Mina Wentworth and the Invisible City (11 page)

He closed his eyes. “I want to.”

“I know it’s difficult for you.” She smoothed her fingers down his rough jaw. “This is new.”

His laugh was harsh. “It is that. I have never
belonged
to someone before. I’ve been a slave, I’ve been used—but they never owned me. But you, Mina. You could destroy me with a word.”

“Trust that I never would.”

“I do. But if I lost you, if you were hurt . . .” He shook his head, met her eyes again. “I
know
you’ll be fine. You’re clever, strong, and fast. Newberry is devoted. I
know
that I worry too much. Yet when you come home with just a scratch, I can’t even think until I—”

“Shag me.”

His laugh rumbled through his chest again. “You’ve noticed.”

“Yes.” She rose up, touched her lips to his. “But this is part of being family. We worry. We trust that we’ll take care of each other, that we’ll find a way. And we can’t solve every problem, but we’ll try to make them easier for each other to bear.”

“I’d bear anything for you.”

“I don’t want you to have to.” Her fingers traced the shape of his mouth. “Perhaps only time can solve this one. Until then, I swear that I will do everything in my power to come home every night, and I will
keep
coming home. Eventually, you’ll be more comfortable with the idea of me being out there.”

He kissed her in reply, a soft and searching taste. When his head lifted, they were both short of breath. “And is there anything that you fear, Mina? Anything I can make easier for you to bear?”

There was so little. Only—“I wonder, sometimes, if you enjoy being married to me. If it suits you.”

“Do I enjoy being married . . . ?”

He trailed off as he stared down at her, his face darkening. Determination set his jaw. Her heart stopped as he swept her up and started for the bed.

“I love being married to you, Mina.” His voice was rough. “Let me show you how much.”

* * *

Mina was his. Absolutely
his.

Rhys had never realized how completely he’d become hers, too. He didn’t know if marriage—or love—typically worked in this way, and Rhys didn’t care. Whatever marriage was supposed to be, they’d made a better version of it.

At the breakfast table, he watched Mina sip her coffee, her beautiful mouth pursing against the rim of the cup. His gaze caressed the straight center part of her hair and the rounded softness of her cheeks.

Across from her, Anne muttered curses as she stabbed her egg with a fork. Every one of Wilbur the Reacher’s inventions had been reviewed by the surly girl and found to be lacking. “Stupid designs, all of them. Who wants to pedal in place? He ought to stay with his automatons. And I would not steal any of
them
, either.”

Mina looked up at him from beneath her lashes, her eyes bright with laughter. “When does the Blacksmith return?”

“Next week,” he said.

Her gaze thoughtful, she nodded. “I won’t wait for him. I’ll stop by the Narrow this morning and ask if anyone in the guild knows of anything like this giant wheel. How can
no one
see such a thing?”

Anne stopped muttering. “You’ll ask the blacksmiths if they saw a what?”

“A big brass or copper wheel, three feet wide. It runs on a track and clicks.”

Flipping the newssheet around, Rhys showed Anne the illustration on the front page. He deepened his voice and read the headline. “The Wheel of Death.”

Mina burst out with a laugh, shook her head. The girl’s lips parted. Her brow furrowed.

Rhys narrowed his eyes on her. “Did you see it?”

After a short hesitation, she nodded. “When Geordie opened the workshop shutters, there was something like that behind him. It resembled an influence machine—a
big
one—with pedals on the inside instead of a crank. But I don’t know if it’s the same.”

“Perhaps not, but we’ll go have a look.” Mina tapped her fingers against the side of her coffee cup, as she always did when she was thinking. “Anne, could an influence machine that large power a rail gun?”

“If there were layers of spinning disks building up the electrostatic charge, instead of just one,” the tinker said. “I couldn’t see if there were.”

“That’s all right. I’ll look for myself soon enough.” She looked to Rhys. “Did Redditch ever mention who was providing the automatons for Percival Foley’s spark-lighter manufactory?”

“No. But you’re thinking that’s motivation, too.”

“Yes. If a bill prevents factories from fully automating their systems, the inventor loses money, too. That’s reason to kill Redditch.” Her brow furrowed, and her gaze sharpened on his face. “And you, too.”

“What?”

“Foley was under the impression that you were supporting Redditch’s bill. Others might be under that impression, too.”

Ah. She was afraid the Wheel of Death might come for him. “I’ll be fine.”

Sudden worry darkened her eyes. “Avoid any routines. That was how they killed Redditch—someone knew exactly where he’d be and when, and then got access to the location. Be careful when you leave the house.”

He couldn’t stop his grin, and after a moment, Mina was laughing with him. Rhys reached for her hand, brought it to his lips, and pressed a warm kiss in the center of her palm.

“Go on, then,” he said. “Do your job. And come back.”

“I always will,” she promised.

Chapter 6

In the daytime, they
were less likely to lose their tires again, but Mina still had Newberry double-lock theirs after he opened the police cart’s valves and quieted the engine. Birdcage Alley didn’t quiet. Noise from the nearby road leading to the Borough market and London Bridge underscored hammering metal, the screech of sawblades. Wilbur the Reacher’s workshop was but one of many in the Alley—but the only one that didn’t have a curious metalworker or two standing at an open-fronted shop. The one-level building appeared boarded up, shutters closed and the storefront locked.

Mina pounded her fist on the door, listening for noise from inside. She tilted her head. There seemed to be
something
 . . . but she couldn’t be certain if it were from inside or one of the nearby shops.

She backed up, studied the building. Wilbur the Reacher built automated machines for factories, but something of that size wouldn’t be loaded through the front doors. “Let’s have a look around the back, Newberry.”

Though not wide, the workshop extended far into its lot. On the side, small, barred windows were set high in the walls, too high to peek through. Wide, doubled doors opened to a narrow lane that circled back round to the Alley.

“The loading area, sir,” Newberry said.

Mina nodded. She pounded on the metal doors, heard no response. Shuttered windows on either side of the doors were probably opened during the heat of the day. Was this where Anne had seen Geordie? She searched for signs of a scuffle, but the cobblestone lane hadn’t left much evidence for her to see.

“We’ll go back to the side windows,” she said. “You can give me a boost up so that I’ll at least have a chance to look through—”

She broke off. A faint noise came through the doors.
Click click click.

Unease ran in a ripple up her spine. “Do you hear that, Newberry?”

“I do, sir.” He moved smoothly out of the path of the doors. “Weapons?”

Click click click.

“Bullets.” She drew her gun, backing slowly away. Opium darts wouldn’t have much effect on a brass wheel.

Click click click.
Growing louder. Closer to the door.

“Away from there, constable. Behind me.”

Weapon steady, Newberry backed toward her, his giant body all but blocking her view of the doors.

Click click click.
Coming faster now, as if accelerating.
Clickclickclick
.

“Behind me, constable,” Mina repeated.

Clickclickclick
—and something more? A muffled shouting, perhaps—

The doors blew open in an explosion of fire and shrapnel. Shouting, Mina dove to the ground, covering her face and ears. Shards of metal rained to the cobblestones. Burning pain sliced through her forearm.

Coughing, she looked up. Her constable had thrown himself beside her, his huge form like an unmoving boulder beside her. “Newberry?”

“Here.” It was a groan.

“All right?”

“I think so, sir.”

Clickclickclick.

The brass wheel rolled through the swirling smoke. No, she realized. It didn’t
all
roll—only the track that ran around the outside. The rest of it remained upright. Not all of the triangular sections on the side were closed.

Inside the wheel, a sandy-haired boy looked through the missing wedge, his color high, freckled face streaked with tears. “I didn’t want to! I didn’t want to!”

What?
Mina scrambled to her feet, ignoring the ache in her knees, the pain in her arm. “Didn’t want to? Come out of there!”

“I can’t!” He was rocking slightly from side to side, shouting between huffs of exertion.
Pedaling
, Mina realized. “Take Billy! And maybe I can stop!”

Billy? But the boy had closed the wedge, and the wheel suddenly started off down the lane, racing over the cobblestones. Oh, no. Mina sprinted after it. The clicking filled her head, but there was another sound now—a steam engine. A lorry waited at the end of the lane, a ramp leading up to the bed. The wheel rolled up. In a great huff of steam, the lorry lurched forward.

Oh, blast it!
She couldn’t shoot the damned thing, not with a boy inside. Tucking in her elbows, she ran behind the belching steam lorry—through Birdcage Alley, almost closing the distance between, until the lorry turned onto Newington Road, and began to gain speed. No traffic slowed it down. Though she could have run farther, Mina knew she’d lost it.

She needed the cart. Mina turned to look for Newberry, frowned. He wasn’t as fast, but the constable ought to have been behind her. She started back, jogging at first, then sprinting again as worry settled into her gut. He’d said he was all right.

He wasn’t. Still on the ground, sitting, but his face pale and his mouth in a grimace of pain. His hand pressed to his upper thigh. Blood pooled on the cobblestones beneath him.

“Newberry!” Mina knelt beside him, trying to stop the shaking of her hands. “Let me see the wound, constable.”

“Yes, sir.” He sucked a breath through his teeth. “And I’m sorry, sir. I thought I was all right until I pulled that shard out. Did you catch him?”

“No.”
Oh, sweet heavens.
Blood pumped in small rivulets from a deep gash in his thigh. The artery nicked. Newberry’s bugs would heal it . . . if he didn’t bleed out first. Heart racing, she ripped off her shirt sleeves, bunching one and shoving it against the wound, then tying the other around his massive thigh. The sleeve wouldn’t hold tight enough, but it would hold the wadded cloth on after the bleeding slowed. She pressed down on the cloth again when the white quickly turned red.

The constable seemed to choke. “I don’t think this is proper, sir.”

Mina looked up in disbelief. “What?”

“Your hand.” He still had enough blood to blush a deep red. “There.”

“You ought to thank the blessed stars that the shrapnel didn’t damage something a few inches higher, constable.”

She knew he was going into shock when he replied, “My Temperance will be glad it was not damaged, too.”

“I’m sure she will.” Taking his hand, Mina shoved his palm against the bunched cloth. “Hold this. Hold it hard. I’m going to bring the cart around, all right?”

“No, sir. I’ve seen you drive it before. You’ll kill us both.”

She’d take that chance. “Hold it hard. Don’t let up. And don’t you dare faint on me, constable, or I will give you a reprimand of the likes you never seen.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mina ran for the cart. Blasted double-locks. They took extra time. She hauled them off, jumped in, closed the valve. Gears shrieked in protest, but she got it going forward. Down the lane around the workshop. Oh, faster,
faster
.

Her heart dropped to her stomach when she rounded the bend. He’d fainted. Sprawled out, no longer holding the cloth bunched at his thigh.

A little boy was. Perhaps seven years of age, sandy-haired and freckled, he pushed down on the cloth so hard that his arms shook.

Mina stopped the cart, jumped out. Newberry still breathed, his heartbeat quick but steady. She looked to the boy. “Billy?”

“Yes. Am I doing it right?”

“Perfect.” She slid her arms under Newberry’s shoulders. “The bugs should have closed the artery up by now, but I need to get him into the cart. Can you help me with his legs?”

Billy nodded, scooted around in his threadbare trousers and bare feet. Though skinny, he was strong. He grabbed hold of each of Newberry’s ankles like a boy pushing a wheelbarrow.

With Newberry’s upper half braced against her chest, Mina backed to the cart. “Was that your brother in the wheel?”

Billy only shrugged.

“Can you tell me his name?”

Nothing.

“Is it Geordie?”

Though the boy didn’t reply, the surprised flicker of his lids was answer enough.

“Will you come with me? When he left, Geordie asked me to ‘Take Billy.’ Does he have reason to want you away from here?”

The boy’s gaze moved to the cart, as if he were considering it.

“I’ll take you,” Mina said, lifting Newberry onto the passenger bench. She braced a hand against his chest to prevent him from sliding out. “And then we’ll find him and help him.”

Uncertainty chased across his face.

“I could use the help, too,” Mina said. “You could keep my assistant from falling out of the cart.”

He finally nodded. “I’ll do that.”

* * *

God
. Rhys leapt from the steamcoach, raced to Rockingham’s front door. He pounded on it, but when a second passed and the door hadn’t opened, he barreled through—almost trampling a headless clockwork butler. Standing next to it, holding the butler’s head in one slender hand and a wrench in the other, the countess looked at him in surprise.