Tracey finally managed to stand, swaying as she regained her balance. Beside her, Charlie began to shrink back, but then straightened himself, defiantly glaring at the person. Tracey looked in defeat at the figure, unable to distinguish their face.
"What good timing!" a person said. "I was worried we'd have to delay and search for you. Hiding next to the garage may not have been the wisest choice."
"Stay away from us," Tracey demanded.
"...and if I don't?"
She hesitated.
The figure stepped forward. Tracey quietly sighed, watching in despair as Jon Starr stepped forward into the sickly moonlight. The light seemed to cast garish shadows over his face His piercing eyes were even more striking in the nighttime. "Tracey," he said with his usual pleasant smile. "Would you care to explain why you're out here? At this hour?"
Tracey didn't answer. Without breaking eye contact, she wrapped a protective arm around Charlie's shoulder. How can you smile as if nothing happened? she thought in disgust.
"Back to silence again," he sniffed. Jon glanced to Charlie. "Charlie, was it?"
Charlie shuffled closer to Tracey. It's okay, she said to herself, giving Charlie a reassuring pat. We just have to wait until Mr. Porter comes back with help.
"Tell me, how did you get out? I'm rather surprised, Tracey. I didn't expect for you to be able to move, let alone break out both of my guests so quickly."
"They were not guests, they were prisoners," Tracey quietly replied.
"And so she speaks!" he said with a broad smile. "Now, did you have to run much? You must've been very fast to evade Rollo and Elizaveta."
"We had a headstart," Charlie piped, glaring at Jon.
"Did you," he said in a disinterested fashion. He pulled out a pocket watch and cranked a dial on the side, causing it to whir to life and emit small puffs of steam. The face of the clock softly illuminated. "Well," he said, closing the watch and stuffing it back into his pocket, "this may be a bit out of the plan, but they should be back soon."
"They?" Tracey echoed.
"Why, Rollo and Elizaveta, of course," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "Why else did you think they didn't find you?"
"We thought we lost 'em!" Charlie exclaimed.
Jon laughed, paused, then blinked. "No," he said. "As I speak, Rollo is paying another visit to Mrs. Pinot, and Elizaveta is closing up the house."
"Where are the rest?" Tracey demanded. "What did you do to Mittie?"
"Oh, Mittie is fine," he nonchalantly said. "They've been blissfully unaware for the past hour or so in the sitting room...for now."
"For now?"
"Well," he continued, "Elizaveta should have finished sending off our staff and will be joining us momentarily with the others. In the meanwhile, I've sent Rollo to look for a special device of Mr. Pinot's. It's the last thing we need before we can leave." Jon paced away, wandering to the nearby water fountain. "It's called a memory altercation device," he said, staring at the rippling water. "Mr. Pinot had grand plans for it—help amnesia patients, wake people from comas! But alas...," he sighed. He shook himself. "That device," he continued, "is the key to letting all of you out of here...safely." He looked first at Tracey, then Charlie. "It's very simple. Wipe your memories of ever meeting me, and leave the country. Continue on tour."
Tracey's grip tightened on Charlie. Mr. Porter must've reached the constables by now. If I can stall him...
"Of course, I'm not sure of what sort of learning curve that device will have," Jon said, oblivious to Tracey's inner dialogue. "But, I'm sure we'll figure it out, won't we?"
Tracey shivered, a faint ringing in her ears reminding her of their previous encounter.
"In the meanwhile," Jon said, carefully perching on the edge of the fountain, "I notice that Mr. Porter is absent." Jon pulled his gaze from the water to look at Tracey. "Which means he's gone for help, correct?"
Tracey raised her head but remained silent. Her heart pounded. Think, Tracey, think! I've got to find a way to get Charlie out of here.
"Hm," he sounded, turning away with a frown. "We might not be able to wait for Rollo here... Yet another mess in my plans," he muttered, his voice barely intelligible. Jon fell into a brief moment of silence, seemingly transfixed by the rippling water.
Now's our chance! Tracey thought, looking down to Charlie.
"Not thinking of any other devious moves, are we?" Jon abruptly said, glancing over to them. "I hardly think that you're in any condition to challenge me, Tracey."
"I wouldn't be so certain of that," Tracey growled in return.
Jon leveled a glare, then looked once more to the house. "They're taking too long," he said, quickly standing. "We don't have time, assuming that Mr. Porter has already reached the constables. 'Liza will know where to find us."
"What?"
"Come along," he said, gesturing for them to follow. "To the garage."
"Why should we?" Charlie defensively said.
"Because of this?" he said, touching the red brooch on his breastpocket. "I'm sure this should be convincing enough for you."
"Why would a tiny piece of gem ever scare me?" Charlie scoffed.
"Charlie, listen to what he says," Tracey evenly said, patting Charlie's shoulder. I can't run in this state, she grimly thought.
"Why?" Charlie exclaimed.
"Why do you think Ms. Higgenbottom is so disoriented? Unless you didn't notice?" Jon sniffed. "I suggest you listen to your friend."
Jon strode past Charlie and Tracey, leading the way to the garage. He quickly whipped out his pocket watch once more and lit the face. "We're running out of time," he muttered. "Follow along," he said, watching as Tracey began to follow. Charlie, on the other hand, lingered behind.
"Charlie?" Tracey said, pausing. "Come on!"
Charlie looked between Tracey and Jon, distrust in his eyes. "I dunno, Trace...," he protested.
"Just do as he says," she evenly said. "Play along!" she mouthed, staring hard at Charlie.
He paused, staring up at Tracey. "If...you say so, Trace," he hesitantly conceded, catching up to Tracey.
"I'm glad to see you agree," he said with a smile. "Come along."
Tracey and Charlie shared a look, and silently continued their trek to the nearby garage. Jon busied himself in unlocking the door. Good, he's distracted. Now, if we're fast enough we can hide in one of these path—
Tracey's train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the door unlocking.
"Come in," he said, holding the door open and looking back at them.
Tracey stifled a sigh and followed Charlie into the garage. Her eyes adjusted to the lighting of the space.
Moonlight streamed in from a solitary window. Save for the prominent steam car in the center, and a pile of boxes in the corner, the room was largely empty. She cast a glance to Jon, surveying his stance. He was preoccupied with locking the door. Charlie stood a distance away, halfway between the steam car and herself. We could use the window to escape... she thought, measuring the distance between them, Jon, and the window. ...if I could run. Tracey quietly sighed.
Charlie looked between Tracey and the window, evidently thinking the same as her. Eyeing Jon, he pointed to the window, then himself. She looked to Jon. No longer locking the door, he remained by it, instead hunched over his pocket watch. "Where are they?" he muttered. Good, he's distracted, Tracey thought. Slowly, Tracey raised a hand and pointed at the window. Holding Charlie's gaze, she nodded.
Immediately, Charlie edged towards the window, reaching for the lock. "Are you certain you want to do that?" Jon said without raising his eyes from the pocket watch.
"Do what?" Charlie innocently said, lowering his hands from the window.
"You may be able to run," he said, flipping the watch shut and tucking it away, "but I doubt your friend here can."
Jon deftly pulled a chain, sending a series of gears into motion and rolling a large garage door open, then strode to Tracey. He tapped at the red brooch.
"I fear to see what the effect of using this a third time would be on Tracey."
"Third?" Tracey echoed. "I only remember once, and that was enough."
He merely smiled. "Charlie, do come over. We cannot drive without you."
"Drive?" Charlie said in dismay.
"They're late, which tells me that your other friends might have already hindered that part of our plans," Jon said, a slight frown on his face. "We have no choice but to reconvene at our meeting place."
"And where would that be?" Tracey said, edging away from him.
"You'll find out soon enough," he said, ushering the two towards the steam car.
Tracey hesitated, staring at the machine. "I...I don't like steam cars...," she haltingly said.
Jon blinked. "Well, what of it? Come along now."
She clenched her jaw, remaining frozen in place. "No," she said, willing herself to not look at Jon's expression.
Before he could answer, however, a voice interrupted them.
"All of you. Stop," the voice said from the shadows of the garage.
Tracey squinted. The voice appeared to have come from the stack of boxes in the corner. Jon's eyes were focused on that same corner, his face expressionless. "Show yourself," he calmly said.
From the depths of the shadows came a figure of tall stature. Tracey could see the woman's hair was pulled tight into a severe bun. A gear brooch around her neck glimmered in the moonlight. Her sleeves billowed, softly glowing in the night lighting. Tracey recognized the sharp eyes. "Mrs. Pinot...?" Tracey slowly said.
"Why are you in my garage?" Jon said. "Is everyone out to trespass my home tonight?"
"I'm here for good reason," Mrs. Pinot said, stepping towards the group. "I heard your men are trespassing my own home as I speak, no?"
Jon remained silent. The two exchanged intense glares.
"Your men must be half-done tearing my home apart for this, correct?" Mrs. Pinot held up a small, thin object in her hand. Jon's face twisted into a perplexed frown.
"Is that..."
"Yes. The memory alteration device." She lowered it and looked at it closer in her hands. "Horace never finished making this one. It's very dangerous. Of course, Jon, I'm sure you wouldn't let that stop you."
"What ever are you talking about—."
"I heard you talking about using the device again," Mrs. Pinot frostily said, gesturing to Tracey. "That was your doing, no?"
Jon silenced, casting a glance at Tracey. "I merely used the device," he evenly said. "I'm sure you know the adverse effects of it."
"There are no effects," Mrs. Pinot replied in a clipped manner. "Unless you abuse its use. I made it alongside Horace, I know."
Jon held Mrs. Pinot's glare.
"You know that it's dangerous to use it more than once, and yet I hear you threatening to use it for a third time? You could kill her—."
"I'm not a killer, Mrs. Pinot," he interrupted with a nonchalant smile. "I'm rather hurt you think of me that way."
"You were a killer the day you left Horace behind," she retorted, her voice breaking.
The air hung heavy. Charlie edged closer to Tracey and reached for her hand, who in turn took it. We best escape while they're distracted, Tracey thought, shaken. She glanced down to Charlie, made eye contact, then pointedly looked over to the fountain outside of the garage. Charlie nodded.
In the distance, Tracey noticed a foreboding flash of lights. There are the constables!
"What is it that you want, Corsetta?'' Jon finally replied.
"That is for you to shortly discover," Mrs. Pinot responded.
"Her name is Corsetta?" Charlie said in bewilderment. Tracey jabbed at him, casting a warning glance.
"Charlie," Mrs. Pinot said, taking notice of them. "How do you always manage to find yourself in the worst scrapes? Come here."
Charlie froze. He looked up to Tracey, his eyes panicked. Tracey nodded, loosening her grip on his shoulder. Her eyes flitted to the distance as she noticed the flashing lights gradually becoming brighter.
"Take another step, and you'll force my hand," Jon said in a warning tone, stepping closer to Tracey and Charlie.
"Jon," Mrs. Pinot said, stepping forward, "Let them come with me. I'll make sure that your precious reputation is not marred."
"Why would you help me?" he spat. "You've always hated me. Aren't you the same person who blackmailed me? So much so, I'm making less money with two performances, than I had with just one! Why should you care what I do with my own time? Why is my reputation such a concern for you? Why do you care so much?"
Mrs. Pinot paused, a small smile growing on her face. "What does reputation mean to you?" she finally said.
Jon squinted, seemingly taken aback. "What?"
"Respect from your adoring fans? A free pass in life? More money?"
Jon squinted but didn't respond.
"Now tell me. What does a ruined reputation mean to you? To have the scorn of everyone around you? To be ostracized? To lose everything to your name?"
Tracey eyed Jon. He's too close for us to run.
"When Horace was killed—"
Tracey noticed Jon flinching at the word.
"—he left me behind. With nothing but the tattered remains of his reputation," Mrs. Pinot continued. "I'm sure you can imagine what they said. 'The mad inventor is dead! He had what was coming to him.' 'His poor wife, he must've wasted all their money on those contraptions.' 'What if she had something to do with his death?' "She was rather a strange person, don't you think?'" With each quote, Mrs. Pinot's voice rose and quickened, until it almost grew to a frenzy. "When Horace died, I lost everything. I lost my life as I knew it, I lost the love of my life, my friends, and my reputation. You couldn't begin to phantom how lonesome it is, Jon. And it's all your fault..." She finally stopped, blinking.
Charlie shuffled closer to Tracey, to which Jon gave each of them a warning stare. Tracey stifled a sigh.
"So, how could I simply watch you climb the ranks?" Mrs. Pinot said. "The more my status sank, the more yours raised. I was swallowed into oblivion, and you rose into the spotlight! You had to be stopped. I couldn't stand by and watch. So that's why I care so much about your reputation, Mr. Starr," she spat. "I want to see you experience the same darkness that I've been trapped in all these years."
"Clearly it didn't work," Jon scoffed, curling his nose in scorn. "We'll simply leave and continue elsewhere!"
"I feel like we've walked in on a conversation that we shouldn't have...," Charlie whispered to Tracey. She nodded. The lights in the distance suddenly cut off. They must not want to attract attention.
Much to her horror, however, she noticed Jon was watching in the same direction. "Constables?" he muttered. He turned to Tracey and Charlie. "I suppose she is right. Move, you two. Into the car."
"I never said—," Mrs. Pinot protested.
"No, no," he said, glancing into the distance once more. "Go into the car."
Farther up what Tracey presumed to be the driveway, the quiet rolling of wheels could be heard. They're here, she thought in relief.
Without warning, Jon strode up to Tracey and took her arm, quickly walking to the steam car. "I said," he growled, "Into the car."
"W-wait!" Tracy said, struggling to keep pace.
"My patience is wearing very thin, Ms. Higgenbottom."
"Trace!" Charlie exclaimed, looking quite lost.
"What do you think you're doing?" Mrs. Pinot snapped, trying to block Jon's path.
Without a word, Jon steered them around her and to a passenger door. He swung it open. "Sit," he said, pointing to the chair.
Quietly, Tracey sat in the car, perching on the edge of her seat. She scanned her surroundings. I should be able to stall him enough for the constables to find us... Jon opened the back door and ushered Charlie in. "We'll see you around, Corsetta," he scoffed, taking a seat next to Tracey in the driver's seat and grabbing a lighter from underneath it. "We'll be out of your hair soon."
"Don't start the car," Mrs. Pinot said, running up to the passenger side.
Jon ignored her, and instead flicked the lighter to life, sticking it into a port next to the steering wheel. She slowly backed away from the car, quickly looking between Tracey and Charlie. "And now," he said, pumping a lever on the side, "we leave."
The steam car's engine whirred to life and its countless gears cranked and clacked as the dashboard gradually built to a soft glow. Tracey tensely watched as steam slowly began to seep through the exhaust pipes. From behind, she could hear Charlie quietly shuffle so that he sat directly behind her. "This is state of the art," Jon said as the gear's clacking increased in speed. "You won't find another steam car on the market that can turn water to steam in such short order."
Tracey didn't answer. She glanced out the window. Mrs. Pinot stood to the side with a strange expression on her face. Why does she look so afraid...? Tracey looked over to Jon, who was continuing to pump the lever. She noticed, however, his face was twisting into a frown. "Is something the matter?" she slowly said.
Jon ignored her and instead pumped the lever quicker. The small puffs of steam in the back of the car grew into larger plumes of smoke, and the car began to shudder. "Why isn't the car moving...?" he muttered, his eyes darting between the dashboard and steam.
"I hope you remember what you did to Horace, Jon," Mrs. Pinot quietly said, her voice barely audible over the growing noise of the steam car's engine. She raised her chin and glared.
Jon paused, slowly lifting his hand from the lever. Despite the pause, the engine roared all the louder. He stared at Mrs. Pinot. "What did you do to the car?" he said.
"I used to build alongside Horace," she icily said. "I can destroy your car just as easily as he could build it up."
The car shook all the more. Charlie threw open his door and opened Tracey's door, pulling her out with him. "I know trouble when I see it," he said, "C'mon, Trace!"
Tracey scrambled to her feet, regaining her balanced from the pull. Charlie and Tracey soon distanced themselves from the car.
"And just where do you think you two are going?" Jon said, sliding to the passenger seat.
Before he could slide out of the steam car, however, steam poured into the car's main cabin, engulfing him in white clouds.
"Argh!" he screamed, knocking against the seatback. Jon threw up his arms to cover his face from the steam that flooded around him.
"That was meant for when you and your little contraband fled the country," Mrs. Pinot spat, raising her head defiantly. "I suppose earlier than later is better than no result."
"No!" Tracey cried, darting forward and reaching for Jon's shoulder, gritting against the heat of the steam as she yanked. He tumbled out of the car, knocking Tracey down with the force of his fall. Tracey scrambled to her feet, distancing herself from both Jon and the steam car. "You could have killed him!"
"He needed to get the same taste that my poor Horace did in his final moments," Mrs. Pinot retorted.
"You'd never understand what happened," Jon said, for the first time his voice quavering. He shakily stood, glaring at Mrs. Pinot. Tracey looked at him. His hair and clothes were disheveled, and his face and arms were red from the steam. The car continued pumping out steam, causing the garage to gradually become foggier. "Look at me," he quietly said, his nose flaring. "Look at this mess you've made, Corsetta."
"You deserved every second of it," she growled in return.
"H-ha!" he shakily laughed, raising an unsteady hand to flatten his hair back. Without warning, he lunged forward, grabbing at Mrs. Pinot. "I deserved every second of it?" he wildly said. "Do you think this mess was deserved? The moment you got involved, it's been nothing but messes!"
"Stop!" Tracey said.
"Get off of 'er!" Charlie cried, pulling at Jon's coattail.
"You should have left him in the car," Mrs. Pinot wretchedly said, struggling to push Jon away.
"You should have stayed in one place, as I had asked!" a familiar voice said from behind.
Tracey turned around.
"Mr. Porter!" Tracey said with a sigh of relief.
Beside Mr. Porter were two constables. They rushed past Tracey into the foggy garage. "Stop this behavior this instance!" one of the constables yelled. From the fog, Tracey could see them struggle as the two were separated. The other constable took Charlie by the arm and gently guided him to Tracey.
"Please stay out of harm's way, young man," he said. "We've got this und'a control now."
"Come on, Charlie," she said, reaching for Charlie and hobbling out into the night air. She took deep breaths of the considerably fresher air.
"I thought I told you not to move!" Mr. Porter said, offering an arm to Tracey.
"Circumstances called for otherwise," she replied, glancing at her stinging hands.
"Mr. Jon Starr, you are under arrest!" a constable yelled from in the garage, pulling a now cuffed Jon Starr in tow with him.
"For what reason?" Jon growled, looking even more disheveled than before.
"For three cases of kidnapping, and twenty counts of fraud. One for each of 'em performances. And one case of assault."
"The assault I can understand, but can't that get cleared up without arrest?" Jon said, looking at the two officers with confusion. "And you have no proof for those other charges!"
"Terribly sorry, sir. Just following my job. We can talk more in t' office."
In the distance, Tracey noticed three other figures being loaded into the police steam truck. One woman, and two men.
"Why are they going?" Jon exclaimed, noticing their departure.
"There's a link to the case with an Elizaveta Halpin, Rollo Nicholson, and Hassan Hamdi. Not to mention you."
"...what?" was all Jon could say, his jaw slack.
"I suppose this is satisfactory as well," Mrs. Pinot said with a small smirk, emerging from the hazy air of the garage, her dress and prim bun equally disheveled.
"'fraid you're under arrest too, miss," the constable (that was following her) apologetically said as he handcuffed Mrs. Pinot.
"What?" she exclaimed.
"We just got a warrant in for you with a blackmailing charge," he said, pulling out a similar portable document like Bentam's. He turned a series of dials along the top of the tube, then unrolled it to show a warrant. "We were s'posed to stop by your home after Mr. Starr's residence, but I guess not anymore," he said with a shrug. "Saves us time I s'pose. Not to mention this new assault charge."
Jon grimly chuckled.
"Let me ride in a different carriage from him," she said.
The constable shook his head. "We've only the one car," he solemnly said. "Come along, you two."
The two constables walked away, each with a bickering individual. Tracey stared at the figures as they retreated, the pounding in her head returning. "Well...ah...," she said, struggling to find her words.
"Tracey!" a loud voice yelled from the distance. Tracey heard the sound of several pounding feet approaching them. In the group of people was Mittie in the forefront. She immediately dashed to Tracey, squeezing her in a tight hug. "I thought you were dead!" she exclaimed, still hugging her.
"Ah, I...," she dazedly said. "I suppose I'm not..."
"Charlie!" Harriet said, running up to him and wrapping him in an equally tight hug. "Oh, thank goodness. I was so afraid!"
"It's alright, Harrie! Trace got everythin' under control," he replied with a nonchalant grin.
"Not without Mr. Porter's help," Tracey said, flashing a grateful smile to him. "And all of yours." She swayed as Mittie let go.
Mittie frowned. "Now that I'm gettin' a good look at ya...You don't look too good, Trace."
"As everyone has told me," she sighed.
"You know, I had seen when Jon was takin' you out of the room, and I was certain he'd had killed you!" Mittie said, watching as Jon was rather ungracefully pushed into the constable vehicle.
"You...saw me?"
"Sure! Rollo nearly caught me, but I was hidin' in a broom closet right by the room. Couldn't find ya though before Jon 'ad caught me, though."
"He caught you?" Tracey replied in dismay.
"Yep. Took me back to the rest of 'em," Mittie said with a point to Bentam and Harriet. "Say, how did you get Charlie and Mr. Porter? Or did they just break out from wherever they were?"
"Oh, well—"
"Tracey," Mr. Porter gently said. "The doctor's in his carriage out front. Why don't you discuss this later?"
"Of course," Tracey agreed, nodding. "Oh, yes. Mr. Porter, this is Mittie."
"So this is Mittie?" He said in surprise. "It's a pleasure to meet you! Of course," he said as the group began their walk to the front of Jon Starr's residence, "I wish it were under less strenuous circumstances."
"No worries," Mittie said with a friendly tip of her head before walking ahead to the rest of the group.
Bentam, who had thus far remained hovering behind the others, lingered to walk beside Tracey and Mr. Porter. He looked at her with a frown.
"Are you going to say that I look terrible as well?" Tracey dryly said, stifling a sigh.
"No," he replied. "...but you do, yes."
"Of course."
Bentam looked ahead. "I was going to ask if you could describe what happened?"
"Oh," she sighed. "I can tell you later. You need it for your records, I presume?"
"Correct," he said with a slight nod. Bentam cleared his throat and cast a side-eye to her. "Also...," he awkwardly said, "I'm...glad that you're at least alive."
Mr. Porter looked at Bentam. "I don't believe I've gotten a chance to meet you?" he said, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Ah...," Bentam started. He stopped, then bowed his head. "Mr. Bentam Berkley, records keeper at the High Constable," he quickly said. Just as quickly, he cleared his throat and sped his pace. "I'll check on Charlie," he finally muttered, hurrying forward to Charlie, who was walking in the lead with Harriet.
"Oh, I'm glad it's over," Tracey sighed, leaning into Mr. Porter's arm.
Mr. Porter and Tracey walked in silence the rest of the way.