Shadow of the War Machine (The Secret Order)

by Kristin Bailey

I stood. That was it. It all made sense now. I had wondered about the reason for the sudden shift in tactics when I’d become a student at the Academy. Up until that point Honoré had been willing to kill me to get the key. After that point, it hadn’t been merely the key he’d wanted. It had been me. If they couldn’t force my grandfather to use the key, they needed an upper hand.

  I was the pawn that had put the king in check.

  “Dammit,” I whispered.

  “Margaret, I raised you better,” Papa scolded. Then he rubbed his face and let out a resigned huff. “Though, I can’t say it isn’t fitting in this situation.”

  I paced, unable to contain the restlessness gnawing at my mind. So much weighed upon our shoulders. There was only one thing I knew for certain. “No matter what, we cannot unlock the juggernaut. It doesn’t matter what they do to us. Those plans must never come to light.”

  War was bad enough, but the slaughter that would come should the juggernaut be unleashed would stain the world for generations. It could turn the tide of the war in favor of those keeping people like John and Gabrielle in slavery. Thousands, if not millions, of lives were at stake.

  Papa’s lips grew thin. He gave a subtle nod, though there was no mistaking the worry in his gaze. He placed his hand on his knee and braced himself to rise. The bones stood out on the back of his hand, and cuts and bruises had turned dark and discolored against his pale skin.

  His hand shook as he pushed himself to standing. He straightened to his full height, and then his head fell forward. He stumbled and crashed against the bed before collapsing.

  “Papa!” I ran to his side.

  He blinked as he struggled to sit up. “I’m fine. I’m quite fine.”

  He didn’t look fine. He was wan and pale. It couldn’t have been healthy for him to be so thin.

  He wasn’t the towering, invincible man I remembered from my childhood. The man that stood before me seemed like a shadow compared with the man he had once been.

  “You’re exhausted.” I helped him up by the arm and onto the bed. “You need your rest. You have to save your strength.”

  “I can’t rest,” he said, even as I pushed him back against the pillow. “I have to keep watch.” His voice sounded thin.

  I gathered his hand in mine. “Let me take a turn at the watch,” I said. “Get some sleep now. I’ll wake you if there’s need.”

  It took a long time for Papa to settle down. He didn’t seem to want to stop looking at me. He fought his exhaustion as his chin dipped toward his chest. I continued to hold his hand, not wanting to break the connection between us until he finally gave in. His breathing became even, and I was certain he had fallen into a deep sleep, perhaps for the first time in years.

  “I’ll watch over you,” I said as I placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. I realized suddenly that those words were what my mother used to say to me when I had too many worries and couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t ready to be the one to bear the weight of it all, but as I looked at Papa, I knew he could not. I had to find the strength in me somewhere. He was my family. I would be strong for him.

  I sat at the foot of the bed, but I couldn’t still my mind. I wondered how many endless days and nights Papa had stared at the cage holding him prisoner. If there was a weakness in it, he would have found it by now. Papa was a mechanical genius, and I had no doubt of his desperation to escape. I felt it all too acutely. Time ticked on, punctuated by the rattling saw blades.

  The blades spun through the bars of the cage, an endless, deadly ballet of moving parts. The rest of the walls were solid stone blocks. Trying to burrow through them would be as useless as bashing my head against them. The only way out was through the door in the prison bars, and yet those perpetually moving saw blades had me at an impasse. With the cage door shut, the tracks aligned to allow the saws to move freely over the bars of the door. I couldn’t touch or inspect the bars in any way so long as I feared losing my hand to those saws.

  I had to stop the saws. Papa was fading, and we wouldn’t have long before our captors returned. There had to be a way to dismantle the cage somehow. It was an extremely complex structure, between the bars and the tracks for the spinning blades. Complex structures always had weaknesses. I needed enough time to find that weakness and exploit it. I had to try even if it seemed impossible.

  I walked straight toward my opponent. The blades gleamed in reply. The light from the lantern flickered. There was a strange beauty to the blades, in spite of their macabre nature. They almost looked like falling snowflakes as they moved along the tracks.

  If I could stop the saws, that would give me time to figure out how to open the door. I needed something I could use. I had only once felt this trapped in my life. I’d been locked in a trunk, and I’d managed to escape by breaking the hinges on the lid with the tools I’d had tucked in my pockets.

  This time I had no tools, for I had no pockets. My only resources lay upon my person, and my clothing wasn’t even my own. It was Marie Marguerite’s and far too confining for my tastes.

  They weren’t my clothes.

  I looked down at my skirts. I wore a cage crinoline! Thank the Lord for impractical fashion. It was modest, but it would do. Though I had to contort myself in an unseemly way, I managed to struggle free from the cage that held my skirts aloft. Working quickly, I ripped and tore at the crinoline until I had freed one of the bands of steel running through the hooped skirt. With the fabric covering it, it would cause quite a muddle if it tangled up with the saws.

  At least, I hoped it would. The steel bands in the crinoline were meant to be flexible and light, not strong. I didn’t know if the band would hold, but it was the best idea I had.

  I bent part of the hoop from the skirt into a small loop and brought it toward the largest of the blades as it moved to the right. I could feel my heart fluttering in my throat. If I weren’t careful, I could end this venture with no fingers. The loop had barely touched the blade when the teeth caught it and jerked my hand toward the saw. I let go, falling backward as the metal strand from the hoop whipped wildly about. I ducked and it nearly slashed me in the face.

  A grinding noise filled our small chamber, and the gears and saw blade strained. Still, the machine pulled more and more of the metal into it, devouring the band as bits of metal and fabric flew out from the saw teeth. I covered my head until the grinding squeal eased to a constant high whine and the loud cracks and snaps of whipping steel slapping against the metal cage bars ceased.

  Lifting my head, I peered cautiously through my fingers. The large saw blade trembled as it pulled against the binding I had inflicted upon it. Pushing myself from the floor, I held my breath and waited for the bonds to snap and the blade to start whirring again. The rest of the saws vibrated as well. Some turned as if trying to cheat the constraints that tied all the blades mechanically together. They slowed to a halt.

  It had worked.

  I couldn’t believe it had worked.

  Now I had to get past the lock and we’d be free. Hopefully the racket I had made hadn’t caught the notice of anyone above us. I glanced back at Papa. He stirred and mumbled something incoherent. I hurried to him and soothed him back to sleep. He settled again, clearly exhausted. Breathing a sigh of relief, I ran a hand over my head, smoothing the hair that had flown from its confines. Hopefully, no one else had woken.

  Something loud clicked, and then I heard a loud thunk behind me. A gear clattered, followed by an ominous scraping on the floor.

  I desperately prayed it was the final death throes of the cage. Instinct told me it wasn’t.

  Somehow my heart managed to pound faster as I peered over my shoulder.

  The wall had advanced!

  I jumped back as the cage-wall with the tethered saw blades inched steadily forward, sliding over the stone floor.

  Dear God, it was coming toward me.

  “Papa!” I screamed, stumbling backward over my elongated skirts and landing against my grandfather. He woke, his whole body
tensed.

  “The wall.” The large saw blade groaned as it strained against the metal wound around it. Twice it slipped and buzzed at us like an angry wasp. All the while the wall inched closer. The saw blades turned in short bursts of motion every time the hoop slipped. It wasn’t stopping. By God in heaven, it could crush us if it didn’t stop.

  Papa leapt forward. “What happened?”

  “I tried to stop the blades.” The large blade slipped on the shredded hoop again, flinging a piece of the hoop right at our heads. We both shied away from one another, and it struck the wall right between us. The cage reached the halfway point of the room. With the saws spinning, the wall would tear us to shreds. I grabbed a loop of the fabric-covered steel trapped in the gears and pulled.

  Papa grabbed it as well and unwound it from the axle of the blade as fast as he could. With eyes wide and his teeth gritted, he pulled, then drew his hand back to keep from being cut.

  I wrapped the steel band as well as I could around my hand and tugged, but it wasn’t easy with the bars constantly moving toward me. I threw my weight back, and the saw spun more freely, slowing the press of the cage.

  “We need to brace the cage wall,” Papa said. He reached back and tipped over the chair, then pushed the bed so the foot was facing the cage to give us as much room as possible.

  The cage wall reached the foot of the bed and continued to press until the wood of the bed frame creaked and moaned from the pressure.

  “It’s going to snap,” I warned, but I was too late. The side board of the bed fractured. Shards of splintered wood flew at us. One of the pieces struck me on the forearm hard enough to feel like the sting of a whip across my already wounded arm.

  The cage wall lurched forward.

  “We don’t have much time. Pull together on my count,” Papa ordered as he found a good hold on the flexible steel. “One, two . . .”

  My heels hit the back wall, and I panicked. The cage had pressed the remnants of the bed and chair into a ghastly heap. Feathers flew everywhere as the saw caught the mattress and ripped into the filling. I nearly lost my footing. I needed room to pull, but there was no room left—in another few seconds the cage would press me into the stone. The saw buzzed too near my face. Sweat trickled down near my ear.

  “Now!” Papa shouted.

  We pulled, and the band of metal came free. The saw squealed as it came to life, becoming a smooth pale disk and masking its cutting teeth with its speed, but the cage still moved toward us. I scrambled backward, pressing myself against the stone wall.

  The rest of the saw blades whirred back to full speed. One of the blades spun as it passed so near my cheek, I could feel it catch the wayward strands of my hair.

  This was it. We were going to die, and it was my fault.

  “I’m sorry Papa.” I grabbed his hand against the stone and held it tight. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too, my girl.”

  I closed my eyes, my breath coming in quick pants as I waited for the burning pain of the saws catching my flesh. I had stared into the eye of death before, but never like this. I was about to be ripped apart. I squeezed Papa’s hand more tightly, dreading that first terrible bite of metal to my skin.

  I heard another loud thunk. I blinked open my eyes as the press of the wall creaked to a stop, the blades still spinning near my ear.

  I didn’t dare breathe. I was about to faint. If I did, I would fall against the blades.

  In the corner of my eye, the blade slowed. I dared to gasp a breath, but then the blade spun in the opposite direction. By the Lord! That wouldn’t do any good. It was equally deadly one way as the other. The grinding started again, and I winced, waiting for the slicing to come. But suddenly I could see more of the blade from the corner of my eye. I blinked again, unable to believe my eyes as I now had enough room to turn my head.

  The wall was in retreat.

  A squeak escaped my parched throat.

  Thank heaven. The cage wall was moving back.

  Once I had enough room, I collapsed to the floor, pulling in great gasps of air as I tried to settle my innards. I was about to be ill.

  Papa’s chest heaved as he braced his hands on his knees with his head hung low, as if he’d just run across half of England.

  My throat felt too dry for me to speak. I placed a hand to my chest where the key should have been.

  “Are you hurt?” Papa finally asked. I shook my head, unable to form words, even though I could see a red stain seeping into my sleeve. I must have opened one of my wounds. There was nothing I could do for it, except let it bleed. I glanced around at the shredded timber, canvas, and feathers. We’d be sleeping on the floor, if I ever managed to sleep again.

  Papa put a hand on my shoulder. Then huffed. “The juggernaut is not here in France. If they wish for us to use the key, they will have to take us to it. That is the moment we should strike, when they are vulnerable at last.” Papa gave me a hard pat.

  The bars looked dark against the light coming from the lantern, and the saw blades pitched high and whined as the wall settled back into its original position.

  I heard a footstep on the stair.

  “Oh no. Honoré and Boucher must have heard the racket. What are they going to do?” I asked, turning to Papa.

  “Well, they’re not going to give us a new bed,” Papa said.

  I held on to Papa’s arm the way I had always done as a little girl. We watched the stair, forced to wait helplessly to meet our fate. I trembled, but I had to be brave. I didn’t want Papa to feel he had to protect me from fear.

  “Meg, are you in here?” a soft voice whispered.

  There, standing in the light of the lantern, looking haggard and sick with worry, was Will.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “WILL!” I GASPED, UNABLE TO contain my shock and elation.

  He rushed toward us. “Thank God you’re alive.” Will skidded to a stop. “What in the good name is this?”

  I ran toward the blades that only moments ago had nearly ended my life. “It’s nothing to be trifled with, believe me.”

  We faced one another, only feet apart but separated by the terrible cage.

  I longed to reach for him, to let him hold me in his arms. I had nearly died. I would have never seen him again. Now here he was, and yet there was no way to breach the atrocity between us. “How did you find me?”

  “You left me a note, remember?” He didn’t smile as he inspected the cage.

  “It only said that I would be on the island. However did you find the house?” I’d thought there was no hope, and yet somehow Will had found a way. He always did.

  “I crept into every single mews on this island until I found the horse and carriage that had followed us.”

  “Leave it to a stable boy.” I never would have thought of that.

  “Meg,” Papa said. “Who is this young man?”

  I took a small step back and ducked my chin. I felt suddenly on edge with nerves. “Papa, this is William MacDonald. He was Rathford’s stable hand when I was a maid in his house, and now he’s a member of the Foundry. I would never have found you without his help. Will, I’d like for you to meet my grandfather.”

  Will gave Papa a respectful bow. “I’d shake your hand, sir, but I’m afraid that under the circumstances, we’ll have to wait on good manners.” Will took a step to the side and raised up to get a closer look at the corner of the cage. “If we can stop the blades, we can get you out.”

  “No,” Papa and I called at once. Will stared at us as if we’d lost our wits.

  “I’ve already tried that,” I explained. “If you tamper with the blades, the cage will crush us against the back wall.” There was no way to escape. Not until we could defeat Boucher and her son. “There’s no way out. Rally the Amusementists and bring them here. You have to stop Madame Boucher.”

  “Who is this Madame Boucher?” Will looked at the center of the cage, then drew his attention to the lower left corner.


  Papa stepped forward. “Boucher is Richard Haddock’s daughter. The man in the clockwork mask is her son.” He paused, then hung his head. “He’s my son.”

  That caught Will’s attention, and he looked up at Papa with a wary expression. They didn’t say anything, and I felt uncomfortable in the silence.

  “What does Boucher want with you?” Will finally asked.

  “She’s seeking a set of plans Papa locked away inside her father’s juggernaut. She hopes to sell them to the rebel army in America,” I said, the words tumbling out of me like a sudden flood. “She’s ruthless and prepared to kill. You must leave before you are caught. Boucher must be stopped before she can travel back to London.”

  I didn’t want for him to go, but he couldn’t stay. We had made a terrible amount of noise. Boucher could come down the stairs at any moment, and they would have no reason to lock Will up. He was of no use to them. He only posed a threat. They would kill him.

  “I’m not leaving without you.” He backed up a step, his eyes darting as he followed the pattern of blades around the cage.

  “Please, Will. There’s nothing you can do for us here. You have to escape.” I looked into his eyes. “Save yourself so you can return.”

  Will removed the knife from his boot.

  I thought he was going to jam it into the gears, and I surged forward—only to balk as I came too close to a blade that slid on a diagonal in front of my face.

  “Will, don’t,” I said, but he stepped as close as he could to the bars and knelt. Then, with a quick jab, he pushed his hand through. “Take it,” he insisted. “Use it if you have to.”

  I clasped my hands on his, taking the knife and putting it on the ground as I fell to my knees before him. The blades passed dangerously close to his wrist, but he didn’t flinch. He’d found the single gap in the pattern.

  “Will.” I felt dizzy and breathless as warmth and hope did battle with the cold fear running like ice in my blood. I pressed my face against his palm, trying desperately to feel closer to that warmth that kept me whole and brave. His fingers combed into my hair around my ear. I kissed his palm, uncaring if my grandfather saw. The blades passed dangerously close again, slicing through the sleeve of Will’s coat beneath his arm. Still he didn’t falter. “I love you,” I whispered. I had come dangerously close to death, and if I didn’t make it out of this, I wanted him to know. He had to know without a doubt.