The Clockwork Dagger (34 page)

“We have large families who share a household, and many sons. Women are not expected to face the strain of life alone.”

No, they were meant to die amidst the labor of childbirth.
“I must have time to consider my options, Mr. Drury.”

“Of course,” he murmured, and opened the women's tent for them. The smell of vomit was gone, the cold bowl of beans removed. As soon as the heavy flap dragged shut behind them, Viola whirled around, grabbing Octavia by the shoulders.

“You can't actually consider what they offered.” Her eyes searched Octavia's face. “There are half a million people in Mercia. My daughter, my son-in-law, my grandbabe-to-come. They would all die, Octavia, and it would be on your soul. You can't expect that after such a thing, the Lady—”

“They presented you an offer, too.”

“Yes! One I promptly refused, even at the risk of my life.” Viola's voice softened. “You asked questions as if you are considering this. You can't, child. This isn't you. Even with the possibility of the Lady's Tree, if you can believe they would truly take you there.”

“I told them I needed to think,” Octavia said. “That didn't mean I needed to consider their offer.”

Viola's expression was quizzical, but when she parted her lips to speak, a deep voice came from the flap instead.

“Ladies.” One of the guards came through, a hand to his chest as a gesture of respect. His eyes stayed on Octavia. “The potentate has requested that I secure you as a matter of precaution.” He held up a chain in his hand.

Octavia bit her lip. Perhaps Taney hadn't been left certain of her choice after all. Another man entered and drove a tall spike into the ground. She heard the metallic rustle of other guards hovering just outside.
Trapped.
Fighting back would be futile. Despair clogged her throat as Viola was motioned to sit and her wrists were chained to the spike, a key clicking in the lock. Then it was Octavia's turn. She sat, her back against Viola's back, and glared at the guard. His expression was apologetic, his touch on her skin brief.

“Can you set the branch on my lap?” she asked.

“Certainly, m'lady.” He obliged and backed out of the tent.

Octavia jostled the chain. “Viola, I don't suppose your literary research has taught you how to pick locks while your hands are behind your back?”

“I write about characters who do such, but that hardly means I'm capable of such brilliant escapes.”

Octavia stared at the leafless branch resting against her thighs. Even through layers of cloth, she could sense its thrum and warmth, hear the relentless song of its ache to grow again.“Our escape would need to be especially brilliant, considering the number of armed men and the five infernals.”

“Five?” She felt Viola wrest away as she tried to turn and look at her. “Five infernals together? My God. That must be all the living infernals in their army. I think Caskentia only numbers a dozen since the last war.”

“Ten, last I heard.” Octavia took a deep breath. “Escape seems impossible, but we have to try. Death is a kinder choice than what these Wasters are offering even if . . . even if it means I never see the Tree with my own eyes.”

“Then you are not truly considering . . . ?”

“You know me, Viola.”

“I thought I knew Nelly.” Her voice was small. “You notice, they didn't even mention the vault? All these years, I've been so dreadfully afraid . . .”

“They have the Tree.”

“Yes. Yes. Such things should not be trusted to any man's hands.”

Octavia agreed with the sentiment, but at the same time she basked in the weight of the branch upon her lap. She closed her eyes and took in a long, slow breath. She yearned for the Lady, for the sight familiar in her mind. Likely all she would ever have.

The massive form of the Tree filled her thoughts. The canopy of ordinary trees lay a mile below the topmost branches, like a carpet of grass beneath an oak. She breathed in, tasting the mustiness of the true branch on her lap. A tear traced a meandering path down her cheek.

“Lady,” she whispered. “Be with us. We need you. These men . . . they commit acts against you and believe they are justified by their cause. All seems so hopeless. Alonzo . . .” Her throat tightened. “Please let him be alive. Please let him help us and not suffer in his efforts. Be with the rest of the airship's crew and aid them, even without me physically present as your agent. As your roots delve through the earth for a drink of water, guide us to an outlet of escape, to a life free of the terrible choices they have presented us today. Show us a way that means life for both the Waste—the Dallows—and Caskentia. Peace. Please, let there be a way of peace.”

Octavia bowed her head, chin almost resting on her chest. The Tree in her mind swayed as if considering and she felt the chill of a breeze against her cheeks. She lifted her head, basking. The trail of her tear dried on her skin. A strange chirping sound caused her eyes to open.

At the back of the tent, just feet away, a gremlin had crawled between the fabric and the ground. It wriggled to stand erect and shook out its wings. Something metallic rattled and drew her eye to a bent fork that adorned the base of its wing.

“Leaf,” Octavia whispered.

C
HAPTER 21

This was impossible. Absolutely
impossible. But as the gremlin leaped into the air and flapped over to her feet, the grin on the creature's strange little face left no doubt that what she saw was quite real.

“What was that?” asked Viola, trying to crane around again.

“Leaf. Our gremlin. Oh, little one, you're in so much danger here!” At her scolding tone, Leaf's ears wobbled.

Viola forced her body to pivot to one side, her hands still firmly restrained against Octavia's. “Is it . . . ? Oh, goodness! Can it possibly be our gremlin? What's on his arm?”

“Keep your voice low, Viola. Please. It's a gift I gave him before freeing him. This is our Leaf, no doubt.”

“You named him.” Viola's chuckle was dry. “I shouldn't be surprised! But however did he get here? You released him before we reached Leffen, did you not?”

“Yes.” Leaf gracefully sprang into her lap and landed on her thighs, right before the branch. His black eyes widened and his head tilted to each side, a mechanical movement like that of a curious owl, but he did not reach forward to touch the artifact. Instead, his attitude seemed . . . reverential. His small hands clasped at his chest, wings extending past his little hips as he looked between the branch and Octavia.

His timing cannot be an accident.

“Leaf, look at our chains. Can you set us free?”

Leaf's ears swiveled to attention as she rattled the chain, and he hopped from her lap. His touch was feathery soft against Octavia's bared wrist, and then he grabbed the chain. With him so close, she flinched at the split-second flash of magic as he touched the metal. There was the distinct clink of a lock and the weight on her arms lightened.

Oh, bless him.
She caught the chain with her fingers before it struck the dirt with any noise. Upon setting down the chain, her hands immediately went to the branch. Its song had been incessant but now it seemed to flare.

“Growmegrowmegrowme.”

Gunshots punctured the air along with yells and the roar of surging fire. For a half second Octavia stood there, paralyzed in horror.

“Alonzo.” Octavia said his name as a breath.
Here. Now. This is our chance.
She turned, branch gripped in her hand, her arm throbbing with the intense need to bloodlet. Leaf pried apart Viola's lock. Octavia grabbed the scissors from her pocket. Small as they were, they were the best weapon at hand.

“Grab the woman!” yelled one of the Wasters.

No. Lady, no.
She forced her legs to work, heading to the front of the tent as if to fend off their attackers as Viola was freed. Fear lay against her chest like a leaden vest.
If we're trapped by the men with their guns and fire, Alonzo will not give up. He'll suffer the same fate as the boy. Limp. Bleeding. Dead.

The branch screamed and writhed in her grip.
“Growme!Growme!Growme! Waterme!Waterme!Waterme!”

The dead child and his message from the Lady. The pampria Octavia grew in the swamp. Pieces slipped together in her mind.

“I can water you,” she whispered to the branch. Sparing no time to unwrap the bandage on her forearm, she slashed the open scissor blade across her thumb and pressed flesh to the branch.

It screamed in a tone that could only be described as ecstasy.

Octavia stabbed the branch into the ground before the tent flap. “Now grow.”

The bare twigs quivered, and then buds began to form. Tight green ovals emerged along the limb. It grew, shooting five feet upward in a single breath. Cracks in the earth radiated outward as the ground trembled. Viola's chains clattered to the ground.

The roof of the tent was ripped open. Octavia staggered backward, catching Viola's arm and dragging her away. The branch expanded in height, zooming past Octavia's head, out of the roof and ever upward. Thick branches sprouted all around and grew as they traveled toward the heavens.

This isn't the tranquillity of the Lady I know. This is . . . something more. Something incomprehensible.

Mrs. Stout had mentioned the powerful miasma that surrounded the artifacts in the vault, and now Octavia could taste that heady, electric power against her tongue.

She hopped back as another branch nearly snared her. The twigs at its end extended like a hand and waved as it passed her face. The tent shuddered and fell apart, revealing the chaos of battle beyond. Several men stood on the other side of the tree, guns in hand as they stared upward with slack jaws.

“Growgrowgrowgrow,”
The tree hummed, its rhythm content.

“Oh my God,” said Viola with a gasp.

Despite Octavia's terror, she understood that this was the Lady. She could . . . trust the Lady. She had to trust her.

“Viola, sit on a branch and rise with it. The tree will protect you.”

Viola's jaw dropped. “Go
up
? I can't! The tree, this power. This is even more than—”

“Don't question me, just go!” Octavia grabbed Viola's hand and thrust her forward. The sight of the women seemed to encourage the men to approach, even with the massive tree in their way. Something welled and pulsed beneath the lichen on the bark, and a vine emerged. It whipped out, past the flattened front of the tent, and slapped the two nearest men across the face. They flew backward, toppling the others like ninepins. Octavia shoved Viola to sit astride on a branch. Her thick knees jutted out, wiggling for a secure hold. Leaf leaped onto the visible bloomer ruffles at Viola's thigh and chirped encouragement to Octavia. As Viola rose past Octavia, more vines emerged, but these slinked like snakes to wrap around Viola and hold her in place. Octavia had one final glance of Viola's face, pale and wide-eyed, and then the woman vanished into the thickness of the canopy above.

And it was indeed a thickness.

The tree must have extended at least several hundred feet in the air, far surpassing the nearby heaps of black slag. The air was ripe with the smell of spring growth and freshly turned earth. The shadow of its canopy was deep and black, and Octavia shivered at the sudden drop in temperature. The trunk itself grew in roundness, its circumference well over twenty feet. More of the approaching men were whipped back by vines, while others inched toward Octavia. One of the vines drifted to her eye level and beckoned like a hand.

Nervous terror filled her stomach again.
This is the Lady. There is nothing to fear.
“I know it'll be safe up there,” Octavia said to the vine, her voice quivering. “But I can't retreat. I must find Alonzo.”

The vine gripped her by a wrist and tugged her forward, almost jerking her off her feet.

“No!” She slapped the vine away. It shuddered and lashed at her again, coiling around her arm to the elbow. She jerked back. The vine whined like a spoiled child. Branches emerged from the still-expanding trunk, twigs stroking her as if to grab hold as well.

“I can't go up there, I can't! Alonzo needs me! I've had to walk away from too many people. I will not retreat now!”

Octavia switched the scissors to her left and slashed at the vine. The open blades parted the green tendril from a growing twig. Free, Octavia flailed backward, striking the ground. The breath gushed from her lungs. Leaves fluttered around her. The vine around her arm shriveled and fell to dust.

Horror froze her for a second. She looked at the tree, terrified that the entire thing would disintegrate in the same way, but still it grew.

“Lady, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” She scrambled to her feet. Leaves scattered across the ground—full, green leaves. Taney had described them as profound poison, but everything she had ever read described them as possessing a power to bring back those on the boundary between life and death. Octavia didn't have gloves, or possess the time to dawdle. She grabbed a handful of leaves just as another vine began to wave her way.

“Lady, no. No.” She motioned it back. “I'll keep fighting if I must, but I will not hide.”

The vine stopped, as if considering, and slinked back toward the trunk, dejected.

The nearby crack of a gunshot forced Octavia to the ground. More men attempted to approach; more vines unfurled. Leery of the violent greenery, she took advantage of the deep shade and crawled on her belly away from the camp, going toward the shelter of other—more normal—trees.

Once there, she scrambled behind a trunk and crouched down to get her bearings. The growing tree dominated the camp, the hills, even dwarfing the haze-enshrouded Giant in the background. Most of the fighting seemed to be clustered around the main tent, where the men had formed a protective ring. Several Wasters sprawled on the ground. Those who were shooting aimed north, toward the path Octavia and Viola had taken the night before.