Imperial Clock

CHAPTER Eleven

Under the Microscope



As he stood by the kitchen window, picking at his rich shortbread biscuit, Derek watched a hot air balloon rise from a glade in the nearby forest, its rough patchwork envelope clearly a labour of love for its owner—the McEwan’s gardener, Mr. Van Persie, according to Sonja. He watched with envy. It climbed so straight and true, untethered and self-sufficient, let loose from the tangle of the world below. Science had enabled its flight, but one man, toiling away in his work shed in his spare time, perhaps scraping pennies together for years, had given it flight.

That was science at its purest. Not the red tape, the exclusivity, the monopoly on progress sought by the Leviacrum. That institution’s ultimate purpose was power, not progress, and it achieved the former by owning the latter, he’d decided. So where did that leave him, a work shed man at heart who had just signed his life away to an all-conquering laboratory in the clouds?

“You’ve hardly eaten a bite today,” Sonja observed, looking more trim and pretty every time he saw her, “and you really don’t seem yourself. Whatever’s the matter?”

God, where to begin. No, he hadn’t eaten more than a bite or slept more than a wink in days, which was why he was all cobwebs and aching bones, and why he couldn’t focus on anyone for more than a few moments without drifting into his foggy dilemma. “Nothing for you to worry about, honestly. I’m a little...low today, exhausted is all. Seems like everything’s happening all at once.”

“Maybe you should sit down, rest awhile. I could read to you—Explorer’s Weekly published a couple of belting articles on giant fossils discovered in the Atacama; should help take your mind off things. You game?”

“I’d be delighted, but it will have to be some other time, I’m afraid. I really hate to cut short our afternoon, Sonja—”

“You can’t be leaving. Not yet. I mean we haven’t even discussed...you know...anything. And you’ve been so distant all day. At least sit with me before you go. You don’t even have to talk. It’s just...I’ve been looking forward to this, and it might be a while before I see you again.”

She was right. This first announced visit had not gone at all as planned. Sonja and her Aunt Lily had been perfectly sweet and had gone out of their way to engage him during lunch, but his one-word answers and half-hearted questions had fizzled impolitely. If only he could tell her what racked his insides and held her at arm’s length from him like this. But she must not know his decision, or even that he’d had to make one.

The Leviacrum and the Coalition both had him in their sights for life; lying to one of them would have to be his curse, his burden, his dread. But he’d rather abandon Sonja without explanation right now than foist that same dread fear on her. The more he hinted at, the more curious she’d become, the more she’d be in jeopardy. It was safer to say nothing, and in time, if he could learn to live with his choice, to live with keeping it from her, and if she would still have him, maybe he might find a measure of solace in this new life under the microscope.

He offered Sonja his hands. She gripped them, gazed up with puzzled wonder. Who are you? she might be saying. What have you done with Derek Auric?

“Nothing.”

“Excuse me?”

Had he really said that out loud? It was time to get out before he blurted something unforgivable. “I promise I’ll return in a couple of days.”

“You’ll explain everything then?”

He snatched up his coat and hat as he rushed out. “I promise.” Aunt Lily, back from her shopping trip, passed him on the front path. “Thank you for supper, ma’am.”

“Supper?”

“Um, no thank you. Dinner was a treat, though.”

“Dinner?”

“Regretfully no. Lunch was more than fine. I have errands to run.” As he hurried away down the lane, he called back, “Tell Miss Sonja I look forward to seeing her articles,” and shook his head vaguely, suspecting that didn’t sound quite right.



***



From Gosport, across the entrance to Portsmouth harbour, the searchlights of a lone gannet ship roved across the inky water. Sonja crept along the old seawall, heading northwest toward The Round Tower in her stocking feet, so as not to make the slightest noise in her pursuit. Mother’s Navy cloak, a memento from her time spent in Africa with Major Bilali and his wife, was a godsend, warm and dark and hooded, its dark blue a splendid camouflage.

She stalled when a high-spirited chase broke out between rival pub crawlers below, their thunderous heavy shoes clapping the cobbles, pint glasses smashed in their wake, then...the rowdiest laughter exploded and followed the chase until it was a faraway murmur.

She quickened her pursuit. Derek’s striding form up ahead was difficult to see, and if he should climb down to street level now she might lose him. He was under some sort of duress, that much was obvious—luncheon had been an ordeal for him, even though she and Aunt Lily had gone to great pains to set him at ease—and though it might have been better to wait for his explanation, to trust his judgement, Sonja had to know tonight. Following him had been her way of protecting him, from whomever or whatever had the man she dreamed about in a ringer like this. It could be anything: blackmail, illicit family business, some twisted initiation stunt, even a duel, God forbid! But whatever it was, she would be there to help him if things got out of hand. Father’s Moroccan steam pistol tucked into her belt was fully prepared and loaded.

He stopped on the wall just before the tower and leaned out over the seaward drop, watching the gannet search over the harbour. Another figure looked down from the roof of the tower. He looked up, then went inside. So as not to give herself away, Sonja scurried down the nearest flight of steps to the street. She sneaked up Tower Alley, drunkenly veering this way and that in case they were watching her, and hid in the shadow of a doorway, a pretty good place from which to observe.

A woman?

Extremely tall and slender, even gangly, she kept her distance at first but was soon all over him on the roof, shaking his hand, touching his shoulders, leaning in to whisper sweet nothings, and all the while he didn’t so much as flinch.

There must be some mistake. Had she lost Derek somewhere along the way and this was another man altogether? It was dark up there, and even her spectrometer goggles on medium infrared magnification only made out a hazy Derek-like phantom. But his frock-coat, his top hat with the winged rim, the way he rocked on his heels, slowly, pensively, this was Derek Auric!

And he was seeing another woman? It made no sense. And yet...

Bringing Father’s pistol was either the best idea she’d ever had or a very, very bad one. Same with tonight’s pursuit.

Someone had better give me an answer...and quick.

Gangly Girl stopped touching him, at least. She appeared to be doing most of the talking. She went on and on, for five, maybe ten minutes, while he slowly rocked on his heels and the glare from the gannet searchlight cast the couple’s shadows far up the cobbles of her street. Finally she offered him something—too small for Sonja to see, but small enough for Gangly Girl to pinch between her fingers. A coin perhaps? Or a ring? No, at Derek’s nod, she reached in and pinned the thing to his lapel.

What the heck is going on?

They shook hands again. This time she went to kiss his cheek but he recoiled. She caressed his face instead. Sonja palmed her pistol. If he returned Gangly Girl’s gesture in kind...

He didn’t. They descended from the roof, one after the other, a minute or so apart. Sonja waited until Gangly Girl had climbed down the steps to her left before she broke cover and headed after Derek, to see what other surprises he had in store for her tonight. A loud tss-umph, tss-umph spun her around. It belonged to Gangly Girl’s getaway vehicle, a striking experimental racer straight from the Steam Fair. The thing lashed past her at twenty miles an hour and was still gathering steam when it crunched over the broken pint glasses and made the turn onto Broad Street.

Sonja threw off her hood and blew a few stray hairs from her sweaty brow. The gannet’s lights flashed Derek in silhouette as he strode away atop the wall toward the Square Tower. He went faster and faster until she couldn’t keep up. One hand clutching the new pin on his lapel, he doffed his top hat to the night-time ocean and hurled it out over the edge.

It wasn’t the only thing that was all at sea this night.