by H. L. Burke
Nyssa took a maze-like route home, darting down alleys and even dropping into a milliner's shop to pretend to browse, just so she could watch the street for any sign of the top-hatted man. No one seemed to be following her. The store’s clock chimed eight. Clockwork Row would be open for business now. Soon someone would notice the broken window in Calloway’s shop, find the body, and raise the alarm. The authorities would wish to question her at that point. She needed to get to them before it turned into a manhunt.
“Or girl hunt,” she mumbled, pretending to try on a hat but really watching the street behind her in the mirror.
“What was that, miss?” the young woman manning the counter asked.
“Nothing. I just realized I forgot my purse.” Nyssa hung the hat back on its stand and whisked out the door.
Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she kept her pace only slightly faster than the other pedestrians. A gray, three-story home with high-peaked gables stood sentry at the end of the street. A weathered sign read, “Mrs. Mayberry’s Boarding House” in large scrolling letters, and “Females Only” in smaller but bolder print beneath.
A quick scan of the street showed no sign of her pursuer. Nyssa's shoulders relaxed. She'd half expected him to be waiting, and her best back-up plan was to beg a complete stranger to use their videophone or trek the almost three miles to the police station, knowing the whole time that the man in the top hat could be just around the corner. Neither option appealed to her. She started towards the house, thinking of what to say to the officers, how to explain the attack and Mr. C's death.
A horn blared, and the traffic parted. A black motorcycle with a sidecar squealed to a halt in front of the boarding house. The driver was a uniformed officer in a custodian's helmet. The passenger wore a suit jacket and bowler hat, but Nyssa had developed an eye for plain-clothes-men in her time as a thief. Instinctively she shrank back. She hadn't summoned them, so why were they here? Could they have found the body on their own already? What conclusions had they drawn?
Her conditioning to run from the police warred with her knowledge that she hadn't done anything wrong.
I need to at least know what they are up to. In the back way. They won't expect that.
Nyssa took a side alley, then three turns, before coming out behind the boarding house. No sign of watching eyes. They might have a guard on the kitchen side door, but if she were quiet, that wouldn't matter. Her window was the second one in. None of the other residents should be home. They were all career girls like herself. Taking out her screwdriver, she wriggled the latch until it popped open.
“Told Mrs. Mayberry we needed better latches,” she mumbled. Hoisting up the window, she slipped into her room.
She set her ear to the thin wall separating her room from the parlor, another thing she'd often cursed but now found herself grateful for.
“I can't believe it.” Mrs. Mayberry's flutey voice sounded sharp and clear. “She seems like such a nice girl … you say her employer was dead? Are you certain she wasn't another victim rather than the culprit?”
“I suppose we could hope so, Ma'am,” a male voice answered.
“Well, we certainly shouldn't hope she's a victim.” Mrs. Mayberry's tone sharpened.
“No, ma'am, certainly not … Well, it seems as if she isn't here. If you hear anything from her, please let us know.”
Nyssa drew back. She rubbed her suddenly aching forehead. I have to tell my own side. The longer I'm gone, the more suspicious it looks, but what if they don't believe me? A mysterious man with electric gloves? Who I can't even name? … I could go back to the gang. Thieves' honor means they'll protect me.
The door to the house slammed shut, suggesting the police had departed. Each passing minute added to her perceived guilt. Indecisiveness wasn't an option. But would they believe her?
She stood and paced to the tiny washroom. Under the basin, she'd hidden a set of lockpicks and the scrawled address of a former compatriot. They'd take her back. Keep her hidden from the police. She'd just have to work for them.
“I'm not a thief anymore,” she whispered. A board creaked behind her, sending a jolt of terror through her.
Nyssa whirled about.
The man in the top hat smiled at her from the foot of her bed. “Once a thief, always a thief.”
“No!” Nyssa grabbed the basin and flung it into the man's face. He staggered backwards, falling onto the mattress.
“You little hussy!” he snarled.
“Who is in there?” Mrs. Mayberry called out. “Nyssa?”
An image of Mrs. Mayberry, murdered like Mr. C, flashed through Nyssa's head. I have to get him away from her!
Nyssa pushed past the still floundering man and slipped through the open window. She darted down the alley.
The man staggered after her. “I'll fry you!” he shrieked.
A horn blared and a horseless carriage jerked around the corner like a runaway train. The passenger door flew open. A woman reached a hand towards Nyssa. “With me, quick!”
Who are you? Nyssa flinched back.
“He's coming! Move!” The woman pointed past Nyssa.
Nyssa glanced back. The man snarled and raised his gloved hand.
She dove into the carriage. The door slammed shut behind her, and the carriage jolted forward. She steadied herself and glanced through the rear window. The top-hatted man ran behind them, waving his arms. Nyssa collapsed against the leather seat.
The back of the carriage had two benches, facing each other, but so close Nyssa’s knees bumped into her fellow passenger’s. A tinted glass window separated the passenger compartment from the driver’s compartment. The whole contraption moved with jerks and bumps, forcing Nyssa to clutch the edges of her bench to avoid flying into the woman’s lap.
“I fear you’ve had an upsetting morning.” The woman’s voice had a syrupy tone with a hint of a laugh. She wore a gray frock and had a veiled fascinator hat perched on her blond pompadour.
“That’s … an enormous understatement.” Nyssa scowled, leveling a fiery gaze at the woman. “That man killed my employer. My … my friend.”
The woman’s lips pursed. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“We need to go to the police station, file a report, get that criminal off the streets.” Nyssa’s fingers tightened around the straps of her satchel until they hurt.
“That isn’t advisable. My competitor’s methods are barbaric, but he has an unsettling amount of influence. With little more than your word against his, he’ll never see punishment for his deeds. He’s done far worse in the past.”
“Your competitor? Who is he? Who are you?”
“My name is Albriet. That man represents a rival interest, after the same thing as my employer.”
Nyssa flattened her shoulder blades against the back of her seat. Did I jump into a trap?
“What do you want with me? The man said something about a job, but I don’t do that any more. I’m not a thief.”
“What that man wanted from you was thievery. What I want is simple ‘asset recovery.’ And you will be richly rewarded.”
“Thanks but no thanks. Please stop this car. I’ll take my chances with the police.”
Albriet’s blue eyes narrowed. “That would be a mistake. As I said, my competitor has influence. If he has his sights set on you, there’s no safety for you anywhere in New Taured. Your only chance is to get out of the country, flee, leave your name and your life behind and don’t look back.”
Cold washed over Nyssa. “How?”
“My employer can finance that.”
“I don’t see how your employer is any different from the competition, if you’re after the same thing.” Nyssa removed her tinted glasses. She folded them and slipped them in her vest pocket. “You want me to rob someone, don’t you?”
“The difference is in the right of possession. Have you heard of Professor Dalhart?”
“Of course. Everyone has. He invented half the machines in Mr. Calloway
’s shop.” The mention of her employer’s name sent another pang through her chest. She clamped her mouth shut and lowered her eyes. Not going to cry now. Not now.
“Indeed he did. A brilliant mind, but incredibly eccentric. No head for business. In fact, in spite of his brilliance, his company lost money for several years until he took on my employer as an investor and partner.” A cold smile flitted across Albriet’s lips.
“Your employer is Mr. Rivera? Of Dalhart & Rivera?” Nyssa tilted her head to one side. What could the richest man in New Taured want with me?
“The same. You see, Dalhart became a recluse in his later years. After his wife passed, he moved himself and his young son, Ellis, to a large estate at the edge of the city and became a virtual shut in, cared for by an army of servants. However, after a few years, he dramatically reduced his staff in favor of a mechanized approach.” Albriet smoothed her skirts with white-gloved hands.
“Mechanized?” Nyssa leaned forward.
“Yes. While Professor Dalhart is best known for the videophones that bear his name, he had a passion for computers and robotics. In fact, he promised Mr. Rivera inventions that would revolutionize both fields. Imagine, no more factory workers crushed under dangerous equipment or coal miners forced to slave underground to supply our steam plants.” Albriet’s eyes glinted. “If Dalhart’s promises had come to fruition, manpower would have been replaced by machine-power.”
“But they didn’t. I guess I was under the impression that Dalhart had passed on.”
“He might have.” Albriet shrugged. “No one is sure.”
Nyssa’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean, 'no one is sure'?”
“A little over four years ago, all traffic in and out of Dalhart Manor ceased. Up until that point, Dalhart had been reclusive, but his staff and son were often seen going about their business. Then one day, half the staff was unexpectedly let go, and the remaining half … well, one of them resurfaced about three years ago. A passing motorist nearly hit her in the road outside the manor. She was raving incoherently about monsters, passed away in an asylum a few month’s later.” The carriage went over a bump.
“Three years ago? And no one investigated?” Nyssa shuddered.
“Oh people tried, but Dalhart Manor is like a fortress. Few dare to brave it.” Albriet gazed out the window. Houses and shops flew by. Nyssa didn’t recognize this part of town.
Nyssa chewed her bottom lip. She had a lot of questions but didn’t wish to be drawn into this mess. Showing too much interest wasn’t an option. “What does this have to do with me?”
“As Dalhart’s business partner, Mr. Rivera has a right to all his papers. Even incomplete, his research is worth a fortune. We have made several attempts to recover it, but the manor has defeated our agents. We need someone with specific skills.”
“Burglary skills.” Nyssa nodded. “So I’m assuming someone is still alive inside that manor, stopping your men from getting what they want?”
“Maybe.” Albriet shrugged again.
“They didn’t tell you what they found? If the place looked lived in or abandoned? If they saw anyone?” Nyssa raised her eyebrows.
Albriet reached up and adjusted her fascinator.
Realization crept over Nyssa. “They didn’t come back, did they?”
“No. If you must know, several agents have failed to return. We’re assuming our competition is making similar attempts, in spite of their lack of legal claim to the information, but so far the manor has refused to give up its secrets.”
“And what makes you think I can succeed where they failed?” Goosebumps prickled beneath Nyssa's sleeves. She reached into her satchel and re-donned her peacoat.
“Would you like a blanket?” Albriet arched an eyebrow.
“I’m fine. Why me? I’m not the only burglar in New Taured, plus I’m only sixteen and out of practice.”
“Yes, well, when I realized you’d caught the attention of the competition, I looked into you to see why. Your record as a thief was quite impressive, but since then, you’ve added electrician's training and videophone repair. I assume you know your way around a basic computer system?”
“I suppose I do.” Nyssa buttoned the dozen black buttons, but the wool coat failed to warm her. Must be my fading adrenaline.
“We need someone to recover the files from the main computer.” Albriet crossed her legs and set her hands on her knee. “It may no longer be functional, so repairs may be necessary. We will provide you with memory wheels and all the tools you will need.”
“I have my own tool kit, though I don't have any lockpicks …” Nyssa bit her tongue. “I haven’t said yes yet.”
Albriet smirked. “No, but what options do you have?”
“Are you going to pull a gun on me? Threaten to have me killed or arrested like your competitor?” Nyssa scowled.
“No, we can both see how that worked out for him.” Albriet waved a dismissive hand.
Nyssa glanced back out the window. A row of sickly looking trees lined a neighborhood of large but rundown houses with overgrown gardens and shuttered up windows.
“The police think you did it. They're looking for you even as we speak,” Albriet said. “Also, even if they believe you, they can't protect you. I meant what I said about my competitor. He will hunt you relentlessly. For now he wants you alive, but if you prove too stubborn, he’ll kill you rather than risk you telling what you know about him, however little that might be. He has committed murders for far less.”
Nyssa’s stomach clenched. That she believed. He’d killed Mr. C with a smile.
“I can offer you a way out, an escape, a new beginning.” Albriet reached under the seat and pulled out a black case with silver filigree edges.
“I don’t want a new beginning. I have … I have a good life.”
“You had a good life. That’s gone now.” The latches on the case clicked open. Albriet removed a small leather case from the larger one. She exhibited a gleaming set of lockpicks. “The best money can buy.” She smiled. “You’ll be doing a good deed, preventing a brilliant man’s legacy from dying with him, recovering valuable information that technically belongs to my client. Nothing illegal, nothing immoral even. Just good, honest work. In turn, we will get you a ticket to anywhere in the world.”
Nyssa shivered and stared out at the gray sky above the trees and city skyline. Someplace warm and sunny where it rarely rains.
“And if I say no?”
“I let you out in front of the police station. You can take your chances with them, I suppose, but they probably already have your face on a wanted poster.”
“Not the first time.” Nyssa snorted. She took the lockpicks from Albriet and traced them with her fingers. Nice set. Well made, better than anything she’d worked with during her “professional” days. Not that there was anything professional about a preteen desperate not to starve.
Is there anything to go back to? Mr. C was the only one who really cared about me. Without him, this might be my best chance.
Nyssa cleared her throat. “All right. I’ll do it. How do we get to this mansion?”
Albriet slid back a panel on the seat and flipped a silver switch. The brakes squeaked as the carriage came to a halt. “We’re already there.”
Chapter Three
Nyssa glanced to her right. An ivy-choked brick wall blocked the view from the window.
“The gate is around the corner.” Albriet flipped another switch, and the door swung open. She handed Nyssa a slip of paper. “This is the address where you’ll be able to find me after your venture.” She then passed her a small box. “Memory wheels. Enough to download the main files. We’re also interested in any information you can discover about the security system. If we knew what was preventing our agents from completing their missions, we might be able to disable it.”
Nyssa tucked everything into her satchel. “And if I change my mind?”
“Nothing I can do to stop that, but as I said, you�
�ll be on your own, and your options are limited.” Albriet patted her lips as if muffling a yawn. “Besides, I know your sort. You want to know why. Once you start scraping away at the puzzle of that house, you won’t be able to stop until you’ve excavated its last secret.”
Nyssa grimaced. Possibly true, but she didn’t like the fact that Albriet had discerned that after a mere half hour in her presence. She slipped out of the carriage and glanced into the driver’s cab, intending to thank him for the ride. The compartment was empty except for a series of gears and levers. Nyssa blinked. Albriet winked as the door shut between them and the carriage jerked away.
Exhaling, Nyssa paced along the wall. An empty field with a few overgrown paths and lopsided benches lay across the street. An abandoned park? The area had obviously once been a nicer neighborhood. Turrets of houses stuck over the edge of walls, though most had faded paint and missing shingles. Moss covered the once stately street lamps which stood frozen like guards along both sides of the avenue.
“So what lies behind this wall?” Nyssa touched the bricks. She could easily scale it here. A dozen or so possible footholds presented to her trained eye. Still, she’d like a look before she made her final decision. She followed the sidewalk around a corner and stopped in front of a towering iron gate. Behind the bars, a brick path stretched towards the largest house Nyssa had ever seen. The entirety of Clockwork Row would fit comfortably in the front lawn, and the house itself was five stories of black windows, balconies, and towers. She leaned against the gate and nearly toppled over when it swung open.
Steadying herself, she examined the gate. Someone had cut the chain, and not recently either, for rust had crept into the marks left by the tools. She supposed it made sense. Albriet had said others had attempted this; though trying to enter by the front was an amateur mistake. Nyssa eased the gate back to its original position and continued along the sidewalk as if on a stroll.
They apparently approached it as if no one lives here, and from the street that certainly appears to be true, but there could still be eyes. The man invented the videophone. Surveillance wouldn’t be beyond him … sensors … Let’s see what we’re dealing with.
