The Doomsday Vault

by Steven Harper

  Heartened, she ran farther down the stairs and halted again. What about Kemp and her little automatons? If she left now, she’d never get them back, and she couldn’t leave Kemp to rust and tarnish, or—this thought brought a shudder—allow Norbert to melt him down in a fit of pique.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Alice changed course. Scurrying past the soulless eyes of the footman, she entered the library and took out ink and writing paper. Click sat in her lap at the writing desk and watched as, with shaking hands, she wrote a quick paragraph. After a moment’s hesitation, she recklessly added another sentence and signed it. There were still four deliveries left before the Royal Mail halted for the night, meaning Phipps would have plenty of time to respond to the letter by tomorrow, perhaps even by this evening. Meanwhile, Alice would finish repairing Kemp and prepare Father to be moved.

  The weight left her, and she felt as if she could jump off the top floor and fly. Why on earth—no, why the hell—had she waited so long? Folding the paper into an envelope, she scribbled Lt. Susan Phipps, The Third Ward, √2 on the front and rushed to the front door, where she dashed out into the clearing fog without pausing for a wrap, or even a hat.

  “Would the lady like me to arrange for a cab?” the footman called after her.

  Alice ignored it. The Royal Mail had an office only a few hundred yards down the street, and she ran toward it, skirts bunched in her hands. People on the sidewalk turned to stare at her, a hatless woman rushing in an unladylike sprint up the sidewalk, but Alice found she didn’t care in the least.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Agent Ennock! Could you come in here for a moment?” Gavin paused as he passed the office of Lieutenant Phipps, an uneaten apple in his hand. His first thought was that he was in trouble again, but Phipps didn’t look any more severe than usual.

  “Lieutenant?” Gavin asked.

  “I received this from Alice Michaels a few moments ago.” She pushed a handwritten letter across the desk toward him, and Gavin picked it up.

  To Lieutenant Phipps:

  After a great deal of consideration, I have decided to accept your offer of a position with the Third Ward, pending the Ward’s ability to care for my sick father. If this is acceptable to you, please let me know by post or in person. I remain at your disposal.

  Also, please tell Agent Ennock Gavin that I have changed my mind and would very much enjoy the chance to accompany him to the symphony.

  Very sincerely yrs,

  (Miss) Alice Michaels

  Gavin’s heart did a little jump, and he scanned the letter a second time to make sure he hadn’t misread. “Is this . . . Is she really . . . ?”

  “It would seem so,” Phipps said, and she actually gave a tiny smile. Gavin didn’t know whether to be more amazed by that or by the letter.

  “Is it . . . Can the Ward . . .” He was stammering like an idiot, and he coughed hard to get himself under control. “Is the Ward willing to care for her father?”

  Phipps steepled her fingers, metal piling up against flesh. “I think we can manage the care of one old man. There’s time to send her a reply by evening post, but I think Alice might appreciate a more personal touch.”

  Gavin was moving toward the door before Phipps had even properly dismissed him. Down at the stables, he found a groom waiting with a horse, and, moments later, he was riding as fast as he dared through the chilly evening mist. Traffic on the streets was light, and voices were hushed. Buildings loomed over him, always hemming him in and holding him back. Gavin hated the chains London threw over him. There was no beauty here, no softness; nothing but greed and poverty and disease.

  As if in answer to these thoughts, bare feet slapped brick, and a ragged woman, accompanied by a young child, dragged out of an alley, reaching toward Gavin’s horse. Plague sores wept yellow fluid. In a mixture of fear and pity, Gavin tossed the apple from his pocket toward them. The child caught it, and Gavin urged his horse to greater speed.

  He rounded the corner and let his horse drop into a trot as he entered the square that faced Norbert Williamson’s too-large house. He had never visited this place, but he knew exactly where it was. It took up one entire side of the square and was part of the dull, blocky architecture that made up so much of London. The mist was thickening again, a ghost trying to keep him out of the square. Heart beating fast, Gavin tied the horse to a hitching post out front, then dashed up a set of marble stairs to the double doors. He yanked the bellpull, and the door immediately opened.

  “Sir?” said the mechanical footman.

  Gavin handed it his card. “Tell Miss—tell your mistress that Agent Gavin Ennock of the Third Ward is here to see her.”

  “Please come in, sir. I will see if the lady is receiving visitors.”

  Gavin waited in the echoing foyer while the footman stalked away. He supposed someone of higher birth or position would have been shown to a seat and offered something to drink, but as a tradesman, he was forced to stand by the door, shifting from one foot to the other.

  A woman came down the big main staircase ahead of him. For a delightful moment, he thought it was Alice, but he quickly realized this woman was much older and more curvaceous. She wore a dress of black bombazine and a rough straw hat, also black.

  “Mr. Ennock?” she said as she descended. “Forgive the rudeness of the abrupt introduction. My name is Louisa Creek. I’m a good friend of Alice’s.”

  “L.,” Gavin said.

  “Yes.”

  “Is Alice all right?” Gavin asked. “What’s going on? I got—that is, we got—a letter—”

  “Yes,” Louisa interrupted. Her expression was grim. “But things have changed. Her father passed away moments after she posted it. She sent a servant with word to me, and I came right over. She’s not in any condition to receive visitors right now.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment dashed cold water over him. Then he took a breath and said, “I’m sorry, but I have to ask—did she say anything about the Third Ward?”

  “She did.” Louisa took a deep breath, as if she had to summon courage. “She asked me to tell you that she can’t take advantage of your offer now. There’s the funeral to arrange—very expensive, since he’s a baron—and she said she couldn’t possibly leave her dear, wealthy fiancé now, though at least the idiotic elopement has been postponed. I may have embellished that a bit.”

  “Right.” Gavin found he was twirling his cap around and around in his hands and made himself stop. He imagined Alice collapsed by her father’s bed, weeping while his corpse cooled in the sheets, and the image made him want to rush up the stone stairs to comfort her. “I suppose that means I should go.”

  “I’m afraid so, Mr. Ennock, much as I would like you to stay.” Louisa reached out and ran a hand over Gavin’s shoulder. “Though perhaps I could offer you a ride home?”

  “Uh . . . I don’t . . . I live at—”

  “I didn’t mean to your home,” Louisa said.

  Gavin felt his face turn hot and his feet seemed to grow overly large. “No, thanks. Just tell Alice—Miss Michaels—that I was here and she has my condolences.”

  He fled the house before Louisa could respond. The fog drew its curtain across the mansion behind him as he climbed on the horse and rode sadly away.

  The magnificent music lifted Gavin, transported him away. He leapt from cloud to cloud, chased lightning bolts, and spiraled upward across bright and brilliant air, then tiptoed and glided over stairs of delicate glass. For a moment, the music held him, hovering, then smashed into a storm, a whirling tornado that flung him up into an unbearable crescendo that held a long note and ended.

  The conductor dropped his hands, and the audience burst into thunderous applause, snapping Gavin back to Earth. He almost felt the concert hall chair slap his back. On his left, Simon d’Arco clapped with enthusiasm, his hands muffled by white evening gloves. Gavin finally managed to applaud as well. The concert hall echoed with the noise. It swelled as the conductor turned and bowed twice, th
en faded as he left the stage and the houselights came up.

  “Wonderful,” Simon said. All around them, people rustled to their feet. “And that was just the first one.”

  “Yes,” Gavin said absently. “First.”

  “Are you all right? You look distracted.”

  Gavin shook his head to clear it. “The music. It was just so . . . fantastic. Mozart always is. The Jupiter Symphony, especially. Let’s go up to the lobby and get something to drink.”

  “Of course.”

  They wandered up the aisle with the other concertgoers dressed in gowns and evening jackets. Gavin himself wore the black jacket and white tie Simon had insisted were required for anyone who held season tickets for the symphony. He had bought two tickets because no one ever bought just one and, besides, he wanted to be able to bring someone—all right, Alice—with him, but in her absence, a friend such as Simon would have to do.

  “What’s so special about the Jupiter Symphony?” Simon asked as they threaded their way toward the exit.

  “It’s hard to describe. The finale is the best movement. It’s as if Mozart held back all the resources of his science, and all the power, too, science and power that no one else has, and he made the music a release for both.”

  Simon clapped Gavin on the shoulder and rubbed it, a familiar gesture he did often. “You’re a poetic man, Gavin Ennock. Let me buy you a drink.”

  In the crowded lobby, Simon handed Gavin a glass of red wine. “I’m glad you decided to get out and about again, Gavin. Frankly, you’ve been moping around the Ward too much, and we’re all worried about you.”

  “You are?” Gavin took a gulp from his glass.

  “I know you have your cap set for Alice Michaels,” Simon went on, his voice low, “but she gave her final answer two weeks ago when her father died, and it isn’t healthy for you to keep on about her. There are a lot of other . . . people who could make you a happy man, you know.”

  Gavin stepped aside to let pass a group of women dressed in emerald. In their hats they wore small cards that read TRUE LADIES VOTE! Had he been that obvious? He was aware that Phipps knew about his feelings for Alice, but did the whole Ward know about them, too? He suddenly felt embarrassed and unhappy, and he missed Alice more than ever.

  “Other people,” he repeated dully. “Like who?”

  Simon took a deep breath. “Well, people like m—”

  “Alice!” Gavin interrupted.

  “What?” Simon asked, clearly flustered. “No, I didn’t mean her. I meant—”

  “No, it’s Alice,” Gavin hissed. “Don’t look. I mean, don’t be obvious. I mean—shit.” He turned his back and drained his glass. Across the lobby strolled Alice on the arm of her damned fiancé, Norbert Williamson. She was dressed in black from head to toe and her expression was neutral, even dull. Behind her came Kemp. His black and white paint had been freshly redone, and he fussed with the back of Alice’s dress. Norbert snapped something at him, and he stopped.

  “I suppose this means she’s up to socializing again,” Simon said. He sounded disappointed.

  “No point in hiding how I feel if everyone knows, right?” Gavin said. His voice cracked, to his mortification. “It kills me, Simon. It kills me seeing her with him. It kills me to think he’s with her every day and doesn’t know what he has, while I’m alone, you know?”

  Simon’s expression set. “I do know. You see what you want every day, but can’t have it.”

  “Yeah.” Gavin’s eyes never strayed from Alice, despite his earlier warning. “I’m a wreck.”

  “I know exactly how you feel.” Simon took a deep breath and abruptly grabbed the surprised Gavin in a rough embrace. His cheek scraped Gavin’s, and he smelled the wine on Simon’s breath as the other man whispered, “I’ll give you this chance. Don’t waste it.”

  He let go, and Gavin, slightly stunned, watched as Simon wove his way through the lobby crowd—

  And deliberately spilled his wine all over Norbert’s shirtfront.

  Norbert leapt back with an oath, and Simon made effusive apologies. Alice put a hand to her mouth in a gesture Gavin recognized. Simon dabbed at the bloodred stain with a handkerchief, still apologizing, and hustled Norbert toward the bar to ask for seltzer water. Kemp, in a flutter, went with them, leaving Alice standing alone. Gavin, now understanding what Simon meant, recovered himself and hurried over.

  “Miss Michaels,” he said, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  His voice was shaking, and he wanted to hold her close, but he kept his hands at his side. Alice turned, and her eyes widened.

  “Mr. Ennock.” Was that a catch in her voice? “I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here, so I won’t act as if I am. Was that your friend who ruined Norbert’s shirt?”

  “Yes.” Gavin glanced in their direction. Simon was towing a stormy-faced Norbert toward the men’s room with Kemp bringing up the rear. “He made a sacrifice, and I need to use it.”

  “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”

  Heedless of the crowd, he took Alice’s elbow and walked her toward the main door. “Walk with me.”

  “I’m still engaged, Mr. Ennock, and I’m—”

  “We’re just talking, and we’re in public. It’s not unseemly. Come on.” And then they were outside on the front steps of the theater. Concertgoers moved in and out, exchanging the stuffiness of the hall for the cool damp of the outdoors. Alice stood just inside a pool of light cast by a streetlamp, the golden light casting her mourning clothes into sharp relief, while Gavin stood in darkness, where his hair and shirt shone silver. Gavin rehearsed what he would say, formed every poetic word in his mind.

  “What are we talking about, Mr. Ennock?” Alice asked, her voice soft as earth.

  And all the words left Gavin, as if the darkness had chased them away. The silence stretched long and dank between them, and suddenly he said, “I’ve been studying music frequencies with Doctor Clef.”

  Alice stared at him. “That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “He’s the one who discovered that every note has its own unique frequency based on the number of times the sound waves cycle per second.” Gavin was babbling now, and he couldn’t stop. “I have perfect pitch, so he’s been training me to recognize different notes by their frequencies, even though pitch and frequency aren’t exactly the same, since pitch is subjective and frequency is absolute, but Doctor Clef says perfect pitch is more correctly called absolute pitch, so maybe they’re more closely related than anyone knows.”

  Alice drew back. “Gavin, what are you talking about?”

  “Frequency. Weren’t you listening? Every note can be expressed as a number, a frequency. Middle C is two hundred sixty-one point six three, and if you add those digits together, you get eighteen, and if you add those digits together, you get nine.”

  “Is that important?”

  “I don’t know,” Gavin said helplessly. Stupid, unrelated words poured out of him, and still he couldn’t stop. “Numbers are the key to everything, Alice, even to musical notes.”

  Alice stared at him. “Say that again.”

  “Numbers are the key to everything, even to musical notes.”

  “Musical notes. Why the musical notes?” Her face suddenly grew animated. “The key. The key to musical notes!” Now she was babbling. “Gavin, tell me—do you remember the notes Aunt Edwina played on that strange instrument just before she ran away from us at the bank? Didn’t she also make my automatons play the same notes on the airship?”

  “I remember everything,” he said, and it was true. “And yes, they were the same notes both times.”

  “She was trying to tell us something with them. What were those notes?”

  “G-sharp, B, a rest, and a D.”

  “And what frequency did each of those notes have?”

  “The G had a frequency of fifty-one; the B had a frequency of thirty; the rest had a frequency of zero; and the D had a frequency of nine�
��so low you could barely hear it.”

  The excitement on her face became plainer. “Say those numbers again.”

  “Fifty-one and thirty, zero, and nine.”

  “Oh!” Alice put a hand to her mouth again. “Oh, Gavin! I know what’s going on! I know where Aunt Edwina is hiding! I know, Gavin! Or, rather, I can find out!”

  At last, the insane babble left him, and he seized her right hand in both of his. “Then come with me, Alice. Come with me to the Third Ward. They still want you. I still want you.”

  “I can’t, Gavin.” Her face was flushed in the yellow gaslight. “I can’t just rush off with you, however much I might have wanted to. I thought I had learned what I needed to leave, but then my father passed away, and everything changed. If you hit an automaton just right, Gavin, its memory wheels reset, and it loses everything it learned. Father’s passing hit me very hard.”

  “So we’re back to appearances again.” He swallowed. “Who are you preserving appearances for, Alice?”

  “Everyone!” Alice protested. “Gavin, you have this idea that anyone can just fly off and do whatever he wants. But I have a traditional title now and the traditional responsibilities that come with it. I have to have a legitimate child to pass the title down to, or the title will die. And Norbert paid off thousands of pounds of debt for me—”

  “For your father,” Gavin corrected.

  “It’s much the same. He paid for Father’s funeral, too. And I have a responsibility to Norbert in return. We keep up appearances in order to fulfill those responsibilities to each other. You think that changing everything would be so simple, so easy, but it isn’t, Gavin. People are complicated. Relationships are complicated, and you don’t seem to understand that. We don’t always get what we want.”