“He wasn’t supposed to die.” Charlotte couldn’t hold back her sob.
Thatcher smiled. “And he has not. Has he, Miller?”
“No, sir.” Miller stood beside Grave’s head. “Are you dead, Grave?”
Charlotte staggered back. Grave’s eyes were open.
“I am not.” Grave turned his head to look at her. “Hello, Charlotte.”
14.
THE CITIZENS OF the Floating City knew Linnet by many names, but few were aware of her true identity. Winning the game of espionage relied on the skill of creating a variety of characters and having the ability to fluidly shift from one role to another. Many spies performed these roles adequately and sometimes well, but the best agents not only made others believe in these fictional identities, but came to fully embrace their alternate lives. Linnet was always Linnet, but when she became Gemma the weaver, who sold her crafts in Temple Square, she was a purveyor of sturdy blankets and simple but pleasing tapestries. If a stationary post didn’t suit her task, Linnet could go about the city as Beatrice, a courier who could reliably carry packages from any platform of the Floating City to another and even down to the Tinkers’ Faire.
Should one of Gemma’s customers encounter Beatrice, or vice versa, neither would suspect their exchanges had been with the same woman. New Orleans was the City of Masks, but Linnet didn’t need fabric or feathers to disguise her face. Simple tricks of makeup and adjustments in posture could change her age. Wigs transformed her hair. Her voice shifted to reflect the backstory of each character.
There were others, too. As many as Linnet had need of. But Gemma and Beatrice were two of her favorites, and she cloaked herself in their lives most often.
On this particular morning, Gemma had arrived at Temple Square before dawn to set up her stall. The sun spilled light onto the Arts Platform, kissing the feet of Athene’s statue, which towered above her temple, as Gemma finished arranging her pyramid of rugs. She set up easels upon which to display her tapestries, all the while taking note of the petitioners who approached the holy site with solemn steps. Gemma’s fellow merchants were of less interest, only because they were familiar. At the moment, none of them were engaged in activities that intersected her own aims.
One of Gemma’s regular customers waddled up to the stall. Lilian waddled because she was imposingly pregnant. As burdened as she was, her face held the brightness of a sunflower.
“Good morning, Gemma,” Lilian said. She braced her lower back with her palms as she looked over Gemma’s wares.
“Good morning, Lilian.”
“Do you ever take custom orders?” Lilian reached out to trace the edge of a tapestry.
Gemma left her chair and picked up parchment and quill. “For an extra fee.”
“I want something for the nursery,” Lilian said. “I thought perhaps a pastoral scene. Rabbits and fawns. Maybe a unicorn.”
Gemma had a warm smile and tinkling laugh. Both brought her repeat customers. Now she glanced at Lilian’s swollen belly.
“I’d be happy to sketch a design and offer a price,” Gemma said. “But I don’t know if a tapestry would be ready for the room before the child is sleeping in it.”
Lilian patted her stomach with a sigh. “That’s true. Let me think on it.”
“So you didn’t come to the square this morning to order a tapestry?” Gemma teased.
“I seek the Lady’s blessing,” Lilian said, her smile becoming more thoughtful. “My hour of delivery will soon be here. I want her to watch over me.”
“Athene watches over all women in childbirth.” Gemma placed her hands over her heart in deference to the goddess.
“I know.” Lilian became sheepish. “But I thought it wouldn’t hurt to come ask in person.”
Gemma offered a comforting smile again. “Yes, of course.”
The sound of metal striking stone drew Lilian’s attention away. Gemma looked toward the noise as well. What she saw made her brow furrow, but she kept her eyes clear of anything but curiosity. A steam-carriage drawn by a mechanical horse had arrived just outside the square. Three soldiers exited the carriage, followed by a fourth person whose identity was hidden by a long hooded cloak.
“A military detachment,” Lilian said. “How odd.”
The quartet walked swiftly from the carriage across Temple Square. Two of the soldiers stopped and took up sentry posts at the base of the steps. The third soldier, obviously female, accompanied the cloaked figure, who must have been female as well, into the Temple.
“What do you think soldiers petition the goddess for?” Lilian asked.
Gemma shrugged. “She is a goddess of war.”
“Mmmmm . . .” Lilian had already begun to move away. “I hope this doesn’t mean a longer wait for the rest of us. I’d better go take my place in line.”
Gemma waved her good-byes. Her gaze returned to the soldiers outside the Temple. A visit from the military wasn’t of great interest to Gemma. But it concerned Linnet very much.
Gemma went to the cart that stored her extra inventory. She drew out a tapestry woven of royal blue and gold, draping it over the floral tapestry that had been facing the square. When one of Ott’s agents happened by, they would recognize her signal and the situation at the Temple would be investigated.
While Gemma continued to ply her crafts in the square, Linnet could wait. If a missive with new intelligence was delivered, Gemma could close down her stall, allowing Linnet to act on orders received.
15.
PETITIONERS AND SUPPLICANTS stood in an uneven line that climbed the Temple’s stairs and extended into the courtyard. Women of all ages sought the goddess’s blessing. Many of those waiting were with child, and some were visibly ill, while others bore no outward signs of the reason for their pilgrimage that day.
The Empire showed no regard for the time and troubles of the petitioners, at least not as demonstrated by the actions of Lieutenant Redding, who hustled Charlotte to the front of the line, passing through the courtyard into the vestibule.
The air in the Temple of Athene was redolent with incense; the light, soft pinks and grays. Somewhere in a distant chamber, women lifted their voices in song. Their melodies reached the vestibule like bittersweet lamentations of ghosts. Four priestesses had taken up posts in front of the sanctuary door. They were seated in pairs, two Sisters each at two tables on either side of the entrance. Temple visitors registered their names and the reasons they sought audience with one priestess, then provided an appropriate offering to the second.
Charlotte doubted Lieutenant Redding had an offering for the Sisters. As the officer stepped to the front of the line with Charlotte in tow, disapproving mutters floated behind them, but none dared voice an actual objection to the military exerting its authority.
The priestess before whom Lieutenant Redding stood gave a disapproving frown. “How may we be of service?”
“We seek the wisdom of the Lady of Mysteries.” Redding spoke with a solemnity that made the priestess’s eyebrows lift.
“Your names?”
Redding stepped closer, leaning over the table. “The Empire would prefer this audience go unrecorded.”
The priestess set down her quill, frowning again. She spoke to the other Sister at the table.
“Sister Penelope, would you please ask Sister Leda to come to the vestibule?”
“Yes, Sister Annelle.”
Her name struck a note of recognition with Charlotte. Sister Annelle had been present at Charlotte’s last visit to the Temple. That realization brought with it both hope and anxiety.
Lieutenant Redding shifted on her feet, restless and irritated by the delay. For Charlotte, however, any extra attention drawn to their visit made the success of this journey more likely.
Causing a scene or attempting escape was out of the question. If Charlotte pleaded for asylum, the Sisters might try to grant her pr
otection, but she had no doubt that Redding would use as much force as required to retrieve her prisoner—even to the point of violating the sanctity of the Temple itself by bringing a detachment of soldiers into the sacred space. Charlotte wasn’t willing to put priestesses or petitioners in harm’s way. Fortunately, she didn’t need to fight or flee to accomplish what she desired. All she needed was to be seen.
Meg had planned to return to the Temple, and Charlotte could only hope that her friend was still among the Sisters. Not only that, but that somehow in the course of this visit Meg would discover Charlotte’s presence and convey that information to Linnet and Lachance.
Murmurs of displeasure grew louder at their backs, making Charlotte smile. Rumors would abound after this visit. Even if she wasn’t fortunate enough to cross paths with Meg, hopefully word of the military’s disruption of Temple business would fly swiftly through the city to reach the ears of Margery Ott. Lady Ott would certainly investigate the matter, and while that route would prove longer than an encounter with Meg, it could produce the same end result.
Whatever rumblings trailed them could not match Lieutenant Redding’s growing displeasure. Her expression made it obvious that she was unaccustomed to anyone balking at or delaying her orders. As they waited for Sister Leda to appear, the officer’s gaze swept over the pronaos, taking in the statuary, the burning incense, the contemplative Sisters. Her face showed only disdain.
Charlotte noticed Sister Annelle observing Lieutenant Redding’s assessment of the Temple. While the priestess’s face remained serene, her eyes were hard as steel. Disapproval wasn’t the province of the military alone, it seemed.
Sister Penelope emerged from the cella, followed by a priestess whose face bore the lines of many years and whose silver hair still bore a scattering of bronze threads woven into the long braid that hung down her back. Charlotte was surprised when four more priestesses came through the door to flank their leader.
“Sister Leda, I assume.” Lieutenant Redding spoke before either Sister Penelope or Sister Annelle could make a formal introduction. “My name is Lieutenant Redding.”
“I am Sister Leda.” Her voice was quiet but had resonance like distant, rumbling thunder. “I understand you’ve requested a visitation regarding the deeper mysteries but have made a further request that this audience remain absent from Temple records.”
Lieutenant Redding deigned to incline her head. “It is a matter of security. And of grave import to the Empire.”
Sister Leda responded with a tight-lipped smile. “Of course the house of the goddess holds the Empire and its imperatives in esteem. But I’m afraid we have a matter of our own that must be addressed before anything else.”
Leda gestured to Charlotte without looking at her. “Are you aware that this woman is wanted for questioning in regard to the deaths of two Sisters?”
Charlotte blanched as fear skittered down her spine. The Order of Arachne. Meg had seemed confident that she’d be able to resolve that incident. Had she misjudged the inhabitants of the Temple? Was Meg a prisoner of the Sisters now?
“I was not aware.” Redding glared at Charlotte. “I am sorry for your loss, but how do you know my companion was involved?”
“We are quite adept at gathering information,” Leda replied.
The lieutenant lifted an eyebrow. “Given that Athene’s priestesses are not usually prone to violence, I must assume that the women involved were part of the Order of Arachne.”
Leda frowned, but nodded.
“I must then also remind you that the Empire does not officially recognize the legitimacy of this group,” Redding said. “Its activities have been suspect in the past, and interfering with my business here today will most definitely invite closer scrutiny by the colonial government. It could be decided that the Order should be disbanded. Its rites forbidden.”
Several of the priestesses drew sharp breaths.
Sister Leda’s eyes flashed, but she spoke calmly. “Athene is a warrior goddess. Would the Empire deny this aspect of her divinity? Are your superior officers so bold?”
“All soldiers pray to Athene before going to battle and beg her mercy when death draws near,” Redding answered. “But the Order of Arachne has been deemed a cult within the greater faith. Extreme iterations of religion are frowned upon by the Empire as they threaten the stability of society.”
“It is clear we will not resolve this impasse.” Sister Leda lifted her hand.
Wordlessly, the accompaniment of priestesses returned to the cella.
“I will send a formal inquiry to your superiors,” Leda told Redding. “But I must insist that your petition be recorded.”
“Surely you can make an exception.” Redding’s smile was more a baring of her teeth than anything else.
“Consider this.” The serenity of Sister Leda’s voice didn’t alter. “All of history is a single tapestry. Our stories, our lives, our deaths form a pattern on the great loom of our lady, Athene. To omit any part of this record will mar the pattern.”
Lieutenant Redding looked as if she was considering putting the priestess under arrest.
Sister Leda continued, “You have all our assurances that this record is one of the most guarded secrets of the Temple. The loom of history is woven to honor the goddess. Its vast knowledge is not retained for the purposes of men.”
Redding gazed at the priestess for another minute, then she relaxed slightly. “Very well. I put my trust in your discretion.”
“Of course, Lieutenant.” Sister Leda turned a benevolent smile on her fellow priestesses. “Sisters Annelle and Penelope, I will accommodate the military’s special request. Please continue to receive regular petitioners in the cella.”
“Yes, Sister Leda.” Penelope and Annelle spoke in unison.
Lieutenant Redding barely concealed her disgust at what she viewed as obsequious behavior.
“If you’d follow me, Lieutenant.” Sister Leda began to walk away.
Lieutenant Redding and Charlotte followed Sister Leda from the pronaos around the perimeter of the cella. They had almost reached the far end of the Temple when Sister Leda took an abrupt turn to the right. They passed through an alcove and into a narrow, arched corridor. Charlotte gasped in wonder. In what appeared an impossibility, water streamed from the peak of the corridor and followed the curves of the walls. Yet somehow nary a drop spilled onto the ground. The rivulets clung to the marble surface, filling the air with the sound of a river rushing past.
Charlotte heard a sniff of disdain from Lieutenant Redding, as though the officer had decided Sister Leda’s choice of location for their meeting had been made with chicanery in mind. That the corridor was intended to impart a message Charlotte didn’t doubt, but in her mind this was no mummery, rather a demonstration of true power.
The corridor ended at a door, which had been carved of ebony. It depicted the story of Arachne: a young woman before a loom, her tears and despair, her lifeless body hanging from a tree, her transformation into a spider, and finally, the exquisite beauty of that spider’s web.
Charlotte balked at the sight. She hadn’t been surprised that the Temple priestesses had resisted Lieutenant Redding’s assertion of military authority, but if they were being taken to the Order of Arachne, could anything other than death await? Would the Sisters of the Temple have the gall to murder an officer of the Empire?
Suddenly, Charlotte froze.
What if Sister Leda’s route had nothing to do with the Empire or Lieutenant Redding’s demand of a solitary audience? Charlotte had killed one of the Order of Arachne, and the Sisters wanted to detain her. Perhaps Sister Leda hadn’t given in to Redding at all, instead creating an opportunity to isolate Charlotte.
She stared at the door, more frightened than she’d been even in her cell at the Crucible. She had no weapons. No means for defense. And she didn’t believe for an instant that Lie
utenant Redding had the savvy or skill to defeat one of the Temple’s assassins.
Then Sister Leda’s hand was clasping Charlotte’s.
“Be not afraid, my daughter.” Sister Leda smiled. “The wisdom of the goddess guides you.”
Charlotte’s fear melted as she looked into the priestess’s gray eyes. It was one of the strangest sensations Charlotte had ever experienced. All at once, she knew without a doubt that the blood of the assassin stained her hands and clothes as if she’d struck the killing blow right there in front of Sister Leda and Lieutenant Redding. Yet in the same instant, Charlotte knew that she hadn’t been condemned. Somehow, a deep understanding of all that had taken place had suffused not only Sister Leda’s mind, but the very walls of the Temple.
“Thank you,” Charlotte murmured.
Lieutenant Redding’s glance at this exchange was irritated and dismissive.
She’s blind to everything that’s real in this place, Charlotte thought. Her mind is forever closed.
To her surprise, Charlotte was filled with pity for Lieutenant Redding. Even more startling was the unwavering certainty that, no matter what transpired behind this door, Lieutenants Redding and Thatcher, along with Tinker Miller, would never re-create what Hackett Bromley had accomplished. Even if Bromley’s actions had been misguided, they had been grounded in belief, love, and profound grief. In desperation. The authenticity, the power of his intent, lay at the center of everything he’d done to transform Timothy into Grave. And that intent could not be replicated.
This knowledge came to Charlotte as both relief and fear. Relief because it meant there would never be an army of indestructible replicas of Grave. Fear because without the possibility of that manufactured power, what reason did the Empire have to preserve Grave or Charlotte? If it was discovered that they served no purpose, how much longer would they be allowed to live?
Fear took Charlotte hostage once more. She believed that she wouldn’t be held accountable for the death of one of the Order of Arachne, but would the Sisters’ wisdom extend so far as to protect Charlotte and Grave by keeping the impossibility of repeating Hackett Bromley’s experiment a secret?
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