SIX
In Which Various Events Shake Our Heroine to the Foundation (Not Garments)
Reconsidering his beverage, Marcus put down his tea and reached for the brandy. He held the cut-glass decanter up to the firelight, sending dancing flames through liquid amber. “I think I need some of this. You?”
“Strong spirits and my implant aren’t ever a good combination, but I’ll take a lemon and Fizz if you can manage it.” Anything to calm my racing pulse, which felt like the galloping of horses through my veins. “And I’ll continue to partake of the food, if you don’t mind.”
I’d eaten another currant bun by the time he handed me a tall glass filled with lemon concentrate and Effervescence. He followed that up with a substantial stack of papers.
“Here are the intelligence files on your family.”
It was a most disconcerting feeling, opening the thick uppermost folder to see my name typed alongside a copy of my passport photograph. I splayed my fingers over my own face and winced. “This is truly a terrible picture.”
“Hardly my top concern when gathering intelligence.” Brandy snifter in hand, Marcus watched me keenly, making no pretense of his interest in my reaction.
Under my picture, stamped out in black on white, was everything anyone might want to know about me, from the names of my private tutors to the sums of money the family owed assorted creditors. Oddly enough, the Ferrum Viriae’s reconnaissance also included a list of young men who escorted me to last season’s social functions, cross-referenced by age and income, with notations of gifts that included “box of cream caramels, imported” and “bouquet of lilies of the valley tied with a pink ribbon.” An entry about my mechanical Butterfly collection was underlined, and I wondered why Marcus had thought it important. When I glanced up at him, I found him intently studying a selection of cakes. With great nonchalance, he settled on a cream slice studded with fruit before handing me the plate.
“Take one. They’re from SugarWerks, flown in daily.”
Fruit and cream were all well and good, but under these circumstances, only chocolate would do. I finished the first tart in two bites and selected a second before asking, “What sort of machine was my mother building for you?”
The RiPA on his wrist fired to life. Watching his frown deepen, I swallowed just in time for him to meet my gaze.
“The verdict is in,” he said.
“And?” I couldn’t have swallowed again if I tried.
“Guilty,” Marcus said with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Warwick is to hang on the morrow.”
Every siren in the building wailed. Dropping the dessert tray, I clapped my hands over my ears.
“What’s happening?” I shouted at him over the tidal wave of noise.
“Get to the archway!” Marcus didn’t wait for me to move, instead catching me by the hand and towing me into an alcove.
Crowding me into the half-circle under a monogrammed medallion, Marcus lifted one of his bracelets and waved it under a Geodesic Spectrophotometer. Pressed up against one another, we stood there for what seemed an eternity until the device recognized and acknowledged his clearance. There was a flash of bright light, a sound like a gong, and then the floor twisted underfoot one hundred and eighty degrees. Beyond a screen of copper latticework, silk-blindfold darkness blanketed the view.
“Hold tight,” Marcus advised. He braced me with his own body a second before the platform plummeted like a lift with its cables cut.
My scream chased us all the way to the bottom. Twisting my fingers in Marcus’s sleeves, I could feel my skirts billowing around my knees and my hair whipping me wildly in the face. A few seconds later, our descent decelerated until our arrival was as dainty as a well-born lady alighting from a carriage. Somewhere overhead, a bell pinged like an oven timer.
“The cakes are done,” I said, noting the internal lurch and resettling of the Ticker’s balance wheels. Trying to keep a bellyful of sandwiches and chocolate where they belonged, I extracted myself from his grip and gasped, “Where are we going?”
“The Communications Center.” Marcus folded back the gate.
“Do you know what’s happening?” I asked. Golden emergency lighting revealed other soldiers arriving via similar transport, the parade of well-muscled bodies only slightly less intimidating than the architecture of the barrel-vaulted hallway.
“So many messages are coming in my RiPA that I can’t make heads or tails of it,” Marcus said, using his bracelet again to unlock the door at the far end of the hall. “Whatever occurred, it exceeded my preparations for the verdict. Damage control is going to be necessary.”
Displeasure was evident in his tone, his expression, and his agitated gait as we entered the next chamber. With pops and flares, lights flickered on at intervals, allowing the vast space to unfold around us. Every possible means of delivering information lined the walls, including a few engineering marvels as yet unfamiliar to a civilian like myself.
“Confirm incoming bulletins!” Marcus demanded. “Someone tell me what is happening down there!”
One of the officers standing by the Aethergraph Station jerked on a set of headphones. “There’s been an explosion at the courthouse!”
Still numb from the news of the verdict, I thought for a moment that I’d misheard him. Trained soldiers gasped and swore. Horrified murmurs raced around the room. I didn’t join in, too caught up in my own thoughts to give them voice. Gripping the railing and skipping every other stair in his haste to ascend, Marcus climbed to a circular platform in the center of the room.
I gave chase as best I could. “Where are Nic and the others? They were supposed to be right behind us in the second SkyDart!”
“They’re on the landing platform.” He spared me only half a glance before barking out, “Get me the city plans!”
Detailed maps hung on the walls: the port city of Meridia, Industria and her surrounding coastlines, the empire in its entirety. Etched upon thin sheets of metal, deliberate green oxidation marked the land masses and a delicate blue-gray patina the rivers, lakes, and oceans. The map of Bazalgate slid forward on a set of rails. As new messages arrived, miniature incandescent lights activated all over the city.
“The Third, Fourth, and Eighth boroughs have checked in!” someone relayed.
Marcus lowered a brass trumpet that projected his orders to the farthest reaches of the room. Though the others couldn’t see it, his knuckles were white from gripping the mouthpiece. “Get the rest of the districts on the wires.”
“Yes, sir!” a soldier responded.
“Numbers coming in from the scene, Legatus!” another shouted.
“A dozen injured and one death reported so far.”
“Get me a list of everyone taken to Currey Hospital, and I want the names of the dead as they are located.” Marcus pivoted on his heel. “What’s the damage to the courthouse?”
The thrumming of the communications machines filled the long pause before someone answered, “The soldiers clearing the site found undetonated explosives in the rubble, and Calvin Warwick has gone missing in the chaos, sir.”
Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in the room.
“All the media outlets in the city have received a statement!” shouted the officer presiding over the PaperTape machines. “We have an incoming message.”
“Pull it up on the Solaris.” Marcus turned to face the massive display, which was larger than the SugarWerks menu board and far more technologically advanced. Where Violet still chalked the day’s specials onto slate tiles and slid them into brass grooves, the Solaris was an advanced magnetomechanical device that could receive and display Aethergraph messages up to one hundred and forty-four characters long.
Painted flaps whirred, revealing one letter at a time.
AN OPEN MESSAGE TO ALL CITIZENS OF INDUSTRIA:
I RESPECTFULLY REJECT THE JUDGMENT AGAINST ME.
FOR THE GOOD OF ALL, I MUST CONTINUE MY WORK.
When the machine finished translating, an oppressive silence descended over the room. The PaperTape machines paused for just a moment. The Aethergraph Station went eerily still. I could feel the pressure of the words bear down upon my neck, my shoulders, my back. I refused to bow my head, though I had to grip the railing enclosing the platform as hard as I could.
The Solaris whirred to life again with a message to replace the previous one.
PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT TO LOCATE ME. IN THIS MATTER I WILL NOT BE DISSUADED.
“Get a communication back to him,” Marcus shouted. “He can either turn himself in or be hunted down.” An incoming RiPA message diverted his attention, but this next bit of news was welcome. “Your brother and the others are upstairs. I’ll have someone take you to meet them.”
I could see Marcus’s mettle tested by everything that had gone awry and all the soldiers looking to him for leadership. Responsible for their well-being and the safety of all the citizens of Industria, he was bending under the weight. Bending, but not breaking. It was a lot to ask of someone his age, but sometimes age had precious little to do with maturity or capability.
And he has all three of those in spades.
I followed the escort, watching as Marcus spoke with the members of his staff, checked the PaperTape messages, and consulted with the operations expert. When the door to the Communications Center swung closed between us, I forced my thoughts away from Mister Kingsley.
Three corridors and an elevator ride later, my escort led me to a private alcove and offered me a crisp salute. “There you go, Tesseraria. Ring if you need anything.”
“My thanks,” I murmured, ducking inside.
“Penny!” Nic ceased pacing before a fireplace and leapt at me. I caught a fleeting glimpse of his face, pale with worry, before he enveloped me in a hug.
Reveling in the embrace, I wished it would never end, but Violet interrupted, “Is your RiPA turned off? I sent you half a dozen messages!” The ride in the SkyDart had painted her cheeks pink.
I unstrapped the device from my leg garter; sure enough, one of the switches was bent at a ninety-degree angle. I handed it to Nic with a weary, “Must have happened in the catacombs.”
“The verdict came in,” he said. “They found Warwick guilty, then there was some sort of explosion.”
“Quite the jolt it caused, too. The noise of it was certainly impressive.” Removing a glove, Sebastian made a great show of tugging at his ear.
“I know. I heard the reports coming in afterward.” I couldn’t help but picture it: the courthouse exploding, the city descending into chaos. “Warwick claimed responsibility for it.”
Pulling me to the nearest chaise, Nic forced me to sit. I expected harsh words from him, but he slipped an arm about me and let me rest my head on his shoulder. In my recollection, five minutes was the longest we’d gone without arguing since Dimitria died.
“Apparently,” I said softly, “all it takes for us to get along is two explosions and a double kidnapping.” We’d already lost two members of our family, and the prospect of losing another two sickened me. As hastily as I could, I told the others about Mama’s work with the Ferrum Viriae. “But Marcus didn’t have a chance to explain what sort of machine it is.”
“I suspected she had a new project,” Nic said.
“I didn’t,” I said with a large serving of guilt. “I just assumed all those appointments were with more psychics.”
When Nic squeezed my hands in unspoken sympathy, his thumbs brushed over my iron bracelets. He scrutinized them by firelight. “What the blanketed codfish are these?”
I repressed the urge to salute. “Tesseraria Farthing, reporting for duty.”
“We left you alone for a half an hour and you enlisted?” Intrigued, Sebastian peered at my wrists. “If you wanted a new bit of jewelry, Penny, all you needed to do was ask.”
“It’s not what it looks like,” I started to argue, before realizing it was exactly what it looked like.
“I need a cup of tea,” Violet said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You just put a crease on my brain.”
“I don’t think there’s enough tea in the world to fix this,” I said.
“I’m not taking any sass off you, Penelope Farthing,” Violet snapped back. “If I’d known where a box of sticky buns was leading me today, I never would have messaged you this morning.”
“If you hadn’t, I would have been on time to pick up Nic, and he wouldn’t have been caught in the factory explosion,” I countered with an equal amount of heat.
Perhaps as a result of sparring with twelve siblings, Violet’s hands curled into fists when she answered, “I won’t be blamed for that. You’d have been late anyway.”
As we glared at each other, Sebastian strolled over to the refreshments cart, poured a cup of tea for Violet, and thrust it into her hands as a distraction. “My lady.” He then poured several fingers of brandy into a cut-glass tumbler for himself and took the conversation around an abrupt but welcome corner. “Just where were you when the courthouse bomb went off, Tesseraria?”
“In Marcus’s office, in the middle of a mutual interrogation, and don’t call me that.” I fiddled with the bracelets, unused to the feel of them upon my wrists. They seemed to contain all the weight of my worry, dragging at my arms, a constant reminder of Mama and Papa and their precarious situation. “He took me down to the Communications Center. There’s news coming in from all over the city. People got hurt. They’re still counting the number of injured . . . and the dead.”
“The verdict is ridiculous,” Nic said with raw vehemence. Head bowed, he attacked my broken RiPA with a series of jerks, bending bits back into place and tightening screws with the set of microscopic tools he always carried in his breast pocket. “That judge is an idiot.”
Still bristling from our exchange, Violet wasn’t letting that observation pass without comment. “I know Warwick was a friend of the family, Nic, but don’t let that skew the matter. The man is a murderer—”
“The man is a genius,” Nic interrupted, “and anyone who says different is a fool.”
My mouth fell open, and I wondered if his ride in the SkyDart had addled his senses. Violet and Sebastian wore similar expressions of surprise.
Violet recovered first. “Then I’m the greatest sort of fool,” she said, as tart as one of her lemon pies. With deliberation, she went to stand next to Sebastian. Her hand trembled a bit when she lifted her cup from its saucer.
I was torn, wishing I could explain one to the other but unable to find the words. Nic wouldn’t have listened anyway, not in this dark mood.
“That ought to do it.” He flicked the RiPA switch to “On” and sent out a test message. Seconds later, Sebastian’s RiPA clicked out the relayed sentence.
I COULD DO WITH A DRINK MYSELF - STOP
Sebastian attended to Nic’s request as I flicked the RiPA to “Receiving.” Old messages were lost to the aether, but I didn’t want to miss a communication from Mama, Papa, or Dreadnaught.
“Send me something,” I demanded, “so we can confirm this still functions properly.”
Violet obliged, tapping out a series of dashes and dots. With a sputter, my RiPA relayed her message.
YOU WERE RIGHT - STOP - YOUR BROTHER IS AN IDIOT - STOP
When her terse observation was done, the RiPA continued to clack and clatter. Soon enough, we realized the new message wasn’t from anyone in this room.
DEAREST PENNY - STOP - PLEASE LOCATE THE AUGMENTATION PAPERS BY NOON TOMORROW - STOP - IT IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE - STOP - WARWICK
Warwick. He wanted the Augmentation papers. He must have arranged for the break-in and our parents’ kidnapping. Not the Edoceon. Certainly not the Ferrum Viriae. I immediately flicked the machine over to “Outgoing” and pounded out a response.
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH OUR MOTHER AND FATHER - QUERY MARK - IF YOU HURT THEM THERE IS NO PLACE YOU WILL BE ABLE TO HIDE - STOP
Jolted from his black cloud, Nic squeezed my shoulder in solidarity. We waited several breathless seconds before Warwick responded.
SAVE YOUR ENERGY FOR THE SEARCH - STOP - LIVES DEPEND UPON IT - STOP
The line went silent just as the elevator alcove behind us rotated open. Marcus stepped out with a slip of paper in his hand. Taking great measured breaths, he handed it to me without comment. Puzzled, I looked down to see it was a transcript of Warwick’s first RiPA message.
“Has he sent another?” Marcus carefully modulated his words even as a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.
I realized he must have run flat out from the Communications Center to arrive so quickly. “Only to tell us to save our energy for the hunt. How—”
“Our surveillance machines intercept anything sent on personal communications devices.” After another deep breath, he straightened his shoulders. “I didn’t have a chance to brief you on security measures. Now, would you care to explain just what Warwick meant by that message, Tesseraria?” Reaching out, Marcus looked as though he would take my hand, but settled instead for touching a finger to one of my bracelets.
He needn’t have invoked them; I was more than eager to tell him everything now. “It wasn’t just a break-in at Glasshouse—it was a kidnapping. Someone acting on Warwick’s orders took my parents hostage.” Remembering the bodies the surgeon left in his wake put a razor-edge on my words. “We need to get them back before something terrible happens.”
Marcus wore an expression of grim resignation. “So that’s the missing puzzle piece. I thought as much when I saw the house, but you didn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t know whom I should trust just then,” I said. “Obviously circumstances have changed. Any more news from the Communications Center?”
“Two more dead, and the list of the wounded is growing by the second,” he answered. “The Araneae team apprehended the other suspect fleeing from the Bibliothèca. He made it all the way to the courthouse and might have been involved in the bombing there. All four suspects are in holding cells, awaiting questioning.”
“I’ll help,” I said, “especially if thumbscrews are involved.”
“So will I,” Violet added. “And I won’t need thumbscrews.”
“We’ve trained professionals for this sort of thing,” our host protested, but she held up a hand.
“Mister Kingsley, I have twelve older brothers and sisters. I am as experienced as anyone on your staff in the art of extracting delicate information.” The row with Nic had put Violet in quite the stubborn mood. She folded her arms over her chest and jutted her chin at him. I knew that expression well, even if Marcus Kingsley didn’t, and he’d already lost the argument. “Indelicate information is my specialty. You’d be ten sorts of foolish to refuse my help.”
When he hesitated, I jumped in with, “She can start with the scoundrel you caught at the courthouse.”
Marcus looked to Sebastian and Nic, who simultaneously shrugged.
“If you’ve an hour to spare, you can try to dissuade them,” Sebastian added. “You’ll get better results pounding your head into the nearest brick wall.”
“I have enough of a headache without adding to it in such a fashion,” Marcus said. “Very well. Everyone who’s with me, fall in.”
I was first in line behind him, followed closely by Violet and the boys. Unable to stop toying with the bracelets around my wrists, I noticed in a vague way when carpet yielded to bare floor, wood paneling to plaster, soft gaslight to harsh white luminescence. Through two sets of locking gates and down a stairwell, we descended deeper into the Fortress. I couldn’t help but be reminded of our sojourn into the catacombs, except there were no shadows permitted here. The bright light pouring from the electrified sconces nearly burned my eyes to ash. Not even the darkest part of a villain’s soul would go unlit in this place.
I winced at the glare. “By all the Bells, have you ever seen anything like that?”
“Imported white-light technology from Glacia,” Marcus said over his shoulder. “The expeditions north have turned up quite a few discoveries.”
“You mean besides the white maritime bears at the Square Park Zoo?” Violet asked. “This is useful, at least.”
“And a profitable side venture,” Sebastian observed from the back of the line. “Would you like a partner?”
“I’ve spoken with several interested parties,” Marcus said, pausing outside a door, “but I won’t entertain offers until matters of national security are settled.”
“With luck, the stiffest of my competition was removed in the explosion.”
As one, we paused to stare at him; though Sebastian had the reputation of a fierce businessman, this was the first time I’d witnessed such ruthlessness.
Realizing his mistake, he mustered the faintest of laughs. “You’re right, though. Never get into bed with anyone in the middle of a crisis.”
Wearing various shades of discomfited and disgruntled, we entered the interrogation room. A man sat behind the table, his effects spread out before him: a few copper coins, cigarette papers and tobacco, but no identification of any sort.
“What is all this?” he demanded. “A tea party?”
The moment he spoke, I knew it was the burglar I’d chased into the alleyway. Tired of fighting with my friends, I dragged a chair to the table and focused all my ill wishes and energies upon a new foe. “Why? Do you fancy some tea?”
“Something stronger wouldn’t come amiss.”
“What happened to the metal cuff you were wearing?” I demanded. “The one you used to disable the Beetles.”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion what you’re talking about, love.” In a show of bravado, the captive started measuring out tobacco. He tucked a mean, skinny cigarette into his mouth and winked at me. “Give us a light.”
I wanted to slap it from his ugly mouth, but I very much doubted that was proper interrogation technique. “Though you don’t look it, you must have been smart enough to get rid of the device. Tossed it in a rubbish bin. Threw it in the river.”
“What device is this?” Marcus asked, his notebook in his hand.
“He was wearing it in the Bibliothèca,” I explained as Sebastian produced a gold lighter and passed it across the table. “It emitted a noise that deactivated the mechanical surveillance. Just the sort of thing Calvin Warwick could build.” I twisted back to confront the thief. “How long have you been working for him?”
Just taking a puff off his cigarette, the prisoner choked and sputtered. “The mad butcher what’s been in all the papers? I never!”
“Just so you understand the situation, I have three of your comrades-in-arms in custody.” Marcus stood just behind me. “Only the first to speak will be considered useful to us. Only the first to speak will receive any sort of immunity from prosecution.”
“I don’t have any comrades-in-arms,” our captive said, slippery as a bar of greased soap. “Everyone hired for the Bibliothèca job was freelance.”
“Hired by Calvin Warwick.” Marcus leaned past me, putting his hands on the table. I wanted to glance over at him, but I kept my eyes trained upon the prisoner, noting every twitch of his facial muscles, every flicker of his eyelids. The smallest reactions were oftentimes the most telling.
The captive licked his lips with the dart of a very nervous garden snake. “It weren’t him. Not in person, anyway. The money, the details of the job, everything came via message cylinder.”
“Where did you receive the cylinder?” Violet asked. Still angry with Nic, the edge to her voice suggested she could have the prisoner’s arms twisted behind his back and his pants filled with leeches if he didn’t start cooperating soon.
“It was delivered to me aboard the Palmipède.” He plucked his cigarette from his mouth and knocked off the ash.
I shifted my gaze to Sebastian, who was standing against the wall as though determined to hold it up at all costs. He didn’t so much as blink, but I knew that if anyone had frequented the waterborne gambling vessel, it was he. Rumored to sail constantly on the River Aire to avoid raids, the paddleboat was renowned for its illegal gambling tables. Official reports from city council meetings always detailed plans to shut it down due to tax evasion and inadequate licensing, but every attempt to locate the Palmipède had come to naught. The broadsheets conjectured it was because too many of the city’s notables enjoyed its vices, so they never let a raid come to fruition. All of this had to be a thumb in Marcus’s eye.
The Legatus must have been thinking something similar, because he made an exasperated noise. “I should have known that den of iniquity would play into this somehow. Could you pick your contact out of a lineup?”
Our captive shook his head. “He wore a mask and used a Vocal Distorter.”
“None of this is very helpful,” Sebastian murmured to Marcus, perfectly pitched to be overheard. “Perhaps Gannet Penitentiary is the appropriate place for our friend here.”
Another puff off his cigarette, another nervous cloud of smoke. “I’m not that sort of criminal. Thief, maybe, but murderer? No, sir.”
“I beg to differ,” Violet jumped in with another well-timed flash of temper. “You and your co-conspirators killed innocent civilians today. You are, in fact, a murderer. One who has declared war on the city.”
“And a kidnapper,” I threw in for good measure.
“What? No!” The captive looked to Marcus for clemency. “Whatever is she on about?”
“Two citizens were taken from their home this morning,” he clarified, tapping a pen against his notebook.
“I didn’t have a thing to do with that, but I can give you names of men in that line of work,” our prisoner hastened to assure us. “Addresses. Just give me your pen and a piece of paper.”
Marcus handed him the requested items. “A full confession as well, if you please.”
The man hastened to comply, tongue darting about his mouth as he struggled to put down the words. Marcus ushered us back into the hallway, though I could see Violet would have cheerfully remained to box the captive’s ears every time he paused in his transcription.
“That was well done,” Marcus said. “We certainly got more out of him than I expected.”
“Not enough,” I said with a shake of my head. “He didn’t know anything about my parents.”
“Names,” Nic reminded me. “He said he could give names.”
“Names are well and good, but I think we need to go straight to the source for information.” Stepping over to Sebastian, I slipped my arm through his before he could make polite excuses and disappear in a puff of gentlemanly smoke. “If anyone knows where a fog-chasing, illicit-gambling riverboat is to be found, it’s you, my dear Mister Stirling. My guess is you’ve been on board dozens of times.”
“I have,” Sebastian admitted. Though he automatically reached down to pat my hand, I could tell by the way he eyed the nearby doors that he was contemplating exit strategies. “But I don’t think you should go anywhere near her. It’s a rough sort of place, for all its crystal chandeliers and Effervescence fountains.”
“You’d have to bind my hands and stuff me in the coalhole to leave me behind,” I fired back.
“I never said we were going,” he replied, though the sigh that followed meant I’d already won. “I’d argue, but we both know that if I thwarted you, I’d get a broken nose for my troubles. I’m inordinately fond of my nose just as it is.”
In no mood for his palaver, I pinched the appendage in question with enough firmness to suggest a very real threat. “Then there’s nothing for you to do but say ‘Yes, Penny, shall we adjourn to the gaming tables?’?”
Airway constricted, Sebastian’s voice sounded a tad less dignified than usual. “Very well, I’ll do my best to gain the group’s admittance.” The moment I let go of his nose, he dropped his arm around my waist.
Full up with worry for my parents, I didn’t swat him away. “There’s still the small matter of locating Warwick’s papers.”
Walking under the harsh light of the wall sconces, Violet shrank into herself; even with a dozen tattoos and piercings, she looked small and lost. “I suppose we ought to check the Eidolachometer cards now.”
“I’ll have them sent to a room for you,” Marcus said.
Nic sidled closer to Violet, but she gave him a freezing glare and marched ahead, stomping her boots more loudly than usual. Nic followed in her wake, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Signal the boat now, Sebastian,” I demanded. “The sooner we locate the man making all the arrangements, the sooner we find my parents.”
Instead of reaching for his RiPA, Sebastian attempted to lighten the mood. Grasping me by the hand, he forced me into a waltzing trouble step with a turn at the end. “I don’t doubt you could dance the night away, my lovely, but there are rules. It’s past time for setting up a rendezvous. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow night.”
We passed Marcus and Violet with a gay promenade. When next Sebastian whirled me around, I could see that the good Legatus didn’t like to see his hallway turned into a ballroom.
However, all he said was, “It’s a complicated matter, arranging the pickups?”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Sebastian said, wagging a finger at him. “Unlike my charming dance partner, I received no jewelry, so I’ve no information to trade with you yet.”
I made the mistake of catching Marcus’s eye on the next turn. There was something desolate about his posture, something about the way he quietly excluded himself from our group that cut me to the core.
Extracting myself from Sebastian’s grip, I moved alongside Marcus. “Another question for you, Legatus.”
To his credit, he didn’t sigh at me. “Yes?”
“We never got around to discussing just what sort of machine my mother is engineering for you.”
“That’s true. We were a bit distracted by the explosion, if I recall correctly.” His pace picked up when he admitted, “It’s a device that will allow us to lift the veil.”
“Lift the veil?” I hurried to keep up with him, both mentally and physically. “You mean a machine that speaks with the dead?”
“The original prototype was built by Malachi Baynard,” he explained. “We discovered it in an overseas vault, but it’s too antiquated to be of much use once a corpse has gone cold.”
“Corpse . . . meaning you actually use the machine on the dead?” Trying to rid myself of the mental image was like trying to stamp out a wildfire with my boots.
“It only works in conjunction with Philomena de Mesmer. She’s the actual conduit.”
Such a project certainly would have captured my mother’s interest. “Mama never said a word about it to anyone.”
“She couldn’t, not without breaking the confidentiality agreements she signed.” Marcus glanced at me. “The larger version of the machine—the Grand Design—isn’t finished. Your mother had the schematics with her when she disappeared.”
“I understand your concern,” I said, biting my lip.
“Duty comes before anything I might want for myself, Tesseraria, and the blueprints are the least of my worries now that your mother’s absence is a matter of national security.” Before I could remark on such a sacrifice, he straightened his shoulders, shifted his gaze away from my face, and tapped out a message on his RiPA. “I’ll arrange for supper and a change of clothes for everyone.”
“You don’t mean we ought to stay here for the night?” I asked.
Violet’s half-closed eyes flew open. “I need to go home. My family will be sick with worry, and I’m in desperate need of a bath.” She considered the grubby state of her arms and my dress with regret. “Again.”
“You can message your families and tell them where you are.” Marcus’s words walked the fine line between offer and order. “I’ll put you in the guest barracks.”
“This is all your fault, Tesseraria Farthing,” Nic muttered. When our escort arrived, my brother and Sebastian followed the newcomer as Marcus excused himself with a curt nod.
Violet looped her arm through mine so neither of us had to walk alone; it seemed she’d forgiven me for our earlier spat, even if she had yet to do the same for my brother. “At least we know that Marcus is on our side,” she said.
“Small comfort,” I lied, thinking of his hands on my wrists. I could only hope that the iron bracelets I now wore wouldn’t reveal themselves to be shackles.