The Inventor's Secret (2 page)

Ash released her from his glare, but before he said anything more, the strange boy jerked hard to the right. The
sudden movement pulled his hand free of Charlotte’s grasp.
Until that moment, the boy had been leaning close to
Birch’s shoulder, examining Moses’s mechanical wing.
Now he stood straight as an iron rod, gazing at Birch.
“Maker. Maker. Maker,” the boy said. His limbs began
to shake violently.
“What the—” Jack leapt forward, drawing a knife
from his boot and holding it low, putting himself between
Charlotte and the now flailing boy.
“Maker! Maker! Maker!” the boy cried. His shouts
bounced off the cavern ceiling and walls, filling the air
with a haunting chorus of echoes:
Maker! Maker! Maker!
“Rustbuckets. He’s having a fit.” Ash raised his cane.
“Easy, Jack.”
“Grab him, or he’ll go right over the edge,” Birch
warned, but Ash was already moving. While the boy’s
arms lashed, Ash slipped his cane through the stranger’s
belt and hauled him away from the precipice. With another deft movement, Ash freed his cane just before the
boy flopped to the ground, lolling about with no control of
his body’s violent movements..
With a horrible shudder, he gave a slow, whining cry
and went still.
“Oh, Athene, he’s not dead, is he?” Charlotte’s hands
went to her mouth.
Birch knelt beside the boy and laid his head on the prostrate figure’s chest. With a sigh, he said, “I don’t hear a
heartbeat, but . . .”
The boy moaned. Birch frowned and sat up quickly.
Charlotte gulped air in relief. “What happened? Did
Moses do something to scare him?”
“Why would anyone be frightened by Moses?” Birch
asked. Hearing his name, the bat peered toward Charlotte,
as if daring her to answer.
Charlotte ignored the question, knowing that pointing
out to Birch that most people considered bats frightening
little creatures would only provoke an endless debate with
the tinker about fear and rationality.
Jack returned the knife to his boot.
“You’ve brought home a strange pet. I definitely prefer
the bat,” he said to Charlotte, earning an elbow in the ribs.
“Ouch!” Jack rubbed at his side. “Now you have to kiss me
so my feelings aren’t hurt.”
“I meant to hurt your feelings,” Charlotte said.
“I guess that means I’ll have to kiss you myself so I feel
better.”
Charlotte jumped out of his reach. “Don’t you dare.”
“Jack, get over here,” Ash said. He was leaning over
the boy, who despite making a sound, still appeared to be
unconscious. “Help Birch take him inside. Then get Meg.
Between the two of them, maybe we can sort this one out.”
Birch grabbed the boy around his shoulders, while Jack
grabbed his legs. His body swung limply between them as
they carried him off the platform. Charlotte began to inch
away from the basket.
“And you’re going where?” Ash blocked her path with
his cane.
“With them,” she declared, hoping her confident tone
would get her out of any punishment Ash had in mind.
“Not until we’ve had a chance to discuss your heroic
exploits of the afternoon,” Ash said. “Come with me.”
Charlotte stood up tall until her brother turned away.
Then her shoulders slumped and she reluctantly followed
him into the Catacombs.

HOEVER HAD DISCOVERED the
system of caves known as the Catacombs and why they were named thus
had been lost or forgotten. The current
inhabitants’ best guess was that the
twisting labyrinth of stone chambers and passages had reminded those first people of the sacred resting places of the
dead hidden beneath churches in the Old World. Or perhaps the intrepid explorers had enjoyed an overdeveloped
sense of irony, forecasting that anyone forced to seek out
refuge beneath the falls might be better off dead than alive.

Charlotte trailed after her brother as he led her past
smaller chambers and through tunnels until they reached
the refectory. An oblong room not far below the earth’s
surface, this cavern served as a gathering place and din

ing room. The first group of refugees who’d inhabited the
Catacombs had drilled narrow fissures through the rock,
allowing steam and smoke to escape in small amounts.
Birch’s workshop was riddled with such fissures, which
provided a bountiful source of energy for his experiments.
The Catacombs might have resembled a place belonging
to the dead, but within these tunnels, Nature had offered
a perfect place in which they could live safely out of reach
of the Empire.

Ashley pulled a wooden cup out of the cupboards and
went to a tall cask, turning the spout until fizzing amber
liquid poured out. He walked to the long table in the center of the room, sat down, and began to drink his cider.
He didn’t offer any to Charlotte, nor did he ask her to sit
down. He waited for silence to flood the room so Charlotte would know just how furious he was, as if the telltale
twitching beneath his right eye hadn’t already told her so.

She spread her hands pleadingly. “There were
two
Rotpots after him.”
“I see.” Ash’s ability to speak through clenched teeth
was impressive.
“He’s just a boy,” she said, casting her lot with a play
for his sympathy.
“He’s at least as old as you, Charlotte. Do you consider
yourself a child?”
She fisted her hands on her curving hips. “I’ve been a
woman for over three years now.”
He smirked. “Lord, spare us all.”
“Oh hush.” She gave up her attempt to win him over. “I
blindfolded him.”
He took a gulp of cider and let his cup clatter onto the
wooden table. “At least you were sensible enough to think
of that. Anything else about this encounter you’d like to
share?”
“I had to use one of the mice.” Charlotte looked away
when he shot her a stony gaze. “Two Rotpots. What choice
did I have?”
At last he sighed. “At least you made it back here safely.
Pip says all the scopes are clear. You weren’t followed.
As for the mice, Birch has almost finished another batch,
though we’ll be desperate for parts soon enough.”
Her breath caught with excitement. “When do we have
to go?”
“Tomorrow morning,” he answered, showing the first
hint of a smile since Charlotte had returned from scouting.
“You know it might be healthier if you didn’t look forward
to being in danger.”
“It might be.” Charlotte smiled at her older brother.
“But it might also bore me to death. I’d better not risk it.”
A polite cough sounded behind Charlotte. “I don’t
want to intrude.”
“Come in, Birch,” Ash said.
Birch offered her a sympathetic smile before looking at
Ash.
“The boy is awake again and seems harmless enough,”
Birch said. He went to the cask and drew himself a cup of
cider. “Though I’m a bit worried he might be ill.”
Charlotte cringed, remembering her own fears when
she took a close look at the boy’s odd complexion.
Ash’s eyebrow shot up. “How’s that?”
“He doesn’t know his name or where his home is or
why he was even in the forest. All he can come up with
is that the reason he’s here is grave.” Birch took a seat at
the table beside Ash. After he’d had a few sips of cider, he
put his cup down. Moses scrambled along Birch’s arm and
onto the table. The metal of his wings clacked as the bat
hooked himself around the cup and tipped his head in to
lap up cider. “That’s his new favorite word.
Grave.
And on
top of that, he just looks a bit . . . off.”
“Speaking of off,” Charlotte replied, giving Moses a
pointed look, “I thought we agreed that he wasn’t allowed
to drink from our cups anymore.”
“But he likes it.” Birch’s gaze flickered from the thirsty
bat to Charlotte. “Did you notice how odd the boy’s skin
color is, or rather, how odd the lack of color in his skin is?”
“I, um . . . ,” Charlotte mumbled.
Ash glared at his sister.
She took a step back. “We had to run. I didn’t have time
for a lot of questions.”
“So you brought a potentially disease-bearing stray
with amnesia here?” He drummed his fingers on the table.
“Would you have preferred I let him be taken?” Charlotte snapped.
He frowned at her.
“Like I said,” Birch interjected, running a nervous hand
through his pale hair, “I don’t think he poses a threat.
Poor boy is terrified as a snared rabbit. And it looks like he
hasn’t eaten for days. It could be that whatever happened
to him in New York gave him enough of a fright to take his
mind for a bit.”
“Like Pip was when she first arrived?” Charlotte asked.
Birch nodded. “A good three days passed before her
memories came back. There are awful things in the city.
Sometimes the mind retreats to protect itself.”
“Who’s watching him now?” Ash asked.
“Meg and Jack.”
Ash nodded. “Good. Meg’s got the gentlest nature
around here.”
Charlotte ignored the meaningful look he threw her
way.
“And Jack . . . well there’s no help for Jack,” Ash finished, and Charlotte laughed drily.
“If Meg stays with the boy, will she have time to attend
to the other children?” Birch asked Ashley.
With a slight frown, Ash replied, “It’s time Meg passed
those responsibilities to some of the older children. She’s
almost eighteen.”
Birch nodded, but Charlotte looked at her hands.
She’s
almost eighteen.
The room grew stale with a somber mood until Birch
glanced at both of them and asked, “Are you still planning
on making the run tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Ash said. Charlotte perked up, letting anticipation of an imminent adventure chase away the sour
thoughts that had filled her mind.
“Oh, good.” Birch smiled, and his fingers began to
twitch as if tinkering with invisible machinery. “There’s
much to be done, and I don’t have half the materials I need
to do it.”
Moses noticed the tinker’s fidgeting and abandoned the
cider cup, returning to Birch’s arm and crawling his way
into one of the leather apron’s chest pockets.
“We’ll leave at dawn.” Ash drained his cup. “Provided
there are no unforeseen repercussions from grave boy’s arrival.”
Charlotte snorted, but when Ash looked at her, she
asked, “If we’re leaving at dawn, might I be permitted to
seek my bed? No matter what you think of it, my day was
exhausting, and I’d rather not nod off on dear Pocky tomorrow.”
Birch’s mouth twisted. “Oh no, that would be disastrous.”
“I was joking about the gun, Birch.” She offered him a
kind smile before narrowing her eyes at her brother. “But
not about being knackered.”
“Go to bed then.” Ash went to draw himself another
cup of cider. “It’s not as if you care what I have to say anyway.”
He sounded so tired that Charlotte felt a pinch of guilt.
“I didn’t mean any harm, Ash.”
“I know that, Charlotte. Get some sleep.” He threw a
brief smile at her before tilting his cup at Birch. “Cider?”
“Not for me.” Birch said as he adjusted his goggles
atop his forehead. “I’ve many hours left in the workshop
tonight. We can’t have the
Pisces
breaking down on your
run.”
Ash coughed up a mouthful of cider. “No. We wouldn’t
want that.”
Stifling a giggle, Charlotte slipped out of the refectory.
She took a sloping tunnel to her right until she reached her
door. The round wooden door was set within an iron frame
that had been fitted to the small cave’s opening. Once inside, she shrugged off her coat and tossed it onto her bed,
happy to let the cool cavern air brush across the bare skin
of her arms. Though they worked with the original shape
and composition of the caves, the Catacombs hadn’t been
left without improvements over the years.
Charlotte’s favorite remained the tangle of pipes that
slithered out of the rock wall, their nozzles dropping into
small basins that had been carved from the rock itself.
Placing a stopper in the drainage pipe that channeled water out of the Catacombs and into her bedroom, Charlotte
let warm water fill the basin and went to her wardrobe.
She opened the door, smiling as always as the clockwork
gears sprung to life. On the inside of the door, a mirror descended. Metal stars swirled around its perimeter, shifting
into the patterns of diverse constellations as they circled the
mirror. On the inside of the opposite door, whimsical melody ebbed out as steel pins struck a turning metal cylinder.
In front of the device, two tiny mechanical dancers spun to
the Allegro from E. T. A. Hoffmann’s Quintet for Harp.
The wardrobe had been a gift to Charlotte from Ash, Jack,
Meg, and Birch on her sixteenth birthday. Its arrival had
rendered her speechless and made her wonder even more
than usual about Jack, though speculating about him was
a regular pastime for Charlotte.
Jack had arrived suddenly a little less than a year before, returning with Ash, who’d been on a scouting run.
Thinking of that day, Charlotte made a mental note to remind Ash that he was the one who had set a precedent of
bringing home strays.
Of course, it had been different with Jack. She couldn’t
deny that. While the boy she’d found today claimed to
have no memory of his former life, Jack had been running from his. He’d shown up in the hard, scorch-marked,
leather uniform of New York’s Foundry laborers. When
Jack had begged for asylum, Ash had welcomed him in
without question. The two boys had become fast friends,
which meant Jack was constantly within nagging distance
of Charlotte.
For the first two weeks, Jack and Charlotte had been
at each other’s throats. Her brother instantly had a new
confidante, which left Charlotte feeling excluded and unimportant. When she’d complained to Ash, he had told her
that Jack was a welcome addition to the Catacombs, an
asset in ways she couldn’t appreciate, so she’d better get
used to him. Naturally she’d retaliated by hazing Jack relentlessly. She gave him incorrect directions so he’d get lost
in the tunnels. She sent him to Birch’s workshop when she
knew the tinker was working on the most volatile and incendiary experiments.
But Charlotte’s efforts only seemed to invite more teasing and attention from Jack. Their banter would escalate
to shouting and finally Charlotte’s shrieked declarations
that one of them would have to leave the Catacombs because she couldn’t bear another moment of his presence.
When Ash determined that neither his friend nor his
sister was going to back down, he declared that they must
find a way to reach détente, or he would force them to
share a room—permanently. Charlotte was aghast, while
Jack merely laughed until his face went purple.
She’d fled to her room, hoping to wait out her brother’s obvious bout of madness. Jack had surprised her by
showing up the next morning with a peace offering. From
within his long leather coat he produced a square steel
box, its lid etched with flowering vines. Too startled to do
anything but open the box he offered, Charlotte’s breath
was snatched away when music poured out, the tinkling
sounds flowing all around her as she watched a tiny steel
garden of leaves, shrubs, and flowers grow. The plants retreated when she closed the lid and grew once more when
she opened it.
The song, Jack told her was called the
Moonlight Sonata
and was by a German composer named Beethoven.
One of the metalsmiths Jack had worked alongside in the
Foundry kept the scraps of metal and had a secret craft
of creating extraordinary musical devices that he sold on
the black market. The man had given the piece to Jack to
use for bartering when he’d fled the fires and smoke of the
Foundry, but Jack had found Ash and been brought to the
Catacombs before he’d had to trade the box.
Charlotte had been taken aback by the extravagance of
Jack’s gesture. With the music still chiming in her ears and
metal flowers growing beside her fingers, Charlotte tried to
refuse the lovely trinket, but Jack insisted this gift would
be a peace offering.
From that moment, Charlotte had decided two things.
One, that Jack was much more than he’d first appeared
to be. And two, she could share the Catacombs with him
after all.
They hadn’t exactly become friends, but their rivalry
had transformed from hostility to an unorthodox form of
entertainment. The longer their banter went on, Charlotte
discovered that as irksome as Jack could be, she missed
him when he wasn’t around to provoke her. And she enjoyed honing the sharpness of her tongue at Jack’s expense.
She listened to the music in the box constantly, carrying
it with her through the Catacomb’s tunnels so she could
hold it to her ear. The song haunted her as she tried to contemplate how the rippling notes could be so beautiful and
so sad at the same time.
Ash, pleased that his insistence on a détente had worked,
teased Charlotte about her sudden change of heart. He suggested more than once that the box was in fact, hexed, and
the more Charlotte listened to its music, the more she’d
been under Jack’s thrall. Though she wanted to prove her
brother wrong, Charlotte loved the tinkling music too
much to give up her habit of frequently carrying the box
in her pocket when she was in the Catacombs so she could
listen to it when she pleased.
Observing her delight in the contraption, Ash conspired
with Jack to bring more mechanical music into Charlotte’s
life. The pair had found a broken-down, discarded wardrobe in the Heap during one of their scavenging runs.
They’d dragged it back to the Catacombs in the middle of
the night and stashed it in Jack’s room, knowing Charlotte
would never set foot there. Ash and Meg had refinished
the wood surfaces, while Birch repaired the mechanisms
in the doors.
On the morning of her sixteenth birthday Charlotte
had awoken to a rippling melody, but not the one she’d
grown so familiar with. All four of them were standing
beside the resurrected wardrobe, waiting for her reaction.
Charlotte took in the scene and promptly burst into
tears, horrifying them all. But her tears were happy ones,
and they were reassured when she leapt from her bed and
grabbed Birch, who blushed like a rose when Charlotte
made him waltz around the room with her. Ash then asked
Meg to dance, and the four of them spun around the room
like the wooden dancers twirling in the door. Jack simply
watched them and smiled.
Now several months gone, her birthday was the last
truly happy day Charlotte remembered. Relative peace
with Jack had given way to ongoing conflicts with Ash.
Their fights had grown more frequent and gained intensity. And they both knew why, but neither was willing to
speak of the matter.
Charlotte’s sixteenth birthday had passed. That meant
Ash’s eighteenth birthday was approaching.
Charlotte sighed at the thought and left the wardrobe
doors open so the music would continue. Taking a soft
cloth from one of the shelves, she returned to the basin
and turned off the taps. Her chest was tight with thoughts
of Ash coming of age. When he turned eighteen, he would
leave the Catacombs. Leave her. And no matter how often
or how vehemently she pleaded, he wouldn’t agree to let
her go with him.
She moved the warm, damp cloth over her shoulders
and down her arms, wishing that the soothing motion
would wash away her anxious thoughts along with the
grime of the day. Charlotte splashed water on her face,
blotted away the moisture, and unbound her hair from its
usual twist. Her russet hair reached to the middle of her
back, and she used her fingers to work out the tangles.