by H. L. Burke
She squirmed.
Snap out of it, Nyssa. She tried to claw him, but fear weakened her blow. His fist hit her cheek, and her ears rang.
“After all I put into you, you owe me.”
“Let. Her. Go.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve got at least ten thousand.” Al released her and turned on Ellis. “What are you going to do about it, you cripple?”
A sharp buzz and Al’s back arched at an unnatural angle. He convulsed then collapsed. Ellis scowled at him, the fly zapper in his hand and murder in his eyes.
“Did you … kill him?” Nyssa gulped.
“Unfortunately, I think he’s just stunned. I should’ve made it stronger.”
Al moaned and twitched. His hat rolled to Ellis’s feet.
Hot and cold danced in Nyssa’s brain, rage and terror. She drew a deep breath, and the air stoked the rage into an inferno.
“Get out of my home!” She kicked Al’s side. “Now!”
“You ungrateful … harpy.” His voice jolted as if a current still coursed through his body. “I taught you everything. You’d have died on the streets if not for me.”
Ellis knocked Al’s hat out the open door with the zapper. “Nyss owes you nothing. In fact, you’re lucky she’s not calling the police.”
Al stumbled to his feet. “You won’t be rid of me so easily. You owe me, girl, and you’ll pay your debts one way or another.”
The door slammed behind him. Nyssa’s knees buckled, and she leaned against the wall for support.
Ellis turned a dial on the arm of his chair. With a whirring of clockwork, the seat adjusted, pushing him upright. The metal rods formed braces that supported his lower body so he could stand.
“You all right?” he asked.
She nodded but wrapped herself around him anyway. Burying her face against his firm chest, she tried to push down her throbbing pulse. Ellis’s embrace surrounded her. His arms were strong. He smelled of mechanic’s grease and pine soap, and his breath tickled her forehead, warm and soothing.
“I’m sorry I … When that rat put his hands on you, I would’ve given anything to throttle him.” Anger tinged his steady voice.
She laughed a wavering laugh. “I think you did one better. That zapper of yours packs quite a punch.”
“Yeah, but I had to wait for him to let go of you. If not, the current might’ve gone through him into you.” He ran his hand down her cheek. “Do you want to call the police?”
She shook her head and pulled away. “I’m not hurt. No need to bother the authorities over it.”
If Al told them half the things I did when I worked for him, chances are they’d lock me up right along with him.
“You sure?” He tilted his head. “Nyss, I’ve seen you face down monsters, and I’ve never seen fear in your eyes like when that man walked in.”
“Just bad memories and shock.” She picked up the spent zapper and placed it on his workbench. “I’ll be fine.”
He eyed her dubiously then flipped another switch, this time on the metal attached to his hip. The chair reformed beneath him.
“We don’t have any appointments today, do we?” he asked.
“No.” I would be happy if we had one this week, even. Sparks and shocks, I should’ve put the sign up earlier.
“Why don’t we shut down for the rest of the afternoon?” A ray of sunlight flooded through the windows, and Ellis’s eyes brightened. “The sun’s finally out. Let’s go for a stroll down the boardwalk.”
Nyssa smiled. She never tired of watching the waves wash the golden sands … or of seeing Ellis’s smile. “Maybe we could get a cherry ice at the little shop with the blue umbrellas?”
“Now you’re talking.” He grinned. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Three
The sun laced the retreating clouds with cotton-white edges. Nyssa inhaled the crisp, salty breeze wafting off the azure waves.
Ladies with white parasols and flowered hats strolled on the arms of gentlemen in suits complete with pastel cravats or ties and striped bands on their straw hats. The break in the clouds seemed to have drawn out every inhabitant of the island. Buskers played ukuleles and fiddles, and under a canopy a man wearing a beret offered to paint portraits. Gulls cried shrilly overhead, diving for bits of popcorn a sobbing child had dropped onto the wooden planks of the boardwalk.
Nyssa glanced self-consciously at her trousers and knee-high boots. Perhaps she should’ve changed out of her work clothes before they left. At least her gray peacoat was stylish. Ellis leaned forward in his chair, tossing bread crumbs to a pigeon. No one seemed to find him out of place in his unbuttoned vest and shirtsleeves—though most onlookers probably didn’t get past the elaborate workings of his self-propelled chair.
She sat on a bench beside his chair.
“On the way home we could stop at Pierre’s shop,” he commented.
Pierre? Do we know a Pierre? She quickly thought over the signs on Market Street. “Pierre … the gunsmith?”
“Yes. What happened today got me thinking. In ninety-nine percent of scenarios, I have enough brains to even the playing field, but when it comes to physical altercations …” His mouth twisted. “It killed me, watching you struggle in that brute’s hands without being able to help you.”
“You did help me,” she pointed out.
“Excuse me, miss.” Someone tugged lightly on her arm. A boy of perhaps eight in an over-sized jacket with patches on the elbows held out a pink silk flower. A basket filled with more fake posies hung from his arm. He had matted dust brown hair and big gray eyes. “Buy a flower?” He smiled a gap-toothed smile.
“Sorry, I don’t have any change.” She lowered her eyes, all too conscious of the pennies in her pocket.
“Here.” Ellis tossed the boy a shiny, silver coin. “I should buy you flowers more often.”
The boy caught the money, dropped the flower in Nyssa’s lap, and darted away to a grouping of young ladies and their beaus.
“You think you’re helping him, but I’d bet you anything he’s got a drunk father at home who wastes every cent that boy earns on gin.” Nyssa scowled.
Ellis rubbed the armrests of his chair. “So cynical.”
“I’ve been in that world. A few pennies won’t get a kid out of it.” She concentrated on the pigeons, trying not to think of her uncle.
“I suppose you have—I take it you don’t approve of me arming myself, either?”
“I don’t particularly like guns.” She shrugged. “Comes of being shot at once. Plus I worry you’ll shoot yourself, considering how you play with everything that comes into your hands.”
“I may seem careless, but that’s only because I’m confident in the tools I use, so I can afford to play. That doesn’t mean I don’t respect the destructive potential of devices. A gun’s a machine, and most machines can kill in the wrong hands.” He cleared his throat. “It was a horseless carriage, not a gun, that cost me my mobility.”
Nyssa’s eyes involuntarily darted to his motionless legs. “You … you’ve never really talked about that. So it was an automotive accident?”
“It was. Fairly straightforward, no one at fault. Bad weather and bad luck.” He shrugged. “Not really anything to talk about.”
“Who was driving?” she asked hesitantly.
“My father … Mom … they said her death was instantaneous. Touch and go for a few weeks for me, but I barely remember anything about recovery.”
Nyssa bit her bottom lip. Ellis’s father had shut himself and Ellis away after the accident. If he’d caused his wife’s death and his son’s injury, that explained his descent into madness.
I wish I could accept things the way Ellis can. My uncle’s choices cost me much less, and I don’t know if I will ever forgive him.
She leaned forward and touched Ellis’s hand. “If you want to arm yourself, I’m fine with that. What happened today with my uncle wasn’t your fault, though. You didn’t fail me.”
&nbs
p; He picked up the silk flower and tucked it behind her ear. “There. That’s a pretty picture.” He smiled.
Nyssa sank into the dark brown of his eyes. The voices of the crowd and the crash of the waves faded to a gentle hum. A sigh escaped her lips as his hand squeezed her knee.
“Another flower, Mister?” A voice snapped her out of it.
“Huh?” Ellis looked up.
The flower seller was back, this time at Ellis’s arm and holding a full bouquet of his wares.
Ellis cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’ve purchased my limit in flora for the day. Maybe another time?”
The boy stuck out his bottom lip and pushed the flowers at Ellis’s nose. “These are scented, though. Smell them!”
Ellis waved away the boy’s flower-bearing left hand, completely unaware of the light-fingered right hand dipping into his breast pocket.
“Hey there!” Nyssa leapt to her feet.
The boy withdrew, Ellis’s silver pocket watch clenched in his fingers. His eyes widened.
Nyssa lunged towards him. Her hand tightened on the pickpocket’s wrist. “Oh no you don’t!”
“Help! Help! She’s hurting me! She’s beating me! She’s breaking my arm!” The boy wailed.
Every eye on the boardwalk zeroed in on Nyssa. Disconcerted by the attention, she let her grip slacken. The boy wrenched away. Ellis grabbed at him, but only managed to catch the basket of flowers. The boy dropped it and disappeared into a knot of tourists.
Nyssa started after him but stopped, uncertain which way he’d gone.
“Great, just great.” She stomped back to Ellis’s side.
Ellis shrugged and picked up a cloth rose from his lap. “Flower? Apparently these are scented.”
She groaned and sank onto the bench.
***
By the time Ellis and Nyssa got back to their workshop, the sun was setting. They’d given a report of the robbery to a policeman, but while the officer took their information and description of the boy, he hadn’t been optimistic about recovering Ellis’s watch.
Nyssa doffed her peacoat and slammed it onto the counter. “I can’t believe I let myself be taken in by that kid,” she fumed. “I was that kid. I know how it works. Such an idiot.”
“Nyss, I can afford another pocket watch. Let it go,” Ellis soothed. He turned up the gaslight, bathing the workshop in a warm glow. “Things will look better in the morning. Let’s have something to eat. I bet Mrs. Hampton has dinner waiting for us.”
Nyssa’s stomach grumbled in response. Though having a housekeeper had been an adjustment, Nyssa had come to look forward to the warm meals and fresh laundry.
Their workshop was in a narrow three-story building, built right up against the surrounding businesses, a tailor on the left and a candle maker on the right. The first floor held their store front, a small kitchen, and Ellis’s quarters. The second contained a sitting room and one bedroom Nyssa claimed for herself. The third story was Mrs. H’s attic room.
Nyssa liked the arrangement. A few nights when she’d been unable to sleep she’d wandered down to the workshop and found Ellis already tinkering with some invention. They’d sit up for hours, consulting on projects and chatting about everything from mechanics to favorite mystery novels.
They locked up the shop and headed back into the living quarters. When they opened the kitchen door, the savory odor of herbed chicken rose to meet them. Nyssa inhaled.
Mrs. H was a round faced, chubby woman with the olive skin of a native San Azulan but blue eyes suggesting some of her blood came from the Continent. She smiled and took a metal cover off a platter of chicken and vegetables.
“Oh, you’re finally back. I was worried your dinner would get cold.” She filled two glasses with creamy milk tea then motioned towards the table.
“We didn’t mean to be out so late,” Ellis said after they bowed their heads and whispered grace. “We set out for a quick stroll but ran into a pickpocket and were delayed with the police.”
“My goodness.” Mrs. H gasped. “You’d think the police would have a better handle on such things.”
Nyssa spooned out a helping of green beans. She didn’t want to think about anything that had happened today.
“It wasn’t a great loss.” Ellis stabbed his fork into a breast of chicken. “Let’s eat and turn in early. It’ll be a busy day once customers catch sight of Nyssa’s new sign and come banging on the door.”
Halfway through the meal, the door buzzer sounded, and Mrs. H scurried to open it. A dark eyed San Azulan police officer in a navy blue coat followed her back into the kitchen. He stood erect, his bronze buttons gleaming, face framed by impressive, ebony sideburns.
“Mr. Cormac? You reported an act of larceny this afternoon, did you not?” he asked. His eyes swept over the table. When his gaze met Nyssa’s, his nose wrinkled, and he quickly looked away.
Nyssa flushed. What was that about? Do I have “wanted for murder” written on my forehead now?
“An extremely minor act.” Ellis nodded. “I hardly expected a follow up.”
“Did you find Master Ellis’s watch?” Mrs. H asked.
“We may have. It seems shortly after the incident in question, a young boy was caught red-handed wrist deep in a lady’s purse. When we brought him in, he had several small items of value on his person, including this.” The officer reached into his coat and pulled out Ellis’s glinting pocket watch. “It matched the description you gave in your report.”
“That’s it, all right.” Ellis smiled.
The table blocked him from the officer and maneuvering his chair around would have been awkward, so Nyssa stood and accepted the watch. The officer dropped it into her hand without a word and wiped his fingers on his trousers. Nyssa scowled.
Ellis cleared his throat. “It was good of you to bring it all this way.”
“Well, I have a favor to ask in return. The thief is held on ‘attempted’ robbery right now. Claims he picked up most of his trinkets on the street and the woman who caught him after her purse is lying. We can probably make a case anyway, but it might clinch things if you could come down and identify the blighter.”
“I suppose I could.” Ellis pushed away from the table. “Nyss was a witness as well. Should she come?”
The officer shook his head. “Your word would be enough, sir.”
Ellis steered out into the hall with the officer following. Nyssa rose to shut the door behind him and caught their muffled voices.
“I don’t mean to meddle in your private affairs, sir, but your lady friend … This afternoon someone left an anonymous tip claiming she’s wanted on the Continent …”
Nyssa’s ears burned, and she ducked back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.
“Something wrong, dear?” Mrs. H cleared away Ellis’s dishes.
Nyssa swallowed. Ellis knew most of her past crimes—the ones she’d committed as a starving adolescent as well as those she’d been accused of falsely. It wasn’t like the “anonymous source” would poison him against her. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought.
“No, I’m fine. It’s just been a rough day.”
“I can imagine.” Mrs. H clicked her tongue. “Getting robbed on the boardwalk? I’d faint dead away if that happened to me. You should go upstairs, loosen your corset, and lie down for a while.”
Nyssa stifled a grin. If getting her pocket picked would make Mrs. H faint, hearing my life story would probably kill her.
Nyssa ate a few more bites of chicken then helped Mrs. H with the dishes.
The anonymous source has to be Uncle Al. What’s his game? Turn the police against me as a form of harassment? He can’t believe I’d be so easily cowed. That man isn’t getting a cent from me.
She whisked a towel over a plate. Uncle Al had shown up two days after her mother died, and it took him less than two days to push her into petty theft and panhandling.
“I was only ten,” she mumbled.
“Hm?” Mrs. H lo
oked up from the washbasin.
“Nothing.” Nyssa shoved the plate into a cabinet. The china clanked, and Mrs. H winced.
“You’re obviously tired.” She stepped in Nyssa’s way when the girl reached for another plate. “Why don’t you put your feet up until Master Ellis gets back?”
Instead of heading upstairs to the sitting room, Nyssa took a cup of tea into the workshop. Golden pools of light from the streetlamps pooled on the floor of the darkened room. The clocks in the display case ticked quietly, nearly synchronized, like a crowd slowly applauding.
Nyssa turned up the gaslight. Ellis’s fly zapper rested on top of his bench, not plugged into the voltaic pile. She picked it up and pressed a rubber button. The electrodes at the end spit out a few weary sparks then died.
She examined the mechanism. It had Ellis’s typical brilliant but straightforward style. His ability to cut through confusion and find a simple, elegant solution always impressed her.
Perhaps this is a little too simple, though. The wires can hold a temporary charge, but it dies too quickly. What if it were self-powered? Do they make portable voltaic piles? No, too complicated … what about a crank generator?
One of the older electric lanterns she’d gotten from the junk dealer had a crank generator.
Nyssa opened her cabinet and found it. The exterior glass was shattered, but hopefully the inner-workings were sound. She placed the lantern beside the fly zapper, took up a screwdriver, and began to dismantle it.
The pieces turned out to be more intricate than expected. Fetching her goggles, she switched them to the magnification setting and grabbed her smallest screwdriver. As she dissected her way into the inner workings of the lamp she carefully placed each screw on a magnetic tray.
The bell over the door rang. She looked up, but the magnification on her goggles made her head spin, so she quickly dropped her eyes back to the workbench.
“You’re working on my zapper?” It was Ellis.
She nodded. “I had an idea to power it. You don’t mind, do you?”
