The Guild Conspiracy (14 page)

Inhaling a deep breath, she closed her hand over the folded paper and withdrew it from her pocket, hoping she wasn't making the biggest mistake of her life. “His name is Emmerich,” she said, handing Braith the telegram. “Emmerich Goss.”

Braith unfolded the paper with a frown. “You mean—­”

“Julian's son,” she said, a sudden weight leaving her chest. “He's been in Paris since the end of last summer, working at the Continental Edison Company as a Guild associate.”

“And what business does he have contacting you?” he asked.

“A private matter,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing to do with the quadruped.”

“Then why go to such lengths to hide it? Why not just tell me this from the start?”

“Because I wasn't sure you would understand,” she said quietly. “Emmerich and I aren't supposed to be in contact. His father has been blocking our attempts to communicate for months. If Julian found out about this, he would think it had something to do with the quadruped, some plot to undermine his authority and conspire against him.”

“But why? What does his son have to do with it?” Braith gestured with the telegram, his brow tight. “What's his connection to all this?”

Petra sucked in a deep breath. “Emmerich and I . . .” She trailed off, wondering how she could possibly summarize everything that had happened in those few short months. It felt a lifetime ago now. “We worked on the failed automaton project together,” she said, sharing as much of the truth as she dared. “You've heard mention of it before. It was a restricted project, its true purpose as a war machine unbeknownst to either of us until it was too late. Emmerich involved me in the development, thinking we could work together in secret, but the Guild found out and when I was no longer useful to them, they tried to frame me as an anti-­imperialist spy, accusing me of passing information to Guild enemies. When they came to arrest me, Emmerich destroyed the prototype to help me escape, but he failed. I was captured, and Julian used the destruction of the automaton as further evidence that I was an anti-­imperialist, a spy working to sabotage the project. But it wasn't true. None of it was.” She frowned, remembering the events that followed—­the trial, her escape, their utter failure to stop his father's conspiracy.

“I was tried for crimes of espionage and treason. Julian fabricated evidence to prove my guilt. It was only because of the vice-­chancellor that I left that courtroom alive. He and Emmerich did everything they could to clear my name, but by the time I was pardoned of my supposed crimes, it was too late. I had already made an enemy of Julian. I had caused the destruction of his automaton and turned his son against him. After that, he made it his solemn vow to make sure that I repaid him for the damage I caused.”

“And that's why he suspects you of wanting to sabotage the quadruped?” asked Braith. “Because of the automaton?”

She nodded.

“And Emmerich?” he said, his voice tentative. “I overheard what you said—­about him leaving. There was something between you, wasn't there?”

She stared at the floor, a pang of heartsickness gripping her chest. “I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him,” she said softly, remembering everything they had gone through for her to be here now. It wouldn't have been possible if not for Emmerich. “I owe him that at least.”

“But he isn't here now.”

“No,” she said, more bitterly than she intended. “He isn't.”

“What happened?”

She sighed heavily, a swell of resentment rising in her chest. “He left,” she said simply. “His father offered him a job at the Company, and he went.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

 

CHAPTER 10

C
onstruction of the prototype continued without delay, the first week passing without even the slightest hiccup in production. Petra watched the engineers' daily progress with a worsening sense of despair. Every wire, gear, and linkage the engineers bolted to the frame was yet one step closer to war, one step closer to the discovery of her sabotage.

She needed more time.

Standing at the edge of the workshop, she watched as her team of engineers measured cables, fitted pulleys, and bolted axle plates and gear trains in place, testing each mechanism in turn. Sparks soon lit up the far edge of the workshop, arcing off the hot steel as the team of welders fired their blowlamps against the quadruped's larger joints, melting metal to metal.

Time was the one thing she didn't have.

Three months until the prototype's deadline.

Three months to find a way to end this war.

If only Emmerich had given her something more useful. Claiming her mother's legacy might protect her from Julian in the short term, but she doubted even the Chroniker name could save her once her sabotage was discovered. Taking her rightful place as her mother's successor wouldn't delay the production of the quadruped. It wouldn't stop the war. Part of her worried nothing could, that no matter what she tried to do, Julian would find a way to beat her.

She let out a heavy sigh and leaned against the nearest drafting table, her eyes on the white-­hot sparks on the other side of the workshop. That didn't mean she intended to make it easy for him.

But sabotaging a war machine in a room full of engineers was no easy task, especially with a Royal Forces officer always at her side.

She glanced at him now, standing next to her with his hands clasped behind his back, face trained to stoic indifference. With Calligaris as Julian's spy in the workshop, they had decided to keep things strictly professional during work hours—­no idle conversation or easy banter. If anyone suspected Braith of fraternizing, he would be removed from her detail and replaced by someone far less forgiving of her secrets.

No more working with Rupert. No more mech fights.

No possible chance of sabotaging Julian's plans.

At least Braith was willing to bend the rules a little. He had his orders, but at least with him, she had a chance. He trusted her, misplaced though it might be, and while part of her hated the thought of using that trust to her advantage, what else could she do? Julian had to be stopped. This war had to be stopped. And she was getting desperate.

Keeping an eye on Braith, she edged toward the nearest filing cabinet and eased one of the drawers open behind her, careful not to make a sound as she reached in and withdrew a thick folder. She set it on the table next to her, just out of sight of Braith and the other engineers, and nonchalantly sifted through the file—­a parts order for the second phase of construction, scheduled to go out at the end of the week. She slipped a few pages into her trouser pocket, returned the folder to the cabinet, and slid the drawer shut again.

Pretending to observe the ongoing construction, she wandered along the edge of the workshop to one of the engineer's tables nearby, feigning interest as a few of them argued over the correct assembly of the tension supports within the machine's base. As one of them whipped out a tapeline to measure the cables, she leaned against the desk and rifled through a folder of notes, carefully tearing a few pages loose before stuffing those in her pocket as well.

She started to walk off, intending to displace the schematics from the drafting tables, when someone grabbed her arm and whirled her around, her blood turning to cold iron as she met with Braith's steely gray eyes. Before she could utter a word of protest, he dug his fingers into her wrist and dragged her across the workshop floor, pulling her behind a stack of crates, hidden from the rest of the engineers.

“What the
hell
do you think you're doing?” he hissed, pushing her toward the wall. She stumbled backward, surprised by his forcefulness.

She held her chin a little higher and glared at him, a fire blazing in her gut. “I don't know what you mean,” she said, opting for ignorance.

Pressing his mouth into a frown, he stepped closer and reached into her pocket. “And this?” he asked, holding the torn notes and parts orders in front of her face. “This is sabotage, Petra; this is
treason
.” The papers crumpled in his fist, and he lowered his hand, his face still just inches from her own. “Why?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Why would you do this? You know what will happen if you're caught.”

She stared back at him, betraying nothing.

He drew away with a shake of his head and threw the crumpled pages to the floor at her feet. “You lied to me. You're exactly what they said you were.”

“Braith—­”

“You know my orders,” he said. “I should report you for this.”

Her pulse slowed. “Will you?”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't.”

She pressed her lips together, a thousand excuses crawling up her throat. But the seconds ticked by in silence, all her lies failing to form into words. “Because I'm not a traitor,” she said finally.

“Your actions prove otherwise.”

“If you turn me in, they'll have me hanged,” she said, her heart beating faster. “Is that what you want?”

He held her gaze a moment longer and then glanced away, a frown pinching his brow. “Damn it, Petra. This isn't a game.”

“You think I don't know that?” she asked, her voice rising. “I know the risks, Braith. I know what's at stake.”

“Then
why
are you so determined to put a noose around your neck?”

“Because I'm not ready to let the world go to war for my mistake!”

Braith faltered. “What are you talking about?”

She clamped her mouth shut and swallowed hard, the fear of what he might do if he knew the truth of what she had done battling against the urge to tell him everything.

“Petra . . . what mistake?”

“The quadruped,” she said abruptly. “I never should have designed it, never should have pitched it to the Guild. And now because of me, the Royal Forces will build an army of them, and it's only a matter of time before it comes to war.”

“And you think that sabotaging the project will . . . what? Stop the war?” he asked. “The animosity between France and Great Britain goes back decades. Nothing you do is going to change the outcome. It isn't your responsibility.”

She curled her hands into fists.

But it was.

Great Britain was on the brink of war because of her. If she had never helped Emmerich with the automaton, if she hadn't been so stupid, she never would have become the catalyst Julian needed to start this war. Everything since then—­her arrest, the trial, the bargain she and Emmerich had struck to save themselves—­had only brought them closer to war. And now she had given Julian another machine, a
better
machine, more devastating than the first.

“I can't sit by and do nothing.”

“Why not?”

She inhaled a deep breath and let it out in a puff, words failing her. “You wouldn't understand.”

“What is there to understand?” he asked, his voice rising. “This is treason, Petra. Plain and simple.”

“Nothing about this is simple,” she said, meeting those cold gray eyes. The look he gave her cut her to pieces. “It's not what you think.”

He laughed, a hollow sound that sent chills up her spine. “What I
think
? God! They told me what you were, what you would try to do, and I . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Damn it, Petra, I trusted you! I vouched for you. I
lied
for you.” He turned away with a snarl, pacing like a caged tiger. “I thought you were better than this.”

“I'm trying to do the right thing!” she said, taking a step forward. “Can't you see that? There is so much more to this war, so much more to what's going on here—­with me, with Julian, with this damned war machine—­more than I could
ever
make you understand. I'm trying to stop them, Braith, trying to stop this war. If that's treason, then fine!”

“What could you possibly hope to accomplish?” he asked. “Sabotaging the quadruped won't stop the war. It will only get men killed. What do you think will happen when France attacks and the British are left unarmed because of your sabotage? Soldiers will die because of you. British soldiers. My
friends
. . .” he said, his voice cracking. “Your war machine is the only thing standing between us and the French. Don't you see that? Why do you think the Royal Forces is so desperate to get their hands on it? Why the deadline was advanced? The French are building an army, a legion of war machines not unlike your failed automaton. Without your quadruped, we cannot hope to stand against them.”

Petra clenched her jaw, a knot forming in her chest. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “The war . . . it's not—­you're wrong. Julian—­”

“
Julian?
It's always the bloody minister with you,” he said, cutting her off. “At least he understands the severity of the situation. You, on the other hand . . . I see now why they wanted you under military supervision. You're a risk to everything—­to the war effort, to the Empire, to
me
—­and for what? War is coming, Petra. Nothing you do is going to change that.”

“But you don't understand,” she said. “If this war happens—­”

“If this conflict does turn to war—­and I pray every day that it doesn't—­but if the worst does happen . . . men's lives will be at risk because of you, because of this misguided notion that you and you alone can stop a war. I won't stand by and let you jeopardize their lives. This has to stop.
You
have to stop. You have to accept that this is not your fight.”

“But it is my fight,” she said weakly. How could she make him see the truth? It burned within her—­to tell him everything—­but how could she tell him now, when he suspected her of treason and sabotage and worse?

“This has to end, Petra,” he said. “
Now
, before you do something that cannot be undone. I will not be responsible for their deaths, not because of you. Do you hear me? Do anything like this again, and I
will
report you. I'll have to. Do you understand?”

Petra met his commanding gaze, any challenge bullied into silence by the look in his eyes. He meant it, every word. “I understand.”

He stepped away from her then, roughly kneading the center of his brow. “Damn it, Petra, I don't want to see you hang,” he muttered, the line of his shoulders tense. “I couldn't live with myself if . . .” He dropped his hand. “Please, just . . . don't do anything like this again. Don't force me into that position. I couldn't—­I couldn't bear it.”

Her heart ached at the sight of him like this, the guilt of her betrayal sharp in her chest.

And if what Braith said was true, if the French were building an army of their own war machines, what hope did she have of stopping this war? Sabotaging the quadruped would never be enough. Julian had planted the seeds of war and those seeds were now bearing fruit, spawning armies of war machines to carry out his deception. A battle between mechanical armies would be all the technological spark he needed to fuel this war, to burn the modern world to ash and build anew, securing a position of power out of the chaos and industrial advancements of war.

How had she failed so utterly?

This war would happen no matter what she tried to do.

Panic climbed up her throat as she stared at the torn and crumpled notes at her feet. How had she failed to see the truth right in front of her? Sabotaging the quadruped wouldn't solve her problems; it would only make things worse. But she could not stop what had been set in motion. She could not take back what she had done.

The quadruped prototype would fail, and when her engineering team uncovered her sabotage, she would pay for her hubris, for thinking she could stop this war on her own. She would be charged a traitor, and Braith would discover just how right the Guild had been about her.

Was that the justice she deserved? For putting lives at risk?

She glanced up to find Braith studying her, his gaze filled with some inner torment. She deserved his anger, his resentment. And maybe she deserved to stand trial before the Guild for crimes of sabotage. She certainly didn't deserve his loyalty, or his trust.

But perhaps she could come to earn it.

If there was a way to make this right . . . If she could find a way to settle the war before it began, before her mistakes manifested into outright sabotage . . . She had to try, didn't she?

Braith was right: delaying the quadruped was not going to stop the war. She had stupidly focused all her efforts on the idea that slowing the production of the war machine would somehow change the course of a conflict that had been brewing for decades, long before she had become involved with the Guild, before Emmerich and the automaton, before she had become the catalyst to Julian's schemes. If she was going to stop this war, she had to root out the direct cause—­Julian Goss. If she could find a way to expose his hand in the conflict, reveal the conspiracy that had been building for far longer than she had been involved, perhaps she could convince the Royal Forces of the folly of this war and put an end to it before it ever began.

Not that she expected it to be easy.

Emmerich had told her as much before, the first time they had devised their ridiculous plan to expose the Guild conspiracy, his eyes alight with a feverish excitement, infecting her with the naïve hope that the two of them alone could root out the corruption within the Guild. How foolish they had been. Yet they had tried. Even knowing the unlikelihood of their pursuit, still, they had tried.