Rebel Mechanics (11 page)

A distant clang of bells and the shriek of whistles could have been the police closing in on the theater, or it could have been a normal Saturday night in New York City. There seemed to be an alarming number of red-coated soldiers on the street. Were they also part of the raid? I'd always before seen soldiers as a sign of Imperial security and stability, but now they looked threatening.

After we'd walked several blocks, Alec pulled me into a narrow gap between buildings. He took a coil of wire out of his waistcoat pocket and clamped one end to a cable dangling into the alley down the side of the building. At the other end of Alec's wire was a small disk that he held against his ear. He listened for a moment, then tapped on a tiny lever attached to his wire before disconnecting the apparatus and returning it to his pocket.

“Looks like everyone got out safely with all their machines. As far as the police knew, it was just an empty theater. But that was a close call. We'll have to be more careful in the future,” he said. Then he explained, gesturing at the cable, “It's a telegraph. It sends electrical signals down wires so we can communicate using a code. The cables go from building to building, hidden around clotheslines, and there are wires all over that we can tap into. The moment there's a sign of danger from any lookout, the signal travels as fast as light, and we get the warning in plenty of time.”

We were very close together in the tight space, and although there had been a chill in the air, I felt rather warm. I couldn't help but sigh in disappointment when he said, “I'd better get you home. I'm sorry the party turned out this way for you.”

We caught the Third Avenue bus heading uptown, and the long ride gave me time to think. After we got off the bus, as Alec escorted me the last few blocks to my home, I ventured, “Lizzie told me it wasn't a political gathering.”

“Did you see us doing anything political? They're the ones who make it political. We can't even have a party without being harassed.” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

“If it wasn't political, then why were the police looking for your headquarters?”

“They want to find and shut down our inventions so everyone will stay dependent on magical power.”

“Building machines is illegal?”

“There's no law against it, but they come up with other excuses to come after us, like accusing us of sedition or treason. Not that they yet have any evidence of that, no matter how many times they search the area.”

“That's not at all fair! Those machines could do good!”

We stopped on a dark corner, and he turned to face me. “So you see why I tend to burst out in political speeches. I can create wonderful things, but they want to stop me because I'm not a magister.”

I resumed walking, lost in thought. There was so much I hadn't considered, that I hadn't known. The colonial government had always seemed benign, aside from levying higher and higher taxes. But harassing innocent people merely because they could do amazing things without magic was monstrous.

Alec must have realized I had a lot to think about because he remained silent the rest of the way. He wished me a good night once we reached the end of my block, and then he stood on the corner and watched until I was safely indoors.

I was still thinking about everything I'd discovered when I encountered Lord Henry on the stairs. “Oh, Miss Newton, you're back,” he said. “Did you have a good evening?”

I had, before the police raid, so I smiled and said, “Yes, thank you.” Then I tensed, worried that he might smell alcohol on my breath. Our flight and the journey uptown had cleared my head so I no longer felt tipsy, but I didn't want my employer to dismiss me for drunkenness.

He didn't appear to notice anything amiss. “Good, good,” he said with a vague nod. He paused, frowned as if in thought, then seemed to come to a decision. “Now, might I ask a small favor of you? Matthews is off on an errand for me, and I hate to disturb Mrs. Talbot.”

“Of course, I'd be happy to help.”

“I would most appreciate it. Come this way.” He led me toward his study, then he turned back, frowning. “I hope you don't have a problem with blood.”

 

IN WHICH I GET BLOOD ON MY HANDS

“A problem with blood?” I repeated dumbly, standing dead still in the hallway.

“You don't faint or become ill? You certainly don't seem the type.”

“But …
blood
?”

“I need your assistance with a minor medical matter. I would take care of it myself, but it's so awkward working with just one hand.”

All thoughts of the evening's earlier excitement fled as I faced a new crisis. He opened the study door with his left hand and gestured me inside before closing it behind us. A wave of his left hand made the lights brighter while sending so strong a magical tingle through my body that I had to bite my lip to keep myself from gasping out loud.

“I need help getting this coat off first,” he said, sounding as calm as if he were asking for the sugar at the breakfast table rather than help in undressing. I suddenly felt very conscious of being alone in the room with him. He extracted his left arm from the sleeve, then had trouble with the right. I dropped Lizzie's notebook on the desk that sat beside the door so I could peel off the right sleeve for him, and I gasped at what I saw beneath.

The whole right sleeve of his white shirt was red. I noticed then that my hands had become bloody from handling his coat. The fabric was a dark wool that hadn't shown the stain, but it was damp with blood and there was a jagged tear in the upper arm. I had never seen quite so much blood all at once, and although I have a strong constitution, I felt queasy.

He must have heard my gasp, for he hurried to say, “It's nothing, really. I was merely observing nocturnal insects when I caught my arm on some jagged protuberance. It was most inconvenient.”

“You'd—you'd better sit down,” I stammered, putting his coat aside. He lowered himself into the desk chair. I fought for and found my inner resolve and firmed my voice to ask, “Do you have medical supplies?”

“In a box in that lower right drawer.” I followed his directions and found a box clearly marked with a red cross. “While my hobby is not generally dangerous, I am accident-prone, so it pays to be prepared,” he added. I noticed that he was very pale, and beads of sweat were forming on his upper lip and forehead. He'd managed a breezy tone, but he was in pain.

I gingerly touched his sleeve to try to see the wound through the torn cloth, and he said, “There are scissors in the kit. Just cut off the sleeve. The shirt's ruined anyway.” In giving instructions, his voice lost its customary vague quality.

I snipped around the sleeve, trying not to look at the blood. But then that meant I found myself staring resolutely at the skin my scissors revealed. The sight of his flesh was almost as unsettling as all the blood, though in a different way. I wasn't sure where to look. I turned my attention to his wrist, where I removed the cuff link so I could pull the damaged sleeve off his arm. The cloth had already stuck to the drying blood, so I had to touch him to remove it. The way he flinched at my touch made me wonder if he was as aware of the strange intimacy of our situation as I was.

My stomach heaved when I saw the wound. It was a bloody groove across his upper arm. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking at me with deep concern.

“You need to see a physician,” I said. “I can't do anything for this.”

“It's not as bad as it looks. You just need to clean the wound. I'll direct you.” There was an unexpected pleading tone to his voice, and he looked very young and nearly as afraid as I felt. When I hesitated, he added, “Please, Miss Newton.”

I took a couple of deep breaths to steel myself, then followed his instructions. When he winced or gasped in pain, I pulled back, but he urged me on. Finally, I had the wound bandaged.

He inspected my work and said, “Well done. You make an excellent nurse.”

“I hope so,” I said, frowning at him in worry. He still looked awful, all pale and sweaty. Without thinking, because I'd done this sort of thing so often for my mother during her illness, I took the handkerchief from my pocket and blotted the sweat from his face. He closed his eyes and gave a little sigh, and then I realized what I was doing and withdrew my hand. I'd used Alec's handkerchief, which I'd brought to the party with the intention of returning to him but had entirely forgotten in all the excitement, and it seemed a betrayal of him to use it to tend to a magister. I shoved it back into my pocket.

“Might I ask you one more favor tonight?” Lord Henry said.

I was afraid of what else he might want me to do, but I still said, “Of course.”

“I could use a cup of cocoa. If no one's in the kitchen, ring the bell to summon a maid. Get enough for two and bring it back here.”

He sounded so commanding that I had to obey. The kitchen was deserted, but rather than wake a maid I made the cocoa myself. When I returned to the study with a tray, I found Lord Henry dressed in a clean shirt. If I hadn't known to look for it, I wouldn't have noticed the lump of bandage under his sleeve.

“Oh, bless you, you're a treasure,” he said as I poured the cocoa into cups and handed him one. He was still very pale.

Concerned, I said, “You should see a physician. You don't want that wound to fester.”

“Matthews is an expert at tending to these things, so don't worry yourself. Now, did you enjoy your party?” He sounded more like his usual absentminded-scientist self again.

“Yes, quite a bit.” This seemed an odd conversation to have so soon after I'd bandaged his arm. It was so disconcertingly normal, though I supposed there was nothing normal about being closeted with my wounded employer in his study late on a Saturday night. If I'd been a different class of girl, this would have been enough to compromise me, and he would have been required to marry me. My face grew warm at the idea, and I couldn't meet his eyes when he smiled at me, for fear he could read my thoughts.

Instead, I took the opportunity to look away from him and examine the forbidden room. It was much as Olive had described, full of jars of bugs and spiders, with boards covered in butterflies on the walls. Books were piled on every horizontal surface. Sketches of specimens were pinned haphazardly around the room, and if Lord Henry had drawn them, he had considerable artistic talent.

“Are you enjoying your work thus far?” he asked, startling me out of my observation.

“Yes, very much,” I said. “Olive is a delightful pupil, and Rollo shows great promise. Flora is…” I trailed off, not sure what to say about her.

He grinned. “Yes, quite. Flora is a challenge. Oh, and that reminds me.” He turned in his chair and sifted through some papers on his desk, coming up with an invitation card. “Flora and Rollo have been invited to a dinner party Wednesday, and you'll need to chaperone them. I don't like Rollo going out on a school night, but his grandfather the governor issued the invitation, so I don't have much choice.” He handed the card to me.

His name was included on the invitation, and when I glanced up at him, a smile flickered across his lips before he said with deadpan solemnity, “Unfortunately, I have a feeling I will be quite ill that evening and will have to send Flora and Rollo with my regrets.”

Perhaps it was the lingering effect of the punch that loosened my tongue, but before I was aware I'd spoken, I said, “You don't get on well with the governor?”

He moved his cup into his right hand, then with his left he reached up to rub his eyes wearily under his glasses. “He didn't agree with my brother's choice of guardian for the children. As I recall, he said something about a boy barely out of knee britches being entirely unsuitable. I don't disagree with him, but I learned from a very early age not to argue with my brother. If anyone could win a fight from beyond the grave, it would be Robert. And I felt I owed it to my brother to carry out his wishes. I was like Olive, losing my parents when I was young, so Robert and Lily were like parents to me.” He fought back a yawn, then said, “I've kept you up far too late, Miss Newton, but I thank you again for your assistance.”

I stood and picked up the tray. “I'm happy to help, sir.”

He struggled up from his chair and moved to open the door for me, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “You won't mind not mentioning this to the children or Mrs. Talbot? I wouldn't want them worrying about me when I'm on my excursions.”

“I can't imagine why I should need to mention it.”

“Good, thank you, Miss Newton. I bless the day you came to us.”

“I feel very fortunate, as well.” I was just about to step through the doorway when I remembered Lizzie's notebook. A jolt of panic shot through me. It was full of incriminating evidence that linked me to the Rebel Mechanics. If I'd left it and if he'd opened it, I could have been in terrible trouble. I balanced the tray against my hip so I could free a hand to retrieve the book and place it on the tray before I left the study. If he thought it odd that I'd brought a notebook from a party, he said nothing. I couldn't help but smile as it occurred to me that it would seem perfectly normal to him. Only the contents would shock him.

When I got to my room after returning the tray to the kitchen, I took the handkerchief out of my pocket and clutched it briefly before folding it and putting it back in the nightstand drawer. In the same pocket, I found the small gear on its red ribbon. I held it on my palm for a moment, letting it reawaken all the memories from earlier in the evening, when I'd danced with Alec and then run through alleys with him. I gave it a quick little kiss, then stuck it inside Lizzie's notebook, wrapped the book in a pair of woolen stockings, and tucked them at the back of a drawer behind all my undergarments. Lord Henry might have been eccentric, but I doubted a magister would be pleased about those items being in his home.