Or was touched.
I experienced a sudden momentary relief that he wouldn’t be leaving after all. That he’d be here a little longer, someone who was even more of an outsider than I. Angry with myself for such selfish thoughts, I pushed them away.
“I’m sorry, Dylan. I promise, I’m going to find a way to help you. Perhaps one of the Ankh’s assistants might know where the missing scarab is. Since the Ankh is dead, they may be willing to help us now. There’s a way. There must be a way.”
Osiris and Amunet were in police custody. The explosions, noises, and general altercation—even for a location as rough as the docks—had brought not only the authorities but also other witnesses. Even so, Hathor and Bastet had managed to escape, but enough witnesses had seen fugitives running from the rooms above the fish-smokers’ shop that I was optimistic that they’d be apprehended. I’d been down at Scotland Yard several times to give them my story . . . but I hadn’t seen Inspector Grayling.
I considered that very fortunate.
Thank goodness I hadn’t told anyone—even Dylan and Miss Adler—my suspicions about Lady Cosgrove-Pitt.
Dylan was looking hard at Evaline. “By the way . . . I’ve been trying to figure out how that all worked. The Ankh actually did move the lever, right? So, like, why didn’t you get zapped? Or did you? What happened?”
“I felt a low, buzzing sensation just before I knocked us over. But it evaporated as we fell, and I hardly felt any shock at all.”
“I suspect it was because the Ankh wasn’t using the true diadem,” I interjected. “Only the true diadem would extract the life force from the individual. If one believed in that sort of thing.”
“Or,” Evaline said, “the lever could have bounced back when we fell to the ground. And then everything went into chaos.”
“And it was Dylan who created this distraction?” asked Miss Adler.
“It was all my plan, but he was the one who made it possible. I knew his telephone could make loud odd noises, and he arranged it so that it would do so at a certain time.”
“I set two alarms,” he explained. “One to go off first and to make a siren sound, and then another one to sound off later, with police voices shouting that they were surrounding the building.”
“But the sounds came from across the room. No one was there,” Evaline said.
I couldn’t control my complacent smile. “Yes. That was precisely the point. We were able to employ Dylan’s particular skill called . . . hockey—is that correct?”
“The game is called hockey,” he said. “It involves shooting a puck across the ice—well, anyway, I’m really good at it and I can shoot exactly where something needs to go. Fast, straight, and smooth. That came in handy when I had to slide the phone across the room without anyone seeing it. The phone’s about the same size as a puck. I sneaked in after Mina, and no one noticed me standing in the dark corner. And then I shot a smoke bomb into the fireplace without anyone seeing me either. It was like scoring two perfect goals.”
“I heard it,” Evaline said, turning to look at him. Interest shone in her eyes. “Both times, I heard it going across the floor. And then Mina started coughing, I suppose to warn me . . . but I didn’t see anything to explain what was happening.”
“But now,” Dylan said, pulling the device from his pocket, “it’s completely out of battery. I’m going to need to find a way to charge it again if I ever want to use it. Isn’t there any way to get some access to electricity?”
“I know someone who could probably help.” Evaline’s face turned an interesting shade of pink. “His name is Pix.”
That afternoon, I returned to my empty house. I felt bereft now that the adventure was over. I could return to my work in the laboratory and finish my treatise, but that no longer seemed as interesting or compelling.
Perhaps Princess Alexandra would contact me—us—again for another task.
Or since the Ankh had never been unmasked, perhaps Her Royal Highness wouldn’t consider the project fully complete, despite Miss Adler’s praise.
An unsolved mystery, riddled with my deductive error and an embarrassing incident with the Parliamentary leader’s wife. I shuddered.
I might be discharged from working for the Crown before I’d hardly begun.
Depressed and irritated, I almost didn’t see the package sitting on the kitchen table.
My name, in a dark, scrawling penmanship—written by a man, confident and perhaps even arrogant.
Inexpensive brown wrapping—the sort that could be purchased at any stationer or apothecary—the sender was practical and tight with funds.
Twine from a butcher shop—
My pulse increased as I unwrapped the packet.
A small note was attached. It read:
To replace the one which was broken.
It was signed with a firm, solid A. Grayling.
Inside was a very cognogginish, head-mounting glass magnifyer.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As a writer, sometimes I think I do the easy part when it comes to publishing a project. There are so many people who have been involved in The Clockwork Scarab from the basic concept through the volume you are now holding, and I want to thank them all.
First, Maura Kye-Casella, my hardworking and patient agent for seizing on this concept in its very early stages and helping me muscle it into something better than the original one.
I also thank Mara Jacobs, Holli Bertram, Jana DeLeon, and Norah Wilson—some of my best writer friends—for reading one or more versions of the book.
There were several experts in the field of young adult fiction who took the time to read and give feedback on the book. I’m indebted to Rachel Wagner, Christiana Eisenhut, Jessica Nietzche, Cameron Martin, Sarah Pierce, Amy Pelizzaro, and Rebecca Moxie. Your thoughts and feedback were appreciated and taken to heart.
An extra special thanks to Emma Schulte for coming up with “cognoggin.” Absolutely brilliant!
My peers and friends Kady Cross, Rachel Hawkins, Sophie Jordan, Kristi Cook, Leanna Renee Hieber, and Leah Cypess took time out of their own creative processes to read The Clockwork Scarab. Receiving positive feedback from such talented ladies is something I treasure greatly.
I’ve published more than two dozen books, and I am blown away by the amazing and creative team at Chronicle Books. I value the dedication from everyone in the production process and for including me in all aspects of the design, packaging, editing, and marketing for The Clockwork Scarab. In particular, my hardworking editor, Kelli Chipponeri, has gone above and beyond the call of duty with her time and effort spent on this project. I do believe she could recite the book by heart if asked. Ariel Richardson has been up to her elbows in the project as well, and if Kelli missed a word reciting the book, I’m sure Ariel would be able to fill in. These two women have been instrumental in making this project the best it could be. Thank you.
And finally, as always, I thank my husband and children for putting up with having a creative person for a mom and a wife. There are days when it’s fun having an author in the house, but there are other days when we order take-out or I can’t do a family movie night or I’m only half listening because I’m trying to work out a plot point. I love you all so much for your patience and acceptance and support.