His Clockwork Canary

Scotland. Hence if they married in Scotland . . . Loophole number one.

“The coachman missed our turn,” Willie said as they rolled past Cockburn Road.

“No, he didn’t.”

“But Waverley Station—”

“We’re not taking the train. And we’re not leaving for Canterbury until tomorrow morning.”

“But—”

“It’s dusk and I have other plans for the evening.”

Although her eyes were shielded behind the deep amber–tinted spectacles she’d insisted upon wearing, Simon knew her rainbow gaze was narrowed. “Where are we going, Simon?”

“To the nearest skytown.” Loophole number two. Transient pleasure meccas floating above major cities and therefore “above the law,” skytowns welcomed Freaks, Mods, and Vics with open gangways. He anticipated little difficulty in locating a certified clergyman, or, hell, even one of those love gurus, to perform a civil wedding ceremony between a Freak and a Vic. By night’s end, Miss Goodenough would be a Darcy.

For better, for worse.

•   •   •

Willie held silent as Simon escorted her onto the compact steam-powered dirigible that would transport them from the lush fields of Arthur’s Seat to the pleasure mecca floating amongst the stars. Her mind, however, raced aplenty.

Her Thera-Steam-Atic Brace was packed safely away and stowed with their luggage; thus, she found it difficult to manipulate the buckle of the seat harness. Between her weak arm and the thick gloves she’d donned against the frigid weather, the task proved impossible. In her mind, she swore most vigorously. Her pride warred with gratitude as Simon completed the task for her, initiating another stream of colorful mental curses.

Rather than consoling her, Simon passed the grungy pilot several banknotes. “Make haste, good man.” He then settled next to Willie on the cramped bench, wrapping his arm about her as the air transport lunged forward and picked up speed, rolling across the grass, bouncing toward a precipice, lifting and lifting, until the vehicle at last took flight.

Willie let out a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. It wasn’t as if she were unaccustomed to flying. But this night vibrated with a plethora of unknowns.

“As luck would have it,” Simon said close to her ear, “a skytown hovers just past the northern boundaries of the city. This won’t take long.”

She merely nodded, keeping her gaze lowered as she tried to tame her riotous emotions. Simon intended for them to wed this very evening. He had not said specifically as such, but she was a savvy sort and he was none too subtle. She had not anticipated this moment so soon. “This moment is long overdue,” she could imagine him saying. However, it would not be as she had imagined her dream ceremony. No family. No pretty bustled gown with yards of silk and lace.

Upon leaving Squire’s Inn, Willie had bundled up in her normal boyish layers, including her oversized duster, three colorful scarves, and the man-sized, cashmere-lined gloves given to her by Simon. Even her floppy newsboy cap was firmly in place. With the exception of her fair, tanning-agent-free complexion, Willie looked much as she had every day of the past ten years. Only she didn’t feel the same. Beneath the mannish ensemble beat the heart of a woman on the verge of what should be the most memorable and beautiful event of her life.

This would not be a traditional wedding, which logically was to be expected given her extraordinary circumstances. And true, they had initially planned to elope all those years ago, which would have entailed a quick and simple ceremony. Still, she harbored fanciful thoughts of silk, lace, and flowers.

“You’re shivering.” Simon huddled closer, holding her tighter, assuming she was cold.

Again she said nothing, just snuggled into his embrace. She was not shivering so much as trembling. Excitement. Anxiety. Anticipation. Numerous afflictions rattled her senses.

Willie gazed ahead through the transparent shield that afforded protection from the forceful winds. Given her enhanced night vision, she easily spotted their destination in the not-so-far distance.

Though insanely popular, skytowns were considered an eyesore and outrage amongst polite society. By their very nature they courted scandal and trouble, and as a way of avoiding hassle by ALE (Air Law Enforcement), they rarely hovered in one place for more than a couple of days. Composed of four to five airships with connecting gangways, skytowns were interchangeable and mobile.

And highly decadent.

Gambling halls, opium dens, brothels. Coffeehouses featured outlawed folk and rock music inspired by twentieth-century Mods and served liquor and weed on the side. Transformation centers afforded visitors the chance to live out a night’s fetish or fantasy via elaborate temporary makeovers. Merchants and artisans peddled wares of the Love Generation—bongs, herbs, incense, flower patches, bell-bottoms, peasant dresses, and love beads. Simon had been correct in saying anything could be bought in Skytown. Anything was possible and anything went.

One would think such freedom would spur much trouble, but for the most part, brutal violence was rare on these fleets of fancy. Even though Willie had always boarded a skytown in disguise, she never felt more at ease then when navigating the aerial bazaars that flew under the Peace Rebel flag. Even though she was half-Vic, there was something about the circle with a stick and two legs—the sign of “peace”—that soothed and invigorated Willie’s soul.

Some things were worth fighting for.

She stole a glance at Simon, pondered the kindness he’d shown her over the last few days, and reflected on his charm and affections at the onset of their youthful affair. Perhaps she’d given up on him and their love far too easily. She knew not what to make of this second chance, could not yet see her way around a biracial union . . . or Strangelove’s threat. But, by damn, she would at least rise to the challenge. She would live in the moment and tackle the future day by day. She would manage.

Willie’s pulse raced as their air transport drifted toward the massive dirigibles joined and silhouetted against the darkened sky. All manner of lighting twinkled in the airships’ windows and the decks were awash in the soft glow of moonlight and assorted illuminated carnival rides. Although she knew much of the nocturnal activities on board to be bawdy, this moment Willie viewed the spectacle as delightfully romantic. Her heart danced and her stomach fluttered with nervous anticipation.

Was this how a Vic or Mod woman, a normal woman, felt on her way to a conventional church? On the way to her wedding? “Are you sure about this?” she asked as their air dinghy docked.

“Think of it as Gretna Green,” Simon said. “In the air.” He tipped the transport captain and issued orders regarding the delivery of their luggage.

Willie took a calming breath as Simon lifted her upon a swinging gangway and guided her toward the sounds of rollicking fun.

Dressed in the flamboyant threads of a hippie, a professional long-haired greeter approached as they crossed to the deck of a magnificent airship advertised as the Love Bug. Willie glanced heavenward, smiling at the ship’s attached bally. The steam-air balloon was painted a rainbow of bright swirling colors. Psychedelic, her mother would say. Cool.

“Welcome to Skytown,” the greeter said. “Name’s Woodstock, but you can call me Bear.”

Simon raised a brow at that and Amelia sniffed. She knew that scent. “Bear” was stoned. He was also American. She knew not why, but young Americans seemed most drawn to the “Peace, man” and “free love” messages of the Mods.

“Right, then. Bear,” Simon said. “Anyone on this dirigible perform marriages?”

“Not this dig, but two digs over, the Flying Flower. Reverend Karma. Hitches anyone who declares their love.” He looked from Simon to Willie and smirked. “Though this might be a first.”

Willie realized then that Bear saw her as a man. Although her objective for a decade, it was the last thing she wanted this eve. Irritated, she swept off her cap and shoved her hair out of her face. “I’m a woman.”

“My mistake,” Bear said. “And a pretty one at that. Dig the shades, by the way.”