The Inventor's Secret (23 page)

“We are not late.” Linnet scowled, putting
her hands on her hips and squaring herself to
face him. “Not by one minute.”

“Did I say anything?” Ott waggled his bushy eyebrows
at her. He turned to Charlotte and gave a slight bow. “Miss
Marshall.”

Behind Ott was a stumpy wagon to which was harnessed an even stumpier mule. Seated on the driver’s bench
was Coe Winter. He’d forsaken his military garb for the
drab gray clothing of the Hive. He held the reins, but freed
one hand to give them a wave. Charlotte’s chest burned.
A part of her wished it were the younger and not the elder son of House Winter here to see them off. But in some

Without prompting, Grave trundled Charlotte’s luggage over to the wagon and climbed in to sit beside the
trunks.

Ott noticed Charlotte’s wary assessment of their transport.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “The sternwheeler’s
much better looking than the wagon. You’ll see when we
reach the river.”
“I’m not worried,” Charlotte replied. “Just wondering
about the mule. I haven’t seen any mules or horses in the
city until now.”
“That’s because they always panic up on the platforms,” Linnet said. “After enough horses had bolted and
then fallen to their deaths, the Empire banned work animals from the Floating City.”
“Also because they left their shite everywhere.” Ott
laughed. “And if it doesn’t glitter, the Empire doesn’t want
it in their diamond of a metropolis.”
Linnet snorted a laugh and grabbed Charlotte’s hand.
They climbed into the wagon bed beside Grave. Coe tossed
them all heavy traveling cloaks.
“Society folk don’t go where we’re going.”
He tipped his wool cap at Charlotte. For the first time
since reading Jack’s letter, she smiled and the fist that had
been clamped around her heart eased its grip.
The wagon creaked under Lord Ott’s weight when he
hauled himself onto the bench beside Coe.
Coe shook the reins, and the wagon bumped along
the path toward the Iron Forest. Passengers disembarking
from the wheel or on their way to the Tinkers’ Faire followed the wagon’s departure with curious gazes.
“Aren’t you afraid we’ll be followed?” Charlotte asked
Ott.
“Of course we’re being followed,” Ott told her. “I’m
always being followed. But I have people who follow the
people following me. And they make certain no one sees or
reports anything I wouldn’t want to be seen or reported.”
Charlotte didn’t know whether to smile or shudder.
“You’ve picked a good time to leave the city,” Lord Ott
continued. “Things have taken a turn toward the ugly.”
“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked.
“Not more than an hour ago, the Enforcers entered the
Hive and locked it down,” Ott told her. “No one has been
allowed in or out since.”
Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the wagon
seat. “Why?”
“My sources have yet to tell me,” he replied. “But I’ll
find out soon enough.”
Panic made Charlotte’s blood icy. She opened her
mouth to question Lord Ott further, but Coe spoke first.
“Hive workers are sometimes tempted to chase French
gold and Spanish silver by smuggling their crafts out of
the city. The Empire frowns upon such habits, of course.
These raids happen infrequently, but they do happen.
Don’t worry too much over it, Miss Marshall.”
Coe’s tone was calm, but he fixed Charlotte with a hard
look. For whatever reason, he didn’t want her to reveal
anything more to Lord Ott about their visit to the Hive.
Charlotte quickly decided his inclination was prudent.
Though Ott was their ally, there was no way of knowing
how he’d take the news about Grave’s unprecedented origins. Coe was right to make sure that the circle of those
who knew the truth was as tight and trustworthy as possible. Keeping silent as the wagon lurched on, Charlotte fell
to brooding over what might have incited the Imperial raid
on the Hive and hoped its timing would prove coincidental
to their meeting with Bromley and not its cause.
The smooth stones that paved the pathway near the
Great Wheel disappeared when they entered the shadowed
Iron Forest, and soon they were traveling on nothing but
wheel ruts worn into the soil.
All around them scrap iron had been worked into trees
of varying shapes and sizes. Some of the trees featured
leaves of beaten steel and copper—it was clear that any
crafted of silver and gold had long ago been stolen. Though
a forest of metal, it wasn’t entirely devoid of wildlife. Some
intrepid squirrels had built nests in the higher branches.
Birds could be seen flitting between the metal trunks. Even
so, the forest felt cold and empty. Sunlight struggled to
pierce the dense tangle of heavy, unyielding iron.
Shivering, Charlotte pulled her cloak tight around her
and instinctively snuggled up against Linnet. Realizing
what she’d done, Charlotte would have been embarrassed
had Linnet not cozied right back into her.
“It’s why we use the old mules to carry cargo by this
path. They’re placid and reliable, and most are half blind,”
Linnet said in a hushed voice. “Horses spook so often you
can barely get one to walk in a straight line.”
“Isn’t Lord Ott worried that someone might give us
trouble in here?” Charlotte asked, remembering the sudden attack she and Coe had faced.
“No one bothers Ott.” Linnet smiled wryly. Half of
those scoundrels are on his payroll.”
“But those brigands attacked Coe and me,” Charlotte
protested.
“Of course they did,” Linnet replied. “I said that they
wouldn’t bother Ott. But they’d always bother the likes of
a rich blueblood silly enough to tramp through their forest.
They’d be poor excuses for thieves if they didn’t. Wouldn’t
they, Ott?”
“That sounds like Athene’s truth to me,” Ott chortled.
Charlotte had nothing to say to that.
The wagon rocked and creaked its way through the forest, and Charlotte was relieved when they finally came to
a halt on the riverbank, though she guessed the journey
hadn’t been half as long as it felt.
Coe jumped down from the driver’s bench and came
around to help Charlotte out of the wagon bed. She tried
to exit delicately, despite her dress. But when Coe tried
to assist Linnet, she waved him off, lifted up her skirts,
and simply hopped out of the wagon, landing lightly on
her booted feet and making Charlotte wish she’d done the
same.
“That’s where you’re headed.” Coe pointed to the river.
“She’s called the
Aphrodite.
”
A sternwheeler was moored in the middle of the Hudson. Ott had told the truth—the paddleboat was much better looking than the wagon. The boat was long and slim.
The woods that made up its body had been varnished to a
glossy sheen, and the pairs of wheels fitted to its stern had
been covered in gold leaf.
While Charlotte and Linnet approached the river’s
edge, Coe and Grave unloaded the wagon. A small boat
had been dragged up onto the bank. As Ott descended
from the wagon, the man sitting on the bank beside the
small craft jumped up and took off his cap.
“All ready, sir,” the man piped, ducking his head when
Lord Ott joined them on the riverbank. “Captain’s holding
the ship till we board.”
“Very good.” Ott nodded to the man and then turned
to Charlotte and Linnet. “I’ll bid my farewells to you now.
Margery especially wanted me to tell you how much she’s
enjoyed your company and hopes to meet you again.”
“Margery?” Charlotte tilted her head at Lord Ott.
“The Lady Ott.” He smiled.
“Oh!” Charlotte returned his friendly smile. “Please
send her my best regards as well.”
“And you’ll stay out of trouble.” Ott wagged a finger
at Linnet.
“If I can,” Linnet answered blithely.
“I suppose that’s the best I can hope for,” he grumbled.
“It is.” Linnet said, but she rose on her tiptoes to kiss
his cheek before she climbed into the boat.
“Safe journey, Miss Marshall,” Lord Ott said to Charlotte. “Should I have any news of your brother, I’ll try to
get word to you.”
“Thank you, Lord Ott.”
“Call me, Roger, dear child.” Ott grinned. “Except in
proper company of course.”
“Of course.” Charlotte dipped into a curtsy.
Lord Ott patted her cheek. “Good girl.”
Charlotte was about to follow Linnet into the boat,
when she heard Coe say, “Are you that eager to get away
from us?”
Charlotte
was
eager to get away. Not from her companions, but from this place. She doubted she could ever
be at ease in the city. For the sake of courtesy, she turned
around.
“Eager to return home,” she told Coe.
“What would you say if I told you I shall miss you,
Charlotte Marshall?” Coe’s hand slipped over hers. “And
that I hope it won’t be long before I see you again?”
He smiled, and for a moment, Charlotte’s heart pattered with anticipation. The brief thrill left her uneasy. Did
she welcome Coe’s attention because she smarted so from
Jack’s betrayal? Or was the elder brother’s allure something real, possibly more real than anything she’d shared
with Jack?
Charlotte gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she
pulled her fingers free of his grasp. “I would say you are
kind, Commodore Winter.”
Coe’s smile became wan. “Perhaps someday you’ll
forgive me for revealing the truth about my brother. And
you’ll desire more than kindness when we meet again.”
With a shake of her head, Charlotte answered, “Don’t
burden yourself with guilt over showing me ugly things.
Though my pride might be injured, you did me honor by
believing me strong enough to face the truth and go on.”
“And are you,” Coe asked softly, “going on?”
Charlotte’s throat went dry. She wanted to nod or to
say yes, but she wasn’t certain enough of her conviction to
risk raising Coe’s hopes. Unlike Jack, she would not play
falsely with another’s affection.
Coe leaned down, his voice low. “Forgive me for asking
too soon, but I pray that when you are ready, you remember that I asked.”
She did manage to nod in reply to that, and the nearness of Coe’s face to hers made her breath catch.
Coe spoke again, quieting his voice even more. “I’ll
find out what provoked the raid. If Bromley is involved, I’ll
send word.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said.
Conscious of the way heat was creeping up her neck
and making her head swim, she did not accept Coe’s assistance in boarding the small boat for fear that her body’s
traitorous response would be noted by onlookers. Lifting
her skirts as Linnet had, Charlotte stepped lightly from the
bank onto the boat’s planked bottom.
Coe lifted his hand in farewell as they rowed away.
Charlotte wondered when she would next meet Commodore Winter or his younger brother. Perhaps it would be
for the best if she never encountered either of the sons of
Winter again. It would certainly make things simpler.
“I wonder if I have ever traveled by boat,” Grave said
aloud, but he seemed to be speaking to himself.
Charlotte asked, “Are you trying to remember?” She
glanced warily at the rowing sailor. He worked for Ott,
but that didn’t mean she felt comfortable with him knowing too much about Grave.
Fortunately, Grave just nodded and returned to his silent musing.
When they reached the
Aphrodite
and boarded, the
captain met them and offered a cursory welcome before
returning to his post. The sailor who’d rowed them to the
paddleboat told Grave to leave Charlotte’s luggage on the
main deck.
When Linnet caught Charlotte’s puzzled glanced, she
said, “If we were taking you all the way to the
Mohawk,
I’d put you in a cabin for the night. But we’ll be handing
you off to your friends at the midway point.”
“My friends?” Anticipation bubbled up in Charlotte’s
veins.
Linnet nodded. “Ott said you have some kind of submersible?”
“The
Pisces
!” Charlotte clapped with delight. Everything in the city had been so strange, felt so wrong. Just
the thought of returning to a familiar ship crewed by her
longtime companions made her giddy.
“Oh!” Charlotte exclaimed. “I hope they bring Pocky!”
“Who?” Linnet asked.
Slightly abashed, Charlotte said, “Um. She’s a gun. My
favorite gun.”
“Ah,” Linnet smiled knowingly. Dipping her hand into
her bodice, she withdrew a stiletto not unlike the one Ash
had given Charlotte. “This is Brutus.”
“Brutus?” Charlotte frowned at such a brawny name
for a slender blade.
“You know.” Linnet shrugged. “Good for stabbing
people in the back.”

HOUGH THE CAPTAIN’S butler offered to prepare a lunch for them, Charlotte
was much too restless to sit belowdecks and
eat. She and Linnet took apples from the
ship’s store and munched on the crisp, tart

fruit while leaning over the railing at the fore of the paddleboat. Grave had demurred when Charlotte invited him
to join them. He wanted to stay near the stern and watch
the turning of the boat’s four wheels.

There was no denying that the boy, with his cold, colorless skin and strange manner, was an odd duck. But
Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to condemn him as her
friends had. To Charlotte, Grave was neither monster nor
machine. Though he was a puzzle, she believed him still
a person. And as a refugee in the Catacombs, Grave was