Clockwork Heart (22 page)

Cristof looked frustrated as he pulled out his watch and checked it.

“It's not even nine yet,” he muttered.

“How long would it take you to examine this program and find out exactly what it does?” Taya asked, turning to the team.

“A few hours, maybe.”

“Would you do that? So far, all we have are suspicions. We could be completely wrong about what it does.”

“We might as well,” Victor said, eying the boxes of cards. “We can't do anything else until Lars reassembles the engine.”

“Thank you.” Taya grabbed a graphite pencil and scribbled her address on the corner of Kyle's schematic. “When you find out what it does, send a message to me here. No matter what time it is, okay?”

“What if we find out it
is
some kind of security workaround?” Lars asked. “Do you want us to tell the lictors?”

She looked at Cristof. He nodded.

“It could make Alister look bad,” Kyle warned.

“I trust that you won't raise any alarms unless you're certain there's a security risk. But if you feel there's a genuine threat to the city, warn the lictors and tell them your suspicions about a bank robbery.”

“Don't mention that we're going to the tower, though,” Taya added. “Please.”

“All right. And don't worry, we'll be careful. Our reputations are linked to Alister's.” Isobel shook her long hair back over her shoulders. “I can't believe he'd do anything shady, though. This has to be some kind of mistake.”

“We'll leave you to work,” Taya said, putting down the pencil. “Come on, Exalted.”

The exalted equivocated, then followed after her.

“Where are we going?”

“All we can do now is spin our gears, so we might as well go home.”

“Just stop? When we finally have some idea of what's going on?”

“We don't know anything until they analyze that program.”

“There's such a thing as being too pragmatic, Icarus.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“I'm going back to Alister's office to look for more information. We barely made a dent in that mess.”

“You're just going to frustrate yourself,” she predicted.

“I'm used to that. And I don't expect I'll get much sleep tonight, anyway.”

“I'll walk you back.”

“No. Don't bother.” His eyes slid away from her. “Get some rest. You're going to have your hands full tomorrow morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Taya sensed Cristof's reserve kicking in. She didn't have the energy to fight it.

“All right. I'll see you at dawn, then. Meet me at the gate next to the flight docks.”

“Shortly after five.” He hesitated, then reached into his vest. Gold glinted in his hand as he held it out. “Don't be late.”

“I don't need that.”

“Just in case. Since your eyrie clock is inaccurate.”

She met his eyes, then took it. The pocket watch's gold case was warm. She curled her fingers around it.

“I'll see you at dawn.”

He nodded, and she turned and headed for the University dock, tucking the watch into her flight suit.

As she circled up into the night sky, she spotted him standing under a streetlight, peering upward. She tipped her wings, and he waved.

She was fast asleep when her landlady knocked on her door. Taya rolled over in bed, pulling her covers under her chin.

“What?” she groaned.

“That clockwright is here to see you,” Gwen said, her voice quivering with disapproval. “He says it's important.”

Taya stared at the ceiling.

“What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. I told him we don't open the doors for groundlings after ten, but he insists, and he
is
an exalted, even if he's a freak.”

“All right. I'm coming.” She rolled out of bed, grabbing her slippers.

Gwen sat downstairs in the cloakroom, matching Cristof scowl for scowl. She outweighed him by a considerable amount and wasn't cowed by his naked castemark.

He broke their mutual glare when Taya walked in.

“It isn't dawn.” Taya rubbed her face. “Maybe you need your watch back, so you can tell the time?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I was asleep!”

He turned to the landlady.

“May we have a moment in private, please?”

“Not in here,” Gwen declared. “I don't care what my icarii do elsewhere, but this boarding house stays quiet after ten. If you want to talk, you can take your conversation outside.”

“Taya—” he turned to her. “It's important.”

“It's also freezing.” She was wearing nothing but her red flannel nightgown and threadbare slippers. “And late.”

“Here.” He pulled off his greatcoat and held it out. “Just for a minute.”

Taya took it, giving Gwen a resigned look.

“I already told you what I think,” Gwen said, darkly. “You can do better.”

Cristof cast the woman a resentful look before opening the door.

“So, what is it?” Taya asked, shivering as they stepped out onto the porch. Cristof's coat was still warm from his body, but her feet felt like they'd been plunged into ice water.

“The lictors have issued a warrant for my arrest. The engineers confirmed that the bomb was in the clock.”

“I thought they already knew that.”

“It was just a suspicion, before. Now they have enough evidence to arrest me. I spotted lictors staking out Alister's house when I returned, so I avoided them and tracked down Amcathra. He told me what happened and said if I was still around by the time he pulled on his boots, he'd have to take me in.” He rubbed his eyes, frowning. “Under any other circumstances I'd go to headquarters myself, but what if Alister really was writing a security bypass program?”

“Tell them and let them investigate. Unless you're planning to cover it up?”

“No. I wouldn't do that. But — maybe it's arrogance, but I won't believe Alister's guilty until I see the proof with my own two eyes. Accusing him without evidence would be a poor way to avenge his death. And … you said he was going to do the same thing for me.”

Taya yawned. “Then nothing's changed, unless Lieutenant Amcathra's going to turn you in.”

“He was having trouble finding his boots. But something
has
changed. If you help me now, you'll be aiding a fugitive. I promised that you wouldn't lose your wings if you took me up to the Tower. I can't promise that anymore.”

Taya frowned.

“If I refuse to take you up, will you turn yourself in?”

He met her eyes.

“No. I'll figure out some other way to get there.”

Taya studied the determined set to his mouth. She'd seen that expression before, in mirrors.

Lady.
She leaned on the porch railing.
Do I really want to risk my wings for this? Alister was a liar, Cristof's a pain, and Viera—

Viera's nice enough, but I don't owe her anything. In fact, she owes me.

But I like her, and I like her son, and they deserve to know the truth.

And I want to know the truth, too.

She closed her eyes, weighing her options.

“I'll find another way up,” Cristof said, sounding downcast.

“Just shut up and let me think.”

One short flight. Up and back. She could claim that she hadn't known Cristof was suspended. Or about the warrant for his arrest.

He needed her. He'd helped her escape her attackers, shared his lunch, bought her dinner, and let her borrow his handkerchief and watch and coat.

He was snappish and sharp-tongued, and he had envied his brother's flirtation with her.

She opened her eyes and glared. He looked irresolute, his thin face pinched by the cold.

“You're still a pain in my tailset, Exalted,” she grumbled. “But I'll take you up and trust that Viera will bail me out of prison.”

“She wouldn't let you down.”

“Where are you going to go tonight?”

“Does your landlady have any rooms to let?”

“You'd get a warmer reception from the lictors.”

“I'll find a squat in Tertius, then,” he said with resignation.

She eyed him. “Stay there. I'll be back in a minute.” She ran back into the eyrie, waving to Gwen, and burst into Cassilta's room.

“Wha—?” Cassi rolled over in bed, waking up.

“It's me. Go back to sleep.” Taya grabbed Cassi's purse and headed downstairs again.

Cristof was huddled in a corner of the porch when she got back, shivering in his thin cloth famulate's coat.

“Oh. Sorry.” She pulled off his greatcoat and handed it to him. Then she rummaged through the purse. “Perfect. Sit down.”

He wrapped the greatcoat around himself and sat on the porch rail, watching with wary curiosity. When she pulled out Cassi's small jars of cosmetics, his eyes lit up with understanding.

“I think this will do it,” Taya said with satisfaction, choosing a color.

“This isn't your foundation, is it?” he asked as she dabbed a coppery base color over the blue waves on his cheeks.

“No. My friend Cassi's. Why?”

“It isn't your shade.”

“So you're an expert on cosmetics, too? Are you living
another
secret life I should know about?”

He shook his head, and she tsked, dabbing at a splotch with her fingertip.

“I've had to cover my castemark before.”

“Too bad. I know a dressmaker who'd love to have an exalted as a patron.” She corked the bottle and opened a small pot of eye darkener. “Cardinal or plebeian?”

“Plebeian. I'm going back to Tertius.”

She leaned over him and drew a famulate castemark on his forehead.

“It's not perfect, but it'll do,” she said, drawing back and assessing her work. “Don't reach up and smudge it.”

“I won't.” He grabbed her fingers, warming them between his hands. “Thank you.”

Taken off-guard by the gesture, Taya stared at him. Even half-sitting on the porch rail, Cristof's head was an inch or two higher than hers.

Gawky. Skinny. Crow-like.

Not such an awful guy, after all.

“That's what friends are for,” she said, at last.

He didn't reply, scrutinizing her with his hands curled around her fingers. Taya felt like some kind of machine he was trying to figure out. She forced a laugh to dispel the tension.

“Although,” she added, “this friendship ends if you keep waking me up in the middle of the night.”

He released her, standing.

“I'll keep that in mind. Good-night, Taya Icarus.”

“Good night.”

Three hours later, Gwen knocked on her door again. This time the vexed woman held out a message from the University.

Taya opened it, groaned, and shoved it under her pillow.

She'd deal with it tomorrow.

Chapter Twelve

Taya could barely see as she hurried down the path to the flight dock. The dawn
diispira
hadn't kicked up yet, and it was cold enough for her breath to form clouds as she ran.

Cristof was a dark, narrow figure huddled by the gate.

“It's locked,” he reported as she approached.

“Of course it is.” She pulled out her key and let them in. “Ondium's expensive. Did you find a place to sleep last night?”

“More or less.”

“What does that mean?”

“The floor was cleaner than the mattress. I didn't sleep well.”

“Stiff muscles?”

“Not too bad.”

“Good.” She led them across the open practice field to the flight prep building. “I got a message from Kyle last night.”

“What did he say?”

“The Clockwork Heart program sabotaged the University engine. I guess that once it runs, it keeps other security programs from working. He's sending a report to the University president and the lictors this morning.”

“Oh, Lady.” Cristof leaned against the wall, staring into space. “What was Alister doing?”

“That's what we're going to find out.” She unlocked the door and struck a match to light the lamps. Only then did she see that his castemark was visible once more. “You decided to be an exalted again?”

“It might give us an advantage if we're caught.”

“Good idea. We'll need all the advantages we can get.” She led him to the men's changing room.

That morning, she'd done what she could to set up her own advantages. She'd left a note in Cassi's purse containing Kyle's letter and describing where she was going and why. She didn't know what Cassi would do when she found it, but no icarus flew without filing a flight plan first.

Besides, if they got caught, she wanted her friends to know she wasn't a criminal.

“Don't worry.” Cristof tapped his bulging coat pocket. “You can always say that I forced you at gunpoint.”

“They'd just ask why I didn't drop you once we were aloft.” She opened up the flight suit closet. “How tall are you?”

“Six three.”

“Hmm.” She looked dubiously at the selection. “Well, do your best to find a suit and boots that fit. The suit needs to be snug, but not so tight that it binds. Don't wear anything but your drawers beneath it. We'll store your clothing in my locker. Then we'll find you a harness.”

He nodded and she went to the women's locker room to change into her own suit and harness. Minutes later she was showing him how to step into a complicated arrangement of straps and buckles.

Cristof had done the best he could, but his flight suit was several inches too short in the arms and legs and a little too wide around the chest and shoulders. Transferring the contents of his coat pockets into the suit's pouches gave him a bulky look.
Crow with his feathers plumped,
she thought, irreverently.

“The needle gun I can understand, and even your identification papers, but do you really need this?” She held up the slim leather tool kit.

“You never know when you might need a screwdriver.” He tucked the leather case away and she shook her head. Cassi and her lip paints, Cristof and his tools.

“You really are a gearhead, aren't you?”

“We gearheads consider that term a compliment, Icarus.”

Amused, Taya buttoned up his collar until it rested under his chin. He tugged at it, frowning.

“Leave it alone,” she instructed. “You don't want a breeze down your suit while you're flying.”

“I suppose it's no more uncomfortable than robes and a mask,” he said, dropping his hand. “But the suit's heavier than I expected. Especially the boots. You don't look big enough to carry around so much weight every day.”

“I'm stronger than I look,” Taya said with a trace of pride. “The boots are heavy because of the metal toes and thick soles. Even so, we have to replace them pretty often. Which reminds me…” She grabbed a pair of jointed metal-and-leather kneepads. Kneeling in front of him, she attached them to the harness straps that circled his legs, bracing a hand against his shin as she pulled the buckles tight. “We're not going to try an upright landing today. You're going to land on your knees and skid to a halt.”

He shifted uneasily while she worked and finally cleared his throat.

“I've seen young icarii doing that. I thought they were playing.”

“It's the first landing we learn. It isn't elegant, but sometimes it's the best you can do if the winds are high or the approach is awkward.” She slapped his calves and straightened. “This job is tough on the joints.”

“I feel like I'm wearing armor.” He took a few steps. “Excuse me.” He turned and readjusted the straps around his thighs.

“Make sure they don't chafe,” she said, smirking at his back. “Remember, the straps will pull up once the armature is strapped on.”

“Wonderful,” he muttered, his back still turned.

“I'll go get you some wings and weights while you fix that,” she said, chuckling. “How much do you weigh?”

“About one hundred and seventy.”

“Heavy.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“People have called me scrawny all my life.”

“Heavy for an icarus,” she amended. “But you're tall for an icarus, too. I'll be back.”

She found a pair of guest wings and grabbed a wire cage of ondium counterweights. By the time she returned, Cristof was pacing the room, testing the straps. She led him outside, locking the door behind them.

“Paolo's on watch, but he usually dozes off,” she said. “Still, let's move quickly.” The sky was lighter now, although the sun hadn't risen above the mountains. The air was crisp and cold. She took Cristof to the docks, which jutted out over the city. The peaks of the surrounding mountains were starting to glow with the imminent dawn. Ondinium stretched out below them, still in shadow, crammed with buildings, tenements, and factories.

Cristof glanced down.

“Oh, Lady,” he breathed, fixing his eyes on his hands as he pulled on his leather gloves.

“Don't worry. You'll be fine.” Taya clipped the floating wire cage to a ring in the ground and helped him buckle the icarus armature onto his harness. “Snap the keel around your chest and run the straps through the rings.”

“Exactly how is this going to work?” he asked, his voice strained.

“I'm going to put so much ondium on you that even if you lose control, you'll just drift to the ground,” she said, adjusting the padding around his shoulders and over his chest. His heart was pounding so hard she could feel it through her gloves. “Breathe, Exalted.”

He nodded and drew in a deep breath. She gave him a reassuring smile and tousled his hair. Then she paused and plucked at several strands of it.

“Who cuts this, anyway?”

“I do.” He brushed her hand away.

“I guess that explains it.” She stepped away and opened the hatch at the bottom of the ondium cage. “You do a lousy job.”

“Weren't you just wearing red flannel pajamas and ratty slippers? I don't think you have any right to lecture me about style,” he retorted. His voice sounded steadier.

Taya pulled out a five-pound counterweight, pleased that her diversion had worked.

“I like those slippers. They're broken in.” She slid the buoyant ondium bar into a pocket on his belt and buttoned it. “Anyway, nobody sees them except me.”

“Nobody?”

“Watch it, clockwright.” She slid another counterweight into his belt. “How do you feel?”

“Light.” He stepped away from her. “Strange.”

“We don't usually counterweight ourselves this much. It makes wind hard to handle. But I'm going to be doing most of the flying, and I want you to be as maneuverable as possible.” She slipped out two more five-pound counterweights and added them to the others. “Are you floating away yet?”

“Almost.” He eyed the edge of the cliff and took a step back toward her. “What would happen if I were too light?”

“Well, in theory, you'd float up until you hit the moon. But in practice, you'd slide one of the counterweights out of your belt and release it into the air.” She eyed him. “And then you'd reimburse me, because each of these weights is worth about a year of my salary.”

“As long as you keep me alive, I'll handle the expenses,” he promised.

“Deal. It's time to practice.” She stood in front of him, her own wings locked high, and showed him how to slide his arms into the straps and struts.

“The mistake most beginners make is to flap too much,” she said as he spread his wings and practiced an up and downstroke, feathers closing and opening. The downstroke lifted him and she reached up to grab the metal keel over his chest, pulling him back to earth. “But gliding is less effort than flapping. What I'll want you to do most of the time is lock your wings into glide position and let me guide us.”

“How are you going to do that?” he asked. His heart was pounding again, thumping against her fingers and the armature.

“We're going to be connected by a safety line. Are you remembering to breathe?”

He took another deep breath, his grey eyes fixed on her face. They were wide behind his glasses.

“There are only two dangers up there,” she lectured. “The biggest one is that you panic and tangle your wings with mine. If that happens, we're going to stall and fall. We don't want to do that.”

“I never panic.” His coppery skin was going pale again.

“Good. The second danger is that we get blown off-balance and I have to unhook from you until I can regain control. You're so light right now that you don't have to worry about falling. Just let the wind carry you and do your best to keep your wings spread wide. All you have to do is stay calm and make yourself visible, and I'll find you even if you end up floating over another mountain. Okay? Just don't panic.”

He swallowed and nodded.

“Hey!”

Taya turned and saw the dispatch office door open. Paulo had seen them.

She turned back to Cristof, shoving a flight cap into his hands.

“Lesson over. Time to go.”

“But I don't have any idea what I'm doing!” Cristof protested, pulling on the cap.

“No time. Buckle the chinstrap.” She pushed him by the harness to the edge of the dock as he fumbled his goggles into place over his glasses. “Stand still.”

“Oh, Lady,” he groaned, looking down. His fingers yanked on the goggle strap.

“Eyes straight ahead. Take three deep breaths.” Taya stood behind him, pulling out her safety line. It was twenty feet of tightly wound silk cable with a braided wire core, safety hooks on each end — the same kind of line Pyke had dropped to her in the wireferry accident. She hooked their harnesses together and pulled her goggles down.

“Hey, Icarus, you haven't cleared this flight!”

She glanced over her shoulder. Paulo had been grounded years ago with a bad leg, and now he hobbled toward them on a cane. Plenty of time. She yanked the line, snuggling up against Cristof's back. Lady, he was tall. Her face was even with his shoulder blades.

“Is this—”

“Lock your wings into close position,” she ordered, spreading her wings wide. His wings folded back, their metal primaries brushing against her legs. “Walk with me to the edge.”

“Exactly how do we take off?” he asked, agitated.

“We jump.”

“Can't you be in front?”

“Walk!” She took a step forward, her knee nudging the back of his leg. He took one step, a second.

“We're at the edge!”

“Wait.”

They teetered on the edge. Paulo shouted behind them.

Taya leaned against Cristof's back.

“Crouch and jump forward as far as you can. Keep your wings folded. If you panic and spread them, we'll get tangled up and it'll be a really short flight.”

“I understand.”

“Jump on the count of three. One. Two. Three!”

Cristof leaped.

Taya leaned against his back, her wings downstroking as hard as possible. They sagged, then thrust upward and forward. Unable to see clearly, Taya scooted herself higher on his back, wrapping her legs around Cristof's waist and tucking her feet next to his hips to seal them together.

His extra mass dragged against her as she beat her wings, but he was well counterweighted, and she pulled them up over the city and into the pale sky. As soon as they were clear of the launch dock and Secundus wireferry towers, she straightened one leg to awkwardly kick down the tailset on his armature.

“Legs up and in,” she shouted, straddling his back again.

They bobbled as Cristof tried to find the rung under the tailset, and then she felt their balance steady as he got his ankles hooked over it. The ondium tailfeathers counteracted the drag of his legs. Until they separated, his tail was going to be her tail.

She was silent, concentrating on finding the air currents. She nudged up higher on Cristof's back, putting her mouth close to his ear.

“Good job!”

“Are we safe yet?”

“We're fine. It's a beautiful morning for flying.”

“Okay.”

He sounded frightened.

“You're not looking down, are you?”

“I'm not looking anywhere.”

“Are your eyes open?”

“No.”

“What? Scrap, open your eyes! You can't fly blind!”

A moment later he groaned. She felt his muscles tighten beneath her thighs.

“What?” she asked.

“The ground.”

“Exalted! Keep your eyes up and open and don't panic! You have to see where you're going!”

“No, I don't.” His voice was faint. “I trust you.”

“Open your eyes!” she commanded, digging her boot heels into his ribs for emphasis.