Ticker

by Lisa Mantchev

  “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.”