His Clockwork Canary

“Are you saying he feared he’d lost the ability to make love to a woman?”

“More like he’d lost the desire. He felt like a monster.”

“I don’t understand.”

Phin downed the rest of his whiskey-laden coffee, then leaned forward, gaze intent. “For the most part, Simon, Jules’s legs are not his own.”

Simon struggled with the sickening revelation. What the devil would it feel like to lose part of oneself? No wonder Jules had been adamant about his privacy. Simon would have reacted in the same exact fashion. Yet the man did in fact have legs. Or rather some extraordinary facsimile. “Artificial limbs?”

“Highly advanced prosthetics.”

Simon thought about his Thera-Steam-Atic Brace. Although the device wasn’t highly advanced, it had proved astoundingly advantageous in Willie’s efforts to regain strength and mobility in her arm. Simon wished he would have been the one to devise prosthetics for his brother, to enable Jules to walk again. Although he acknowledged that his engineering skills were not as honed then as they were now. And, no matter how advanced his creation, it would not compare with prosthetic limbs as engineered by someone with superhuman intelligence. “Bionics,” he said, repeating the word Phin had mentioned before, a term that meant nothing to Simon.

“I don’t profess to understand it,” Phin said. “I don’t think anyone does. Or can. Aside from Bella. And, much to the disappointment of the Mechanics, she has yet been able to duplicate the process.”

“So Jules is one of a kind.”

“And extremely valuable to the agency. I find it hard to believe they’d send him on a mission they didn’t believe he could return from.”

“Why are you telling me this, Phin? Why now?”

“Because Jules has doubts regarding his return, and if the subject regarding his surgery came up, he wanted you to know. At least as much as I know. Which is, quite frankly, only basics.”

Simon dragged a hand down his face. “Swear to God this is like something out of one of Jules’s science fiction novels. Damned hard to believe. I assume these bionic prosthetics are what make Jules so invaluable to the agency.” He frowned. “Yet he walks with a limp.”

“A glitch Bella has yet to modify. A glitch that disappears when the prosthetics are fully engaged.”

Simon wondered if he could vanquish that glitch. He’d die for a chance to try. Senses buzzing, he leaned forward and lowered his voice even more. “How does bionics enhance Jules’s worth, Phin? What is he capable of?”

“Superhuman speed. Brace yourself, brainiac. He can move from here to there so fast, it renders him invisible.”

Hence Jules’s ability to disappear before Simon’s very eyes. “Bloody hell.”

CHAPTER 30

By the time Ollie Rollins, former Houdinian, former Mod Tracker, current rueful traitor, slipped out the back door, leaving Willie alone in his Shoppe of Curiosities, her brain was overloaded and reeling. She’d committed everything the frazzled Peace Rebel had said to memory. Her memory. She intended to share everything she’d learned from Rollins, aka Thimblethumper, with Simon and Phin.

All but the existence and purpose of the memory disk.

Willie still could not fathom how detailed scientific data had been transferred to the black square in her purse. What she did understand was that one needed a specific kind of computer to read the stored memories, and such a complex machine, capable of processing arithmetic and logic operations and comparable to those of the mid-twentieth century, had yet to be devised. That said, a breakthrough was imminent. The scientific community had been dabbling with the technology as inspired by the brilliant Vic Charles Babbage and influenced by a corrupt few Mods for several years. Were it not for the oppressive restrictions and nonexistent funding of key Old Worlders, advanced computers could well be a wonder of now instead of the future.

As it stood, according to Rollins, the memory disk was like a cylinder or record disc without a Graphophone—useless. He had also emphasized the possibility that the disk had corroded and thereby been corrupted by time and elements, making the information unreadable. Quite possibly, most possibly, the plastic square within her possession was defective. However, there was a slight chance, an off chance, a small percent chance, that the memory disk was in perfect order—even after thirty-one years.

Willie preferred the former scenario. She preferred to believe the disk within her possession was faulty because her intention was to present this artifact to Strangelove as the technological historical invention of significance. The Aquarian Cosmology Compendium was legendary and, according to rumor, existed, whereas the clockwork propulsion engine had been destroyed. Supposedly. But of course Strangelove would be pleased to possess the ACC, which contained a gold mine of information regarding the construction of technological wonders. She could well imagine that arrogant and ruthless man having delusions of grandeur, imagining himself as some sort of technological lord of the universe. Oh, aye, the memory disk was indeed her ticket to freedom. As soon as she met Strangelove’s demand, she would be out from under his thumb. Her family would be safe and she could sort out her new life with Simon.

Simon.

As a brilliant engineer, surely he would be most keen on studying the legendary compendium. Without a doubt he would resent Willie for robbing him of the chance. She quelled her bucking conscience by reminding herself that there was no way to access that data. Simon wasn’t missing out and Strangelove would not benefit.

On the wild chance Strangelove did procure access to a futuristic computer at some point, and if by a long shot the memory disk was functional, chances were still one in three that the data compiled and entered regarding studies on Briscoe Darcy’s time machine were not stored on this particular disk, but on one of the other two volumes. Worst-case scenario, she thought as she left the shop, Strangelove would access information that would enable him to build a rocket ship, thereby shooting him to the moon or beyond. That did not seem a bad thing.

“I hope the information you gleaned was worth the several heart attacks I suffered whilst you were lollygagging with Thimblethumper,” Simon said, sweeping in beside Willie as she walked briskly to the corner.

“Leave off, Darcy,” Phin said good-naturedly as he took up pace along her opposite side. “Can’t you see she’s bursting with news?”

“Of course I have news,” Willie said as they hurried toward the station for the underground that would take them to Simon’s town house. “I am the Clockwork Canary.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d felt compelled to tout her famous moniker. Perhaps because Simon’s admonishment rubbed her the wrong way. Lollygagging, her arse. She’d been working.

Simon started to say something, then thought better of it.

“Right, then,” Phin said. “A subject best discussed behind closed doors.”

Securing seats on the underground transit, they fell into a charged silence and Willie pondered Simon’s sour mood. No, not sour. Anxious. Restless. Intense. Deep down she understood that he’d been worried about her, but Willie couldn’t abide someone breathing down her neck, questioning her judgment. She’d been operating on her own for years. She was smart. She was savvy. And, damnation, she was skilled. True, time-tracing gave her an advantage and, aye, an unfair edge, but regardless, she was quite good at procuring sensitive information utilizing her brain and wit.

By the time they reached Covent Garden, Willie had worked herself up to a frightful huff. Part of her wanted to blast Simon and his possessive tendencies, whilst the other part itched to share a goodly portion of what she’d learned from Thimblethumper. She was still debating her choices when Simon prodded her over the threshold of his home, blast him.

Fletcher took their coats and announced a forthcoming evening meal. Simon begged Phin’s pardon, then