His Clockwork Canary: The Glorious Victorious Darcys by Beth Ciotta

Author:Beth Ciotta [Ciotta, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Fiction, Science Fiction, Paranormal, Steampunk
ISBN: 9781101614761
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2013-06-04T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

Bundled up against the freezing temperature and strong winds, goggles firmly in place, Simon stood on the port side of the Flying Cloud, gripping the gunwale and staring down at the passing landscape.

Phin was a spectacular pilot and the few upgrades he’d managed on this boat had made a world of difference. Their flight out of Scotland and over northern England had, thus far, been as smooth as glass. Not once had they taken a sudden and heart-stopping dip. Eleven days ago, Simon had wrestled with a malfunctioning turbine and the steering mechanism had jammed. Piloting his father’s creation had been a bit of a harrowing experience. More than once he’d contemplated his own demise. Is that how Willie had felt when she’d gotten distracted in Filmore’s memories? A wisp or tremor of fear? The notion that she might not pull through the experience unscathed? That she was quite possibly flirting with death?

Could time-tracing kill her? Simon had mulled over the possibility as he’d helped Willie settle into a small but comfortable cabin. Whilst Phin had set a course for Canterbury, Willie had talked Simon through the upcoming time-trace with her father.

“Typically the transmitter is unaware that I am tracing,” she’d said. “But I think it would be best to be honest with my father. I want to stay longer, to probe deeper. If he knows what I’m doing, and if I’m in a safe and sequestered environment, it won’t matter that I appear to be daydreaming and unresponsive.”

“What’s the longest you’ve been in?” Simon asked.

“Up until Filmore, five to ten seconds. The first time with Filmore—thirty seconds. That was shocking, but not so unsettling as the second time I went in. By the time I broke free of the trance . . . I’d been gone two minutes.” She blew out a tense breath. “Mind you, two minutes in reality rivals two hours to two days in someone’s memories.”

“Fascinating,” Simon said, “and utterly fantastic. It’s hard to imagine.”

“It can be wondrous but also disturbing. Some of the people I’ve interviewed . . . well, they were not all the most reputable of citizens. Where’s the sensation in that?” She laughed, though the sound was rusty and forced. “Point being, in all those instances, and there have been many, I have never felt panicked or emotionally engaged. That’s where things went wrong. Not that I was gone for so long, but that I lost control. I reacted emotionally to something I saw. I interacted. As long as I stay focused and in the shadows, all should be well.”

In that moment, Simon questioned the woman’s judgment, if not sanity. “Willie,” he’d said calmly and gently, “you’re going to trace your father’s memories. A man you adore. A man who is mentally unstable. You’re going to summon memories of your mother and of her past as a Peace Rebel. A woman who misled you. Do you honestly think you can remain emotionally detached?”

“Aye.

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