The Inventor's Secret (15 page)

Charlotte took a moment to survey her surroundings.
The room was part of a larger pavilion, but had been curtained off. The object Charlotte had tripped over was indeed a pillow, but only one of many. The room was filled
with pillows and silk throws. After looking over the décor, Charlotte’s gaze returned to Linnet’s garb. Her cheeks
burned, and she quickly looked away.
“Don’t blush for me, kitten,” Linnet said. “This is a
sideshow, not the main event. Keeps things interesting,
though.” To emphasize her words, Linnet swayed her hips
revealing a deep slit in the side of her skirt through which
Charlotte caught a flash of alabaster skin. She blushed
again, and Linnet laughed coarsely.
Forcing her chin up, Charlotte looked directly at Lord
Ott. “I thought you were a reputable businessman.”
“I am a very successful businessman,” Lord Ott replied. “I dabble in most enterprises. The oldest profession
remains the most lucrative, while the second most profitable is closely tied to the first. My primary industry is to
deal in secrets. And many a man is all too willing to give
those up in a place such as this.”
“Jack said you’re a friend of the Resistance. Are you
telling me you’re a spy?” Charlotte frowned.
For whom?
“As I said before, I am a businessman,” he told her.
“Information is but one of the commodities I trade in. For
instance, that the Empire would order a raid on tonight’s
fair was particularly valuable to the rebels who avoided
capture tonight.”
Charlotte went very still. Was he trying to tell her he
was on her side? How could she know if his words were
true? Lord Ott could simply be setting a trap for her to
walk into.
Lord Ott’s self-congratulatory smile fell into disappointment. “Ah. Your young pilot didn’t tell you, I see. Very
well, then. I can’t expect you to trust me without knowing
who I truly am. I didn’t reveal myself to you on the ship
because there were too many prying eyes and perked ears
straining to see and hear what they should not.”
Linnet’s hands were on her hips. “If Jack didn’t bother
to fill her in on any of the details, how do we know we can
trust her?”
“Jack does trust me!” Charlotte objected, embarrassed
by the sudden shrillness of her voice.
“My dear, we are all actors are the great stage of this
world,” Lord Ott replied. “Jack likely wanted to keep
things as quiet as possible on the
Hector.
Too many eager
ears and prying eyes on such a transport.”
Turning to Linnet, he continued, “There’s no reason to
suspect Lieutenant Winter’s confidence in Miss Marshall.
If he’s withheld certain details, he’s probably just trying to
ease her into the madhouse that is this city. The girl’s been
hiding in a cave, after all. The Resistance is a different animal here.”
“I have not been hiding in a cave!” Charlotte glared at
them.
Linnet sniffed in disdain. “That’s not how Jack tells it.”
“How do you know Jack?” Charlotte snapped, and
then wished she hadn’t.
Smiling slyly, Linnet answered, “Wouldn’t you like to
know?”
“Linnet, stop tormenting Miss Marshall,” Lord Ott
growled. “Must I remind you that she’s here under our
protection? Jack will be cross with you if you keep going
at her.”
“I’m more than a match for my brother,” Linnet said
tartly. “Let him be cross.”
Charlotte’s breath exploded out. “Your brother?”
It couldn’t be true. Jack had said nothing of a sister,
only an older brother.
“
Half
brother,” Linnet answered, examining her long
nails in the lantern light. “And he doesn’t like to admit
even half a relationship with the likes of me.”
Charlotte didn’t think she couldn’t handle another
shock. She almost expected to wake up in her bed back at
the Catacombs. This night was too full of madness to be
real.
She wanted to collapse onto the pillows until her mind
stopped reeling, but then she thought of what usually happened on those pillows and decided she’d best stay on her
feet.
The heavy curtain that cordoned off the small room
from the larger pavilion drew back, and stranger—a man
half the age of Lord Ott—stepped inside.
“She’s here?” He addressed Lord Ott.
Linnet rolled her eyes. “If you’d take one more step,
you’d see her for yourself.”
“It’s nice to see you too, Linnet.” The new arrival wore
a military uniform similar to Jack’s, but his jacket boasted
numerous decorations that the younger Winter brother’s
had lacked.
He leaned forward, eyed Charlotte, and said to Lord
Ott. “When Jack said she was pretty, he wasn’t lying.”
“Athene save us,” Linnet huffed.
The stranger ignored Linnet and smiled at Charlotte.
“And just who are you planning on sticking with that?”
Charlotte had nearly forgotten that she was still brandishing her stiletto. Then again, she wasn’t sure she had
good reason to put it down.
“She’s wary, this one,” Lord Ott said. “Good head on
her shoulders. Come now, Miss Marshall. He’s here to
take you back up top.”
“I don’t know this man,” Charlotte said firmly, and
backed away without lowering her blade. “I’m not going
anywhere with him.”
“Weren’t at home to greet your guests, eh?” Lord Ott’s
bushy eyebrows lifted. “That’s bad form, Coe.”
“Don’t try to teach me etiquette, you pirate,” Coe replied, grinning. “You know how busy I am. I wasn’t at
home today, but it couldn’t be helped.”
Lord Ott said to Charlotte, “Don’t listen to his slander,
girl. I’m just a clever businessman. Should you chance to
meet a real pirate someday, you’ll know this lad for a liar.”
“I’ve met plenty of pirates,” Coe told them. “The only
difference between you and them is that you know how to
wear a costume.”
“Coe?” Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “Jack’s brother.”
“The same.” Coe gave a short bow. “Though I’d beg
you not to judge me because of my brother . . . or my sister
here.”
Linnet jabbed an elbow at Coe’s ribs, but he jumped
out of the way.
“Yes, yes.” Lord Ott shoved Coe forward, and Charlotte barely got the stiletto out of the way before Coe
bumped into her. “Miss Marshall, meet Air Commodore
Coe Winter.”
“You almost bought me a knife between my ribs, old
man.” Coe pivoted to glare at Lord Ott.
Lord Ott guffawed. “Maybe that’ll teach to you be on
time. Now, get her out of here before the raiders come to
check out this pavilion.”
“Are you going to stab me intentionally now, or will
you be coming along without a fight?” Coe offered Charlotte his hand. “I did promise my brother
and yours
that
I’d get you out of the fair safely.
Looking up at the officer, Charlotte noticed similarities between the two brothers. Coe was the taller of the
two. While both boys had brown hair and sideburns. Coe’s
was dark as chocolate, whereas Jack’s shone like bronze.
Jack wore his hair long at the crown, but neatly clipped at
the nape of his neck. Coe preferred the more traditional
style—his hair would have grazed his shoulders had it not
been tied back. Jack’s eyes were sharp and hazel, but Coe
and Linnet had blue eyes, speckled with brown like a sparrow’s egg. All three siblings had the same straight, narrow
nose.
“Jack and Ash are safe?” Charlotte asked Coe.
Coe laughed roughly. “In this world no one is ever safe,
but if you mean did they escape the raiders’ notice—then
yes, they’re both safe enough.”
Charlotte knelt and returned her blade to its sheath.
She stood up and took Coe’s hand.
“Let’s go.”
Coe smiled at Charlotte, and her chest tightened. It
was Jack’s smile, the one that made her pulse quicken,
even when she was furious with him. Coe started toward
the gap in the tent through which Linnet had first grabbed
Charlotte.
Charlotte pulled back. If Lord Ott was all he claimed to
be, she could use his help.
“There’s someone else you need to find,” Charlotte
turned to address the large man.
“And who might that be?” Lord Ott asked, hooking his
thumbs through his waistcoat.
“A boy,” Charlotte said. “The raid frightened him, and
he ran off, but he’ll be in danger in the city. He’s sick.”
Charlotte didn’t want to say anything more about
Grave, hoping that Lord Ott would accept her brief explanation at face value.
“It’s not our practice to go chasing after infirm runaways,” Linnet scoffed, but she glanced at Lord Ott.
“Right?”
“Did your brother say anything about this?” Lord Ott
asked Coe, who shrugged.
“No, but the girl has no reason to lie to us.”
“Very well,” Lord Ott said. “And, Linnet, you’re right.
It’s not our practice to go chasing after infirm runaways.
But in this case, we’ll make an exception. Go fetch him.”
“Fine.” Linnet sighed. “But I should change. Can you
get my cloak?”
She turned to Charlotte. “What’s your boy look like?”
Charlotte described Grave as best she could, which left
Linnet frowning.
“No color to him? What kind of sickness does he have?”
“I’m not sure,” Charlotte told her, but quickly added,
“He’s been with us for many days, though, and no one else
has sickened.”
That seemed to satisfy Linnet. “Do I bring him here?”
“What am I going to do with him?” Ott replied. “Return the missing boy to his companions at Winter mansion.”
“A trip to my home that never was?” Linnet smirked.
“How lovely.”
Coe grimaced. “I haven’t ever told you to stay away.”
“Your mother has said I’m not welcome there,” Linnet
replied. “And I’m happy to oblige.”
She pushed her way past Lord Ott and out of the room.
“Are you sure she should come to the house?” Coe
asked. “If my mother sees her—”
“Linnet doesn’t want to see your mother any more than
your mother wants to see her,” Lord Ott said. “Just don’t
let that brother of yours give Linnet trouble.”
“I’ll keep Jack in line,” Coe said, but he didn’t look
happy.
Lord Ott half turned. “I’ll chat with Linnet, remind her
to behave.” He left the room, and Charlotte found herself
looking up into Coe’s blue eyes.
The smile he gave her this time was bitter. “The House
of Winter—such a happy family are we.”

FTER LINNET HAD swapped what she
called her “reconnaissance” garb for a linen
shirt paired with a leather corset and muslin skirt, she accompanied them from the
pavilion into the darkness beyond the fairgrounds. Linnet bade them farewell before they slipped

into the shadows, taking opposite routes.
“Don’t worry, kitten,” Linnet said to Charlotte. “I’ll
find your sick boy and get him home safely.”
“You can stop calling me that,” Charlotte replied, lifting her skirts to reveal her stiletto. “You know that I’m no
kitten.”
“You act like I’ve insulted you.” Linnet smiled. “But
like I already said, even kittens have claws.”
“Take care, Linnet,” Coe told his sister.

“If a storm’s to come, may the wind be with us,” Linnet
answered.
Coe nodded. “May the wind be with us.”
When Linnet was gone, Coe said, “You’ll have to forgive my sister. She’s used to speaking her mind.”
“Don’t let my clothing fool you, Commodore Winter,”
Charlotte answered. “Where I come from, we speak our
minds too.”
“You’re right to chastise me.” Coe laughed. “But if you
don’t mind my saying, you make that finery more appealing than any of the ladies on the Colonial Platform.”
Glad the darkness hid her suddenly warm cheeks,
Charlotte murmured, “You flatter me, Commodore.”
“It’s not flattery, it’s the truth. And please, call me Coe.”
“If that’s what you prefer,” Charlotte said. She felt
strange walking beside Jack’s older brother and found herself wanting to watch him, to observe the similarities and
differences between the two siblings.
“It is what I prefer, Charlotte.”
They were passing through a tangle of metal pipes and
glass tubes that snaked from high above to the floor of the
Commons. Some of pipes disappeared underground. Others reached all the way to the Hudson River.
Coe sniffed the air and grimaced. “I apologize for the
smell. I’m trying to avoid as many of the sewage pipes as I
can, but we can’t steer clear of them all.”
“It’s fine.” There was a sour stench in the air, but not
one that Charlotte found intolerable.
The occasional campfire appeared amid the maze of
metal and glass. Flames cast light on ramshackle hovels,
and small groups of people huddled near the fires.
“Who are they?” Charlotte asked Coe, pointing toward
one of the sorry-looking camps.
“Most are just scavengers or vagrants without sufficient
skill to live in the Hive and who prefer life under the city
to work in the Foundry,” Coe answered. “Enough debris
falls from the platforms for them to eke out an existence.
But it’s also home to a handful of the criminal sort who’ve
managed to avoid prison. We won’t likely be bothered, but
you should never come here alone.”
“We just sent Linnet off on her own,” Charlotte protested.
“Linnet can handle herself.”
So can I,
Charlotte thought, but held her tongue. Instead she asked, “Doesn’t it bother you?”
“What?”
“That Linnet works . . . in that place?”
Charlotte quickly looked away when Coe cast a sidelong glance at her. “Do you think it should bother me?”
he asked.
“It’s not my place—” Charlotte began and then remembered Jack chiding her for using those very words earlier
in the day.
Coe didn’t seem to mind. “Linnet makes her own decisions and wouldn’t listen me to if I did try to tell her what
to do or how to live. But what you saw today isn’t her real
work.”
“So she doesn’t . . .” Charlotte grasped for an inoffensive word. “Service men?”
She wasn’t sure if Coe laughed or choked, but a moment, later he answered, “Only when she gets bored, or so
she says. Ott has been Linnet’s guardian from the moment
she was born. Linnet’s mother worked in one of Lord Ott’s
establishments in Charleston. It was there that she caught
my father’s eye. According to Ott, the Admiral adored Linnet’s mother and visited her often. She died in childbirth,
and my father furnished Lord Ott with enough funds to
look after Linnet’s well-being. Ott treats Linnet like she
was his own—Lady Ott was never able to have children.”
A horrified noise escaped Charlotte’s throat. “But if
Lord Ott thinks of Linnet as a daughter, why would he let
her do that kind of work?”
“Lord Ott would have been delighted to find Linnet a
wealthy husband and a home in one of Charleston’s finest
mansions,” Coe replied. “But Linnet would have none of
it. Whenever Ott raises the issue, Linnet is fond of saying,
‘I must be my father’s daughter, for I know a spouse and
house won’t keep me happy.’”
“Does Admiral Winter visit Linnet?” Charlotte asked.
“Rarely,” Coe told her. “But that’s about how often he
visits the sons from his marriage as well.”
Charlotte hesitated before her next question. “Does
your mother know about Linnet?”
“Yes, my mother knows,” Coe said harshly. “Though
she pretends she does not. My father thought it right for
Jack and me to meet Linnet when we were still children.
He arranged the meeting with Ott at one of Ott’s stores on
the Market Platform. I understood why Linnet wasn’t part
of our family, but Jack was too young, and father should
have known better. When we were having dinner at the
house that evening, Jack asked my mother why our sister
didn’t live with us.”
Charlotte drew a sharp breath. “What happened?”
“My mother smashed all of the china in our house and
then wouldn’t leave her room for a week.” Coe let out a
heavy sigh. “My father was furious with Jack, more than
furious. He took a leather strap to him and left the poor
boy bloody. I told Jack it wasn’t his fault, and do you know
what he said?”
“What?” Charlotte whispered.
“He said, ‘I know. It’s Linnet’s fault.’”
“Does he still hate her?” Charlotte asked, remembering Ott’s instruction that Coe keep Jack from giving his
half-sister trouble.
Coe sounded tired when he spoke. “I don’t think he
hates Linnet, but he blames our father for our mother’s
misery—and rightly so. Jack sees Linnet as part of our
mother’s suffering, so he finds it hard to show our sister
kindness.”
“But you don’t.”
“No,” Coe said. “I don’t.”
The sudden scuffle of feet among the trees made Coe
grab Charlotte’s arm and draw her close. More sounds of
movement were followed by the silhouettes of men looming from the dark forest.
Glancing around, Charlotte drew a sharp breath. They
were surrounded.
A rasping voice called out, “Leave your coin, your
weapons, and the girl, and we’ll spare your life.”
“I’ll be leaving nothing to you, gentlemen,” Coe answered. “You’ve made a poor choice in your quarry. Walk
away, and I won’t pursue you.”
A chorus of guffaws and chortles boomed around
them. Charlotte guessed the scoundrels were eight, maybe
ten. And they were only two.
“Stay behind me,” Coe murmured, drawing his sabre.
The rush came before Charlotte had a chance to answer. As she reached for her dagger, Coe tossed something
into the air. A whirring sound was followed by a burst of
light that temporarily made Charlotte see spots, but had
the same effect on the thieves, who grunted and tried to
shield their eyes. Having anticipated the blinding flash,
Coe lost no time taking down the assailants.
With his pistol in his left hand, he smoothly fired off
several shots. Two of the attackers dropped to the ground
and didn’t move again. Uncaring of their fellows’ misfortune, four of the remaining men descended on Coe. Armed
with crude, but vicious, spiked cudgels formed from wood
and scrap metal, the brigands tried to take Coe down in a
flurry of blows.
Coe shot one man full in the face, leaving little of the
marauder’s head sitting upon his neck. The others Coe
fended off with deft strokes of his saber. Though outnumbered, Coe’s defense proved fluid and deadly compared
to the wild, clumsy assault of his foes. If Charlotte hadn’t
known better, she would have described Coe’s swordplay
as relaxed, almost careless. But she could see that he simply regarded the outlaws with disdain. He knew he was
the superior fighter and that the truth of it would be made
plain shortly.
Watching Coe toy with his opponents, Charlotte began
to back away from the brawl. She sensed the two scoundrels lunging at her just in time to whirl around and drive
her stiletto into one man’s throat. He fell gurgling, mouth
open in surprise, causing a blood bubble to form and pop
as he died. Charlotte jerked her blade free but not in time
to fend off his companion, who grabbed Charlotte from
behind. She held her dagger tight as he lifted her off her
feet and began to carry her into the forest.
Charlotte’s captor was huge, and his grip strong to the
point of nearly cutting off air to her lungs. Though the
latter was almost a blessing, because he smelled as if he
hadn’t washed in months.
Bowing her head and letting her body go limp, as though
she’d fainted, Charlotte waited until she felt the man’s arms
relax slightly. She abruptly threw her head back, cracking
the brigand’s face with the back of her skull. He cried out
and dropped her. Charlotte somersaulted away, but when
she tried to stand, her legs caught in the clinging silk of her
dress.
“By Athene,” Charlotte spat as she struggled to her feet
to face her assailant.
Blood streamed from the man’s nose. He swiped his
hand beneath his nostrils and then spat out a tooth.
“You’ll regret that, missy.”
“We’ll see,” Charlotte replied, keeping her dagger low
and ready.
With a bellow, he threw himself at her, as if hoping
to cow her with the noise and his size. Charlotte ducked
beneath the reach of his arms and thrust her blade. The
stiletto dragged through the soft flesh of his belly as his
momentum carried him past Charlotte. The man grasped
for her, but caught only the fabric of her dress at the shoulder. The flimsy material tore like paper. On his knees, the
man held a long swath of Charlotte’s gown in one hand.
His other hand pressed to his middle, trying to hold in
the tangle of intestines that peeked out from between his
splayed fingers.
The marauder stared at Charlotte with wide, disbelieving eyes that soon went glassy, and he slumped to the
ground.
Coe emerged from the shadows, rushing to her side.
“Charlotte!”
His sword was bloody, but Coe appeared unharmed.
He looked at her and then at the dead brigand.
“You
can
handle yourself well.”
Charlotte nodded. “Are there any more?”
“No,” Coe said. “Between the two of us, we dispatched
them all.”
His gaze moved from her face to her torso. With a
cough, he quickly looked away. Charlotte glanced down
and saw that her torn gown had exposed her delicate undergarments as well as a scandalous amount of bare skin.
Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest, not knowing
what else to do, but Coe was already shrugging his officer’s
coat from his shoulders.
“Turn around,” he instructed her. “I’ll help you into
this.”
Charlotte turned her back to Coe. She let him guide her
arms into the coat’s sleeves. Coe’s broad chest and shoulders made it so the coat engulfed Charlotte’s frame, which
did a marvelous job of restoring her modesty.
“Thank you,” Charlotte said, feeling strangely shy as
she noticed how warm the coat was from Coe’s lingering
body heat. She also noticed the way his hands rested on her
shoulders as the coat settled upon them.
She turned to face him and met his bemused, yet curious gaze.
“I’ve never fought beside a woman before,” he said. His
tone didn’t reveal whether he was pleased or disconcerted
that Charlotte had changed that fact.
“Not even Linnet?” Charlotte asked.
Coe answered in all seriousness. “Linnet and I don’t
fight in the same circles.”
Charlotte stared at him a moment and then began to
laugh. Coe seemed taken aback by her response, but soon
he was laughing too.
“All right, my little Athene,” Coe said, catching his
breath and taking Charlotte’s arm. “We should get away
from here.”
Charlotte smiled up at him, appreciative of the compliment. It wasn’t every day that one was compared to
the goddess of war. Coe smiled back, and Charlotte had
to look away, too conscious of the way her heart tittered.
She couldn’t have the same reaction to Coe that she did to
Jack. How could she be as fickle as that?
They fell silent until Coe halted beside a wide metal
pipe. “Here we are.”
He ran his fingers along the surface of the pipe. “And
the latch should be right . . . here.”
Charlotte heard a click, and a panel half her height slid
open to reveal an empty, hollow tube.
“I’m afraid it’s going to be a tight squeeze,” Coe told
her. “The lift is intended only for one.”
Charlotte frowned at him. “Will it bear our combined
weight?” She didn’t want to take the chance of plummeting
back to the ground halfway from up the tube.
“Weight isn’t the issue,” Coe assured her. “It’s just a
little narrow inside, and without exception, no part of our
bodies can touch the sides of the tube. Go on. I’ll follow.”
Crawling into the pipe, Charlotte discovered that Coe
hadn’t exaggerated with regard to the tube’s width. When
he joined her and closed the panel, there was nothing they
could do but press against each other.
“Have you traveled via air compression?” Coe asked.
Charlotte looked up at him, the crown of her hair
brushed his chin when she moved her head. “No.”
“It’s a bit jarring the first time,” he said. “You should
hold on to me. And don’t scream. We can’t risk being
heard.”
Charlotte wasn’t certain what disturbed her more,
the suggestion that the trip would frighten her enough
to scream or how much Coe telling her to hold on to him
reminded her of Jack and the crow’s nest. She rested her
hands tentatively on the sides of Coe’s waist as he opened a
control box and flipped a lever. A quiet whir filled the tube
and the metal disk under her feet gave a slight quiver.
Without any further warning, they shot into the air.
Charlotte threw her arms around Coe and bit the fabric
of his shirt so she wouldn’t scream. Oh, how she wanted
to scream. They were flying like a bullet out the barrel of
a gun, and Charlotte had no reason to believe that they
wouldn’t be crushed at the pipe’s end. Had Coe even mentioned when or how this lift would stop?
The trip seemed to go on endlessly. Charlotte was
vaguely aware that Coe was cradling her head while speaking to her in a soothing tone. She realized they were slowing when the wind no longer roared around her.
Coe’s voice became clearer, and she began to make out
his words.
“Charlotte, let go. You can let go now. We’ve arrived.”
Slowly, she lifted her head. Coe was looking down at
her. The amusement in his eyes reminded her of Jack, and
that startled her back to her senses. She pulled away, but
when she released her grip, she found that she’d been holding on so tight her fingers ached. And she was horrified to
see that her teeth had left their impression on his shirt.
Hoping that Coe hadn’t noticed the bite mark on his
clothes, Charlotte asked him, “Where are we?” They
seemed to be in a small, empty room with wooden walls
and a metal floor of the same material as the base of the
transport tube.