“Best hurry,” Daniel said, tipping his head toward the clock. “Jie’s probably already there.”
Joseph nodded once, and then in a rush, he stepped from the lab and flew past me. I turned to Daniel to plead my cause, but the door swung at my face. I jumped back as it banged to a close.
What excuse did they give you? Those had been Mr. Peger’s words, and now here I stood in a cramped hall after the Spirit-Hunters had yet again fobbed me off with an excuse.
My eyes widened. Maybe they were the necromancers, and they’d taken my letter to destroy the only evidence I had of Elijah’s disappearance.
I shook my head, and my curls bounced against my neck and face. I had to stop this foolish paranoia. I had no evidence of anything. Yet.
I pushed my feet into action. My hand automatically reached for the amethysts at my ears, to feel their delicate shapes. I still needed to go to the market—Mama had complained about last night’s bland stew, and I’d promised to splurge on pork cheeks.
I reached the end of the aisle where it intersected with Machinery Hall’s main transept and lifted my skirt to join the flow of visitors.
But something whispered in the back of my mind. The nagging sense of eyes watching me from behind.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Daniel, his face now shaded by a gray flat cap, and a full, lumpy satchel leaned against his legs. When our eyes met, he spun his face away and focused intently on locking the laboratory door. I whisked my head around, scurried into the crowd, and moved from his view.
That had been an enormous bag—it had practically reached his thighs. What was in it? And where was he going with it?
I can follow him. I can find out.
I swerved from the throng of visitors and pressed myself against the nearest exhibit: a sleek locomotive. It gleamed in the morning sun and bathed me in ethereal light. A boiling thrill at my decision tingled over me. Sweat beaded on my skin.
I slunk left along the locomotive and craned my neck to peer around the shiny engine. Daniel marched into my view, hunched over with the sack hoisted on his back. And something poked from the sack—something that made my heart slam into my ribs.
It was the tip of a boot.
I lurched back. A boot. A heavy bag. I pressed my hands to my face and tried to breathe over my heart. It felt as if it rammed against my lungs with each beat. Oh God—what did I just see?
I inched around the engine once more, and this time Daniel was at the exit. He trudged through the building’s eastern door while people parted and streamed around him. It was now or never. I had to go while I still held a chance for pursuit.
I steeled myself and then surged through the oncoming people. They weren’t as willing to move from my path as they’d been for Daniel, but soon enough I reached the entrance and scrambled into the bright sun. I saw no sign of the sandy-haired boy in the crowded plaza. I scanned for the bulky sack and his gray flat cap. Nothing.
Then the satchel bounced at the edge of my vision. The Bartholdi Fountain had hidden him from view. He was already on the other side of the exit gates! How could he move so fast with such a... such a... I refused to think the word.
I scooted after him, but by the time I entered the mass of people outside the Exhibition, he was boarding a black hackney. I shoved toward the lines of waiting carriages, all the while keeping my eyes locked on the one that now carried Daniel.
I had a handful of coins in my pocket, so when I arrived at the first hackney for hire, I waved for the driver’s attention and darted into the concourse. Before the driver could climb down from his seat, I shouted, “Stay there! I can get in alone.”
A frantic search showed Daniel’s carriage leaving the concourse. I clambered into the buggy and pointed. “That way. I’ll tell you where to go once we’re out.”
He nodded, and with a flick of the reins, jolted the horse into a rattling chase. I plopped down and shaded my eyes. My heart throbbed in my throat, and the tip of the boot flashed in my mind.
Then I spotted the black hackney. “Turn right at Girard,” I yelled up.
“Yes’m.”
We clopped down the avenue and onto the Girard Avenue Bridge. It was packed with carriages, and I lost sight of Daniel’s hackney.
I stood in my seat, my knees wobbling with the movement of the wheels. Though the breeze of the river whipped at the ribbons of my bonnet, it offered no relief to the scorching sweat that dripped down my back.
“Oi, miss!” snapped the driver. “Sit down!”
I glanced behind. “Do you see a black hackney?” I pointed ahead of us.
“Yeah—about twenty. Sit down. It’s not safe if you want to go fast.” As if to prove his point, we suddenly veered right, and I tumbled sideways. I clutched at the edge of the cab and slid to the end of my seat. I tried to peek around the powerful horse before me, but my view was only obstructed by other horses.