The Inventor's Secret (14 page)

Meg poured Jack’s silver onto one of Ariadne’s palms.
The coins’ weight triggered a hidden panel in the statue’s
hand to open. Charlotte heard the coins drop and then roll
down the length of the hollow arm.
After a moment, a clicking of gears sounded on the opposite side of the wooden barrier. The left panel creaked
and swung open as a disembodied voice whispered, “The
querent may enter.”
Without hesitation, Meg strode through the open door.
Charlotte and Grave hurried after her. The door gave entrance to a tunnel draped with transparent silks that they
had to push aside like cobwebs as they moved forward.
They emerged into a room with a tall, rectangular object,
its center covered in black velvet.
When Meg approached the tall box, the folds of dark
fabric parted, revealing a glass case. Behind the glass was
a giant eye crafted from sapphire and onyx. The eye had
been inset in a golden pyramid and was lit from behind
so that it appeared to burn with an inner fire. Both eye
and pyramid were surrounded by a ring from which extended seven brass arms. The hands were moving around
and around. As they passed the base of the glass box, they
picked up tarot cards, turning the cards to face viewers as
they moved before the glass.
“Madam Jedda is a machine?” Charlotte whispered,
but Meg’s sharp glance silenced her.
“Choose your card,” the disembodied voice ordered.
Watching as the tarot deck was revealed, card by card,
Meg waited until one of the hands turned over the an image
of a heart pierced by a trio of swords and quickly pulled a
brass knob with the word choose etched into its surface.
“The three of hearts,” the disembodied voice whispered. “The choice is made that we may know you.”
Meg pulled a knob labeled ask.
The disembodied voice sounded. “What is the question?”
Unhooking a brass tube that hung beside the ask knob,
Meg spoke into the trumpet-shaped mouthpiece.
“Can the lost child be redeemed?”
Charlotte frowned, but held her tongue.
What kind
of question was that?
She supposed that Grave was sort
of a lost child, but Meg’s wording was much too vague in
Charlotte’s opinion. Besides, she remained skeptical that
some fortune-telling machine could offer them assistance.
They’d wasted enough time taking that stupid wheel down
to the Commons, surely there was something better they
could be doing now. She glanced at Grave, hoping for affirmation of her annoyance, but the pale-faced boy was
staring at the mechanical eye and hands that constituted
Madam Jedda with fascination.
Grave sighed with disappointment when the hands
behind the glass abruptly ground to a halt and the eye
dimmed.
“What happened?” Charlotte asked.
Meg hissed at her, “Be silent!”
The heavy velvet around the case rustled as if disturbed
by the wind. When a figure appeared from behind the covered box, Charlotte covered her mouth so she wouldn’t
scream. The dim light revealed the stranger to be a woman,
but she’d moved so silently Charlotte half believed she
must be a specter.
“You’ve returned, my child.” The woman’s voice was
that of the machine. “I warned you not to.”
“I had no choice.” Meg lifted her chin. “I need your
help, Mother.”

HARLOTTE COULDN’T STOP herself
from blurting out, “Mother? Madam Jedda
is
your mother
?”

The girl isn’t one to hide her emotions. Let her be.”
Meg’s mother cut a tall, stately figure in the small room.
Her black curls had been tamed by a woven net of gold and
silver. A softly draped gown of pale green silk offset her
dark skin.

“Are you so disappointed to see me?” Some of the force
had gone out of Meg’s voice.
Jedda shook her head, and the bells that dangled from
her earlobes chimed. “How can you even ask?”
She opened her arms, and Meg rushed into them.

“I only warned you away because this city is a den of
vipers,” Jedda told her daughter. “You know that. Now
tell me why you’ve come.”

Meg stepped out of her mother’s embrace and brushed
tears from her cheeks before she gestured to Grave.
“This boy came to the Catacombs as a refugee,” Meg
told Jedda. “He was wearing the clothes of Hive workers,
but he has no memory of who he is or whence he came.”
Jedda looked at Meg sharply. “Any illness?”
“None that I could find,” Meg answered.
“But why bring him to me?” Jedda frowned. “The loss
of his memory is likely from trauma. It will return in time.
You risk too much in coming here.”
“I know the risks, Mother,” Meg replied. “But there’s
something about him. I knew he must be brought to you.”
Jedda touched Meg’s cheek and smiled. “And you
claimed to have none of my gift. If your blood told you
to seek me out, you were surely guided by Athene’s hand.
What is your foundling’s name?”
“He doesn’t know his name,” Meg answered. “But
we’ve taken to calling him Grave.”
Stretching her hand out, Jedda said, “Come here,
Grave.”
When Grave approached the mystic, his brow was furrowed. “You’re the machine?”
“What a strange question,” Jedda murmured. “I’m not
the machine, dearest. I operate the machine. Machines
can’t channel the spirits of beyond, and without the aid
of the spirits, the cards are meaningless. Will you give me
your hands?”
Grave placed his hands in Jedda’s open palms. She
closed her eyes and went so still that Charlotte wanted to
hold her breath for fear of disturbing the silence. Meg’s
mother frowned and shook her head.
“Something is very wrong,” Jedda told Meg. “The boy
is cloaked. His past unreachable. Like a spirit that does
not linger but has crossed the void into the veil of the unknown.”
“Someone did this to him?” Meg asked as gooseflesh
prickled along Charlotte’s arms.
“Perhaps,” Jedda replied. “Though it’s unclear if the
act was one of protection or malice. And he’s so cold, as if
his blood is ice—are you sure he suffers no illness?”
Meg nodded. “He’s not sick. In fact, he’s more than
healthy.”
“What do you mean?” her mother asked.
“He’s very . . . strong.” Meg threw an uneasy glance at
Charlotte, then said, “Stronger than any man should be.”
Jedda’s face grew troubled. “There are others who may
have answers where I do not.”
“Who?” Charlotte couldn’t contain her curiosity.
Though Charlotte was embarrassed by her outburst,
Jedda’s smile was kind. “The ones who delve into Athene’s
mysteries and serve at her temple.”
“The Sisters?” Meg cast a worried look at Grave. “Are
you sure that’s wise?”
“I see no other way,” Jedda replied. “The Sisters can
unlock the human mind. They are the only ones who might
be able remove the veil that hides this boy’s identity.”
Meg bowed her head, but nodded.
“Don’t be afraid,” Jedda told her daughter softly. “Remember that they are servants of Athene, not the Empire.”
“We should tell Ash,” Meg said to Charlotte. “Can you
take Grave and give me a moment with my mother?”
“Of course.” Charlotte grabbed Grave’s elbow, retreating into the tunnel from which they’d emerged.
“Who are the Sisters?” Grave asked her.
“I’m not sure,” Charlotte answered truthfully. She
knew little of the cults of Athene and Hephaestus, only
that some men and women eschewed a normal life in favor
of serving the Empire’s patron goddess or god.
Grave’s next question was barely a whisper. “Do you
think they’ll hurt me?”
“I don’t know that anyone could hurt you, Grave. Given
what we’ve seen you do.” Charlotte wanted to laugh, but
considering how serious his tone was, she supposed that
would be an unkind response.
Rather than reassuring Grave, Charlotte’s answer sent
him into a gloomier mood.
“I wish she hadn’t been there,” Grave muttered. “I
wanted the machine to tell me who I am.”
“What?” Charlotte asked halfheartedly as they neared
the pavilion’s entrance.
“Machines don’t make mistakes,” Grave said. “Machines are perfect.”
Puzzled by his strange words, Charlotte hesitated at the
tent flap. “What do you mean? Why would you say that?”
Grave looked at Charlotte, blinking rapidly as if he’d
just woken from a dream. “I . . . I don’t know why I said
that.”
She had half a mind to turn around and take Grave
back to Jedda. Maybe she couldn’t see through whatever
cloaked Grave’s past, but it occurred to Charlotte that
their visit may have shaken something loose from the boy’s
memory.
Deciding she’d best speak with Ashley first, Charlotte
released Grave’s arm and stepped into the night air with
more than a little relief.
When they appeared outside the pavilion, Ashley didn’t
miss a beat. “Well?”
Annoyed that her brother hadn’t bothered to so much
as greet her, Charlotte snapped at him. “Did you know
Meg’s mother was here?”
She was rewarded by Ash’s ears turning pink. “I promised her that I wouldn’t say anything.”
Jack gave a low whistle. “Her mother is a Tinkers’ Faire
mystic? That’s quite a story. What were you doing with our
Meg that she’d confide such things, my friend?”
“Hold your tongue, Jack,” Ash’s ears had gone from
pink to red. Straightening his collar, he fixed a stern gaze
on Charlotte. “Are you going to tell us what happened or
not?”
“Madam Jedda told us—” Charlotte began, but Jack’s
chuckling interrupted her.
“
Madam
Jedda?”
“Jack,” Ash said in a warning tone.
Charlotte ignored them. “
Meg’s mother
couldn’t tell
us who Grave is, but she did say that—” Her words were
swallowed up by the shrieking of what sounded like a
thousand whistles.
Charlotte clapped her hands over her ears to stop the
piercing sound. Around them the fair erupted into chaos.
People burst from tents in a panic, pushing each other aside
as they ran.
Jack’s lips were moving, but Charlotte couldn’t hear
what he said. She uncovered her ears, and Jack yelled, “It’s
a raid!”
Before she could ask what that meant, Grave began to
shout, “No! Not again!” His arms were flailing, his eyes
bugged out with fear. “Not again! Not again!”
“Calm down, mate,” Jack reached for the terrified boy.
“We have to get out of here.”
The moment Jack touched him, Grave whirled and
slammed his fist into Jack’s chest, sending him sprawling
on the ground a good distance away. The whistles’ screams
were relentless, and Charlotte lost sight of Jack as the fleeing mob rushed over him.
“Jack!” Charlotte cried out. “Ash, he’ll be trampled.”
“Wait here,” Ash told her.
“Why did you hit him?” Charlotte turned on Grave.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Grave didn’t respond. His hands gripped his black hair,
tugging hard on the roots.
“Not again. Not again. Not again.”
“Grave!” Charlotte wanted to shake him, but she was
afraid he’d toss her off like a rag doll.
Grave looked at her, but no recognition registered in his
eyes, only confusion and fear.
Charlotte took a step toward him. “Grave, no.”
But he was already running.
“Stop!” Charlotte barreled after him. Within moments,
he was pushing through the sea of people fleeing the fair.
Charlotte kept running, following the flashes of black hair
she spotted moving amid the colorful mob. Where was he
running to? Or what was he running from?
The shrill whistles were closer now. The mob surged
right, and Charlotte turned to see why. Her heart clenched
into a fist. If she’d been a child, she would have sworn demons were hunting her down.
They looked nothing like the carefree fairgoers. Clad
in black leather, their hands were gloved in steel; the top
halves of their faces were likewise masked in polished
steel, their heads covered with hoods. The hulking figures
snatched fleeing patrons from the crowd, tossing the captives back to their fellows. Charlotte followed the trail and
saw the Rotpots looming in the distance, taller than the
fair’s tents. She could find neither rhyme nor reason in the
way the raiders chose their victims.
Charlotte’s thoughts of catching Grave dissolved as terror overwhelmed her. She was barely moving of her own
volition now, but was being carried along by the tidal force
of the crowd’s panic. She had to get free of the mob before
the raiders closed in.
She kept glancing back as she ran, checking to be sure
the hooded men weren’t gaining on her. What Charlotte
saw when she turned made her wish she hadn’t looked.
The Empire’s enforcers moved slowly through the panicked crowd, not only so they could take prisoners, but
also to terrorize fairgoers with seemingly random violence.
A woman’s face crumpled into a mash of scarlet as
a steel fist plowed into her jaw. Another enforcer held a
boy of no more than ten by the neck. Charlotte watched
in horror as the hooded man lifted the kicking boy from
the ground and slowly crushed his windpipe. Behind them,
Charlotte saw the Rotpots advancing. Several of their
ribbed cages were already full to bursting, but that didn’t
stop the enforcers from stuffing more men, women, and
children into the Gatherers’ hollow bellies, guaranteeing
that the innermost captives would be crushed or suffocate.
Throwing elbows and shoving people aside, Charlotte
fought her way to the edge of the crowd. As she was pushed
forward by the throng’s momentum, Charlotte reached out
and grabbed the flap of a tent. Hauling herself away from
the mob, she lurched free and began to run. Only when the
whistles had grown softer did she slow, gasping for breath.
Jack and Ashley. She had to find them. Jack could get
them out of the fair.
Charlotte turned in a circle, trying to get her bearings.
She was still surrounded by tents of all colors and shapes.
She spied the glittering frame of the Great Wheel in the
distance and attempted to use that landmark to determine
her own location.
It was useless. Charlotte hadn’t paid attention to the
wheel’s position when she’d entered Madam Jedda’s pavilion. She had no idea how far she’d chased Grave. She didn’t
know where she was nor how to find Jack and her brother.
As her pulse thrummed with fear, Charlotte weighed
her options. The most important thing was avoiding capture. She supposed that if she was taken, she could offer up
her fictional identity, play the naïve debutante, and plead
innocence, but the way the entire fair had panicked at the
raiders’ appearance made Charlotte suspect that even upstanding citizens could run afoul of them.
Her best course, Charlotte decided, was to find a hiding place and wait for the danger to pass. How long that
would be, Charlotte couldn’t know, but if she was able to
stay out of sight, she could find help when it was safe to
come out. It was a desperate ploy, but it appeared to be her
only option.
Rather than running again, Charlotte took to creeping
along the edge of the tents. She clung to the places where
shadows stretched. The whistles still shrieked, but they
didn’t seem to be coming closer. Even so, Charlotte didn’t
want to remain outdoors. But where to hide? Should she
duck inside a tent and hope to find it empty? Would she be
better off running out of the fair and into the darkness that
lay beyond?
Charlotte sidled up to a broad pavilion of black and
scarlet silks, pausing to weigh her options. A pair of hands
shot out from a carefully concealed slit in the tent’s wall.
Two slender arms wrapped around Charlotte, jerking her
backward into the pavilion.
“I think someone’s lost,” a smoky voice whispered in
her ear.
Charlotte snapped her head back and was rewarded
with a startled cry of pain. Freed from her assailant’s
grasp, Charlotte crouched and slipped the stiletto free
from where it was tied to her calf.
The tent was dim, but Charlotte’s blade glinted when
she lifted it.
“This kitten has claws I see,” the stranger—a woman,
Charlotte thought—said.
Charlotte sidestepped, holding the stiletto in front of
her as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She stumbled over
something soft, perhaps a pillow, but didn’t fall. The enclosure was full of a cloying scent, heavy with honeysuckle
and cigar smoke.
“Come here, kitten, and put that knife away,” the
woman cooed. “I promise I can make you purr.”
“Athene’s mercy, Linnet,” a new voice boomed. “Stop
teasing the girl before she cuts you. I’m sure she knows
how to use that little blade.”
Charlotte shielded her eyes when a lantern blazed to
life. The woman, whom Charlotte presumed to be Linnet,
was more of a girl, possibly the same age as Charlotte,
though her dress suggested otherwise. Linnet’s hair was
the color of molasses and poured in soft waves down her
back. She wore a corset of jade satin with silver fastenings
that rendered her waist minuscule and her bosom overabundant. Her full skirt was black leather, and Charlotte’s
breath caught when she saw dagger hilts protruding from
the tops of Linnet’s suede boots. Charlotte knew how to
use her blade, but she would have bet that Linnet had the
greater skill.
“Augh.” Linnet cast an annoyed glance at the large
man behind her. “I was just playing. She’s feisty! I thought
we could be friends.”
“You can find a playmate when we’re not dealing with
important business,” the man replied.
Linnet’s ruby-painted lips pulled back into a wicked
smile. “Promise?”
The man grunted his annoyance and stepped into the
full glare of the lantern light.
Charlotte gasped. “Lord Ott?”
“I see you took my advice about seeing the Tinkers’
Faire, Miss Marshall,” Lord Ott chortled. “Please don’t
blame me for this shameful display of Imperial bullying.
I assure you, most nights don’t take as dark a turn as this
one. I happen to know that the Empire received intelligence that a meeting of the Resistance was taking place
here tonight. Anywhere the Resistance is thought to find
refuge, the Empire assaults without mercy or discretion for
innocents caught in the crossfire.”
A hard lump formed in Charlotte’s throat as she remembered the woman’s face turned to a pulp of blood,
bone, and teeth.
“So you can tease her, but I can’t?” Linnet complained.
Lord Ott cast a sidelong glance at Linnet. “When you’re
paying me and not vice versa, you can tease all you want.”
“Watch yourself, old man, or you’ll find you’re prophesying.” Linnet laughed. “My services fetch a high price
these days.”
“Don’t I know it,” Lord Ott groaned.