His Clockwork Canary Read Online Free PDF Page B

time-trace into
     his past, but enough to catch a glimpse of a memory. A group of men convening in a
     darkened room and the whisper of two disjointed words—
assassination
and
Aquarius
.
    Heart pounding, Willie scrambled back, assessing the situation.
    She’d been walking off her frustration. Ruminating Dawson’s order to get a story on
     Simon Darcy or to hit the proverbial street. She’d been lost in thought, lost in the
     cold fog rolling in with the depressing dusk. She knew not if this odious thug had
     been following her or perhaps lurking in the shadows of the meager lodgings she rented
     near Blackfriars Bridge. What she knew was that she was now trapped inside her dimly
     lit parlor with a dangerous masked stranger.
    “I mean you no harm,” he said as if reading her mind. “If I did, the deed would be
     done.”
    “Comforting,” she snapped.
    “Cheeky,” he replied. “Indeed, I find your fighting spirit . . . stimulating.” His
     lip twitched as his gaze landed on her newsboy cap, then dragged south to her worn
     boots. “The name is Strangelove.”
    Willie forced her knees steady and willed her tone not to spike in pitch. “I’m not
     partial to blokes,” she said, assuming Strangelove had a predilection for young men.
    “Neither am I.” Still smiling, he gestured to her worn and faded chaise. “Do sit,
     Miss Goodenough.”
    It was, in fact, good advice, as her legs fairly buckled at the mention of her real
     name. Practiced at pretending and desperate to maintain her guise, Willie slouched
     against the chaise in her lackadaisical boyish style, whilst contemplating potential
     weapons within her reach. “I’m afraid your eyesight’s impaired by that mask, sir.
     The name’s Willie G. and I’m a chap same as you.”
    “Spare me the pretense. I’ve neither the time nor patience.” Strangelove sat in a
     chair with the grace of a titled gentleman. His dark clothes, cape, gloves, and top
     hat were of fine quality, his speech and manner refined. “Wilhelmina Goodenough,”
     he said, leveling her with a narrowed gaze meant to intimidate. “Daughter of Michelle
     and Michael Goodenough, a twentieth-century security expert and a nineteenth-century
     merchant. A Mod and a Vic. Which makes you, Miss Goodenough, aka Willie G., aka the
     Clockwork Canary, a first-generation Freak.”
    She sat frozen, her lungs convulsing in trepidation. He knew who she was and, worse,
what
she was. Born of parents from two dimensions, all Freaks possessed various supernatural
     abilities that magnified and sharpened with age. Feared and/or shunned by polite society,
     her altered race was denied numerous rights, ofttimes including the opportunity to
     pursue the profession of their choosing. Hence her ten-year ruse. Strangelove knew
     she was a woman, knew she was a Freak. Did he know about her time-tracing skills?
     Did he mean to exploit her gift of tapping into people’s memories? His intent was
     clearly nefarious. At the very least the wretched toff had the ability to shatter
     her sculpted world. “If you mean to blackmail me—”
    “I do.”
    “Pressmen make very little money.”
    “Obviously.” Strangelove glanced around the clean but cramped and cluttered living
     space Willie called home. “I’ve no need of your exiguous finances, Miss Goodenough,
     but I do require your time and skills. I have it on good authority that Simon Darcy
     is joining the Triple R Tourney. I want you to join him on his quest and to report
     to me the moment he’s acquired whatever historical technological invention he seeks.”
    Willie stared. Yet another person intent on pushing her into Simon’s world. The timing
     was surreal, if not suspicious. “What makes you think—”
    “You had an illicit affair with Darcy when you were but sixteen,” he persisted. “Surely
     you can charm your way back into his life. Although I suggest a gown instead of trousers.
     And your hair—”
    “I have no intention of