His Clockwork Canary

was. Perhaps Thimblethumper would have an inkling.

The sole customer, aside from her, brushed past Willie and out the door. Intent on taking advantage of the privacy, she pulled the plastic square from her sizable drawstring purse, turning just as the old Mod Tracker approached.

Thimblethumper winced as though slapped, stumbled back, and knocked into a table. “Mickey?”

Willie blinked at the sound of her mother’s modern nickname. She grasped Thimblethumper’s arm as he tripped over his own feet, connecting not only physically, but mentally.

“There was too much information for one disk. This is but one of three.”

“So the Aquarian Cosmology Compendium is in fact a trilogy?” Mickey said. “Where are the other two volumes?”

“As far as I know, Professor Merriweather is still in possession of one disk. The other he entrusted to Dickey Everest.”

“Dickey was killed last month.”

“I know.”

“So where is that disk?”

“I don’t know. Maybe someone stole it. Maybe he hid it. All I know is that I don’t want the responsibility anymore. As if protecting the clockwork propulsion engine isn’t enough. I’ve been saddled with this additional enterprise for twenty years. I’m too old for this cloak-and-dagger bullshit. My eyesight is going and my reflexes are poor. I want out, Mickey.”

“But you’re a pledged Houdinian.”

Willie broke contact and blinked out of the memory, her chest tight, her heart racing. Out of habit she glanced at her time cuff, but since she hadn’t checked the time before tracing, she could only guess how long she’d been in this man’s memory. Three seconds? Five? He was staring at her now as if in shock. She was more than a little stunned herself. “Ollie Rollins,” she choked out. She’d seen him in Filmore’s memories, but as a much younger man. The years had not been kind.

He licked his thin, chapped lips. “How . . . how is this possible? You’re dead.”

She realized then that Thimblethumper, Rollins, still thought she was her mother. Michelle Goodenough had had red hair and green eyes and she was probably around Willie’s age when she and Rollins first met in the future. Worried the man was on the brink of having a heart attack, Willie corrected his misassumption. “My name is Wilhelmina Goodenough, Mr. Rollins. I’m Michelle . . . Mickey’s daughter.” Her previous plan of how to handle this situation had been blown to smithereens. Like any good journalist, she would now operate on the fly.

Rollins pushed his thick spectacles to the top of his balding head, shut his milky eyes, and rubbed his wrinkled lids as if trying to dispel a hallucination. “Lock the door.”

Willie rushed over and turned a locking mechanism. She also flipped the WELCOME sign to CLOSED.

“How did you find me?” he asked, his weight propped against a table. “Where did you get the memory disk?”

So that was what it was called. “My mother bequeathed me her copy of the Book of Mods. The . . . disk was hidden in a pocket devised into the inner cover.”

“I can’t decide if that was a brilliant or hideous place to conceal such dangerous and valuable information. And it’s been in your possession these past seven years?”

“It has.” One-third of the legendary Aquarian Cosmology Compendium. Willie was beyond incredulous. “I have some questions, Mr. Rollins. Some concerns.”

He winced, looked over his shoulders in a cautious and worried manner. “Please. I am known as Thimblethumper now.”

She nodded. “You are retired. No longer an active Houdinian and afraid of being publicly branded a Mod. I understand.”

“No you don’t. No one understands. No one is capable of understanding what I have seen. What I have done. I want only to live out what is left of my life in anonymity. But I will answer your questions, Wilhelmina Goodenough,” he said whilst pushing off the table and gesturing her to follow. “Out of respect to your mother and because I sympathize with your dismal and colossal responsibility.”

She did not understand how an innocuous black square translated to a collection of scientific designs from the twentieth century. She could not believe her mother, a woman who had been so emotionally and physically distant, had entrusted her daughter to keep something so valuable and volatile safe. As Willie followed the retired Houdinian, an original Peace Rebel, to the back of his shop, her heart swelled even as her knees quaked.

•   •   •

“Willie just turned the ‘Welcome’ sign to ‘Closed,’” Simon said, whilst peering across the street. “Why?”

“To assure privacy?” Phin ventured.

“I don’t like it.”

“Of course you don’t.” His friend gestured for an attendant. “Something stronger,” he ordered.

“I’m sorry,” the female server said with a tight smile, “but we don’t—”

“Of course you do,” Phin said, flashing a banknote.

“One moment,” she said, then scurried off.

“I’m going over,” Simon said.

“Don’t be a mug,” Phin said. “Give Willie a chance.”

Being likened to a half-wit chafed, but Simon recognized the good intention behind the cocky slur. Relax and show trust in your wife’s abilities. Simon tried but to no avail. He’d allow Willie ten more minutes and then he was busting in. “Tell me about Dr. Caro.”

“What about her?”

“Jules’s lover?”

“For a time.”

“Your lover?”

“No. Although I was tempted.”

Intrigued, Simon raised a brow.

“When Jules backed off from the affair, Bella turned to me. For a cool and aloof woman, she’s extremely . . . passionate. I almost succumbed to her wiles, but then I realized she was only using me to make Jules jealous.”

“Did it work?”

Phin shook his head. “Jules cares about Bella, but he doesn’t love her. Although, damn her obsessed heart, she believes otherwise.”

“What led up to this?” Simon asked, an ancient and buried question flaring back to life. “Why was Jules declared a war hero? What did he do and why is he living a double life?”

Phin rolled back his shoulders, obviously relieved when the server returned with their heavily spiked coffee. Simon could smell the whiskey fumes even before raising the cup to his lips.

“Not within my power to reveal details pertaining to the mission that led to Jules’s injuries nor his affiliation with the Mechanics,” Phin replied. “However, I will say this. A lesser man would not have survived or fought as fiercely as he did to live. The only time his spirits flagged dismally was after the reconstructive surgery.”

Simon and his family had been barred from visiting Jules for several weeks. The extent of his injuries too severe, they’d been told. The risk of infection via outside sources too great. Early on they’d seen Jules only through a window and at a distance and only from the chest up. Their visitation rights during rehabilitation had been rigidly restricted as well, but part of that had been due to Jules’s determination to push through the ordeal in private. It had been a trying time for the Darcys. Most especially for Simon, who’d felt literally severed from his twin. Respecting Jules’s privacy had proved one of Simon’s greatest challenges in life. Knowing Jules had chosen a friend as a confidant over his own brother stung Simon to the core. But he didn’t blame Phin. “What can you tell me of the reconstruction?”

“Bella . . . Dr. Caro exacted drastic measures to save Jules’s life and, as it were, to make him whole again. After spearheading a mind-boggling surgical procedure, Bella pushed forth therapeutic measures. She made it her personal mission to convince Jules that although he was not wholly normal, he was fully functioning by normal standards.”