Curio (26 page)

Nettie shuddered. “It's the subterranean level of the city. We get our water from the lake down there. The pipe system goes all the way down. They say it's dark and cold, but the worst is the manner of tocks and porcies that live beneath. There are tocks as big as carriages working on the pipelines, and there are porcies so maimed they can't do anything but beg. And it's crawling with modifieds.”

“Modifieds?”

“Porcies that have lost limbs and have mechanical replacements.”

Grey winced at the memory of the smashed porcies. “Wouldn't an artificial limb be better than no limb at all?”

Nettie paused, her features caught in contemplation. “Well, that's what I would choose. But I'm a tock. I'm not built for beauty.”

“Who gives the broken porcies their mechanical limbs?”

Nettie leaned forward in her chair. The faint whir of her internal clockwork drifted to Grey. The maid's tone was hushed. “Some say they go to Cog Valley. Some say there's a rogue glueman doing it. And others say it's the Mad Tock.”

Grey sucked in a quick breath. “What do you know about the Mad Tock?”

Nettie tucked her arms protectively around her midsection. “He kidnaps folks. A long time ago it was just tocks he stole. That's why he has extra parts and can fix the porcies. I've heard he's so good at it that you can't even tell the limb is mechanical—if it's hidden by clothes, of course. They say some porcies even seek him out. Can you imagine? They say he's strange, more hideous than the gearish tocks and, well, mad.”

Nettie's words settled into Grey, chilling her heart. Despite the handsome face at odds with the maid's description, the rest of her account sounded accurate.

“They've been hunting him since the hydro hub explosion. Talk in the servants' quarters is they've made raids tonight.”

Grey's head whipped up. “Did they catch him?”

Nettie shifted to the edge of her chair as if to rise. “No, they caught another rebel though. That's what I heard.” She stood and nodded toward the tray she'd brought. “So Lord Blueboy knows about your, er, needs?”

Grey jerked her chin once.

Nettie wrung her hands a moment then took a step closer. “It's best not to anger him. Look at Mistress Fantine. He takes good care of her, doesn't he? She has everything she could ever ask for, and he's gentle with her now. He'll provide for her when she leaves. You'll see. All will be Beauty's Best.”

Grey's eyes stung as she looked at her friend. “No, it won't, Nettie, because I'll never belong to Benedict.”

Nettie backed toward the door, skirting the clutter with precise steps. “Then I am sorry, Miss. I truly am.” She slid a hand into her apron pocket and produced a brass key.

Grey sprang off the bed. “No. Please don't.”

The maid dropped her gaze. “I'm sorry.” She slipped through the door, and the key grated in the lock.

Bracing one foot on the wall, Grey yanked the door handle with all her strength. The wood creaked but the lock held fast. She raised a fist to pound on the door but stopped. The only one close enough to hear was Fantine, and the porcelain woman likely hated her now.

She turned, pressing her back to the door. She was locked in, but at least Benedict was out there. She'd do everything in her power to keep him locked out, but the spoiled ruler wouldn't put up with this game for long. The bowl of cherries caught her eye. A cruel joke?

Grey crossed the room and swiped the folded paper from the tray. Inside she found a note written in an ornamental hand. After a few seconds, she made out the words.

My Tender Beauty,

Consider the cherries a gesture of repentance. My behavior today was inelegant. Take the evening to rest and tomorrow we shall talk again. I assure you I will be satisfied, but I hope for a shared experience of beauty rather than forced cooperation on your part.

Until tomorrow,

Benedict

The paper fluttered in Grey's hands. Her body shook, but underneath her skin a layer of strength spread. She scanned the room, contemplating each candlestick, vase, and chair leg. She needed a weapon.

Blaise flew far enough back from the last marching soldier to remain hidden. He followed the coach to Harrowstone, the prison built into a cliff face on the western edge of town. The carriage passed beneath an arch set in the tall, rectangular structure protruding from the rock. A portcullis lowered, blocking his pursuit of Seree and her captors. The remaining members of the mechanical platoon positioned themselves as sentries before the gate.

They were expecting an attack from the Mad Tock. Deep inside a voice urged him to strike, fly straight into the metal men and send them toppling like so many lined-up blocks in a tock tavern game. But his shoulder burned, the weight of the steam pack pulled like a load of bricks on his injured joint. And what if Callis were walking into a trap at this very moment?

He swore under his breath, took a final look at the prison—red brick against gray rock—and launched into the air. An aerial search of the Wind-Up revealed soldiers posted
at the front and rear entrances and no sign of Callis. Blaise gave the tavern a wide berth and circled back to the Shelf. Maybe Callis had already been to the Wind-Up, spotted the soldiers, and slipped away unnoticed.

Blaise headed deep into the factory district, avoiding his home in case an ambush waited. A sliver lodged in his chest when he glimpsed the familiar roof from three streets away. The lab. His loft. They'd ransacked the place, taken everything he'd collected over the years. Well, everything in the factory anyway.

Before he was aware of his intentions, Blaise found himself nearing the steep footpath leading down into Cog Valley. A form stole from shadow to shadow on the empty trail. He flew lower and recognized a blond head.

“Callis.”

His friend jumped and flattened himself against the rock wall on his right. But by the time Blaise set down, Callis was jogging toward him.

“The Wind-Up. There were guards when I got there.” Callis stopped, worry twisting his mishmash features. “I waited under the awning of Clayman's, but when you didn't come—”

“Seree,” Blaise couldn't hold it in any longer. “They took Seree. I got there just as an entire platoon dragged her out.”

Callis muffled an oath. “To Lower?” He craned his neck, searching the darkened path. “But I didn't see—”

“I followed them. Callis, they took her to Harrowstone.”

His friend collapsed against the rock wall. “They'll break her. Bit by bit, they'll crack her in pieces.”

Blaise gulped past a stone in his throat. “We can fix whatever they break.” They were hollow words and he knew it. Seree would be in agony until she cooled. If they allowed her to cool. There was no telling how she'd come out of
Curio's prison. The damage might be beyond their skill. And without their lab . . .

“A trade.” Callis pushed away from the cliff face and staggered toward Blaise. “We'll offer a trade. Seree for one of their own.”

“Who?” Blaise ran through the list of upper-class porcies. Who was valuable enough to trade for Seree's freedom?

“Blueboy's new prize.” A sneer spread on Callis's face. A wild gleam lit his jeweled eye.

“What?” But Blaise knew before the word left his mouth. Grey. Callis wanted him to kidnap Grey. His heart tripped and a surge of anticipation simmered deep in his gut.

Callis's smirk spread into a grimace. “Ah, yes. You see the beauty of it now, don't you? He's paraded her by all the nobles just like he does with his protégés. She's his new masterpiece. His new obsession. She's the perfect bargaining chip.”

Blaise struggled against the urge to take to the air now, fly back to Blueboy's estate, and steal Grey away, but not just for the purposes of Callis's plan. Questions pelted his mind, and with her under his guard she'd have no choice but to answer. His pulse raced at the thought of flying through the night with her pressed against him.

A lash of pain in his socket brought him up short. “My arm. I can't snatch her from her bedroom and carry her across the city with my arm like this.”

Callis frowned. “How long will repairs take?”

Blaise eyed his shoulder as if the answer might be written on his tattered shirt. “I have no idea.”

“Then she'll have to come willingly.”

“I told you she hates me.”

Callis shrugged. “Then lie. Tell her you weren't involved—”

“I wasn't.”

“Tell her you want to show her something. Tell her you'll explain everything. Use that strange charm that makes Seree's jitter pump purr.”

The modified's last words came out with a bitter edge, and Blaise shifted his gaze to his boots.

“Just get her,” Callis said. “Bring her to Gagnon's.”

Blaise didn't stay to listen to any more ranting. Turning, he marched back up the path, yanking on his bellow cord. “I'll bring her.”

When he took to the air, the strain of the harness on his shoulder made his eyes water. Banishing the pain, he flew straight across the city, high enough to avoid notice but without any other regard to stealth. This errand had to be quick. He needed to be long gone with Grey by the time morning arrived.

What was that sound?

Grey uncurled from her spot on the rose-upholstered sofa she'd dragged to her makeshift fortress against the bedroom door. Her fingers tightened on the parasol she'd unearthed from the wardrobe.

Benedict had promised she had until the morning, and only the faint light of gas lamps shimmered through the frothy curtains at her window and into her darkened room.

A creak and a jangle reached her stronghold.

She threw off the sheet she'd tugged over from the bed and bolted to her feet. The knee-length bloomers with their frilly cuffs felt gloriously unrestricting after days spent in gowns. With a simple blouse, low-slung belt, and sturdy boots, the outfit provided necessary ease of movement. She clutched her collar closed and, with eyes shut, went over her plan.

Hide in here as long as she could.

Fight Benedict off. Possibly take the parasol to his handsome face.

Escape the first chance she got.

Her eyes popped open as a thud drew her attention to the window. Through the curtains, a bulky form straightened out of a crouch. The silhouette was unmistakable. Grey's stomach tightened. She slid a hand over the whorled design around her navel. Beneath her shirt, the lines of her mark warmed as though traced by invisible fingers.

Grey took a shallow breath before the glass door burst open, the lock snapping after one quick blow. Blaise ducked down, his folded wings and the top of his head skimming just beneath the edge of the casement.

Grey stepped forward. “What are you doing here?”

He shoved his goggles to his forehead and detached his mouth grid. He wore a pained expression beneath his gear. Grey's heart pinched despite her better instincts. After a glance at the barrier she'd erected, his concerned eyes sought her.

“I told you I'd find you.” Weariness threaded the voice she'd been waiting to hear.

Her heart softened, but she checked the warmth spreading through her and straightened her shoulders. “What happened to you? The raids?”

He examined a long slash in his sleeve. “You heard about the attack?”

“I heard they caught a rebel.”

His head jerked up, fire flashing in his near-black eyes. “They caught Seree.”

“One of your co-conspirators?”

“Seree believes all of Curio's citizens deserve pure water. As do I.”

“That's what this was about, then?” Grey clenched the hand still covering her throbbing mark. “You bombed the hydro hub to make a statement?”

“I didn't bomb it.” He ground the words out. “But I stand with my friends, and I suggest you reserve your judgment until you've seen a little more of Curio than this posh palace.”

Grey balled her fists at her sides. The room's jumbled contents pressed in on her peripheral vision. She'd seen enough of her luxurious prison.