His Clockwork Canary

being buzzed with optimism. It was an unfamiliar and wondrous feeling and infected her with a sense of invincibility.

“What are you smiling at?” Simon asked as they came in for a landing.

“I’m envisioning your monorail,” she whispered back. “The draft in your library. The Abbey, Parliament. It looks exactly as you sketched it. All that is missing is your magnificent monorail. Promise me you won’t give up on your dream.”

Simon squeezed her waist. “I have other dreams now.”

Moments later, they disembarked and hid the small transport behind a copse of manicured bushes. After analyzing the situation, Willie, Simon, and Phin had joined forces with Amelia, Gentry, and his crew in order to procure the infamous engine. They’d chosen the Maverick, the fastest airship in Europe and far and away more reliable than the Flying Cloud, as their main transport. Gentry’s crew, with the exception of Eli Boone—a master tinker, according to Gentry—had stayed aboard, watching for trouble from above and preparing for a fast escape. Amelia had refused to stay behind and as Simon wouldn’t think of barring Willie from this recovery, Gentry had been forced to acquiesce to his wife’s demand. But not until after he and Axel had armed her with a stun cuff and a Remington Blaster.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Amelia whispered to Willie as the motley crew of five proceeded down St. Margaret Street.

“Rollins’s directions were quite specific,” Willie said as she pushed on. “And I am well acquainted with London.”

“As am I,” Simon said.

Because of the late hour and because this was a business district, there was nary a pedestrian to be found and road traffic was scant. A rolling fog added to the already eerie ambience, and although Willie did not celebrate Jefferson Filmore’s death, she was most grateful that friends and family would not be subjected to his deranged presence nor that of his hired mercenary.

Her shoulder twinged just thinking about the hired thug who’d shot her in Edinburgh. Indeed, her arm had been paining her most of this day. After the time-tracing debacle with Rollins she had felt the need for as much fortification as possible and was glad she had stowed her Thera-Steam-Atic Brace aboard the Flying Cloud. She wore it now with pride and confidence. She stole a glance at Simon, in awe of his ingenuity and the depth of her admiration. At one point, she’d accused him of arrogance. Now that she knew him better, she was most certain his success was hindered by a streak of humbleness and a dash of insecurity, which only deepened her regard.

“Can’t see a thing,” Eli complained as they veered away from the streetlamps.

“Just follow me.” Utilizing her night vision and Rollins’s landmarks, Willie guided her team to Jewel Tower, a surviving section of a royal palace built in the fourteenth century. A three-story limestone structure that sat across the road from Parliament and upon the same grounds as Westminster Abbey. “Here,” she said, pointing to an entry point as described by Rollins. “Remember,” she said as Simon pushed open a vine-covered gate, “we must trudge through a sewage duct to gain entrance to this particular catacomb. There could be rats and snakes and such, not to mention filth,” she said for Amelia’s benefit.

The blond woman snorted and adjusted her shoulder harness.

Phin groaned. “I hate snakes.”

“Don’t worry, Bourdain,” Gentry said in a condescending tone. “I’ve got your back.”

“Leave him be,” Amelia whispered to her husband. “It was just a kiss and not even a good one at that.”

“Bloody hell,” Phin said.

Gentry chuckled and Simon looked to Willie and rolled his eyes. “Once inside,” he said to everyone, “it should be safe to use your torchlights.”

Battery-operated tubes of light. A most ingenious alternative to a kerosene lantern, Willie thought. She would have to purchase one for Fletcher.

Ignoring the putrid smell and the feel of squishy clay beneath her boots, Willie slogged through the sewage tunnel. She ignored the scurrying rats, as did everyone else, including Amelia. Indeed, she was most impressed with her sister-in-law. Senses keen, Willie felt her heart skip when she spied the entrance to the catacombs as described by Rollins. “This way.” No one, including Simon, countered, although once inside the musty labyrinth, Simon, Phin, and Gentry took the lead whilst Eli protected the rear.

As they were all armed with torchlights, golden beams swept over every wall and crevice. Every coffin, every vault. Every disgusting pile of exposed skulls and bones. On pins and needles, Willie almost yelped when she felt a vibration against her ribs.

The telecommunicator.

Strangelove.

She fell back behind Amelia and, whilst pretending to examine a vault, shone her light upon the device. Upon decoding the message, panic ensued.

BRING ACC. WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. SECOND LAMP. MIDNIGHT. SENDING COURIER. YOUR BROTHER. FAIL ME. HE DIES.

How had Strangelove located Wesley? Aye, she and her brother were estranged, but the thought of him dying, let alone because of her, was crushing. The time factor only intensified her angst. By midnight tonight? Willie pocketed the device and noted the time. Eleven oh five. Surely Strangelove would not have given her such short notice. Had there been a glitch in the transmission? Had the message been delayed? Did he perhaps mean tomorrow? She could not take that chance. If she did not show . . .

“Here!” Phin shouted, his voice echoing down the tunnel and prompting Willie to join the others.

Five torchlights shone upon one vault, illuminating the safe house like a divine entity.

“H. Houdini,” she said, noting the inscription and marveling once again that her mother had dedicated so much of her life to protecting a device that committed her to the bowels of the earth. She did not understand her mother. But she respected her. “We must hurry.”

“You said the mercenary would not show for his shift until predawn,” Simon said.

“Sometime around predawn,” Willie said, reaching into her pocket for the secret code. “Rollins was not specific about the time, and who knows what other means of security Filmore might have initiated? Rollins was adamant that we enter and exit posthaste.” Whilst they were depositing the engine in the air dinghy, she would somehow slip away. Simon would be worried, furious. Gadzooks. How had it come to this?

“In addition to the locking box at the bottom of the gate,” Simon said, whilst examining the vault, “there’s a padlock. Did Rollins give you a key, sweetheart?”

Her upper lip beaded with sweat. “No.”

“I can break that lock,” Eli said. The big black man pulled tools from the arsenal belt beneath his voluminous coat.

“Make sure it’s not rigged,” Phin said.

“A bomb?” Amelia groaned. “The queen would never forgive us if we blew up another artifact of importance.”

“If we’re blown to smithereens, darlin’,” Gentry said, “won’t be nothin’ left of us to forgive.”

“I don’t see any wires,” Simon said.

“Me neither,” Eli said.

“Just that combination lock contraption,” Gentry said.

“An astonishing amount of dials,” Amelia noted. “You don’t suppose that’s booby-trapped, do you? Dial the wrong number and kaplooey?”

Simon shot his sister a look and Willie wondered if they were thinking of their father, who’d gone kaplooey along with his moonship. Indeed, the image was most unsettling. Heart pounding, she knelt beside her husband amongst dirt and cobwebs and studied the locking mechanism. “The combination is quite lengthy,” she said. “Let me read it to you, and that way you can concentrate solely on the dials.”

He flashed her an encouraging smile. “Teamwork.” Then he focused on the box.

Willie wet her lips, glanced at her time cuff. Eleven fifteen. She commenced to reading the combination— slowly, deliberately—whilst visions of her brother flashed through her mind. No one else said a word as Simon