The Doomsday Vault ce-1

by Steven Harper

“There isn’t time for that, you idiot. Let’s move!”

  “Is someone going to help me up?” groaned a reedy voice from near Gavin’s feet. “Or am I to lie here until the scavengers strip my rivets?”

  What Gavin had taken for a pile of debris on the floor in front of the counter turned out to be an automaton trapped under a beam. “Kemp?” Gavin asked. “Holy cow! Can you get up on your own?”

  “Do you really expect me to answer that, sir? I believe Madam dropped a crowbar on the counter.”

  “Quite a crowd out there.” Simon d’Arco stepped into the shattered shop. He wore a black coat and cap like Gavin’s and a large pack with indicator lights and dials on it. A crank stuck out one side. “Good heavens! I didn’t expect to see you again, Miss Michaels-or soon-to-be Mrs. Williamson. Are you enjoying your betrothal?”

  “Oh dear Lord,” Alice groaned. “Mr. d’Arco, we must catch that clockworker immediately. We can use my carriage.”

  “If you mean the one out front”-Simon cocked a thumb over his shoulder-“I think the mechanical stepped on it. There’s an awful wreck out there, and the horses are gone.”

  “Damn it!” Alice shouted, and Gavin stepped back, shocked at hearing such language from a woman. “You brought horses of your own, didn’t you?”

  Gavin asked, “Why are the machines so important, Miss Michaels? Tell us, and we’ll do our best.” He flashed what he hoped was a confident grin. “The Third Ward’s best will amaze even you.”

  “I doubt that, Mr. Ennock,” she snapped. “Those machines belong to my fiance. They are extremely … valuable, and he’ll be very upset if they’re lost. We must recover them.”

  Gavin found himself nodding. It had been a year since they’d parted, but she was just as he remembered her-furious, beautiful, and crackling with more energy than a Mozart symphony. He straightened the lapels on his black leather jacket. “We’ll get them back. I promise.”

  Just then, several colored lights on Simon’s pack lit up. Gavin, adept at reading the codes they indicated, gave the crank a whirl and plucked a large round microphone from the side of the pack.

  “Emergency message from headquarters,” he said to Alice as Simon twisted his head in an attempt to see what was going on.

  From the floor, Kemp said, “Isn’t anyone going to-”

  “Is that a wireless communication device?” Alice asked, interested despite herself.

  “Yep. Agent Ennock here,” Gavin said importantly into the microphone. “What have we got? Over.”

  Static hissed and crackled, and a ringing feedback noise played a note two cents above F-sharp. Gavin winced. Perfect pitch wasn’t always an advantage.

  “This is Lieutenant Phipps, Ennock,” said the radio. “Put d’Arco on. Over.”

  With a sideways glance at Alice, Gavin deepened his voice a little and said, “I can handle the problem, Lieutenant.”

  “Put d’Arco on. Now. Over.”

  Flushing slightly, he handed the microphone to Simon, who pressed the button. “D’Arco here. Over.”

  “Remember that grinning idiot of a clockworker you and Teasdale had it out with last year? He’s resurfaced. At this very moment he is rampaging on Fleet Street with another zombie horde, even though it is broad daylight.”

  Alice stiffened.

  “Since you have met him before,” Phipps continued, “I want you to get down there and capture him immediately. Acknowledge. Over.”

  “What about the clockworker that smashed the metalsmith shop?” Simon asked. “The longer we wait, the farther away he’ll get. Over.”

  “You mean you didn’t capture him? Over.”

  “He had already left the scene by the time we arrived. Over.”

  There was a brief pause. “I need you on Fleet Street, d’Arco, but I don’t want Ennock going after that clockworker by himself. If-”

  Alice snatched the microphone. “This is Alice Michaels, Lieutenant. I’ll go with Mr. Ennock.”

  “Miss Michaels? What the hell are you doing on this frequency?”

  “I said I’ll go with him. There’s no time to argue, and you can’t stop me, anyway.”

  “I most certainly can. I can order Agent Ennock to kick you in the head.”

  “No sense wasting time. We’re off.” She tossed the microphone back to a startled Simon d’Arco and turned to Gavin. “With that settled, we need to find transportation.”

  “Uh …” was all Gavin could say. For months he had dreamed of something exactly like this. He’d constructed elaborate fantasies about swooping into Alice’s life with some grand gesture that would make her fall into his arms, betrothed or not. Now here she was, disheveled and upset after a clockworker attack that he was supposed to remedy, and she was taking charge of the situation.

  “D’Arco! Agent d’Arco! Are you there? Over!”

  “I’m here. What should I do?”

  “I told you to meet Teasdale at Fleet Street! Now! And tell Agent Ennock to get moving. Over.”

  Simon shot Gavin a look, and his dark eyes were filled with concern. “Lieutenant, Agent Ennock has never operated solo before. I’m not sure that-”

  “It’s an order, Agent d’Arco. Over.”

  “I can do it, Simon,” Gavin said hurriedly.

  “What about Miss Michaels?” Simon asked the radio. “Over.”

  “If she wants to get herself killed chasing clockworkers, that’s her own lookout. Over and out.”

  The lights on Simon’s pack winked out. He slowly lowered the microphone. Gavin wanted to leap into the air for joy, but he kept his feet on the ground.

  “Well!” Alice said, straightening her hat. “You heard the woman. Mr. d’Arco, you should be off.”

  “Give me the pack, Simon,” Gavin said. “And take the extra horse with you before someone steals it.”

  “Listen.” Simon slid out of the pack and set it down. “This won’t be like chasing L’Arbre Magnifique through the Forest of Fontainebleau, or the time we fought those floating freaks at Furnival’s Inn. You’ll be operating on your own. I don’t want you hurt.”

  “Right,” Gavin said.

  “So. Good luck.” Simon abruptly caught Gavin in a rough and uncharacteristic hug.

  Gavin’s ribs creaked. “Um … sure. Thanks!”

  Simon seemed to realize what he’d done, and he let go with a cough. “Miss Michaels. Fine seeing you, as always. Good day.” And he fled.

  “I know I am only an automaton and barely worth bothering about,” Kemp moaned, “but if someone gets a spare moment …”

  “Was he that sarcastic before?” Gavin pulled a wand on a wire from the pack.

  “No. Something was probably jostled in the accident.” Alice used the crowbar to lever off a chunk of debris, and Kemp sat up. “Can you walk?”

  “I believe so.” Kemp got to his feet and staggered in a small circle. In addition to his having a shattered eye, his body was scratched and dented, and his left foot was turned. “I’m half-blind. I work and slave all day, and this is the thanks I get.”

  “Go home,” Alice told him. “Tell Mr. Williamson what happened, and I’ll fix you when I get back.”

  “I’ll be stripped to my oil pan, and see if I’m not,” Kemp muttered as he limped away. “Not that anyone would miss me. ‘Where’s Kemp?’ they’ll say. ‘No one’s ironed the paper today. Oh well. What’s for tea?’ ”

  “Thank you, Kemp,” Gavin called after him.

  Alice turned to him. “How are we going to follow the clockworker?”

  “The thing is two stories tall. Someone’s probably seen it.”

  “And it has a big head start. It could be halfway to Is-lington by now.”

  “That was a joke. You Brits have a hard time with American humor.” Gavin waved the wand about in a businesslike manner. “Give the handle on that pack a few turns, would you? I need more power.”

  Alice obliged, and several lights on the pack flickered weakly. “What does that object do?”

 
“It’s an extremely sensitive artificial nose. I smelled paraffin oil when I first got here, so I think I can pick up the mechanical’s exhaust and-aha!” An orange light on the pack gave off a steady glow. “Flip that switch there and help me get this on.”

  Gavin winced as the pack’s immense weight landed on his back and shoulder muscles. The beating had been more than a year ago, but his back, crisscrossed with white scars, remained sensitive to sudden jolts. Simon said it was all in his head, but that didn’t make it less painful. He could see the orange light out of the corner of his eye as they picked their way out of the ruined shop, and the glow remained steady, telling him he was on the right trail. A thick layer of clouds covered the sky, but fortunately it wasn’t threatening to rain and wipe out the trail.

  “How are we going to catch up with him?” Alice asked. “Run?”

  “Better. That switch you flipped sent out a wireless signal. Our transport should be here any moment.”

  Heavy footsteps thudded beyond the shop wall and came to a halt amid cries of astonishment from the gathered crowd. Gavin and Alice went outside, where Alice’s eyes widened. Waiting for them was an oak tree as tall as five men, a strange bit of green beauty walking amid the city squalor. Its bottom half was split into a pair of legs that ended in a tangle of roots. Fine vines of copper and brass ran up and down the trunk and wound around the branches. In the sturdier lower branches, seats and benches were carved into the wood. The crowd outside the shop had fled like ghosts fleeing a crucifix.

  “What on earth?” Alice gasped.

  “It used to belong to L’Arbre Magnifique,” Gavin said, pleased she was impressed. “A clockworker Simon and I captured in France. It’s partly intelligent, which is why it didn’t step on anyone when it followed the signal.”

  “I see.” Alice paused. “How do we get up there?”

  Gavin put his cap back on and whistled. The tree leaned down, bringing its lowest branches within reach of the ground and allowing Gavin and Alice to climb aboard. Handholds carved into the bark made it easy, and Gavin helped Alice settle into one of the carved wooden seats before choosing his own seat, one near a control panel and in the center of a series of levers, pedals, and ropes. He strapped himself in. The tree straightened with a stomach-dropping swoop that always made Gavin think of a glissando.

  “GAVIN. . GO. . NOW. .?” the tree said.

  Alice jumped. “It speaks?”

  “A little.”

  “Where? I don’t see a mouth.”

  “Yeah, we haven’t been able to figure that out, either. Tree, this is Alice. She’s a friend.”

  “ALISSSSS. . LEAFY. .” The voice creaked and hissed, like wind rushing through treetops on a summer night.

  “Leafy?” Alice wrinkled her forehead. “What does that mean?”

  Gavin started to blush. Then he straightened. What the hell was he doing? He had fought pirates, watched his best friend die, survived a brutal beating, and faced down a number of mad geniuses who had all tried to kill him. Compared to any of those, a beautiful woman was no threat. Time to stop acting like a stammering boy. He put his hand in his pocket and touched the mechanical nightingale. He had kept it with him all these months, and never once had it been damaged or even scratched. It had become a talisman that kept death away.

  “It means he thinks you’re pretty,” he explained, then added, greatly daring, “He’s right.”

  “Oh. Well,” Alice said, clearly flustered, and Gavin wondered whether Tree’s remark or his were the actual source of her embarrassment. “Thank you, Tree.”

  “LEAFY.”

  “We’re off!” Gavin said. He worked pedals and pulled levers. Tree, responding to signals sent through the metal vines, stomped away amid a swish of leaves. Houses and shops rushed past them nearly as fast as a train. People pointed and gawked. Lips parted, Alice clung to her seat, her gaze darting in a dozen directions, and Gavin felt a little thrill at her excitement, as if he had invented Tree just for her. Through it all, he kept an eye on the orange light just over his left shoulder. When it flickered or dimmed, he pulled Tree around to change direction until the light glowed more strongly.

  “Does your instrument tell you how far ahead Mr. Barton has gotten?” Alice asked.

  “No,” Gavin said. “It only tells direction. And how did you know his name?”

  Alice muttered a curse, the second one Gavin had heard from her that day. “We met briefly at a ball in the spring, before he’d contracted the clockwork plague. His full name is Patrick Barton.”

  “OIL. . MAN. . FAR,” said Tree.

  “You can tell how far away he is, Tree?” Gavin asked.

  “YESSSS. BAD. . SSSMELL.”

  “How far, then?”

  “MANY. . SSSSTEPSSS. SUN. . KISSESSSSS. .”

  “Sun kisses?” Alice said. “What does that mean?”

  Gavin hauled on a rope and pressed a pedal. In some ways, it was similar to piloting an airship. He could feel Tree’s movements as vibrations through his own hands and feet, and the creaking of Tree’s joints reminded him of the sounds an airship made as it coasted through the air, but there was also a definite jolt each time one of Tree’s feet came down, and the overall movement had an up-and-down swing to it instead of the steadier glide of the airship. Tree’s speed and his ability to step over and around traffic let them make excellent time.

  “He means we’ll catch up at sunset,” Gavin said. “When the sun kisses the horizon.”

  “That’s very poetic, Tree.” Alice reached out and stroked a branch. Gavin felt a bit of envy.

  “YESSSS.”

  They were already leaving London proper, and the houses were thinning out, fading into farmland and wooded country estates. Herds of sheep grazing near the road in their paddocks fled at Tree’s approach, and a cool breeze cleared the clouds away to reveal a heavy sun.The air smelled cleaner, more like grass and forest. Gavin inhaled appreciatively. He hated being trapped in London, with its grime and demon smoke and stony streets, its square buildings that hemmed him in and ground him down. Clean air stripped away the demonic ashes.

  Just as the sun touched the horizon, Gavin and Alice saw a stone tower rise up ahead of them. It was surrounded by a ruined stone wall, and from his vantage point in Tree’s foliage, Gavin could make out the remains of several other foundations lying around it. Rose vines grew over many of the stones and climbed all the way up the tower, and a river drew a silver ribbon along one side.

  Perfect place for a clockworker to hide, Gavin mused.

  Even as the thought crossed his mind, the mechanical unfolded itself from atop the tower like a metal blossom, and the glass bubble gleamed in the setting sun. The figure of Patrick Barton was barely visible inside.

  “What do we do?” Alice said.

  “First we try to talk to him,” Gavin replied. “He might come peacefully.”

  Light flashed from one of the mechanical’s arms. A moment later, the ground near Tree’s right leg erupted in a small explosion that showered all three of them with bits of sod.

  “Or he might be hostile from the outset,” Alice said. “I hope you’ve prepared for this eventuality.”

  “You’re awfully calm,” Gavin observed.

  “Panic never solved anything, Mr. Ennock.”

  Another flash of light. Gavin hauled on the lines and swung Tree around toward the river just as another explosion hit the ground where they’d been standing.

  “ROCKY,” Tree said.

  “That means he doesn’t like it,” Gavin explained before Alice could ask.

  “Run, little mice!” boomed Patrick Barton.

  “What is he shooting at us?” Alice asked.

  “Simple gunpowder bombs, I think. He’s good at timing the fuses, but not so good at launching them.”

  “I’m not complaining, Mr. Ennock.”

  “ROCKY.”

  Gavin pulled a speaking tube down to his mouth and whistled a hard G into it. The note sang out clear and loud, me
aning Tree’s amplification system was working. Tree was now a few steps from the river.

  “Mr. Barton!” Gavin shouted at him. “We don’t want to hurt you. If you come with us, we’ll give you a fully equipped workshop and let you work on anything you want.”

  “Can you give me a moving target to practice on?” Barton shot back. “The moon is too far away.” Another bomb whistled toward them. Gavin eyed it, then yanked a line. Tree swatted the object aside, and it exploded harmlessly above the river beside them.

  “Bombs bursting in air,” he muttered.

  “Well-done, Mr. Ennock!” Alice called.

  “LEAFY.”

  “Now let’s shut him off.” He took two tuning forks from his jacket pocket, one tuned for C and one for F-sharp. He struck them against Tree’s bark and held them up to the speaking tube. A tritone, strong and ugly, rang out across the clearing. It dragged like a fingernail across Gavin’s eardrums, and he felt a twinge of actual nausea.

  Barton’s mechanical put metal hands to the sides of the glass bubble. “La la la la! I can’t hear you!”

  “Damn,” Gavin muttered.

  “What happened?” Alice said from her own chair.

  “He built sound baffle into his bubble,” Gavin told her.

  “Then how can he hear you shouting at him?”

  “We’ll ask after we’ve captured him.”

  Barton, meanwhile, began to sing. “ ‘Hi, diddle diddle, the cat and fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon’!” Part of the vine-covered tower wall ground aside to reveal an enormous cannon, but with glassy fixtures on it. Power whined, and sparks snapped from the gaping mouth. Gavin made a small sound, and his mouth went dry.

  “He’s lost it completely.” Alice was gripping the sides of her chair with white knuckles as the cannon clacked around, aiming straight at them. Tree’s branches creaked with tension. Gavin moved Tree left, then right, but the cannon tracked the movements with terrifying precision.

  “We’ll be all right,” Gavin said, hoping he wasn’t lying. Tree reached the river fewer than thirty paces from the tower and stepped into the water. “Alice! Can you pump those bellows by your feet?”

  “It’s Miss Michaels, if you please, and yes, I can.” She did, and there was a deep sucking sound. Tree sighed heavily.