The Brass Giant (24 page)

Petra blinked, not knowing what to say.

He slipped his hands into her hair, wincing as he moved his injured arm. “Petra, I love you, and I couldn't bear it if I lost you. Let me be selfish and pretend that I can protect you from the dangers of the world. At least let me
try
. All right?”

She nodded, and before she could say anything in reply, he kissed her.

When their lips parted, he rested his forehead against hers and entwined his hands through hers. “Just let me love you. That's all I ask.”

They descended the rest of the stairs in silence, Emmerich's hand tightly gripping hers. They emerged from the stairwell on the second floor, in the first upper workshop. The room was dark, the lights off. Emmerich silently guided her between the desks, toward the stairs that led into the lobby. The shadowy skeletons of incomplete machines flanked their path like sentinels, long metallic fingers reaching toward them. The golden glow of the lobby beckoned them forward, but as they neared the top of the staircase, a shadow rose to meet them, eyes flashing.

Emmerich stopped and let go of Petra's hand, dipping into a respectable bow. “Vice-­Chancellor.”

The shadowy figure turned, and Petra saw that it was indeed Vice-­Chancellor Lyndon. The light from the lobby reflected off his glasses and gave his dark blond hair a gilded sheen. He reached out and shook Emmerich's hand.

“What happened to you?” asked Lyndon, a hint of concern in his gravelly voice. His gaze wandered from Petra's busted lip to the bloody cloth wrapped around Emmerich's left arm.

“My father,” said Emmerich.

“Where is he now?”

“In the floor of your office. We don't have much time. Petra—­” He glanced back at her and grimaced. “—­she pulled a gun on him, and I may have hit him with a gas grips.”

Lyndon blinked. “He's not . . .”

“No, but he's not going to be pleased with either of us when he wakes.”

Petra backed away from the two of them, her eyes narrowed. “Emmerich . . . why are we meeting Lyndon? What's going on?”

Emmerich turned toward her. “That's what I was trying to tell you—­Vice-­Chancellor Lyndon is on our side. We were wrong about him. He didn't know of my father's plot, not until it was too late to stop him, and once he realized what was going on, he did all he could to sabotage my father's plans. There is a reason we did not find any evidence against him. I began to suspect as much when I found most of the orders signed in my father's name, but it wasn't until this morning that I truly understood that my father was the one leading the conspiracy, not Lyndon. The vice-­chancellor has been helping us ever since the trial.”

“But he tried to have me killed. He told you to accuse me of being a spy.”

“I know what it must look like, Petra, but he saved you. If not for him, the council would have had your head. He delayed your sentence so that Solomon and I could help you escape.”

Petra frowned, suddenly making the connection, and she glanced at Lyndon. “That man, the one who's been watching me all these months—­he's yours, isn't he?”

Lyndon nodded. “After we arrested you and I realized the truth, I made it my goal to help you in any way that I could, but I could not assist you directly, not if I wanted to keep my involvement in your life secret from Julian. I only hope that you can forgive me for not seeing what he was planning. I was a fool for believing his lies.”

“Tell her how you figured out the truth,” said Emmerich, his voice soft.

Lyndon released a heavy sigh and frowned, his forehead creasing with the effort. “It was your pocket watch,” he said, raising his gaze on Petra, and she felt her heart seize up in her chest. “The moment I saw it, after you were arrested, I realized who you really were.” The vice-­chancellor's eyes seemed to shimmer in the light cast from the lobby. “You're Adelaide's daughter.”

Petra inhaled a shaky breath. “You know?”

“Yes,” he said with a nod, a warm smile spreading across his face. “You look like her, you know. I should have seen it sooner.”

She blinked, revising her understanding of everything that had happened, of Lyndon, of everything he and Emmerich were saying. She frowned at him. “But you saw the watch before that . . . the day I tried to apply for the University. You picked up my watch and stared at it like you had seen it before. Why did you not realize then?”

“You must understand,” he said. “It's been well over thirteen years since I last saw that watch, and in that moment, when I saw you in the lobby, with your eyes so like hers, and a watch that seemed to appear out of memory, suddenly sitting in my hand—­I hardly believed it to be true.” He sighed. “And then you were gone, and it was nothing more than a daydream. But when I saw it again and held it in my hand, I remembered.” Lyndon clasped his hands over his round belly. “When I realized the truth, I knew Julian had lied to me about you being a spy, about everything, and I did what I could to help you. I am only sorry that I could not do more.” He frowned then, regarding her carefully. “And I am sorry that we are only now meeting properly.” Lyndon held out his hand. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Chroniker.”

Petra felt tears burning at her eyes, but she dared not cry, not in front of the vice-­chancellor of the University. She inhaled a deep breath and shook his hand. “Likewise, sir.”

She stepped away then, her heart racing, and Emmerich came to her side.

“Petra, we have a plan—­a plan to stop my father and this meaningless war.”

“How? You said that the orders have already gone through, that the Empire is building an army of our automatons. What can we do?”

Lyndon answered. “I suggest we accept Julian's demands and wait until we have the evidence we need to bring him down.”

“But if we wait—­”

“Petra, it's the only option we have.”

“Emmerich is right,” said Lyndon. “His father will have you both imprisoned should you refuse. Miss Wade, he will have you executed, and I cannot say he would not do the same to his son. Our best chance at stopping this war from happening is by accepting his terms and working against him from within the Guild.”

Emmerich took her by the hand. “Petra, agree to do this. We can stop my father—­together. If Lyndon is willing to help us, we have a chance.”

“I leave the choice to you, Miss Wade,” said Lyndon. “I can get you into the University, perhaps even into the Guild, but until we have the resources to do what is necessary to end this conspiracy, to end this war, we will have to wait. We have time. Wars don't happen overnight, despite common belief.”

“And in the meantime?” she asked.

Emmerich pressed his lips together. “Until we see an opportunity to act, we must pretend to follow my father's plans.”

She scoffed. “You think he'll let me join the Guild after all this? He hates me. He wants me dead.”

“Trust me, Miss Wade,” said Lyndon. “You are worth more to him alive and employed by the Guild than you are dead, and you forget . . .” He smiled. “I am the vice-­chancellor. I can guarantee your position within the University. With your natural ability, the Guild will take notice.”

“They think I am a traitor.”

“We can clear the charges against you.”

“Just like that?”

Lyndon nodded.

“Think about it, Petra,” said Emmerich. “You'll be a student at the University. You can build machines more marvelous than you ever dreamed. It's what you've always wanted.”

“And you?” she asked, her heartbeat quickening. “I heard what your father said—­if you mean to follow his plan, then you'll be in Paris, won't you?”

Emmerich glanced at Lyndon. “She could come with me.”

“No,” said Lyndon. “If she decides to help, she'll have to stay with me. Only I can guarantee her safety. Away from the Guild, I cannot give her my protection as vice-­chancellor.”

“I could protect her,” said Emmerich. “She'd be safe with me.”

“No,” she said, the sound of her voice surprising her. “I'll stay.”

Emmerich frowned at her. “Petra—­”

“This is my home,” she said, strengthening her resolve against him. The feel of his fingers laced in hers only made the decision worse. She closed her eyes, hoping he would understand. “This is
my
city, and I am a Chroniker. I won't abandon who I am for fear of what your father might do. I have a chance to make a difference here. I'm not going to run away.”

He stared at her, his copper-­brown eyes glistening. “If that is what you want, then I am with you.” He gently squeezed her hands, but she sensed his sadness. She almost wished he would beg her to reconsider, but he didn't. He smiled his sad smile, and her heart shattered.

Lyndon cleared his throat. “I will take care of Julian.” He nodded to Emmerich. “Thank you, my boy, for trusting me. And you, Petra.”

She nodded, still clinging to Emmerich's arm.

“We have a long road ahead of us,” continued Lyndon. “But I do believe that this is the best course for us now.” He nodded grimly. “Now I must be going, before Julian does anything rash. I will make certain that you both have my protection in the days to come. Godspeed to you both.”

P
ETRA STOOD IN
Emmerich's arms, breathing in his familiar metallic scent. The last two weeks had passed too quickly, not nearly enough time to savor their last days together. Too soon, it seemed, they stood here on the pier, moments away from his departure. The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the rocky shore taunted her, waves that would soon take her Emmerich away. She worried she might never see him again, that his father's plans would keep them forever apart, and the possibility ripped her heart to pieces. She might never have his arms around her again, never feel his lips against hers or run her fingers through his hair, never see his smile or that little dimple in his cheek, never hold his hand or feel his heart beating beneath her fingertips. Tears ran down her cheeks despite all her efforts to keep from crying.

“Everything will be all right,” he said, lifting her chin. “I can send you letters and phone you from time to time. Before you know it, I'll be back.” He smiled, but she could see the strain it caused him. “Stay close to Lyndon, and my father can do no harm to you. He needs you to see his plans through. Don't forget that.” He rested his hand on her cheek, slipping his fingers into her hair. “Be a good girl. Attend your classes and do your homework. And build the most fantastic machines your beautiful mind can imagine.”

She tried to smile, but the muscles in her face did not want to obey. “I don't want you to go,” she whispered, her chest constricting painfully at the thought of being without him.

“You know I must. I have a part to play in this, as do you.”

Petra sighed. “I know.”

He smiled sadly and brushed the hair out of her eyes. “I have something for you, before I go.” He retrieved a flat, square box from his pocket and placed it in her hand. He closed her fingers around the small package. “Open it after I'm gone.”

The ferry herald called for all passengers to board. This was goodbye.

“I
will
see you soon,” he said.

Petra memorized the moment—­Emmerich's soft chocolate hair blowing in the wind off the deep blue-­green sea. Enormous white clouds floated through the sky, and seagulls flew over the cresting waves, nesting on the ships and docks. Dozens of passengers boarded the ferry, lugging trunks and bags and waving to those left behind. Emmerich studied her, his eyes full of sadness. He smiled, but only halfheartedly. Already, a line grew in his forehead, and his brows furrowed.

She didn't want to say goodbye, not yet.

“I'll be all right,” she said, her heart breaking.

“I know you will.”

Before she could contradict herself, he pulled her hard against him and pressed his lips to hers. The warmth of his breath, the feel of his lips, his hands in her hair. If only time would stop and let them stay like this forever.

When they parted, she was crying again.

“I love you, Petra. Even hundreds of miles away, I'll still love you.”

She sniffled. “And I you,” she whispered.

The herald called a second time.

“I have to go,” said Emmerich.

With one last look, he walked away, not daring to say goodbye. Petra squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her cheeks as she held the tiny box against her chest. She did not want to see him go. Inhaling a deep breath, she forced herself to open her eyes, to fill her sight with him, not knowing when she would see him again.

He took a few steps farther toward the ferry and then looked back, running a hand through his hair as his eyes met hers. She raised her hand and waved, the permanence of the farewell aching within her chest.

“Goodbye, Emmerich,” she whispered.

He returned the wave, smiling sadly, and then he turned and boarded the ferry, lost among the other passengers. The ferry left the harbor, slowly shrinking into a black dot on the horizon.

Long after all the other well-­wishers had left, Petra still remained. She drifted from the pier to the shore, listening to the waves crash against the rocks, trying to cling to the sound of his voice, the feel of his hand in hers, the blazing fire behind his intense copper-­brown eyes, and all the while she cried, all the tears she had tried to hold back falling in steady streams down her cheeks.

Not until the sun began to set did she finally open the box Emmerich had given her. Lifting the lid, she found a folded piece of paper and a small, familiar brass triangle. First, she read the letter.

Dearest Petra,

Wind the gear between its wings.

All my love,