intersection the size of a marching field. Looming over it was the Bank of England, a white structure begrimed with decades of coal smoke. The building covered multiple acres and was built around an irregular network of courtyards, ramps, staircases, and pillared halls. At the moment, it was being attacked by a crowd of zombies. Alice stared. Gold bouillon, no doubt what the clockworker was after, lay buried in vaults deep underground. The zombies, nearly a hundred in all, were attacking what amounted to a tiny corner of the bank, and they had no hope of getting to anything worthwhile, but that didn’t seem to stop them. Zombies created a sea of bodies three and four deep around one small part of the building. They flung themselves at the heavily barred, arched doors, attacking with stones pried up from the street or with their bare fists. A bell on the bank roof rang and rang in a call for help, but Alice knew the police wouldn’t want to get involved directly-they stood the same risk of infection as anyone else. Fear twisted in her own chest at the thought of a zombie’s touch, but she remained determined to help.
In the center of the zombie crowd stood the grinning clockworker. His brown coat nearly reached the ground, and his ragged top hat, out of place so early in the day, poked up like a smokestack. The white mask covered the upper half of his face, and his lower face kept that impossibly wide grin. He was playing the strange instrument Alice remembered from their first encounter. Clearly he had repaired it, and perhaps had even made some improvements. It still looked like a bagpipe with strange little machines attached to it, though the clockworker didn’t blow into it. The dreadful music poured ceaselessly from the instrument, and it seemed to be driving the zombies into a frenzy. The sickly men, women, and children, gaunt and ragged, pounded at the building, moaning and crying with inhuman ferocity.
Tree and the mechanical worked their way to the intersection. A trio of policemen waved their arms, trying in vain to restore order, and a fourth officer on horseback wrestled with his mount to keep it under control, though none of the officers approached the zombies or the clockworker. People screamed and pointed or simply fled. A carthorse lay on its side, its eye fixed upward in death. Gavin halted Tree within running distance of the bank, opened a cupboard door concealed by Tree’s bark, and extracted a violin case.
“Can you play tritones on that?” she shouted across to him, her voice barely audible over the clockworker’s music and groan of the zombies.
“Not effectively.” He was already climbing down, leaving the sleeping Barton chained to one of Tree’s branches. “But I have a different idea.”
He sprinted toward the zombies-and the clockworker in their midst. Alice, unused to trousers, fumbled through her pockets. “Gavin! Wait! I have the tuning forks!”
But he was already too far away to hear. He reached the edge of the zombie crowd, put bow to strings, and played. His fiddle blended with the clockworker’s otherworldly song. The grinning clockworker spun, flaring the tails of his long coat. He stared at Gavin, but didn’t pause in his own playing. His fingers continued to skitter over the controls of his instrument, and the terrible music rippled from it in endless waves. Gavin stared back, and something passed between them. The clockworker nodded once, and Alice held her breath. Her hands went cold on the controls of the mechanical.
Gavin set his shoulders and played louder. His fingers flew up and down the fiddle’s neck. His melody wound around the clockworker’s, combined with it, and created a new one. The zombies paused in their rampage. They turned, entranced by the duet.
The clockworker changed the tune, and the zombies screamed with one voice. Alice clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the horrible noise. It was like listening to the dead. They went back to attacking the doors.
“ROCKY,” Tree said beside her. “LOOK.”
A man poked a rifle through the bars of an upper window of the bank. Alice instantly came to herself. She didn’t like the clockworker and she feared the plague zombies, but the man with the gun might hit Gavin. Without thinking, she reached down with her mechanical hands, tore two chunks of brick and mortar from the street, and hurled a piece at the man. The chunk was only the size of cat, but it clanged hard against the window bars. Startled, the man dropped the rifle and jerked himself back inside.
“LEAFY,” Tree said.
Gavin switched his song to match the clockworker’s again as Alice stomped toward the zombie crowd and stopped there. Tree, bereft of a driver and with Barton chained in his branches, stayed behind. The zombies paused a second time. They and the clockworker turned to stare, this time at Alice. The clockworker’s song continued, though the grin fell off his face. Alice felt tall and powerful as she glared down at the clockworker who had frightened her, threatened her, disrupted her city. Her fist clenched, nearly shattering the second piece of brick and mortar.
“Stop that music!” she yelled into the mechanical’s speaking tube. At her feet, Gavin halted. “Not you!” she amended hastily. “You!”
Gavin started up again, but the clockworker ignored Alice’s order. The zombies made a thick wall between the mechanical and the clockworker, and Alice couldn’t quite reach him. She didn’t want to stomp through the crowd, either. It would be horrible and messy, and as much as she hated and feared the clockwork plague, she couldn’t bring herself to crush the skulls of its victims. Alice fumbled through her pockets, yanked out the tuning forks, and clanged them together. The tritone rang out, but it drowned in the duet below. Disgusted, Alice shoved the forks back into her pockets and grabbed the mechanical’s controls again, but she couldn’t do anything with the zombies in the way. The clockworker’s grin returned. They were at an impasse.
“You’ll have to stop playing sometime,” Alice called.
The clockworker ignored her and changed his song again. The zombies abruptly turned their collective gaze on Gavin, who was without defenses. They were only a few paces away. With the rigid precision of mechanicals under control, they reached for him.
“Run, Gavin!” By reflex, Alice hurled the piece of brick and mortar at the clockworker. The clockworker leapt backward with a yelp and bumbled into a zombie. The chunk crashed into the ground where the clockworker had been standing. The song stopped.
Silence fell over the square. Then the zombies cringed and flung up their arms to shield their eyes from the sunlight. They scattered, fleeing the terrible light. Gavin shinnied up the mechanical, fearful of being touched and infected, and dropped into the padded bench seat beside her without even a how-do-you-do. It made for a tight squeeze, and she was acutely aware of the way his hard muscles pressed against her body.
“The tuning forks,” he panted. “Quick!”
But Alice was busy with the controls. She tried to slip the mechanical through the thinning crowd of zombies toward the clockworker, who had already scrambled to his feet.
“Drat!” she muttered. “He’s getting out that instrument of his again. Get ready to play.”
“I don’t know if I
“In my pockets.”
Gavin slid his hands down Alice’s outer thighs. Even under the circumstances, she felt a thrill at his touch, and her breath caught. He found the forks and pulled them out. Alice, meanwhile, moved the mechanical a step ahead despite the scattering zombies. The clockworker fished in his coat with one hand and produced a set of padded metal cups connected by a length of polished wood. These he popped over his ears.
“Fantastic,” Gavin muttered, tossing the forks to the floor of the mechanical with a discordant clatter.
Mouth set, Alice leaned the mechanical forward and reached down with its arms, but she wasn’t quite close enough to touch the clockworker. The zombies lurched around, looking for shadows but not finding any. This side of the bank faced south, and there weren’t any alleys nearby. This caused the zombies to mill about in painful confusion. They mewed and squealed almost like children. Alice tried not to look too closely, but she couldn’t help seeing their pain and misery. This one used to be a young woman, and her ragged dress was soaked through with patches of blood where her skin had sloughed off, and her hair had come out in clumps. An old man limped painfully on the stump of one foot. A little girl clutched a filthy stuffed dog and cried tears of blood as she tried to escape the all-powerful sunlight.
The clockworker, for his part, pumped the bellows on his instrument and blasted out two powerful notes, paused, and rumbled out a third, one so deep it throbbed through Alice’s bones.
“What the hell?” Gavin said.
The clockworker repeated the set-one, two, pause, and three. Alice reached again, but he dodged out of the way. The instrument deflated with a ghostly wail that set Alice’s teeth on edge, and the clockworker skittered between the mechanical’s legs with the agility of a spider. He scuttled off. Swearing, Alice turned the mechanical in
