Shadow of the War Machine (The Secret Order)

by Kristin Bailey

  “I will come for you,” he said, his dark eyes unwavering. “I promise. I will come for you.”

  “I know you will.” I let go of his hand. He pulled it out from the cage, moments before a new blade slid down in front of me.

  I picked up his knife as he grabbed his lantern and jogged to the steps. He looked back over his shoulder and nodded to me before disappearing silently up the stair as quickly as he had come.

  I didn’t move. The leather sheath of the knife still felt warm from being pressed against his body. I held it tightly against my heart as I listened and waited. With every effort of my soul I prayed for his safety, and that he would be able to find Gustave and the others.

  Help would be here soon. We just needed to wait.

  Finally Papa broke the silence. “So, you have a young man in your life.”

  I felt raw and exposed as I turned to face my grandfather. “I do.”

  “And I suppose you wish to marry him?” One of Papa’s eyebrows rose as he crossed his arms.

  “Not at this time, but perhaps one day, if he’ll still have me.” I bent and secured Will’s knife in my own boot. It was uncomfortable pressing against my ankle, but the pressure was also reassuring in its own way.

  “I beg your pardon?” Papa stepped closer to me and took my elbow in hand, forcing me to rise. “Clearly you have feelings for this boy. Has he compromised you?”

  “What?” I stared up at him in disbelief.

  Papa cocked his head, and his eyebrows drew close over his eyes. The expression made his already hawk-like features even more intimidating. “Because if he has, I will insist upon your marriage as soon as we are free. Now, has he compromised your reputation?”

  I yanked my elbow from Papa’s grasp. My face grew suddenly hot. I had been through too much to have this argument now. “That’s a fine question coming from the man who sired a bastard while still an apprentice.”

  Papa looked as if a snake had risen up in front of him. “Margaret Anne Whitlock! You will not speak to me in such a way. I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.”

  It didn’t matter to him that Will and I had done very little that was unseemly. It only mattered what others would say about us. I’d been through too much to care one whit what anyone else thought anymore. “Well, then expect to be disappointed, because I don’t feel like giving it.” It wouldn’t matter if I did. He’d already drawn his own conclusions.

  I turned away from him to the crushed and splintered bed and began stacking the larger pieces of wood against the wall. There was no real point to it, but I needed something to do. I slammed a piece of the wood to the ground and turned to him. “You may attempt to force my hand, but I will not marry.”

  “I am your grandfather and guardian. You are to obey me in all things, and I demand your respect.” He stiffened, rising to his full height, but I stood up straighter.

  “Then you should have earned it instead of fostering a reputation that nearly burned my ears clean off my head. To accuse me of some moral failing now is the grossest hypocrisy.” My hands shook, and I couldn’t stop them. All the tension of the last day took hold, and I felt like a pressure vessel with a dangerous crack in the casing.

  “I am a man.” My grandfather pointed to the ground as if his gender entitled him to the entire world he stood upon. “You are a young lady. The consequences of a lack of morality are much more severe for you.”

  I held my hands out to my sides and gestured to the cell we were in. “Are they? Because I can’t imagine consequences much more severe than this.”

  “Your tongue has grown sharp.” Papa scowled at me, and in that moment I really saw the similarity in our features. I was a Whitlock through and through.

  “It’s not the only thing that has,” I muttered. I had grown much in the last year. I’d had to, because I had spent the last year alone, facing unimaginable danger, all because he had chosen to abandon his family and fake his own death.

  Yes. I knew he’d had his reasons, and they were good reasons. But a small part of me could not abide him forcing me to live on my own in this crazy world of his invention, and then expect me to remain as fragile and untarnished as a porcelain doll on a shelf. I ripped open the buttons on my cuff and pushed back the heavy mutton sleeves to inspect the wounds on my forearm. The burned scabs were seeping blood, the dark stain growing as blood soaked into the linen. I yanked the bandage tighter.

  Thankfully, Papa let the argument settle for a moment or two, and I was able to cool my head. When he spoke again, his voice was more gentle.

  “I don’t understand. You care for this boy. So why would you refuse to marry him? Is it because he is a Foundry man?” he asked in a conciliatory tone. “Because I’ll admit I had higher ambitions for you, but if this is what you want, I’m willing to consider him.”

  I let out a heavy sigh and faced my grandfather. He knew about Will. I might as well confess the other weight upon my shoulders. Though, should we escape, he had very real power to take the thing I loved away from me.

  “No, Papa,” I said. My voice cracked. “It’s because I’m an apprentice to the Order.”

  Papa took a step backward as if the room had suddenly shifted beneath his feet. “You’re what!”

  I had never seen a look of such disbelief on a person’s face.

  Just then we heard a noise on the stair.

  I straightened and moved instinctively closer to my grandfather. Whatever shock my grandfather suffered, he shoved it away in an instant, stepping in front of me and shielding me from the stair.

  I watched as the light caught on the pale hem of Madame Boucher’s skirts. She entered the room, with her son quick on her heels. I swallowed and remembered that salvation was on its way. In no time Will would bring others who could help. Then this all would be over.

  Madame Boucher’s lips pulled together in a slight purse of disapproval as she looked at the destroyed bed. She clucked her tongue, but then her eyes gleamed with an evil humor.

  “I see you wasted no time in trying to escape.” She stepped over to the panel that she had used to unlock the cage. She turned the dials, and the blades finally halted their incessant motion for real this time. Then she pulled out a pistol and pointed it directly at my heart. “If only you had been more patient, my dear. We had no intention of leaving you here. We’re going on a little journey. Won’t that be delightful?”

  I spit at her.

  She cocked the gun.

  I didn’t care. Every moment was another moment bringing Will back to me. My heart raced, but it wasn’t due to the pistol trained on it. If they moved us, Will wouldn’t be able to bring help. We’d be lost and on our own once more. I couldn’t let that happen.

  “Meg. Please. Do what they say,” Papa urged as Honoré opened the door. I wanted to run, to fly straight up the stair and away from all this horror. Papa, too, stared at the open door.

  Boucher turned her attention to him. “I had no idea you had raised such a rude and ill-mannered brat,” she said as Honoré fastened heavy manacles on Papa’s wrists behind his back. “If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it is a girl with poor manners. You should teach her some, before my finger slips.”

  I glared at the old woman as my uncle fastened a second set of irons on my wrists. I wanted to fight, but I wasn’t willing to die. Not yet. I had to find a way to stall them.

  “Move them out,” Madame Boucher barked.

  “No!” I fought as Honoré dragged me forward by the elbow. He caught me by the hair and forced a cloth over my mouth. The now familiar taste of chloroform filled my mouth and nose. I tried to struggle as the horrible chemical took effect. My head swam, and I collapsed, unable to fight any longer.

  The last thought that crossed my mind was that I had failed.

  I was lost, and Will would never find me again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I WOKE COUGHING AND FEELING as if the world were spinning and shifting beneath me. Suddenly ill, I took shallow
breaths through my nose. Thankfully, there was a little bit of light. I pushed my feet out, and they slid along a smooth floor. At least I wasn’t in a trunk.

  My innards roiled. I didn’t know where I was, and now Will wouldn’t know either. We’d been so close to rescue, only to be snatched away.

  “Papa?” I blinked to clear my vision. I attempted to reach my hand out to brace myself so I could sit up, but my wrists were bound in heavy manacles. Using my elbow, I managed to right myself. It was slow going, since the chain between my wrists was looped around a pipe. With a deal of struggle, I managed to brace my back against the wall.

  To my left, Papa slumped in a corner with his head hanging lifelessly to his chest.

  “Papa!” I kicked my feet, trying to find some purchase as my throat went dry. My shoulders ached from pulling against the manacles.

  “Hush. He’s not dead.”

  I immediately turned to the voice coming from the corner. The housemaid with the short dark hair was once again dressed as a boy in plain trousers and a heavy coat. A faded gray cap covered most of her carelessly cropped hair. A dim lantern flickered near her hip.

  “Who are you?” I asked, both wary of and curious about the girl. She had tried to warn me in the house. If only I had heeded her more quickly. There was no way to discern if she was friend or foe, but either way, it was best to know more about her.

  “I’m supposed to keep you sleeping until we arrive,” she said, shaking the dark bottle of chloroform. “Do us both a favor and keep your voice quiet, or I’ll have to use this.”

  “You let me wake?” I had never seen a girl sit so still. She had her knees propped up immodestly in her trousers, with her elbows resting carelessly on them the way a boy would. Even her gaze was steady and watchful. “Why?”

  “I’m not the best at following orders.” She still didn’t move, or reveal any expression at all on her face. She would be an extremely difficult opponent at cards.

  “What is your name?” I asked. The more she talked, the more time I could give myself before she used the chloroform again.

  “Josephine,” she said.

  “I’m Meg Whitlock. It’s a—”

  “I know who you are.” Her thumb moved back and forth, a contemplative motion that revealed nothing.

  Speaking with her was like speaking with my own shadow. “I’m assuming there’s something you wish to say to me, or some information you want, or you wouldn’t have let me wake.” The floor shifted again, and I realized it had nothing to do with the chloroform. “We’re on a ship, aren’t we?”

  She nodded, a single dip of her chin.

  “I suppose your mistress is taking us back to London, then.” It seemed that if I wanted any information at all, I was going to have to tease it out of her.

  “She’s not my mistress. She’s my grandmother.” Again her expression remained still, but this time her gaze flicked to Papa sleeping in the corner.

  “You’re a Haddock.” I felt the floor dip and surge again. My heart rose and fell with it. She was the daughter of the man in the mask. My half uncle. That made us . . . “We’re cousins.”

  For the first time her face came alive with emotion, a flash of anger, then deep fear and sadness. Her dark eyes glinted in the light of the lantern, and her jaw set as she seemed to catch hold of the anger. “There is no bond of family between us. I owe no loyalty to you, or any Whitlock.” She scowled and pulled her arms more tightly around her knees, crossing her forearms in front of her.

  “Then why did you try to warn me?” There was something here. She hid it well, but there was a desperation in her. I couldn’t see it so much as I could feel it, even from across whatever small and dank hold we were in.

  For the first time she looked away.

  “They treat you like a servant.” I had to find some way to break through to her.

  “Once madam captured him”—she nodded her head toward Papa—“she dismissed all the servants. She couldn’t risk rumors.”

  So the girl had had to play every part from kitchen maid to coachman for the last two years. I thought my own experience as a maid had been hinged on insanity. Josephine’s situation had been even worse than mine.

  “But—”

  “Hush.” Josephine jumped to her feet with the agility born of split-legged clothing. “She’s coming. Pretend you’re asleep.”

  I immediately collapsed to the floor and closed my eyes. With my face slack and my mouth open, I feigned sleep even though my heart was beating like the wings of a panicked bird.

  Madame Boucher’s boots clicked down a set of metal stairs. “Where have you been?” she snapped. I stayed still.

  “I’ve been doing as you asked, keeping them asleep.” Josephine’s voice sounded very different, higher pitched and meek.

  “If they’re asleep, there’s no need for you to remain. Speak with your father. He’ll put you to work.” Madame Boucher’s voice was chilling. There was no love between the two of them, that much was clear, and it was a piece of information I might be able to use.

  “He hasn’t been my father since you did that horrible thing to his face. He no longer has a thought on his own, only does your bidding,” Josephine said.

  A loud smack crackled in the silence. I inhaled quickly through my nose, then prayed Boucher didn’t notice that I had flinched. The blow had landed hard, and while I was thankful Boucher hadn’t struck me, I felt terrible for Josephine.

  “You would do well to be more obedient,” Boucher said. “And less like that Turkish whore you called a mother. If it weren’t for her, my son never would have gone to war. He never would have been wounded. I was forced to repair him. He should have listened to me from the start. I always know what is best.”

  Josephine didn’t say a word. I wondered if she was also thinking about her grandmother’s wording. Repair him.

  Boucher’s boots clicked on the floor, and I felt the vibration in my cheek. “Now Honoré’s the perfect son. He’s loyal, unquestioning, and flawlessly obedient. Don’t worry, my dear. Soon no mother will ever have to lose another son to war. I’ll make sure of that.” Her footsteps clattered once more on the stair that led out of the hold. “Be quick!”

  As soon as I was certain she was gone, I opened my eyes and struggled against my chains. “Josephine, are you injured?”

  She turned to me, the side of her face tinged red even through her darker skin. I could see the fury in her eyes.

  “Please,” I begged. “You have to help us. I know you want to do what is right. We can stop her. We can stop them both.”

  She took a step toward me as I struggled to sit up. She crouched down, balancing on the balls of her feet as she looked me in the eye.

  “I don’t have to do anything.” She stood again, and my heart sank. She crossed the room back to the bottle of chloroform, and for a moment I feared she would use it. I was helpless to stop her.

  Instead she put her boot on the bottom stair. She turned and looked back at me over her shoulder. “My father was a good man once. All he wanted was to make a life for me and my mother. Your grandfather would have been proud of him, if he had ever bothered to know him.” She lifted her chin, then turned and walked up the stair, taking the lantern with her. “Now it’s too late,” she said as the light disappeared. My hope was lost.

  Every day of the last two years had to have been mental torture for Papa. It was as if we were being held hostage by Cain. A damaged Cain that had been pieced together in a way God had never intended. It bothered me that Honoré bore such a striking resemblance to my father. For Papa it had to be ten times worse.

  I collapsed onto the floor, feeling it surge beneath me. In the dark the motion felt greater and it made me ill. Papa groaned behind me.

  “Papa, stay down and stay quiet. We’re on a ship. They don’t know we’re awake.” Again I pushed my heels against the slick floor, but I found no purchase, so I gave up and lay still. “Are you well?” I whispered.

  “I’m fine,
” Papa said, but his voice sounded weak. “Do you know how long we’ve been on this ship?”

  “No.” We were completely at our captor’s mercy, even if there seemed to be a chink in Madame Boucher’s armor. Josephine would not be an easy ally to win over.

  And now she was beyond our reach.

  “Meg?” Papa whispered in the inky darkness. I wished I could reach out to him. I didn’t like feeling so disconnected, in spite of our argument.

  “What is it, Papa?” I closed my eyes and let my head rest on the cold metal floor.

  “I am so very sorry for everything that has happened.” His voice cracked as he whispered. A lump formed in my throat. “You were right to condemn me. All of this is my own doing, and I deserve to suffer for it. You should not.”

  “Oh, Papa.” My voice broke as I said his name. “You didn’t know.”

  “But I should have. What did I expect? Every day for the last two years, I kept thinking about a boy just like Georgie who grew up with no father. Now I see myself in Honoré, but that terrible mask distorts him. He’s a monster now, with no humanity left. What sort of life is that? That is my fault. I should have married Cressida, even if it would have ruined me. I wanted to be ignorant because my responsibility didn’t feel like my burden at the time. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know, and so long as I didn’t seek an answer, I could pretend I had no responsibility. I didn’t wish to be burdened then. It’s my burden now.”

  “We all have burdens. If you had married Boucher, I would not exist,” I said, to take his mind off his misery.

  He let out a heavy breath. “Indeed, and what a tragedy that would have been, my remarkable girl. Please forgive me,” he said. “Even if I never forgive myself.”

  “I do,” I said. “Of course I do.”