Ticker

by Mantchev, Lisa

  “Handcuffs this time?” I guessed. “Surely you’re going to arrest me for criminal stupidity, among other things.”

  “That can wait until you’re able to walk on your own.” When he fell silent, there was nothing for me to do but unwrap his gift.

  String untied and paper removed, the bundle revealed itself to be a carved wooden display box. Under glass, the elusive Brimstone Butterfly fluttered sulfur-yellow wings at me with the whirring of tiny gears. It was one of the few missing from my collection, the very one I’d been determined to capture that day at Carteblanche. I could hardly believe Marcus had handed it to me like it was no more than a paper bag of Meridian taffy.

  “I know you collect things of this nature.” He paused. “This particular specimen is from my personal collection. I hope it pleases you.”

  I would have never imagined him hunting Lepidoptera mechanika; the good Legatus had taken me quite by surprise this time. “It’s lovely. I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he assured me.

  “I oughtn’t accept it,” I said, splaying my fingers over the glass. “But I shall. It’s a treasure, as well you know.”

  “I do.” He reached up, trailing his fingers along my jawline before cupping my face in his hands. “But some treasures are more important than others.”

  Wishing I could trade my Ticker for a single kiss—what good is a clockwork heart if I never give it to anyone?—I closed my eyes and tilted my head back.

  With a small, strangled noise, Marcus pulled away from me. My eyes flew open, and if I’d been pink with embarrassment before, now I was surely the color of the fire department’s Combustible engines.

  He saw the stricken look on my face and caught hold of my hands. “I want whatever this is, Penny. More than anything I’ve ever wanted before. But when I swore you into service, I promised there would be no secrets between us.”

  Something stuck sideways in my throat. “Yes?”

  “There’s a piece of information that wasn’t in any of the files.” Though Marcus spoke with visible reluctance, there was nothing cowardly about how he met my gaze. “Something you need to know before anything else happens.”

  The hole in my middle opened up again, dark and bottomless. “Do you know something more about Nic’s condition?”

  “No, not that,” Marcus reassured me. “But I’m not certain you’ll think this any better.” He cleared his throat and stared at the ceiling, trying to find the words he wanted to use. “Calvin Warwick’s illegal experiments were funded by a private investor.”

  The very idea caused my stomach to clench until I thought the bit of tart I’d eaten might come back up. “Someone knew what Warwick was doing and didn’t stop him? Knew, and paid for it?”

  “I had no idea that people were dying, Penny,” Marcus said quietly. “I promise you.”

  Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in the room, enough space between us. I wanted to scramble away from him, but I was trapped by my broken flesh and his hands and the sick desire to understand why he’d done such a thing. “You paid for Warwick’s research?”

  Marcus stared at me as though facing a firing squad. “Yes. He came to me for investment capital. In exchange, he said he would develop battlefield Augmentations for the soldiers. I never had reason to believe he was doing anything else. Certainly not killing innocents he kidnapped off the streets.”

  Numbness spread from my head to my Ticker. “It never came out at the trial or in any of the papers. You hid it.”

  “I didn’t. As soon as I realized what was happening, I notified the appropriate authorities. The Ferrum Viriae was cleared of any wrongdoing, and our involvement wasn’t revealed at the trial, for public safety.”

  All this time, I had believed I was the one to blame for the carnage. For the lives of twenty people, most of them children, all of them dead at Warwick’s hands. But the knowledge that I wasn’t alone in my guilt didn’t comfort me.

  “I’ve done my best to make restitution to their families,” Marcus added, eyes still trained upon me.

  “No amount of money can bring loved ones back from the dead!”

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that every day since the killings came to light,” Marcus said, voice tight with regret. “I did it to protect the men and women serving this country. I did it for Viktor. If he’d been Augmented, he might have survived.”

  “Is there anything else you’ve kept from me?”

  “No.” There was a quiet plea in the single word.

  In that moment, the connection between us was a sheet of glass. I had the choice: grip it and safeguard it with forgiveness, or let it fall. Full up with secrets, lies, betrayals, and unwelcome revelations, I made my choice. “Perhaps you ought to leave now.”

  His expression shifted, so the look of loss traveled all the way up to his eyes. “If that’s what you want.” Giving me the tersest of nods, Marcus gathered up the daguerreotypes.

  I wanted to smack his hand away from the slides, but I was afraid one might get broken. “I suppose you’re confiscating those as evidence?”

  Carefully, delicately, he rewrapped them. “You don’t need to sit here and stare at them all day. I’ll have them analyzed for source of origin.”

  “You will not. They’re my property, and I’ll analyze them myself.”

  Ignoring my wishes, he tied a sturdy knot in the string and tucked them under his arm. “Tesseraria, I understand why you are angry with me, and I wish to take my leave before either of us says anything we might regret.” With that, he exited the room.

  Sliding out of bed, I hobbled after him and shouted, “Come back here and get your damned Brimstone!”

  Finally losing his temper, Marcus bellowed from downstairs, “It was a gift! Keep it!” Then he slammed the front door to Glasshouse so hard that the windows rattled in their frames.

  “I won’t be ordered about.” I would send for a courier and specify that delivery included ramming the box down his throat. Carrying it to the desk through a haze of pain and heartache, I stumbled over the tiniest of wrinkles in the rug and landed hard upon my knees. Flying from my hand, the box smashed against the decorative tiles of the hearth. A tinkle hung in the air for several seconds, followed by silence. I crawled over to inspect the damage and found the glass shattered and the box cracked along one side. The Brimstone dangled from its diamanté-headed pin, but it had escaped unscathed. I extracted the mechanical creature, watched it flutter in the palm of my hand, then crossed to the open window.

  I’ll not hold you captive.

  I held out my hand, and the Brimstone took flight on the next gust of air, dipping and twirling like the autumn leaves that rained down from the trees. Soon their bare branches would be frosted over. The city would don the ice-sequined cape of winter. I could already feel the chill of it in my bones. But, for now, there were golden leaves and Butterflies winging their way free of the city.

  I desperately wanted to crawl back into my bed and pull the covers over my head. Instead, I downed the entire bottle of painkiller the doctor left upon the side table and tore off the bed cape, unwilling to suffer its frills a second longer. Stripping down to my bloomers and chemise, I pulled an ancient woolen sweater over my head, wincing as I jostled my bruises, then matched it with a belted uniform kilt in gray wool. So ironic that an unprecedented sale of Ferrum Viriae surplus garments had sparked a brief military fashion craze this spring! It meant that, for the first time, I looked the part of Tesseraria.

  “Marcus wants a proper soldier?” I said, setting my hands on my hips. “Let’s show the Legatus what kind of warrior a girl with a clockwork heart can be.”

  In his haste to depart, he had overlooked a daguerreotype half-hidden by my bedding. Handling it with the utmost care, I went to my desk and adjusted the lamp. There was something familiar about the glass, something that teased around the edges of my mind. I’d seen pictures like this before, but where? Try as I might, I couldn�
�t bring the memory into focus.

  Probably due to malnutrition.

  I reached out and lowered the filigree mouthpiece that funneled my words downstairs. “Dreadnaught?”

  On the wall above me, a wafer-thin speaker labeled “Kitchen” vibrated with the chatelaine’s reply. “Yes?”

  “I think I’m ready for something more substantial than blancmange. And I need a frock to wear tonight aboard the Palmipède.”

  NINE

  In Which Our Heroine’s Social Circle Makes a Study of Fluid Dynamics

  If war were to be waged, it would be in fashionable style. By the time I finished the considerable contents of my dinner tray, Violet returned with her composure and her evening frock. I don’t think either of us gave a china pig about our clothes, except as a disguise to aid in infiltrating enemy territory. The two of us prepared for battle standing before the mirrors in my room. Her wine-colored voile was caught up with small pinwheels of bronze and black, leaving a peep of striped silk stockings on display.

  “Given half a chance,” she told me, adjusting fingerless black lace gloves, “I’ll strangle anyone who gets between us and Nic.”

  “Agreed.” I studied myself in the looking glass. A careful application of actor’s greasepaint and face powder concealed the worst of the bruising, and Dreadnaught’s artful arrangement of my curls obscured the stitches on my forehead. Given a lack of options and time to send out for another gown, I’d donned one of my mother’s dresses: cinnamon silk, trimmed with freshwater pearls and silk confetti fringe. Mama wore it only once, the night of Dimitria’s birthday party. I felt like I’d raided a tomb to retrieve it from the trunk in the attic, but the scent of my mother’s rose water raised my courage to new heights.

  I was going to find my family. I was going to see Warwick brought to justice.

  “We’re very likely walking into a trap,” I said.

  “No doubt.” Turning around, Violet looked at me. “But we’ll have Sebastian with us, half a dozen covert Ferrum Viriae, and Marcus, of course.”

  “Of course.” I needn’t apply any rouge, not with the persistent flush that colored my face whenever I thought of him. “He left here in high dudgeon.”

  Violet arched an eyebrow at me the very moment someone rang the bell at the front door. “You picked a fight with him, I’m sure.”

  “If we were sparring, he threw only one punch.” I hadn’t told her about Marcus funding Warwick’s research; perhaps I never would. Taking up my gloves, I did my best not to meet her eyes. “I can’t seem to spend more than three seconds in his company without arguing with him.”

  “Or wishing you could kiss him?” There was a touch of sadness in the suggestion, reminding me that her last words to Nic before his kidnapping were angry ones. I started to say something, but she quickly added, “The young Legatus is quite dashing, especially in uniform.”

  “Shut up, Vi.” I smoothed my gloves up over my elbows and buttoned them at the wrist. “The last thing I need right now is the distraction of an ill-fated love affair.”

  “Pity,” Sebastian noted from the hallway, able to eavesdrop through the wide-open door. “And here I was working up the courage to ask for your hand in marriage.”

  “Sebastian!” We pronounced his name with varying numbers of syllables, all of them indignant.

  “Just how long have you been standing there?” Violet added.

  Assuming his best Lord of the Manor air, he lolled against the doorjamb and checked his pocket watch. “Long enough. Might I offer a bit of unsolicited advice?” He continued before either of us gave him permission. “In matters of love or otherwise, play your cards close to your vest.”

  With a last, fleeting glance at the mirror, Violet turned to ask, “Any other well-meaning counsel?”

  After thinking it over a moment, Sebastian said, “Never hit on a seventeen. That, and you oughtn’t keep Marcus waiting. He’s in the foyer and wound tighter than a twenty-five hour clock.”

  “I think we could all use an extra hour about now.” I put the Pixii in my beaded purse and closed the wardrobe. “But you arrived just in time to escort us downstairs. Make certain we don’t trip in these wretched heels.”

  Marcus was indeed pacing the carpet. He’d traded his uniform and iron bracelets for a discreet fake moustache and evening dress far more colorful than anything I’d seen him wear before; maybe he’d consulted the good Mister Stirling in that department. The gaslight slid across the broad expanse of his shoulders and along the impressive musculus biceps brachii that even a topcoat with tails and a vividly striped vest couldn’t disguise. When he caught sight of us descending the stairs, he paused in his foot-soldiering activities.

  Sebastian offered down Violet first. “The lovely Miss Nesselrode.”

  Marcus put his heels together, letting his “kiss” linger an inch or so above her hand, lips never making contact with the lace. “You look resplendent.”

  “Thank you, Legatus.” She stepped aside, and Sebastian handed me forward.

  “And Miss Farthing.”

  “Tesseraria.” The formality of the address was tempered by the note of warmth, an unspoken plea for understanding, and Marcus pressed his mouth to my glove.

  I felt a tingle run all the way up my arm, as though he’d shocked me with my Pixii. It would have been easy to smile at him, to squeeze his hand in a gesture of clemency. Instead, I extracted myself from his grip. “I hope you brought suitable artillery.”

  His expression hardened, and he turned on his heel to lead us into the study where an arsenal was set out on the mahogany table. “The fingerprint on the vase was a match for the lead florist at Scent & Sentiment on High Street. The order was placed in person, but the only thing the clerks remember about the patron is that he was young and of medium build. The search at the gunpowder mills turned up nothing of importance. We’re going into the Palmipède blind, and I want everyone carrying whatever arms they are comfortable using.”

  “No sense shooting oneself in the foot,” Sebastian agreed.

  He might tease, but the weekends at Carteblanche had been good preparation for this. Violet put the smaller revolvers in her velvet purse and tucked a throwing knife into her bodice. Sebastian had his cane sword and two MAGs slipped into a leather holster under his dress jacket. Already carrying his usual sidearms, Marcus secreted a dizzying array of small explosives on his person. I had the Pixii and chose twin black-powder pistols. Pulling back yards of copper fabric, I buckled on above-the-knee gun garters. As warm as any hearth fire, Marcus’s attention slid over me; I tried not to wonder if it was due to the exposure of my stocking-clad legs or concern about my borrowed weaponry. I fixed him with a look, a deliberate “Excuse you, sir” expression that caused his eyes to narrow, and he homed his gaze in upon me like he was sighting a target on a field.

  But I’m no man’s bull’s-eye.

  Letting my silk skirts ripple back into place, I took up my fan and purse. When Marcus offered me his elbow, I swept past him murmuring, “Hands to yourself, unless you want to get riddled with bullets.”

  Marcus’s Combustible glided along the dusk-painted streets, the night air rushing past the windows. Bazalgate was in a rare mood tonight, poking finger holes through the fog to reveal flashes of a star-bedecked sky. Concentrating on the road didn’t keep the good Legatus from lecturing us about his battle plan.

  “We’re only after information,” he said. “If the mercenaries’ contact is aboard, do not engage him in any way.”

  I felt his gaze upon me in the rearview mirror. “I have no intention of letting him slip through our fingers, even if that means tackling him over a gaming table.”

  “You’re not going to help Nic or your parents if you get shot tonight, Penny,” was his firm rejoinder. “Make no mistake, this is going to be risky, and any rash actions on your part could put everyone in danger.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior,” I replied, wording it so that I wasn’t making promises I couldn’t k
eep.

  “We’ll be able to gather twice the information as two couples rather than a group of four,” Sebastian suggested, firing off a series of aethergrams on his own encrypted RiPA, lack of light be damned.

  I leaned forward to tap him on the shoulder. “Who are you messaging?”

  He jumped as though I’d rammed a live wire into his tympanum. “Tesseraria, you just made me tell them we’d be there ‘presemently.’ Kindly cease your abuse upon my person. I’m making final arrangements for our boarding. Half a dozen plainclothes Ferrum Viriae should already be aboard, if all has gone according to plan.”

  “With any luck, we’ll be able to get the information we need without too much fuss,” Marcus said. “I don’t want to cause citywide panic by letting things get messy.”

  “I think we bypassed messy when Warwick escaped.” I held all feelings of helplessness at bay by trailing my fingers over the weapons concealed on my person. “If we’re splitting into couples, I’m with Sebastian.”

  Marcus’s shoulders stiffened for a brief moment, and his hands flexed on the steering wheel. “I prefer you stay with me.”

  Undeterred, I shook my head. “The Palmipède is Sebastian’s territory, and people are more likely to speak to him than you, especially once they get a good look at that ridiculous mustache.”

  “Penny,” Violet started to argue, but I looked daggers at her, and she subsided into perturbed silence.

  “I must say, I’m flattered,” Sebastian said, preening just a bit. “Do try to remember this later when we’re all running for our lives.” Returning his attention to the road, he indicated Marcus should turn at the next intersection. “Here we are.”

  “This is it?” Violet peered out the window as we pulled into a deserted and dismal area on the River Aire waterfront.

  “It is.” Turning up the collar of his coat, Sebastian added, “Best tuck under a blanket. Some time may pass before the Palmipède arrives, and it’s about to get chilly.”