Curio (19 page)

When Fantine exited her boudoir sometime later, she presented a warm smile to Grey, who waited in the gallery. The porcie wore a dark blue velvet bodice with the high collar and cutaway neckline she favored. A large sapphire dangled from the lace-edged band at the base of her throat. The stone twinkled with the same hue as Fantine's eyes. Her bodice dipped in a corsetted V shape over her slender midsection. Below it she wore a pair of loose, short pants in burgundy satin that reached her mid thigh. What appeared to be stockings made of bright blue strings encased Fantine's legs, giving the impression of spider webs clinging to her milky skin.

Grey stammered a “good morning” and followed her host to the elevator in the next room, then through the entry hall and out the grand front doors. She'd seen some of the estate grounds earlier. They'd had a midday sip in the garden a few days after Grey's head quit throbbing. But as Drakon now led the way to the stables, Grey fought an urge to bolt past the dignified butler and run to the outbuilding that housed their means of escape.

If only Fantine could walk faster. When Drakon stopped to discuss the arrival of the Curio assembly members with a stable tock, Grey edged around him and through the wide doorway. The building accommodated a number of velvet-coated horses, an elegant cream-colored horseless carriage, and other contrivances ranging from a chariot to an enormous pair of metal legs attached to a large basket with seats.
Drakon slipped around Grey, his nose in the air as he led the way past the legs, which shifted slightly as though adjusting weight.

Fantine let out a little squeal and peered at the odd contraption. “Whatever are those, Drakon?”

The tock butler ticked his annoyance. “Sir Weatherton's new conveyance, madam. He insists on tinkering, as you know. The dreadful thing sways awfully. He'll fall to a smash, you can bet on it.”

Fantine put a hand to her collar. “And after what happened to Lady Weatherton?” Her voice lowered. “Some might call it brave.”

Drakon's eyes zipped to his mistress's face. “Quite so.”

“Does Lord Blueboy know of this . . . this dreadful mechanism?”

“I've made him aware.” Drakon offered a slight bow more concurrence than deference. The butler might hold little esteem for the mistress of the estate, but one thing they did agree on was that beauty was the highest measure of worth. Though a new form of thought skirted the edges of Curio society. At private sips Benedict told stories that shocked Fantine and forced Grey to suppress a giggle. Porcies scaling tall buildings,
riding
horses instead of being drawn in coaches, taking risks. Such actions were suitable for tocks and porcies of the lowest stature, but not for the upper class.

Grey glanced to the smooth cement beneath her feet. What would it be like to fear a minor fall? To walk, like Fantine, slowly and carefully, mindful of every threat. She started. Images from Mercury City collided with one another. Walking home from school with three precise feet between Whit and her. Gauging the location of every male in a public place. Hugging her arms around her middle to keep her full-framed body compact. She knew what it meant
to walk in fear. Even now, she stood two feet from Drakon, her arms pressed against her sides to avoid brushing the tock butler who helped Fantine navigate the portable steps to the carriage.

She shook off the weight of her life back home as Drakon held out his gloved hand to her. Here in Curio she was free, not only from the Chemists' codes, but also from the porcies' limitations. She could spring into the open coach like an acrobat if she wanted. Bounce along in the seat next to their tock driver. Or better yet, gallop astride one of the glossy horses who puffed steam out of their mouths in steady streams like boiling teakettles. What was stopping her?

Fantine leaned over, one hand clamped over her throat and the other motioning for Grey. “Come on. Let's go.”

The porcie's expression doused Grey's daydreams. For all her caution and well-executed beauty, Fantine strained like a child in uniform.

Grey accepted Drakon's assistance and joined Fantine on the cushioned seat. As the tock driver prodded the glistening horses forward, she reached for Fantine's hand. The porcie's smooth fingers squeezed Gray's as the wrought iron gates swung open to allow them passage onto a wide street beyond.

A line of soldiers, all alike in their tin uniforms, blocked the traffic so Lord Blueboy's carriage received the right of way. The driver guided the horses in a smooth turn to the left and they were off, gliding down a tree-lined road beneath the pearlescent haze of low-lying clouds.

Fantine pointed to the mansions they passed and rattled off the names of the inhabitants as well as their latest fashion achievements or the artists and musicians they sponsored.

Most of the homes were set behind tall fences like Lord Blueboy's, but graceful colonnades, towers, and gables soared
above the barriers. Strange spheres gleamed in the filtered midday light. Mercury City boasted nothing so grand.

A few vehicles traveled the road with them, open carriages like theirs and coaches straight from storybooks. One well-dressed porcie sat in a stylish two-wheeled cart pulled by a metal horse with large gears for flanks and an articulated neck that creaked as the horse raised and lowered its head.

They left the seclusion of the residential area and merged into the traffic on a main street. Boxy horseless carriages in candy colors chugged between the horse-drawn conveyances, steam curling from rear pipes. An omnibus trundled by on slow-moving treads. Tock faces, visible through the windows, stared straight ahead as though their keys had yet to be wound. Some had smooth cheeks and painted faces like Nettie and others looked like a mishmash of gears and parts. The bus crept away down the street edged by quaint shops and sipping establishments.

A door on a white townhome opened and a porcelain woman stepped out, leading a girl with long brown ringlets.

Grey pointed. “What a beautiful mother and daughter.”

Fantine frowned. “Mother?”

“Over there.” Grey swiveled in her seat and gestured to the walkway behind them. A closer look at the woman and child revealed no similarities other than perfect porcelain skin and gem-like eyes. “Didn't you see them—the little girl with brown hair and—?”

“I saw.” Fantine's voice brought Grey back around. The porcie's features hardened.

Questions built on the tip of Grey's tongue but she bit them back. She was supposed to be from the country, not a different world.

They continued deeper into Curio City. The buildings were larger and closer together, but none of them soared to
reach the sky like the tower in the center of Mercury. Rosy brick, white lattice, arches, and stones in varying hues combined in captivating patterns and façades.

A few structures, all elevated and cylindrical, stood out in the cityscape. One looked like a massive metal tulip. Another had scalloped edges, giving it the appearance of a giant's crown. Grey pointed to yet another dome-shaped construction rising into view as they neared the busy heart of the city.

“Are those water towers, Fantine?”

The woman beside her glanced at the golden sphere looming above a sprawling building taking up a block of the city square. “Water towers? Is that what they're called in the country? We call it a purification locus, or hydro hub.”

“They're so pretty.”

Fantine wrinkled her nose. “On the outside, of course. But inside”—she shuddered—“all that filthy water. Ugh! I hate to even think of it.” Lowering her hands to her lap, she adjusted the jewel-encrusted clips securing her stockings. Condescension colored her next words. “You're right, I suppose, we were clever to make the hubs as pleasing to the eye as they are necessary for the plumbing.”

Their carriage pulled into a line of vehicles navigating the streets that formed a square around a patchwork park. Though crowded and busy, order prevailed on the wide walkways and in the transportation lanes. Porcies ambled well-tended paths and shrub-lined sidewalks, their clothes a twinkling rainbow against the backdrop of manicured grass and elegant buildings. The tocks moved faster, skirting the porcelain pedestrians and darting in and out of doorways.

The carriage stopped in front of the largest building in the square, set back from the street by a wide courtyard and portico. Only one story high, the building stretched from one
end of the block to the other. A shimmering white façade, rounded edges, and decorative carving gave the appearance of a galleria made of sugar. A banner hanging from the roof depicted costumed porcies on a stage. Above it, the golden hydro hub seemed to float, its support structure hidden by the galleria's glistening architecture.

Porcies streamed from the sidewalk down a carpeted walkway toward double doors visible between the columns of the portico. When the tock driver—dressed in the distinctive uniform of Lord Blueboy's household—hopped down and zipped to the carriage door, the other porcies halted.

Fantine alighted first, clinging to the driver's hand but with head held high. Smiles and warm murmurs greeted her. One or two porcies moved forward to welcome her. Grey accepted the coachman's help and joined Fantine on the carpet. She recognized a few of the faces—high society porcies who'd attended functions at the estate.

As the group drifted toward the entrance, the carriage whisked away, replaced by an enclosed coach pulled by—Grey blinked—a small elephant the color of bark. Grey lingered, her eyes wide to take in the spectacle around her.

Humid air pressed close, gluing her dress to her skin and carrying a heavy floral scent. She zeroed in on the source. One corner of the courtyard harbored a flower garden. With Fantine occupied, Grey wandered toward the blooming plot. Real flowers, not arrangements pulled from paintings. She dipped down to a blue rose, inhaling a scent both familiar and yet too musky to resemble any she'd encountered before. If only she could find a real fruit tree, maybe—

A loud boom cracked overhead. Grey jolted. Her heartbeat skipped and sped.

The porcies looked about, their features twisted in confusion.

Grey stepped out of the garden and walked toward the crowd that hid Fantine. A creaking, grinding sound echoed through the air. Many of the porcies covered their ears then dropped their hands to exclaim to one another. They craned their necks, mouths drawn in worried lines.

Another sound pierced the rising murmurs. Or was it many sounds? Grey winced as the high-pitched wail rose to an ear-splitting decibel. Though constant, the tone quivered, underscored by a throaty wheeze. She covered her ears, but the screech only grew. Before her, porcies stood in the square, mouths open. Screaming.

At the other end of the galleria the porcelain woman and child Grey'd seen earlier stood immobile on the sidewalk, their eyes lifted above the molded ridge of the opera house roof. A dark sheet of liquid descended, burying them with wave after wave. The flood kept coming, rolling over the galleria's roof and down into the courtyard like a muddy waterfall.

The shrieking continued, like a hundred tea kettles boiling over. Grey forced her legs to move.

“Fantine! Fantine!” Her voice drowned in the chaos. The water kept coming; thick as oil, it poured from the rooftop into the street, swallowing the performance-goers, snagging carriages and the animals pulling them and lifting them on the advancing tide.

The wall of water crept closer. Grey stood, petrified. All around her the porcies ran. Across the street a man in a gray suit jumped away from the floodwater and fell, crashing into a bench. His mouth opened, but his shriek was lost among the others. He lurched up, clutching the jagged edge of his shoulder where his arm no longer connected.

The sludge swirled over the carpet Grey stood on a moment ago and slid toward the corner of the courtyard. She
needed an escape. The retaining wall enclosing the garden swept up into an arc, rising to meet a decorative pillar at the farthest crook of the courtyard. She bunched her dress in her fist and ran toward the highest point.

Behind her, the water surged, spilling into the courtyard. The screams were ahead of her now as the porcies at the intersection watched the flood advance. Grey's boots splashed in ankle-deep water. She leaped to the top of the stone barrier on her left and ran along the narrow surface elevated above the courtyard.

The black water licked the stones at the base of the partition. She eyed the path in front of her, conscious of each footfall in her sprint toward the corner column. The wall swept into an incline, rising toward the arch in the corner. Grey faltered. Her caution cost her speed and momentum.

Water slapped against the wall beneath her. She scrambled another step, but the slope was too steep. She teetered, arms out for balance. Her boot slid on the next step. She willed her muscles to fight the pull of gravity, willed her feet to follow the curve of the arch.

Something yanked her from behind, compressing her ribcage. She braced for the tug of the water. But it wasn't a wave that took her. She hung, suspended above the surface of the water as it swelled over the retaining wall. Her legs dangled, her toes skimming the dark river of sludge for a moment before leaving the water, and the ground, behind.

She couldn't breathe. Something clamped her midsection, holding her body like a child toting a limp cat. Wind whipped her hair and skimmed the goose bumps on her arms. Desperate for air, she scrabbled against the restraints at her waist.

“Stop moving.” The words buzzed from just above her.

Grey froze, her arms hanging limp below her. She twisted her head and squeaked.

Someone. Someone with great, beating wings, held her fast. They flew over the black tide rushing into the square below. Grey searched for Fantine's bright red hair, but everywhere she looked another wave obliterated any hope of spotting her. The indistinct screaming lessened, replaced by a chorus of names being called, the yowls of animals, and the slap of water against building sides.