“Damn it, Simon,” he snapped, “it’s me.”

“Play má què with the Queen,” Edwina said.

Simon d’Arco didn’t move, and for a moment Gavin wondered if the man intended to shoot him. His thoughts flashed back to the moment at the symphony a few hours ago. Gavin hadn’t had any time to think about what had happened or what any of it had meant, but now he wondered if Simon was angry. Then Simon lowered the weapon.

“Jesus, Gavin,” he said. “I nearly blasted you to Sussex. Are you drinking tea?”

“I would prefer,” Alice said in a small voice, “if you didn’t point that at me.”

“Alice?” Glenda holstered her weapon. “Good God, you look a fright. Are you all right? When did you start wearing trousers?”

There was a clatter of shackles as a set was closed over Edwina’s wrists. She did not protest or struggle. A look of sadness came over Alice’s face. Gavin wanted to hold her tight and let her head rest on his shoulder, let her cry if she needed to. He also knew she would be angry if he touched her in front of all these people. In the end, both of them just stood and watched Edwina be led toward the door in her long brown coat. One of the agents put the battered top hat on her head.

“Play má què with the Queen, darlings,” Edwina called as she was towed out the door. “Má què!”

“Poor bugger,” one of the remaining agents muttered. “Gone completely round the bend already.”

Lieutenant Phipps stood to one side. Her arms were folded, flesh on brass. Gavin hadn’t heard her arrive, and he wondered how much trouble he was in. “It’s three o’clock, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “Smith, Peters—get the clockworker back to headquarters before morning traffic. The rest of you, dismantle this place immediately.”

A “yes, ma’am” chorus echoed around the room. Phipps dropped into Edwina’s chair. Alice and Gavin were on their feet.

“How did you know to come here, Lieutenant?” Gavin asked.

Phipps nodded at Alice. “Her automaton told us.”

“Kemp?” Gavin blinked. “He wasn’t supposed to—”

“I told him to tell them if we didn’t return within two hours,” Alice said quietly. “I’m sorry, Gavin. I didn’t think it was a good idea to go off alone.”

His mouth hung open. “You lied about the hot bath and the tea.”

“Yes.” She looked unhappy. “But it was a good thing, in the end.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Gavin said.

“Once again,” Phipps put in, “I’m torn between praising you and shooting you. This is the clockworker who’s been terrorizing London with the zombies and who tried to steal the war mechanical, correct?”

“Yeah,” Gavin said. “She was also Alice’s aunt Edwina in disguise, so we got two for one.”

Phipps bolted to her feet. “That was Edwina?”

“It was,” Alice replied.

“You’re both in for a bonus and a holiday,” Phipps said. “See me back at headquarters for your report.” And she was gone.

“That was strange,” Gavin said. “She never gives bonuses, let alone holidays.”

“It’s not strange at all. The Queen’s letter said her job was in danger if Edwina wasn’t captured, remember? And Edwina can make the cure for the clockwork plague.”

“Which the Ward already has, if we can believe her,” Gavin said. “Alice, I hate to say it, but I think your aunt is entering the final stage. She said she has bad spells, and she was losing her mind there toward the end. All that business about má què with the Queen. All that stuff about a cure may have been rambling.”

Alice shook her head. “I don’t think so. It was all too careful, too reasoned.”

Meanwhile, agents were rushing about the laboratory. They had already brought down crates and boxes and were packing up Edwina’s materials with swift movements that bespoke long practice. Simon was dismantling some equipment while Glenda took notes on how it went together. Glass clinked and metal clanged. Within three or four hours, all traces of the laboratory would be gone. Alice was swaying on her feet, her face drawn with exhaustion, and Gavin remembered how long they’d been awake. Their encounter at the symphony had happened this evening, but it felt like days ago. When had he last slept? He couldn’t remember, though he didn’t feel particularly tired—not with everything that had happened.

“We should get you back to headquarters,” he said to Alice. “You look half-dead.”

“If that’s the sort of compliment you’re going to give from here on out,” Alice said, yawning, “perhaps I should have stayed with Norbert.”

They left the other agents and went topside, where they found their snorting horses amid a crowd of Ward carts and carriages. The ride back was chilly, partly due to the early-morning mist, and partly due to the fatigue that drained the heat from Gavin’s bones. When they reached Ward headquarters, Kemp met them at the door with two cups of hot tea on a tray.

“Madam and Sir should have taken a hackney cab and let someone else bring the horses,” he fussed. “Shall I bring a warmed wrap for Madam?”

“Thank you, no, Kemp.”

Gavin drank hot tea and felt better as it warmed his insides. “You should go to bed, Alice.”

“I agree, Madam,” Kemp said. “I shall warm your sheets straightaway.”

Alice shook her head. “We still have to report to Phipps, and I want to check on Aunt Edwina.”

Kemp’s eyes flickered. “According to Mrs. Babbage—”

“Mrs. Babbage?” Alice interrupted.

“That is what the Third Ward’s primary Babbage engine prefers to be called,” Kemp said. “We have established an excellent working relationship. At any rate, Mrs. Babbage says Lieutenant Phipps is down on the clockworker level.”

“No doubt with Aunt Edwina,” Alice said. “Let’s go.”

Against Gavin’s better judgment, they headed for the creaking lift. Down in the stony underground, however, they found a pair of guards at the entrance to the hallway. Gavin scrambled to remember their names—Sean Something and Something Donaldson.

“Sorry, ma’am, sir,” Sean said. “Lieutenant Phipps left orders that no one is to enter the clockworker section until further notice.”

“But she’s my aunt!” Alice protested.

“Lieutenant Phipps?” said Donaldson, puzzled.

“No, I—oh, never mind.” She turned to Gavin. “I’m exhausted. Let’s go to bed.”

Despite the events of the day, the phrase went straight through Gavin’s brain to other parts of his body, which too happily responded. “Uh . . .”

“Oh, good heavens.” Face flaming, Alice turned and stalked toward the lift. Gavin followed, though not before Sean shot him a small salute. In the lift itself, Alice stared resolutely forward. She was still wearing her cloth cap, though Gavin had taken his off indoors. Should women who wore male clothing remove their hats inside? He had no idea. Maybe some of the rules Alice worried so much about made sense—they told you what to do in a number of situations.

“I don’t like lies,” he said suddenly. Around them, the cage shuddered and creaked. “It bothers me that you lied to me about what you told Kemp.”

“Would you have gone along with it if I hadn’t?” she countered.

“No.”

She shrugged. “That’s why I did it.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Look, I’m not perfect. When I was little, back in Boston, I lied about all kinds of things so people would give me money, and on the Juniper I lied to the pirates, and when I’m on a case for the Ward, I lie to all kinds of people. But I never lied to my family, and I never lied to Captain Naismith, and I never lied to Lieutenant Phipps, and I never lied to you. I can’t do this if I think you might lie to me.”

She thought about that. “Gavin, I lie to survive. I lied to my father about where I was going and what I was doing in order to sell my automatons or to sneak books out of the subscription library so I could read about science instead of poetry. I lied to Norbert about my feelings for him. And there’s more. My title hides who I really am. My clothes hide what I really look like. Even the Third Ward hides its true purpose. Our entire society lies. We give the lie so the truth can live beneath it.”

“You can lie to other people all you want,” Gavin said. “But not to me. I love you for the real you, for the truth.” He took both her hands in his. “I can’t do this if you’re going to lie.”

“Oh, Gavin.” Her eyes grew wet. “I’ve been lying for so long, I’m not sure if I know how to tell the truth all the time. But I’ll try.”

He nodded, disappointed but understanding. “I suppose that’s the best I can hope for.”

The lift thumped to a halt, and Gavin opened the gates for them. At the place where the men’s and women’s dormitories diverged, they kissed and went their separate ways.

Doves cooed in the barn rafters far overhead. All around him stood a great expanse of space—the building was an empty wooden shell resting on an ancient fieldstone foundation. On the dirt floor nearby squatted a small electric generator. A heavy cord exited one end and terminated at the large, bulbous form that took up a great deal of the barn’s empty space. Gavin sat at a carpenter’s worktable strewn with drawings and tools, and he remembered deciding to put his head down for just a moment. Sawdust stuck to his cheek. The knock came again, more urgently this time.

“Who is it?” he called.

The barn sported two enormous doors that would allow a piled hay wagon to enter—or a large project to exit—but next to them was a smaller door for more everyday use. It creaked open, and Alice backed in. She wore a dark skirt and white blouse. Her honey brown hair had been pulled back under a small hat, but a few loose tendrils framed her face.

“Alice!” Startled, he leapt to his feet and hurried over to her. “Alice, what are you doing here? I didn’t say come in!”

“It’s only a barn. Besides, I couldn’t wait to tell you. You haven’t been to the main house for almost two days now, and—oh!”

Gavin plunged a hand into his coat pocket and found the silver nightingale. He fiddled with it nervously. His sleeves were pushed to the elbows, and bits of grease and sawdust speckled his forearms, and his hair looked like a haystack. In short, he looked a right mess. But her gaze went over his shoulder to the dirigible.

The dirigible was actually small, as such things went. The envelope, longer and leaner than most, was perhaps the length of two cottages and only as high as one. It barely eclipsed its own gondola, which rested on the floor in the final stages of completion while the envelope hovered overhead. Gavin had been about to set the generator in place when he decided to take a rest.

“Are you building this?” Alice asked in wonder.

“Refitting it, actually. Only the envelope is new. I’ve been working on it off and on for a few months now, but lately the work’s been going faster. Has it really been two days since I’ve been in—?”

“It has. Why didn’t you want me to come in?”

He flushed a little. “I didn’t want you to see it until it was finished.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Well, since the cat’s out of the bag, I may as well have a look.” Alice set the tea tray down on the table and walked slowly around it. The dirigible kept its ropes taut, and a fine mesh seemed to hold the envelope’s fabric together, a thin, loopy lattice that pressed against the cloth from inside, rather like a lacework skeleton.

Gavin watched Alice in silence, turning the clockwork nightingale over and over in his fingers and feeling oddly unsettled at her appearance. At long last, Alice had left her fiancé for him. The memory of each kiss they had shared clung to his skin like individual talismans. But the ease with which Alice lied still bothered him.

Gavin suppressed a groan as Alice completed her circuit of the airship. It wasn’t fair. Everything was supposed to be wonderful now that Alice had joined the Ward and admitted her feelings for him. Did life ever go smoothly?

“What do you think?” he said, and waited for the polite lie.

“I like it. It’s very sleek,” she said. “Very modern.”

“I see,” he said neutrally, though his heart was tearing inside. She had lied—again.

She twisted one hand in her skirt. “But,” she added slowly, “it’ll never fly, Gavin. The envelope is too small to lift a gondola that large.”

And Gavin felt abruptly light. “Really?” he said. “You think so?”

“Darling, it’s obvious. I don’t even have to work out the math. What were you thinking?”

In that moment he could have leapt to the faraway ceiling. “Help me anyway.”

Careful not to trip over the cord, he lifted the little generator with easy strength and hauled it up the short ramp onto the gondola’s main deck, which smelled of linseed oil and sawdust. Alice snatched up the tea tray and followed. Gavin lowered the generator in place on the deck and set to work with a wrench to bolt it down. Alice laid the tray on the deck next to him. Teapot, bread, butter, jam, sliced ham. Red rose in a vase. His stomach growled.

“When did you last eat?” she asked.

“I don’t remember. I’m almost done and I want to finish.” He grabbed a piece of bread and butter from the tray and wolfed it down. “What couldn’t you wait to tell me?”

“What?”

He reached for another bolt. “When you first came in, you said you couldn’t wait to tell me something.”

“Ah. I know what to do next.”

“About what?”

“Oh,” Alice said. “Oh dear.”

“What?”

“I was just noticing how handsome you look in the morning, Mr. Ennock, even when you’re all dirty and tousled. Or maybe it’s when you’re all dirty and tousled. I think you owe me a kiss for bringing you tea.”

Without a thought, he gave her one. It was distinctly odd, kissing Alice with a heavy wrench in one hand and rich bread in the other. It felt decadent, something a prince might do. When they parted, he held the bread up to her mouth, and she took a languorous bite. Her lips grazed across his fingers, and her soft tongue brushed his knuckle. A shudder coursed over Gavin, and he was suddenly very glad to be kneeling.

“I’m in a bachelor’s workshop without a chaperone,” Alice murmured. “How wicked am I?”

“Very wicked,” he said hoarsely.

Her hand ran up the length of his thigh. Blood sang in Gavin’s ears. He very nearly threw the wrench aside and snatched her to him. Instead, carefully setting tool and food down, he touched her face, then her hair, then her shoulders. He left a smear of grease on her cheek. She guided his hand lower until it was on her breast, and she gasped as he pressed its warmth beneath his palm.

The barn door snapped open. Gavin snatched his hand away. Kemp entered the barn and strode up the ramp to the gondola, a largish book bound in leather tucked under his arm. “Madam, I believe this is the volume you were looking for.”

Alice recovered quickly and accepted the book as if she and Gavin were sitting in a library. “Thank you, Kemp.”

“Shall I clear that tray away for you, Sir?” Kemp asked Gavin.

Gavin shot him a hard look. “I’m still eating, thanks.”

Kemp nodded with a faint creak and left. Gavin poured himself some tea to cover his consternation. “What is it you figured out?” he asked.

Alice was already paging through the book. “Just this. Phipps still won’t let me near Aunt Edwina, so I don’t know for sure how Aunt Edwina is doing at the moment, but she didn’t seem to be in the final stages of clockworker madness. That’s why it bothered me, the way she kept telling me to play má què with the Queen. So I went down to the library. Mrs. Babbage was very helpful, actually.”

“And what did you find?”

“This.” She turned the book so he could see a color plate with a series of tiles made of what looked like ivory. Each had an Oriental character painted on it. “It’s a game.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“No one has, really. It comes from China. It has a lot of names: má què, mu tsian, má jiàng, even mah jong. They all mean sparrow.”

“China,” Gavin repeated. “Why would Edwina tell us to play a Chinese game with the Queen?”

“She knew the Third Ward was coming,” Alice said. “Those lights on her wall were a series of alarms. She knew you and I were coming, remember? At any rate, she couldn’t tell us what she meant outright with the Ward in the room. It’s a hint that no one else would get, just like the coordinates puzzle.”

“And what’s the hint?”

“Mrs. Babbage reads the Times every day; did you know that? Every word. She also reads the Gazette, Punch, the Examiner, the Graphic, the Atlantic, and, well, everything!” Alice’s eyes sparkled. “There’s a speaking tube in the library, and you can ask her a question and—”

“I know, I know,” Gavin interrupted. “I met Mrs. Babbage last year. What does this have to do with Chinese sparrows? What’s the hint?”

“According to three different articles in different periodicals, the Chinese ambassador and his son introduced the Queen and the Prince Consort to má què, and the four of them play quite a lot.”

“All right. But how could Edwina expect us to play má què with the Queen?”

“She doesn’t,” Alice said. “But who does play má què with the Queen?”

“The Chinese ambassador.” Gavin fiddled with his teacup. “You think Edwina wants us to talk to him?”

“I do. I think Aunt Edwina knew she was going to be captured, so she’s sending us to talk to someone else about the cure. The Chinese ambassador must know something important.”

“And where do we find him? We’d never get into Buckingham Palace. Not even with Third Ward credentials.”

Alice clapped her hands. “Ambassadors don’t stay at Buckingham Palace. They stay at Claridge’s hotel. You’ll never guess where that is.”

Gavin didn’t even think. “Near Hyde Park.”

“Shall we take a cab or get horses from the stable?”

“Wait just a moment.” Gavin tightened the final bolt and tossed the wrench aside with a clatter. “Let’s see if this works first.”

“I’m telling you, it won’t fly,” Alice repeated.

Gavin spun a crank on the generator and pressed a switch. It coughed twice, then sputtered to life in a cloud of acrid paraffin-oil smoke. Indicator lights flickered. Gavin reached for a dial on the side.

“Let’s see what happens,” he said, and turned the dial.

At first nothing at all happened. Then a thin crackle snaked through the air. Soft blue energy threaded through the loops and spirals of the lattice under the skin of the envelope and lit them like threads of sky. A soft hum thrummed under Gavin’s feet. Ropes creaked, and the envelope rose, taking the gondola with it. A moment later, it gently bumped the ceiling, as if nosing for a way out.

“Oh my goodness!” Alice laughed. “Oh my goodness! Gavin! What did you do?”

Gavin couldn’t stop grinning. “I wasn’t sure it would work. That’s why I didn’t want anyone to come look. It uses wire made from the new alloy Doctor Clef created for his Impossible Cube. The alloy pushes against gravity when you pump electricity through it. The more electricity you use, the more it pushes. So you don’t need a big envelope to fly.”

Alice balked. “Electricity is running through an envelope filled with hydrogen?”

“No, no,” he reassured her. “That’s something else I came up with. My ship uses helium, which doesn’t explode.”

“Well! Mr. Ennock, I have to say I find you intelligent and resourceful, and the way you lifted that generator made me truly appreciate how much a man you are.”

He laughed again. “How do you always know exactly what to say to a man?”

“I know what to say to you.” And she kissed him while the gondola swung gently beneath their feet. They parted and laughed.

“You didn’t lie about the gondola being too big for the envelope,” Gavin said. “Even though you thought it might hurt. Thank you.”

Gavin picked her up in one fluid motion, swung her around in a circle, and kissed her again. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she accepted it, smooth and soft. He set her down, and she put a hand up to catch her hat.

“Oh! That was engaging,” she said with a laugh. “Should we fly your new ship to the hotel?”

“I have to paint her yet,” Gavin said. “Let’s hire a carriage.”

In preparation for visiting an ambassador to the Orient, Alice had spent considerable time in a Third Ward attic searching for a suitable dress while Gavin washed up. She chose an afternoon dress of deep gold silk—and found she didn’t like wearing it. No matter how carefully Kemp and her little automatons altered the garment, the restrictive corset and annoying skirts got in the way. But she was calling on the Chinese ambassador, and she could hardly do so in trousers. At first, she chafed at having to follow the rules so shortly after being freed from them, but then she realized the dress was a disguise for a secret agent, which made her feel better.

Gavin’s coat and trousers allowed him freedom of movement and made much more sense. He certainly cut a dashing figure, with his powerful build, startling blue eyes, and white-blond hair. He dressed like a gentleman, but moved like a rake, and she saw envious glances from passing women as he offered her his arm outside the carriage to escort her indoors.

The concierge met them inside the lobby doors. Gavin showed him a silver badge. “We’re looking for the Chinese ambassador,” he said. “Crown business.”

Sometime later, they were ascending in a tiny lift, and Alice was examining a handwritten card the concierge had given them.

“His Honor Jun Lung, room 310,” she read. “You’d think he’d have more names than that. What do you know about China?”

“Nothing,” Gavin admitted as the lift stopped.

Alice knocked at the appropriate door, and it was opened by a young man in a long blue coat, which was heavily embroidered and had wide sleeves. His black hair was pulled back and plaited in a braid that hung down his back. Gavin showed the badge again and gave their names.

“We need to see His Honor, the Ambassador Jun Lung,” he said.

“Sorry. His Honor see no one.” The servant’s English was heavily accented.

“It’s Crown business,” Alice said.

The servant bowed. “Sorry. His Honor see no one.” And he shut the door.

Alice and Gavin looked at each other, dumbfounded. “That frankly didn’t occur to me,” Alice said. “Now what? Break the door down?”

“I don’t think that would put His Honor in a good mood. Maybe if we left him a note?”

“How do we know he’d read it?” Alice said. “A telegram might—”

The clatter of the lift interrupted them. From the cage emerged another Chinese servant, also in a blue coat. He was pushing a cart with covered dishes on it. Exotic smells wafted from them, and Alice wondered if the ambassador had his own private chef in the hotel kitchen.

“Here’s an idea,” Gavin muttered. He put a hand in his pocket and approached the man. “I wonder if you could help me, sir. I need to talk to the ambassador.” He took his hand from his pocket, and Alice caught a flash of silver. Something dropped to the carpeted floor as Gavin laid a heavy coin on the linen-covered cart. The servant flicked the coin away as if it were an insect and kept going, his expression wooden. Then he jerked the cart to a halt, leaned down, and scooped the fallen object from the floor.

“Where you get this?” His eyes were wide.

“That’s mine,” Gavin said sharply. “Give it back now.”

“Where?” the man repeated.

“It was a present from a friend. Give it back, or I will hit you. Very hard.”

The servant dropped it into Gavin’s palm and bowed twice. “You come with me, please. Please, you come now.” Abandoning the cart, he opened the hotel room door and ushered them inside.

Alice was half expecting the rooms to be decorated in Oriental fashion, with carved dragons and Oriental wall hangings, and silk everywhere. Instead, she found a set of lavish hotel rooms, with generous furniture, thick carpets, large windows, and a marble fireplace. A middle-aged man sat in an armchair with his back to the door, a book in his lap. The servant scurried over to him and bowed, leaving his head down until the man acknowledged his presence with a word. They exchanged several sentences in Chinese before the servant returned.

“His Honor see you now.” He brought Alice and Gavin over to the sitting area, and the man rose to his feet. He wore a long, gold-bordered scarlet robe, which was embroidered with dozens of designs. A wide, round cloth hat covered his head, even though he was indoors, and his angular face was clean-shaven. Alice floundered. Should she bow? Offer her hand? Her schooling in etiquette had covered what to do when meeting everything from a priest to a baronet to the Queen herself, but not a dignitary from the Chinese Empire. Gavin looked equally perplexed.

The ambassador solved the problem for them by offering his hand first to Alice and then to Gavin. “I am Jun Lung, nephew of the Guanxu Emperor and ambassador to England.”

“Alice, Baroness Michaels, daughter of Arthur, Baron Michaels,” Alice said.

“Gavin Ennock, agent of the Third Ward,” Gavin said.

“And a friend,” Jun added. “Please, sit. My servants will bring food.”

Before Alice had time to wonder at the friend remark, a servant settled her on a chair and Gavin on a sofa, then quickly set small tables near their elbows while another servant, the one who had brought them inside, trundled the cart up and uncovered the food trays. Three mechanical spiders leapt out from under the cart and climbed to the table. They scooped food onto plates, which they rushed to set on the little tables. But instead of simply leaving the plates there, each spider captured a bit of food between two tendrils. Before Alice could react, “her” spider climbed up her arm, perched on her shoulder, and poked the food at her. She was so startled, she opened her mouth to protest. The spider dropped the morsel neatly between her lips and scuttled down her arm for more. Gavin and Jun received their food in the same way. Jun watched them both for their reaction. Gavin was working to hide his surprise, and Alice quickly schooled herself into an expression of nonchalance. One didn’t remark on food or how it was served. It was, though, quite delicious and a bit spicy, with ginger in it.

Jun started with small talk, asking Alice about her family, and then Gavin about his, and she felt compelled to do the same for Jun. She kept a practiced expression of politeness on her face, though inside, beneath the dress, she was prowling like a tiger, wanting to pounce on obvious questions. Jun, however, refused to come to the point. Alice quickly sensed she was in a game, one whose rules she knew well—the first to bring up the real subject would have to tell everything. Gavin started to interject, but Alice caught his eye and gave a slight shake of her head to stop him, and all the while the spiders popped food into their mouths.

“What do the ladies at the Chinese Imperial court wear, my lord?” she asked. “I must have every detail.”

And when he started to answer, Alice pinned him down further, asking for finer and finer detail. “What color of fan? What shade of scarlet? Do the shoes match the gown or the embroidery?”

Gavin was squirming, and the food plates were empty when Jun Lung finally let out a soft sigh and said, “It is a pleasure to talk to you, Lady Michaels.”

“But I must hear more!”

Jun held up a hand, and Alice knew she had won. “I have heard that you, Mr. Ennock, have come into possession of a small object of interest.”

“I have,” Gavin said with relief.

“May I see it?”

Gavin held up the silver nightingale, and Ambassador Lung let out another sigh. “That is indeed the object.”

“What do you mean?” Gavin asked.

At that moment, the front door opened, and into the room strode a Chinese boy of perhaps seventeen, though he was dressed in an ordinary shirt and trousers. Gavin leapt to his feet. “My God!”

“You!” The boy ran over and shook Gavin’s hand in both of his. “It is you!”

Alice blinked, bewildered. “What’s going on?”

“He saved my life,” the boy said. “He saved me!”

“Where have you been?” Jun asked sharply, then dropped into Chinese. The boy responded in kind, alternating between looking abashed and stubborn. Jun was clearly struggling to keep his temper under control in front of guests.

“This is Feng Lung, my son,” Jun said finally. “And that nightingale he gave you was built by my grandfather, who was one of the Dragon Men.”

“Dragon Men?” Alice asked.

“Your empire calls them clockworkers.”

“You are unhappy that I gave him the nightingale, Father, but I would be a memory for your sorrow instead of a target for your anger if not for him,” Feng said.

“What are you talking about?” Alice said.

“It happened in Hyde Park,” Gavin began.

“Of course it did.”

As Gavin told the story of how he hid a young Oriental man from his pursuers, Alice’s eyes went wider and wider.

“I was in the park that day,” she said breathlessly. “I heard your music, the most beautiful music since God created the earth, and then I heard the shot. I thought I must have been hearing things.”

Feng added, “I gave my brave friend the nightingale as a token to one who saved me with his music. And now he can copy his music whenever he wishes.”

“Copy?” Gavin said.

Now Feng looked surprised. He dropped to the sofa next to Gavin. “Haven’t you seen? If you press the left eye, the bird listens to sounds until you press that eye again. If you press the right eye, it sings the sounds for you.”

Astounded, Gavin held the bird up. Feng pressed the left eye. “Good morning,” Gavin said, then pressed the right eye.

“Good morning,” the bird said in Gavin’s voice.

Gavin gaped. “Is that what I sound like?” he said.

“It’s wonderful!” Alice said. “A true treasure.”

“Yes.” Jun stroked his chin. “But now you must tell me why you came here. I thought it was about the nightingale.”

Alice shook her head. “It’s about the clockwork plague and clockworkers.”

“Ah. Did the Queen send you?”

“What? No!” Alice said. “The Queen has no idea we’re—”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Jun interrupted. “She’s a well-informed woman, and I’m surprised she allows your country to treat Dragon Men—clockworkers—with such deplorable disdain.”

“What do you mean?” Gavin asked.

“You Englishmen shun clockworkers as if they carry disease,” Feng put in. “In my country, Dragon Men are revered. We gather them up and give them workshops and money and status so they can create their wonderful inventions. A Dragon Man brings any family great honor.”

“And what about Dragon Women?” Alice asked.

“They are all Dragon Men,” Jun said, “whether they are male or female. Though I suppose China should not complain about the way Britain treats its clockworkers. The balance of power between our empires, as I’m sure you know, is delicate. The British Empire controls the oceans and most of the air, and it has colonies everywhere. The Chinese Empire does not expand its borders, but it does control the tea, silk, and porcelain trades. Europe and the Ukrainian Empire separate us, so we don’t come into direct conflict, but the . . . tension is still there.”

“Especially over opium,” Feng said.

Jun shot him a hard look. “At any rate, our empires are locked in a continual game of má què. Do you know the game?”

“I’ve only recently learned of it,” Alice said.

“It’s the best game in the world,” Feng said. “Father and I play against the Queen and the Prince Consort all the time. We let them win when Father wants something.”

“Does it work?” Gavin asked.

Feng nodded. “Usually.”

“What does má què have to do with clockworkers?” Alice interjected.

Jun said, “The players draw ivory tiles of varying value and power, which they meld until a winner becomes clear. The Dragon Men and clockworkers are powerful, random tiles in our little game. They appear when they wish, helping out one player and then the other, but they balance out both sides in the long run.”

The world swirled dizzily for a moment. The solution hung there in front of Alice like ripe fruit, and she knew.

“Balance out,” she echoed. “Good heavens. Dear Lord. Ambassador, thank you for seeing us, but we have to go.”

“What?” Feng said. “I want to know my friend better.”

“Later.” Alice was already on her feet, which forced the men to rise. “Gavin, we have to leave. Now.”

Jun Lung caught Gavin’s arm. “My son may have repaid you the favor you did, but I have not. Honor still binds me to you, and I hope to see you again, young sir.”

With that, they left. Down in the lobby, Gavin turned to Alice. “What was that all about?”

“I understand what’s happening with Aunt Edwina and Lieutenant Phipps,” she said. “And I want a damned stiff drink before I tell you about it.”

“Tell me,” Gavin said worriedly, “before you get too drunk to talk.”

“It’s all about balance.” Alice leaned across the table, hardly able to believe she was saying these words, but knowing they were true nonetheless. “The Third Ward wants to lock Edwina up because the Crown wants to make sure her cure never, ever gets used.”

“What?” Gavin folded his arms. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? Ambassador Lung reminded us how delicate the balance is between China and England. Little conflicts flare up between us, but never quite escalate into an all-out war. We both trade. We make and break treaties. We negotiate. Why? Because both sides collect clockworkers who build little toys. Both sides have the same technological advantage. What would happen if England released Aunt Edwina’s cure?”

“Countless plague victims would recover?”

“Unimportant,” Alice said, “from the British Empire’s point of view. The plague would stop creating clockworkers. Once the current ones went mad and died, we’d have none. An end to clockworkers means an end to world-bending inventions for England, and that means China would become the most powerful empire in the world.”

“The cure would get to China,” Gavin countered. “Their clockworker supply would dry up, too.”

“The cure would take quite a while to spread to China,” Alice said. “Months, even years. That’s all it would take for China to pull ahead, potentially forever. The Crown won’t risk that. So they’re suppressing Aunt Edwina’s cure.”

“And condemning thousands to a slow, terrible death,” Gavin finished softly. His Guinness remained untouched. “That’s terrible.”

“Do you believe it?” Alice half hoped he would say she was mad, that he would find some flaw in her theory to prove it wrong, but he only rubbed his palms over his face and sighed.

“I believe it completely.”

Alice felt proud of her deduction and absolutely wretched about it at the same time. Gavin reached across the table and took her hand. The gesture made her feel slightly better.

The pub door opened, and Feng slipped in. Ignoring the stares of the other patrons, he dropped into a chair next to Gavin and signaled for a drink. “Found you,” he said in his uneven English. “I will not lose you again.”

Gavin shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me, Feng, but I’m not—”

“I have no friends here,” Feng blurted out. “Everyone looks at me; they see a Chinese man. They see a curiosity. They see a son of the ambassador, grandnephew of the emperor. My father wants me to learn diplomacy, and I try and try, but I’m no damned good at it. If I sneak out to do something fun, it gets me into trouble.”

“By fun, you mean women?” Gavin said shrewdly.

“Many times,” Feng replied with an unabashed grin. “They think Chinese boys will show them something different. They say there are many things English boys will not do.”

“Mr. Lung!” Alice said. “Perhaps this is a conversation you and Mr. Ennock could finish later.”

“You see?” Feng said. “This is why I am a bad diplomat.”

“Your English is very good,” Gavin said kindly.

“I gave you the nightingale because it is meant to carry messages to secret lovers,” Feng told him.

“Now look—”

“No, no.” Feng laughed. “Boys like you do not please me.”

“But others boys do?” Alice couldn’t help asking.

“Why not?” He leaned forward. “Have you ever tried them, Gavin?”

“No!”

“Then how do you know—”

“Mr. Lung,” Alice put in, “what is your point?”

“The nightingale remembers who held it last and will fly to that person. You can put your voice in it and let it fly away. Then it will return with another message. We can use it to communicate, too, as friends. I had no chance to explain it to you, but I hoped you would figure it out.” His Guinness arrived, and he drained it quickly. “I should go, before Father becomes angry again. Good-bye, my friends.”

And he was gone.