Clockwork Heart (15 page)

The light in the cell was fading when the door opened again. Cristof stood silhouetted in the light from the hall. He gazed at her, then stepped inside. He looked haggard, his ragged hair raked on end and his mouth bracketed with deep lines of stress.

“Don't even think about hitting or kicking me,” he snapped, pulling a ring of keys from his coat pocket.

“Why are you here?” Taya demanded. “Who let you in? Where are the guards? Guards!”

A passing lictor glanced through the doorway, then walked on.

“You don't need to call the guards.” Cristof sounded impatient. “I'm one of them.”

Taya jutted out her chin, staring at him with distrust.

“I don't see a lictor's stripe on your face.”

He scowled.

“I'm going to unlock you. But I swear, if you try to attack me, I'll have you thrown in the mines for the rest of your life.”

“Is that the way the system works? Is that the equality between icarus and exalted you were telling me about the other night?”

He twitched.

“Murderers have no rights. Did you kill my brother?”

“No.” She looked directly into his eyes. “Did you?”

“No.”

They glared at each other with mutual suspicion. Then Cristof stepped forward and unlocked the chain around her left hand. She pulled it in close to her chest and stood.

He never took his eyes off her, watching as if he expected her to kick him without warning. His wariness made her feel more confident.
I'll bet his jaw still hurts
.

“Are you going to take these off?” she asked at last, holding out her wrists. He grabbed the manacles and unlocked them. Taya winced as she rubbed her chafed flesh. He let the metal bonds clatter to the stone floor.

“My men searched your rooms and questioned your acquaintances and family.” His voice was cold. “We don't have enough evidence to hold you.”

“Your men?”

“My men.” He slid the keys back into his coat pocket. “I've been working with the lictors for fifteen years.”

“Did your men search your rooms, too? Or doesn't an icarus's accusation mean anything?”

His eyes narrowed behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

“As a matter of fact, your accusation triggered a routine check that became rather more than routine once my superiors talked to the clerks in the Tower. I've spent all day in an interrogation room, thanks to you.”

“Well, I've spent all day in a cell.”

They stood in silence again. Then she took a breath, bracing herself. “Did they … have they … found him yet?”

“Probably.” Cristof jammed his hands into his pockets, shoulders high. The muscles around his mouth were tense. “It's going to take some time for the coroners to confirm who was in that car.”

She rubbed her face, feeling the threat of tears again. She knew what that meant. The bodies were too mangled and burned to be identified.
I'm not going to cry in front of Cristof
, she told herself furiously. “What—”

“They know it was a bomb.” Cristof's voice was under tight control. “And Alister left the Tower today holding the clock I'd repaired.”

Taya's head jerked up.

“Then why aren't you under arrest?”

“I was.”

She waited. He was silent.

“Well? What happened?”

“Putting a bomb into one of my repair jobs in order to kill my brother makes about as much sense as you rescuing Viera and Ariq after sabotaging the wireferry they were riding on.” He gave her a cool look. “It's not impossible, but it's improbable. And neither us can be held on an improbability.”

“Alister didn't know you worked for the lictors, did he? Or he would have realized you hadn't killed Pins.”

“No. He didn't know. And thanks to you, he probably died thinking I was a terrorist.”

“Why didn't you tell him?”

“Who cares? It doesn't matter now, does it?” Cristof's tone was bitter. “It wouldn't have made any difference if he had known. He'd still be dead.” He turned his back on her, shoulders still hunched around his ears. “Get out of here, Icarus. I don't want to see you again.”

Taya drew in a hurt breath, then slowly let it out. She rubbed her wrist again and started out the door, then stopped. Her eyes burned.

Alister was dead. Caster Octavus was dead. Last night's party could have been a dream, for all it mattered today. And what was she supposed to do? Just walk away?

She rested her head against the doorframe, getting a grip on herself, and turned toward him.

“I didn't kill your brother,” she said, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. “I liked him. A lot. And I liked Caster Octavus, too. So I'm going to find out who did this. For both of them.”

“No, you're not.” He looked up, his expression bleak. “You're going to stay out of the way and mind your caste.”

“Like you?”

“The lictors won't let me investigate this case, either, thanks to your accusations.”

“Fine. You can do what you want with your spare time. I owe it to Alister and Exalted Octavus to find out who killed them.”

She turned to leave, but the exalted reached out and grabbed her arm, his thin fingers digging in until it hurt. His face was twisted in anger and something else. Desperation? Despair?

“Don't be ridiculous. You wouldn't even know where to start.”

Taya shot him a furious look. His eyes were red behind the lenses of his spectacles. Her anger diminished as she studied his face and saw the deep grief he was hiding beneath his sharp words.

Our parents are dead, and we're all we have left
, Alister had said. And now Alister was gone, and Cristof was all alone in the world.

“Then help me,” she said, simply. “He was your brother. You owe it to him, too.”

Cristof's jaw tightened, and then he released her, scanning the hallway before focusing on her face again.

“You have to sign for your wings. I'll meet you at the Wren and Cup, eight blocks east of the greenmarket in Secundus, in half an hour. They'll be watching us.”

“I don't care.”

He stared at her.

“You know what?” he asked, his voice flat. “Neither do I.”

Chapter Nine

Heads turned as Taya walked into the public house, folding her wings close to get through the door. She'd only snapped the keel shut when she'd retrieved it from the lictors; her harness straps were tied together and tucked out of the way.

Cristof sat at a table in the back. She locked her wings upright, out of the way of other patrons, and walked over to him. The tips of her metal flight feathers brushed the cobwebs on the ceiling beams.

The exalted slouched in his chair, staring at a tall pint of ale. His pocket watch was open next to his drink, gently ticking. Taya glanced at its mother-of-pearl face. She was just on time. Filling out the paperwork to reclaim her wings had taken her longer than expected.

“Can we talk here?” she asked, turning a chair around and sitting down. She folded her arms over its back.

“In generalities.” He reached forward and picked up the watch, closing it with care and slipping it into his vest pocket.

“All right.” She gave him a level look. “What are the lictors doing now?”

“The sun will set in twenty minutes. They're already calling in the evacuation and repair teams and covering the supply wagons.” Cristof stopped as a serving woman walked up with a fresh pint of ale.

“First one's on the house for rescue workers,” the woman said in a brisk voice.

“I didn't do much,” Taya confessed, looking up.

“Every little bit counts.”

Taya stared at the ale, feeling guilty.

If she hadn't gotten herself arrested, maybe she could have done something useful.

“They'll wait out the night, then start working again as soon as there's light,” Cristof continued. “Almost everyone has been evacuated from the Tower. A few lictors volunteered to stay up there as a skeleton crew.”

Taya thought of the cold, dark mountain and the mangled body parts and closed her eyes. Ceaseless construction had driven the wolves off Ondinium Mountain, but smaller scavengers would be out as soon as the sun set, picking at any flesh they found among the rocks.

At any pieces of Alister and Octavus that hadn't been retrieved.

Her stomach twisted and she opened her eyes, grabbing the ale. Liquid spilled as she drank, seeking to drive away the gruesome mental image.

She lowered the glass and wiped her mouth, shuddering.

“Do you know any Torn Cards?” she demanded.

“None that haven't already been arrested.” Cristof shifted in his seat. “Tell me what you know. What Alister knew.”

Taya recounted the morning's conversation, pausing every few sentences to swallow hard. She wrestled with her conscience over mentioning the Clockwork Heart program. She'd all but promised not to say anything about it, but if she kept it a secret now, Alister's murderers might go free. At last she sketched it out in as few words as possible, whispering to keep the other patrons from overhearing.

She didn't mention the end of the conversation at all, her voice trailing off as she grabbed the pint of ale again.

I should have kissed him
, she thought with anguish.
I should have taken the chance.

While she was drinking, Cristof pulled off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So. Alister was up early to test a new engine. He was back in his office by the time you arrived. He left nearly three hours after you spoke to him. What was he doing in that interval, and where was he going when he left? Did he tell anyone about your suspicions? If he said something indiscreet in front of a Torn Card spy, he might have triggered a reaction that got him killed.”

“But there wouldn't have been enough time for a spy to plant a bomb in his clock,” Taya protested.

“It wouldn't take that long, if the spy knew what he was doing and Alister were out of his office.” Cristof shook his head. “But we don't know for certain whether the bomb
was
in the clock. It's just supposition.” He put his glasses back on. “And we don't know for certain whether the explosion was meant for him, either. The lictors believe the first attack was aimed at Caster, and this one may have been, too. That's the angle they'll investigate first. If the searchers found any parts of the bomb, it will help explain what happened, but thanks to my arrest, I don't know what they've discovered.”

“Lady.” Taya rubbed her face. How could he talk about the attack so calmly? Every time she paused to think about what had happened, about who she'd lost…

“Why were Alister and Caster together?” Cristof continued, watching her. “Was it coincidence, or did it have something to do with what you said about me? Were they talking about Council business?”

“I don't know.” Taya felt daunted by all his questions. “How do we find out?”

“Talking to the clerks who were evacuated would help, but I don't have access to them anymore. I'd like to search Alister's and Caster's offices in Oporphyr, but there's no way up.” He looked frustrated. “We can't talk to Viera, yet.”

“Poor Viera.” Taya's heart ached. She'd only lost a hope. Viera had lost a husband. “I should go visit her.”

“Not tonight. The lictors told me she's in hysterics.”

“Will she be all right?”

Cristof leaned forward in his chair and wrapped a hand around the base of his glass.

“She loved Caster,” he said, voice low. “He was twenty-five years older than she was and Alister and I tried to discourage her, but she married him anyway, and he made her happy. We were arrogant idiots who thought we knew what would be right for her. I'm glad she didn't listen to us.” He paused, tilting the glass back and forth. “I don't know what she'll do without him,” he finished, and took a drink. Taya glanced down at the rings of condensation on the table, pretending she didn't see him wipe his eyes with his free hand.

Lady
, she thought, alarmed,
if he loses control, I will, too, and we'll both be sitting here crying like babies.

But Cristof took a deep breath, slamming his glass down on the table with a bang.

“My brother thought Caster was attacked because of the program he'd written?” he demanded.

“He suggested it, but I don't see why the Torn Cards would care about a program to predict happy marriages. The whole thing's silly, don't you think?”

“It's exactly the kind of program he would write. Alister wants everything to be just right, and he'll do whatever—” Cristof stopped and looked away. When he continued, his voice was rough. “Alister was an idealist. Things either worked perfectly or they didn't work at all.”

“I thought you were the idealist.”

“No.” He looked back at her. “I know the world isn't perfect, and I don't think it can be. But I try to repair the worst problems. Alister would rather scrap the whole program and write a new one from scratch.”

“Did someone break his heart once? Is that why he wrote the program?”

Cristof studied her, then dropped his gaze to his ale. “Alister would never risk a broken heart. He preferred perfect flirtations to imperfect love. He wrote that program for our parents.”

“But they—” she stopped, suddenly putting the pieces together. Cristof shrugged, his narrow shoulders slicing the air.

“We could talk to his programming team,” he said, changing the subject. “Maybe one of them leaked information to the Torn Cards. I agree that it seems like a stretch. But they're probably the only suspects who are still available. Alister always stays up late at the University when he's working on a program.”

A beat of silence followed his words. Taya looked down at her hands. Cristof pushed his ale away.

“You don't have to come, if you don't want to,” he said abruptly, standing.

“I'll come.” She got to her feet. People cleared a path as she led the way out, her wings scraping the ceiling once more.

Night had fallen. Taya fastened the neck of her flight suit, grateful for its padded lining. Cristof buttoned up his coat and pulled up its collar. The winds had died down, but the night air had a bite.
We'll get snow in a few more weeks
, Taya guessed, looking up at the stars.

“You shouldn't walk around with your armature undone,” Cristof said, breaking the silence. “It isn't safe.”

“I thought we might go someplace where I'd want to take it off.” She looked at the unfastened straps. “I guess not.” She tugged them free and ran them through the buckles on her suit.

They stood in silence as she worked. Then Cristof shifted, his shoe scraping on the cobbled street.

“I apologize for shaking you,” he said, his manner stiff.

“It's all right. You were mad. So was I.”

“Even so.” He turned, his sharp profile gleaming in the gaslight. “I never thought I'd raise a hand to a woman. I lost control.”

“You were under a lot of stress.” She tugged a shoulder buckle tight, feeling a twinge of remorse. “I'm sorry I hit you, too. I mean, I wouldn't have been sorry if you'd been the one who'd set the bomb, but since you're not….”

He nodded once, falling silent again. Taya had the distinct feeling that he wasn't satisfied, but she didn't know what else to say. Instead, she finished fastening the armature. Cristof began walking, and she fell into step beside him.

People bustled through the streets of Secundus on their way home from work, their coats wrapped around them and their bundles under their arms. Gas lamps and lit storefronts kept the streets bright. The lights of Primus rose overhead until they melded with the stars, and the lights of Tertius swept out below, vanishing in the furnace-red glow of the smelting factory chimneys.

Taya glanced at Cristof. He looked unhappy, huddled in his greatcoat as they walked.

“What will the lictors do if they find out you're investigating your brother's death?” she asked, to distract him.

Cristof shrugged again.

“Threaten me. Throw me in prison for a few days. Fire me, if they get really upset.”

“You don't sound too worried about it.”

“I don't need the job. I have plenty of money from my inheritance, and the repair business is good.”

“Why didn't you give up your inheritance when you turned your back on your caste?”

“It's my money,” Cristof snapped. “My parents died long before I decided I'd had enough of Primus.”

“So all you really did was take off your mask and change your clothes,” she shot back, irritated. “You still have your money and your title, and you're still part of the government.”

“So?”

“So, it wasn't exactly a heroic rebellion.”

Cristof's laugh was short and bitter.

“You've got me confused with somebody else. I'm not a hero or a rebel.”

“Then why are you doing this to yourself?” She gestured to his short hair and mercantile clothing.

“Alister never understood, either.”

Taya took a deep breath, reminding herself that Cristof was grieving, too. Diplomacy. She moderated her tone.

“Then maybe you need to explain it better.”

They walked another block before he started to speak, pausing often, as if choosing his words with care.

“There are lower-castes who think exalteds aren't human. They think we're hiding some kind of grotesque deformity behind our masks and our robes, or that we're really spirits or demons. But the only thing exalteds are hiding is that they are human.”

They turned down the broad, tree-lined street that led to the University's towering iron gates. Dry red and gold leaves rustled around them, casting ghostly shadows in the light of the street lamps.

“Believers say the Lady permits us an eternity of rebirth to refine our base souls, and being born as exalteds proves that we're close to the final forging. But exalteds are as imperfect as anyone else and just as liable to shatter under pressure.

“My father beat my mother to death and killed himself. The caste covered it up. It wouldn't be in our best interest to admit that exalteds can go mad. The lower castes might lose faith in our ability to rule the city.” Cristof's voice dripped venom. “So we lie to them.”

“Nobody would want to publicize something that terrible,” Taya murmured. “It wouldn't matter what caste it had happened in.”

“If you never talk about a problem, how can you prevent it?” Cristof stopped at the University gates and pointed to the motto inscribed in iron over the arch.
Knowledge is Power
. “Exalteds worship knowledge. We feed every scrap of data we can collect into the Great Engine— unless it's about ourselves. We don't want to know the truth about ourselves. My father's friends should have realized something was wrong. They should have stopped him long before he got around to killing my mother. But everybody turned a blind eye to what was happening. They didn't want to see his wife's bruises or listen to his sons' pleas for help, because if they did, they'd have to admit their caste wasn't perfect.”

“So you left Primus because you were angry,” Taya summarized. “Why don't you just say so?”

Cristof tightened his lips, drawing away.

“You think it's trivial.”

“I didn't say that. I was heartbroken when my mother died. She got the coughing sickness and the doctors couldn't do anything about it. I know a parent's death isn't trivial.”

“It isn't about my parents.” Cristof jerked around and began walking again, leading the way through the university commons. “I minded my caste for eight years after they died, finishing school and taking care of Alister. But I saw it happening, over and over again. Lies and cover-ups and pretense. Exalteds will do anything to keep from admitting they're as flawed as the lower castes. Finally I decided I'd be more useful repairing clocks than pretending to be perfect. Alister was already here at the University with a shining future ahead of him, so I left.”