Of Tinkers and Technomancers

by Katherine McIntyre

  Silas crept inside, his slight footsteps booming to the rafters of this place. Theo wandered along the edge of the warehouse, peering into the corners and down the shelves. She’d already begun the hunt for her sister while he had to find the missing clockwork maid. His fingers skimmed the surface of the crate where numbers and letters had been burned into the wooden surface. In this dim light, they were difficult to distinguish, but he hadn’t come unprepared.

  He tugged out the stylus he’d used before and flipped it to the opposite side before tapping the end. A faint beam of light emerged with the subtle ticking of the timed gears, keeping it on for a brief stint. As he shone light over the imprinted surface of the crate, the numbers began to form specific patterns—dates. Silas’ heartbeat picked up while he walked at a fast clip down the aisles, scanning for dates closer and closer to the current one. The crate would be marked for either today or tomorrow.

  The silence of this place saturated him, coming across as oppressive as his father’s new estate on the far side of town, one he preferred to stay far away from. He had never been able to adjust to the sheer quiet of living amongst the gentry. It was so different from the clatters and shouts heard down the hall in his tenement growing up, or of the men who were half-rats outside, dancing and singing in the streets. Islington might be a slum, but it had been a home that breathed with life. His gaze flicked to Theo. She’d reminded him of that through every step of this excursion.

  He sucked in a hoarse breath and continued to search the crates, the dates running closer and closer to what he was looking for.

  “Do you think it might be among the ones in the center here?” Theo called out from the opposite end of the warehouse while she crossed over to the middle of the room. Her voice reverberated around the massive space. Silas stepped out from the aisle and swung the light on the end of his stylus in her direction.

  Theo crouched over one of the crates, running her finger over the surface of the imprinted letters and numbers. “Intricate delivery system they’ve got here. We might’ve popped a loose gear in the mechanism by busting down the storefront, though.”

  “He deserves every ounce,” Silas murmured, scanning the crates he leaned over. “Not only is he a duplicitous crone, but the man associates with the likes of my father. He deserves nothing but contempt.”

  Theo lifted an eyebrow, pausing in her search. “Might I point out that you associate with the likes of your father? It makes your derision quite contradictory.”

  Silas swallowed the tang of bitterness as he let out a low laugh. “Then you don’t truly know me, do you? If I could afford to pursue a career as a tinker on my own, I would leave my father’s employ in a heartbeat. However, hiring technomancers like yourself to work alongside costs a pretty penny, one my father’s connections and funds allow me to afford.” Despite his efforts, he failed to keep his rancor beneath the surface.

  His hand rested on yet another crate, this one with a date for tomorrow. He rattled the crate to gauge the weight. Heavy. He gripped beneath the lid—it hadn’t been sealed yet.

  “My apologies,” Theo said, her voice solemn and her gaze arresting. Silas paused in the middle of opening the crate. “If I’ve so sorely underestimated you, perhaps I don’t know you as well as I ought to after all these years.”

  “Never apologize,” he said, allowing a half-smile. “The world sees what I allow.” His skin prickled with the admission. For once, he felt bold and didn’t want to hide in the shadows or put on a mask—not around Theo.

  He yanked open the crate the rest of the way and out tumbled several thatches of hay to keep the contents in place. Inside sat the copper automaton he’d been searching for—the clockwork maid. She was folded up and dissembled, with the legs separated from the torso and arms unattached. He recognized the length between bolts along the copper panels, the surface he’d hand-buffed and the wind-up on her back that connected to an intricate system of gears inside.

  “Found her?” Theo asked, sounding hopeful.

  “I believe so,” he said, reaching for the screws around the skull. He pulled out a small screwdriver and set to work, moving with the efficiency of experience. While the make of the automaton was his own, he couldn’t breathe easy until he confirmed the diamond core remained inside. The skull clicked open, and he shone the end of his stylus inside, searching for the gleam of diamond.

  Nothing.

  The spot that should contain a core lay empty.

  “Bloody hell,” Silas cursed, the screwdriver clattering from his hands. Sweat broke out on his temple as his insides plummeted. Taylor wouldn’t sell the piece without a core—it made an automaton defunct. Which meant a certain Whitfield sister must’ve caught sight of something shiny and certainly worth a higher price from another buyer.

  “What’s wrong?” Theo peered over the edge of the crate. “The core’s missing?”

  Silas sucked in a sharp breath before responding, a futile effort to curb the rise of irritation surging through his veins. He’d raced around all day on the hunt for this, only to come up with grains of sand. “I may have exaggerated a tad when I said it didn’t matter if we found the clockwork doll or not.”

  Theo crossed her arms over her chest, focusing on him even as she didn’t say a word.

  Silas sat on the ground. To hell with the dust and grime that settled on his trousers in the process. His father would murder him. Place him so deep in debt to Kylock Industries he’d be working there for the rest of his life. Despite the way the tools and workshop had become an integral part of his identity, those couldn’t flourish while enslaved to the man he called father. Except the diamond core was irreplaceable, the sort of prize they kept on display. He’d been the fool who’d tried it out in the latest automaton to sate his own curiosity.

  “The diamond core cost more than the clockwork maid itself,” he murmured. “It was never supposed to be inside this automation. Because I let my impulse to tinker override sense, I’ll be working for my father the rest of my life to make recompense. A life of indentured servitude to that monster sounds promising.” Bitterness choked him, and even admitting those words out loud squeezed his chest so tight he could have gagged.

  A pair of warm hands rested over his, drawing Silas’ attention upward. Theo inched close enough to squeeze his hands tight, the warmth from her touch a balm. Understanding colored her gaze, a softness he never believed he’d see from the woman he’d exchanged barbs with for so many years.

  “Chances are, my sister had a different buyer in mind,” Theo said, her voice calm. “Which means once we find Ellie, we’ll get the core back. You’re too talented to work under your father’s shadow forever.”

  Silas squeezed her hands, struck dumb by how those simple words of hers pierced straight to his own core. She uttered the hopes he’d kept silent for far too long, of someday striking out on his own away from that man. In the dusky light, her lashes darkened to a beautiful fringe, and the shadows further defined those gorgeous cheekbones. She was the most stunning woman he’d ever met, and he didn’t deserve an ounce of her sympathy.

  “Might I suggest we lug this over to Kylock Industries? It’s not a terrible walk away. After that, I think we could both use a stiff drink while we discuss our next step,” Silas said, fixing the top of the crate back on.

  Theo nodded. “Think you can handle the rough clientele of the Bell Tavern?” she asked, a twinkle in her eyes.

  Silas felt the spark of determination return despite the setback. They would find Ellie and next, the diamond core. They had to.

  He licked his lips on instinct. A drink with Theo might prove dangerous—the second inhibitions released, he couldn’t promise he would bother with a false front at all. “Only if you’ll steal a bottle of absinthe with me.”

  Chapter Five

  Before Theo followed through with her terrible decision of grabbing a pint with Silas Kylock, she needed to swing home. Theo’s mother tended to ‘forget’ to take her medication, claiming t
he heavens above had blessed her with two beautiful daughters and she didn’t want to be greedy. Theo disagreed, since a large portion of her pay went to the serum she picked up from the apothecary once a week. Given the time before their meet-up, Silas had decided to travel uptown to the Kylock Estate to change attire.

  Her heart thundered when she stepped into her old tenement building. Old man Larson at the end of the hall lifted his bottle to her, half-rats before supper. She saluted before tipping the handle of her pistol into view for the lads farther down who’d taken to peering her way. Theo couldn’t help but hope she’d walk into the flat and find Ellie sitting at their kitchen table, mad as hops and telling their mother some far-fetched tale to make her smile.

  She scuffed her boot on the peeling floor, tacky glue sticking to her sole. For the thousandth time, she wished she made enough to transport her family out of this place. She rested her hand on the doorknob and her stomach flip-flopped. A rat skittered past her, the tail whipping at her boots along the way. Gritting her teeth, Theo entered their flat.

  The scents of the rich black tea her mother drank, rust and spiced beef greeted her upon entry. Her mother, Eleanor Whitfield, stood hunched in the kitchen, hovering over the stove as she tended to a boiling pot.

  “Two girls and neither of them here for dinner. Am I to eat by my lonesome?” her mother said, sniffing the contents of the pot. “Where’s your sister?” she asked, sliding a piercing gaze in Theo’s direction. Mother mopped the sweat off her forehead, her paisley dress puckering with the movement since her weight decreased every week. Still, the woman stirred with the vigor of someone younger, part of her habit of cooking to calm her nerves.

  Theo opened her mouth, preparing an excuse.

  Eleanor Whitfield turned toward her, brandishing the spoon like a weapon. “Don’t you dare spin me a tale,” she warned. “I happen to have raised you, and I can see the crease between your brows from where you stand.”

  Theo ran a hand through her curls, slumping into the worn wooden seat by their kitchen table. “She didn’t come home last night, I know. I’m sure she managed to get herself into some sort of mischief.” She met her mother’s dark eyes lined with wizened wrinkles. “No cause for worry. I’ll get her out of whatever trouble she’s found.”

  Her mother’s gaze softened with the sad look that always made Theo’s skin prickle. “You’re too good to us, my beautiful girl. You should be off on your own, making a career for yourself or finding someone to spend your days with, not chasing after your sister and caring for me day and night.” Her mother’s grip on the spoon tightened when she began to cough, the sound coarse and rattling as her whole body trembled. Each one sliced into Theo, a reminder of the ever-increasing illness that sought to steal away Eleanor Whitfield too early.

  Theo scratched her fingertips into the soft wood of the table before she rose and walked over to the cabinet to pull out the bottle of serum. The large bottle left a syrupy ring on the wooden surface and emanated rosemary and coca in such a strong waft Theo wanted to gag. She could only imagine how it tasted going down and didn’t doubt that was one of the many reasons her mother tried to avoid the doses.

  “You didn’t take your medicine tonight.” A statement, not a question as Theo took it over to her and snagged a spoon from their sink.

  Her mother clutched her chest, the spasms beginning as the occasional cough shook her whole body. The bubbling stew threatened to boil over so Theo turned the burner down. True to form, her mother had overcooked the meat and vegetables until they formed a pasty mash with an inordinate amount of seasoning thrown in.

  “You try choking this down,” her mother grumbled while she poured her spoonful and took the dosage. Her nose wrinkled upon swallowing. “This medicine is enough to sear your taste buds for months.”

  Theo cocked an eyebrow. “I think I’m familiar. I do happen to indulge in your cooking every once in a while.” She couldn’t resist the smile that broke onto her face when her mother shot her a glare. A second later, the woman straightened from her hunch and snapped a dishtowel in her direction.

  “I take it you’ll be staying for dinner then?” Her mother’s eyes glinted, as if retribution for Theo’s comment would soon follow.

  Theo crossed the space between them and wrapped an arm around her mother, pulling her in for a hug. “I’ll be back once I find Ellie. You’ll rest up tonight?” she asked, leaning into her mother’s warmth as if she could replace the woman’s trembling with strength. The returned embrace was firm.

  “Only if you be careful,” Eleanor Whitfield warned, her painted lips pursed. Theo squeezed her mother’s shoulder and slipped off to the adjacent room she shared with her sister, hoping her mother didn’t see the hint of worry she couldn’t quite conceal.

  She stripped out of the disgusting clothing she wore, the slight scent of smoke from the aether bomb clinging to the fabric. Unlike Ellie, who tossed her clothes in crumpled piles on the floor, Theo kept hers folded in neat squares she wedged in the spare space beneath her cot. Their room fitted little else apart from one cot on either side and a tall, dented dresser along the far wall with five drawers that they’d filled with memories. Blazes, she couldn’t help the worry poisoning her veins at the thought of her sister. She crouched in front of Ellie’s cot and slipped her fingers between the seams of the mattress, checking underneath and around.

  Apart from the baubles and gilt jewelry she found stashed, there weren’t any notes or flashing signs for where Ellie had gone or who she might be associating with. Theo knew the faces of the lurkers her sister went bug hunting with—after all, she’d grown up here as well. However, if her sister had found another buyer, she might not have taken the automaton to them. This whole operation seemed outside Ellie’s norm.

  With a sigh, Theo stepped away and dragged out a fresh pair of breeches, a blouse in decent repair, and an underbust corset with steel boning that had bruised some knuckles in her scrapping days. She ran a brush through her hair before pinning the unruliest curls. It wasn’t as though she put in any more effort than normal—she was headed to a drink between partners in a temporary alliance, that was all. Heat flushed her cheeks at the mere thought of Silas, which she considered a traitorous offense from her body.

  Theo stepped out of their room to find her mother sitting at the table, leaning back in the seat. Eleanor Whitfield’s gaze was distant as she stared at the pot of whatever glop she’d been making, still on the stovetop.

  Theo slipped behind her and squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll return soon, Mother.”

  Her mother patted her hand, the touch gentle as their eyes met. The same worry reflected back at her—concern for Ellie. It had been the three of them ever since their father had walked out, but through the hardships, they’d grown stronger than ever. Without another word, Theo stole out of their flat, plunging into the stained and crowded corridor of her tenement that had gained even more smudges to the floors this past week.

  Night conquered Islington, and the gas lamps lining the cobblestone paths did little to illuminate the alleys that mutton shunters didn’t dare traverse. After all, no matter who reigned as the head of England, on these streets the criminals were king. Theo’s boots echoed along the cobblestone with her clipped pace. This was no time of night for ladies to be strolling about by their lonesome. Luckily, Theodosia Whitfield was no lady.

  Any fool who tried to nab her hard-earned shillings would end up staggering away with a knife through the ribs.

  The Bell Tavern lay a mere couple of blocks away, the perfect distance from the rows of tenements around here, ensuring the drunks amongst town were well provided for. An older man staggered by, all mops and brooms as he almost bit the pavement with each step forward. The pub’s absinthe-green doors were nearly falling off the hinges from overuse, and an amber glow shone from the windows, offering a cozy view of the crowded public house.

  As she approached the entrance, she caught sight of Silas standing off to the right, feet away
from the doors.

  He had cleaned up from earlier, but he didn’t wear any noticeable flash and had stayed in loose and easy clothes, reminding her of the man she’d run around with in her younger years. He tipped his flat cap at her, flashing one of those charming grins that made her pulse quicken on reflex. The sleeves of his button-up were rolled to his elbows, showcasing corded forearms, and the way his gas-pipe trousers highlighted his thighs betrayed more of his muscular form.

  Focus. She needed to focus.

  “You showed,” he said, his chestnut eyes twinkling with amusement. “I was quite sure you’d take one sight of me and back slang it.”

  Theo lifted her chin, trying to hide the tug of her lip while she fought with a smile. “I’m still tempted to flee the other way—don’t push me.”

  Silas strode past her and grabbed the door, opening it for her. “After you, dear lady.”

  Theo snorted and entered, greeted by the scents of spilled liquor, fresh vomit from one of the boys hunched over in the corner and the stringent turpentine they used to try to clear some of the muck from the floor. This was a place of stale ale and forgotten dreams. A couple of looks flickered her way, and along the bar she spotted Ol’ Man Jefferies, Sally Brown and Freddie the Rat. Sally raised a pint in her direction and Theo plastered a smile on her face.

  The stares multiplied when Silas stepped in behind her. The guys in the corner sprouted scowls, but Styers tossed him a welcoming nod from behind the bar. Theo’s stomach flopped—on a normal night she entered the bar with Ellie, but tonight, she’d brought in someone else, and there would be talk, for sure. Unless they happened to be disclosing information on where she might find her sister, any excessive chatter would be rewarded with a fist to the face.

  Silas stepped past her to the bar, leaning forward in the open space. “Styers, you’re still slinging the suds to these drunks?”