Gavin, still clutching his fiddle, jumped down to peer into the hole. “We’d have a fifty-fifty chance of going in the wrong direction,” he said. “And I don’t have a light.”

“I had the same thought. I’m not sure if I’m unhappy or relieved, to tell you the truth. Slogging through the sewer is hardly my idea of fun.”

“I’ve done it,” Gavin said. “It’s even worse than you’re thinking.”

“What now, then?”

“We need to get out of here before reporters show up and start asking questions. The Ward doesn’t like publicity. And we need to get Tree and Barton and his mechanical back to headquarters. Can you still drive it?”

“Reporters?” Alice twisted around in the seat as if one might leap out of a window at her. “Are any here now?”

“Might be.” Gavin shrugged. “They run toward disasters instead of away from them.”

Alice slumped down. “I can’t be recognized.”

“You won’t be. You still look like a boy in that hat and those trousers. But let’s get out of here, just in case.”

The zombies had dispersed, finding their way back into alleys and side streets. Gavin clambered into the mechanical, and Alice hurried it toward Tree. Once again, Gavin’s body pressed unavoidably against Alice’s. She tried to ignore the feelings this aroused in her but found it a losing battle. He smelled like leather and sweat, unlike Norbert’s scent of cologne and linen. His muscles were hard and powerful, unlike Norbert’s softer frame. His—

“Lamppost!” Gavin yelled.

“Sorry.” She skirted the object and reached Tree. Already, people and traffic were returning to the intersection. One of the policemen they’d seen earlier hurried up to them as Gavin was climbing down. He looked nervous but determined.

“I need to ask you some questions, sir,” he said, then glanced up at Alice. “And you, lad.”

“Crown business.” From somewhere in the recesses of his clothing, Gavin produced a metal badge. “I have to get my prisoner to headquarters.”

Before the bobby could protest further, Gavin whistled and Tree bent down so he could hoist himself upward. Barton continued to snooze among the branches. The policeman retreated uncertainly. “Now look—,” he began.

“Ask for Lieutenant Phipps through Scotland Yard,” Gavin called down. “She’ll tell you it’s taken care of. Follow me, Allen.”

It took Alice a moment to realize he meant her. She touched the brim of her borrowed hat at the policeman and turned the mechanical to follow Gavin. They reached the spot where Fleet Street and its noisy press shops and smelly factories joined the wide thoroughfare of the Strand, which followed the river Thames down to Westminster and, ultimately, Third Ward headquarters. Guarding the spot was the Temple Bar, a two-story stone archway that blocked the street between the three- and four-story buildings. The top half was solid stone, adorned with bas relief statues of the Queen and the Prince of Wales. The lower half was an archway barely tall enough for a beer truck, and only wide enough for two carts to pass in opposite directions. Pedestrians were shunted through a pair of side doors on either side of the Bar, but cart traffic was forced in like sand through an hourglass. When Alice was little, she had happened to be walking nearby with Father when the Queen in her grand carriage had come up the Strand, intending to enter the City from Westminster. The gates of Temple Bar were slammed shut to bar the way—hence the name—and John Humphrey, Lord Mayor of London, strode out to meet the young Victoria, who was in her fourth year of reign. This was before Father’s illness, and he was easily strong enough to lift Alice so she could see over the heads of the crowd. The men had all removed their hats. The Queen ascended from her carriage, looking young and beautiful in a silken gown of deep blue. Jewels gleamed at her throat and on her fingers. She approached Humphrey and, in a voice that rang clearly, asked for the Lord Mayor’s loyalty. Humphrey presented her with a pearl-encrusted sword, and they exchanged other formal pleasantries as traffic piled up on both sides of the Bar. Eventually, the Queen ascended back into her carriage, the Bar reopened, and the royal carriage drove through, allowing traffic to move.

“I got to see the Queen!” Alice said breathlessly. “The Queen!”

“You did indeed.” Father set her on the sidewalk. “Something to remember forever, eh?”

“What was all that for?” she asked.

“Old tradition, dating back to Queen Elizabeth. The Lord Mayor is technically the sovereign of the City, so the Queen asks for his loyalty. He gives her one of the five City swords to show she indeed has it, and he orders the gates open. Some say she’s asking permission to enter the City as well, but that’s rubbish.”

“What happens to the sword?” Alice asked. “Does the Queen give it back for next time? Does she get a new one every time she comes into the City?”

Father scratched his head. “You know, I never thought about that. You’ll have to ask the Queen the next time you see her.”

“I will,” Alice said. “May I have an ice?”

Back then, Alice had thought Temple Bar awe-inspiring and the ceremony fascinating. Now, however, she saw only congested traffic where the crowded street narrowed from four lanes to two. They slowed, joining the line of carts and carriages. Alice fidgeted. People stared at Tree and the mechanical as they passed, though traffic didn’t halt. Machines and other strange objects weren’t uncommon in London, as long as they behaved themselves. Still, Alice was nervous about being recognized, and she kept her hat pulled low. The line of traffic at the Temple Bar stalled, edged slowly forward, stalled again.

And then she saw Norbert. He emerged from the pedestrian gate on the south side of the Temple Bar and strolled straight toward them. The fine material of his conservatively cut suit and waistcoat stood out from the crowd of rougher men, as did his confident air. Alice’s heart jerked. Whether she told Norbert the full-blown lie or the edited truth wouldn’t matter in the slightest if he caught her red-handed with Gavin. She put a hand over her mouth as if scratching her nose, turned her head away from him, and prayed he would walk on by.

“You, lad!”

His familiar voice filtered through the street noise. Alice flicked a glance downward. Norbert was standing at the mechanical’s feet, arms folded.

“Yes, you, lad!” he called. “Tell me who built this machine. I can’t imagine it was you.”

All the breath left Alice’s breast. Panic constricted her chest with iron bands and her bowels turned to liquid. She couldn’t think. If she spoke, or even lowered her hands, he would recognize her. What could she—

“Oi! Don’t talk to ’im!” Gavin said from Tree. His American accent had been replaced with something one might hear from Seven Dials. “He’s just an apprentice, and anyway’e lost ’is voice in an accident. Inhaled the wrong fumes.”

Norbert turned. Traffic edged forward again, but he was easily able to keep pace with Tree and the mechanical. “Are you his master? You look young for—”

“No, guv’nor. That’s our master.” Gavin pointed to Barton. “What do you wants to know?”

Alice sat motionless in the mechanical. Relief that Norbert was no longer looking in her direction eased some of the panic, but the danger was still imminent.

“I run a machinery concern,” Norbert said to Gavin. “If your master builds mechanicals and needs a source of machine parts, I would like to speak with him.”

“Yeah, all right. I’ll tell ’im when he’s finished sleepin’ it off. You got a card, guv?”

Norbert handed one up, and Gavin thanked him. He turned to go, then paused and came back to the mechanical. He squinted up at Alice, and she started to panic again. He knew.

He tossed a coin upward. It landed on the seat beside her. “Go see a doctor about your voice, lad.” And he was gone.

Alice deflated on the padded bench. The relief was so complete, she lost all strength to stir a limb until the drover behind the mechanical shouted at her to move forward. She complied.

“Are you all right?” Gavin called.

“You were wonderful.” Gratitude overfilled her like water in a tiny glass. “A real hero. A true—” Then she remembered she was supposed to be a boy and stopped herself.

“That was your . . . I mean . . . you knew him, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

And they said no more.

Getting through the Temple Bar was tricky. Tree had to turn around, stoop, and go backward so the low arch wouldn’t rip at his branches. Alice had to put the tall mechanical in a crouch and make it take baby steps. Both processes took considerable time and did nothing to endear them to the people behind. Once they were through, the Strand widened considerably and traffic flowed much more quickly, allowing them to move with speed.

“That stupid Bar thing stops everything dead right at the busiest point in London,” Gavin complained. “And it’s ugly to boot. They should just tear it out.”

“Temple Bar?” Alice said, aghast. “It may be ugly, but it’s been there for hundreds of years. The Queen stops there every time she enters the City. It’s a long-standing tradition. They’ll never take that down, not in a millennium.”

Gavin grimaced. “I suppose. But now we really need to hurry. Barton’s waking up, and I’m out of laudanum.”

The Strand sped past them. Alice caught occasional glimpses of the Thames, crowded with boats and small ships. Many of them were powered by coal-fired steam engines. But mostly she saw tall buildings, all square and no-nonsense and covered with coal soot. Her earlier exhilaration had left her, and now she wanted only to deliver Barton and the mechanical to the Third Ward so she could go home to a bath, a good meal, and a nap. Driving the mechanical, with its constant pedals and pulleys, was beginning to tire her.

At last they cleared the more crowded part of London and entered the greener parks and squares of Westminster. A fog rolled in off the Thames, sending a chilly gray blanket after them. It was already growing hard to see by the time they reached the gates of the estate Alice barely remembered from a year ago. In the center of the wrought iron was the numeral 2 surmounted by a square root symbol. They opened as Tree and the mechanical approached. Moments later, Alice and Gavin were both climbing down from their mounts. A crew led the restless Barton away and, at Alice’s direction, stowed Norbert’s little machines in a crate. Since there was no incriminating evidence on them, Alice didn’t much care what happened to them at this point, though she didn’t relish the thought of refitting them.

The fog chased Gavin and Alice inside the great brick house, where Alice was escorted to a dressing room. She was allowed a quick bath and was given a simple green dress and straw hat. Feeling immeasurably more normal and secure in skirts, she was fastening the last button when the door opened and the woman who gave her the clothes poked her head in.

“If you’re done,” she said, “Lieutenant Phipps wants to see you in her office.”

“Of course she does,” muttered Alice, who wanted nothing more than to go home.

The door to Phipps’s office was shut, but Alice could hear the woman’s voice inside. She was giving someone a firm dressing-down, and her displeasure sounded clear, even through two inches of solid wood. Alice knocked and Phipps’s voice stopped.

“Come!” she called.

Alice entered the book-lined office. The odd transcription machine stood at the ready beside the desk. Gray fog pressed against the windows as if it were trying to get in, turning afternoon into evening. Gavin, newly bathed and shaven and so damned handsome, came to his feet when Alice cleared the threshold. Susan Phipps, behind the desk, kept her seat. Her metal arm and brass eyepiece gleamed in the lamplight. Obviously, Gavin was the victim of the dressing-down, and she wondered what had gone wrong.

“As I was discussing with Agent Ennock, Miss Michaels, I’m torn,” Phipps said when Alice sat down. “On the one hand, I’m upset that you created such a spectacle in the City streets and called attention to our organization in a way that cost me enormous amounts of money to keep out of the newspapers. We don’t do things that way in the Third Ward, and Agent Ennock here knows better than that.”

“Oh,” said Alice, nonplused. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“Granted. Unlike Mr. Ennock here, you didn’t go through Ward training. But that brings me to my other point. I do find myself impressed with you. No training, no plan, no support, and you still managed to bring in a clockworker on your first outing for the Ward.”

“I don’t work for the Ward,” Alice replied primly.

“Not yet,” Phipps shot back. “And I do want to hear your version of what happened. You can speak freely. Your fiancé and everyone else outside these walls will never read the report, and as I already pointed out, I’ve arranged for the newspapers to remain silent.”

Alice glanced at Gavin, who nodded, and told the story, though she left out the true function of Norbert’s machines. The transcription device clattered and thumped, and every word appeared on the paper scroll.

“Very well,” Phipps said when she finished. “Now I need to show you something downstairs. It won’t take a moment.”

Before Alice could protest, Phipps swept her and Gavin out of the office and into the lift they had used last time. The cage sank into the stony fortress beneath the mansion, and Alice shifted her weight from one foot to the other, partly interested and partly wanting to get home. Norbert was no doubt worried, or furious, or both, and her first duty was to him.

“While you were freshening up, we brought Patrick Barton down to the clockworker level.” Phipps exited the lift with Alice and Gavin close behind. The chilly corridors stretched out in several labyrinthine directions. Clanks and thumps and shouts echoed against the stones. “Miss Michaels, you reported encountering Barton at a ball approximately one year ago.”

“That’s right.”

“And he exhibited no strange behavior?”

“Not unless you count coming to the Greenfellow ball in a badly cut coat.”

They passed the Doomsday Vault, and the four armed guards came to attention.

“Did you notice any markedly increased intelligence, heightened reflexes, an increased interest in music, or sensitivity to poorly played or off-key music?”

“No, but I barely noticed him at all. He asked Louisa to dance, not me. Why are you asking all this again?”

“Because.” Phipps stopped at a particularly heavy door and extended her metal hand toward it. The first two of her six fingers extended with a sharp sound and created a key, which she inserted into the lock. “The laudanum has fully worn off, and this is the result.”

The door opened into a small cell with stained mattresses lining the walls and floor. Patrick Barton sat on the floor. He wore a dingy straitjacket. His hair stuck out in a dozen directions, his eyes were wild, and his straitjacket was chained to the rear wall. When the three of them entered, he shoved himself backward.

“My Boadicea has fallen,” he whimpered. “Money and machines, cash and mechanics. You sold your soul for coins, and now you walk with an angel who fell from the sky. Are you here to pull me into a velvet pit or fling me into unforgiving air?”

“He’s insane,” Alice whispered.

“The earth travels through the sky and the sky pulls the earth.” Spittle ran down Barton’s chin, and words flowed in a waterfall. “The earth thinks it moves in a straight line, but the eye of God warps space, so the earth travels in a circle, a spiral that grows a little smaller each time, moves us closer to hell, even though we think we’re moving toward heaven.”

“He’s in the final stage,” Gavin breathed. “How?”

“We don’t know,” Phipps replied.

“Final stage? What’s going on?” Alice demanded.

Barton screamed and threw himself at them. Alice leapt back with a cry. Barton didn’t get very far. The straitjacket hobbled him, and the chain brought him up short. He growled and snarled like a dog on a leash.

“Out!” Phipps ordered.

Alice fled with the others right behind her. They slammed the door just as Barton began to howl. The heavy door cut the sound off. The trio stood in the hallway a moment, silent. Alice’s knees were weak.

“I don’t want to do that again,” she whispered at last. “I can’t.”

“How long before he dies?” Gavin asked.

“Three days, perhaps a week,” Phipps said. “And that’s puzzling. I don’t know how much you know about clockworkers and the clockwork plague, Miss Michaels.”

“Not much,” Alice admitted uncomfortably. “They don’t teach about it at finishing school, and clockworkers are . . . well, you know.”

“Insane, yes,” Phipps said. “And people fear and dislike them, often with good reason, so they don’t discuss them in polite company. All right, listen—the Third Ward has made an extensive study of clockworkers and their pathology. Every case is different, but most follow a general pattern. When someone who is going to be a clockworker first catches the clockwork plague, their symptoms are very different. Most plague victims come down with fever and muscle tremors in the early stages. Those that survive are often scarred.”

Alice clenched her jaw. She remembered with absolute clarity when her father and mother and older brother came down with the fever and muscle tremors that heralded the clockwork plague, and she remembered the helpless terror she felt as her mother and brother worsened and died. Father had worsened as well, and then recovered, more or less. He never walked again, would never lift Alice above his head so she could see the Queen.

“The ones who don’t die right away or survive with scarring almost have it worse,” Phipps continued heartlessly. “Their symptoms intensify until they include delirium, loss of muscle tone, thinning of the skin, pustules, and sensitivity to light, which result in what the public likes to call plague zombies. Eventually they die as well.”

“I know how that aspect of the clockwork plague works,” Alice said icily.

“Your family is well acquainted with it,” Phipps acknowledged. “But clockworkers are different. People who will, through a mechanism we do not yet understand, become clockworkers, begin with different symptoms. The plague seems to work with their brains instead of against, at least for a time. In the first phase, which lasts three or four months, they show increased intelligence, insomnia, an interest in good music, and a strong dislike for bad music. They are not contagious, and we still don’t know why. In the second phase, their intelligence increases vastly, often within one or two specialties, such as biology or art. Their sensitivity to bad music leaps to include a sensitivity to tritones. They sleep very little, and they gain heightened physical endurance, as if their bodies were burning up future resources all at once. This allows them to work tirelessly on their strange machines and abstract mathematics. They also begin to think differently from normal people, which lets them commit acts of great brilliance or stunning cruelty. This stage can last anywhere from fourteen months to three years. The longest time on record that a clockworker in this phase lived was three years, two months, and four days.”

“Until your aunt Edwina came along,” Gavin added. “We’re still looking for her.”

“The third and final phase,” Phipps said, “is the one you just observed. The disease seems to devour the clockworker’s brain all at once. He loses all touch with reality.”

“What does this have to do with—oh! ” Alice exclaimed. “I see! If Patrick Barton was healthy at the Greenfellow ball just a year ago, he hasn’t had time to go through the entire plague yet. That’s what worries you.”

“Correct. We’ll interview his family and friends, of course, but even if he was somehow exposed to the plague at the ball—and it seems likely he was infected rather later—he should still be within the first or second phase. Why was the plague so advanced in him?”

“Was that a rhetorical question?” Alice countered. “Because I have no way of knowing the answer.”

“I can’t answer it, either,” Gavin pointed out.

“A great many odd questions seem to come up where you’re concerned, Miss Michaels.” Phipps straightened her uniform jacket. “As Agent Ennock pointed out, we still don’t know the true fate of your aunt Edwina. The clockworker who plays to zombies also seems to have an attachment to you, and you just happened to be in that shop when Mr. Barton robbed it. It’s very curious.”

“Are you insinuating something?” Alice asked hotly. “Because I resent the implication.”

“I’m insinuating nothing. I want you to work for me and bring all this clockworker strangeness with you.” She handed Alice a piece of paper from her pocket. “Look at this.”

Alice unfolded the letter and froze. Graceful script flowed across the page, and at the bottom was a seal in scarlet wax of a woman in a flowing dress mounted on a horse. The paper suddenly felt both heavy and delicate. “This is from the Queen. The Queen wrote to you.”

“In her own hand,” Phipps agreed. “She’s polite—she’s never anything else—but she still regrets to inform me that if I can’t capture the maniac who’s been stirring up plague zombies and wreaking havoc in London, she’ll find someone who can.”

Alice’s mouth was dry. She could imagine Victoria sitting at a desk with a gold pen and inkpot, her brow furrowed in thought. Her hands had caressed this bit of paper, and now Alice held the same bit. The connection felt almost too powerful to bear. “The Queen,” she murmured again.

“We need to find this grinning clockworker,” Phipps said, “and I think you can help. Please, Miss Michaels. Come work for us.”

“No.” The word popped out by reflex.

“Is it because of your position?” Phipps pressed. “A traditional lady doesn’t labor for money, I know, but actual work doesn’t seem to bother you. You could work for free, you know, or donate your salary to charity.”

“No.”

“You think your fiancé would object? We might be able to persuade him. The Prime Minister doesn’t know we exist, but a few high-level officials do, and I’m sure one of them would be willing to discuss the matter with him and—”

“No.”

Alice couldn’t help flicking a glance at Gavin. His eyes, blue as an April sky, caught her earth brown ones and held them. At that moment, a powerful rush of emotion made her knees tremble beneath her borrowed dress. This man had saved her life, and she had saved his. He was handsome, and thrilling, and made the angels weep for envy of his music. If she joined the Third Ward and worked with this man, she would either give in to base temptation or weep every night for what she couldn’t have during the day.

Alice cleared her throat and spoke, though every word was a stone that crushed her down. “It’s simply impossible. But it’s nice to be wanted.”

Gavin’s face fell. He looked unhappier than Phipps, and Alice nearly recanted then and there.

“Lieutenant Phipps,” Alice said suddenly, “are you an Ad Hoc woman?”

A look of surprise crossed Phipps’s face. “Of course.”

“So you vote,” Alice pressed. “And your husband . . . ?”

“Doesn’t object in the slightest,” Phipps said. “He died of the clockwork plague years ago.”

“How do you cope?” Alice asked in abrupt desperation. “How do you deal with the death and hell you see in London every day?”

“Work, Miss Michaels. It keeps the body busy and gives the mind time to heal. Pick a cause and work for it. You’d be surprised at what can be accomplished by one person. Or by a small committee.”

Alice stared at her. Phipps stared back. “I’ve heard rumors,” Alice said slowly, “of an anonymous benefactor who helped the Hats-On Committee retain power by providing funds and connections. Someone who moves outside the normal social circles and has access to incredible resources. You wouldn’t know anything about such a person, would you, Lieutenant?”

“My offer of a position still stands, Miss Michaels,” Phipps said.

Alice felt Gavin’s eyes on her. Before she could give in to weakness, she shook her head and marched woodenly back to the lift.

Just as she was shutting the gate, Gavin darted between the closing bars. “Hold the lift, please,” he said with a weak smile.

The gates clanged shut, and Alice wordlessly pulled the lever to start their ascension. She didn’t want to be in the lift with Gavin, not now. But it would have been rude to slam the gate shut on him. The lift rumbled as it climbed the shaft.

“Listen,” he said, “I don’t know why you keep pushing me—us—away, but—”

“Did Phipps send you after me?” Alice interrupted.

“No!” He touched her elbow, then quickly withdrew his hand. “I . . . I like you, Alice. I missed seeing you all those weeks and months, when I was training and then in the field.”

She folded her arms, partly to conceal that her hands were shaking. “That’s not a proper thing to say to an engaged woman, Mr. Ennock.”

“What happened to Gavin?” He shifted uncomfortably, and his leather jacket creaked. “Alice, I’m not trying to be a . . . a cad. But we can be friends. Why do you believe everyone is so suspicious all the time?”

The words spilled out of her with unexpected vehemence that filled the lift with hot oil. “Because everyone is suspicious, Gavin. Everyone is waiting to think the worst. I watched it happen to my family after the clockwork plague took my brother and mother and crippled my father. Rather than try to help us, our former friends shunned us because they blamed us. They don’t trust me. I don’t trust me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Ennock, if I work with you, I won’t be able to . . . to keep my distance. You know why.”

“Do I?” His voice was thick.

“You do.” A lump formed in Alice’s throat. “And when my control breaks—as I know damned well it will, Gavin—the harpies will be waiting to pounce. They’ll tear me to shreds with their nasty claws and spread my heart and lungs to dry in the sun. I won’t let that happen, Mr. Ennock. I won’t. Too much is at stake.”

He looked her up and down with those damnable blue eyes, and she knew he was seeing through her. “That isn’t all of it,” he said.

“It is.”

“No.” Gavin yanked a lever, and the lift halted with a clank. Somewhere, a faint alarm bell rang, but he ignored it. “In the end, it has nothing to do with me. Tell me the rest.”

She looked around in desperation, wanting to flee, but there was only the cage. “I’ve as much as told you how much I—There isn’t any more.”

“No.” His face was stony, but his jaw trembled. “Your face changed when you were talking about blame. Tell me about that, Alice. We have lots of time now.”

“I—I don’t—”

“Alice, when the pirates took my ship and killed my captain and my best friend and flogged my back and . . . tried to do other things, I blamed myself. I thought it was my fault for a long time. I hate the pirates, Alice. I hate the horrible things they did to me, and I hate this dirty city they dropped me in. But now—just this moment, just now—I realized that if they hadn’t done those things, I would never have met you. I would be so unhappy and not even know it.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Bad things happen sometimes. That’s just the way the world works. But sometimes bad things send us in a good direction. None of it was my fault. None of it was your fault. It wasn’t.”

“You don’t even know what it was,” Alice choked.

He touched her face with the back of one finger as the alarm continued to shrill in the distance. “Then tell me.”

“They did blame me, and it was my fault.”

“What was?”

Words spilled out of her. “When I was little, I managed to slip away from my governess and got outside the walls of our garden. It was so much fun! I found a group of street children, and they let me play with them in exchange for the ribbons in my hair. My parents were frantic, as you can probably imagine. My mother thought a child-snatcher had taken me for ransom or to steal my clothes. Near sunset, Lady Greenfellow, of all people, happened to be riding by in her carriage and saw me with those children. It was bad enough that a baron’s daughter was playing with street urchins, but, worse still, a plague zombie was rummaging around in a dustheap not far from where we were playing. We didn’t even notice. Lady Greenfellow snatched me away and delivered me home. Everyone was horrified, and I was spanked. Only a few days later, fever struck my brother and both my parents. My mother and brother . . .” Tears choked her voice, but the words continued to flow. It was the first time she had ever told this story to anyone, and once she started, she found she couldn’t stop.

“They died,” she finished. “My father survived, but he was crippled. When the news came out, people whispered. Lady Greenfellow had seen a plague zombie only a few yards away from me, so everyone knew.”

“Knew what?” Gavin’s eyes were filled with sympathy, and Alice couldn’t bear to meet them.

“That it was my fault!” she exploded. “The zombie had brushed against me, or I had touched something it had contaminated, and I brought the plague into my family’s house. And later, Father arranged for me to marry Frederick, the son of an earl, but then he took sick and died of the plague, and that was my fault, too. It was all my fault.” Tears were dripping off her chin. She fumbled in her dress pocket and belatedly realized she had no handkerchief. Gavin pressed one into her hand. She thanked him and turned her back to wipe her face in an attempt to get herself back under control. The faint alarm bell continued its shrill, unhappy cry.

Two strong arms encircled her from behind, engulfing her with strength and the smell of leather. “It’s all right,” Gavin murmured. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” she whispered. “Oh God, it was. And now I’ve finally earned my way back into society’s good graces. I’m engaged to a proper man, and I’ll live in a proper house, and I’ve finally begun to pay back my father for bringing the plague into his house and killing my family and making everyone say dreadful things. I won’t give them a chance to say those things again, Gavin. I won’t. That’s why I can’t ever be with . . . why I can’t join the Third Ward.”

He said, “I understand.”

His arms were still wrapped around her. For a moment, Alice let herself relax against his male strength, let herself imagine that this moment would go on forever. She felt safe here. Then she straightened and stepped from him. He let his arms drop.

“I need to go.” She handed him back his handkerchief. “Start the lift before someone panics.”

He did. They emerged at the main floor and found a small crowd of people looking anxiously at them.

“We’re all right,” Gavin said. “Small malfunction, I guess.”

“I guess,” said Simon d’Arco. He looked between Alice and Gavin as the crowd dispersed. “Miss Michaels looks a bit upset.”

“I’ll be all right.” Alice forced a smile. “Agent Ennock offered to summon a cab for me.”

Outside, the chilly fog surrounded them like a damp fist. Alice could barely make out the street from the gate and heard only the clopping of hooves and rattle of wheels on the stones, both of them slow and cautious. It was perfect plague zombie weather, which meant everyone who could stayed indoors, but two English institutions—the Royal Mail and London carriage drivers—were famous for ignoring the plague zombie threat and making their services available at all times. A hack was waiting just outside the gate, in fact, and whether it had been there all along or whether someone had summoned it for her, Alice didn’t much care.

Gavin offered her a hand into the cab, and she felt as if she were leaving home instead of heading toward it. He shut the door and suddenly leaned through the open side window. The driver checked the horses.

“Listen,” Gavin said. “The first thing I bought for myself when I got my salary was a pair of standing tickets to the symphony at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. The orchestra plays twice a month, and the next performance is tomorrow. Come with me. As my friend.”

“I can’t, Gavin.” She didn’t think her heart could stand being torn so often and still keep beating. “Please don’t ask again. It hurts too much.”

He reached for her hand, then pulled back when she shied away. The damp invaded the cab and clung to her skirts. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I need to go,” Alice whispered. “Norbert is worried.”

Gavin’s eyes were bright. “He is. I know he is.” He stepped back from the hack, and the driver clicked to the horses. Alice had to turn and watch him as the cab pulled away. In seconds, the fog devoured Gavin in whiteness, and he was gone.

Norbert was waiting for her when she got home. His brown eyes were worried but reserved. “So,” he said, “what happened?”

Alice handed her borrowed straw hat to the footman, who managed to take it with disdain despite its painted features. “I was delayed.”

“Overnight?” His voice rose a little on the last syllable.

“It wasn’t planned. Get me a cup of tea and I’ll explain.”

Over a hot drink in the parlor, she gave him the half lie, that she had gone after the stolen machines on her own and gotten them back from Barton by herself, thereby protecting Norbert’s reputation. She left Gavin out of it entirely, and since Phipps had arranged for the newspapers to remain silent, there was no way for Norbert to gainsay her.

Norbert had narrowed his eyes just a little as she finished her story, and she was sure he didn’t believe her. For a moment, she thought he was going to call her out. But then he nodded. Everything remained smooth and tidy as a newly swept rug. Norbert drained his whiskey glass and set it down hard.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” he said. “Let’s elope.”

Alice’s hand jerked, and she slopped tea into her saucer. “What?”

“Let’s elope,” Norbert repeated. “We’re not planning a big wedding, anyway. You’ve often called for simplicity, and nothing is simpler than eloping. Besides, your little adventure showed me how easily I could . . . lose you. How about the end of the week?”

Alice felt as if she’d been whacked on the back of the head with a board. The room remained silent except for the faint hissing of the radiators and the soft crackle of the fire in the grate. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn against damp evening fog, and it felt as if they would eat any answer she gave. What could she say to this? She couldn’t help comparing dry, stolid Norbert and the squalid secrets he kept in a square, mechanical house to bright, merry Gavin and the golden music he made in a rose-strewn tower. The comparison made her want to fling her cup down and flee.

“Tongues have been wagging at the amount of time you spend here,” Norbert said into the silence, “even if nothing untoward is happening. People know your father is an invalid and not much of a chaperone. I’d hate to move him out at this stage just for the sake of propriety.”

Alice froze at the implied threat. “Of course not,” she said faintly.

“And I forgot to mention—some bill collectors came round while you were gone. I put them off, but they said they’d be back. Something about criminal charges again. Rubbish, of course, and a good legal man would put a quick stop to it. I have an excellent barrister and a team of solicitors on staff, so you needn’t worry that your father will be dragged to jail. As long as I’m on your side.”

“Oh,” Alice said. Her social reflexes took over, and her mouth moved of its own accord. “Thank you. That’s . . . You’re very kind.”

“Nothing’s too good for my fiancée.” Norbert sipped his drink again and looked at her hard. “It would be much easier to handle these problems if we were married. I can’t pay the debts of a young woman I’m not married to. People would say it was—well, you know what they would say. And people do say.”

“Right,” she said. Norbert’s arguments were hot pokers drilling through an armor Alice had only recently managed to build. Norbert was right. More importantly, Norbert was safe. Alice didn’t know what Gavin wanted from her, not really, but Norbert had never been anything but forthright about his expectations. With Norbert, her future might be dull, but it was absolutely certain. Gavin offered excitement, but with it came chaos, for both her and her father. It wasn’t fair to punish Father for her choices.

“At any rate,” Norbert said, sipping again, “to the matter at hand. Time’s running out. Shall we elope?”

He didn’t say the word or, but it hung in the air nonetheless, harsher for all its silence. Alice forced a smile over her cup.

“Of course, darling,” she said. “What other answer could I give?”

Alice jumped and nearly dropped the daisies in her hand. She and Louisa were standing at a table in the sunroom, arranging flowers because the automatons were no good at it. Outdoors it was cloudy, but the sunroom’s tall windows were still thrown open to let in the mild summer breeze and interesting traffic noises. Lately, Alice had taken to letting her little automatons loose about the house—no sense in keeping them cooped up in her workshop in a houseful of larger automatons—and a pair of them flittered about the room like whirligig bats. Click, draped lazily over the fireplace mantel, watched them with slitted green eyes. Kemp, newly repaired after his unfortunate encounter with Patrick Barton in the metalsmith shop, stood in the corner.

“Where did you hear that?” Alice demanded. “We only decided yesterday evening and haven’t said a word to anyone.”

“So it’s true, then.” Louisa toyed with a clockwork button on the front of her green satin dress. “By we, do you mean you and Norbert, or you and Gavin Ennock?”

“Louisa! It’s Norbert, of course! ”The whirligigs squeaked and rushed out an open window, as if startled by Alice’s outburst. Click jumped down and bolted after them. “We’re getting married in three days, in fact. But you still didn’t say how you heard about it.”

“Please, darling!” Louisa snipped off more rose heads and let them fall into the bowl. “I know all and tell nothing. I just don’t understand why you’re sticking with Norbie after learning about his . . . odder habits. I was there, darling, so you can’t lie about it.”

“I don’t want to go into it again, Louisa. I’ve already had it out with Gav—Mr. Ennock on this topic. Can’t we just drop it?”

“No.”

Alice blinked at the sharpness in Louisa’s tone. “No?”

“No. It’s clear to me that you’re unhappy with Norbert and that you’re only marrying him for his money.”

“And he’s only marrying me for my title. It happens all the time, Louisa.”

“That doesn’t make it right or desirable.”

Alice jammed the daisies into a vase and stuffed in some baby’s breath. “Why the sudden change of tone? You’ve always supported whatever decision I’ve made so far. Now you’re gainsaying me.”

“There’s no time left, darling. Not with your freedom ticking away like a dying automaton. Why so sudden?”

“We saw no reason to delay further,” Alice said, resolving to stay firm.

“Ah. Norbert suspects there’s something going on between you and Gavin, and he wants you married quickly.”

Heat rose in Alice’s chest. “Nothing is going on between us!”

“The color in your face says otherwise,” Louisa replied. “However, we can talk about something else. Such as the young man who’s about to burst into the room with fascinating news.”

“Young—what?” The abrupt shift derailed Alice’s train of thought. “Who are you—? What—?”

“You’re a landed fish, darling. Ah, here he is.”

Hat still on his dark head, Simon d’Arco rushed into the room, brown eyes wide and wild. One of the automatic footmen trailed him. Its face had been dented, apparently in an unsuccessful attempt to bar Simon’s way. Kemp also stepped forward.

“Miss Michaels!” Simon panted. “Quick! You have to come!”

“Zzzzzir!” buzzed the footman. “Zzzzzzir, you muzzzzzt leavvvvve at—”

“It’s all right, Charles,” Alice told it. “You may go. Stand down, Kemp. Mr. d’Arco, what do you mean by bursting in like this?”

“Saw his horse through the window,” Louisa said. “I feel rather like a detective.”

“We need you, Miss Michaels,” Simon said. “At once!”

“Whatever for, Mr. d’Arco?” Alice replied. She kept her face calm, but underneath, her heart beat fast and she leaned forward with a growing excitement she could barely contain. “You have a number of people at your disposal.”

He glanced at Louisa, remembered himself, and snatched the hat off his head, revealing mussed black curls. “We,” he said, avoiding mention of the Third Ward, “captured a powerful war automaton in Germany, and we’re transporting it to headquarters via dirigible. The automaton is too powerful to leave running about, and we’ve deactivated it so we can put it into the Doo—” He shot another glance at Louisa. “Into permanent storage. The ship carrying it will reach London airspace any moment.”

“What has this to do with me?” Alice asked.

“If that war machine falls into the wrong hands, thousands of lives could be lost,” Simon continued. “But we’ve received word from an anonymous source that a clockworker intends to steal it en route. We can’t allow a lunatic to control such a machine, Miss Michaels.”

“I agree, Mr. d’Arco,” Alice said with a nod. “But I repeat: What has this to do—”

“Our information says the clockworker intends to use your automatons to capture the device.”

“What?” Alice leapt to her feet. “That’s impossible!”

“Where’s Click?” Louisa asked.

A frantic search turned up no sign of Click or of any of Alice’s little automatons, though all Norbert’s automatons seemed to be present. Alice remembered her whirligigs fleeing out the window with Click on their heels, but she hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

“Hurry!” Simon towed Alice’s toward the door before she could even snatch up her hat. “The W—our associates are meeting us halfway.”

“I’ll just let myself out, darling,” Louisa called. “Have fun!”