Weaver's Lament--Industrial Magic Book 2

by Emma Newman

  As the line shafts started to turn, Charlotte knew she had to do something. She had to prove that Dotty was innocent and definitely not a Latent, and the only way to do that was to have another “incident” when she wasn’t in the mill. How could Dotty be guilty if it happened when she wasn’t even there?

  Looking around at the other people working the nearest looms, she saw how diligently they attended to their machines, not daring to draw any attention. Even Mags was minding the machines under her care, despite the stern frown still on her face. The foreman had gone off to find someone else to help her, and none of the children were nearby, either. It was now or never.

  Charlotte pretended to drop her cloth so she could check that there was no child beneath the loom that everyone thought was cursed. Seeing it was clear, she stood at the loom farthest away that was under her care and pretended to watch the shuttle.

  She thought of the “cursed” loom, reaching out for it with her mind, just as she had with the little ball bearings when she’d played bagatelle with Hopkins. She imagined the wooden frames clattering up and down, its shuttle whipping left to right, and then she imagined crushing it, drawing it all inwards to an imagined central point just below the machine.

  A surreptitious glance told her some of the yarns had snapped, their ends flying around, caught in the eddies of air around the loom. Charlotte realised she was holding herself back, having spent months constantly reining herself in, always vigilant for any urge to lash out. Now she actually wanted to destroy something, it was proving harder than she imagined it would be.

  She redoubled her efforts, thinking not just of the loom, but also Dotty and the way Paxton had just dragged her off. There was a cracking sound, loud enough to be heard over the rattling din of the machines, and she saw one of the other workers running away.

  Charlotte had a proper mental grip on the loom, the sweat now running down her back caused by the exertion of her will to lift it into the air. She gripped the sides of the loom she stood in front of, steadying herself as the effort to destroy the other one stole the strength from her legs. A crash and a brief, violent tremor through the floor told her she’d done it.

  Panting for breath, she watched the foreman return with the worker who’d run off. As others gathered round the mangled machine, Charlotte forced herself to move to the edge of the small crowd so she would blend in. She didn’t have to fake her shock when she saw the loom. She’d never deliberately destroyed something before.

  Something inside her exalted at the sight of what she’d done. Charlotte couldn’t help but think of the dozens of threads strung over the frames of the looms around her and how easy it would be to break them too. She saw a couple snap on the machine next to her and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pull her mind inwards. With a supreme effort, she managed to visualise her marque in the dark space behind her eyes, tracing the curves and swirling shape of the sigil, imagining it as a path she was walking with her mind.

  As Charlotte started to sense her power retreating, the horror of what she’d just done hit her. It was exactly what she’d sworn she’d never do. Hopkins had warned her so many times. And even now, even when she was feeling more in control again, she could still feel a pull towards unleashing it once more. There was something inside her, desperate to be free. She clenched her fists, focused on her marque and tried not to think of anything else.

  She felt the air move as someone passed her and she opened her eyes to see the foreman running towards the exit. Needing to get away from the looms herself, she followed him outside to find him bent over, hands braced on his knees.

  “Where’s Apprentice Paxton?” she asked.

  “That’s Master Apprentice Paxton to you,” he fired back with a quiver in his voice.

  “He needs to know what just happened,” she said. “Dotty can’t possibly be the Latent, can she?”

  The foreman straightened. “No, I suppose not.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t like the way you’re lookin’ at me, lass. I’ve a good mind to get rid of yer. Y’don’t fit in.”

  Charlotte saw his hand twitch towards the strap hanging from his belt and felt the edge of that raw power within her again. It would be so easy to just flick him across the yard, smash him against the wall . . .

  No. She backed away, looking down, focusing inwards again. “I’ll get back to my looms,” she said. “Unless you want me to find Master Apprentice Paxton for you?”

  It was a risky bluff, but she had to remind the irritating man that Dotty needed to be vindicated. “No, go on with yer. I’ll see to that. I’d rather ’ave Dotty back than find a replacement at this hour. Go on! Get back in there and do some bloody work!”

  Walking back into the mill felt like climbing a steep hill with a basket of washing on her back. Her body felt leaden and the sun hadn’t even fully risen yet. Charlotte wanted to find some corner to hide in, somewhere to bundle herself up in blankets and shut out the world, just so she could be certain she was fully in control again. She couldn’t understand why she was so tired when only minutes before, she’d felt invincible. But then the very thought of being in that state started to rejuvenate her, and she paused just inside the doorway to visualise her marque once more.

  It was the act of reining herself in, of suppressing the power inside her, that was exhausting. She covered her face with her hands as she leant against the closed doors, fearing that she wouldn’t be able to make it through the day. It felt like she’d released a ferocious beast from a cage it had been trapped in for years, and it was understandably reluctant to return to its confinement. She needed Hopkins, needed him to help her force the creature back into its prison. Then the most awful thought occurred to her: Why? Why deny such a fundamental part of herself? It took Charlotte a good few moments to realise it was to protect others. A choked sob escaped into her hands. Was she turning wild?

  Chapter 8

  WITHIN THE HOUR, Charlotte and Dotty were working the looms again, side by side. Every now and again Dotty would glance over at her, giving a shy, thankful smile. Charlotte could only assume the foreman had mentioned the way she’d pressed him to argue for her innocence. Dotty would never know the full extent of her intervention. Hopefully.

  Paxton was still actively hunting for a Latent, though, and the thought made Charlotte want to run out of that mill and never return. The faster she could work out who was behind the previous incidents, the faster she could leave. But how could she find another Latent who was evidently hiding their ability as much as she was?

  The broken loom was taken away, and she tried her best to put it from her mind. She focused on her work, hoping that the repetitive and boring tasks would restore her mental calm. Strangely enough, it did help, and soon she just felt hot and fatigued rather than feeling the pressure to keep herself under control. It seemed that the inner beast, as she’d come to think of it, was indeed back in its cage.

  Working the looms was still nerve-racking, but she was becoming more confident by the hour. She even started to appreciate their design. She could understand how the different parts worked in concert and found herself starting to memorise the mechanism so that she might sketch it for Hopkins. She suspected he might be interested to see the machines that were making a fortune for his rival.

  Her close inspection revealed a set of symbols engraved into the metal cogs at the side of the loom. They reminded her of the ones she’d seen on the mechanism hidden beneath the debtor’s cage in London, but she couldn’t find Ledbetter’s marque amongst them. As discretely as she could, Charlotte looked for them on each of the looms she managed and discovered the same ones were on each machine in exactly the same places.

  What could they be for? As far as she could tell, the only parts of the factory that would require magical operation were the huge line shafts running along the ceiling, and that fit perfectly with the skills of the Dynamics college. The symbols on the cogs would make sense if they were operated by a Fine Kinetics magus, but that would be impo
ssible here; the mills were famously within the sole province of the Dynamics college. Charlotte studied the symbols as best she could, committing them to memory. Hopkins would be able to explain them.

  When the bell rang for lunch and the clatter of the looms came to a stop, Charlotte noticed more symbols embossed into the leather drive belt. She looked as closely as she could without making it obvious, but Dotty was already encouraging her to get some food.

  This time Charlotte had no trouble eating everything on her plate, but she still gave Dotty her bread roll, unable to bear the disappointment on her friend’s face.

  “Ta.” Dotty grinned. “All that excitement ’as worked up an appetite!”

  “Paxton didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No, he were just a bit rough. He took me round to where the magi are. It’s right nice in there. The floor is all shiny like. He said he were gonna bring the Enforcers and that they’d do ’orrible things to me if I tried to hide my power. I don’t think he’s right in the ’ead. I told him that if I were a magus, I’d take meself off for testin’ quick as lightnin’. Then he started sayin’ that if I weren’t a magus, I must be a socialist. I dunno what he was goin’ on about. But then the foreman came and said it had ’appened again, so it couldn’t be me. Paxton didn’t look too ’appy about it, truth be told. I don’t think he likes me.”

  “I think he just wanted someone to blame,” Charlotte replied.

  “Aye. At least he didn’t throw me out. And you’re gettin’ the ’ang of the looms now. Y’need to speed up, though. The littl’uns know they ’ave to be quick. By the time you’ve crouched down to see if they’re still tying a thread they’ve already moved onto the next loom.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I know. I just couldn’t bear it if one of them got hurt because I started it too soon.”

  Dotty gave her an affectionate nudge with her shoulder. “You’re a soft bugger, you are.”

  Keen to sketch the symbols from the looms whilst they were still fresh in her mind, Charlotte excused herself with a mention of popping back to the dorm, promising to see Dotty back in the mill. She hurried up the stairs and went straight there. Mercifully, it was empty. She pulled her sketchbook and pencil out from its hiding place between the frame and straw mattress, checked once behind her as she settled into a spot between the wall and her bed and got to work.

  It didn’t take long to draw them as they were fairly simple in design, and once they were done, she tore the page out, folded it and stuffed it between her corset and underdress to rest over her heart. It was one thing to risk having an empty sketchbook found, quite another for it to contain something esoteric.

  She had to find Hopkins, but she couldn’t imagine where to start, short of walking up to the local Fine Kinetic Arts college, or the Manchester branch of the Royal Society. Neither were remotely advisable. As she went back down the stairs and back outside again, she remembered him mentioning something about the Reform Club commissioning a clock tower. Could that be a way to find him? Clubs were usually the province of wealthy gentlemen. If she turned up on the doorstep, asking for a magus . . .

  Someone grabbed her as she passed the gap between the lodging house and the mill, dragging her round the corner. Before she’d even had a chance to cry out, Charlotte was slammed against the wall by one of the mill workers. His greying hair hung in limp, greasy waves and his two front teeth were missing, like so many of the others. Having bashed her own teeth on the shuttles when sucking the thread through the hole on the end, Charlotte understood why.

  “I know you did it,” he said, breath stinking of the cheap meat they’d just eaten.

  “Did what?” Charlotte asked, drawing her arms inwards, making herself as small as possible as he planted his hands on either side of her shoulders, boxing her in against the wall.

  “Wrecked that loom this mornin’. I were watching yer. I clocked yer as soon as y’started ’ere. Knew you weren’t right. You’re one of them Latents, aren’t yer? That why you ’ere? Running away from the Enforcers are yer?”

  “Why on earth would you imagine I’d prefer a mill to the Royal Society?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. Don’t know yer. But I know what I saw this mornin’, when yer little friend were dragged out by that magus. I saw you lookin’ at that loom and then sweating even before bell went.”

  Charlotte could feel her lunch rising. “I was told it was cursed, of course I was looking at it.”

  “Ah, but them others, they don’t notice things like I do. Otherwise they’d be ’avin’ a very similar conversation with y’now. See, it ain’t nothin’ to do with bein’ cursed. This mornin’, no one were near that loom when it started smashin’ up. All the other times, someone had hurt ’emselves on the machine before the smashin’ started. So I know it were you.”

  In providing his evidence, he’d inadvertently put Charlotte’s lingering fears to rest. When the foreman had hit her the day before, he’d knocked her into the loom, giving her the horrible bruise on her hip. Was pain somehow the trigger? Was it something the other Latent couldn’t bear to see, triggering a violent reaction to the loom that caused it?

  “Y’can’t deny it, can yer?” he said, thinking hers was a guilty silence.

  “I’m not listening to a moment more of this nonsense.” She tried to sound dismissive but her voice was strained and her cheeks were blushing.

  When she tried to duck under his arms he simply moved them, keeping her trapped. “Listening to yer, I reckon you’ve got money somewhere. I reckon y’doin’ someone a favour, comin’ ’ere. I reckon there’s lots of folk who’d like to see this mill go down. Cartwright’s company for a start. Are they payin’ yer to ruin Ledbetter?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not a Latent and I’m not working for anyone else.”

  “I don’t believe yer.” He leaned closer, forcing her to turn her face away. “And if y’don’t give me . . . let’s say, a nice shiny sovereign by light’s out tonight, I’m gonna report yer to Paxton.”

  A sovereign? That was more than the cost of the coal bill for a month! As upsetting as it was to be blackmailed, the fact he wasn’t already marching her off to be tested proved he had doubts. His fear of being fined for false reporting currently outweighed his desire to collect the finder’s fee. Charlotte feared that if she pointed that out, however, his pride could tip him over into taking that risk anyway. “A sovereign? I don’t have that kind of money!”

  “Well, that ain’t my problem, is it now? I’ll meet you at the back of your lodgin’ ’ouse at eleven bells. If you’re not there, I’ll report yer. If y’come empty-’anded . . . well . . .” He looked down at her bosom and licked his lips. “We’ll ’ave a conversation about alternative means of payment.”

  “You disgusting man,” Charlotte hissed.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Mags was standing at the corner of the building, arms folded, scowling at the man. “You leave her alone, Horcombe, she’s a good lass.”

  He stepped back, dropping his hands to his sides. “Nowt to see ’ere, Mags,” he said. “Just wanted to make sure this new girl understands ’ow things work ’ere.”

  “Bugger off and tell that son of yours how things work, why don’t yer?” Mags said. “Look after y’own instead.”

  Horcombe gave Charlotte a lingering look. “Nice talkin’ to yer, miss.”

  Mags watched him go and came over to Charlotte who couldn’t stop shaking. “What did he say? You’re in a right state!”

  Charlotte couldn’t tell her the truth, but feared that if she lied and Mags challenged him, it would expose her deceit. So she just shook her head and smoothed down her dress, trying her best to compose herself. “It was just a misunderstanding,” she said. “We have to go inside, it’s nearly time for the bell.”

  Mags was frowning at her. “You tell me if he does anythin’ dodgy and I’ll give ’im what for, a’right?”

  Charlotte nodded and managed a grateful smile, despite the fact that she was silently pan
icking. Now there was even more reason to leave, but she still couldn’t bring herself to do it. If she ran away, and Paxton managed to outwit her brother, she would never forgive herself.

  She had to find the other Latent responsible for the previous incidents, and fast. Whether it was by Paxton’s or Horcombe’s hand, if she was exposed as a Latent, Ben would end up in even more trouble.

  * * *

  At the end of the shift, Charlotte just wanted to collapse in a heap on the cobbles outside. The day had felt as long as a week. Dotty linked arms with her and steered her towards the water pump at the back of the lodging house. They ended up lined against the wall with other women, slumped, waiting for a turn at the pump to douse their heads in cold water.

  It felt like someone had wrung her out. Charlotte had never experienced anything like it. She’d thought she was tired the day before, but she didn’t even know the meaning of the word before now. She ended up sitting on the dirt, unable to stay standing as she waited. Even just shuffling along as the line dwindled was an effort. Dotty sat next to her and they ended up leaning against each other. By the time they got to the pump, the bell for dinner had already rung.

  This time, Charlotte had just as much difficulty working the pump as Dotty had had on the first day. She almost wept with exhaustion as Dotty washed. The water helped a little when it was her turn, but it soaked her dress and she was so worried that it would wick through to the paper hidden beneath, she decided to skip dinner to change her clothes. She was too tired to eat anyway. Charlotte made sure she collected her bowl and roll so she could give them to Dotty—who kissed her on the cheek for her trouble—and went back to the dorm.

  The prospect of walking to the cottage afterwards made her feel utterly miserable, but she had to tell Ben about Horcombe’s threat. She couldn’t see any other way around it. But how was she going to explain why she was being blackmailed without admitting she’d used her esoteric ability to destroy a loom? It was making her feel sick with nerves.