, I think.”

  She knew I wasn’t. “I have been summoned here, milady.” And since I doubted she had ever once personally addressed ordinary citizens on the street, she almost certainly had to be the author of the note I’d received. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “I most certainly will not.” She softened the snappish words with a patronizing smile. “The welfare of my dear friend Lady Bestly is my every concern now that she has suffered the unthinkable.” She eyed the nobber. “This is nothing to do with you, Patrolman. You may go.”

  The nobber nodded, bowed again, and leaned his head down to mine. “Back in a trice. Mind your mouth.”

  Once he departed, Lady Raynard minced closer, inspecting me as she might a confection she wished to devour. “You smell of horse, and your skirts are in an atrocious state. What are you doing here, Miss Kittredge?”

  She’d need more than a fan to get me to jump. “Why, milady, I wasn’t aware that we had been introduced.”

  “One does not require introductions to those in service.” She didn’t bot
her to make that sound pretty. “Indeed, I have been made aware of your association with our poor, dear Eugenia, and your calls upon each other. As there is always some unsavory sort willing to take advantage of a grieving widow, and my dear friend struggles so with her social responsibilities, I should like to know how I may aid her. Now.”

  She’d brought me to the Hill to find out why Eugenia had hired me or why she wasn’t properly mourning. Probably both. “You must discuss that with Lady Bestly, madam.”

  The swan’s head bobbed as she drew back a step. “Do you know who I am? My husband is the mayor of this city.”

  “Forgive me, milady.” I heard something rustling in the hedgerow, and glanced in that direction before I added, “It is not my place to discuss Lady Bestly or her affairs with anyone, even you.”

  “Hawkins.” She fairly screeched the name, and the footman came running. When he flanked her she pointed at me. “Put this ungrateful chit in the coach. We shall continue this discussion at Raynard Manor.”

  The footman reached out to grab my arm, and I tensed as I readied to shove him off, but before he touched me something nearby growled, low and with deep menace.

  “What is that?” Lady Raynard exclaimed. “A dog? Hawkins—”

  I heard the sound of windings and gears and seized Lady Raynard. “You must leave now, milady.”

  The swan on her head thrashed as if trying to escape the nest of her hair while Lady Raynard sputtered several genteel variations of “How dare you” and “Unhand me at once.” I ignored her protestations and forced her to march along with me back to her coach. She resisted further by backpeddling her steps, only to lose one silk slipper, which her footman bent and scooped up as he trotted along after us.

  I would have liked nothing better than to jump into her fairiestale wagon and ride far, far away from the thing behind us, but I couldn’t abandon Lady Bestly or the nobber. I reached for the passenger door’s gilded handle, jerking it open so quickly it slammed back against the gold-scrolled back panel of the coach.