THE
GIRL
AND THE
CLOCKWORK
CROSSFIRE
NIKKI McCORMACK
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
AUTHOR BIO
OTHER BOOKS by NIKKI McCORMACK
To Kai, for your extraordinary partnership
and for helping me find my muse again.
And to Neko, for being my Macak.
CHAPTER ONE
Officer Wells made it back to the London Juvenile and Adult Holding Facility a little after four in the morning. The first thing he had to take care of, after he sat behind his desk to start on the paperwork he needed to file, was the last thing he wanted to deal with after watching his new partner die.
Detective Emeraude stormed in through the front doors. She slapped a hand down on the front desk, glaring her frustration at him over the head of the officer on duty there. The man was a new recruit in spite of his advanced age. His flinch and anxious stare went unnoticed by the detective.
“There was a raid on a house in Chelsea last night. I need to know if anyone was taken or killed.” The detective looked as miserable as Wells felt, with a heavily bandaged forearm and a scrape on her cheek.
Wells couldn’t help but notice that the raw scrape on her cheek gave her typically harsh features a burst of color. He was not in the mood to deal with her or her impertinent demands.
“Detective Emeraude,” Wells started, trying to keep it respectful, “I can’t help you. I just lost a new recruit, and my superiors want me to clear it with them before I share any information with you.”
Finding someone to help transport his late partner’s steamcycle and body back to JAHF had taken almost an hour with the rancid fog—fog so thick you could almost swim in it. The young officer was the latest in a string of short-lived new recruits. He was the latest, but he wasn’t the first. The Literati’s aggressive recruitment lately only added fuel to the fire, increasing the frequency and toll of confrontations with Pirate activists. It was getting too dangerous to venture out with an experienced team, let alone brave the streets with a trainee.
The situation made him miss his foul-tempered ex-partner Tagmet. Almost. Wells met Emeraude’s gaze, making no effort to hide his miserable state. His head hurt. His heart, too. Another dead recruit.
“I’ve got a mountain of paperwork waiting,” Wells said, hoping for some sympathy.
Emeraude didn’t get the hint. She stared at him for a moment without comprehension, as though he’d spoken another language, then her expression darkened. “I need that information, Officer Wells. If you don’t have it yet, you can get it. I’ll wait.” She took a few steps back, folded her arm across her chest and leaned against the wall.
Curious that she was demanding information on the same event the street rat had asked him about before scarpering off on the Pirate airship. Wells and the new recruit had been trying to apprehend the street rat and Asher, son of Captain Garrett. Captain Garrett would be happy that his son got away. Wells wasn’t happy that a Pirate shot down his new recruit
Wells released a heavy breath, hoping some of his twitchy irritation would depart with the exhale. It didn’t. He shoved back from his desk, stood and walked around it to where she’d settled. Her stance shifted forward, pulling away from the wall as if poising for a possible attack. She was a bit taller than him, which made intimidation tactics difficult, but he’d had more than enough for one night.
“Maybe everyone else puts up with your attitude because they feel bad for you, but I didn’t even work here when your brother died, so dredge up some bloody manners or get out.” He pointed to the doors.
For an instant, something unexpected flickered across her features. A deep grief and guilt that made him feel a little sorry for even bringing her brother up despite his words. She held his gaze, the muscles in her jaw twitching, then she drew in a deep breath and the aggression in her stance faded a touch. She relaxed her arms.
Wells reciprocated, taking a step back out of her space.
“If there is any information at all that you can give me, I would appreciate it.”
Her expression made it clear that the polite approach took considerable effort. To try to encourage that behavior, he turned to the desk officer who had actually been here to get a firsthand accounting of the raid. The man glanced between them uneasily. Wells nodded encouragement.
“There was a woman killed in the raid,” the older man began. His eyes locked on Wells who gave another small nod to get him to continue. “And they brought in a young man who’d been injured. They said the others escaped in an older model airship. A real patchwork job.”
Detective Emeraud leaned forward, eager. “Do you know who the woman was? Who’s the youth they brought in?”
The other officer waited for Wells to nod once more before answering. “Don’t know about the woman, but our records show that the youth has been through here several times. A street rat turned kidsman who goes by the name of Chaff.”
Wells tuned in more intently then.
Chaff?
That was who the street rat asked him to check on. With the dead recruit to deal with, he hadn’t even looked yet to see if anyone was brought in from the raid. Now he had that answer at least.
Em nodded once and spun on her heel, darting out the door without another word. The desk officer stared after her, looking puzzled. Wells shrugged. She’d been nicer than usual once he made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for her abuse. Something to keep in mind for next time she came around. Although he would have liked to question her about her interest in the house raid before she rushed off.
He turned to the man at the desk. “You said this Chaff was brought in injured?”
The officer nodded. “Shot in the hand.”
Wells winced. That would be a nasty wound. Lots of bones in a hand for a bullet to break. “Has a physician seen to it?”
“No, Sir. One of the officers wrapped it and said someone would be by later.”
Far from satisfactory treatment. Wells tried to ignore the uneasy swirl in his stomach. Even prisoners were supposed to receive appropriate medical care, which did at least give him the excuse he needed to investigate. He wasn’t doing it for the street rat of course—he had gotten in enough trouble for aiding her during the search for Lucian Folesworth even though she had found the missing inventor—but for his own curiosity.
“I’ll go check on him.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Wells strode down the hall, through the east intake room, and back into the east cellblock. The block was empty now aside from a passed out drunk in the first cell and the young man in the fourth. The youth sat on the cot with his head bowed and one hand, bloated wit
h a crude wrapping of bandages, held high against his chest. His eyes squeezed shut and he wore a pained grimace. Bright blood seeped through the thick wraps. His pallor wasn’t reassuring.
“Chaff?”
A slight tensing of his jaw was the only response. It was confirmation enough.
Why hadn’t they seen to the injury more thoroughly?
“Have you had anything for the pain?”
“No,” he answered hoarsely.
What was the street rat’s interest in him? She might have been one of his thieves, though he didn’t look that much older than her. “Are you a Pirate?”
“I may be daft,” he rasped, “but I’m not a bloody Pirate.”
He looked up then, his blue eyes red-rimmed and glassy with pain. Sweat beaded on his brow beneath a mop of dusty blond hair.
He was a decent looking bloke. He might be almost handsome under different circumstances. Perhaps… “You know a young Asian girl? A creature of the streets like you?”
A flicker of panic chased away the grimace for a second. “Is she all right?”
That made things clearer. Whatever her interest in him, the youth obviously cared about her. “She got away. I don’t know if that qualifies as all right considering the company she’s keeping.”
Chaff bowed his head again. He didn’t say anything else.
Wells shifted his feet. He wanted to keep the conversation going, try to learn something about the situation, but the youth was in such obvious agony. It felt wrong to interrogate him.
Before he could think of something more to say, the door swung open and two men strode into the cellblock. The first was Joel Jacard, partner in Clockwork Enterprises. The other was a man called Bennett, a lean, fierce-looking chap Wells had seen with Lucian Folesworth. The latter didn’t look like much more than a common thug. Given the way he hovered quietly behind whomever he was with and rarely spoke, Wells suspected Mr. Folesworth had hired him as a bodyguard.
But now Lucian Folesworth’s brother was dead, and Bennett, for all his menacing presence, wasn’t the one who inspired Wells to step away from the two of them. Wells didn’t know much about Bennett, but he couldn’t forget that Mr. Jacard had been on the inside of those bars, and his incarceration, however brief, had been full of hateful and vile threats toward the street rat—and Folesworth himself. Folesworth might have forgiven Joel and given him back his considerable rank and privilege. Wells couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness the man gave him.
Joel gave Wells a curt nod. “Good evening officer. We’re here to see this new prisoner of yours.”
Wells shifted his feet, fighting the urge to slink out like a mistreated dog and let them have the run of the place. “I’m not sure this is a good time. He needs medical attention.”
Joel waved off his concern and walked up to the bars. “Rat, you want to tell me where your friends went.”
“They’re no mates of mine.” Chaff’s harsh, resentful tone was enough to convince Wells he might be sincere, though his interrogator appeared uninterested in the truth.
“Really?” Joel chuckled. “I find that hard to believe, but if it’s true, then you won’t mind telling me where they went.”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
Joel smiled pleasantly. “I can give you something for the pain.”
A sick feeling spread through Wells, like poison racing through his blood. They should be giving the boy treatment regardless of his crimes, not using that care as a bribe.
Chaff slowly raised his head, his bloodshot eyes glaring purest hatred into Joel. “Bugger off. I’m not talking to you.”
Joel’s head tilted to one side and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the youth.
“I know you,” he said after a few seconds of scrutiny. “You were with that detective the night they arrested me.”
The darker look vanished as quickly as it had appeared and Joel smiled again.
“It seems we’ve traded places.” He leaned close to the bars, grinning like a merry demon now. “I promise to make sure you enjoy your stay.”
Chaff dropped his head back against the wall with a groan. His eyes squeezed shut and he clutched the wrist of his injured hand. More blood stained the bandage now. Wells got the feeling the youth wasn’t going to hear them anymore. His pain consumed him. Did he realize they would have to amputate it if it wasn’t tended properly soon? It might be too late already.
Joel turned to Wells. “Someone will be here within the hour to move him to the new facility.”
“The new place? He doesn’t look that dangerous to me. Besides, moving him now is just going to make that hand worse.”
Bennett smirked and Joel’s lip twitched in a hint of a sneer. “Perhaps you would do well to remember that we’re on the same side of the bars now and my authority comes from high above you.”
Yes. They were on the same side of the bars now. Not long ago, Lucian Folesworth had been more than ready to see Joel die for his crimes. How could Lucian welcome the man back so enthusiastically? Perhaps the evidence proving Joel’s innocence was truly irrefutable. Wells hadn’t been part of that investigation, but he found when he tried to swallow the pill of Joel’s exoneration, it stuck in his throat.
“Shouldn’t we at least see to his hand before moving him?”
Joel glanced at Chaff and sneered. “He’ll live. Let them deal with it there.”
Wells watched them go, then turned to look at the youth in the cell again. It didn’t sit well with him to leave a prisoner like that. Something about the whole situation didn’t feel right. It made him want to go try to hunt down the girl, to tell her everything he knew about Chaff and where they were taking him. He’d spent his whole childhood dreaming of a life as an officer of the law. Upholding justice. Defending the weak. This wasn’t justice and the idea that he was a part of it only made him feel sick.
He took hold of one of the bars. Perhaps he had gone barmy or perhaps he was just now coming to his senses. “Hang in there, mate. I’ll tell her where they’re taking you.”
Chaff’s eyes snapped open, his gaze feverish and intense. “No! Tell her nothing. Tell her you don’t know where I am. Please.”
Wells stepped back from that burning gaze, from the pain and the desperation. He shook his head and walked away. There was no doubt about it now. He hated his job.
CHAPTER TWO
Maeko hugged her arms around her, pulling Chaff’s jacket tight to ward off the chill of the foggy night. The chill wasn’t just from the cool evening. The offer Thaddeus had made her rang back in her mind. She would have to sell out all the Pirates at Drake’s manor to save Chaff, but he had promised to leave them in peace if she did so. Most she didn’t know. That didn’t mean they deserved what the Literati would do to them if she betrayed their location. And her mum and Ash were there now.
What did it say about her that she still considered it a legitimate offer?
A soft hissing sound above her drew her attention. Peering up, she saw a shape dropping down from the darkness. It was an airship much like the sleek compact model that had exploded over the Airship Tower with Lucian Folesworth in it the night his twin brother Thaddeus took his place, only this one was painted a flat black. It almost vanished in the night. A door opened in the side of the small gondola and a rope ladder dropped down. She grabbed hold of the bottom rung. The ship began to rise again while she climbed, the engines so quiet it was hard to tell they were operational. When she got to the top, Drake grabbed her arm and pulled her in.
“Bring up the ladder if you would.” He shut the door and returned to the captain’s seat.
“Where’s Crimson?”
“She rode back in the coach,” he answered, his attention focused on making a few adjustments in their course.
She began to pull in the ladder, rolling it neatly into the storage hatch in the floor. “Is this ship the other delivery you were talking about?”
“Yes. Isn’t she beautiful?” He ran his fingers across
the control panel with a gentleness typically reserved for infants or lovers.
“It’s black?”
“A custom order.”
“And quiet.”
He grinned back at her, the expression not quite as feral looking now that he’d shaved. In fact, there was something oddly childlike in the expression. “That is the best part. I bought her so I could study the engines. If I can make my battleship half this quiet, we’ll be able to get in close to start firing on our target before they even know we’re there. Did you find the crates?”
“Yes. They’re in the building. I overheard them saying they were going to move them out to the new facility sometime later in the week.”
“Good work. Did you run into any trouble?”
“No.” She didn’t want to lie to him, but they hadn’t discussed her price yet. One should always keep their options open.
“I told you it would be simple.” He stood up and gestured to the chair. “Want to fly her?”
Wary of the sudden snap of excitement his offer triggered in her, she stepped back. “I can’t. I don’t know how.”
“It’s easy. Have a seat and I’ll show you.”
She sat and stared at the unfamiliar controls, a sparkle of mixed anticipation and anxiety lighting her nerves on fire.
Drake chuckled. He was in a bright mood with the acquisition of this new toy. “They won’t bite you.”
He leaned close behind her in a manner that would have made her uneasy with most anyone else. Somehow, with him, the nearness didn’t have that sense of impropriety. Perhaps because she knew he was in a relationship with Crimson or because his childlike enthusiasm over the machine made him somehow less threatening.
He gave her a quick explanation of all the controls then stepped back and began fiddling with an odd little contraption he pulled out of one pocket.
He was right. It was easy. She gave it a little more power and steered to the right. It began a graceful arc in that direction.
“Feel that. She’s more responsive than a good horse.”
The Girl and the Clockwork Crossfire Page 1
