Clockwork Blue (The Lumière Chronicles)

by Gloria Harchar

  "I know," Glissando responded, contrite, even as sweat broke over his brow. "But I fixed my blunder by distracting both lads, and no one has suffered over it. A human has to be aware of my presence for damage to occur."

  Brooding, his chin propped on one hand, Maestro drummed the fingers of the other against the great chair arm, all the while staring at Glissando. Apprehension skittered down Glissando's spine, but he resisted shifting his weight as he stood two steps below his king and waited for the verdict.

  "I've decided you need to return to Jubilant and brush the accumulated water droplets off your books. For one week you will lecture to the Sophomore Regulations class at Coda."

  Shocked, for a moment Glissando could only stare. "But, Maestro, my mission—"

  "Will be fine for a few days with Allegro until your return."

  "But Allegro summoned me." He couldn't leave the other pixie with a mess Glissando had created by involving the enemy.

  "I will send Major C to explain your circumstances." Frustrated, Glissando watched as the massive Maestro, appearing more like a dark cloud than a pixie, rose and took one giant leap toward the glittering capital of Symphony. The black tails of his tuxedo whipped through the air like a dolphin swimming away. Then Maestro was gone.

  Glissando glanced at his pocket watch, the one that not only told the hour, but also kept a finger on the mission's pulse. From the lavender hue around Nicola, he knew he didn't have much time. Peeking through a hole in the cloud bank that formed the dais, he used his acute vision to search the British Isles below. Frantically, he zeroed in on London and searched the streets, seeking possibilities to help Nicola in the event he didn't return in time.

  "Think," he admonished himself. "What kind of leverage can old Glissando get on the slippery Falcon?" His gaze flicked over the throng at the Pavilion. Something caught his eye and he scanned the crowd again. The Duke of Clarence strolled with his entourage, and on his arm was a beautiful lady, his latest mistress. He listened with rapture sketched on his slightly dissipated face. Glissando watched, feeling as if he were on to something. Malcolm and Clarence. What was the connection?

  Then he knew. Clarence was responsible for the military uniforms. And Malcolm wanted to sell the Duke new ones. A backup plan began to form in Glissando's head. A shaky plan, one he didn't really want to rely upon, but better than nothing. At least he wouldn't be totally abandoning his partner. Glissando heaved a sigh, knowing the punishment would put a dent in Allegro's latest approval of him. Ah, well. Most did judge him harshly so he should be used to the treatment. Idly he wondered what the exemplary pixie was doing now.

  Allegro paced the length of Nicola's dresser as he waited for Glissando. He wanted to consult about the latest development concerning the Garland Ball. Although society's opinion didn't matter to the Earl of Falconwood, Allegro nevertheless feared that inviting not only Nicola but also her father might be detrimental to their union. The whole situation seemed too volatile. He merely wished the two would marry and all would be over. "Where is that infuriating pixie?" he muttered as he glanced at the watch that measured Nicola's aura.

  "Glissando is a mess, is he not?" a voice spoke above. Allegro glanced up to see Major C floating down to land next to him. The viceroy flexed his scrawny knees as he alighted, the knobby shape of them delineated beneath his tight-fitting green hose. "At least he hasn't slipped a note to the enemy this time—at least, not yet."

  Allegro bowed before his curiosity overcame him. "What has happened? Why are you here?"

  Major C straightened his scarlet cape. "Maestro sent me to tell you that you won't be seeing Glissando for a week, so you will have to work on your own—although in my opinion you will be better off for it. Glissando is lazy and not at all respectful of our laws."

  Although Allegro agreed with the list of Glissando's faults, he didn't feel comfortable saying so to the Viceroy. Besides, Glissando might say he's lazy, pretend to be lazy, but Allegro was discovering differently. Why would Glissando want that image? Why promote the prejudice? "What is going to happen to him?"

  "He's been relegated to hard labor for one week."

  Allegro resisted twiddling his thumbs. "What, precisely, did he do?"

  "He wrote on a human's slate, exposing himself to someone who is not a Chosen One. In my opinion, the Maestro is being much too lenient."

  "Is that all Glissando did?" Allegro asked, wondering about the episode with the balloon.

  The viceroy puffed out his barrel-like chest. "Isn't that enough? He's going to get us all in trouble, I just know it. Why, Glissando should understand the importance of our laws. They are strict to protect all creatures, both in Lumière and Earth. Yes, in 1120 we faced mighty decisions, and my legacy of greatness started with great Grandfather Notes…"

  Allegro stifled a sigh, not wanting to hear a lecture about the state of the worlds Before Harmony, and the feats of the famous Grandfather Notes, who Allegro had secretly heard wasn't all that brave. But offending such a powerful pixie as Major C the Fifth would be foolhardy, particularly when he wanted to become mayor of Overture. So Allegro pretended to listen. All the while, he thought of possibilities to help the romance between Nicola and Falcon. To make his pretense believable, he even murmured little words of encouragement while he paced, and pondered the implications of Glissando getting away with his balloon trick.

  Was Glissando right? Was Allegro too rigid with his following of the law? Perhaps he could test it and give Nicola a nudge toward sealing the bargain between her and Falcon.

  "... for one, the catastrophes that led to the Discordant Age. Glissando will be the one who will lead us into another dark period, mark my words."

  Allegro frowned, irritated. "Thank you, Major C, for your advice and your reminder of your exalted relative."

  "Why, I'm pleased to help. You will go far, Allegro. In fact, I'm certain you will succeed and become mayor of Overture."

  "Do you really think so?" Allegro asked, unable to keep the eagerness from his tone.

  "Indeed, I do. You are an exemplary pixie. I wouldn't be surprised if you became senator."

  Wonder swelled in Allegro's chest at the thought of such an honor. "Thank you, Major C."

  The pixie straightened his officious-looking cape, making certain the points were even on each shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot to do."

  Allegro breathed a mingled sigh of awe and relief as he watched the Viceroy catch a mote and spark away into the atmosphere. Then he himself leaped onto a particle of dust and directed his transport to the Garland Ball, making final notes in his mind about a daring new plan.

  Chapter 9

  "I still don't understand why we were invited, Nicola. We don't belong in the Upper Crust." Her father adjusted his cravat as if it were strangling him.

  Nicola glanced up at the brilliant chandelier and wondered if Allegro was twinkling in one of the crystals, or perhaps he hid in the blue john stone ormolu around the doors and chimney pieces. He had disappeared earlier that day, plotting mischief she was sure. Taking a deep breath, she decided not to worry about it. She had more important things to concern her, such as the ball and the Earl. Right now, she wished with all her might she were a pixie so that she could disappear in the flash of lights.

  Her gaze flitted to the patrons crowding the ballroom. Women glittered with jewels. Just one of those diamonds was large enough to provide for a stockinger and his family for a good ten years. Even the men in their finely cut evening suits flashed with wealth the likes of which most laborers wouldn't see in their lifetime.

  "I have never witnessed such riches," her father muttered. He glanced about the circular ballroom. Nicola followed his gaze. Eight huge sections of looking glass covered the walls from floor to ceiling, separated with delicate plasterwork painted silver and gold. She looked back at her father and saw his eyes widen.

  "Thunder and turf, will you look at that?" her father exclaimed on a wheeze. "I've never viewed the like."

&
nbsp; She turned to stare at the entry to the ballroom, both sides flanked with tapestries. The intricate gold-and-rose pattern reminded her of the Gobelin wall hangings she had seen in a book about Prince Regent's furnishings.

  Her father shuffled as if he couldn't decide where to stand. "I feel like a duck amid the swans."

  So did Nicola. As she'd donned her cream-colored gown patterned with small airships woven with Clockwork Blue string, she had thought her attire more than efficient. Her hair, adorned with a twisted satin band dyed in Clockwork Blue, looped with pearls and small bluish metal washers, had made her believe it was the crowning glory she'd needed to fit in. Her efforts hadn't helped. Next to all the shimmering glamour, she felt quite dowdy.

  She rallied, determined not to be intimidated. "Believe me, Papa, these top-lofty gents and ladies are only human beings. Why, they have to use the convenience just like us."

  "What a refreshing view," someone said behind her.

  The sound of that familiar drawl caused Nicola to whip around. Her breath caught at the sight of Falcon resplendent in a bright silver waistcoat and breeches. Heat rushed to her face. "My lord, you were not supposed to hear that comment."

  "Then perhaps you should not have said it."

  Her father stepped forward. "I will not have you judge my daughter harshly, sir."

  Alarm shot through Nicola. "Papa—"

  Falcon nodded in her father's direction. "Good evening, Mr. Moore. On the contrary, I quite admire your daughter, for she speaks the truth."

  Her father stiffened in surprise. "You think so?"

  "I do. She has a down-to-earth viewpoint."

  Her father gave him a speculative stare. "Aye, she does. Leave it to my Nicola to put everything in perspective."

  Falcon's eyes gleamed. "She is refreshing. So much so that I crave a spot on her dance card."

  Nicola's father gave her a probing look before turning toward the Earl. "I will see to it that she reserves the next dance for you."

  Falcon bowed his dark head. "Until then, Miss Moore."

  Watching him saunter into the crowd, her father pressed his lips into a thin line. "Is there more to your acquaintance with the Earl than you are telling me?"

  "Not at all, Papa. Why don't you try one of those crumpets on that platter over there? I think I will visit the ladies' retiring chamber."

  She left, with her father frowning after her. For her to dodge his questions like this was unusual, and her father would not let the matter rest until he coaxed the whole story from her. Well, not the whole story.

  Nicola wove her way through the throng of guests, feeling stifled. As she slipped past other guests, she thought about the problem. She wasn't about to discuss the pixies with her father. He always thought his mother was addle-pated because she saw the pixie creatures. And Nicola didn't want to tell him about Ramsey and the trouble he brought her because of his actions. It would break her father's heart, and she feared what that would do to his declining health.

  She opened the door to the ladies' room and almost smacked it into a guest in a peach-colored gown.

  "Shhh," the lady said, not bothering to look at her. "Miss Moore is nothing but a commoner," a woman said from the far side of the chamber.

  Nicola froze. She turned to see a woman she recognized as being Lady Whitley, surrounded by several ladies. Nicola stepped back into the shadows.

  Another woman shook her head. "It's quite shocking, in my opinion. Why, I heard the chit runs a millinery, for heaven's sake."

  "You heard correctly," another female piped in. "In fact, I bought a hat from her just the other day."

  Nicola recognized the strident tones of her regular customer, Lady Kensington. Embarrassment filled her. Noting a privacy screen, she ducked behind it, hoping no one would discern her.

  "Then why ever did Celeste invite her?" someone else asked.

  "The Earl of Falconwood insisted upon it." Lady Whitley made a clucking sound. "Celeste, poor thing, could hardly refuse."

  Nicola wished she could disappear into the thick Aubussom carpet.

  One of the women gave a gusty sigh. "Who could refuse him? That face and form combined with that aloofness are a challenge to any female with the least craving for adventure."

  "Although …" Lady Whitley began.

  "What?" several women asked in unison.

  "I wonder if... no, no, I mustn't say."

  "Come, do tell," Lady Kensington exclaimed.

  "Well, I don't wish to spread unfounded rumors. However, I had the distinct impression that Falcon had some power over Celeste."

  "Oh my, he exudes the strength of an ancient god!" Nicola didn't recognize that young, high voice.

  "The man is a mystery," another woman said.

  "Yes, a dangerous mystery and so, so intriguing!" yet another female intoned.

  Nicola frowned. All the women sounded as if they were vibrating with awe. She risked a glance around the partition. Several of them held expressions of wonder mixed with fear. If they were talking about William the Conqueror, she would have been less surprised. She ducked back behind the screen.

  "What kind of power could he have over Celeste? Surely they aren't having a romantic liaison!"

  The room seemed to inhale at once as a sharp burning sensation stung Nicola's chest.

  "No…no, I don't think that was it," Lady Whitley responded, her tone considering. "I felt as if she feared him more than loved him."

  "You should know, Roberta, that love has nothing to do with it. The man radiates pure carnality."

  Several startled shrieks pierced the air.

  "Perhaps he threatened to expose their affair if she didn't comply."

  Nicola heard a squawk and then a thud.

  "Oh, dear. You have shocked Lady Simmons into a swoon," Lady Kensington said.

  "She is too young to hear this sort of talk," another woman retorted.

  "Get her some smelling salts," someone else cried out. Churning emotions rose within Nicola as she listened to the rustling of gowns and the excited murmurs. She wondered if she could sneak out of the chamber during the confusion.

  "I have some salts," another voice said, too close for Nicola's comfort.

  A sniff followed by a series of coughs alerted Nicola to the condition of the downed lady.

  "Are you all right, my dear?" Lady Whitley asked.

  "I think so," the woman replied in a feeble tone.

  "She needs fresh air," another guest said, whose voice sounded as rusty as the hinges on the door to her father's dye factory.

  A rush of air swept over Nicola's lace stockings. After a count of ten, she ventured a peek from behind the screen. Several women left with the wobbly Lady Simmons in tow. She started to follow in their tracks.

  "Wait, Phyllis," Lady Kensington called, pulling her friend back inside the retiring chamber.

  Nicola snapped back behind the concealing panel.

  "I just wanted to tell you, I feel quite sorry for poor Celeste. Any woman in Falcon's clutches has no hope of recovering. The man is without scruples."

  Lady Whitley cleared her throat. "Well, I think it's shocking. Of course, he's planning on beginning a liaison with Miss Moore."

  "That is, if he hasn't already started."

  Indignant, Nicola was tempted to call the women's hands. She didn't want to add to the gossip, however. Glancing about her, she noticed a narrow door she hadn't seen and inched toward it, praying she could open it without attracting attention.

  "It would explain his desire to see the chit at the ball," Lady Whitley murmured.

  Slowly, Nicola opened the door. It creaked.

  "Who's there?" Lady Kensington asked.

  Heart pounding, Nicola slid through and out into the spacious hallway. She knew it would be only moments before the ladies searched and discovered her. Quickly, she crouched behind a gilded pedestal displaying a basalt vase.

  Firm, decisive footsteps sounded on the wood treading just around the opposite comer, mo
ments before the narrow door opened to expel the gossipmongers. Nicola's breath snagged in her suddenly parched throat. She recognized Falcon as he came into view. She positioned herself more squarely behind the um, hoping he wouldn't look in the darkened comer.

  He passed so near to where she crouched she could have touched his shining black Hessians. Blood hammered in her ears and she wondered if he could hear it. He seemed not to notice her hunched so conspicuously in the comer.

  "Ah, there you are, Lady Whitley," he called out, causing Nicola to jump. He moved toward the women so that he blocked her view of them... and, more importantly, their view of her.