Wings of Sorrow and Bone

by Beth Cato

  “Grandmother says the truth is bound to come out eventually.”

  “It will.” Tatiana looked pleased at the prospect of new fame. Rivka wondered if Tatiana would feel quite so chuffed after her mother and brother knew the full truth of it. “This big fuss will be another brief Tamaran trend, but there’ll be long-­term good from it, too.” She stood, smoothing her bobbed hair. “I need to go see what damage those three gremlins have done to my flat today. Oh!” She patted a pocket. “Here.”

  She tossed a satin drawstring bag onto the table. “Mr. Cody hosted a lunch party. Whatever else can be said about the man, he does serve good food. I saw these and thought of you, so I stuffed some in my jacket pocket.”

  Rivka untied the bag. A sweet scent wafted over her senses as the bag fell slack to reveal a handful of shimmering maple crisps. “Why—­thank you.”

  “Frengian maple, right? Is this something your mother used to make?”

  Rivka nodded, momentarily mute. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Well! I’m not sure when I’ll see you next.” Tatiana gave her a brief hug and practically bounded away. “But soon!”

  “Yes. Soon.”

  She stood there for a while after the door shut. With a few crisps in her palm, she walked to the window. Maple sugar crusted the top of the small yeast crackers while the underside was caramelized and slick. The sweetness crunched between her teeth as she studied the city. In the distance, near the plaza and Mr. Cody’s tower, an airship flew with a trailing small banner.

  The words on the banner, in bold black print: “SAVE THE GREMLINS.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Rain poured like viscous oil, but that didn’t deter the crowds who gathered to watch the spontaneous parade. Rivka stood on a tenth-­story catwalk along the plaza, Tatiana’s building within sight. The metal roof overhead roared beneath the deluge, the sound like a bare-­rimmed cabriolet on cobbles. Men and women pressed around her, faceless within hoods and beneath steep umbrellas, voices and rain melded in cacophony.

  At the Arena below, the banners for the morrow’s bout hung, sodden. A cheer rose from the throngs on the street and carried up to the ­people on walkways all around, from open windows, rooftops, likely even the airships circling overhead.

  Then Rivka saw Lump.

  He was a green-­and-­copper blotch as large as a lorry. Tatiana was a slender speck within the saddle cage on his back. His completed wings, webbed with living flesh, were graceful swoops stretching ten feet up, even folded. There was a bounce to his step. Maybe he reacted to the adulation of the crowd, or perhaps he also understood this jaunt was something more: that he was leaving Mr. Cody’s stable. Permanently.

  A nearby businessman had offered to house the behemoth chimera in his warehouse, and once spring came, there were several offers from farms to house him out in the countryside. It wasn’t clear yet which option was best, but there was time, and Grandmother was nothing if not shrewd. Mr. Cody still technically owned the chimera and his associated technology, but he had ceded control.

  “Mama! Mama! It’s beautiful!” cried a small voice. A young child leaned against the railing, a puffy arm pointed at Lump.

  The chimera vanished behind a stone building. The crowd on the walkway began to disperse. Rivka lingered as if she still saw them there on the street.

  “It’s beautiful.” Words she wanted to glue in her mind for when she was haunted by thoughts of her own ugliness and inadequacies.

  She walked toward Tatiana’s flat, where Broderick, the gremlins, and an afternoon of work awaited her.

  It’s beautiful.

  “Hold him there. Just like that,” said Broderick. His eyes were closed in concentration.

  He and Rivka crouched together on a medician blanket within Tatiana’s gremlin room, a gremlin between them. The blanket was a portable version of the circle like in Mr. Cody’s laboratory, designed to attract the Lady’s attention for healings. It was big enough for a sprawled adult though this work required them to be in close proximity. Despite Grandmother’s ribbing, Rivka didn’t experience any hot tingles or distracted thoughts from Broderick’s closeness. He was a comfortable presence, and he seemed to feel the same.

  The door to the room was wide open. The three gremlins were being housebroken. A copper cage acted as a time-­out zone, where one currently moped. Grandmother had already announced a forthcoming work on the care and house-­training of gremlins. Thus far, the chimeras took to their disciplinary efforts quite well. Certainly with more enthusiasm than Tatiana’s beleaguered servants.

  Miss Leander had written to advise that gremlins adored hard cheese, too. That reward acted as a powerful motivator.

  Broderick’s thumb pressed on the cauterized nub where the gremlin’s wing once was. He muttered to himself, then opened his eyes as he reached for a notepad. Paragraphs of observations already littered the page. Later, he would likely rewrite his notes and mail them northward. Like Rivka, Broderick had begun an enthusiastic correspondence with Kellar Dryn as they worked together from afar to restore the gremlins.

  Once spring came, Rivka and Grandmother were going to travel to Caskentia’s North Country for Octavia and Alonzo’s wedding. Mr. Dryn and his wife would be there as well, and he had invited them to visit his workshop afterward. Perhaps Rivka would find a place to apprentice herself after all—­and in Caskentia, at that.

  Rivka released the gremlin. He had a scrawny face, his ears a little high on his head, and a squeak like a wheel in need of oil. He hopped to test the edge of the circle, but the heat of the Lady’s presence kept him inside.

  When Broderick called on the Lady for this work, she answered quickly and profoundly. Her magic was like a furnace. Sweat dribbled down Rivka’s back. Not that she would complain, not when she could see how Broderick’s confidence—­his faith—­was buoyed.

  He set down the pencil, the beads in his dreadlocks rustling as he lifted his head. “By the way, please thank your grandmother for me. I appreciate the invitation for tomorrow, but you know how Miss Arfetta’s schedule has changed.”

  In Gem, Tatiana had written about medicians as a suffering subclass like the gremlins themselves—­misunderstood by society, simply struggling to survive. ­People were now openly curious about the magical art, and business had boomed.

  “It was only right to invite you. Tatiana can’t be with us, either, of course.” She grinned. “Oh, you should have seen the ­people outside just now, Broderick! Mr. Cody must be having conniptions.”

  Broderick held a cupped hand toward the gremlin. The critter sniffed at his fingertips from several inches away. The gremlins still didn’t fully trust him; Rivka needed to be present during this preparatory work.

  “What will you say to Mr. Cody in his own Arena?”

  “I don’t know.” The gremlin hopped into her lap, and she stroked the curved ridge of his spine. “I want it to be something good. Profound.”

  The other free gremlin loped into the room and right to the edge of the blanket. It was the sole female in the group, the boldest of the bunch. She sniffed and held an arm to the hot edge of magic, then jerked back. The one on Rivka’s lap mewed and waved, as if to taunt.

  The female gremlin stuck out her tongue and blew a perfect raspberry.

  “That,” said Broderick, laughing, “is a different sort of profound.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Are you sure he’ll be here, Grandmother?”

  “Absolutely! A man of his ilk, as the subject of such scrutiny, will wish to be seen on his own terms. This is his Arena, his territory. He’s marked it as surely as any tomcat!”

  Rivka certainly hoped not. If the Arena had any scent, it was of bodies, sweat, and the harsh lemon of cleansers, and they weren’t even in the tightly pressed masses below. Grandmother had purchased a private suite not far from Cody’s. The guards down the hall had been generously tipped to n
otify them when Mr. Cody was on the way.

  Ten seats were squeezed inside the booth, arranged in two rows to overlook the Arena. The scope was . . . magnificent. Rivka hadn’t expected to feel that way, knowing the horrors that could have befallen Tatiana and Lump, but the place was an architectural marvel. The metal mountain was about a hundred feet high, with built-­in switchbacks and cliffs and platforms for the mechas to claim as they battled to reach the top.

  The gremlin on Rivka’s shoulder chirped. It seemed only right to bring one along for this face-­off with Mr. Cody. Grandmother had insisted the gremlin wear a cuff and a chain that attached to Rivka’s wrist, but bold little Emerald didn’t seem to mind. She was content clinging to Rivka’s broad collar, her eyes wide as she took in everything.

  “Anytime now.” Grandmother paced, taking frequent glances at her timepiece. Two guards she’d hired lingered at the back of the suite.

  Rivka smoothed her skirt. Grandmother had ordered a new dress made for this occasion, and this time Rivka had requested one of Frengian style. It was thoroughly unfashionable by Tamaran standards, with its bell sleeves, folded front, and defined and belted waist, and she loved it.

  Even more, Grandmother had ordered it be dyed in a mottled gray and brown, as if it were oil-­stained all over. Not that Rivka planned on fixing machinery during any fancy dinner parties anytime soon, but as Grandmother always said, one should be prepared.

  Emerald the gremlin pivoted an ear, then lunged from Rivka’s shoulder to the floor. Rivka followed before the chain could tighten. The guards leaped up.

  “Don’t go far, child!” called Grandmother, as if Rivka had any control over the matter.

  Emerald scampered down the hallway. Rivka pulled on the chain with both hands, but as light as the gremlin was, she was awfully strong. Emerald hopped through a doorway, where a maid stood with a cart of fresh linens.

  “Hey! You can’t go in there!”

  This was a suite designed for royalty. It gleamed. It had space for dozens of ­people to sit or lounge. A full bar stood against one wall, and by the chimes of glass, a bartender was busy in the pantry. By the location, by everything, this had to be Mr. Cody’s suite. Emerald screeched and forced Rivka to turn around.

  Past a buffet, a golden cage towered in the corner. Inside was a massive gremlin the size of a toddler. Rivka had never seen the like.

  “You!” The maid’s fingers clenched Rivka’s arm.

  “Let her go.” One of Grandmother’s men scowled from the doorway.

  “Can’t have just anyone in here. It’s more’n my job’s worth.” The maid took in Rivka’s odd yet luxurious dress, her focus resting on Rivka’s face a bit longer than proper. Rivka stared at her evenly as she reached inside her pocket.

  “For your trouble.” Rivka flashed a gilly coin. “I’ll only stay a few minutes.”

  The maid snatched the coin away. “Two minutes. The man’s bound to get here anytime.” She shook her head. “Gremlins as pets. Never thought I’d see the like.” She stalked to her cart. The guard remained in the doorway.

  Rivka walked toward the big cage. Emerald scampered up her body to claim her shoulder roost again.

  On the base of the cage was a small sign: PRIME: THE FIRST GREMLIN.

  “The very first gremlin? I wonder why you’re still here,” Rivka said. “So many of the other gremlins are getting new homes.”

  The construction of this gremlin was different than all the others she had seen. The wings were massive to support the body, its skin seams poorly healed and mismatched in green blotches. The snout was long, its eyes large and round like coat buttons. It looked old. Haggard.

  “Been here long time.” The words croaked out, and the lips parted to reveal a bitter, sharp smile. “Called personal pet for Cody.”

  Rivka caught her breath. “You talk.” This was one of the gremlins Mr. Cody had mentioned, one that acted as translator for the rest.

  “Oldest do. Also listen. We know you, what you do.” Prime granted a curt nod to Emerald on her shoulder. “What you plan to do. You, like Tree Medician. To us, worth more than silver.”

  The Tree Medician. Miss Leander. Unable to speak through the tightness in her throat, Rivka pressed a fist to her chest to salute Prime. Then, her fingers searched her sleeve for her trusty screwdriver hidden in the seam. She leaned against the bars to work the lock.

  “You need your freedom.”

  “Freedom?”

  “You need to wait until the Arena is quiet again later tonight to leave.” Hopefully no ­people would test the lock in the next while. “Can you do that?”

  “I wait. I wait a long time.” Prime’s eyes stared through her. “You. More than silver.”

  At that, Rivka retreated from the suite. Emerald was strangely mute on her shoulder.

  “Well! How far did that gremlin drag you? Did you get into mischief?” Grandmother scoured Rivka with her gaze.

  “M’lady?” called one of the men. “We’re being signaled. Cody’s coming.”

  Rivka and Grandmother moved to the hallway. Mr. Cody approached with a full retinue. His stride showed no hesitation at their presence, but he did nothing to hide his grimace, as if he’d smelled a manure lorry.

  “Mrs. Stout. Miss Stout,” he said coolly as he bowed. “Congratulations are in order. I understand you have a bestseller across the city-­states. I hope you’re pleased, even as your success retards decades of scientific effort.”

  “Perhaps it needed to be held in check,” said Rivka. “Perhaps there are things more important than innovation.” She reached to stroke Emerald on her shoulder. The gremlin purred though her posture was rigid as she stared at Mr. Cody.

  His gaze slid over her and the gremlin. “Miss Stout, I think you can consider any offer of future employment rescinded.”

  “That’s fine by me. I have higher standards. Grandmother?”

  “I’m ready whenever you are, child!” Grandmother advanced down the hallway, practically shoving her way through Mr. Cody’s surprised retinue.

  “You’re not staying for the bout?” Cody called.

  Rivka stepped closer to him. They were of almost equal height, Mr. Cody’s stomach like a rounded barricade between them. “This is the bout. The chimeras won.”

  At that, Emerald blew a raspberry.

  Rivka strode down the hall, her chin held high, gremlin purring contentment on her shoulder.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’m grateful for the help of my first readers Ginny Campen, Kat Otis, Michael R. Underwood, and Jamie Wyman. Rhonda Parrish stepped up to read the revised version on a very quick deadline because she’s awesome like that.

  Bonus thanks to my mom, Lona Beth Davis, for her critique feedback and for instilling in me a deep affection for cheese.

  Gremlins may not exist in our world, but I hope my readers are motivated to support their local animal shelters. If you can’t adopt a critter, there are lots of other ways to help out. Life is cruel; let’s be kind.

  Thanks for reading!

  Read more about gremlins

  and medicians in Beth Cato’s

  debut novel

  The Clockwork Dagger

  Available in paperback and ebook!

  Orphaned as a child, Octavia Leander was doomed to grow up on the streets until Miss Percival saved her and taught her to become a medician. Gifted with incredible powers, the young healer is about to embark on her first mission, visiting suffering cities in the far reaches of the war-­scarred realm. But the airship on which she is traveling is plagued by a series of strange and disturbing occurrences, including murder, and Octavia herself is threatened.

  Read on to find out more!

  CHAPTER 1

  Octavia Leander’s journey to her new source of employment was to be guided by three essential rules: that she hide her occupation, lest others take
advantage; that she be frugal with her coin and avoid any indulgences that come with newfound independence; and that she shun the presence of men, as nothing useful or proper could possibly happen in their company.

  Not ten feet from being let out of her carriage, Octavia was prepared to shatter Miss Percival’s most strongly advised first rule.

  The dog was but a puppy, round tummy swaying and tail wagging. It had whirled in the middle of the busy roadway and then chased after a chugging steam car. Along the elevated wooden boardwalk on the other side of the road, a little girl cried, tears leaving clean streaks in the gray filth of her face. A broken leash draped from her hand. Even through the port-­side din of bells and motors and murmuring humanity, Octavia could hear the joyful barks of the puppy.

  She also heard the sharp crunch and the guttural howl. Seconds later, the klaxons and discordant notes of fresh trauma rang faintly in her ears.

  Urgent healings of dogs and other small creatures, such as children, only invited grief. Miss Percival’s advice echoed in her mind. You are a businesswoman, not a charity worker.

  Those canine notes of pain pierced through any armor offered by rationality.

  “Fiddlesticks,” Octavia muttered beneath her breath.

  She glanced both ways. It was a busy avenue four lanes thick, the traffic a mixture of horses, steam cabriolets, and automated cycles, all of them stirring up a thick cloud of dust. The fumes stung her nose and burned in her eyes. She could no longer see the dog. No matter; the cry of fresh blood would call her forth. Octavia set her satchel atop her rolling case and strapped the two together, then pulled forth her parasol. She flared it open to reveal cloth of a brilliant blue with a white lace trim. Stabbing the parasol forward as a bright shield, she stepped into traffic.