The Clockwork Dagger (14 page)

Is this death? Was the fall that fast?

She opened her eyes. Gray hazed her vision. She pulled her hands close, staring into them. Her body was weightless in space. Darkness shifted around her and then the air itself seemed to change. There were faces, blurred. Octavia squinted through the mist as she ached to recognize her parents.

Then the blurriness was gone. The tingle of dissipating magic shocked her chilled skin. Arms reached for her, chattering voices melding into cacophony.

“Octavia. Octavia. Miss Leander.” Mr. Garret's face filled her vision, his eyes wide in concern.

“Mr. Garret.” Her voice was a croak. “How did we . . .”

“They brought in the aether magus from the cockpit and he seized you in time. You . . . you fell.”

“Yes. Thank you for stating the obvious.”

“Ah, miss. What're you doin', falling outta windows like that?” Vincan hovered close by, shaking his head. This time, she noted, his jacket was properly buttoned.

The burden of life struck her chest like a physical blow. Her breath rattled as she gasped. She had never felt such a thing before, but knew from the tales. Knew what one of the other Percival girls had said after a soldier grabbed her from the path of a stampeding wagon. The Lady prized life, and prized those who saved the ones who labored in her name. As the girl had said, “It's a pressure, on your heart. A reminder. No matter what I did, I had to find that soldier again and bless him.”

Two.
The number sang in her head, just as the bodies around her sang their own melodies. She owed a life debt to two people within this room.

“Here.” Mr. Garret wrapped his coat around her. The instant warmth came as a shock, creating a violent shiver. She hunkered down and pulled the jacket closer, crying out as her palms touched the cloth. The jacket carried the coziness of Mr. Garret's body heat and his lingering scent. She breathed it in, soothed in spite of everything. Mr. Garret adjusted the coat on her shoulders, the backs of his fingers stroking her neck, ever so gently.

Her head jerked to the side and their eyes met. Sadness—relief—shone potent in his gaze.

If he continues to look at me like that, I'll thaw in no time.

Little Daveo flung a wad of cloth napkins into her lap. She murmured thanks and pressed the clean cloths to her hands, gasping at the pain. Mr. Garret's hand braced her shoulder, steady as a mooring tower.

“I want to know what happened!” An authoritative voice boomed over them. Captain Hue stood there in a thick crimson jacket. The straight, tailored lines couldn't quite hide the late-life roundedness of his gut.

Mr. Garret stepped back as Captain Hue leaned over Octavia. A whiff of onions filled her nostrils. The captain's face was craggy and wrinkled, yet in a noble, handsome way. A slight tilt to his brimmed hat completed the look. Octavia blinked, suddenly realizing all the lights were on in the promenade, and half of the passengers and crew seemed present as well.

“Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!” Mrs. Wexler wore a voluminous white nightgown, her voice high and hysterical—nothing unusual, from Octavia's brief acquaintance with the woman. Everyone jabbered, words overlapping, body songs forming a low murmur of background noise.

“Miss Leander.” Mr. Garret held a glass of water directly in front of her face. She reached for it, then stopped.

“Um, Mr. Garret, could you . . . ?” How embarrassing, to ask him to help her drink. He smiled in understanding and tipped the glass to her lips. She sagged in relief at the coolness of the water in her dry throat, and motioned him back. Water trailed from the corner of her mouth and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

“Captain, sir,” she said. “Mr. Garret, your steward, was kind enough to inform me when the Saint's Road would be viewable and stayed with me a time.” She certainly hoped saying that wouldn't get Mr. Garret in trouble; he nodded to her in encouragement, while Captain Hue was as readable as marble. “Then . . . uh, Mr. Garret was summoned away and I stayed at the window and then . . . there were hands at my back, and next thing I knew, I was out the window.

“I looked up and saw Mr. Grinn looking down at me. Then Mr. Garret . . . I daresay, events at that point are blurred. I was just trying to hold on.”

“Mr. Grinn, our passenger.” The captain's eyes narrowed, vanished beneath thick lines of wrinkles. “You tended him earlier, did you not?”

“I did, yes. He was my last patient.”

“Did he take offense to this? Did he come across as disturbed? Were any words spoken?”

Octavia forced her spine straight. “Sir,
I
take offense at the idea that I somehow invited or caused my defenestration. Mr. Grinn spoke mostly in grunts, but he seemed grateful enough.”

“Mr. Grinn doesn't speak our tongue, sir,” added Mr. Garret.

“I'm well aware of that, Mr. Garret. I take the time to welcome each of my passengers.” Captain Hue's tone was icy. His gaze didn't shift from Octavia. “And he said nothing when you dangled together below?”

Octavia shook her head. “No, sir, not that I can recall. I don't . . . I don't even remember if he screamed.”

The captain reared back, breath released in a huff. “You can take care of yourself?” He nodded toward her.

“Oh. Yes. Speaking of which, I need to inspect the damage.” The napkin tugged at the gluey blood as she pulled the cloth from her right hand, sending another fierce stab of pain down her arm. The flesh at the base of her fingers was cut almost to the bone; if she had struck with any greater velocity, the cord may have sliced through her hands entirely. It's a wonder she had managed to hold on as long as she had.

No, not a wonder. Strong as I am, I couldn't have held on to that cord for more than a few seconds on my own. It's as though the Lady endowed me with extra strength for a time.

“I need to place myself in a circle right away, before infection sets in.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “My satchel?”

“Still by the window,” said Mr. Garret. He carefully sat down a few feet away, tucking his shredded and vacant pant leg against his thigh.

Octavia bit her lip. “Oh, dear. Your leg—”

He waved a hand in dismissal. “It contains a tracking device. I will seek it out.”

“We're over the marshes, aren't we? Oh Lady. All that water . . .”

“In any case, it can be recovered and save a mechanist the trouble of measuring me again.” Mr. Garret was far too flippant. The way that the leg had been wrenched away, it could have created major damage to the connectors. Then the water, and the fall . . . Even a quality prosthetic such as his had limits.

“I'll make a peg leg, Alonzo,” said Vincan.

“I appreciate the offer, my friend, but I cannot fasten a peg on. It would grind the connectors into my skin. A crutch will have to suffice.” Alonzo heaved himself onto his single foot. The crowd around them had begun to disperse. “Where has Mrs. Stout gone?”

“Mrs. Stout was here?” Octavia asked.
At least Mrs. Stout is safe now. Mr. Grinn must have stabbed her before, in my stead.

“She was the one who rang me,” he said.

“Oh.”
Mrs. Stout must have been brimming with suspicions—some of them valid.

Mr. Garret continued, “We were entering the promenade together when we noted your absence and saw Mr. Grinn at the window. Thank you.” Little Daveo offered his stubby body for Mr. Garret to use for balance. “Mrs. Stout ran to the stewards' panel to summon more aid.”

“I suppose all my screaming didn't do much good, did it?” Octavia asked.

“Over the wind? No, m'lady.” A hard glint flashed through Mr. Garret's eyes. “I am grateful I was gone but for a minute, but if I had not left . . .”

“Don't torment yourself in such a way, Mr. Garret. Please.” Octavia stood. The coat slid from her shoulders to create a puddle of black at her feet. The extra warmth slipped from her skin, yet she noted the absence of the cinnamon scent most of all. “Captain Hue. Pardon.” The captain turned from the crewman he was speaking with. “I would appreciate some privacy to conduct mediations for Mr. Garret and myself.”

“Certainly. You can heal in here. No point in making the man hobble all about. Garret, you're off duty until your leg is fixed.”

“Understood, sir. I will remedy that as soon as possible.”

The pressure on Octavia's chest intensified, as though squeezed in a giant's fist. She looked at the crewman alongside Captain Hue. He was younger than she was and wore his gawkiness like a garish coat. A knob protruded his throat, like a turkey's gullet. His body exuded heat along with a song, his mild magic a palpable presence.

“You're the aether magus who saved me.”

The youth blushed. “I'm not a magus, m'lady. Not yet. I have a few years in training to go, and work as an elevator man aboard airships between sessions. I just lifted you, that's all.”

“It was no mere thing to me. Fully trained or not, thank you, and may the Lady bless you.” She reached out, a napkin clutched in her fist, and tapped the side of his jaw with her knuckle. His stubble prickled her skin. He jerked back, eyes going wider.

Blessings required no circle: simply gratitude from the heart for the preservation of life, channeled from the Lady. The boy would find that he slept soundly and healed quickly for the next while. The pressure against her heart eased, but it still took effort to breathe.

She owed that same debt to Mr. Garret, but had a sense that he'd know to dodge her if she reached for him like that. However, dodging would do him little good in his current condition. She eyed Mr. Garret, suppressing a smile.

“Out, out!” barked the captain, shooing people away. He looked at Octavia. “If you need anything else, m'lady, ring for assistance.” He motioned to the far wall with its pull cords.

“Thank you,” she said. The other people cleared out.

“I suppose I should sit down again,” said Mr. Garret. He grimaced as he leaned against the wall to lower himself.

“Well, there was no call for you to rise in the first place.”

“You stood as well.”

“I'm not the one missing half my leg!”

“True.” He sat with a grunt and propped himself up on his good knee. “So what now? Shall I pass your satchel?”

“No. You'll remain still while I bless you.”

Mr. Garret's eyes went wide as she dove at him. He yelped and tried to scoot to one side, but Octavia was more agile yet. She stepped over his good leg and pinned it between her calves. His head was indecently placed, trapped between her skirt and the wall. She tapped her knuckle against his cheek. His skin was soft but for the pinprick beginnings of a beard. And goodness, he was warm against the lingering iciness of her skin.

“For saving my life and risking yourself for me, the Lady blesses you,” she murmured. He shivered.
From the coldness of my touch? The blessing? Or something more?

“You did not need to do that,” he mumbled.

“Actually, I did.” Octavia took in a full breath, expecting the onerous pressure to be gone. It wasn't. She almost cursed aloud.
His leg is still missing. That must be why. Surely the Lady knows I will help Mr. Garret of my own free will? This doesn't make any sense.

Confused, she backed away, reaching for her satchel. She worked it open with slow, fumbling moves.

“I can help,” he said quietly.

“No. I can do this.” She pulled out the blanket by pinning it between her thumb and knuckles. Agony from her sliced hand muscles sent a jolt straight to her skull. She half closed her eyes, breathing through the pain to stay conscious.

“Miss Leander, please.”

Unable to speak, she nodded. Mr. Garret moved quickly to fluff out the medician blanket. It filled the floor space between the wall and several tables. She crawled on her knees and centered herself in the oval.

“The jars. In red and blue.” Her voice was hoarse from pain, but the agony was more bearable with her hands still.

I'm letting a man handle my jars. This is far more intimate than that kiss, yet I'm not that perturbed about it. Pain puts things in perspective.

“Anything else?” he asked.

She jerked her head in the negative. “Are you in much discomfort right now, Mr. Garret?”

“If you are trying to place me first in the queue, it will not work. I will not acquiesce.”

Curse the man. He knew she couldn't heal him against his will. “Then answer me truly, knowing you must wait your turn.”

“I am not in any pain. My leg feels . . . strange. Ghostly, if that makes sense. I feel as though 'tis there right now.”

“Hmm. How quickly was the leg attached after initial amputation?”

“Six weeks.”

“A brief wait, compared to most.”

“I am friends with Kellar Dryn, of Leffen.”

Octavia perked up. “Oh! That explains the high quality of your leg! Dryn's creations are sheer artwork. No wonder it has a built-in transmitter. His works are known to be stolen for their parts.”

“Indeed. Though I fear Kellar has not tested his products for durability if dropped from six hundred feet into a marsh.”

“Not forgetting, of course, that it was wrenched free by three hundred pounds of weight.”

His smile twitched in amusement. “No, I would never forget that.”

She looked toward her parasol. He followed her line of sight and set it in front of her. “Thank you. Can you grab one of the clean napkins, Mr. Garret?”

“Certainly.”

“Okay. Wait for a moment.” Tears filled her eyes as she tugged the napkins from her crusting wounds. The world wobbled before her eyes. Her throat clenched tight and breaths ragged, she continued, “Now, stuff the cloth in my mouth.”

His eyes widened but he forced the cloth between her lips. The dryness of cotton invaded her tongue. Before she lost all nerve, she passed her hands over the wand.