reluctantly allowed Simon to borrow his banned and now rare copy of
the Book of Mods. Simon’s own treasured edition had been pinched by someone at the
Institute of Civil Engineers, a personal violation that rankled to this day.
Sequestered in his home library, Simon had burned the midnight oil, reviewing the
fascinating compilations of futuristic sketches, essays, and cautionary tales, written
by a faction of the original Peace Rebels. He had searched every page, every sentence,
hoping to find mention of the Houdinians. There had been none, although admittedly
Simon’s mind had wandered time and again. He could not shake his intense and undeniable
physical attraction to the quirky pressman who irritated and fascinated him simultaneously
and beyond measure.
At least he’d managed to deduce that he was not, in fact, attracted to a boy. During
their parting row, Simon had taken intense notice of certain physical details. The
Canary possessed no stubble, no signs of shaving, and the kid was certainly old enough
to have facial hair. At one point the fabric of the kid’s scarf had slipped enough
to reveal a slender neck—no Adam’s apple. Not to mention the kid’s feet were overly
small for a man. The more he thought about it, the greater his certainty.
Willie G. was a fraud. A woman passing as a young man. But why? Androgynous? Gender
confused? Or perhaps simply motivated by a desire to excel in a man’s world, earning
a man’s wages and rights. Simon could think of a few reasons and he mulled over each
one. He also contemplated the niggling feeling that he’d met the Canary before. Something
about him . . .
her
. The way she’d exclaimed,
“Cheese and crackers!”
The vision of her finessing that yo-yo with shaky skill. Just prior to dawn and in
a state of delirious exhaustion, Simon had entertained a bizarre speculation.
The physical attraction he felt toward Willie G. was much like the instinctual and
intense pull he’d felt toward Wilhelmina Goodenough. Could they be one and the same?
The hair and eye color were wrong. The skin tone was off as well. Mina’s complexion
had been most pale, whilst Willie’s was ruddy. Mina had also been shorter in stature,
although, at sixteen summers, perhaps she had not reached her full height, or perhaps
Willie had inserted lifts inside her boots.
Willie had a slight Scottish lilt and a crude vocabulary, whereas Mina had spoken
eloquently—her most vulgar expression being the infamous “Cheese and crackers!” Then
again, Mina had moved to Scotland with her family. Depending on how long she’d lived
there, that could account for the odd and wholly undefinable accent of the Canary.
If they were, indeed, the same person. It boggled the mind, and yet Simon could not
rid himself of the possibility.
Another glance at his watch. Five minutes to boarding.
A newsboy appeared hawking the morning edition of the
London Informer
. Unable to resist, Simon purchased a copy. Just as he unfolded the wretched tabloid,
someone snatched it out of his hands.
The Clockwork Canary.
“You don’t want to read this,” the kid said.
“Oh, but now I must.” Simon retrieved the newspaper and focused on the front page.
EXCLUSIVE SCOOP—THE CLOCKWORK CANARY TO SING DARCY’S EXPLOITS!
The
Informer
’s star reporter has taken a sabbatical in order to chronicle the exploits of the
Honorable Simon Darcy, London’s most controversial civil engineer (and relation of
the infamous TIME VOYAGER), as he joins the Race for Royal Rejuvenation—now known
as the Triple R Tourney! The Clockwork Canary will record a firsthand account of Mr.
Darcy’s adventures, to be published in serial form upon completion of the expedition.
Prepare to be dazzled by tales of risqué romance, high drama, and nail-biting intrigue!
Will Mr. Darcy dazzle and deliver like his notorious cousin? Or, like his unfortunate
father, will his dreams
the Book of Mods. Simon’s own treasured edition had been pinched by someone at the
Institute of Civil Engineers, a personal violation that rankled to this day.
Sequestered in his home library, Simon had burned the midnight oil, reviewing the
fascinating compilations of futuristic sketches, essays, and cautionary tales, written
by a faction of the original Peace Rebels. He had searched every page, every sentence,
hoping to find mention of the Houdinians. There had been none, although admittedly
Simon’s mind had wandered time and again. He could not shake his intense and undeniable
physical attraction to the quirky pressman who irritated and fascinated him simultaneously
and beyond measure.
At least he’d managed to deduce that he was not, in fact, attracted to a boy. During
their parting row, Simon had taken intense notice of certain physical details. The
Canary possessed no stubble, no signs of shaving, and the kid was certainly old enough
to have facial hair. At one point the fabric of the kid’s scarf had slipped enough
to reveal a slender neck—no Adam’s apple. Not to mention the kid’s feet were overly
small for a man. The more he thought about it, the greater his certainty.
Willie G. was a fraud. A woman passing as a young man. But why? Androgynous? Gender
confused? Or perhaps simply motivated by a desire to excel in a man’s world, earning
a man’s wages and rights. Simon could think of a few reasons and he mulled over each
one. He also contemplated the niggling feeling that he’d met the Canary before. Something
about him . . .
her
. The way she’d exclaimed,
“Cheese and crackers!”
The vision of her finessing that yo-yo with shaky skill. Just prior to dawn and in
a state of delirious exhaustion, Simon had entertained a bizarre speculation.
The physical attraction he felt toward Willie G. was much like the instinctual and
intense pull he’d felt toward Wilhelmina Goodenough. Could they be one and the same?
The hair and eye color were wrong. The skin tone was off as well. Mina’s complexion
had been most pale, whilst Willie’s was ruddy. Mina had also been shorter in stature,
although, at sixteen summers, perhaps she had not reached her full height, or perhaps
Willie had inserted lifts inside her boots.
Willie had a slight Scottish lilt and a crude vocabulary, whereas Mina had spoken
eloquently—her most vulgar expression being the infamous “Cheese and crackers!” Then
again, Mina had moved to Scotland with her family. Depending on how long she’d lived
there, that could account for the odd and wholly undefinable accent of the Canary.
If they were, indeed, the same person. It boggled the mind, and yet Simon could not
rid himself of the possibility.
Another glance at his watch. Five minutes to boarding.
A newsboy appeared hawking the morning edition of the
London Informer
. Unable to resist, Simon purchased a copy. Just as he unfolded the wretched tabloid,
someone snatched it out of his hands.
The Clockwork Canary.
“You don’t want to read this,” the kid said.
“Oh, but now I must.” Simon retrieved the newspaper and focused on the front page.
EXCLUSIVE SCOOP—THE CLOCKWORK CANARY TO SING DARCY’S EXPLOITS!
The
Informer
’s star reporter has taken a sabbatical in order to chronicle the exploits of the
Honorable Simon Darcy, London’s most controversial civil engineer (and relation of
the infamous TIME VOYAGER), as he joins the Race for Royal Rejuvenation—now known
as the Triple R Tourney! The Clockwork Canary will record a firsthand account of Mr.
Darcy’s adventures, to be published in serial form upon completion of the expedition.
Prepare to be dazzled by tales of risqué romance, high drama, and nail-biting intrigue!
Will Mr. Darcy dazzle and deliver like his notorious cousin? Or, like his unfortunate
father, will his dreams
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