The Doomsday Vault

by Steven Harper

  “Aunt Edwina was a clockworker,” Alice breathed. “But how?”

  That was when she saw the pool of blood.

  Chapter Six

  Alice supposed she should scream or faint or flee, but Areally, what was the point? Blood couldn’t hurt her, unless she slipped in it and fell. Besides, it was long since dry. Red-brown smears of it smudged the floorboards nearby.

  “Good heavens, Click,” she said. “What happened?”

  She stepped forward to get a better look, but Click abruptly threw himself in front of her shins, nearly tripping her. “Click! What in the world are you—”

  The door slammed shut behind her, and a pair of pistons leapt out of opposite walls. Their blunt ends smashed together at head height directly in front of Alice, right over the blood pool. The crash nearly knocked Alice off her feet, and she dropped her handbag. The pistons sucked themselves back into the walls again, leaving behind nothing but a waft of stale air.

  “Oh,” Alice murmured. “Oh.”

  That explained the blood. Now that she knew what to look for, she could make out the faint outline of a square cut into the floor directly in front of her—a section that was no doubt sensitive to pressure. Click looked up at her reproachfully.

  “Yes,” Alice said. “I do need to be more careful. Thank you, Click.”

  Satisfied, Click sat down while Alice studied the room and the noisy clockwork machinery. Did the blood belong to Aunt Edwina? Somehow she doubted it. Aunt Edwina had built the trap, and while it was possible she had been caught in it herself, it seemed unlikely. Of course, that left open the question of whose blood it was and what had happened to the body.

  She tried the door. Locked, and from a drop bar on the other side, if she were any judge. Nothing she could open with the materials in her handbag. And all the windows were high off the floor. In any case, fleeing the house would leave many mysteries unsolved, including what had happened to Aunt Edwina, why she had left her house to Alice under such odd circumstances, and who was playing that amazing violin. No doubt everything was intertwined.

  Alice retrieved her handbag and continued to study the room. Clockworkers were known for their paranoia, and where there was one trap, there would be others. The trouble was, such traps could be small or large, obvious or subtle. It might appear impossible that any one person could build so much, but clockworkers had two advantages over normal humans. One was that they needed little sleep. The plague that focused their minds also served to keep them awake, which, some theorized, contributed to their instability. The other advantage came in the form of progressive automatons. A clockworker might build an automaton, which might then tirelessly assist with the building of another automaton, and then another and another, each one exponentially adding to the amount of work that the clockworker could accomplish until the clockworker finally burnt out. Alice was looking at several years’ worth of work.

  This brought up another question—Aunt Edwina’s continued survival. No clockworker Alice had ever heard of lived very long. Charles Babbage, the most famous clockworker in history, caught the clockwork plague in 1837 and died only two years later, just after he created the analytic engines that made modern automatons possible. The great composer Wolfgang Mozart, one of the first recorded clockworkers, wrote stunning operas and piano concertos in the final year of his life before the clockwork plague claimed him in 1791, only six months after he caught it. Many wondered what both men might have created had the plague allowed them to live longer. Aunt Edwina, on the other hand, had sent Alice her first automaton for her sixteenth birthday—five years ago. Could Aunt Edwina have been infected with clockwork plague all this time? It would certainly explain the interior of the house, though it wouldn’t explain how she had survived the plague for so long.

  Alice continued to think. If Aunt Edwina had wanted Alice to have the house, she wouldn’t have created it in such a way that Alice wouldn’t be able take possession of it. There had to be a way to circumvent the traps, or shut them down. On the other hand, clockworkers didn’t think the way normal people did, and what made sense to one of them appeared mad to everyone else. A clockworker might think it perfectly sensible to help someone by killing him.

  Machinery parts large and small continued to swing, drop, turn, and clank in the clockwork mansion, but the violin music filtered through the noise. Alice was finally able to pinpoint a direction—the back of the building. Very well, then, that was where she would go.

  A pair of automatons rushed past her, creating a slight breeze with the speed of their passing. Three spiders clicked forward, paused, clicked forward, paused. A man-sized gear rolled along its track while pistons popped up and down out of the floor behind it. Alice pursed her lips and studied the system carefully. Even assuming there were no more traps laid—and she wasn’t ready to assume that—the clockwork machinery took up quite a lot of the floor space, and it was always moving. Any bit of it could easily crush her. But the more she studied the place, the more she began to see a regularity, a pattern. A series of deep grooves was cut into the floor, and the automatons moved through the grooves in specific ways. Even the ones that flew followed the floor grooves. And the fact that the automatons moved throughout the room without harm told her she could, too.

  When another automaton passed close by, a slower one, Alice leapt over the pressure square and, grateful she had chosen a simple dress for her luncheon with Norbert, landed behind the machine so she could follow it exactly. Her heart beat fast with fear and excitement. Another leap and step brought her behind the trio of spidery automatons skittering in another direction. She paused when they did, ducked beneath a swinging pendulum that would have brained her, twirled on her toes, and made a fast turn to stay behind the spidery trio. A few more steps brought her to the bottom of a staircase that circled the back wall, where she paused to catch her breath. No more traps triggered so far.

  After a moment’s thoughtful stare at the staircase, she put the wooden handle of her handbag in her mouth, flung herself astride the banister, and hauled herself hand over hand up its length. The process looked ridiculous and immodest, she was sure, but no one was around to see, so what did it matter? Better that than to risk an unhappy surprise on the stairs.

  A certain amount of exertion got her to the top, breathless and panting around the handbag handle. Click was waiting for her on the final stair.

  “How did you get up here?” she demanded.

  Click didn’t answer. Grumbling to herself, Alice clambered down from the banister. She was standing on a balcony that encircled the great room. A quarter of the way round, a set of double doors stood partly ajar. Below her, the automatons, pendulums, and ticking machinery continued in their strange, intricate dance on the grooved floor. The pattern hovered at the edge of recognition, but the longer Alice stared at it, the more her head began to hurt. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened carefully. The sweet violin music she had heard earlier seemed to be coming from beyond the double doors farther along the balcony.

  Alice started carefully across the wood floor. One of the boards shifted beneath her foot, and she leapt back. Nothing further happened. Alice drew her skirts back and tapped at the flooring with a quick foot. Still nothing. She prodded harder. This time an entire section of the floor tilted and flipped over on a pivot. Alice barely had time to yank her foot back and catch a glimpse of the yawning space beneath the boards before they smashed back into place.

  “Hm,” she said. “Who were you expecting to break in here, Aunt Edwina?” Then she glanced down at the faraway smear of dried blood on the floor near the front door. “And did they manage it?”

  The crack left by the pivot trap was now visible, and there was just enough room at the side, near the wall, for a careful person to edge around it. Thanking heaven her bustle was small, Alice pressed her back and hindquarters close to the wall and scooted around the deadly trap. The automatons below continued to ignore her. Alice cleared the dangerous section of flooring, w
hich lay just before the double doors, and checked carefully for trip wires or anything else that might cause a messy death. She found nothing, so she stepped through and found herself on another balcony, this one overlooking a cobblestoned courtyard large enough to play rugby on. To one side, attached to a wall, rose the tower she had seen outside, from the front of the house. A narrow window toward the top glowed, and Alice heard the violin play. To her astonishment, she recognized the song as the one from Hyde Park. The wistful tune created an intense longing inside her, a desire for something she couldn’t name, a feeling that she was in the wrong place or the wrong time, but that the right place and the right time were just a step around the corner.

  A touch on her ankle gave her a start. Click looked up at her quizzically, and she realized she’d been staring at the tower, mesmerized.

  “That can’t be the same player I heard in the mist, can it?” she asked him.

  Click cocked his head, then put out a steel-wool tongue and washed a paw with little scratching sounds.

  Alice sighed and started down a set of stone stairs that led to the courtyard lit by a half-moon. A high wall ran all the way around the yard, and small gargoyles glared from the top. The ground was immaculate—no cracks in the mortar, no weeds or ivy sprouting anywhere.

  Gingerly, Alice made her way across the courtyard. Click walked ahead of her, segmented tail straight up, claws clicking on the stones. As she came closer to the tower, she realized that the dozen-odd gargoyles staring down from the top of the wall were made of metal, not stone. Their iron glare made her uneasy, and her mouth went dry. The musician played on, his melancholy music the perfect accompaniment to the eerie night.

  Click reached the base of the tower and flopped down on his side with a clank. Alice looked up. A shadow hovered in the window high above her. Her heart beat staccato, and feelings she couldn’t name shifted inside her.

  “Hello?” she called.

  The music squawked and stopped. The shadow in the window shifted, and out leaned a young man, not yet twenty. Alice couldn’t tell more than that in the moonlight.

  “Hi!” the young man called back. “Are you here to rescue me?”

  That made Alice blink. “Er... do you need rescuing?”

  “Yes, please. I’ve been in this tower for... well, I don’t know how long. At least two weeks, I think. I can’t get out. I’ve been playing like crazy, hoping someone would hear me and come.”

  “Are you an American?” Alice asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t. It was such an inane thing to say.

  “Boston. Are you English?”

  “Of course.” The entire situation made Alice feel oddly sideways. “I don’t normally speak to strange men when I first meet them, you know, however extraordinary the circumstances may be.”

  “Sorry! I’m Gavin Ennock. I’d shake your hand, but I can’t quite reach.”

  Alice stifled an unladylike snort of a laugh. “I understand, Mr. Ennock. My name is Alice Michaels. This is Click, my cat.”

  “He’s very nice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a clockwork cat before. Can he help get me out?”

  “That depends. Er... who put you up there?”

  “No idea. Two men knocked me out, and when I came to, I was here. The door’s locked, and little automatons bring me food.”

  “Were you playing in Hyde Park two weeks ago?” Alice blurted out. “In the mist?”

  Gavin drew back, wary. “Why?”

  Because you played like an angel, and I can’t imagine a world so cruel as to lock such a wonder away. “Because I think I heard you.”

  “That was probably me. I’m the only busker stupid enough to play Hyde Park on foggy days. Can you get me out? I’ve tried everything.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Alice realized her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking. That bothered her. Was she surprised at finding an inhabitant in the tower? Not particularly. She knew someone was up there playing music—the most wonderful, soul-melting music she had ever heard. And it was played by the same musician she had heard in Hyde Park. The idea that she now had the chance to meet this fine fiddler sent shivers over her entire body, which bothered her again.

  Was it a coincidence that this particular young man had been imprisoned in Aunt Edwina’s house? Or was something else going on here? The questions nagged at Alice, but she had maddeningly little information and a mind that was distracted by a young musician she hadn’t even met. Firmly she ordered herself to get a grip and look at the problem. Where was the tower entrance? She hoped it wasn’t inside the mansion.

  It wasn’t. She found it halfway round the tower, just out of sight. It was made of tired-looking wood and locked, of course. Alice rummaged around in her handbag and came up with a small set of tools rolled in black velvet. Embroidered into the soft cloth were the words Love, Aunt Edwina . Alice extracted two bits of metal.

  “Click,” she said, “light, please.”

  There was a pop, and two bright phosphorescent beams lit the lock. It was shaped like a clock. If the hands were set to a particular time, Alice could doubtless unlock it without a key, rather like knowing the combination to a safe. It was ingenious—and fiendishly difficult to pick. Peering into the keyhole, she could also make out two little needles on springs. No doubt they were coated with some dreadful poison. Alice stood up and stared at the door, hands on hips.

  “Well, really,” she said, and kicked it with all her might. The tired old wood smashed inward. Hmph. Clockworkers might be wonder geniuses, but sometimes they focused so tightly on the details, they forgot the bigger picture.

  “Are you all right?” Gavin called from above in his odd American accent. “I heard a noise.”

  “Everything’s fine, Mr. Ennock,” Alice replied as Click shone his glowing eye beams inside. “I’ve found a way in.”

  The interior of the tower was hollow, with a single wooden staircase winding a spiral around the inside wall. The edge of the stairs had a foot-high rim at the base instead of a handrail, which Alice found strange. It wouldn’t keep anyone from toppling over the side. At the top, Alice made out a landing and another door. She didn’t trust the stairs for a moment, but she didn’t see any other alternative.

  “Click,” she said, “would you run up there and see what happens?”

  The clockwork cat bounded up the steps and made the first turn. A moment later, there was a wooden clatter, and the stairs all flattened into a spiral slide. With an indignant yowl, Click skidded past Alice and clanked to a halt a few feet from the door. His eye beams went out as Alice bent over him.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Click straightened, one limb at a time, and shook himself. Then he deliberately turned his back on Alice and sat down.

  “Oh, Click, dear, I’m so sorry,” Alice said. “Can you forgive me?”

  Click’s tail twitched a dismissal.

  “I’ll give you a piece of steel wool when we get home; how’s that?”

  No reaction.

  Alice sighed. “Very well. You may play with my magnets first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Click turned his head but didn’t look at her.

  “And the steel wool.”

  Click stalked to the bottom of the slide, sniffed at the bottom, then sank all eighteen brass claws into the wood and clattered his way upward like a careful feline spider. In moments, he had climbed out of view.

  “That’s very clever,” Alice called after him, “but it doesn’t get me up there. Do you see a lever or a button or a—”

  Clank. With another clatter, the slide re-formed itself back into steps. Alice clutched at her handbag. “Is it safe to come up, then?”

  She heard a mechanical meow from the darkness above.

  “Was that a yes or a no?”

  She heard another meow.

  With a sigh, Alice climbed the steps, taking her time and testing each one. It was exhausting work, but she refused to take chances. About halfway up, she found Click on a landing near a le
ver. It was pushed upward and pointed toward a sign that read OFF. Other choices included ON, EXPEL, and DEATH. Alice wondered what the original setting had been.

  “You’re a very clever cat,” she said.

  They continued to the top of the stairs and the door Alice had seen earlier. She knocked politely. “Mr. Ennock?”

  He knocked back. “I’m still here.” His voice was muffled. “Can you open the door from that side?”

  She threw the bar, but the door itself was still locked, and no convenient key hung from any nearby hook. A quick examination of the lock showed it to be another poisoned time lock, but this door looked distressingly solid.

  “I’m afraid it won’t budge,” Alice said. “Just a moment. Click, give me your left forepaw, please.”

  Click held up the appendage indicated, and it clattered to the floor. Alice took it up, depressed a hidden switch, and all six claws extended with a little shwing noise. She inserted a claw into the lock.

  “Are you trying to pick it?” Gavin asked from the other side.

  “No.” Alice heard a sproing and a clink. She withdrew the paw to peer into the lock, where she found to her satisfaction that both needles had deployed against the hard brass of Click’s claw and paw, harmlessly discharging the poison and bending the needles into ruin to boot. “Much better.” She handed the paw back to Click, who reattached it, and checked with the lock again.

  “Light, if you please, Click.”

  With another pop, Click illuminated the door. Alice unrolled her tools again and this time set to work for real. Her own automatons came with little locks meant to hold them shut, and Alice had assembled dozens of locking mechanisms over the years.