Ticker by Lisa Mantchev
I dug in my heels. With a metallic whinny, the horse leapt clear of the crowd, metal shoes sparking when she landed. I clutched at the reins as we clattered down the narrow avenue leading to the main road. The steady hoofbeats, the rhythmic twin streams of scorching hot steam issuing from my steed’s copper muzzle, and the distant wail of sirens drowned out everything but the frantic beating of my Ticker.
I caught sight of Nic at the far end of the boulevard; it was easy enough to spot him with the rest of the traffic at a standstill. Vehicles were haphazardly pulled over to the sides of the road, and panicked pedestrians squeezed close to the buildings. Some of the onlookers shouted, gesturing to me with their hats and purses. Jostled by the crowd, a bystander fell into the street, directly in my path. I sucked in my breath, squeezed with my knees, and held on for dear life. A frisson of energy passed over the mechanical horse as it bent its knees and sprang forward, soaring with ease over the woman’s head . . .
We landed, and I kept my seat and my life. I stood up in the stirrups as I’d seen jockeys do at the steeplechases, encouraging my mount to go yet faster. Around corners, past the Heart of the Star, down the First Etoile Road.
“Come on,” I urged. “We have to catch up with Nic!”
The Ticker began to wind down in my chest, and everything slowed to match: the pedestrians, the wind whipping at my bare head, the clatter of hooves. Just ahead of me, Nic wove in and out of traffic with a deftness that belied all the time he had spent snubbing the Vitesse.
The brother I knew didn’t move like a soldier. He didn’t raise arms against a crowd. He hadn’t known they were Ferrum Viriae in disguise; they appeared to be normal citizens of Bazalgate. And there was the traitorous behavior of the afflicted soldiers to consider as well.
The Spiders. The Spiders can be used for mind control.
What has Warwick done to you, Nic? And where are you taking me?
He led me back to the West Side, past Lucy Reilly’s photography studio. The buildings climbed toward the sky until they blotted out the sun. Broken windows were boarded over like coins on the eyes of the dead. Rooftops sagged against one another, too tired to stay where they should. Brickwork crumbled to dust before my eyes. Under the sad air of neglect was something rancid. Something choking.
Nic rounded a final corner. By the time I did the same, he’d abandoned the cycle and disappeared. I dismounted, my head buzzing and my legs so wobbly they might as well have been made of Dreadnaught’s blancmange.
“Nic?” It was like a deadly game of hide-and-seek. He always triumphed over me, fitting into cupboards, leaping down from wardrobes, grabbing my booted ankle from under the four-poster beds. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
No answer, save the patter of retreating footsteps down the alley to my right. I gave chase as best I could with the Ticker’s terrible irregularity. I pressed a hand to my chest, tearing at the buttons of my bodice, fumbling for the key. Before I could wind my traitorous heart, Nic appeared in front of me like a conjurer. The game was over, and I’d lost. He wore a stranger’s face, cheekbones jutting out in defiance of the pale skin stretched over them. The faint glint of his ocular Augmentation was the only light in his eyes. What was left of the blood in my extremities drained away. I’d abandoned my parasol sword in the SkyBox, but I wouldn’t have had time to draw it anyway.
“I told you to stay put until I messaged you,” my twin said before his fist connected with my jaw.
I collided with the crumbling brick wall, pain spreading eager fingers through my head as I slid to the ground. The street seemed to tilt under my hands. Disoriented, I tried to focus my eyes as Nic heaved me up, tossed me over his shoulder, and carried me a short distance to a waiting carriage.
“Reckless and selfish,” he said. “The family would have healed after Dimitria’s death if it weren’t for you. It was your own fault you fell off Andromeda. You might never have needed the ventriculator if you only listened. Precious, delicate clockwork doll. Wind her up, watch her dance. Watch Mama hover. Watch Papa climb inside a liquor bottle . . .”
With a small grunt, he tossed me inside. I landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs, the ache in my head still blurring my vision. I could just make out when he leapt in after me and took my reticule containing Pixii, RiPA, and the two powder-flashes. When he rapped on the roof, the mechanical horses jerked forward and the conveyance moved down the street. Blinking hard, I looked up at my twin and then over at my host.
Calvin Warwick had aged terribly during the year he’d been absent. Resembling the island prison where he’d been incarcerated, his forehead was now a sheer cliff. Silver strands crept through his brown hair like tendrils of fog. His dark eyes haunted his poet’s face, and though I scrambled back as far as I could, I couldn’t escape his disconcerting gaze.
Reaching down, the surgeon helped me achieve the seat opposite him. I couldn’t count the number of times those cool, slim hands had checked my pulse. If he pressed his fingers to the hollow of my throat now, he would know that my Ticker raced faster than any hummingbird’s heart. I flinched away from his touch as though it burned. In an instant, Warwick’s hopeful expression crumbled into lines of disappointment. He squeezed my hands until my bones ground together.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have a difficult time of it at first,” he said. “Once you understand what I’ve been doing for you, you’ll relent.”
I turned back to Nic. His strange new eyes were fixed upon something only he could see. Every muscle under his dark suit was clenched, primed for a fight. The pain in my jaw served as a reminder that he had his orders but no idea what he was actually doing. “Nic, look at me.”
No reaction at all, not even a flicker of his eyelashes.
“Copernicus,” Warwick said gently, “look at your sister, please.”
Nic’s head obediently swiveled in my direction.
“You used the Spiders on him, didn’t you?” I could almost imagine the horrible things skittering behind his golden eyes.
“Yes.” Warwick shifted forward, encouraged by my question if not my tone. “I was an intern at Currey Hospital when several Bibliothèca patients were brought in. Quite by chance, I discovered the Beetles themselves caused the initial paralysis, the ensuing silence prompted by suggestions made by the Unseen. During my incarceration, I revisited my theories, building the first prototypes out of spare parts borrowed from other machines. Then there was the simple matter of one Spider for the guard, several more delivered to Mister Stirling via message cylinder . . .”
Sebastian.
“That’s why he helped you arrange everything.” I tried to lick my lips, but I might as well have rubbed them with sandpaper.
Warwick pulled his watch from his vest pocket, rubbing his thumb over the gold lid. Such a gesture must have been habit, because he’d burnished off all its decorative engraving; whatever message my sister placed there for him existed only in his mind now. “The Spiders allow me to exert a bit of influence. Mister Stirling’s business acumen, for example, was easily exploited. Once the Spiders were in place, I merely suggested to him via RiPA that a sizable amount of money could be made through Augmentation. The rest was his own doing. Your friend possesses a ruthless streak that spilled over into strategy. I never would have thought to plant explosives at the factory, nor would I have inflicted so much damage at Glasshouse.”
I wasn’t about to let him blame everything on Sebastian. “What about my parents? Was it his idea to kidnap them?”
“Not entirely,” Warwick admitted, toying with the watch. In the flickering light from the carriage window, I realized the fob had become mourning jewelry, with an intricate braid of Dimitria’s hair forming the strap. “Your parents refused to speak with me. I sent letter after letter, but they never responded. Nic and I conversed for a while, and he understood what I wanted . . . needed . . . to do for you.”
“Yes, and look at what you did to him!” Anger overtook every one of my senses, bleeding
“The monster was inside him all along, Penny.” Winding Dimitria’s hair about his fingers, Warwick tucked the watch back into his pocket. “I didn’t expect his resentment of you to be so strong.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped. “Nic doesn’t resent me.”
“Of course he does.” The surgeon’s tone grew cold, the analysis suddenly clinical and detached. “He was angry, Penny. Tired of shouldering the family’s responsibilities. He was relieved to be brought here, anxious to set down his burdens. The Spiders were hardly in place before he spoke of that day at Carteblanche, how you climbed atop that horse despite his efforts to make you see reason. How you selfishly took the family’s chance to heal and threw it away.”
The words struck harder than Nic’s fist. “He can’t hate me that much,” I whispered.
“If he didn’t, there isn’t anything I could have said to make him behave in such a fashion, I promise you.” Warwick spoke as though delivering grim news to a patient’s family. “You’re a burden he’s longed to set down for some time now.”
It was the truth, every word. If I doubted it, I need only remember the furrows in Mama’s brow, the gray hair at Papa’s temples. Nic had finally had enough of me.
Worse than any slap or shout, Warwick saw the realization in my eyes and returned it with sympathy. “But you won’t be a burden,” he promised. “Not after today.”
I dragged each breath into my lungs as though it might be my last. “Why didn’t you send me a Spider? I could have come to you for my surgery willingly and saved us all a lot of trouble.”
“I couldn’t risk it for the same reason I didn’t use them on your parents,” Warwick said, perturbed by the very idea. “The Spiders most likely would have exploited your familial tendency to rush headlong into danger. You might have killed yourself before that damned faulty Ticker gave out. But I’m going to fix it. I will do the same for you as I’ve done for your brother: correct the imperfections of the flesh and improve upon nature. Shouldn’t that be Man’s greatest aspiration?”
The carriage jerked to a stop.
“Help her out, Copernicus,” Warwick instructed.
“No, thank you,” I said, but like a serpent striking, Nic’s hand flashed out to clamp down on my arm, Augmented strength pouring out of him.
“As much as I have always admired your spirit,” Warwick said, “you don’t have the luxury of refusing my invitation. Resign yourself, Penny, this is going to happen.”
Nic wrestled me to the sidewalk. Before us, columns rose four stories high, supporting a colonnade carved with muses in various attitudes. Nic towed me up the grand staircase of gold-flecked granite, the metallic glints mirrored in the decorative railings. Shuttered windows lent a secretive air, as did the chain and padlock on the front door.
Only then did I remember the words Philomena had uttered, entranced by the corpse of Lucy Reilly. Moving. He’s moving. Moving. Moving. Pictures. Get the pictures. Moving. Pictures. Catch him, he’s moving. The photographer had been trying to tell us where to find Warwick: Sebastian’s moving-picture house. He’d acquired the lot as part of an undeveloped land parcel. I remembered looking at plans for half a dozen restaurants and an open-air shopping boulevard, but all construction was at a standstill. The metal archway leading to the deserted promenade resembled the gates to the underworld, and cranes loomed overhead, colossal birds of prey. There was no telltale hammering, no shouts of the work crew, no one to see Nic carrying me, no one to hear me scream if I’d been able to draw half the necessary breath.
Lined up along the wall stood another set of Ferrum Viriae soldiers, among them Frederick Carmichael. My step faltered at the sight of his blank gaze, because this was the secondary unit that should have been guarding Violet. From the end of the row, Sebastian emerged from the long shadows.
“Penny,” he said easily enough, though he leaned upon his walking stick rather than swinging it.
“How’s your knee?” I flashed at him.
Warwick answered on his behalf. “Augmented, thanks to your sharpshooting.”
I kept my gaze trained on Sebastian. “Where’s Violet?” Even staring into his eyes, I could see no trace of the mechanical Spiders controlling him. “Have you any idea your strings are being pulled?”
“Let us go inside, Mister Stirling,” Warwick suggested.
With Sebastian in front, our curious parade bypassed the main door and circled around to a side entrance. Once we were inside, he padlocked the door behind us.
“This way,” Warwick said, assuming the lead. “Mister Stirling, would you please fetch our other guest?”
“What about my parents?” I asked as Sebastian disappeared down a corridor. “When can I see them? And what have you done with Violet?”
“In due time, my dear,” Warwick said. “Have patience.”
That was a commodity in short supply at the moment. Lit by frosted gas globes that didn’t do enough to chase away the shadows, the carpeted passageway seemed to extend forever. Nic barely permitted my feet to touch the floor as we rushed along. Harder to bear than my precarious circumstance was the way he looked at me. Looked through me.
Now I had proof that a girl with a clockwork ventriculator could have a broken heart.
“Just remember your name, Nic. It’s yours. From our father and our grandfather before him. Copernicus. Emery. Farthing.” I punctuated each word with a kick of my boot to his calves as he towed me along. “Nic, you’ve got to remember.”
His only response was the ungentle prying of my fingers from his coat.
“Why would he want to remember that version of himself?” Warwick asked. “He’s stronger now. Faster. Relieved of his weaknesses, the many little faults that break down this flesh, killing us from the inside out, tearing us from the arms of our loved ones.” Zeal built up in his voice until the very walls echoed with his mad passion. “Don’t you see, Penny, how much better off we’ll all be when mere muscle and bone are left by the wayside?”
“Nic.” I wrapped my fingers about my twin’s wrist and squeezed, willing all the shared memories of our youth to transfer from my skin to his: playing in the nursery, capering at the grounds of Carteblanche, carriage rides through Square Park, ice-skating on the pond, countless pranks and midnight feasts. I summoned the bad memories as well, for those were just as powerful: Cygna sitting between us on the chaise, Dimitria’s party, Mama’s tears, Papa’s drinking. Just like I had at the Bibliothèca, I tapped out a message, hoping it would reach my twin wherever his mind wandered.
THIS IS NOT YOU - REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE
I wanted to shake him until the message sank in, but nothing seemed to have an effect on him. Warwick reached another door, and beyond that was utter darkness. My other senses struggled to compensate as I inhaled a whiff of dusty velvet. My outstretched hand caught the hemp graze of rope. Lights flickered on, blinding me for a moment. Pristine muslin draped everything, but I knew we stood on the stage. Overhead, I could just make out the white silk of the projection screen, billowing like a ghost ship sailing into a forgotten sea. More frightening to contemplate were the metal tables, containers, and instruments set out in gleaming rows.
It was unmistakably an operatory.
“I think you’ll marvel at everything we’ve managed under circumstances that are . . . well, perhaps less than ideal. The equipment. The supplies.” Warwick pulled back a sheet of white cotton to reveal an assortment of Augmentation parts that included metal plates, tiny screws, and infinitesimal gears. “I’ve taken great pains in my preparations.”
“I see that.” Struggling to remain calm, I looked over the amassed collection. “Those are from the Gears & Rivets Factory?”
“That’s right,” he said, pleased I pieced that together. “Everything’s ready.”
Sebastian arrived, pushing a bound and gagged Violet ahead of him. Her eyes widene
I leapt forward. Unable to do anything for her bound wrists, red and raw under the ropes, I tugged the rag from her mouth. “Are you all right?”
“Penny! By all the Bells, get out of here!”
“That’s hardly polite, Miss Nesselrode,” Warwick said.
“Get stuffed!” Violet shot back at him, impotent fury pouring out of her.
“Why are you doing this to her?” I demanded.
“Your friend stumbled upon us this morning, and we had to forcibly detain her. It would have been easier if we could have used the Spiders on her, but she’s apparently immune to suggestion. I’ll have to address such resistance in the next upgrade.” Warwick reached out, taking me by the arm as though about to stroll through a midnight rose garden. “Come, my dear, it’s time.”
Violet reared back and connected one of her black boots with Sebastian’s unAugmented knee. With an unholy howl, he fell to the floor.
I plowed my elbow into Warwick’s ribs. “Get the key, Violet. It’s in Sebastian’s pocket!”
“Copernicus!” the surgeon called out.
Nic pounced on me like a cat on a mouse. The two of us landed hard on the floorboards, rolling one over the other as we had in our nursery days. But in all the times we’d wrestled imaginary lions and tamed vicious beasts, Nic had never once wrapped his hands about my throat and tried to choke the life from me. And he was strong. So much stronger than I remembered. Dots of color appeared before my eyes.
“This isn’t you,” I tried to tell him.
With her hands still bound, Violet threw herself at Nic. It wasn’t much of an attack, but enough to lessen his grip on me. Sebastian staggered to his feet behind her. Warwick sought out the nearest of the tables, hand closing down on a hypodermic syringe.
“Violet, go!” I cried out.
Hesitating one crucial second, she turned and ran. Nic’s gaze tracked her attempted exit, so I reacted without thinking, jamming both my thumbs into his ocular implants. He fell to his knees, clawing at his face as bits of metal sparked and hissed. I gained my feet and turned to run, but an arm looped about my waist. Something delivered a sharp, stabbing pain in the side of my neck.