The Dragon Men (22 page)

The Hand glowed, as did the salamander in Lung Chao's ear. Lung Chao's words ended.

“Do as I bid you. And kowtow when you leave.”

Lung Chao obeyed. His little flock of birds followed him, and suddenly this gesture seemed too small, so unworthy of an emperor. Once again he held up the Jade Hand, and the familiar tingle came with the glow. The Dragon Men turned to face him. Su Shun only wished the Jade Hand's range reached farther than a long bowshot; the Hand could summon any Dragon Man within its range, and it gave Su Shun the power to command any Dragon Man who could hear his voice, but this Ennock boy was beyond the reach of both. For the moment.

“Dragon Men of China,” Su Shun boomed, “take your inventions and go forth into the city. Find Alice Michaels. Find Gavin Ennock. Find Lady Cixi. And bring them to me!”

A hundred salamanders glowed all around the Outer Court, and then, one by one, the Dragon Men turned to their inventions. With yips and yaps and wild shouts, they clambered atop stomping elephants, unleashed tigers, mounted dragons, and swarmed toward the five arches of the Meridian Gate. The eunuchs on duty hurried to open four of them—the center arch was reserved for the emperor alone—and the mass of Dragon Men plunged through to the city beyond.

Chapter Thirteen

G
avin wrenched awake. The scars on his back burned like fiery ropes, and he still felt the cold hands of Madoc Blue, the pirate, tugging at him and tearing at his clothes. He still heard the sound of the knife going into Blue's neck and smelled the coppery blood washing over his hands. Gavin had killed Blue more than three years ago, and the other pirates had whipped scars into Gavin's back for laying hands on one of their own, even to defend himself from rape. But in Gavin's dreams, Blue lurched back to life and pawed at Gavin even as the first mate's lash descended. Ever since that terrible day, deep sleep eluded Gavin, and he always bolted awake in a thin veneer of night sweat. As a result, he avoided sleep for as long as he could—one of the few advantages of being a clockworker was that he could go for days without a wink. Apparently the lack had finally caught up with him.

He groaned and sat up. His back protested, and his head thumped with pain. The salamander circling his ear felt heavy. It came to him that he was slumped in one corner of his little laboratory aboard the
Lady of Liberty.
He staggered stiffly to his feet. The room was hot and stuffy. The little glow forge, the one that heated without an open flame, ticked softly as it cooled down. Tools lay scattered everywhere, along with scraps of metal and bits of wire. Click was sitting on a fold-down shelf amid the detritus, watching with interested eyes.

“What do you want, cat?” Gavin muttered.

Click cocked his head, the mechanical equivalent of a shrug. Gavin managed a stretch and felt his back pop. He winced, then leaned against the worktable with a sigh. Four fugues in twenty-four hours. The plague was catching up with him.

His hand touched warm metal, and he drew back. Laying on the table were four large pistols, fat and gleaming. Both were made of brass and copper, with glass coiling around the barrels like transparent snakes. Next to them lay a sword hilt. Gavin could just make out a stiff wire sticking out of it. Cables snaked under the table to a set of heavy-looking rucksacks—batteries for all five weapons. Gavin picked up the sword hilt and pressed a switch on the bottom. The wire glowed blue—it was made of the same alloy as the ship's endoskeleton—and it made an eerie hum that wasn't quite any note Gavin could name. It set Gavin's teeth on edge. He whipped it around, and with a
vvvvvip
noise it sliced through a piece of scrap metal as if it was wet silk. With a nod, he switched it off. The pistols crackled when Gavin tried them, though he didn't fire. All the weapons were simple improvements on ones he had already seen—the pistols were like al-Noor's, and the sword was a thinner version of the one wielded by Ivana Gonta, the clockworker, back in Ukraine. He remembered working on them, but only halfway, as if he were recalling a dream from several nights ago, or a story he had once heard.

Click jumped down from the table and strolled over to a corner, where a sheet was covering something that stood upright. He batted at the dirty white cloth. Gavin whipped it aside. It was a metallic body for a mechanical. Spindly arms, jointed fingers. No head. Wires, pistons, and a few springs stuck out of the neck opening.

Gavin recognized the body immediately. It was a duplicate of Kemp. He went to one of the cupboards, took out the broken, powered-down mechanical head stored there, and inserted a screwdriver into one of the holes in back. The single unbroken eye lit back up.

“Madam. Madam. Madam,” the head said. “Madam. Madam. Madam.”

The voice brought back memories of the fight with the Gontas and the Zalizniaks back in Kiev, when Kemp's body had been destroyed and his head damaged. Gavin, ready to die for Alice in that fight, had already given himself up, but Alice had refused to let him go. In the end, she had saved him, and a little girl had perished in his place.

“Madam. Madam. Madam.”

Gavin switched Kemp's head back off and tried it on the body. It fit, though it would take a little work, and the head still needed repairs. Still, Alice would be glad to have him back again.

A knock came at the door. Gavin whipped the sheet back over Kemp before calling, “Come in.”

Alice entered with a basket. Food smells emerged from it, and suddenly Gavin was ravenous. For a moment, he didn't know which he was happier to see—his fiancée or the food. But his better nature overcame him, and he kissed her before taking the basket. He noticed she hadn't replaced the corks on her iron fingertips.

“Goodness, you're all rumpled,” she said, smoothing his hair. She didn't touch the salamander. “You need a bath. And a shave.”

“How long have I been . . . away?” he asked. The basket contained a number of small bamboo containers, each containing a number of dumplings or buns, each filled with tiny bits of sweet bean paste or chopped vegetables. Pieces within pieces within pieces. Fascinated, he started to spiral down into the plague again, but Alice's voice snapped him back.

“Last night and today,” she said. “The sun is setting. I came in to check on you once, but . . .” She trailed off.

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” he asked, horrified.

“Certainly not!” she shot back. “But you were dreadfully . . . rude. I know it isn't your fault,” she added hastily. “The plague takes over, and you aren't yourself.”

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“I blame the plague, not you,” she replied briskly. “Soon we'll get that taken care of.”

Would they? Gavin was starting to wonder. Lady Orchid said China had no cure for clockworkers, and even with all the Dragon Men working together, how could they possibly find one before he went completely mad? Gavin had met any number of clockworkers during his time as an agent for the Third Ward, and the ones who had multiple fugues in a single day were nearing the end of their sanity, and their lives.

“But,” Alice continued, “it did mean I didn't check on you for quite some time. You look as though you slept in here.”

He stuffed a bun into his mouth without regard to manners. Click wound around his legs as if begging, though he never ate. “I did. I don't know how long. We have some weapons now, but they're untested.”

“Your weapons always work, darling. What do we have?”

He showed her while he ate, and she was suitably impressed, especially with the sword. She gave it a cautious wave, and it left a growling blue trail in the air. Click backed away.

“This might catch on,” she said. “I've never seen the like.”

“Thanks. I think I built it for you.”

She gave a little laugh. “Most men bring flowers, you know. But I'll take it.” She set it down and suddenly touched his face with the back of her right hand, the one without the spider. He closed his eyes and took her hand with his own. They both stood like that, without speaking, for a long moment. It was all Gavin needed right then. He wanted to capture that moment and hold it forever, make it a single, perfect note that never stopped, more powerful than any mere symphony.

“How,” he said at last, “does a cabin boy on a merchant airship end up in China, in love with a beautiful baroness? Are we nothing but game pieces on a board?”

“If it meant being with you, Gavin, I would happily make myself a pawn of fate.”

He kissed her, softly and on the mouth, then again with hunger. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I'll make you my queen one day, my lady.”

“And you, my lord, will be my knight in black pajamas.”

Another laugh. “Let's take all these up top. Where are the others?”

“Phipps and Li are still here. Lady Orchid and Prince Kung have left, but they should be returning any moment.” Alice paused. “I'm afraid we do have some bad news, darling.”

“What is it?” He grew tense.

“Let's discuss it up there.”

They carried the weapons and battery packs up top. Click followed. On the way, Gavin said to Alice, “Why haven't you put the corks back on?”

“I don't like them.” She flexed her left hand, and the iron spider creaked softly. “Actually, I'm planning to ‘accidentally' scratch a few people, no matter what Lady Orchid might think. It would be foolish not to.”

“And you're anything but foolish.”

“Let's see. I'm sneaking into a heavily fortified palace to attack the most powerful despot in the world and cut his hand off on the small chance that his successor will find a way to heal an incurable disease. No, not at all foolish.”

“Well, when you stack it all up like that . . .” The bird poke on his neck itched again, and he unsuccessfully tried to juggle battery packs to get to it. “Besides, I have total faith in your ability to destroy empires. If this works, you should see if Queen Victoria will hire you to handle Tsar Alexander in Russia. Make a fortune.”

Alice made an unladylike noise.

Up top, things were much as Gavin remembered them—dim light from a setting sun filtered in through the high stable walls, and the
Lady
sat motionless on the floor. Lanterns provided a bit more light. It was like living in a hot, stuffy cave. Phipps and Li were drinking tea and talking in low voices. At first Gavin thought they were discussing strategy, but then Phipps actually gave a low laugh and covered her mouth with her hand in a feminine gesture Gavin had never in his life imagined she would make. They both caught sight of Gavin and Alice, and cut themselves off, looking a little guilty. Alice cut Gavin a sidelong look.

“Gavin's out of his fugue, so it's safe to talk to him,” she announced. “He did a wonderful job on the weapons.”

“Let's see them,” Phipps said. “Hing—Lieutenant Li—says things in Peking are getting worse and worse.”

“What things?” Gavin set the battery packs on the deck next to the Impossible Cube and the Ebony Chamber while Alice set the pistols and the sword on the table. “Alice said something was—”

“They're looking for us, darling,” Alice interrupted.

“Who?”

“The Dragon Men.”

Gavin looked at her, puzzled. “Well, we knew that.”

“No, I mean they're
looking
for us. In the city. They know we're here somewhere, and they're out with their automatons and mechanicals. They're climbing over walls and knocking down doors. A section of the city caught fire after one of their dragons breathed fire on someone, and they still haven't managed to put it out.”

“Then we need to move on Su Shun,” Gavin said instantly. “Tonight.” He picked up his wings, shrugged into the harness, and set about buckling and buttoning. “The sun's almost set. Can your men be ready to leave when it's fully dark, Lieutenant Li?”

“They are ready on a moment's notice, Lord Ennock,”
Li replied.

“What are you doing?” Phipps asked.

“I'm not going into the Forbidden City without these.” Gavin finished the final buckle and shrugged his shoulders for a test furl. The wings opened with a soft metallic clink. It felt good to wear them again, as though he had reattached a missing leg. The battery was fully charged, too, thanks to the
Lady
's generator. “We might need a scout or an escape route. And they're handy in other ways.”

He yanked on a pulley, and his left wing snapped outward. It caught a deck chair and sent it spinning. Click jumped back with a sharp hiss.

“Prince Kung and the lady will be here soon,”
Li said.
“And then—”

From high up came a crash of splintering wood. Gavin tensed. Alice snatched up the wire sword, though it wasn't connected to its battery pack. Phipps and Li leaped to their feet, Phipps with a glass cutlass and Li with a pistol.

Bits of wood showered from the rafters, and a brass nightingale flashed downward. Gavin snapped out a hand and caught it without thinking, and only after his fist closed around the tiny automaton did it occur to him that the bird might be dangerous. Sawdust clung to the nightingale's head where it had smashed through the wooden wall. The tip of its beak was stained red.

“Good catch,” Phipps breathed. “Is it a spy?”

“I don't know,” Gavin told her. “I'll have to take it apart and see what—”

I see the moon, the moon sees me.

It turns all the forest soft and silvery.

The moon picked you from all the rest,

For I loved you best.

Gavin stared. His hand froze around the little bird. The voice that emerged from its red-stained beak was like Gavin's, but not quite. It was deeper, with a different tone. And it sang the song in A-flat, which Gavin had never done in his life.

I have a ship, my ship must flee,

Sailing o'er the clouds and on the silver sea.

The moon picked you from all the rest,

For I loved you best.

The voice touched his soul with a ghostly hand, warm and cool at the same time. It called up chilly summer nights and soft music bouncing off hard cobbles. His hand trembled with the effort not to crush the bird in his plague-strong hand.

“How does it know that song?” Alice demanded beside him. “Gavin, what's going on?”

“I—I . . .” Gavin's mouth was filled with sandpaper and joy and fear. The clockwork plague flared back to life. “I have to go. I have to go right now.”

“What?” Phipps lowered the cutlass. “Gavin, you can't just—”

But Gavin was already moving. He tossed the little bird into the air and, for reasons he couldn't articulate, snatched up the Impossible Cube and ran toward the gangplank. The nightingale flew ahead of him. The plague pulled him along, wiping out rational judgment. His only thought was to follow the fascinating nightingale back to its source. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.

“Gavin!” A honey-haired woman moved to block his way. “You can't just leave!”

His wings glowed. He vaulted over her head and glided to one of the stable doors. Ignoring the shouts behind him, he yanked it open onto an evening courtyard. The two surprised soldiers standing guard outside didn't have time to react as the nightingale shot through the opening and Gavin followed. He dashed over the stones. Power coruscated over his wings. They chimed softly and propelled him into the darkening sky. The woman's cries thinned and vanished beneath him, and he was only vaguely aware of her distress. He had to follow the bird.