Clockwork Memories Read online

  I sighed. “I can’t believe he thought I was working with the French.”

  “So?”

  “He thought I was a spy of all things! As if I was in any position on your planet to make bargains. Had I been, I would have bargained to be taken from Aynu-Mosir.” How strange it felt on the tongue to say the Jomon name for Planet 157 while speaking my own native language. I trailed my fingers against the underside of the sink where I leaned. My hand came across something fuzzy. I pulled my fingers back, afraid it was mold. The tingle in my fingers gave away what it was. I touched the memory moss again. Why was it growing in the bathroom of all places?

  “Would you have left? With your family there?” Sumiko demanded. “And leave Michi and Taishi and me behind? With the hope Felicity might return and join you someday? You wouldn’t have left.”

  Truly Sumiko didn’t know me if she thought that. I had never felt the same hope Taishi had about Felicity returning after Lord Klark had kidnapped her. If I had been offered safe passage from the planet, it would have been difficult to refuse it.

  A screech of metal punctuated the silence. The air in the room felt simultaneously thin and stuffy.

  I rubbed my temples, running through the memories from the previous night. “When you brought me The Count of Alpha Centauri, what did you trade for it? It’s a French novel, so it must have come to the planet from someone French, right? Who did you trade with?” I asked. “Maybe if we have information to tell Meriwether, it will be of some use.”

  “All I know is they were traders with funny accents. They didn’t talk plainly like you or your sister. Nor did they sound like Meriwether or the British. Of course, I didn’t speak much to them directly.” She cleared her throat. “So, you truly didn’t do more than kiss your fiancé? You spent the entire night with him. I was sure you had seduced him. Or the other way around, ne?”

  “No, already told you! There was no actual, ahem—it would be unladylike to say more. Really, I swear, you have a one-track mind. You’re just like the grandmothers in the onsen wanting to know all the details from new wives.” I had always left when I heard them talk about such vulgar matters. My parents would certainly have disapproved of my hearing such talk.

  She shifted beside me and bumped into my skirt. “I am not like the grandmothers.”

  “For all the time he and I spent together, he didn’t even give me all my memories back. He still has the one of Lord Klark. And what he did return took forever to retrieve.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “He keeps you wanting more.”

  The way he had touched me, he had indeed left me wanting more. He’d made me wish we were already married. When we got out of this, I would insist we marry immediately.

  “Were you at least able to control yourself this time?” she asked.

  I hoped she meant in the memory exchange.

  I said quickly, before she could clarify. “It wasn’t like when I gave him my memories before. It wasn’t what you refer to as dosha kuzure, a memory mudslide. I only gave him one at a time.”

  Sumiko tapped her nails against a hard surface, perhaps the wall, as she was wont to do when lost in thought. “I haven’t taught you how to pull memories from someone yet. If only I’d brought memory moss in here, we could have found a better way to pass the time than sitting idle like this.” She nudged me with an elbow. “If only I had some memory moss I could show you.”

  I shook my head, though she couldn’t see it. “You’re jesting, right? I know you planted memory moss under the sink. Is this supposed to be one of your practical jokes?”

  “What? It’s growing in here too? Iya! It takes so fast.”

  I’d also seen her plant it in the botanical garden. I was about to ask why she was planting memory moss all over the ship, but my attention was drawn elsewhere.

  Footsteps thudded on the deck above and I lowered my voice. “When we get out of this, you should complete my education in memory stealing.”

  If we got out of this.

  The feet above thudded past. I had no doubt we’d been boarded. Why we hadn’t been blown apart like every other vessel in the vicinity, I could only guess had to do with Charbonneau sending the French a secret hyperspeed message.

  “There is something I haven’t been telling you,” Sumiko said. “It might be important.”

  I groaned. Why now? “What is it?”

  “Promise you won’t be cross.”

  “No. The last time you made me promise that was when Michi was nine and she drew on herself with my paints and used them all up.” My sister’s daughter could be quite the troublemaker. I smiled, thinking of that adorable brat.

  She sighed in exasperation. “It was for your own good, so you wouldn’t remember things that might incriminate you later. At least, you thought it was a good idea at the time.”

  Already this sounded bad. “What do you speak of?”

  Footsteps neared. They pounded like chiramantep hooves in the hall outside. There were too many to be only Meriwether and the captain. Sumiko slid her hand into mine and squeezed. They stampeded into the distance. Relief washed over me, only to be replaced with anxiety again.

  A crack of light shone under the door of the water closet. Someone had entered my chamber. Coarse male voices spoke on the other side of the door. They were low enough I had to lean toward the door to hear. The words were in French. Their accent was so different from what I had practiced in my lessons as a child. I could barely understand what they said.

  “Where’s the laser pistol?” I whispered. I knew it was tucked into one of Sumiko’s sleeves, but I couldn’t see where that was.

  “Iya! You’re standing on my sleeve.”

  As quietly as I could, I shifted my weight. The floor beneath me creaked. Blast!

  The voices silenced.

  The door swung open. The sudden light blinded me. A man grabbed my arm and yanked me out. I stumbled and tripped into him. I screamed, but to what purpose, I had no idea. It wasn’t as if anyone would come to my aid.

  His breath stank of rotting teeth, and I attempted to wrench myself free. He kept me tight against his chest, laughing and shouting something at the other man I couldn’t understand. Something about my pretty and ugly face, but my heart pounded too hard to think of French at that moment to catch more.

  Both men wore blue coats and their hair held back in ponytails. The one clutching me to him had greasy blond hair matted to his head. From the way he manhandled my bustle and pressed me against him, I had no doubt of his ill-mannered intentions. I kicked him in the groin.

  Sumiko dove out of the water closet. She struck the other man under the jaw, tipping his head up. Her other hand was hidden inside her sleeve which came up in an arc to thump against his temple. He went down to his knees and she struck him again in the head.

  The man before me still gripped my arm. He reached for the laser pistol at his belt, but Sumiko kicked his hand, eliciting a most satisfying grunt of pain from him. She whacked him in the nose. He started to turn away, and she hit him in the back of the neck with the side of her hand. He staggered away from me, but didn’t go down.

  I glanced around the room for something to use as a weapon. Pillows. A hairbrush. A hand mirror. Why did all my possessions have to be so small and delicate?

  My eyes rested on the pretty wicker chair at the vanity. I scooped it up and smashed it over the blond man’s head. I broke the useless thing in half. In truth, everything the fabrication machine had constructed felt flimsy and precariously built to me.

  I searched for something else to grab. The man lunged for Sumiko, but she was quicker. She turned to the side. As his weight came forward, she yanked on his wrist, causing him to stumble. He pitched forward and she thumped the laser in her sleeve into the back of his head. He crumpled to the floor.

  “That pistol is an excellent weapon,” she said, out of breath.

  I shook my head. “Wait until you learn to use it properly. Then you’ll really like it.”

 
The first fallen man on the floor stirred.

  I lifted the pitcher from the nightstand, about to smash it over his brow. It was lucky I snatched it up when I did. We must have made quite a ruckus. The door swished open and three more men rushed in. I splashed the water into the first man’s face, momentarily blinding him while I hurled the pitcher at his head. My aim was off. It hit his shoulder instead.

  Sumiko got in one punch to his throat, making him choke and stumble into the wall. She kicked the bigger man’s belly and punched the third in the jaw, but it put her dangerously close to him and he caught hold of her sleeve, causing her to stagger closer. Her aimed a punch at her face. She managed to turn enough so it caught her in the side of the head instead of straight on.

  Sumiko was so fast it was hard to see what she did. I moved slowly compared to the lightning speed of her hands and feet. I was still looking for something sturdy. I snatched up a chair leg and smashed it against one man’s face in a most unlady-like manner. Well, maybe the first time wasn’t that unlady-like, but the third and fourth time were.

  These last men were faster than the first, no doubt having been alerted to the fight by our noise. They were under no illusion that we were two well-behaved ladies who would be subdued easily. My friend was fast, but she was small and at a disadvantage with the long sleeves of her robe. Two hulking men against one small woman was hardly gentlemanly, but Sumiko was Sumiko. She was a warrior. When one of the felled men on the floor pushed himself to his feet and joined in the fight, I knew we were in trouble.

  I looked at the crumbles of wood in my hand. I had to find something else.

  Just when Sumiko had freed her sleeve from one man’s grip, the biggest man snatched up Sumiko’s other long sleeve and yanked her back, preventing her from striking the other with the pistol. He hit her hard enough in the face that her head was thrown back. Her hands kept punching and her legs kept kicking, but she missed her targets and the other man elbowed her in the back.

  I tore the ruffled pink duvet from my bed and hurled it over the big man’s head. I actually managed to cover him and push him over. The other man pushed Sumiko hard enough she went flying. She crashed into my dresser, launched herself off and tripped over the man rolling around in my bed covers. I fumbled for one of my pointed hair pins. It might have been small, but it was sharp.

  My breath caught in my throat when I looked up to see the last man standing yank Sumiko to her feet by the hair. In two seconds he had her in a headlock. I ran toward him with my hair pin, but I never made it. The man on the floor grabbed my ankle and tripped me. I came crashing down, losing the hair pin. I scrambled back from him as he stood.

  The man fighting Sumiko held her against the wall, pressing his corpulent form against her. “Ma bichette,” he said. His accent was easier to understand than the first men. Pretty little pet, he called her. The other words that came from his mouth I wished I hadn’t understood.

  She raked her nails against his skin and tried to punch him over her shoulder. I couldn’t see what else she tried, as my attention was occupied elsewhere.

  The one standing over me stomped on my dress with his filthy boot, keeping me from escaping. He nodded to one of the fallen men and spoke in French. “We shall carry them out first? N’est-ce pas?”

  Sumiko elbowed the man behind her, but he boxed her ears for the effort.

  “What? And let the others have their way with these putes first?” He unfastened his belt.

  I felt along the floor for something that might be of use. My hair pin was gone. I snatched up a hairbrush. It wasn’t much.

  The doors opened behind my would-be attacker. Another man entered, though I was too preoccupied to give him much heed. Just as the man standing above me reached for me, he was thrown back into my dresser, breaking two knobs off the drawers. A streak of blood from his nose splattered across the pale wood.

  Hope alighted in my heart and I expected to see Meriwether. Instead I found a tall man in the room, a sneer on his refined visage. His attire was finer than that of the other men, and I suspected he was of a higher rank from the expensive coat. He spoke in French, though I understood him well enough. “Disgusting batards. What is wrong with you?”

  The well-dressed man seized the collar of the mongrel groping Sumiko and smacked him on the back of the head. As if that wasn’t enough, he gave her attacker a swift kick to the rump toward the door. The man went tumbling over one of the fallen men on the floor.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the officer demanded. He waved a hand at Sumiko, who hugged her robe more modestly around herself. She shakily rose to her feet and retreated into a corner. Her face was swollen. A red wheel marked her cheek. Only now that some of the immediate danger was over did I realize my knee throbbed from landing on it so hard.

  “How dare you attack these young ladies, you brutes!” the officer said.

  I was hardly young at the age of thirty. However, I wasn’t about to argue.

  I blinked up at the man. There was something unsettlingly familiar about him. He had an eye patch and a wild mane of black hair. He was the exact picture of what I had imagined a pirate to look like. And his elegant nose and swarthy features were what I’d imagined for a Frenchman. Or perhaps a French pirate.

  He gestured to me and Sumiko. “All prisoners were to be captured without injury and brought to the captain. Are you soldiers, or complete imbéciles?” His jacket was trimmed with gold. As if the uniform wasn’t a giveaway that he was someone important, the confident manner with which he held himself spoke of rank and privilege.

  “We had to search them,” one of the attackers said.

  Sumiko snorted. She readjusted the collar of her kimono and tugged the fabric into place.

  The other pointed at the unconscious men on the floor. “Look what these putes did.” He spat on the floor in my direction and muttered a few words I took to be curses. I scooted back.

  “Pardon your French! You are in the presence of British ladies. You will use English and you will use polite language. Comprendre?” The officer gestured to the two men on the floor. “As for these enseignes, it serves them right. They didn’t follow the captain’s orders. As far as I’m concerned, this is what they deserve.” He smoothed his fingers over his mustache and down the length of his trim beard. “Shall I do the same to you for disobeying his word? Hmm.”

  Sumiko scooted along the wall, closer to me. If I could get to the laser pistol, I could actually use it.

  The officer nudged a fallen man with his polished black boot. “Remove these men from this room. And if you find more people on the ship, you will capture them without making threats. Comprendre?”

  The man with a bloody nose wiped it on his sleeve. “Shall we send more soldiers down to assist you with the prisoners?” His gaze raked over the broken bits of pottery and demolished furnishings on the floor and then over me. He smiled in a hungry sort of way that made my flesh crawl.

  The officer snorted. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of two ladies.” He looked over his subordinates’ rumpled appearance and bloodied noses. “Unlike you.”

  He waved a hand at the bodies in a dismissive gesture and the two conscious men hauled them out.

  The officer tugged at the hem of his coat and straightened. His voice softened when he spoke. His English was clear, and the accent beautiful. “Terribly sorry about this dreadful business, mes chéries. Are you harmed?”

  I shook my head and looked to Sumiko. She glared at him, but said nothing.

  “Enchanté, mademoiselles.” He bowed. “I am Commander Jacques Bleu, at your service. And what names do you go by?”

  I swallowed. Felicity had confided that the only reason she was permitted to live at all while in Lord Klark’s custody was because she had no memories which could directly incriminate him of wrongdoing on Planet 157. Certainly Lord Klark had wanted the secret of where to find the red diamonds, but after he’d learned she knew nothing of them, he might have had her killed if she
had remembered he was the one who had murdered our father or tried to annihilate the natives. He had silenced her knowledge about the Jomon colonists and ensured she’d been seen as a delusional madwoman whom no one gave a second glance.

  Would I put myself in danger by admitting I’d come from Aynu-Mosir if the French were trying to take the planet for themselves? Or would they see it as an advantage to have a hostage related to Lord Klark’s household?

  “Mademoiselle, what is wrong? Minou has your tongue?” His smile was as sly as a cat’s, or what I had seen of them in paintings from my youth.

  My heart pounded. My answer could mean our lives or deaths.

  “Let me guess. You are a gentlelady and this is your maidservant, no? She looks to be from the Orient?”

  I glanced at Sumiko’s new attush, or rather a kimono, as the computation machine had called it. There was no denying her Asian ancestry, but with the attire Meriwether had given her, I could see how she would be taken as an Earth citizen rather than one from Aynu-Mosir. My fiancé’s logic made sense. I could only speculate it was safest to keep both our identities secret.

  “Yes. My name is. . . .” It had been so long since I’d been among off-worlders. I searched my brain for something that didn’t sound Jomon. “Mary. Mary Smith. Pleased to meet you, Commander Bleu.”

  He snorted. “Mary Smith. How delightful.”

  I knew he hadn’t bought my lie. I had to come up with something better fast. If only Sumiko and I had been planning cover stories while in the bathroom instead of discussing the merits of Meriwether as a lover.

  The man leant me his hand and helped me to my feet. “Please, call me Jacques. All the ladies do.”

  As inappropriate as it might be to call an unfamiliar man by his Christian name, it felt fitting. He leaned in to kiss my hand, but I tugged my fingers from his grasp. A rakish smile curled his lips upward.

  Upon closer inspection I could see it wasn’t an eyepatch he wore, but a bionic covering. Unlike my late father’s monocle, it wasn’t a magnetic piece that attached over the eye and locked into place, but a metal plate that fitted to the contours of his face. His other eye was so beautifully shaped it was a pity he didn’t have a matching set. His eyelashes were thick and dark, like the lustrous locks of his long hair.