Curio (50 page)

With one hand resting on the rounded metal surface for balance, Grey alternately studied the Shelf for signs of soldiers and squinted ahead at the line of green in the distance.

She checked her harness for the fifth or sixth time but didn't test the wings in the confined quarters of the narrow walkway.

Blaise still lay at her feet where Callis had arranged him. In the light of the Curio morning, his swarthy complexion bore a hint of green. She bent and checked his pulse, probing his neck and wrists until she found the faint
thump-thump
.

Such a different sound—this
thump-thump
,
thump-thump
.

Grey shut out Benedict's voice in her head and brushed a kiss on Blaise's still lips. She clasped his hand in hers and leaned closer.

“Hold on to me. We'll be out soon.”

The hub traveled on, either following a preprogramed route or—Grey tensed at the thought—choosing the optimal path. But, no, Gagnon built the massive machine she perched on. It was no more alive than the toys in her grandfather's shop. Well, the toys not in this particular curio cabinet.

The hub changed orientation with each move, providing a rotating view of the valley, the diminishing Shelf to the north, and the nearing line of green countryside to the south. Callis appeared from around the curve, and Grey stood, bringing her thoughts back to the next step of their escape.

A light wind lifted the modified porcie's blond hair, blowing it about his reconstructed face. Grey studied the seam that began at his left temple and traveled over the bridge of his nose across his cheek and down below his ear. Questions filled her brain. Did his scars still hurt? How had Blaise known how to fix him? She flexed her own modified hand. How had Blaise fixed her?

Callis pointed toward the countryside. “My best guess is the tree you're looking for lies in the forest to the south. Blaise loved flying over the farmland and spent more time there than anywhere else.”

Grey nodded and joined Callis in a constant sideways shuffle that allowed them to keep the southern horizon in view. Ahead and to the right, the stacks dwindled into odd mounds just before the landscape slanted up to climb out of the valley.

“How long has it been since we've seen a village or one of the water collection units?” Grey asked.

Callis's eyes narrowed on the strange mounds. “There wouldn't be many out here.”

“Why?”

He pointed to the heaps but didn't answer her question.

Seree moved around to stand with them. “I think you'd better get ready. The hub will only be parallel with the valley's southern edge for a short while.”

Grey pulled the bellow cord to heat the cinderite as Seree unfolded the canvas and withdrew a set of prepared ropes
from the satchel she carried. The porcie woman set to work threading the ropes through holes in the material. Callis knelt by Blaise and laid his hand on the copper-laced strands of hair. Grey turned away, but an ache crept to her throat.

Seree hauled the sling to Grey's feet and attached the ends of the ropes to the steam pack harness. At close range, Seree's cracks formed a delicate pattern set into sharp relief by her dark hair and tawny eyes. The effect was captivating.

Her swift tug to the ropes yanked Grey into a hunched position.

“That should hold.” Seree squatted to arrange the canvas and called over her shoulder. “Bring him.”

Callis hoisted Blaise and carried him to the sling.

Doubt scooped a hole in Grey's stomach. She'd never operated the pack. She had no idea where she was going or if Blaise would survive the journey.

Callis and Seree stooped, their heads close together, their hands tucking and smoothing Blaise into the canvas cocoon. Seree pressed her lips to Blaise's then stepped back. Her voice broke.

“We need more time. I can't say good-bye this way.”

Callis's mechanical arm encircled her shoulders. “This is the time we have, Seree.”

“Will you come back?” She met Grey's eyes.

“I don't know.”

The hub lurched, starting its curve to the west.

“Go.” Callis jerked his head toward the countryside.

Grey released the wings. They were heavier than she'd anticipated and folded out with a low whooshing sound. The force pulled her back, and her feet left the catwalk around the hub. High-powered streams of heated water coursed through the intricate piping system, setting pistons churning. Grey sailed upward, kicking her heels together to engage the fins
on her boots. She jolted midair. The straps of the harness dug into her back and underarms.

Below, the sling lifted off the platform. Callis and Seree guided Blaise's unmoving form up past the chain net and handrail. The wings beat, great gusts of air pushing Grey into the sky. The fins on her boots caught the draft, pulling her legs up behind her.

For a moment, she hovered above Gagnon's moving locus, her eyes lingering on Callis and Seree's upturned faces. Then the huge hub pitched into motion, lumbering away to deliver water to the exiles of Cog Valley. Grey lifted a hand in farewell to the rebel porcies. They raised their hands as well, walking along the dais to keep Grey in sight.

When she turned and flew toward the valley incline, the wind whipped her hair off her face and snatched the tears from her eyes.

With the hub retreating, silence descended on Grey, broken only by the beat of her wings and the faint rush of water and steam in the pack. She left the stacks behind and soared over the farthest section of Cog Valley. Blaise swung a few feet below her, his body folded in the sling. His stillness made her Defender mark clench.

Soon the uneven mounds slipped beneath her. Grey blinked. A face? She'd seen a face. She peered around Blaise's form. Another.

Her throat closed.

Tock faces.

She drew in a sharp breath. The burial slopes continued like foothills leading to the edge of Cog Valley.

Grey shifted her feet left, right, up, down. She pulled on the bellow cord. She had to get away from the hundreds of tock bodies sliding silently underneath her.

The twisted metal gave way to dirt. Grey angled her shoulders up and gave a flutter kick. They glided along the slant of the valley, higher and higher. The first patch of green on the hillside was like ointment on a cut. Grey sped up, shooting over the edge of the basin and out above fields of green stretching for miles.

She flew straight, as Callis had suggested, putting distance between them and Curio City. The blurring ground matched her heartbeat, the speed of her thoughts.

Home.

Home with Blaise.

Please let him live.

Toward glass, then finally the store, her grandfather. Her father.

Away from soldiers and people made of porcelain and clockwork.

Away from Benedict.

She looked down. The sides of the sling revealed Blaise's face; the dark features and full lower lip looked calm.

Away with Blaise, a Defender from another century. The one meant to stand in her father's place.

Grey dropped, flailing until she regained control. She was taking him back so he'd live. And if he did, would she ask him to go up against the Chemists? Take her father's punishment—her punishment—in some archaic substitution ritual?

“No.” The wind stole the word.

She screamed it to the speeding meadows.

She dipped again. She was losing altitude as Blaise's weight drew her down. She rolled her shoulders, but the pressure on her back only increased. A few minutes' rest would ease her mind and the pain in her joints.

A patch of red appeared on the horizon, taking shape as she neared: a barn amongst endless fields. Grey made for it, her decline steep. She rubbed her boots together, bringing the fins in. Her legs dropped beneath her, slowing her speed and pressing her into Blaise's still form.

The gaping barn door and the ground whizzed toward her. In a moment it was over. She crouched, feet on the ground and arms braced around Blaise. Her wings still flapped behind her.

Blaise groaned, and Grey lowered him to the ground, collapsing on top of him. The wings made a canopy over them, and she closed her eyes, burying herself in the peaceful darkness.

“Grey?”

She rested her head on something firm, some part of Blaise—his shoulder or his chest maybe—but didn't open her eyes.

“I can't do it.” Fabric muffled her words.

“Where are we?”

“A barn somewhere.”

He didn't speak again. Was she cutting off his airflow? Grey pulled herself away from him and sat back, folding the wings in. The barn was empty except for the two of them huddled just inside the door. No scents remained to indicate the structure had ever been used to house clockwork animals or store cotton crops.

Grey tucked her knees beneath her chin, careful to keep her legs clear of the ropes attached to her harness. Blaise's gaze flicked around the enclosure. His eyes looked too big for their sockets and his cheeks sank inward.

He rolled his head toward Grey. “What's happening?”

“I'm trying to get you back home. You gave me too much of your blood.” Grey held her modified hand up in explanation.

A half smile tugged his green-lined lips. “Oh, right. It's beautiful work. Weatherton's a genius.”

She shrugged off the comment. “Blaise, I need to tell you something.”

His dark brows furrowed. “I need to tell you something too.”

She held her right palm up. “Just let me talk, okay? I came here because my father was arrested for something I did. I think Haimon sent me here to bring you back so you could stand in my father's place. Is that something Defenders did for each other? Never mind, you don't have to answer. I can't do this.”

He lay still; only his eyes moved, his gaze dragging over her face. “You can't get home?”

She hugged her knees. “I don't know if we can get home. I don't know where to go, but that's not what I meant. I can't ask you to take his place. I need to do it, but I don't know how to be a Defender. I can't make the strength come when I need it. I can't face Adante. I'm afraid.”

Blaise stretched his hand over the dirt, his fingers straining toward her boot. Grey scooted forward and cupped his hand in hers.

He spoke in labored sentences. “First, the tree. From the air the southern border of the forest is a straight line. Fly above the very center of the line. Keep going until you see the white tree. You have the key?”

She slipped it over her head and held it up. “Do you know what the symbols mean?”

“I saw them when I first brought you to Weatherton.” His eyes sharpened on the glass surface. “Fist for Defender, open hand for Chemist, cupped hand for one who receives, the potion-dependent.”

“Then it does come from our world.” She turned the key about, examining it from different angles. “Why do you think it's hollow?”

He shook his head, sweat beading at his temples. His answer didn't fit her question. “All those keys. How could I have thought it'd be one of their keys?”

When he closed his eyes, Grey sprang forward, laying her hand on his forehead. He roused and met her gaze.

“Second thing you need to know is”—he drew one long finger along her jaw—“your Defender state will always come when you need it, but the quickest way to summon it is through your sense of justice. I lost that in here. In a land of brittle creatures, I was afraid of my own strength.”

He shifted his head, locking his eyes on the beams of the ceiling. “The third thing you need to know is who I really am. The glass tree will show you that better than I can.”

CHAPTER

31

G
rey yanked the bellow cord and forced her shoulders back, straining to keep altitude. Below, smooth branches stretched their colorless fingers up as if they would pluck Blaise from his sling. As far as she could tell, he was unconscious again. Their talk in the barn had ended with his eyes closed and her shaking him a little too hard.

She scanned the forest, her shadow the only break in the endless stretch of clear trunks and leaves. Fog, thicker than in the city, pressed on her from above, robbing her surroundings of all color. The moisture mingled with the sweat on her skin, gluing her hair to her forehead. She scratched at the metalwork securing her porcelain hand to her arm. An urge to tear the new appendage off and send it clattering into the forest below shuddered through her.

How long before she spotted the white tree and what waited there? The only certainty she had was that the boy dangling below her hid more secrets than the Chemist tower.

A layer of mist drifted away and a white silhouette flashed amongst the colorless trees. She aimed for the pale shape, folding her hands to her sides and pointing her toes. Wet air parted before her as she drove toward the white tree.

The milky branches reached higher than the transparent limbs around them. As she neared, a clearing came into
view. The black forest floor swallowed more light, making it appear she was descending into a bottomless pit. Grey's senses rebelled, but she disengaged the fins on her boots and swung her legs down to lower into the dell.