The Inventor's Secret (19 page)

HE TWIN TEMPLES of Hephaestus
and Athene stood at opposite ends of the
Market Platform.

“These are the Empire’s gods?” Grave
asked as they moved through the bustling
streets. Around them servants went to and fro between the
many stores, running errands for their employers.

“Britannia is a Christian nation,” Meg told him. “But
the Empire’s scholars and priests found inspiration in the
Greek pantheon and revived its popularity. Athene and
Hephaestus represent the most ideal aspects of the one
Christian God.”

“But if there’s a whole pantheon, why these two?”
Grave walked between Meg and Charlotte.

Meg said to Grave, “The Empire claims its strength in

industry and craft. Hephaestus is blacksmith to the gods.
He is meant to provide inspiration and guidance to the
workers of the Foundry, who toil like the god at his anvil. Athene, goddess of wisdom, is also patron of complex
craft—weaving, clockwork, machinery. The temples were
built at opposite points on the same platform because god
and goddess represent the harmony and tension between
art and industry. Harmony because both Athene and Hephaestus are servants of war.”

“What’s the tension?” Grave looked puzzled.
“Hephaestus once attempted to rape Athene,” Meg told
him. “But she eluded his assault; thus, art must remain free
of the corruption of industry, but the Empire requires both
to maintain its glory.”
“And isn’t that why the servants of Athene must be virgins?” Charlotte asked.
Meg nodded, then added wistfully, “Athene is a virgin
goddess, and her servants likewise forsake the company of
men.”
Charlotte’s mouth twisted. Maybe the priestesses were
onto something. Forsaking the company of men sounded
like a fine idea to her.
Coe was leading their small group along the crowded
platform while Ash took up the rear. Commodore Winter
had offered to escort them through the city, assuring them
that his military rank would allow their party access to
places where it might otherwise be denied. Ash was happy
enough for Coe to join them, but Charlotte regarded his
presence with unease. Jack hadn’t made an appearance
since their exchange in the courtyard, and Charlotte
couldn’t quite shake off the jarring memories of the Winter brothers and the ball. With Coe along for the hunt after
Grave’s identity, Charlotte found it all the more difficult
to keep her turbulent mood in check. Though she had to
admit, having Coe serve as their military escort was far
preferable to having Jack volunteer for that role.
Charlotte guessed Jack was avoiding Ashley as much as
her. When she had first seen Ash that morning, her brother
had been relieved that Charlotte had returned safely to
the mansion, but his greeting had been stiff and awkward.
Charlotte supposed that Ash was sorry for her heartache,
but unsure what he should do about it. And as much as she
was certain Ash would have words with Jack, she doubted
Ash was eager to talk of love with his little sister. It was
just as well. Charlotte preferred not to talk of the matter
any more either.
As they neared the temple, the likeness of Athene rose
up to greet them. Standing tall before her sacred home,
Athene’s flowing robes and the spindle in her right hand
contrasted with the severity of her helm and the spear she
gripped in her left hand.
Supplicants approached the statue and left an eclectic
array of offerings: a pocket watch, a bouquet of flowers
tied with multicolored ribbon, and a painter’s palette accompanied dozens of tiny scrolls that had been placed at
the goddess’s feet.
Meg paused beside the goddess, looking up at the deity
with a sigh. Turning to Coe and Ash, Meg said, “You’ll
have to stay here. Men aren’t welcome inside the temple.”
Ash pointed at Grave. “Won’t that cause something of
a problem?”
“When I explain the reason he’s here, I think they’ll
make an exception,” Meg replied.
“It’s all right, Ash,” Coe said. “You can fill me in on
last night’s meeting while we wait.”
Charlotte looked at Coe in surprise. “You weren’t at
the meeting?” She’d assumed that Jack, Ash, and Coe had
gone to the covert assembly of rebels together in the hours
after Linnet had rescued her from the ball.
With a shake of his head, Coe answered, “Jack and I
never attend the same meetings. When one of us goes, the
other remains in public, keeping an eye out for any signs
that the Empire has gotten a whiff of the meeting’s time or
location.”
“That’s what happened when you came to warn us
about the raid on the fair?” Charlotte asked.
“Exactly.”
“Come, Charlotte,” Meg prompted. “I want to speak
with the Sisters before they begin their midday prayers, or
we’ll be waiting a long time for an audience.”
Taking Grave’s hand, Charlotte followed Meg up the
steps to Athene’s temple. She felt a prickling on her neck
and glanced over her shoulder to find Coe watching her .
He wants you for himself.

Charlotte was mostly convinced that Linnet had been
teasing her, but ever since the other girl had suggested that
Coe had more than a friendly interest in Charlotte, she’d
become uncomfortable around him, in addition to remaining angry that he’d lied in order to get her to the military
ball.

When they reached the portico at the top of the stairs,
Charlotte saw that half a dozen or more men knelt or stood
just outside the temple. Some appeared to be praying, others admiring; a few paced anxiously.

Meg stopped and said, “We shouldn’t take Grave any
farther until we’re granted permission. Wait here.”
She continued into the pronaos and disappeared from
sight.
“Are you nervous?” Charlotte was still holding Grave’s
hand. She’d always thought that Grave must be near her in
age, but today he seemed much younger.
“This is a strange place” was Grave’s reply.
When Meg emerged from the temple a few minutes
later, she was accompanied by a priestess.
“My name is Alana,” the priestess told them. “Servant
of Athene. You are the boy who seeks the goddess’s wisdom?”
“Yes,” Grave answered, but sounded uncertain.
“Give me your hands.” Alana’s command echoed Jedda’s from their night at the fair.
Obediently, Grave placed his hands in Alana’s open
palms. Like Meg’s mother, Alana closed her eyes. Soon she
was frowning.
Releasing Grave, Alana turned to Meg. “This is troubling.”
“May we please bring him inside and receive your aid?”
Meg inclined her head to the priestess.
Alana frowned, but after a moment, she nodded and
beckoned for the three of them to follow her.
The interior of the temple was cool and airy. They
passed through the pronaos into the cella, where Alana
knelt before a much smaller statue of the goddess. Meg imitated Alana’s reverent action, so Charlotte felt compelled
to also. Grave watched them, puzzled.
As Charlotte stood, Grave came to her side and whispered, “Why did you kneel before dead stone?”
Horrified, Charlotte shushed him. “You mustn’t say
such things here. It’s blasphemy.”
“What’s blasphemy?” Grave asked, eyes wide.
“Something that gives offense to their goddess,” Charlotte said quickly. “Don’t ask any questions. Just do as they
say.”
Alana continued through the cella and passed through
a door to a smaller chamber. A round reflecting pool was
at the center of the room, and six priestesses stood on the
opposite side of the pool, waiting for them.
“Is the matter so urgent that you brought a man into
the temple?” one of the women asked.
“Not a man, a boy,” Alana answered. “So the corruption is less. And yes, I believe his plight merits our aid.”
“Step forward, boy,” the speaker commanded. “That
we may see your face.”
Charlotte looked over her shoulder. She hadn’t realized
that Grave lingered in the doorway, hidden by shadows.
“Do as they say,” Charlotte reminded him in a hissing
whisper.
Reluctantly, Grave stepped into the room until his pale
face was illuminated by torchlight.
One of the priestesses gave a shriek, then dropped to
her knees and covered her face. Grave turned as if to bolt,
but Charlotte grabbed him before he could flee.
“Rosemary!” Alana knelt beside the stricken priestess.
“What have you seen?”
Rosemary lifted her face, her skin had gone whiter than
Grave’s. She lifted a shaking hand toward Grave.
“He is my son.”
Disturbed murmurs flew among the priestesses.
“Are you certain?” Alana pressed.
Rosemary nodded, staring at Grave in disbelief.
Meg tried to smile, but her trepidation showed. “This
is a happy occasion, is it not? Mother and son reunited?”
“You don’t understand,” Alana replied gravely. “Rosemary’s son is dead.”
Grave had begun to shake, and Charlotte gripped his
arm more tightly, knowing that with Grave’s strength, if
he really decided to run, she wouldn’t be able to stop him.
“Then she must be mistaken,” Charlotte told Alana.
“He isn’t her son, because he obviously isn’t dead.”
Rosemary drew herself up. “He is my son.” Her voice
didn’t quaver.
“Wait, wait,” Charlotte protested. “How can he be
your son? Priestesses can’t have husbands or children.”
“Rosemary came to us bereaved,” Alana answered.
“She left her former life and joined us in service of the goddess, who is the protector of women. Rosemary no longer
has a husband.”
“Where is Grave’s father?” Meg asked Rosemary.
“Who?” Rosemary kept her gaze on Grave.
“That’s what we call the boy.” Meg groaned in frustration. “Where is his father? Dead as well?”
“He’s in the Hive,” Charlotte blurted out. Meg looked
at her in surprise, but Rosemary nodded.
“How did you know?” Rosemary asked.
“Grave . . . your son . . . keeps trying to go there,” Charlotte told her. “And when we found him, he was wearing
clothing from the Hive.”
“Where was the boy found?” Alana’s eyes narrowed at
Charlotte.
Charlotte tensed, but Meg quickly spoke up. “Wandering through the city on his own.” She turned to Rosemary.
“How did your son die?”
Rosemary quailed, but when Alana gave her a nod, she
told them, “My son’s name was Timothy. From birth he
was a sickly child, weak lungs and a failing heart. We used
all my husband’s income searching for a doctor who could
cure him. But we found no one. All they could do was extend his life—but over time, it became clear that all they
truly did was prolong his suffering. For thirteen years.”
“But he still lived,” Charlotte interjected. She glanced
at Grave. He might have amnesia, but he didn’t seem to be
suffering. “Wasn’t that enough?”
“Timothy was exhausted by even a short walk,” Rosemary replied sadly. “He couldn’t run or play. Nor would
he ever be able to work. What sort of future did he have?”
“Surely you didn’t just let him die?” Meg asked harshly.
Alana cut a sharp look at Meg, but Rosemary held up
her hand. “I know how it must sound, but of course that
wasn’t what happened. We had no more money to pay
doctors or healers. The creditors to whom we owed debts
began to make threats of violence against my husband.
We could do nothing but mourn as Timothy’s body shut
down. When my son drew his last breath, I told my husband that I had died with Timothy. I came to the temple.
I’ve never left.”
“Does your husband know what happened to you?”
Charlotte thought it overly cruel that the poor man had
lost his son and wife in one stroke.
“We sent a letter informing him that Rosemary had
taken her vows,” Alana answered. She took Rosemary’s
hand. “My sister, are you certain this boy is your child?”
“I swear by Athene’s wisdom, I know my own son.”
Rosemary stared at Grave. “And though it be impossible,
he stands before me now.”
Frustrated by this talk of dead children come back to
life, Charlotte snapped, “Obviously you were wrong. Your
Timothy wasn’t truly dead, and you ran off before you
knew that.”
Alana shook her head. “We have strict conditions that
must be met before a new Sister is admitted to the order.
The boy’s father wrote to us to confirm the circumstances
of the child’s death and his hope that Rosemary would find
solace in her grief by serving in the temple.”
“Maybe he was just angry,” Charlotte wasn’t ready to
believe this strange tale. “Maybe he thought himself well
rid of her.”
“Charlotte!” Meg’s voice was steely. “Remember that
we are guests in a sacred place.”
Charlotte went silent but folded her arms across her
chest. So far this temple seemed more silly than sacred to
her. Rosemary was mad, that was the only possibility. This
trip had been a complete a waste of their time.
“You must find my husband,” Rosemary told them,
wringing her hands. “I know Timothy died, but perhaps
he could offer some explanation. I hate to think it, but if
my husband was unfaithful, this boy could be a brother
of Timothy’s nigh the same age. Timothy’s hair was much
lighter.” She was peering at Grave.
Charlotte cringed. Grave’s hair was only dark because
they’d dyed it so he wouldn’t be recognized. But hair dye
couldn’t fool Grave’s own mother.
She’s not his mother,
Charlotte chided herself. She can’t
be.
“Can you tell us where to find him?” Meg asked. “That
seems our best course.”
“His name is Hackett Bromley,” Rosemary said with
a note of regret. “He’s a member of the Inventors’ Guild.
You’ll find him there.”
Charlotte did not like this Rosemary one bit. She had
abandoned her penniless husband at the lowest moment in
their lives to go hide behind the stone walls of this temple.
She might have been a sorrowful mother, but Charlotte
judged her to be terribly selfish as well.
“Grave,” Meg spoke softly, “do you want to spend some
time with Rosemary while we go to the Hive?”
Rosemary awaited Grave’s reply with fearful anticipation.
He looked at her trembling frame and said, “I’m sorry,
but I don’t know you.”
Her face remained blank, showing neither relief or disappointment at Grave’s answer, and Rosemary said, “Perhaps that is best. I serve the goddess now.”
It was all Charlotte could do not to snort in disgust. She
was glad of Grave’s answer. She didn’t want to leave him in
this place. Something about the temple and its priestesses
unsettled her. Though they’d given Charlotte no cause to
distrust them, she had the creeping sense that they were
hiding something.
Alana stepped away from the gathered priestesses and
gestured to the door. “Return to us after you’ve found
Bromley. I am sorry that we only have questions to give
you, not answers.”
Meg curtsied to Alana. “Thank you for seeing us.”
Charlotte hooked her arm through Grave’s and tugged
him toward the door. Walking as quickly as she could
without breaking into a run, Charlotte pulled Grave back
through the cella, past the portico, and down the temple
steps. She didn’t stop until she reached Ash and Coe.
“Well, boy,” Ash said gruffly, speaking to Grave, “did
the priestesses unlock that memory of yours?”
Charlotte made a disgusted noise. Ash frowned at her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Those ninnies couldn’t tell us anything helpful.”
“What did they tell you?” Coe asked.
Grave answered quietly, “That I’m dead.”