Clockwork Heart (37 page)

“I thought I told you to stay outside!” Cristof shouted, snatching up one of the cartridges and loading his rifle.

“There are three men by the wagon. One's reloading. It looks they've got four pistols between them,” she reported, gambling that the Alzanans wouldn't take another shot at her voice and risk hitting their friend.

She gambled wrong. She shrieked as the bullet tore into the catwalk and made it shudder and creak again.

“Taya!”

“I'm okay!” She backed up as far as she could, finding a shadowed area out of the circles of light cast by the lamps below. “There's another man by the far wall. He's not moving. It might be Kyle.”

“Kyle!” Lars stood, his hands wrapped around a twisted metal bar that he held like a club. “Kyle, is that you?”

Both Alzanans turned to aim. Cristof swore and leaped to his feet, his rifle pointed at the armed men.

Lars charged.

“No! Don't!” Taya ran to the rail, jamming her arms into her wings.

Cristof's shot grazed one of the gunmen, who shouted and staggered backward. The other Alzanan fired at Lars and ducked.

Lars stumbled, then grabbed the worktable with his free hand and flung it toward the wagon. Glass and chemicals flew, and the Alzanan flinched, throwing his arms over his face.

Taya swung her legs over the railing, holding her arms wide.

Cristof stood upright, holding a second cartridge between his teeth as he broke open the rifle's breech.

The third gunner grabbed one of the loaded pistols as Lars swung his metal club at the man who'd just fired. The club smashed into the side of the wagon, sending splinters of wood flying everywhere. His would-be victim whacked him across the shins with his empty pistol. Lars snarled and swung again. This time the Alzanan howled.

The third Alzanan rolled under the wagon and aimed his gun at Cristof.

“Look out!” Taya shouted, kicking away from the catwalk.

It was a short drop, and she took it hard, the ondium barely managing to slow her fall. Cristof was still jamming his cartridge into place when she landed in front of him, her metal wings spread as wide as possible. The Alzanan's shot reverberated through the building.

The bullet hit one of her ondium feathers and sent a jolt running through her arm, but that was nothing compared to the agony tearing through her calf. She staggered, her wings sweeping down and clattering on the floor as she tried to catch herself.

Then Cristof was beside her, one arm sliding under hers. Gasping, she threw an arm over his shoulder, her ondium feathers fanned out around his back.

He spun her out of his way and fired his rifle one-handed.

The weapon jerked out of his hand and the bullet buried itself in one of the crates on the wagon.

Lars stomped on the fingers that were reaching for the last loaded pistol, then kicked the weapon away into the shadows.

Taya gasped as Cristof hauled her back behind the boxes.

“Taya?” His face was white. “Were you hit?”

“No.” She leaned against him, tears stinging her eyes. She was sure she'd torn out her stitches this time. “Help me sit.”

“What happened?” He lowered her to the floor. His hands were shaking.

Taya shrugged out of her wings, letting them float uselessly around her as she looked at her leg. Blood seeped around the edges of the torn leather flight suit. She rested her forehead against her knee, feeling faint.

Then Isobel rose up from the shadows, a rifle in her hands. She gave them a cursory glance, turned to the wagon, and swung her firearm up to her shoulder in a practiced move.

“Lars, I have you covered,” she said, her voice calm.

“It's about time you got here,” the big man growled. Taya heard a thud. Someone grunted with pain. “Keep these assholes in line while I look for Kyle.”

“You've got it.”

Taya felt Cristof's cool hand on her forehead and looked up.

“I'm all right,” she said, knowing her voice was thin with pain but unable to steady it for him. “Go help them.”

“Just a few more minutes,” he promised, still looking ashen. He grabbed the rifle she'd thrown from the catwalk and stood, taking aim next to Isobel.

“Got him,” Lars roared, in triumph. “It's Kyle! He's all right!”

Despite her pain, Taya smiled.

Fifteen minutes later, Cristof and Isobel finished tying up their captives. Taya sat next to Lars, who had only admitted to being winged by a bullet after Cristof had noticed the blood staining his shirt. Now he was bare-chested, his shirt pressed against his side as he inspected the boxes in the wagon.

“This is our engine, all right,” he said, fingering a splintered hole. “I hope your bullet didn't go all the way through, Exalted.”

“If it did, we'll blame it on the Alzanans,” Kyle said. As Lieutenant Amcathra had guessed, he'd suffered a head wound, but his captors had bandaged it. Other than some bruises and scraping, he looked none the worse for wear.

“Fine with me.” Lars stood, then winced and peeled his balled-up shirt away to look at his wound. “I can't believe I got shot for you, Kyle. I expect a raise when we get our next contract.”

“Oh, stop complaining,” Isobel said, checking a knot. “You're looking good compared to this guy.” She gestured to the Alzanan that Lars had caught across the ribs with his metal club. The man was fighting to breathe, wincing each time he inhaled. “He needs a doctor.”

“He shot me.” Lars scowled. “I got scared.”

“If that's how you react when you're scared, Lars, I'd hate to see you angry,” Kyle joked.

“Hello?” Pyke edged in, then relaxed when he saw that everything was under control. “Everyone all right?”

“We're alive,” Cristof reported. “Have you seen Victor?”

“He caught Emelie about two blocks from here.” Pyke looked serious. “She began babbling about bombs, so he's taking her to the Tertius station in Gregor's hack, and Cassi's flying to Slagside to warn the captain. If everyone's okay here, I'm going to head up to Primus to spread the alarm.”

Cristof's jaw tightened. “What bombs? How many?”

“She called them triton bombs and said the Alzanans had made about ten of 'em. They're set to go off at four in the morning. They were supposed to be a distraction while these guys drove the stolen engine out the city gates.”

Cristof yanked out a pocket watch and checked it. Diamonds glittered in the lamplight, and Taya realized he was wearing his brother's watch.

“Three more hours.” He sounded relieved, then turned a cold look on his five prisoners. “What do you know about the bombs and their locations?”

The Alzanans looked at each other.

“Talk, and your cooperation will be taken under consideration when they sentence you,” Taya said, in Alzanan. “Believe me, you'd rather be sentenced as thieves than as terrorists. The Council's not very happy with the Torn Cards right now.”

“We're not Torn Cards!” one of the men protested. “The cards were fakes, to fool the police. Everyone knows the Torn Cards are blamed for everything in Ondinium.”

Taya translated.

“He's got a point,” Pyke admitted.

“They'll have to prove it in court.” Cristof picked up one of the Alzanans' loaded pistols and set it against a prisoner's kneecap. “Where are the bombs?”

“You'd better tell him,” Taya said, in Alzanan. “He's in a really bad mood.” She gave Cristof a warning look, but his face was blank. She hoped he was bluffing.

After a hasty conference, the Alzanans began to talk, and Taya translated. Pyke lingered long enough to get a list of locations, then ran outside to carry the information to lictor stations across the city.

Soon a group of lictors arrived with a wagon to pick everyone up. They stopped at the hospital to drop off the programmers, Taya, and Cristof, and then continued onward to take the prisoners to the nearest jail.

“You don't have to report in?” Taya asked, as Cristof slid an arm under her armature and helped her up the hospital steps.

“I'll do it tomorrow.”

“Do you think the bombs will be found?”

Cristof's arm tightened around her waist.

“I hope so,” he said at last. “The Alzanans don't have anything to gain anymore, and everything to lose.”

A physician pulled out and replaced Taya's stitches, a painful procedure that she bore with clenched teeth and tears in her eyes as she clung to Cristof's hand. The physician recommended another dose of painkiller, but she refused. It would put her to sleep, and she wanted to make sure Lars and Kyle were all right.

Then, to her dismay, the physician proceeded to give her the lecture Cristof had been visibly biting back all evening, delivering stern warnings about infection and permanent muscle damage. She was given a second set of crutches and ordered to use them, this time.

Taya meekly complied. Her leg throbbed and her head hurt, and she would have agreed to anything to get out of there. By the time she limped into the main room, the programmers were already waiting for her.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Three stitches and some new bandages,” Kyle said, touching the back of his head. “I'll have a bald spot for a while.”

“I'm glad you're okay.” Taya gave him a quick, awkward hug, careful not to jab him with her armature. “We were worried about you.”

“The Alzanans treated me all right. I guess they needed me in one piece to help them with the engine.”

“Did Emelie arrange your kidnapping?” Isobel asked, her voice cool. Kyle shook his head, then winced.

“No. In fact, she was pretty mad when she came in and saw me. I think she was supposed to be the only programmer they took. It would have ensured her a comfortable place in the Alzanan court, that's for certain. Having me along reduced her value.”

“I'm still going to wring her neck,” Lars rumbled. He wore his bloodstained shirt over the bandages around his side.

“How did they catch you?” Taya pressed.

“It was my fault. I couldn't get over Alister's arrest, so I went down to the engine room to work, and suddenly there I was, staring a bunch of Alzanans in the face.” Kyle shook his head, then winced. “I'd like to say I put up a fight, but I'm not like Lars here, charging a bunch of armed men with nothing but a stick. They knocked me down before I could do anything.”

“Lars was worried about you,” Taya said, looking at the big man. “He's the one who raised the alarm.”

“The lictors thought you might be involved in the theft,” Isobel added, “but Lars never doubted you.”

Lars was turning red, and the two women shot each other conspiratorial glances.

“Thank you,” Kyle said, looking up at his friend with affection.

“I'll find us a hack,” Isobel said, rising. “You two want one?” She looked at Taya and Cristof.

“Yes.” Cristof stood and handed Taya her crutches. “I'm going to drop you off at your eyrie and pay your landlady to keep you locked in your room until I return.”

“You won't have to,” Taya said, standing. An icarus on crutches. She sighed and began to limp down the hall. “I told you I'd behave myself, now that we've got the engine back.”

Cristof kept pace next to her. “If you're behaving yourself, why did you set up poor Lars back there?”

Taya paused and glanced over her shoulder. The large programmer was slumped down in his chair, shaking his head as he said something to Kyle.

“Lars might not want to admit that he cares, but as soon as he heard that Kyle was in that corner, he charged right in without a second thought. I think Clockwork Heart was right about the two of them.”

Cristof was silent.

“You did the same thing.”

“Me?”

“You threw yourself in front of a bullet for me. You could have been killed.” He took a deep breath. “In fact, for one very bad moment, I thought you had been.”

Taya blushed, looking down at her boots.

“Well … you were so busy trying to defend Lars, you weren't paying any attention to defending yourself.”

“It was a very brave thing to do.” He tilted her head up. “I'm not going to forget it, and I'm not going to forget the way my heart stopped when you stumbled.”

Taya didn't know what to say, and then she didn't have to think of anything as he pulled her into his arms.

“You know,” she said, after their kiss ended, “someday you should do this when I'm not wearing my armature.”

“Maybe tomorrow. Although,” he added, “I'm not going to let you leave the eyrie, and the way your landlady keeps hovering around us, we may have to spend the entire day sitting in the foyer admiring how nicely the eyrie's clock keeps time.”

Taya grinned. Rules or not, she'd think of some way to get Cristof alone. If Gwen still harbored any hopes of breaking them up, she was going to be disappointed.

“Don't forget which one if us is in charge now,” Cristof added. “You promised you'd do whatever I say.”

“For a while,” she amended. “As long as you don't get too annoying about it.”

He sighed. “I will do my best to avoid being bossy, rude, prudish, a pain in the tail, or too rarely sweet. Will that do, Icarus?”

“Yes.” She gave him a thoughtful look. “It should be quite a change of pace.”

He gave her a dark look and she laughed, hugging him.

Epilogue

His public robe was covered with dusty jewels and tarnished silver embroidery. The fabric weighed ten pounds and was cut in a boxy shape meant to hide the wearer's stature and gender. The hems trailed on the ground to make it impossible for him to walk any faster than with a slow, measured pace, and the sleeves were cut two feet longer than his arms to prevent him from engaging in any form of manual labor.

His long black hair was held up in ornate loops secured by a complicated arrangement of golden ornaments and pins. Like the robe, the hairstyle kept him from moving too quickly.

And, finally, the ivory mask in front of his face erased his individuality with its narrow, glassed-in eye slits and its shallow bump of a nose that provided minimal air holes for breathing. The mask's pale expanse was mouthless and impersonal. The golden wave on one cheek indicated the wearer's caste, as if anybody could mistake such a bizarre figure for anything other than an exalted.

Taya shivered, disquieted. Next to her, Jessica hid behind her mother's skirts, and even the girl's two older brothers appeared subdued.

“Is that really Master Clockite, then?” Jessica whispered, tugging on her mother's hand. “He looks
scary
.”

Her mother, Ann, stroked the girl's hair.

“It works, don't it, Exalted?” she asked, anxiously. “You'll be finding it satisfactory, then?”

Cristof lifted his arms, his sleeves hanging over his hands and obscuring them.

“Here, I'll get it,” Taya said, standing and steadying the mask with one hand as she tugged on its silk cords with the other. The ivory surface felt slick and unnatural, and it was with some relief she pulled the mask away from his face and set it on the work table.

Cristof rubbed his forehead where the mask's padding had left a red mark, and then nodded to his neighbor.

“The wig's very convincing,” he said. “It should do fine.”

“Oh, that pleases me right well, it does.” Beaming, Ann stepped forward and began unpinning it. “I'll box it and have it sent up to your estate, shall I? Your servants will know how to take care of it?”

“You'd better come up to show them. Your family can have dinner with us.”

“Oh!” Ann faltered. “Why, that wouldn't be proper, would it, Exalted? I mean, what would people think?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Cristof said with asperity. “Since when I have cared what other exalteds think?”

“She's talking about her own caste,” Taya said, sliding his spectacles back on his face for him. “Ann's family is perfectly respectable and dining with someone like you…”

“No, Taya, you mustn't say that!” the famulate protested, blushing. Her two sons were giggling. “But we've no fine clothes to wear, or—”

“I don't care what you wear.” Cristof tried to shove up his sleeves so he could begin untying his robes, but the hems kept tumbling down over his hands. “I don't want some incompetent servant jamming a pin through my skull because you weren't there to show him how it's done. I'll send a hack for you tomorrow evening. Just wear what you have on now; it'll be fine. You, your husband, the three loathsome brats—”

“Will you be wearing those stupid robes, then?” the youngest boy asked cheekily.

“—maybe only two of them — and Taya. It won't be formal.”

“Well…” Ann gave Taya a hesitant look. Taya nodded encouragement as she untied the knots that held Cristof's robes closed. “That'd be a great honor indeed, Exalted, if you really don't mind.”

“I don't.”

Taya was pleased. Cristof would never come out and say it, but she knew he was uncomfortable in Primus. Most of the other exalteds treated him with distant mistrust, muttering about a taint in the Forlore bloodline. Cristof needed the company of his few friends.

Two months had passed since they'd rescued Kyle and retrieved the prototype engine. The raids on Slagside and the refinery had led to the arrest of fifteen Alzanan spies, crippling King Quintilio Agosti's spy network in Ondinium. Several bombings that had been attributed to the Torn Cards were found to have been the spies' work, and the Council had confirmed what Cristof had long maintained — that the Alzanan king was providing money and encouragement to fringe political groups in an attempt to destabilize Ondinium's government. The Alzanans who could be definitively pinned to murder had been executed. The rest had been sent away to labor in Ondinium's mines, Emelie among them.

Pyke and Victor, and hundreds of others who shared their political viewpoint, had been dragged in by the lictors for questioning and forced to take a special second administration of the loyalty test. Both men had passed, as had most of their friends, leading to critical articles in the activist newspapers that lambasted the Council with accusations of persecution and abuse of power.

As Victor had predicted, Alister's reduced sentence had also drawn a storm of protest. Mobs had ringed the plaza when he'd been blinded and, two weeks later, most of the city had turned out to jeer as he'd made his exile march across the city and out the gates.

Cristof, Taya, and Viera had attended both events. None of them had enjoyed the punishment, not even Viera, whose desire for vengeance had evaporated during the public blinding. Viera had been instrumental in helping Taya draw Cristof out of the black mood that had engulfed him after Alister's mutilation and exile. Those weeks had been difficult, but they'd persevered, and after Alister had been led down the mountain to the Safira railway under armed escort, they'd started to put their lives back together again.

Taya knew that Cristof had set up a secret — and illegal — account for his brother with a bank in Mareaux. She'd seen the paperwork when they'd established a fund for the families of the two lictors they'd killed. It was all they could do; neither family had wanted to see or talk to them. It hurt, but Taya understood. And she didn't blame Cristof for trying to make exile a little easier for his blind brother, either.

“Well, now, we've packed every last thing you own but your robes, haven't we, Exalted?” Taya's father said, walking into the shop and stamping snow off his boots. Katerin and her husband Tomas followed, pausing to watch Cristof as he tugged at the knots on his public robe.

“Thank you,” Cristof said, glancing up.

The shop was empty. All of the exalted's clockwork and tools had been packed up to be taken to Primus. Taya had wanted Cristof to keep his business, but he'd protested that he wouldn't have time to make the trip back and forth between Tertius and Primus anymore. He planned to set up a small workshop in one of the spare rooms in Estate Forlore.

“May I? If you'll permit me, Exalted?” Katerin moved forward and helped her sister untie the robe. Cristof stopped trying to do it himself and sighed, letting his arms fall.

“Pyke calls this ‘ostentatious incapacitation,'” Taya commented as they worked.

“That's exactly what it is.” Cristof squirmed as Ann lifted the wig from his head, leaving his short hair standing up in unkempt spikes. “I can't even scratch an itch while I'm wearing it.”

“You'll have to suffer for another second or two,” Taya said, unsympathetically. “We're almost done.”

“Look, I'm an exalted, I am!” one of the boys crowed, holding Cristof's mask against his face.

“Put that down right now!” Ann cried out, horrified. The child flinched and dropped the mask on the table. She rushed over to examine it, her hands shaking. “Exalted, forgive him. There's no harm done it; no damage at all.”

“Don't worry. The brat doesn't know how lucky he is that he doesn't
have
to wear that thing.”

Taya and Katerin lifted the heavy robes off his shoulders. Cristof sighed with relief, scratching his head. He was wearing his usual plain black suit beneath the robes. He'd only put on the outfit at Ann's insistence that he try out the new wig before packing it.

Taya folded the garments, placing the ivory mask in their center, and handed the bundle to Tomas. He carried it out to the last crate and she heard him nailing the lid into place.

“That's it.” Cristof looked around, a little wistfully. “I'll see you tomorrow, Ann?”

The woman nodded. “I'll bring up the wig, then, and instructions for your servants.”

“Good.”

Everyone stood in awkward silence, trying to figure out how to say goodbye across caste. Finally Taya stepped forward and shook the wigmaker's hand.

“Thank you for your help. I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Me, too, Taya Icarus. Tomorrow, then.” Ann smiled, relieved, and herded her children out the door.

“Off we go, as well,” Taya's father said. Taya hugged him.

“Thanks for helping, Dad.”

“A pleasure, sweetness. Exalted, we're honored to see you again. Best of luck to you.” Her father bowed, his palm on his forehead. “You'll be at our table for Ladysday the week next, then?”

“As promised,” Cristof agreed, although he looked a little daunted by the prospect. Taya had warned him about their annual Ladysday dinner, where two-thirds of the neighborhood was invited, half the gifts that were exchanged were alcoholic, and the singing and dancing continued until midnight. It wasn't the kind of thing the reticent exalted would normally attend, but she thought the noise and merriment would be better for him than a quiet Ladysday on Primus.

“See you later, then,” Katerin said, hugging her sister. She tapped the gold envoy feather that Taya wore pinned to her fur cloak. “Don't be flying off to any strange countries without telling us.”

“They won't let me leave until my training's complete,” she replied, cheerfully. “Until then, it's back-to-back lessons.” Katerin grinned as Taya turned to embrace her brother-in-law. With good-humored bows to Cristof, her family headed outside, pulling up their collars against the ash-colored snow.

At last Cristof locked up the shop. The wagon full of wooden crates was already on its way up to Primus, but Gregor's hack waited for them by the curb.

“Where to, Exalted?” Gregor asked. He was bundled against the cold, but his voice was as cheerful as ever.

“Estate Octavus,” Cristof said, as they climbed inside. Gregor saluted and the coach jerked forward.

“Have you already told Viera about our assignment, or am I going to have to listen to you two argue about it all afternoon?” Taya asked, nestling comfortably against Cristof's side.

“I haven't told her yet.” He shifted, searching inside a pocket of his greatcoat for something. The coach rattled and lurched around them.

“Oh, Lady.” Taya groaned. “You know she thinks you ought to stay in Primus instead of playing traveling ambassador. I think that's the only part of the Council's plan she doesn't like.”

“Well, she'll have all winter to complain about it,” he said, sounding unconcerned. “But not this afternoon. Ah, here we go.” He pulled out a small box and offered it to her. “I didn't let your family pack this away.”

“What is it?” Taya took it from him. The box was heavy. She held it to her ear and smiled, hearing ticking. “Is it for me?”

“The ambassador's envoy deserves her own watch, don't you think?”

“But I like using yours,” she protested, even though she eagerly lifted the lid.

Her smile widened as she lifted the watch out of the box. Cristof hadn't tried to make it small and delicate. Instead, like the timepieces he'd made for himself and his brother, it had a comfortable heft, a sense of solidity and presence. It was the kind of watch she wouldn't be afraid to slip into her flight suit pocket. And as if to emphasize that it was meant to be carried while flying, its red gold case was engraved with an outswept bird's wing.

“It's beautiful,” she said, delighted.

“I would have made the case out of ondium, but I couldn't get my hands on enough,” Cristof apologized. “Red gold isn't as valuable, but…”

“It's much prettier.”

“I thought … the color reminded me of your hair.” He sounded nervous. Taya shot him an amused glance and opened the case.

“Oh.”

A narrow ring of red gold ran around the outside of the watch's face, marking the hours. But inside that ring was a disk of transparent glass that revealed all of the watch's inner mechanisms: the coiled mainspring, the tiny gears, the pin holding the watch hands in place, the tiny screws and plates that kept all of the workings together. And set into one of those plates, directly underneath the hands, was a small, heart-shaped ruby.

“Oh — Cris.” She felt a lump in her throat.

“The program's name … it was an old joke. Alister used to say that's all I had. A clockwork heart. Nothing but logic and predictability.” The nervousness in his voice was even clearer now. “So I thought I'd give it to you. The heart. You know. But if you hate it— I made another watch face, a normal one. Just give it back and I can replace it tonight.”

Taya swallowed, leaning against his chest again and watching the gears turn beneath the glass, slowly nudging the golden minute hand forward. Then she closed the cover and pressed the watch against her lips, feeling it vibrate.
Well, what did you expect,
she asked herself, half amused and half exasperated.
Trust Cris to make something that's so painfully and awkwardly sincere.

“I think it's perfect,” she said, at last, meaning it.

“Good.” He sounded relieved. “You — you haven't looked at the watch fob yet.”

Taya slid the chain back up through her fingers. A gold ring swung back and forth from its tiny jeweler's clip.

Astonished, Taya twisted and looked up at him. Cristof cleared his throat as the coach clattered over the cobblestone street.

“I know what you're thinking. Cross-caste marriages never work. But logically, since you're an icarus and I'm hardly any caste at all, I thought—”