The Girl in the Clockwork Collar
Page 28

Unfortunately, Griffin didn’t share the older man’s conviction that no one would be intelligent enough to put the machine together correctly. He wasn’t about to underestimate Dalton.
Mr. Tesla offered him a cup of tea, and he took it, even though it would not be the same as the tea he was accustomed to. Tea abroad never tasted as good as what he had at home, even if it was the exact same tea.
Sam accepted a cup, as well, his big fingers circling the rim rather than attempting to hold the delicate handle. He had his gaze fixed firmly on Emily, as though gauging his own reaction on hers. Emily looked worried—more so than Griffin. Of course, she was a lot like Tesla in the way her mind worked. To her thinking, it wouldn’t be that difficult to put that machine together and quickly figure out what it did.
Tesla joined them a moment or two later, seating himself on the opposite end of the sofa from Griffin. They sat in silence as they drank. When he turned his head, Griffin noticed that Tesla was watching him with a curious expression on his narrow face.
“Is there something you wish to say, Mr. Tesla?” he asked. Like, what the hell they were supposed to do now? There was only one thing to do—go to Kirby and get Finley back. She was the only one who could tell them if Dalton knew how to use the machine.
“Yes.” The strange but brilliant man leaned forward, as though by taking a closer look he might discern what made Griffin work—as though he was the inner guts of a clockwork stripped bare. “Your abilities, they allow you to interact with the Aether, correct?”
Griffin nodded. “That is correct, yes.”
“I have seen you use Aetheric energy to power my machines and to render them inactive, as though you emit some sort of mechanical-disruption field. Tell me, when you do these things, are you actually channeling the Aether through your body?”
“If you are asking if I’m a conduit for Aetheric energy, I suppose the answer is yes. I think of myself as something of a stone placed in a hearth—I will absorb the Aether just as that stone absorbs heat.”
Tesla crossed his legs. “And like that stone, will you also explode if you absorb too much?”
Unbidden, thoughts of blowing all the water out of the pool in London and the destruction of The Machinist’s lair flashed in Griffin’s mind. “I assume so.”
“So when you release the Aether, I assume it has to go somewhere. What happens then?”
If it were anyone else asking these questions, Griffin would tell them it was personal. He was normally suspicious of curious people, often assuming that they would inevitably want something from him if they knew too much about his abilities. Once, when he was a child, an old friend of his grandfather’s had wanted to use him to contact his dead wife. Griffin had done so out of kindness, but then the old man kept coming back, slipping further and further away from his life, until communications with a ghost was all he had. When his father told the old man that Griffin would no longer work as a medium for him, the old man had gone mad and had to be escorted from the estate. He died shortly thereafter—by his own hand.
Griffin took a sip of tea and pushed the past to where it belonged. “I find water to be the best receptacle, though it has the unfortunate tendency to render everything rather damp.”
“What if you were to direct it into a structure?”
He cleared his throat, uncertain if he should reveal more. “I would most likely raze it to the ground.”
Tesla’s eyes were bright, his face lit with excitement. “Aetheric oscillation,” he said in a slightly reverent tone, moustache twitching. “You inspired me, Your Grace. I have recently begun work on a machine that I believe will absorb Aetheric energy much like you and then expel that same energy.”
“To what end?” Griffin asked. “I could see it being used to replace the treacherous practices now in place for blasting out railway lines or in building demolition, perhaps.”
“Or in war,” Tesla added. “Imagine if an army marched on New York, one could Aetherically destroy the Brooklyn Bridge to prevent penetration of Manhattan Island, but without the risk to life or other property that comes with explosives.”
War? Griffin didn’t like that idea at all.
“Entire cities might be toppled,” Tesla went on. “But that’s not the manner in which I would use such a creation, no. Imagine being able to peel back the earth’s crust like one peels an orange. Only wonder at what discoveries await there!”
For the first time since meeting the man, Griffin wondered if Tesla wasn’t a little mad. Certainly he was brilliant, and with brilliance there was often a certain detachment from the rest of the world, but wondering at building something that could destroy the earth, just because you wanted to see if you could build it, well, that was just asking for trouble.
And for that matter alone, Griffin did not tell the man that the Aether was an organic energy, and while small amounts could be harnessed by machines, even manipulated—such as with Tesla’s device that could have brought down the building and worse—the amount needed to topple an entire city or split the earth’s crust could only be absorbed, and therefore unleashed, by organic material.
Basically, that to the best of his knowledge, he was the only being or thing on the planet capable of such destruction— and even then, taking in that much Aether would undoubtedly kill him.
No, he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he raised his teacup in salute. “I wish you the best of luck with that, sir.” Meanwhile, he knew in the back of his mind that if Tesla ever did succeed in creating such a machine, he would personally hunt it down and destroy it.
“Now,” he said, after taking a drink of tea, “I assume that we need to get close to this machine of yours to stop it.”
“No, not necessarily.” Tesla smoothed the fingers of his left hand over his moustache. “The device was designed to be operated up close or at a distance. Your criminal will not need to have it on his person to use it.”
Griffin clenched his jaw. Nothing had been easy during this trip. Not a bloody thing. And why was Tesla smiling at him? Did the man not realize they were shagged?
“What’s so amusing, sir?” He ignored the sharp look Emily shot him for speaking so hotly to the inventor.
Tesla chuckled. “Because it should be obvious to you, Your Grace. You do not need to touch the device to stop it. You are one with the Aether. All you must do is locate its signal on the Aetheric plane and use your incredible talent to render it inert.”
Had he said what Griffin thought he said? Griffin couldn’t help but chuckle. In fact, they all did.
Finally something he could control.
Since Whip Kirby wasn’t affiliated with the New York City police, he didn’t take Finley to the Tombs, but rather to the set of rooms he’d rented from a bounty-hunter associate, complete with holding cells in the cellar and on the ground floor. The ground floor ones obviously being for the less dangerous captures.
At the moment, Finley wasn’t locked up on either floor. She sat at the table with Whip, enjoying a cup of coffee and a hot breakfast of griddle cakes and sausage. She had spent the night on a cot in the small spare bedroom, and she’d been grateful for it, sleeping far later than she should have. Once she realized Kirby meant her no harm, it had been easy to relax. They had stayed up fairly late, talking. She had tried to contact Griffin, but her P.T. was still a bit dodgy, and she didn’t know if the message made it to him.
“You don’t think I’ll run away?” she had asked when he showed her to the guest room.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. For an old man, he wasn’t bad looking. He had to be at least thirty. “Don’t matter much to me if you stay or leave. But it might be more convincing if you let Dalton come looking for you.”
She made a scoffing noise. “He won’t come for me.”
“I think you underestimate yourself. Dalton considers you his. He sent men to London to fetch Jasper. He’ll come for you.”
Finley didn’t have the energy to argue with him. “Do you really want to clear Jasper’s name?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Why?” she asked as she sat down on the bed.
Kirby leaned against the door frame and folded his arms over his chest. “Because I married his sister six months ago and I promised her I’d find the real murderer.”
Her jaw dropped. “Does Jasper know you’re family?”
The toe of one of his scuffed boots rubbed against the threshold. “Nope. He doesn’t know he’s going to be an uncle soon, either. My wife hopes he’ll be able to come visit us after the baby’s born.”
Finley’s throat was surprisingly tight. “I see.” If she had doubted him before, she didn’t anymore.
He gave her something to wear to bed and then retired to his own room. Finley wondered if he spent the night listening to see if she’d leave.
And now here she was, sitting at his table, eating the food he cooked. The man made a delicious breakfast.
A knock on the door made them both freeze. Finley had her cup halfway to her mouth as her gaze locked with Whip’s.
“Last cell on the right,” the older man commanded, not waiting to see if she obeyed before drawing his gun and pushing back his chair.
Finley raced to the other side of the building where the cells were. She had to go through a heavy door, which would be locked if there were prisoners in residence. There were only four cells on the ground floor; all were empty and clean, awaiting another occupant.
She ducked into the last cell on the right of the corridor and closed the bars behind her. Then she sat down on the cot—which was nowhere near as comfortable as the one she had slept on—and waited, heart in her throat. Was it Dalton? She was worried for Mr. Kirby. Or was it Griffin? Would he be ashamed of her? Or was it the police, coming to take her to a real jail?
What did it say about her that she almost wished it was the police?
By the time Griff and the others managed to get away from Tesla, it was late morning. Kirby welcomed them into his lodgings/jail with a warm but expectant smile—as if he’d been waiting for them.
Griffin didn’t waste any time. “Where is she?” Kirby smiled at them and arched a brow when Sam had to duck his head to come through the door. Sam wore his customary scowl—only a little darker at the moment.
“She’s not in shackles, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He jerked his head toward a heavy door. “She’s down there. I had her take to a cell until we knew who our company was.”
Emily gestured back the way they’d come. “You need a scope on that door—something so you can peer through and see who’s come calling.”
The lawman nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll pass that suggestion on to my friend who owns this place.” Then to Griffin, who was grinding his teeth in impatience, “C’mon, I’ll take you to Miss Finley.”
It was about bloody time. Griffin only nodded in response and followed the older man through the heavy door. Emily and Sam came, as well. They walked down a hall flanked by empty cells, but they’d only gone as far as the second when he spotted her.
She was wearing the gown she had worn the night before, and it was badly wrinkled. Her long honey-blond hair hung in a tangled mess around her shoulders, the black stripe a dark contrast. Her eyes were huge as her gaze locked with his. She looked almost as though she expected him to be angry with her.
He was—or rather he had been. He’d made himself furious, thinking about all the things that might have happened. It was either be angry or terrified, so he’d chosen the former. However, now he didn’t seem capable of feeling anything other than relief at the sight of her—and a sharp happiness, which felt like a pinch in his chest.
“Finley!” Emily squealed and bounded over to the bars. She reached through when Finley approached and grabbed the other girl’s hands.
Finley blinked rapidly—trying not to cry, Griffin realized. “Em. It’s so good to see you. You too, Sam.”
Sam grinned, softening his features. “You look good behind bars.”
She laughed at that, but her smile faded when she turned to Griffin. “You lot shouldn’t be here. Dalton might be watching.”
“Hang Dalton,” Griffin replied. He couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “I … We had to make certain you were all right. What’s this all about, Kirby?”
The lawman shrugged. “Figured if it seemed like I had arrested her, they wouldn’t call for the cops. I might not be the best of hosts, but this is a damn sight better than the Tombs.”
The thought of Finley being in that place was enough to turn Griffin’s stomach. It would be easy to blame himself for this, but he wasn’t going to go there. Finley had known what she was doing, and he wouldn’t have been able to keep her from it. If he was going to blame anyone, he’d blame Dalton.