“Linnet,” he croaked. “Wait.”
“Jack?”
Linnet backed off and returned her stiletto to its sheath in her bodice, all the while watching Jack with concern. His skin carried a gray pallor, indicative of pain and exhaustion. The sour odor emanating from his body suggested it had been many days since he’d bathed.
“What happened to you?” Linnet asked. “Where are Charlotte and Grave?”
“They were taken.” Jack slumped against the wall. He had one arm wrapped around his waist.
“You’re hurt.” Linnet moved to pull Jack’s arm away so she could assess his injury, but Jack grunted and jerked out of her reach.
Her lips flattened in frustration. “Let me take a look. I need to know how bad it is.”
“I’m fine,” Jack said. “It wasn’t bad enough to stop me from getting here, was it?”
Linnet sensed that pushing against Jack’s stubbornness would prove fruitless for the time being. “You said Charlotte and Grave were taken—how?”
“Bounty hunters found us,” Jack’s full weight was against the wall, as though standing on his strength alone would be too difficult. “They bound me and the innkeeper and his family and threw us in the cellar.”
Though her heart shuddered, Linnet forced herself to keep a sensible head. “Do you know to whom the bounty hunters were taking them?”
“They went to the Crucible.” Jack closed his eyes, grimacing.
“How can you be sure?” Linnet wished with all her being that what Jack claimed would prove to be untrue.
Jack looked up at her, his gaze sharp. “I went after them.”
Linnet drew a hissing breath. “You went to Boston?”
“Thomas overheard the bounty hunters talking about the Crucible when they were tying up his family,” Jack said. “I was out for a couple of hours, but when I regained consciousness, he and I were able to work together to free ourselves. When he told me where they were going, I set out to find them.”
“How did you manage?” Linnet asked.
“I had to trade my gun, watch, jacket, and all the coin I had for passage to Boston and then to the City,” Jack told her.
Her eyes flicked to the protective arm Jack still had wrapped around his midsection. “When did that happen?”
“I’d been keeping an eye on the prison from the cover of some ruins,” Jack said. “A lone patrolman came upon me when I decided to leave. I was able to take his gun, but I didn’t expect the dagger he’d hidden in his boot.”
“Oh, Jack.” Linnet shook her head. “It could have been so much worse.”
“I know.” Jack briefly pulled his hand away from his wound. Fresh blood had painted his palm scarlet. “But I had to know if Charlotte was there.”
“And?”
Jack nodded.
“The Crucible.” Linnet briefly closed her eyes, locking the pain away until a time came when she could face it. She didn’t let her emotions show, but inside a knife was twisting and tearing through her gut. If Charlotte had been sent to the Crucible, there was no saving her. She was as good as dead.
“She’s not there anymore,” Jack said, reading the hopelessness on Linnet’s face.
Linnet’s eyelids snapped up. “What?”
“I saw them leave,” he continued. “Charlotte and Grave and some other prisoner on a litter. They boarded a Gryphon with two Dragonflies as escort.”
“Do you have any idea where they were being taken?”
“No.” Jack sat down, beating his thigh with his fist. “But that’s not the worst of it.” Suddenly, his voice cracked. “C-Coe was with them.”
“What?” Linnet gaped at Jack. “When was he taken? How did the Empire discover he’s been working with the Resistance?”
“Linnet.” She could hear tears behind Jack’s words. “He wasn’t a prisoner.”
For a long moment, Linnet simply stared at Jack, unable to accept what he’d said.
“You have to be mistaken,” Linnet said. “Coe is your brother. He brought you to the Resistance.”
“It was him.” Jack’s tears were gone, but his voice was hollow. “My father—our father—was there, too.”
“How far away were you?” Linnet pressed. She crouched in front of him. “Are you sure it was Coe?”
“He’s my brother.” Jack looked at her through red-rimmed eyes. “It was no mistake.”
Linnet stood up. “We have to get word to Ott.”
“I know.”
Linnet’s hands were trembling. She didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to grab Jack’s shirt and scream at him for being a liar.
Coe. How could you?
Of the two Winter boys, Coe had always treated her kindly. He hadn’t shied away from acknowledging the blood they shared.
Why, Coe? Why?
And how could she have missed it all these years? Linnet had come to believe, in honesty and without arrogance, that she was the best operative on the continent. But it turned out there was someone better.
“I’m going to see Margery,” Linnet said. “Come on.”
She pulled his free arm around her shoulder so she could support him as they walked.
“Jack.” Linnet hesitated, but then said, “I’m so sorry.”
He stiffened, but to her surprise, he suddenly turned and made a sound that was a sigh, then a sob. Jack collapsed against her. She held him while he cried for the brother who’d betrayed them all, and Linnet shed tears of her own. She had lost one brother, but as Jack cried against her shoulder, she knew she’d gained the other.
They entered Lady Ott’s home through the servants’ door in the alley. The guard posted there, dressed to look like a steward, knew Linnet well and informed them that Margery was in the drawing room. He took in Jack’s present state and added that he’d send for the surgeon. Linnet thanked him before helping Jack up the stairs.
“At last.” Margery snapped her fan shut as they entered the room. “You won’t believe—” Her eyes fell on Jack. “Spear of Athene, what happened?”
“A lot,” Jack said.
Linnet was glad to hear wry humor in his voice again.
“So it seems,” Margery said. She shooed them back in the direction they came. “We can’t stay here—you’ll bleed all over the furniture. Down the hall, the door on the left.”
The room she directed them to was small, perhaps intended as a nursery, but now furnished with a simple bed, desk, and chair.
“Lie down, Jack,” Margery said. She looked at Linnet. “Has Gordon sent for the surgeon?”
Linnet nodded.
Jack groaned as Linnet eased him onto the bed.
“I’m the one who should be complaining,” Linnet said, wanting to distract him from the pain. “You smell horrible.”
Jack laughed, but his face creased and he pressed his hand tighter to his side.
“Getting you out of those filthy clothes should help with that . . . odor.” Lady Ott left the room.
A few minutes later, she returned followed by two maids, one who carried a pitcher and basin, the other bearing a stack of clean linens. They set their burdens on the bedside table and curtsied when Lady Ott dismissed them.
While Linnet poured water from the pitcher into the basin, Margery unbuttoned Jack’s shirt. “I don’t know if I could tell you what color this shirt will be when it’s clean,” she teased.
“Blue,” Jack said as she helped him out of one sleeve.
“That was the easy one,” Lady Ott said. “Now the other.”
Jack gritted his teeth while she drew the fabric of his shirt back. Dried blood had secured some of the shirt to Jack’s wound. He swore when the blood-crusted shirt pulled at his flesh.
“Linnet.”
Margery moved out of the way so Linnet could soak Jack’s shirt and skin wit
h water using sodden linens. Bit by bit, she was able to separate the fabric from the wound until it finally came free. Fresh blood flowed from the deep puncture in Jack’s flesh, but to her relief, Linnet didn’t smell gangrene. Instinctively, he moved to press his hand against the wound again, but she caught his wrist.
“We need to clean this and dress it,” she told him. “That will suffice until the surgeon arrives.”
“While Linnet tends to that,” Margery said, “you can tell me how you came to be in such a sorry state.”
Linnet set about flushing Jack’s wound with water, and Jack focused on recounting the events of the past days to Lady Ott. When he reached the point of revealing Coe’s deceit, Linnet paused in her work and took his hand. As soon as he completed his tale, Margery began pacing the room.
“This is unfortunate,” she muttered, worrying at the pearls around her neck. “Very unfortunate.”
Under normal circumstances, Linnet would have anticipated a sarcastic remark from Jack, but he simply closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.
Unfortunate indeed, Linnet thought. She laid the back of her hand against Jack’s forehead. No sign of fever. Small mercies.
She startled when Margery suddenly clapped her hands.
“Ah well,” Lady Ott said, returning to Jack’s bedside. “We know the truth of it now and can put this information to use.”
Jack didn’t open his eyes, but said, “Would you care to elaborate?”
“No.” Lady Ott’s smile was warm, but her gaze steely. “I’ll send word to Roger, but for the moment, that’s all.”
“Do you think Lord Ott is the best person to tell the Resistance about Coe?” Linnet asked. “He’s not officially part of the movement, and he could be cast under suspicion.”
“You needn’t worry about Roger, my dear,” Lady Ott replied. “At this time I wouldn’t advise him to share this new knowledge with anyone.”
Jack tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but flinched from the pain and lay back down. “Why?”
“If Coe somehow learns that we’ve discovered his treachery, Charlotte will be in far greater danger than she’s facing now.”
“But what if we need help from the Resistance?” Jack argued. “We can’t just abandon her.”
Lady Ott clucked her tongue. “Of course we can’t, and we won’t.”
“But how—” Jack frowned at her.
“Leave it to me.”
18.
CHARLOTTE STOOD QUIETLY to the side while Lieutenant Redding relayed the details of their visit to the Temple to Coe and Thatcher. Redding barely managed to keep her temper in check as she spoke, and as the story unfolded, Thatcher’s face grew increasingly blotchy. Only Coe maintained a calm demeanor.
“Unacceptable,” Thatcher blurted out when Redding had finished her report. “Utterly intolerable.”
“Agreed,” Redding said. “The situation must be ameliorated.”
“Ameliorated?” Thatcher scoffed. “I’ll blast that Temple apart and dig through the ruins until we find that book. May I receive the swiftest blow from Hephaestus’s hammer if I fail.”
Charlotte smiled to herself, enjoying the image of the god’s hammer knocking Thatcher’s head right off his shoulders.
Coe, who’d been relaxed in a chair, stood up. “I understand your frustration. Impertinence should never be suffered, and I’ve long believed the Empire should disband the Order of Arachne.”
Redding and Thatcher both nodded vigorously.
“However, do you think it wise to publicly assail the Temple of Athene?” Coe asked. “She is a goddess of the people. The citizens of New York would not be pleased by the desecration of a holy site.”
Redding looked at him with indignation. “Would you have us ignore the slight?”
“No,” Coe said. “But there are other ways. More subtle approaches.”
“That will take time.” The red splotches on Thatcher’s jowls hadn’t faded.
“We have time,” Coe replied. “We have Grave, and for the time being, that is the most important fact. We can’t risk creating a discontented populace with such a major engagement at hand.”
Redding and Thatcher both shot alarmed looks toward Charlotte.
She’d stiffened at Coe’s words. Engagement?
Coe waved a dismissive hand at them, though neither looked pacified by his vague assurance.
As shaken as she was by Coe’s offhand comment, Charlotte forced herself to focus on the more pressing issue. Believing as she did that the Sisters of Athene intended to help her, Charlotte needed to help them in turn—if she could.
“There’s an easier way.” Her voice came out rather hoarse, but not tremulous.
With a glance of surprise, Coe asked. “You have something to offer, Charlotte?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, her tone more confident. “You need the Book of the Dead.”
Lieutenant Redding glared at her for making such an obvious statement.
Undeterred, Charlotte continued. “The priestesses say they’ve burned it. And I think they did.”
“You’re naïve and witless,” Redding snapped. “And you have no business—”
Coe cut her off. “Let Charlotte finish.”
“What I’m trying to tell you is that even if the book was destroyed, it shouldn’t matter,” Charlotte said.
“How could it not matter?” Lieutenant Thatcher growled.
“Sister Penthesilea said the book was old, but that the words it contained were even older,” Charlotte answered. “Older than time.”
“Nonsense religious talk,” Redding said. “It means nothing.”
“No,” Charlotte replied. “It means that there are other books.”
• • •
By the time Lieutenants Redding and Thatcher departed, their derisive comments about Charlotte had given way to praise of her keen observation. Thatcher went so far as to clap Coe on the shoulder in approval before exiting the room.
A new plan was in motion. And while it might mean Imperial raids on archives and libraries across the globe, at least it lessened the chance that any of the Sisters would be abducted and tortured while Redding attempted to prove her belief that the Book of the Dead was still hidden in the Temple.
With the other officers gone, Charlotte expected Coe to take his leave as well. Then Charlotte would be alone again.
Wait and survive. Wait and survive.
To her surprise, Coe drew a flask from inside his jacket. Unscrewing the cap, he offered Charlotte a drink.
“It was you.” As Charlotte had been reconciling the truth she’d believed in with what had actually transpired over the past month, holes in her knowledge had filled with unpleasant facts. “You poisoned me on the Calypso. You think I’d accept a drink from you now?”
“I didn’t intend to poison you.” Coe shook his head. “But I didn’t have enough expertise with the dosage and gave you too much. I sincerely apologize for that. I was very concerned when you became so ill. I felt very close to you that night.”
He sounded aggrieved, and she noticed how haggard his face had become.
That wasn’t enough to keep Charlotte from snapping, “You almost killed me!”
“I made a mistake,” Coe said. “I know you don’t believe it, Charlotte, but I do not want any harm to come to you.”
While she was tempted to lash out at him again, Charlotte forced herself to pause and take stock. Coe was troubled. He genuinely wanted Charlotte’s forgiveness and her good opinion. He needed her to believe he was neither a coward nor a villain.
“Tell me why, Coe,” Charlotte said in a quiet voice. “Not what you knew your father wanted to hear, but why you really turned against the Resistance.”
He stared at her, disbelieving what she’d said.
“I want to hear it from you,�
�� Charlotte pressed.
Coe took another swig from his flask. “Sometimes I don’t know if I even remember the truth.”
He was gazing ahead, looking through Charlotte rather than at her. “When my father confronted me with the letters I’d received from the Resistance, I knew I was a dead man. I never thought he’d offer a reprieve.”
“So you did do it to save yourself,” Charlotte murmured.
“No!” Coe stood up and paced a few feet away. “That’s not what I did.”
Turning back to Charlotte, his eyes begged for her belief. “Yes, I wanted to live. But I didn’t make the choice for myself alone. I made it for everyone I care about.”
Now Charlotte was on her feet. “Everyone you care about! You betrayed all of them!”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I meant what I said about the Resistance. Charlotte, it’s hopeless. Truly, brutally hopeless. If the Resistance meets the Empire in an all-out war, the Resistance will be annihilated. They have neither the guns nor the soldiers to defeat Britannia.”
“But the French—” Charlotte protested.
“The French.” Coe scoffed at her. “You sound like all the rest of them. The French have been perched in New Orleans for four decades. They make beautiful pledges and lofty promises, but they will never abandon their neutral position. They’re too afraid to lose the colonies they possess. The British trounced them once on this continent, and they won’t risk that happening again.”
Charlotte clenched her teeth. She felt like she was losing control of the conversation. She wanted Coe’s sympathy, but he was provoking her fears.
“Listen to me, Charlotte,” Coe pleaded, a wild hope in his voice. “My father is the only one who can save them.”
“What?” It occurred to Charlotte that Coe might be going mad, unable to deal with the guilt and ramifications of his decisions.
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