Mirror Sight (55 page)

Karigan only half heard, through the combined haze of grief and morphia, Mirriam finish the tale of how Cade had brought her down the river in a rowboat and finally to Jax’s place. Her thinking grew ever more cloudy, and when she started to slide away into blissful nothingness, Mirriam shook her.

“Not now. We must ready you for Mr. Harlowe’s return.”

“Where is he?”

“Preparing to do what the professor never could.”

C
ade and Jax entered the silent mill lugging tool boxes, both of them disguised in nondescript work clothes. It was, at least, a disguise for Cade, if not so much for Jax, who was a carpenter. It was odd seeing the two hundred looms still and silent, the metallic exoskeletons of machines in their perfect rows, all threaded, with finished cloth wound around the rollers. No belts and pulleys whirred in endless cycles, no turbine churned in the depths beneath the mill, no slaves tended the machines.

At the far end of the mill floor, however, an argument between two men erupted in the silence. One man, the mill owner, wore a fine-tailored suit, the other, Inspector red. Cade and Jax did not approach, but kept a respectful distance. There was no need to get any closer to an Inspector than was necessary.

“I will not release the rest of my slaves to that excavation,” Mr. Greeling, the mill owner shouted. “Three of the mills in this one complex alone are shut down due to Silk’s project, and the Water Power Authority is threatening to cut me off altogether if I’m not at full capacity. This is costing hundreds of thousands in losses, do you understand?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Greeling, but you must release the slaves to us tomorrow, by imperial order.” With that, the Inspector turned on his heel and left the mill owner fuming.

Cade and Jax glanced at one another, then walked down between rows of looms. Mr. Greeling turned on them at their approach.

“Yes? What do you want?”

Cade halted in front of him and removed his cap. Recognition flickered on Mr. Greeling’s face, and he glanced anxiously around to ensure the Inspector was well gone.

“What do you think you are doing here?” he hissed. “How dare you endanger me like this? And who is this—this other man with you?” Mr. Greeling glared at Jax as if he were the dregs of the Dregs, dragged out of some gutter on the street.

“He is one of us,” Cade replied.

“I hardly think so.”

“Told you,” Jax muttered. “He’s just like the rest. Let’s go.”

“Hold on,” Cade said. “Mr. Greeling, we come to you in common purpose. The drilling in the Old City has got to stop. It is time for the empire to see true opposition. We just ask for your help in—”

“What? You want me to help set off little explosives so the Inspectors can arrest everyone in sight?”

Explosions could be useful, Cade thought, but he’d come seeking Mr. Greeling’s cooperation in the releasing of slaves. The mill owner, however, appeared to be too worked up to hear his plan.

Mr. Greeling jabbed his finger at Cade. “Your professor talked like that and see what happened to him? And thanks to him, the Inspectors are investigating everyone who associated with him, even the Preferred. The old idiot got himself killed and has now drawn the attention of the empire on me and the others.”

“He was no idiot,” Cade said quietly, his fingers balling into a fist, which he kept safely at his side. “He envisioned a better life for everyone.”

“Oh, yes. He even brought rubbish off the street and into his home so he could play at being the generous father figure, did he not, Mr. Harlowe?”

Cade’s fist quivered.

“Made him feel good to do it, as if he were defying the empire. That’s why he did it, Harlowe, that’s why he took in rubbish like you off the street. Not to help
you,
not to care about
you.
He did it to defy the empire.”

With that, the anger bled out of Cade. He relaxed his fingers, opened his hand. “I know.”

His words seemed to deflate Mr. Greeling.

“I know,” Cade repeated, “and then the fire—the first fire—changed him. But yes, he and his vision are gone. It does not mean his work is done.”

“Well, I’m done,” Mr. Greeling spat. “I’ve had enough trouble thanks to your professor and his damned opposition. In fact, I should just call that Inspector back in here to arrest you.”

Jax looked fearful, but Cade just shook his head. “You won’t do that, of course, since I can tell the Inspectors all about your participation in the opposition and how you supplied the black powder for the little adventure in the Old City. At this point, I have little to lose. But you, Mr. Greeling, have much. What? Four mill complexes, several warehouses, a fine manse, a wife and three children, and of course the mistress you keep down on Calder Avenue.”

Mr. Greeling’s face turned very red. “How—” He stopped himself. Just glared at Cade with a murderous expression.

“So,” Cade said, “I trust you’ll keep your mouth shut, or word will get out about your own anti-empire activities. And probably, your wife will hear about your mistress. If that is not enough to keep you quiet, during the deeps of some night, while you sleep in that tower room of yours, associates of my friend here will find you and cut your throat.”

“Get out!” Mr. Greeling cried. “Get out!”

Cade shrugged, and he and Jax turned back between the rows of looms. Cade did not hurry his stride though he could feel Mr. Greeling’s glare burning into his back.

“Bet that bastard never had anyone talk to him like that before,” Jax said.

Cade shrugged. “I am too tired to waste energy on being civil to someone who cannot conduct a simple, courteous conversation.”

Jax howled with laughter. Cade smiled.

“Those Preferreds deserve to be brought down a peg,” Jax said. “Too complacent, being favored by the empire. And I told you he’d be like the rest. None of them who were part of the professor’s group want anything to do with scum like us. Now that the niceties of parties and concerts are over, they just want to go back to making money and lording over the rest of us.”

“We are not done here yet,” Cade replied, as they started down the stairwell.

He felt very odd, suddenly being the one who decided what was to be done. His dear professor was dead, and now he was wanted by the Inspectors. He was also now, officially, a Weapon. His life had changed dramatically in the last forty-eight hours. No longer could he stand in the professor’s shadow and wait for someone else’s decisions to be handed down. It was as if he’d been set free, freed to do what needed to be done. To do what should have been done a long time ago.

 • • • 

Cade and Jax crossed the mill complex’s courtyard to mill number five. He had someone to see. They got by the guard at the entrance on the pretense they were there to re-hang a door.

“Foreman’s waiting for ya on the fourth floor,” the guard said.

They climbed up the stair tower, their footfalls drowned out by the clamor of machines in full motion, spinning thread and weaving cloth. Bobbin boys and girls ran past them, up and down the stairs in their bare feet, their arms loaded with either freshly threaded bobbins if they were going up, or empty bobbins if they were going down. They were not chained to machines, but their work was grueling. The children appeared to take no notice of Cade and Jax, their pinched faces expressionless as they hurried to fulfill their tasks and avoid a beating.

Cade scowled as he climbed, helping a girl who tripped reclaim a couple of bobbins she had dropped. There were two brands marking her cheek. She trembled, he presumed in fear, that her delay would incite an overseer to use his whip on her. She did not say a word to him when he handed her one of the bobbins. She simply scrambled up the stairs at an accelerated pace.

Karigan was right, Cade thought. The slaves had more to fight for than anyone. And that was what had brought him to mill number five of the Greeling Textile Company. When the two of them reached the landing on the fourth floor, Cade braced himself before opening the door. When finally he pulled it open, the cacophony almost pushed him back out. In contrast to the silent mill where they’d spoken to Mr. Greeling, mill number five was fully active, shafts and gears and pulleys spinning at full tilt, leather belts singing as they transferred power to the looms.

The greatest clamor came from the looms themselves, with metal tipped shuttles being hammered back and forth, unspooling weft between warp threads, their heddles slamming up and down in alternating patterns. The shuttle moved so fast it was difficult for the eye to follow.

Through the haze of cotton fibers drifting in the light that streamed through the windows, slaves tended their looms. Male and female, young and old, their skin color revealed they’d come from all corners of the empire. Overseers, five of them, moved up and down the aisles of looms. They carried whips short enough not to get entangled in the intricate belt and pulley systems, but of a length vicious enough to inflict real pain. Blood seeped through the shirt of one nearby worker.

Across the room stood the foreman. He waved at Cade and Jax indicating they should join him. They stepped onto the mill floor, the force of the machines making it quake beneath their feet, and walked carefully down the aisle between looms to avoid brushing against any of them. One heard of horrific injuries the machines caused. Cade thought of poor Lorine who’d been partially scalped when her hair got caught in the belting. She hadn’t told him why she wore a headscarf all the time, but the professor had.

The foreman was known to Cade, was one of their own, a man who witnessed cruelty inflicted on slaves every day. He awaited them at the door at the opposite end of the mill floor. Even shouting, it was almost impossible to hear over the racket of machinery, so he pointed at the door. Cade and Jax set down their tool boxes, and Jax began to inspect the door and its hinges while Cade carried on a surreptitious “conversation” with the foreman using hand gestures, just as the slaves did among themselves when overseers were not looking.

The foreman nodded at the nearest loom. It was tended by a tall man with skin as deeply dark brown as kauv, his hair graying, his face full of dignified lines. A Tallitrean.

The foreman leaned over and shouted directly into Cade’s ear, “The General!”

Cade nodded. The Tallitrean gave them the barest of glances to indicate he knew what they were about.

To keep up appearances, Cade helped Jax remove the pins from the door’s hinges and went about the business of rehanging it. In between acting as helper, Cade continued his conversation of hand gestures with the foreman in such a way that The General could see.

Once the door was rehung, and Jax finished by oiling the hinges, Cade shouted in the foreman’s ear, “Give us twenty-four hours!”

The foreman made the sign that he understood, then gestured like he was twisting a key in a lock. Cade glanced at The General and saw the faintest of smiles on the man’s lips. Cade and Jax collected their tools and departed.

Even after they were halfway across the complex courtyard, the machine noise still hammered in Cade’s head, the throb of it only slowly fading.

“We got anyone else to see today?” Jax asked.

Cade shook his head. They’d gone to all the mills he’d planned on visiting, seeking out members of the professor’s opposition as well as those in their own rebel group. As one, those in the professor’s opposition had refused help, just like Mr. Greeling. The rebels, however, were eager. Jax, Thadd, and Jonny had spent a good part of the previous night spreading the word to their people.

Whether their plans heralded a rebellion or simply a diversion, Cade could not say for sure. Hopefully, it was a rebellion that provided the added benefit of a diversion. He did not wish for anyone to meet with violence or die for the decisions he had made, but he was not naïve.

“How’d you know that hand talk?” Jax asked, waving his hand through the air to mimic what he’d seen.

“I tutored one of the professor’s servants who had been a mill slave,” Cade replied. “Lorine. She taught me the basics. It varies a bit from mill to mill, like an accent, but we seemed to understand one another.”

“Useful,” Jax said.

“I learned it because it seemed interesting at the time,” Cade replied. “I never expected it would prove useful. At least, not this much.”

After they turned down Canal Street, they were stopped by Inspectors more than once, demanding to know their business and to see their papers. The Inspectors were more numerous and officious than usual, after the mill fire. Cade, of course, had had a false set of papers forged years ago, in case he was exposed or the professor found out.

As they continued on their way, Cade tried not to look at the smoldering ruin across the canal, all that remained of the last Josston mill. The stench of smoke laid low on the ground here. The professor’s pyre. No artifacts that were not thick metal could have survived the ferocity of the flames or the explosions. Cade hastened his pace, and Jax hurried after him.

 • • • 

When they reached Jax’s house, they found Mirriam putting on water for tea, and Karigan curled up on the bed asleep, but this time attired in her Tam Ryder outfit, which had been retrieved from Professor Josston’s stable by Luke.

“So we are putting our faith in this one who always sleeps?” Jax said, and not for the first time. “Some heroic legend
she
is.”

“Not her fault,” Cade replied.

“No, it is not,” Mirriam agreed. “If what you told me about the syringe is correct, the morphia should have laid her out cold for a solid three days, but perhaps she didn’t get as much as you thought, or it lost some of its efficacy over time. Miraculously, I got her to stay awake and coherent long enough to tell her what’s happened and help her change clothes, but I’m afraid the news about the professor took it right out of her again.”