The word police always did it. The crowd rippled aside to reveal the demolished shop front. Gavin hurriedly picked his way inside, his black leather jacket protecting him from snags and jabs. He didn’t bother to remove his simple workman’s cap. Clearly, the machine had come and gone, but it might have left clues—or victims—behind. His practiced eye automatically picked out several four-pronged claw marks in the walls and deep circular gouges in the floor that marked out huge footprints. Gavin noted their size and did some mental math. The machine had been between twenty and twenty-five feet tall, the same size as the mechanicals used during the Napoleonic Wars, and that made Gavin nervous. If the pattern he had become all too familiar with held true, the mechanical would be armed with a number of dangerous weapons. He sniffed the air. Paraffin oil. Some clockworkers had begun experimenting with new, more efficient fuels for their machines. This was clearly one of them. Several shop shelves, what remained of them, had been swept clean, indicating theft as a motive.

A figure popped up from behind the counter at the back of the shop, and Gavin reflexively went into a fighting stance. The figure, a woman, brandished a crowbar. Her hat was askew and she had a wild look in her eyes, but Gavin recognized her instantly. His heart did a little jump, and happy surprise thrilled through him. He swallowed a small lump in his throat and dashed across the shop, where he reached out to embrace her, then stopped himself at the last moment.

“Alice!” he gasped, and snatched off his cap. “Alice Michaels! What are you doing here? Are you all right?”

Alice dropped the crowbar and grabbed Gavin’s jacket lapels with both fists. He smelled her perfume, a sweet, roselike fragrance at odds with the frantic look on her face. “We have to get them back!” she barked. “Now!”

“Get what back?”

“The machines! He took the machines! We have to get them back before he figures out what they’re for and tells everyone when he comes back to make me his queen!”

For a terrible moment, Gavin was afraid Alice was the clockworker who had destroyed the shop. She was babbling like Dr. Clef on one of his bad days, and her expression said she wasn’t quite all there. Then he realized she was just upset, a victim.

“It’ll be all right,” he soothed. “Just tell me what happened.”

“There isn’t time for that, you idiot. Let’s move!”

“Is someone going to help me up?” groaned a reedy voice from near Gavin’s feet. “Or am I to lie here until the scavengers strip my rivets?”

What Gavin had taken for a pile of debris on the floor in front of the counter turned out to be an automaton trapped under a beam. “Kemp?” Gavin asked. “Holy cow! Can you get up on your own?”

“Do you really expect me to answer that, sir? I believe Madam dropped a crowbar on the counter.”

“Quite a crowd out there.” Simon d’Arco stepped into the shattered shop. He wore a black coat and cap like Gavin’s and a large pack with indicator lights and dials on it. A crank stuck out one side. “Good heavens! I didn’t expect to see you again, Miss Michaels—or soon-to-be Mrs. Williamson. Are you enjoying your betrothal?”

“Oh dear Lord,” Alice groaned. “Mr. d’Arco, we must catch that clockworker immediately. We can use my carriage.”

“If you mean the one out front”—Simon cocked a thumb over his shoulder—“I think the mechanical stepped on it. There’s an awful wreck out there, and the horses are gone.”

“Damn it!” Alice shouted, and Gavin stepped back, shocked at hearing such language from a woman. “You brought horses of your own, didn’t you?”

Gavin asked, “Why are the machines so important, Miss Michaels? Tell us, and we’ll do our best.” He flashed what he hoped was a confident grin. “The Third Ward’s best will amaze even you.”

“I doubt that, Mr. Ennock,” she snapped. “Those machines belong to my fiancé. They are extremely ... valuable, and he’ll be very upset if they’re lost. We must recover them.”

Gavin found himself nodding. It had been a year since they’d parted, but she was just as he remembered her—furious, beautiful, and crackling with more energy than a Mozart symphony. He straightened the lapels on his black leather jacket. “We’ll get them back. I promise.”

Just then, several colored lights on Simon’s pack lit up. Gavin, adept at reading the codes they indicated, gave the crank a whirl and plucked a large round microphone from the side of the pack.

“Emergency message from headquarters,” he said to Alice as Simon twisted his head in an attempt to see what was going on.

From the floor, Kemp said, “Isn’t anyone going to—”

“Is that a wireless communication device?” Alice asked, interested despite herself.

“Yep. Agent Ennock here,” Gavin said importantly into the microphone. “What have we got? Over.”

Static hissed and crackled, and a ringing feedback noise played a note two cents above F-sharp. Gavin winced. Perfect pitch wasn’t always an advantage.

“This is Lieutenant Phipps, Ennock,” said the radio. “Put d’Arco on. Over.”

With a sideways glance at Alice, Gavin deepened his voice a little and said, “I can handle the problem, Lieutenant.”

Flushing slightly, he handed the microphone to Simon, who pressed the button. “D’Arco here. Over.”

Alice stiffened.

“Since you have met him before,” Phipps continued, “I want you to get down there and capture him immediately. Acknowledge. Over.”

“What about the clockworker that smashed the metalsmith shop?” Simon asked. “The longer we wait, the farther away he’ll get. Over.”

“He had already left the scene by the time we arrived. Over.”

There was a brief pause. “I need you on Fleet Street, d’Arco, but I don’t want Ennock going after that clockworker by himself. If—”

Alice snatched the microphone. “This is Alice Michaels, Lieutenant. I’ll go with Mr. Ennock.”

“I said I’ll go with him. There’s no time to argue, and you can’t stop me, anyway.”

“No sense wasting time. We’re off.” She tossed the microphone back to a startled Simon d’Arco and turned to Gavin. “With that settled, we need to find transportation.”

“Uh ...” was all Gavin could say. For months he had dreamed of something exactly like this. He’d constructed elaborate fantasies about swooping into Alice’s life with some grand gesture that would make her fall into his arms, betrothed or not. Now here she was, disheveled and upset after a clockworker attack that he was supposed to remedy, and she was taking charge of the situation.

“I’m here. What should I do?”

Simon shot Gavin a look, and his dark eyes were filled with concern. “Lieutenant, Agent Ennock has never operated solo before. I’m not sure that—”

“I can do it, Simon,” Gavin said hurriedly.

“What about Miss Michaels?” Simon asked the radio. “Over.”

The lights on Simon’s pack winked out. He slowly lowered the microphone. Gavin wanted to leap into the air for joy, but he kept his feet on the ground.

“Well!” Alice said, straightening her hat. “You heard the woman. Mr. d’Arco, you should be off.”

“Give me the pack, Simon,” Gavin said. “And take the extra horse with you before someone steals it.”

“Listen.” Simon slid out of the pack and set it down. “This won’t be like chasing L’Arbre Magnifique through the Forest of Fontainebleau, or the time we fought those floating freaks at Furnival’s Inn. You’ll be operating on your own. I don’t want you hurt.”

“Right,” Gavin said.

“So. Good luck.” Simon abruptly caught Gavin in a rough and uncharacteristic hug.

Gavin’s ribs creaked. “Um ... sure. Thanks!”

Simon seemed to realize what he’d done, and he let go with a cough. “Miss Michaels. Fine seeing you, as always. Good day.” And he fled.

“I know I am only an automaton and barely worth bothering about,” Kemp moaned, “but if someone gets a spare moment ...”

“Was he that sarcastic before?” Gavin pulled a wand on a wire from the pack.

“No. Something was probably jostled in the accident.” Alice used the crowbar to lever off a chunk of debris, and Kemp sat up. “Can you walk?”

“I believe so.” Kemp got to his feet and staggered in a small circle. In addition to his having a shattered eye, his body was scratched and dented, and his left foot was turned. “I’m half-blind. I work and slave all day, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Go home,” Alice told him. “Tell Mr. Williamson what happened, and I’ll fix you when I get back.”

“I’ll be stripped to my oil pan, and see if I’m not,” Kemp muttered as he limped away. “Not that anyone would miss me. ‘Where’s Kemp?’ they’ll say. ‘No one’s ironed the paper today. Oh well. What’s for tea?’ ”

“Thank you, Kemp,” Gavin called after him.

Alice turned to him. “How are we going to follow the clockworker?”

“The thing is two stories tall. Someone’s probably seen it.”

“And it has a big head start. It could be halfway to Is-lington by now.”

“That was a joke. You Brits have a hard time with American humor.” Gavin waved the wand about in a businesslike manner. “Give the handle on that pack a few turns, would you? I need more power.”

Alice obliged, and several lights on the pack flickered weakly. “What does that object do?”

“It’s an extremely sensitive artificial nose. I smelled paraffin oil when I first got here, so I think I can pick up the mechanical’s exhaust and—aha!” An orange light on the pack gave off a steady glow. “Flip that switch there and help me get this on.”

Gavin winced as the pack’s immense weight landed on his back and shoulder muscles. The beating had been more than a year ago, but his back, crisscrossed with white scars, remained sensitive to sudden jolts. Simon said it was all in his head, but that didn’t make it less painful. He could see the orange light out of the corner of his eye as they picked their way out of the ruined shop, and the glow remained steady, telling him he was on the right trail. A thick layer of clouds covered the sky, but fortunately it wasn’t threatening to rain and wipe out the trail.

“How are we going to catch up with him?” Alice asked. “Run?”

“Better. That switch you flipped sent out a wireless signal. Our transport should be here any moment.”

Heavy footsteps thudded beyond the shop wall and came to a halt amid cries of astonishment from the gathered crowd. Gavin and Alice went outside, where Alice’s eyes widened. Waiting for them was an oak tree as tall as five men, a strange bit of green beauty walking amid the city squalor. Its bottom half was split into a pair of legs that ended in a tangle of roots. Fine vines of copper and brass ran up and down the trunk and wound around the branches. In the sturdier lower branches, seats and benches were carved into the wood. The crowd outside the shop had fled like ghosts fleeing a crucifix.

“What on earth?” Alice gasped.

“It used to belong to L’Arbre Magnifique,” Gavin said, pleased she was impressed. “A clockworker Simon and I captured in France. It’s partly intelligent, which is why it didn’t step on anyone when it followed the signal.”

“I see.” Alice paused. “How do we get up there?”

Gavin put his cap back on and whistled. The tree leaned down, bringing its lowest branches within reach of the ground and allowing Gavin and Alice to climb aboard. Handholds carved into the bark made it easy, and Gavin helped Alice settle into one of the carved wooden seats before choosing his own seat, one near a control panel and in the center of a series of levers, pedals, and ropes. He strapped himself in. The tree straightened with a stomach-dropping swoop that always made Gavin think of a glissando.

“GAVIN . . . GO . . . NOW . . . ?” the tree said.

Alice jumped. “It speaks?”

“A little.”

“Where? I don’t see a mouth.”

“Yeah, we haven’t been able to figure that out, either. Tree, this is Alice. She’s a friend.”

“ALISSSSS . . . LEAFY . . .” The voice creaked and hissed, like wind rushing through treetops on a summer night.

“Leafy?” Alice wrinkled her forehead. “What does that mean?”

Gavin started to blush. Then he straightened. What the hell was he doing? He had fought pirates, watched his best friend die, survived a brutal beating, and faced down a number of mad geniuses who had all tried to kill him. Compared to any of those, a beautiful woman was no threat. Time to stop acting like a stammering boy. He put his hand in his pocket and touched the mechanical nightingale. He had kept it with him all these months, and never once had it been damaged or even scratched. It had become a talisman that kept death away.

“It means he thinks you’re pretty,” he explained, then added, greatly daring, “He’s right.”

“Oh. Well,” Alice said, clearly flustered, and Gavin wondered whether Tree’s remark or his were the actual source of her embarrassment. “Thank you, Tree.”

“LEAFY.”

“We’re off!” Gavin said. He worked pedals and pulled levers. Tree, responding to signals sent through the metal vines, stomped away amid a swish of leaves. Houses and shops rushed past them nearly as fast as a train. People pointed and gawked. Lips parted, Alice clung to her seat, her gaze darting in a dozen directions, and Gavin felt a little thrill at her excitement, as if he had invented Tree just for her. Through it all, he kept an eye on the orange light just over his left shoulder. When it flickered or dimmed, he pulled Tree around to change direction until the light glowed more strongly.

“Does your instrument tell you how far ahead Mr. Barton has gotten?” Alice asked.

“No,” Gavin said. “It only tells direction. And how did you know his name?”

Alice muttered a curse, the second one Gavin had heard from her that day. “We met briefly at a ball in the spring, before he’d contracted the clockwork plague. His full name is Patrick Barton.”

“OIL . . . MAN . . . FAR,” said Tree.

“You can tell how far away he is, Tree?” Gavin asked.

“YESSSS. BAD . . . SSSMELL.”

“How far, then?”

“MANY . . . SSSSTEPSSS. SUN . . . KISSESSSSS . . .”

“Sun kisses?” Alice said. “What does that mean?”

Gavin hauled on a rope and pressed a pedal. In some ways, it was similar to piloting an airship. He could feel Tree’s movements as vibrations through his own hands and feet, and the creaking of Tree’s joints reminded him of the sounds an airship made as it coasted through the air, but there was also a definite jolt each time one of Tree’s feet came down, and the overall movement had an up-and-down swing to it instead of the steadier glide of the airship. Tree’s speed and his ability to step over and around traffic let them make excellent time.

“He means we’ll catch up at sunset,” Gavin said. “When the sun kisses the horizon.”

“That’s very poetic, Tree.” Alice reached out and stroked a branch. Gavin felt a bit of envy.

“YESSSS.”

They were already leaving London proper, and the houses were thinning out, fading into farmland and wooded country estates. Herds of sheep grazing near the road in their paddocks fled at Tree’s approach, and a cool breeze cleared the clouds away to reveal a heavy sun.The air smelled cleaner, more like grass and forest. Gavin inhaled appreciatively. He hated being trapped in London, with its grime and demon smoke and stony streets, its square buildings that hemmed him in and ground him down. Clean air stripped away the demonic ashes.

Just as the sun touched the horizon, Gavin and Alice saw a stone tower rise up ahead of them. It was surrounded by a ruined stone wall, and from his vantage point in Tree’s foliage, Gavin could make out the remains of several other foundations lying around it. Rose vines grew over many of the stones and climbed all the way up the tower, and a river drew a silver ribbon along one side.

Perfect place for a clockworker to hide, Gavin mused.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the mechanical unfolded itself from atop the tower like a metal blossom, and the glass bubble gleamed in the setting sun. The figure of Patrick Barton was barely visible inside.

“What do we do?” Alice said.

“First we try to talk to him,” Gavin replied. “He might come peacefully.”

Light flashed from one of the mechanical’s arms. A moment later, the ground near Tree’s right leg erupted in a small explosion that showered all three of them with bits of sod.

“Or he might be hostile from the outset,” Alice said. “I hope you’ve prepared for this eventuality.”

“You’re awfully calm,” Gavin observed.

“Panic never solved anything, Mr. Ennock.”

Another flash of light. Gavin hauled on the lines and swung Tree around toward the river just as another explosion hit the ground where they’d been standing.

“ROCKY,” Tree said.

“That means he doesn’t like it,” Gavin explained before Alice could ask.

“Run, little mice!” boomed Patrick Barton.

“What is he shooting at us?” Alice asked.

“Simple gunpowder bombs, I think. He’s good at timing the fuses, but not so good at launching them.”

“I’m not complaining, Mr. Ennock.”

“ROCKY.”

Gavin pulled a speaking tube down to his mouth and whistled a hard G into it. The note sang out clear and loud, meaning Tree’s amplification system was working. Tree was now a few steps from the river.

“Mr. Barton!” Gavin shouted at him. “We don’t want to hurt you. If you come with us, we’ll give you a fully equipped workshop and let you work on anything you want.”

“Can you give me a moving target to practice on?” Barton shot back. “The moon is too far away.” Another bomb whistled toward them. Gavin eyed it, then yanked a line. Tree swatted the object aside, and it exploded harmlessly above the river beside them.

“Bombs bursting in air,” he muttered.

“Well-done, Mr. Ennock!” Alice called.

“LEAFY.”

“Now let’s shut him off.” He took two tuning forks from his jacket pocket, one tuned for C and one for F-sharp. He struck them against Tree’s bark and held them up to the speaking tube. A tritone, strong and ugly, rang out across the clearing. It dragged like a fingernail across Gavin’s eardrums, and he felt a twinge of actual nausea.

Barton’s mechanical put metal hands to the sides of the glass bubble. “La la la la! I can’t hear you!”

“Damn,” Gavin muttered.

“What happened?” Alice said from her own chair.

“He built sound baffle into his bubble,” Gavin told her.

“Then how can he hear you shouting at him?”

“We’ll ask after we’ve captured him.”

Barton, meanwhile, began to sing. “ ‘Hi, diddle diddle, the cat and fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon’!” Part of the vine-covered tower wall ground aside to reveal an enormous cannon, but with glassy fixtures on it. Power whined, and sparks snapped from the gaping mouth. Gavin made a small sound, and his mouth went dry.

“He’s lost it completely.” Alice was gripping the sides of her chair with white knuckles as the cannon clacked around, aiming straight at them. Tree’s branches creaked with tension. Gavin moved Tree left, then right, but the cannon tracked the movements with terrifying precision.

“We’ll be all right,” Gavin said, hoping he wasn’t lying. Tree reached the river fewer than thirty paces from the tower and stepped into the water. “Alice! Can you pump those bellows by your feet?”

“It’s Miss Michaels, if you please, and yes, I can.” She did, and there was a deep sucking sound. Tree sighed heavily.

“THIRSTY.”

A high-pitched whine shrilled through the air as the cannon powered up. Gavin swung Tree around and smacked a switch. Water jetted from a hollow branch and struck Barton’s cannon. The lights along the barrel shattered, and the cannon trembled. Its whine became a scream, and Gavin had to fight not to clap his hands over his ears.

“Keep pumping!” he shouted to Alice.

“ ‘The little dog laughed to see such sport’!” Barton barked from the tower. Water continued to crash over the cannon. And then it exploded.

The entire top of the tower went up in a spectacular firework of light and stone. Heat washed over them and blasted Tree’s leaves. An enormous boulder splashed into the water next to them. Tree stumbled backward into the river, every branch swaying, and Gavin clung to his chair for dear life. Alice looked seasick—or perhaps treesick. After a moment, Tree recovered his roots. Gavin took a deep breath.

“Is everyone all right?” he asked.

“LEAFY.”

“I am, Mr. Ennock,” Alice called. “You were incredible!”

“We need to track down Barton,” Gavin said evenly, though he was sure he had died and gone to heaven. “I don’t think the explosion would have destroyed that mechanical of his.”

“I agree. Perhaps we should—”

A boulder slammed into Tree, knocking him backward. Gavin experienced a sharp jerk, a moment of weightlessness, and a cold shock. River water exploded in all directions as Tree went down. More water filled Gavin’s mouth and nose, and he strained against the straps that held him in his chair and the pack that held him down. Desperately, he tried to undo them all, but the buckles were stubborn. He hadn’t grabbed a good breath before he’d gone under, and his lungs were already crying for air. He could see the surface that cruelly was less than two feet above him. Panic tightened his muscles, and he tried to force himself to work methodically at the buckles, but the water made the leather treacherous and difficult. Black spots swam in his vision. His lungs begged for a spoonful of air.

He felt a sharp tug, and the straps fell away. An arm hauled at him, and, with his last strength, he kicked free of the chair and pack. A second later he broke the surface and inhaled sweet, clear air. His feet stood on the river bottom, and Alice stood next to him, brandishing a knife. Tree lay beside them, half-submerged and unmoving.

“Are you all right?” Alice asked. Water streamed from her long brown hair, and her face, shining with beauty and concern, was less than a foot from his. He became aware that her other arm was around his body. Rose petals floated all around them.

“I think so,” he panted. His jacket, soaked through, pulled heavily at him, and his cap had vanished. “Where did you get a knife?”

“I never go anywhere without the tools my aunt gave me.”

Another boulder exploded into the water only a few feet away, and they dived away from it, making for the shore. Standing near the ruined tower was Patrick Barton’s mechanical, a little worse for wear, but evidently still functional. He was already reaching for another boulder.

Alice glanced over her shoulder at the river. “He hurt Tree. The . . . the cad! The puppy!”

“We should get under cover until we can figure out what to do,” Gavin said.

“I know what to do, Mr. Ennock,” she said, and stormed straight toward Barton over a path of ruined roses. She had lost her hat, and water poured from her dress in a river of its own. Gavin irrationally thought of the stories of King Arthur and the Lady of the Lake. Then he realized what she was doing and dashed forward.

“Miss Michaels! Alice! What—” The boulder smacked into the ground just ahead of him. Heart pounding, Gavin dodged behind a rock pile and peered over the top. Alice was still walking straight toward Barton in his mechanical. The mechanical picked up yet another rock and hefted it like a boy ready to bring down a bird with a broken wing. Alice, her wet dress clinging to her body, stopped a few paces in front of him. Rose petals from the river dotted her hair.

“Mr. Barton!” Alice shouted. “Your Boadicea has arrived. May I blow you a kiss?”

She’s gone completely crazy, Gavin thought. She’s gone crazy and he’s going to kill her.

But Barton paused. From inside the glass bubble, he peered down at her, and Gavin thought he saw a grin slide across his face.

“My queen!” he said. “Why are you wet?”

“I have crossed the wide ocean to be with you, my king,” Alice said. “And now that we’re together, nothing will stop us from ruling the world!”

Gavin stared. What the hell?

“Open your bubble and receive my blessing, O my king,” she continued. “Prove your love to me!”

“You’re trying to trick me,” Barton said. “You’re a queen of spades.” He raised the boulder again, and Gavin’s heart lurched.

“You refuse your queen?” Alice’s voice rose to a shriek. “Then watch my blood spill across the ground, for I cannot live without you!” She raised the knife and held it over her breast. Gavin gathered himself to lunge for her.

“Wait!” Barton set the boulder aside. “I love you, my queen. I can’t bear to see you in pain.” The bubble hissed and slid back, though Barton made no move to come down. “Climb up and receive my love.”

“With pleasure, my king.” From her sleeve Alice pulled a pair of tuning forks and brandished them like a pair of swords. Gavin slapped his own jacket pockets and discovered them empty. As the startled Barton watched, Alice clanged the forks together. From Gavin’s vantage point, the tritone was thin and weak, but Barton was only a few feet away from it. He clapped his hands over his ears and howled. The tone died down, but Alice struck the forks again to keep it going. Gavin didn’t wait. He burst out of hiding and swarmed up the mechanical to the seat where Barton screamed. One practiced punch put the man out. Gavin shook his stinging fist and looked down at Alice.

“Boadicea?”

“I’ll explain later.” Alice sighed. “We should check on Tree.”

Tree, it turned out, was already struggling to an upright position in the river. Water rushed from his branches and bedraggled foliage, and a chunk of the brass vines had been torn away.

“SLEEP,” he said, and went still.

Gavin sloshed into the water and climbed into the branches, where he retrieved the machine pack. Alice had slashed the straps with her knife, and water had shorted out all the machinery. Still, he sloshed back ashore with it.

“Wireless is dead,” he said. “No way to contact London for a pickup. We’ll have to make camp here tonight.”

“What about Mr. Barton?” Alice gestured at the man in question, who now lay sprawled on the ground near his mechanical.

Gavin produced a small bottle from a drawer on the pack. “Laudanum. It’ll keep him quiet until we can get back. Let’s check the tower and see if it’s livable for the night.”

The first floor of the tower contained a single room with a stove and a small bed. The upper floor, destroyed in the explosion, had apparently been the laboratory. “At least he didn’t set traps and machines down here,” Gavin said. “I’m too tired to hunt them down. Let’s get Barton in here before he wakes up.”

“Oh!” Alice put a hand to her mouth. “In all the excitement—how could I have forgotten?”

She rushed outside. Gavin hurried after her. The late-evening air was damp and chilly, and night birds called. Tree formed a tall shadow at the edge of the river. Already Alice was climbing into the mechanical.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “Miss Michaels!”

She dropped into the seat, her wet skirts sticking to her legs, and examined the machinery in the rapidly fading light. “Nothing’s labeled,” she muttered. “So how does it work?”

She pulled a lever, and the mechanical’s right arms swung down and around. Gavin ducked beneath it just in time. “Oh dear! Sorry, Mr. Ennock!”

“What in—?”

“If that’s right, then this one is left.” The mechanical’s left arm swung, but this time nowhere near Gavin. “And these are the feet.” The mechanical stomped in place. “This must be the bubb—” The glass dome snapped shut. Gavin retreated to a safe distance, watching Alice fiddle with the switches and levers inside the mechanical, until at last the front popped open and machine parts spilled out onto the grass. Of course! The machines Alice had been so hot to find. The bubble opened and Alice scrambled down to the ground, where she sorted frantically through the materials until she came up with three hatbox-sized automatons. These she stacked like firewood and struggled to pick up.

“Let me help with that,” Gavin volunteered.

“I’ll do it, Mr. Ennock,” she snapped. “Please leave them alone.”

He stepped back and let her haul them into the tower. She set them on the stone floor while he built a fire in the stove. His wet clothes were starting to chill him, and it would only get worse as the night wore on.

“Check that wardrobe over there, would you?” Gavin asked as he tried to coax larger flames. “See if Barton has any spare clothes.”

Barton did. Though a little large for Gavin, they would do for the moment. Alice obligingly turned her back while Gavin scrambled out of his wet things and into some of Barton’s dry ones. In the process, he found the silver nightingale still in his pocket, and he hoped it hadn’t been damaged. The dry clothes felt immensely better, in any case, though he was forced to remain barefoot. He held out a set of trousers and a shirt to Alice.

“You should put these on,” he said. “They aren’t women’s things, but you’ll catch your death in those wet skirts.”

“I couldn’t,” Alice said.

“You have to. I don’t want you catching a chill or pneumonia.”

“You don’t understand, Mr. Ennock,” Alice said. Her face flushed red in the firelight. “This dress requires assistance. I can’t reach the buttons and laces.”

“Really? Oh. Um . . . I guess I could . . .”

“No,” she said evenly, “you definitely could not.”

“I don’t mean anything . . . you know.” He gestured helplessly. “I could just undo the buttons and turn away while you handle the rest.”

“Including the unmentionables?”

Now Gavin flushed. “Oh. Right. But you can’t stay wet all night. You’ll get sick.”

She sighed. “Hand me that knife, please, and turn your back.”

He obeyed, though he had to admit that the intriguing sounds of ripping cloth were a little exciting, and he forced himself to stare at a single block of stone, memorize its contours, and not think about the fact that the woman he had dreamed about for more than a year was standing half-naked—maybe even completely naked—only a yard behind him. His heart pounded faster than it had when Tree had fallen into the river.

“You may turn around now,” Alice said.

Gavin did. Alice looked strange in trousers, though she wore Barton’s shirt untucked, like a tunic, to create the illusion of a short dress. She had twisted her hair back up, and the firelight playing over her face and neck lent her warm brown eyes a glow that set Gavin’s heart racing again. She held a handful of tattered red blossoms.

“Great,” he said. “You look great. Where did the roses come from?”

“They were caught in among my things.”

“Even something damp and bedraggled can be pretty,” he said without thinking.

There was a pause, and Gavin flushed.

“I feel strange,” Alice said. Her dress lay in rags at her feet. “And immodest. Like an Ad Hoc lady.”

“Everything’s covered up,” he replied. “No one will know but me, and I’ll never tell, Miss Michaels.”

“I believe you.” She sighed, and a certain amount of tension seemed to leave her. “Thank you.”

Gavin recovered himself. “Let’s see if we can find any food. I’m starved.”

Barton had a stash of canned fruit and beans. While they were eating, the man started to come around, and Gavin forced some laudanum-laced water down his throat. He quieted quickly.

“Are you sure he’s not contagious?” Alice asked anxiously. They were sitting at a rough set of table and chairs pulled near the stove for warmth. The damp roses lay scattered on the table between them, scenting the air.

“Very sure,” Gavin said. “Clockworkers do something to the clockwork plague, or the clockwork plague does something to clockworkers. We don’t know how it works or why, but clockworkers don’t spread the disease. If they did, I’d be dead by now.”

“How many clockworkers have you encountered since you joined . . . them?”

“The Third Ward?”

“I can’t talk about it directly. Your . . . superior saw to that.”

“Right. Standard procedure.” Gavin moved beans around in the tin with his spoon. “I’ve encountered three or four, not counting the ones we keep at headquarters. And I work with Doctor Clef all the time.”

“What’s it like?” Alice leaned forward slightly, as if hungry for something other than beans and peaches.

He flashed a wide grin at her. “It’s scary as hell—sorry—but it’s also the greatest job I’ve ever had. I fly to new places and see new people all the time, and the inventions are incredible. Tree is the just the beginning.”

“Tell me about the inventions,” Alice said.

“Well, Professor K. is working on a way to grow a copy of a living creature from a bit of its flesh or blood. He’s done mice and sheep, but Lieutenant Phipps says if he manages humans, she’ll put his research into the Doomsday Vault. Master Prakash, a clockworker from India, is working on a camera that creates photographs instantly. His lab tends to explode at least once a week, so we have to be careful. And Doctor Clef is still working on his Impossible Cube. I also had him cook up more of that alloy that floats when you pump a current through it.”

“It sounds incredible.” Alice sighed. “I envy you, Mr. Ennock.”

“Then why did you say no when Phipps asked you to join?” Gavin blurted out. “We could even have been partners.”

For a moment, Gavin thought she might refuse to answer. Then she sighed again. “I couldn’t.”

“You worry a lot about couldn’t, Miss Michaels,” Gavin said.

“My father was tens of thousands of pounds in debt, Mr. Ennock, and after a lot of work, I managed to catch the eye of a wealthy man who was willing to marry me, despite my advanced age and lack of means. I was also afraid . . .” She trailed off, flushing a little.

“Of what?”

“Er . . . that I wasn’t suited to the job,” she finished lamely.

There was clearly more to it than that, but Gavin didn’t press the issue. In the spirit of being straightforward, he said, “Well, I wish you had joined. You’d be a hell—sorry—heck of a field agent. Besides,” he hurried to add before he could lose courage, “I miss you.”

She smiled tightly and patted his hand across the table. “Thank you, Mr. Ennock.”

The air went out of him. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled. So much for straightforward. Well, what had he expected ? A sudden declaration of undying love? She was engaged, for God’s sake.

The fire crackled in the stove, putting out a welcome warmth. Gavin took the nightingale out of his pocket and set it on the table near the roses.

“What is that?” Alice asked.

“A sort of friend gave it to me.” He touched the bird’s head, and the nightingale sang its sweet little song.

“Hm. It lacks soul.” She paused. “Mr. Ennock, would you . . . sing for me?”

He blinked. “Sing?”

“I remember your singing voice,” she said. “I’d very much like to hear it again.”

“Sure.” He glanced out one of the tower’s narrow windows and saw the moon rising through Tree’s branches. The silvery light slanted across the floor and played across Alice’s face. “How about a lullaby?”

“Whatever you prefer.”

Gavin sang.

As the final line left his mouth, he realized what he had just sung. He flashed back to the moment he had sung “The Wraggle Taggle Gypsy” at Third Ward headquarters, when he had carefully chosen a song in which a woman left a man she didn’t love for a man—a musician—she did. Now he had just done the same thing, but by accident—he was thinking of the moon in the trees and had forgotten about the final line. He hurried on.

That only made it worse. The hell with it. If he was trapped in the song, he might as well sing with every bit of power he had. He closed his eyes and put his heart into every word.

That made him think of the Juniper, forever lost among the clouds. Abruptly, he forgot Alice, forgot the Third Ward, forgot everything. He longed to soar again, go back to his true home, and he found tears gathering at the backs of his eyes.

He opened his eyes. A single rose from the bunch on the table was lying near his arm on the table. Had it been there before? He couldn’t remember. He looked at Alice, but her face was impassive.

“Thank you, Mr. Ennock,” she said.

“You’re welcome, Miss Michaels.”

“I think after everything we’ve been through we can use our Christian names. Please call me Alice.”

“If you’ll call me Gavin.”

“I shall, Gavin.” She pulled a damp handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at one eye. “Pollen.” She sniffed delicately. “We should think of the sleeping arrangements.”

“You can have Barton’s cot over there.” Gavin gestured. “I’ll take the floor near Barton himself in case he wakes up. I think we could find a way to string a curtain or something for you, if—”

“Not necessary,” she said with a small smile. “Good night.”

Gavin checked his own clothes—they were drying nicely near the stove—and rolled himself up in a spare blanket from the wardrobe. There was only one, and he decided Barton would just have to suffer, though the laudanum would probably give him a better night’s sleep than Gavin would get. The stone floor was hard and chilly, but eventually he fell asleep.

Sometime later, a sound jerked him awake. He tensed, though his training kept him from leaping to his feet.

The moon slanted through the narrow windows, providing just enough light for Gavin to make out Alice moving about in her baggy shirt and trousers. Barton snored on in his drug-induced slumber. Gavin watched through slitted eyes as she wedged a bit of wood underneath the door to keep it from swinging shut. Then she picked up the first of her husband’s little machines and carried it outside. A moment later, she returned for the second and the third. Once Alice had left the final time, Gavin counted to thirty and stole to the door, where he peered outside into the bright moonlight.

Alice had moved the machines some distance from the tower. As he watched, she flipped the machines over and, with a tool from her pocket, popped each one open and yanked various parts out of them. Before Gavin could make out what they were, she took the parts down to the river and threw them in with a splash. Tree, still asleep in the water, didn’t move.

Several things clicked at once in Gavin’s head. Alice hadn’t cared so much about getting the machines back as she had about making sure no one saw what the machines were for, either because their function was illegal or socially unacceptable. She had been especially frantic because Patrick Barton knew her, and he might babble about the machines’ origins to someone else, or worse, improve their design and show them off. Furthermore, Alice had said the machines actually belonged to her fiancé and he would be upset if they were lost. Gavin now took that to mean Mr. Williamson would be upset if their secret got out. The robbery had revealed the existence of the machines to several people—Gavin, Simon, Barton, and anyone who read the report that Gavin would eventually write—so Alice had apparently decided to destroy the illegal or unacceptable parts, leaving “clean” machines behind. She could even blame the damage on Barton.

So, what were the machines for? The obvious answers—theft, smuggling—didn’t bother Gavin so much as the idea that Alice was being forced to cover up for her soon-to-be husband. What kind of man engaged in illegal activity and then dragged his fiancée into it? He clenched a fist.

Alice hurried back toward the tower, and Gavin rushed back to his place near the stove. He feigned sleep as Alice crept back into bed. After some time, her breathing deepened and steadied, while sleep eluded Gavin entirely. Finally, he got up and slipped over to the table, where the roses still lay scattered across the wood. With a glance at Alice, he picked up the rose closest to his chair, kissed it once, and crept over to the bed to lay it gently beside her pillow. She inhaled deeply, and he froze, but she only smiled in slumber. Gavin returned to his hard stone floor and lay awake for a long, long time.