The ferry docked and Petra hurried off the ship, Braith not far behind. She shouldered through the crowd, the docks bustling with redcoats, coppers, bobbies, and pedestrians alike, everyone swarming toward the arriving ships as droves of passengers came ashore. News of the attack circulated through the crowd—panicked exchanges and whispered speculation, questions of war, fear of other attacks, worries of whether the attackers had targeted more than the airfield, if this was part of some greater scheme against the British Empire.
Petra shoved past them all, pausing only to show her papers to the guards at the gates before hurrying up the street toward the University, towering high above the rest of the city.
Braith finally caught up to her on the other side of Pemberton Square and grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop. The busy main-street crowd bustled around them, a confusion of voices and bodies, faceless and ghostlike.
“Petra, slow down,” he said, holding her steady. “Why are you in such a rush?”
“I need to speak to Julian,” she said, trying to tug free of his grasp. “As soon as possible.”
“Why?”
She faltered. How could she explain? If he knew what she had done . . . There would be no going back after that, no returning to the lies that had kept her safe until now. To tell him the truth would break down every last wall she had built to protect herself.
Could she trust him with that?
He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Petra, what’s wrong?”
She met his concerned eyes, her resolve starting to crack. What point was there in hiding the truth from him now? After today, that would be the end of it, the end of her rebellion, proof of her sabotage handed over willingly. Julian would have everything he needed to get rid of her, and there was nothing Braith could do that she wasn’t about to bring down on herself.
If there was a time to trust him, it was now.
“There is something I need to tell you,” she said slowly. “Something you’re not going to like. I—” She choked on the words, the truth sticking in her throat.
“What is it?” he asked. “Petra . . . you can tell me.”
“I made a mistake,” she whispered, her voice quavering. “I—I was wrong to think I could stop this war, to think—” She swallowed thickly and closed her eyes, seeing again the rows and rows of quadrupeds in Rupert’s airships, just waiting for an excuse to go to war. “I have to fix them, Braith. Whatever it takes. If I don’t . . . men will die because of me, because of what I’ve done.”
“What do you mean?” he asked. “What mistake?”
She pressed her mouth shut, glancing up and down the heavily congested street. Too many eyes. Too many ears. “Not here.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him down a side street to a less populated area of the city, between the first and fourth quadrants. She stopped at the mouth of a derelict alley, the brick and cobblestones grimy with soot and dirt.
“Petra, what—”
“I told you before, of my involvement with the automaton,” she started, worrying at the stem of her pocket watch as she paced across the narrow alleyway. “How Emmerich destroyed it trying to protect me from his father.”
She remembered that day with perfect clarity—the fire in Emmerich’s eyes as he turned the frightening machine against his father, how he used the automaton to smash a hole through the floor so she might escape. “Well, there is a bit more to the story than I let on . . .
“I tried once to stop this war, to stop Julian when I realized the truth of what he was trying to do, but I failed. The automaton was his first attempt to create a war machine, long before there was any conflict with the anti-imperialists. It was proposed as a preemptive measure, but that was a lie. All along, he planned to replicate the automaton, create an army, and use it to mount an attack on the French once his plans to fuel a war were in motion. When we discovered the truth—Emmerich and I—we intended to destroy the prototype and reveal his conspiracy, hoping to stop the war before it ever began, but before we could prove anything, I was arrested and accused of being a spy and a traitor, of being involved with the anti-imperialists. Emmerich helped me escape, but by then, it was too late. The damage had been done. The destruction of the prototype was all Julian needed to fuel the conflict between Great Britain and the anti-imperialists. By trying to stop him, I played right into his hands.
“By the time I was cleared of any crimes, the designs had already been prepared for manufacture. There wasn’t enough evidence to prove that Julian was behind the war. There was nothing we could do to stop him. We failed.”
Braith stared at her. “Hold on . . . You think the minister is behind the war? What possible reason—”
“He wants to create a new world,” she said, the words bitter on her tongue. She still remembered the glint in Julian’s eyes the night he told her his plans. “He’ll burn this one and build a new one from the ashes, with him in power and all the world at his mercy.”
“That’s madness.”
“That what’s I’ve been trying to tell you,” she said. “This war isn’t what you think. Julian is behind everything—the automaton, the rising conflict between Great Britain and France. All along, he’s been the one pulling the strings. He forced Emmerich to present the automaton project to the Guild. He perverted it into a war machine. And when Emmerich and I destroyed the prototype, he turned it into an anti-imperialist attack on the Guild. Everything he’s done, everything he’s worked for, he only ever intended to start a war, to fuel the fire between Great Britain and the anti-imperialists.”
“Petra, one man can’t orchestrate an entire war. The conflict between Great Britain and the anti-imperialists has been brewing for decades. It only needed—”
“A spark,” she said, finishing for him. “A catalyst. Me.”
“But why you?”
“Because I was the one stupid enough to design his war machine,” she said bitterly. “I was the one stupid enough to try to stop him.”
He remained silent for a moment. “That’s why you feel responsible for this . . . for the war. You think you’re the cause.”
She nodded. “Which is why I have to stop him, why I’ve fought so hard to end this. I never wanted to build a war machine, I never wanted to be a part of this war, but after what happened with the automaton, he threatened to turn me over to the Royal Forces as a traitor and a spy unless I cooperated with him, unless I built him a new war machine. If I agreed, he promised to withdraw his statement about my anti-imperialist ties; he promised me a position within the University and the Guild—as long as I did as he asked. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut, build his war machine, and do nothing else to sabotage his plans. I resisted as long as I could, trying to earn a position in the Guild on my own terms, but in the end, building the quadruped was the only way to keep my freedom—to keep my life. The day you and I met outside the council chambers, he threatened to repeal my pardon and send me to the Royal Forces to answer for my crimes, unless I delivered on our agreement. I thought that if I cooperated, it might buy me the time I needed to expose his conspiracy, to expose him for what he was, but—”
She paused, the truth of what she had done sticking in her throat. “After failing with the automaton,” she went on, “I knew I needed a contingency plan, in case I couldn’t find a way to expose the truth about the war and Julian’s hand in it. A surefire way to stall the production of the quadruped and delay the war.”
Braith regarded her with a frown. “How?”
“I . . . You have to understand,” she said thickly. “I thought I could delay his plans, put off the war long enough to find another way to stop him. I thought I had more time. I never meant for it to—” She broke off, shaking her head. “If I had known what he was planning . . . if I had realized . . .”
“Petra, what did you do?”
She swallowed against the
tightness in her throat. “I sabotaged it,” she said bluntly. “The quadruped design. From the very beginning.”
Braith took a step back. “You didn’t.”
“I thought it was the only way. I didn’t—” She glanced away, an ache spreading through her chest. “I didn’t think. You were right, Braith. I can’t stop this war. I was wrong to think that I could. I realize that now.”
“After all this time . . . after everything I did for you . . .” The muscles in his jaw twitched, and he turned away from her with a shake of his head. “I lied for you, Petra,” he said, his voice barely a hiss. “I stood up for you. And now you tell me you already sabotaged it? Why?”
“I didn’t think I had a choice.”
Braith scoffed.
“I thought I could stop him before it came to war, but now—”
“But now what? Why are you telling me this now?” he demanded. “What changed?”
“Because after today, I may not get another chance,” she said. “I have to fix it. Today. If I don’t . . . Julian, he—” She pressed her lips together with a frown, her mouth suddenly dry. “He built an army of them, Braith,” she said thickly, her voice cracking. “An army of quadrupeds, built from the sabotaged design.”
“What?”
“I saw them, at Hasguard, sitting in the cargo hold of one of Rupert’s warships. We found them right before the attack on the airfield—eighty to a ship, with more being commissioned as we speak.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, shaking her head. “But you have to believe me—those machines were never supposed to exist; the schematics were never meant for mass production. The prototype was designed to fail, delaying manufacture until the fault was repaired. But Julian must have bypassed the council somehow, ignoring Guild protocol to advance construction before the prototype could be approved.” She swallowed hard. “And now, because of what I’ve done . . . if the quadrupeds in those ships are deployed, every one of them will fail.”
The sky darkened a shade, the smell of rain on the air.
“That’s why I have to fix them,” she went on. “Before it’s too late. I may not be able to stop this war, but I can fix my mistake.”
He looked up at her. “How?”
“There is an axle plate,” she explained, reaching into her skirt pocket and withdrawing the faulty device. “A part of the regulatory system linking the intersecting mechanisms. Without it, the quadruped will function as intended, the sabotage rendered inert.” She gripped the device in her hand—this tiny thing, a weapon in its own right, capable of disabling an entire army within mere minutes. All because she was stupid enough to believe she could stop Julian’s schemes. “You have to believe me, Braith,” she went on, her voice quiet. “I never meant for it to go this far. All I ever wanted was to delay the war, stop it if I could. Not this.”
They stood there in silence for a moment, distant thunder echoing across the sky. The sky turned a slate gray, casting the city in shadow.
“Turn me in if you have to,” she said. “Report me to the Guild. I don’t care. But first, let me fix my mistake. Let me make this right.”
Finally, he spoke. “What do you plan to do?”
“The only thing I can do,” she said. “Tell Julian of the fault and hope it’s not too late to fix them.”
“Petra, if the minister learns what you’ve done—”
“He’ll have me arrested—I know—but he’s the only one who can have the army repaired in time. I don’t have any other choice.”
Braith shook his head and turned away, slowly running his fingers through his hair. “No, there has to be another way,” he said, starting to pace. “You can’t just waltz into his office and tell him you sabotaged the quadruped . . . or what’s more, that his entire army—an army you shouldn’t even know about—is defective.”
“What else am I supposed to do? If the quadrupeds aren’t repaired in time, those men will die.”
He stopped pacing. “And if you tell the minister the truth, you will die,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft. “You realize that, don’t you?”
Rolling thunder punctuated his words, and a cold shiver crawled down her spine. She knew what would happen when she told Julian of her sabotage—she had known from the very first day she decided to sabotage the quadruped—but there was no other way to stop the Royal Forces from sending the faulty machines into battle.
“I have to fix this,” she said quietly. “Whatever the consequences.”
“So you’re going to hand yourself over? Just like that?”
“If that’s what it takes to repair them, then yes. I know what needs to be done; I’ve known since I first saw the quadrupeds sitting in Rupert’s warship. So either you can help me, or—”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” he asked. “I’m trying to figure out a way out of this that doesn’t end up with you dead. You need a plan.”
“I told you—”
“A better plan.” He turned away from her, kneading his forehead as he paced up and down the alley, his brows knit in concentration. “What about the prototype?” he finally asked, turning toward her. “How long would it take you to fix it?”
“A few minutes. Why?”
He started pacing again. “Say you repaired the prototype and removed the sabotage, would that not accomplish what you want? The minister would learn of the repair in the weekly production report, and he would have no choice but to forward the repair to the Royal Forces, or else their failure would be on him.”
“But it could takes days for that to happen,” she countered. “There are hundreds of these machines, Braith, with even more in production. If there are any delays, if war starts before the repair is fully implemented . . .” She shook her head. “It’s too much of a risk.”
“It is a risk, yes, but one we can afford. Wars don’t happen overnight. Once the Royal Forces is aware of the fault, they’ll have no choice but to repair the machines—all of them. They can’t knowingly send faulty machines into battle. We just have to make sure the minister never suspects the truth of what you’re actually trying to do.”
“You think that could work?” she asked, her heart beating faster at the possibility.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Petra hurried to her dormitory and ditched her dress in her room, no need to change since she was already wearing her work clothes underneath. She delayed only long enough to grab a hat and change into a dry pair of socks and shoes before fetching her copy of the quadruped schematics from her desk. She riffled through the stack of pages until she found the design for the machine’s base, where her sabotage connected through the primary gear systems. It had seemed so simple all those months ago. Sabotage the prototype. Delay the war.
How naïve she had been to think it would be that easy.
Stuffing the designs in her pocket, she left the bedroom and met Braith in the hall, pulling her hair back into a braid as she walked.
“You got them?” he asked, falling into step beside her.
She nodded, tying off the end of her hair. “We need to hurry, before Calligaris sends everyone home for the day. Someone has to be there to confirm the fault and verify the repair, or else Julian will cry sabotage and bury me for trying to fix it.”
Braith stopped her. “I won’t let that happen,” he said, his voice full of conviction. “Petra, listen to me . . . Whatever happens now, I’m on your side. I’m with you.”
An hour ago, she wouldn’t have believed it, but she had no doubts about his loyalty now. The choice she had feared for so long had come, and despite everything, he had chosen her.
Not his duties. Not the Royal Forces. Not the Guild. Her.
“I know,” she said, her voice cracking.
She only hoped he wouldn’t come to re
gret it.
From the dormitories, they made their way to the workshop, the University halls still abuzz with engineers and students, the mood somber after the news of the airfield attack. Petra’s heart beat like a drum in her chest, afraid that Julian would see through their fragile plan and figure out the truth of what she had done. If she failed to remove the sabotage, if she failed to pass it off as a legitimate repair . . . there were so many things that could go wrong, so many ways she might fail.
But there was more than her own life on the line now.
Failure was not an option.
She turned the corner down the long hallway that led to the Guild workshops, determined to stop for nothing until the quadruped prototype was repaired, when she ran smack into another engineer.
Braith caught her by the arm before she fell.
She brushed him off and glanced up at the engineer, relieved when she recognized him. “Yancy? What are you doing here?”
“I suppose I could ask you the same,” he said, looking her over. “I thought you were on leave today, a trip to the airfield.”
“We just got back a little while ago. Have you heard what happened?”
He nodded. “We just got the news. I was on my way to see if my father knew anything more about what happened. No one’s saying much, but there’s talk of anti-imperialists behind it.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Minister Goss,” he said “Just a half-hour ago. We’ve been ordered to expedite production in light of the attack; the deadline has been moved to next week. We’re scheduled to work in shifts until it’s done.”
Petra glanced at Braith, the rigid line of his jaw all she needed to know that he understood the severity of the situation. “We need to get the workshop,” she said, her pulse racing. “Now.”
She turned to go, but Yancy touched her arm.
“Petra, wait. You should know . . .” He leaned close, lowering his voice to a whisper. “When the minister came by the workshop, he mentioned you. He seems to think you’re involved.”
The Guild Conspiracy Page 21