Black Swan (Pax Britannia: Time's Arrow) Read online

  Ulysses could think of one or two things that he could do with having arranged. Perhaps employing this Leroux was the most effective way for it to be achieved. Suddenly Magna Britannia didn’t seem as far away as it once had.

  “Then it’s a deal.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’ll help you track down your uncle’s killer if you’ll arrange a meeting between myself and Valerius Leroux.”

  “But of course,” she said and then caught herself. “But why?”

  “I find myself in need of a travel agent.”

  “Right then, like you say, sounds like a plan,” the girl said, making for the front door. When Ulysses didn’t move to follow her, she spun about on her heel.

  “What is it? What’s the matter? Why are you still standing there?”

  “Um...” Ulysses glanced down at his bandaged torso. “I think it might draw undue attention to our activities if I were to go out and about without my shirt, don’t you? So would you mind telling me what you’ve done with it?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mona Lisa Smile

  CAUTIOUSLY, CADENCE OPENED the door. Pushing it open, she flinched at the protesting squeak of its hinges.

  “Here, let me,” said Ulysses, stepping past her into the penthouse apartment.

  The place was just as he remembered it. After the gorilla had thrown Ulysses through the sitting room door, clearly believing him to be dead, in the next instant it had pricked up its ears and fled the flat.

  Not knowing what else to do, and considering that the unconscious Ulysses might be the only person who could help her make sense of her uncle’s death, she had managed to hoist him onto her shoulders and proceeded to carry him out of the apartment. She had left the apartment under the cover of darkness and, amazingly, got him all the way back to her place without attracting any unwanted attention.

  “But how did you get me from your uncle’s apartment building to your workshop?” he had asked, intrigued. It might have only been half a mile, but just the same. “You didn’t carry me all the way, did you?”

  “I didn’t,” was all she would say, and refused to be drawn on the matter.

  The broken door was still lying in the hallway, a couple of spots of Ulysses’ blood upon it. Stepping past it he peered into the devastated sitting room-cum-study.

  “Is he...?” Cadence whispered from behind him.

  “No, he’s gone.”

  Ulysses stepped carefully into the room, taking care where he trod.

  Lumière’s body was gone, but the piles of papers that had cascaded to the floor remained where they had fallen beside the desk. They looked like schematics for circuit designs. The room was cold, the windows having been open all night.

  Ulysses recovered a half-folded schematic from the floor. The design looked like that for a device intended to be inserted into the auditory canal, judging by the careful drawing of an over-sized human ear beside it. Its curious shape made it look like a sucker-mouthed fish.

  “What was your uncle working on?” Ulysses asked.

  “His field was acoustics,” she said. “You know; the recording, transmission, modulation and projection of sound waves.”

  “Indeed. Interesting.”

  He bent down and retrieved something that had rolled under the desk.

  It was the golden parrot. It was still attached to its perch but it was badly dented, having been partially crushed.

  Ulysses peered into the automaton bird’s glittering crystal eyes.

  “Could this be repaired, do you think?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t know how much you know about electronics and audiology–”

  “Enough,” she said, taking the broken object from him.

  “What was it?” Ulysses asked. “His pet or something?”

  Cadence shot him a scolding glance. “Archimedes is a state-of-the-art automaton.”

  “Called Archimedes.”

  “Yes, what of it? Uncle Gustav liked the company.”

  “Well, when you start naming the state-of-the-art automaton that you keep around your apartment for company, it’s what we call a pet.”

  Cadence gave a very Gallic shrug as she set about turning the dented device over in her hands. She depressed a switch secreted under one wing and when that didn’t do anything, popped open a panel in its breast and tested a connection.

  “I can fix him,” she said.

  “Hmm?” Ulysses asked, pieces of the gramophone in his hands.

  “Archimedes. I can repair him, only not here. Back at my place.”

  “Good. I mean, we might be able to learn something from it.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s a parrot, isn’t it? And an automaton at that.”

  “So?”

  “Well, parrots repeat things.” He showed her the pieces of gramophone. “Do you know what this was before everything went... apeshit?”

  “No. Some sort of recording device no doubt, or something to do with sound modulation.”

  Ulysses placed the pieces carefully on the desk. Leaving the clutter surrounding Lumière’s workspace, he crossed the room, his eyebrows knitted in thought. He took in the pile of matchwood and crystal splinters that was all that was left of Lumière’s cabinet of clockwork curiosities. The tiny treasures were now just so much twisted brass and unwound spring mockeries of the wonders they had once been. Looking at the broken toys he remembered the pain his collision with the cabinet had caused.

  “I think we’re done here,” he said, striding across the room and through the empty door frame.

  The robo-parrot under one arm, Cadence hastened after him, clearly more than happy not to have to spend another minute in the room where her uncle had died.

  Out on the landing, they waited as the lift ground its way up from the ground floor.

  “Right. Get yourself back to the workshop,” he said. The lift arrived, Ulysses pulled open the safety gate, and the two of them got in.

  “What are you going to do?” the young woman asked.

  “You made that call to Leroux, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  The elevator began to descend.

  “Can I borrow your personal communicator?” Anticipating her answer would be in the affirmative, Ulysses held the palm of his hand out flat before her.

  “What do you want it for?”

  “He said to meet him at the Louvre, didn’t he?”

  “That’s right. Look, tell me; who are you going to call?”

  “I think it’s time the gendarmes received an anonymous tip-off, don’t you?” he said, smiling slyly.

  The lift arrived at the ground floor with a jolt.

  “And while they’re tidying things up here” – pulling open the gate, Ulysses stood aside as Cadence stepped out – “I’ll be meeting with your friend Leroux at the Louvre.”

  “QUITE MAGNIFICENT, ISN’T it?”

  Startled at hearing someone address him in English – even if it was English spoken with a strong Gallic accent – Ulysses turned from studying the painting to study the man standing beside him.

  The man was wearing a navy suit cut in the latest style, a white shirt and an ostentatious silk bow-tie. His fine blond hair was swept back from a high forehead forming a pale widow’s peak, while his skin appeared as smooth as alabaster. He looked like he would have given Ulysses a run for his money as the Best Dressed Bachelor that season, if due to circumstances beyond his control, Ulysses hadn’t been out of the running.

  “It certainly has a certain je ne sais quoi,” Ulysses said with a smile.

  “Her smile is,” the man said with a flourish of the handkerchief grasped tightly in his left hand, “how do you say?”

  “Enigmatic?”

  “Just so. Enigmatic. And, of course, magnifique!”

  The man turned to meet Ulysses’ enquiring gaze.

  “Monsieur Quicksilver, I presume,” he said, offering his right hand.

  Every movement he made was balleti
c and precise.

  “Valerius Leroux.” Ulysses accepted the hand and shook it firmly. The returned grip wasn’t in any way so firm. It made Ulysses feel uncomfortable. Fortunately in the next moment Leroux let go of Ulysses’ hand.

  “It is a pleasure, Monsieur,” Leroux said, bowing as if they were in the Palace of Versailles at the Court of the Sun King, rather than in an art gallery, although they were in front of arguably the most famous portrait in the world. “I have heard so much about you.”

  “Really? From Mademoiselle Bettencourt?”

  “Quite so. But enough of this. I understand that you are planning on leaving our fair City of Lovers.”

  “You understand right.”

  “I am sorry to hear that, truly I am.” He sounded almost hurt.

  “Believe me, if circumstances were different, I would quite happily stay. But maybe some other time, eh? The question is, would I be correct in thinking that you’re the man to speak to regarding my travel arrangements?”

  “Just so.” Leroux shot darting glances to left and right as he ran the fingers of one hand through his fine, pale blond hair. “Walk with me,” he said, grabbing Ulysses by the arm. Ulysses winced. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  “No, it’s alright. I’m fine,” Ulysses lied through gritted teeth. “It’s nothing.”

  “Hmm. Something tells me you lead a rather – how shall we say? – interesting life, Monsieur.”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  The two men headed out of the Italian gallery.

  “So, Ulysses – may I call you Ulysses?”

  “What? I mean, yes. Yes, of course.”

  “So, Ulysses, what line of work are you in?”

  “I’m... Well you could say that I’m in exports.”

  Leroux gave him a look as if to say, and my mother’s the Queen of Magna Britannia, but what he actually said was, “Exports?”

  “And imports.”

  “Very well.”

  “So you’ll help me?” Ulysses said, sounding more anxious than he had intended.

  They passed from Spain into France, not stopping to enjoy any of the paintings in those galleries as Leroux led Ulysses inexorably downstairs, heading for the exit.

  There was an ever-present hubbub of hushed voices and ringing footsteps, the weird acoustics of the galleries turning every sound into strange echoes. Brilliant light came in through the high windows and the atmosphere was redolent with the smell of floor polish. The other visitors to the museum moved in clusters, obediently trailing their guides through the galleried halls, or as couples, not looking at the art at all, only having eyes for each other.

  No one was looking at Ulysses. If the wandering and wondering eyes of the tourists were lingering on anyone, it was his new best friend, the effete Valerius Leroux. Most, however, were too busy enjoying all the wonders the Louvre had to offer.

  Leroux pulled open his jacket to reveal a bundle of documents and tickets protruding from an inside pocket.

  “False papers, a passport, and one ticket for the Paris-London Express that will carry you straight through your Mr Brunel’s Trans-Channel tunnel and get you out of France and back to the bosom of your beloved Magna Britannia.”

  “You are even more accomplished than I was led to believe.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” the Frenchman said with a sly wink.

  “How...” For a moment Ulysses was lost for words. “That is simply remarkable. Now, what do I owe you?”

  “Ah, yes,” Leroux said, smiling broadly. “Now we come to the matter of recompense; the francs and cents, if you like. If you will forgive me, Ulysses, you may speak like a gentlemen, but you dress like one who has fallen on hard times. What could you possibly give me in return for my help?”

  “I have money. And plenty of it. Just not on me right now. I promise you, Valerius, as soon as I am back in England I will have the money wired to you before I do anything else. With interest.”

  “Hm. So you say, but how do I know this? I do not know you from – what is the expression? Ah yes – from Adam! No. We need to think of an alternative; how you might pay me in... how do you say? In kind? You scratch my back – is that the expression?”

  Ulysses didn’t like the way this conversation was going.

  “So, as you can see, I can help you,” the Frenchman said, smiling enigmatically. Ulysses knew that look; it was one he had employed enough himself in the past. He swallowed hard, feeling his stomach knot. “So now the issue is not what I can do for you, but what can you do for me?”

  CLEARING A SPACE before her – carefully pushing aside the tins of enamel paint, the oily rags, the jam jars filled with washers and a variety of tools – Cadence Bettencourt set the robo-parrot down on her workbench.

  Uncle Gustav had always kept Archimedes in excellent working order, but the bird hadn’t come off so well in its encounter with the mechanised ape. His gleaming brass outer shell – that had been so lovingly polished by her uncle that it shone like gold – was scuffed and horribly dented in places. Archimedes’ left wing was virtually hanging off, the articulation screw bent horribly out of shape, the poor thing. The eyes were refusing to light as well, even though she had already checked the battery.

  The damage Archimedes had suffered was clearly more than simply superficial. She was going to need to take a proper look inside.

  Taking the parrot’s head in her hands, she gave it a twist and gently loosened the screw-thread holding it in place. Five more twists and the head was off. Delicately she lifted the head free, twisted wires unspooling after it. Making sure that none of the wires became disconnected, she laid the head on the workbench.

  Everything was done with the utmost care.

  As far as she could see the head itself was intact; all of the connections were secure. That was a good start at least.

  Taking a screwdriver, she applied it to the inspection hatch and removed the panel completely, allowing her to access the parrot’s internal workings. It didn’t take her long to find the disrupted connection.

  Unsurprisingly, it was on the same side that the parrot was most badly dented. With the front off, she did what she could to re-shape the automaton’s body-shell, pushing out the dent from the inside. If Archimedes was ever to look as fine as he had done before his run-in with the gorilla, he was going to need the attentions of a jeweller or an expert panel beater, or, failing that, to have his outer shell re-cast. But it would do for now, allowing her to reconnect the offending wires more easily.

  Taking up a soldering iron and donning a pair of tinted goggles, she set the heated tip and a length of fine solder to the ornate teak-framed Bakelite circuit boards inside.

  She could have carried on in this way all day. She found electrical engineering so therapeutic.

  Setting the soldering iron down, she inspected her work through an arrangement of armature-mounted magnifying lenses. Happy that she had done the best she could, she set to repairing the wing – a relatively easy task by comparison.

  All that remained then was to put Archimedes back together and see if she had succeeded in returning him to working order.

  Re-attaching the front panel, and having tightened the screws at each corner, she set the parrot upright on the workbench. Taking the moulded metal head in her left hand, with the right she fed the loops of cable back inside the bird’s body cavity, finally locating the head on the neck thread and locking it back in place again with a few gentle twists.

  Her heart thumping in excitement and anxiety, she pressed the button hidden beneath the bird’s tail.

  Nothing happened.

  She gave the automaton a tentative shake and tried the switch again.

  Accompanied by a soft background hum that she could feel vibrating through her hand, the bird’s eyes glowed green, the illumination slowly increasing in intensity until they shone like a couple of torch-beams.

  “Hello, Archimedes,” Cadence said with a sigh of relief.
r />   Accompanied by a succession of stilted clicks, the robot bird ruffled its feathers and flexed its wings. Its head clicked first left, then right.

  In a sudden flurry of automated movement the bird leaned back on its perch and looked at Cadence.

  “Raawk! Who’s a pretty girl then?” the bird squawked, its synthesised voice edged with a coarse static burr. “Raawk!”

  Clearly there was still some fine-tuning to be done.

  And then suddenly the parrot’s electronic squawk cut out as some pre-programmed subroutine was triggered within its Babbage brain. The automaton started again, but now it sounded like Archimedes was doing a poor impression of her Uncle Gustav, parroting a message it had recorded on a previous occasion.

  “Beware Leroux!” the parrot squawked. “You cannot trust Leroux!”

  “SO WE’RE AGREED then, we have a deal,” Valerius Leroux said as the two of them exited the museum together.

  “You drive a hard bargain, M. Leroux, but yes. We have a deal,” Ulysses said with a sigh.

  “You promise to acquire a specimen for me upon your return.”

  “I promise.”

  “Then let us shake on it, like Englishmen.”

  “Like Englishmen,” Ulysses said, accepting Leroux’s hand with little relish, fully aware of the unpleasant feebleness of the handshake to come.

  “Thank you, Monsieur Quicksilver. Then here are your papers, your passport and your train ticket for the Trans-Channel Express,” Leroux said, handing Ulysses the selection of documents. “It has been a pleasure doing, er, business with you.”

  “Pleasure was all mine,” Ulysses muttered sardonically.

  He looked at the glass and brass structure behind them once more. It had been commissioned from some designer back in the 1980s, it was said, in response to the rise of the Industrial Revival movement back in Magna Britannia. The modernity of the pyramid was in stark contrast to the seventeenth century façade of the original twelfth century castle. Then, turning on his heel, Ulysses set off across the Cour Napoleon.