Jerking up roughly, Charlotte freed her wrist from Jack’s light grasp. “I wouldn’t want to distract you from more pressing matters. I can take care of myself. You needn’t worry about me getting into trouble.”
It was one thing to permit Jack to hold her hand for comfort after witnessing his mother’s sorry state, but now he was taking liberties she couldn’t tolerate.
Charlotte tried to pull her arm completely away from him, but Jack restrained her. “I’m still your escort, Charlotte,” he said.
“And I’ll pretend I’m honored to be the charge of such a fine gentleman,” Charlotte shot back.
“Charlotte.” Jack’s voice was pained, but Charlotte wouldn’t look at him again.
Another memory intruded on her thoughts. I’m not who you think I am.
Her chest felt tight. How could she soften toward someone who said such things? What did she truly know about Jack? The only thing Charlotte was certain of was that she had no idea what he wanted from her.
They fell into silence, Jack sulking and Charlotte angry, as they entered the fair. Crammed with tents, booths, and wandering performers, the Tinkers’ Faire was mad with activity. Spectators crammed the paths, jostling each other to enter this tent or gape at that fire-eater.
Meg pushed her way in front of Jack and Charlotte, casting her gaze about freely as if simply taking in the sights, although it was clear that she was leading them somewhere in particular. The crowd became more dense as they passed into the heart of the fair. Here the small booths of food purveyors gave way to opulent pavilions. Barkers cried out to the fairgoers; incredibly, their voices carried over the din of noise.
“Man or great ape? Who is the strongest? Come place your bets before the fight begins!”
“Every lady’s wish granted here! Tinker Godwin sees into your heart before he crafts the perfect ornamentation for you! No two pieces alike! Gentlemen—want to win your true love? Tinker Godwin guarantees your lady will adore this matchless symbol of your devotion!”
“Can you climb Jacob’s Ladder? Try to best the cleverest piece of machinery at the fair!”
Though Charlotte felt drawn to the fair’s distractions, she was forced to keep following Meg. The older girl ignored the calls, intent on her goal, the largest pavilion, so big it had several entrances. The pavilion was paneled in diverse shades of metallic fabric that threw back the gleam of torchlight. Meg took them around the side of the tent.
One silver tent flap was pulled up, held open by a velvet cord secured to a post. No barker shouted an invitation to them, but a strange contraption stood alongside the opening.
At first Charlotte thought the metal sculpture was a strangely rendered tree, but when they drew near the brass arms, the piece began to move. Orbs floated around the glass globe at the heart of the sculpture as it flared to life, burning bright orange. A voice crackled at them:
“Here resides Madam Jedda, mistress of the universe. Seekers of truth may enter and know what lies hidden in the stars.”
Meg looked at Jack. “You and Ash stay here. Make sure no one tries to come in while we’re speaking with her.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Ash frowned at Meg. “It’s been so long.”
Meg’s face was drawn in a way Charlotte had never seen. “I know how long it’s been. And I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure—” Ash pressed.
“I’m sure.” Meg cut him off and said to Jack, “I’ll need some coins.”
“Of course.” Jack drew a handful of silver pieces from his pocket and handed them to Meg.
“Charlotte, Grave, come with me,” Meg instructed them in a brusque tone. “Do not speak unless I tell you to.”
Charlotte nodded, Meg’s abrupt manner startling her into dumbness. Grave, in his oddly quiet manner, followed obediently when Meg passed beneath the tent flap. It took Ash giving Charlotte a slight push to send her after them.
Inside the tent, they encountered yet another elaborate entrance to Madam Jedda’s domain. A half-circle wooden panel bisected the round space that was dimly lit by candles. The signs of the zodiac had been carved into the left side of the panel, while on the right, gods and goddesses stood beside their corresponding planets. At the center of the wooden wall, a woman stood; her arms were extended, protruding from the panel, with her palms facing up and open. Charlotte recognized the figure as Ariadne, witch and beloved of Athene—patron of art and craft. Ariadne’s magical threads had led Theseus from doom within the labyrinth. Emissary of the goddess of wisdom, Ariadne was known to be a guardian of arcane mystery.
Meg poured Jack’s silver onto one of Ariadne’s palms. The coins’ weight triggered a hidden panel in the statue’s hand to open. Charlotte heard the coins drop and then roll down the length of the hollow arm.
After a moment, a clicking of gears sounded on the opposite side of the wooden barrier. The left panel creaked and swung open as a disembodied voice whispered, “The querent may enter.”
Without hesitation, Meg strode through the open door. Charlotte and Grave hurried after her. The door gave entrance to a tunnel draped with transparent silks that they had to push aside like cobwebs as they moved forward. They emerged into a room with a tall, rectangular object, its center covered in black velvet.
When Meg approached the tall box, the folds of dark fabric parted, revealing a glass case. Behind the glass was a giant eye crafted from sapphire and onyx. The eye had been inset in a golden pyramid and was lit from behind so that it appeared to burn with an inner fire. Both eye and pyramid were surrounded by a ring from which extended seven brass arms. The hands were moving around and around. As they passed the base of the glass box, they picked up tarot cards, turning the cards to face viewers as they moved before the glass.
“Madam Jedda is a machine?” Charlotte whispered, but Meg’s sharp glance silenced her.
“Choose your card,” the disembodied voice ordered.
Watching as the tarot deck was revealed, card by card, Meg waited until one of the hands turned over the image of a heart pierced by a trio of swords and quickly pulled a brass knob with the word CHOOSE etched into its surface.
“The three of hearts,” the disembodied voice whispered. “The choice is made that we may know you.”
Meg pulled a knob labeled ASK.
The disembodied voice sounded. “What is the question?”
Unhooking a brass tube that hung beside the ASK knob, Meg spoke into the trumpet-shaped mouthpiece.
“Can the lost child be redeemed?”
Charlotte frowned, but held her tongue. What kind of question was that? She supposed that Grave was sort of a lost child, but Meg’s wording was much too vague in Charlotte’s opinion. Besides, she remained skeptical that some fortune-telling machine could offer them assistance. They’d wasted enough time taking that stupid wheel down to the Commons; surely there was something better they could be doing now. She glanced at Grave, hoping for affirmation of her annoyance, but the pale-faced boy was staring at the mechanical eye and hands that constituted Madam Jedda with fascination.
Grave sighed with disappointment when the hands behind the glass abruptly ground to a halt and the eye dimmed.
“What happened?” Charlotte asked.
Meg hissed at her, “Be silent!”
The heavy velvet around the case rustled as if disturbed by the wind. When a figure appeared from behind the covered box, Charlotte swallowed a scream. The dim light revealed the stranger to be a woman, but she’d moved so silently Charlotte half believed she must be a specter.
“You’ve returned, my child.” The woman’s voice was that of the machine. “I warned you not to.”
“I had no choice.” Meg lifted her chin. “I need your help, Mother.”
17.
CHARLOTTE COULDN’T STOP herself from blurting out, “Mother? Madam Jedda is your mother???
?
Meg whirled around. “Hush, Charlotte!”
Jedda clucked her tongue. “Peace, child. The girl isn’t one to hide her emotions. Let her be.”
Meg’s mother cut a tall, stately figure in the small room. Her black curls had been tamed by a woven net of gold and silver. A softly draped gown of pale green silk offset her dark skin.
“Are you so disappointed to see me?” Some of the force had gone out of Meg’s voice.
Jedda shook her head, and the bells that dangled from her earlobes chimed. “How can you even ask?”
She opened her arms, and Meg rushed into them.
“I only warned you away because this city is a den of vipers,” Jedda told her daughter. “You know that. Now tell me why you’ve come.”
Meg stepped out of her mother’s embrace and brushed tears from her cheeks before she gestured to Grave.
“This boy came to the Catacombs as a refugee,” Meg told Jedda. “He was wearing the clothes of Hive workers, but he has no memory of who he is or whence he came.”
Jedda looked at Meg sharply. “Any illness?”
“None that I could find,” Meg answered.
“But why bring him to me?” Jedda frowned. “The loss of his memory is likely from trauma. It will return in time. You risk too much in coming here.”
“I know the risks, Mother,” Meg replied. “But there’s something about him. I knew he must be brought to you.”
Jedda touched Meg’s cheek and smiled. “And you claimed to have none of my gift. If your blood told you to seek me out, you were surely guided by Athene’s hand. What is your foundling’s name?”
“He doesn’t know his name,” Meg answered. “But we’ve taken to calling him Grave.”
Stretching her hand out, Jedda said, “Come here, Grave.”
When Grave approached the mystic, his brow was furrowed. “You’re the machine?”
“What a strange question,” Jedda murmured. “I’m not the machine, dearest. I operate the machine. Machines can’t channel the spirits of beyond, and without the aid of the spirits, the cards are meaningless. Will you give me your hands?”
Grave placed his hands in Jedda’s open palms. She closed her eyes and went so still that Charlotte wanted to hold her breath for fear of disturbing the silence. Meg’s mother frowned and shook her head.
“Something is very wrong,” Jedda told Meg. “The boy is cloaked. His past unreachable. Like a spirit that does not linger but has crossed the void into the veil of the unknown.”
“Someone did this to him?” Meg asked as gooseflesh prickled along Charlotte’s arms.
“Perhaps,” Jedda replied. “Though it’s unclear if the act was one of protection or malice. And he’s so cold, as if his blood is ice—are you sure he suffers no illness?”
Meg nodded. “He’s not sick. In fact, he’s more than healthy.”
“What do you mean?” her mother asked.
“He’s very . . . strong.” Meg threw an uneasy glance at Charlotte, then said, “Stronger than any man should be.”
Jedda’s face grew troubled. “There are others who may have answers where I do not.”
“Who?” Charlotte couldn’t contain her curiosity.
Though Charlotte was embarrassed by her outburst, Jedda’s smile was kind. “The ones who delve into Athene’s mysteries and serve at her temple.”
“The Sisters?” Meg cast a worried look at Grave. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I see no other way,” Jedda replied. “The Sisters can unlock the human mind. They are the only ones who might be able to remove the veil that hides this boy’s identity.”
Meg bowed her head, but nodded.
“Don’t be afraid,” Jedda told her daughter softly. “Remember that they are servants of Athene, not the Empire.”
“We should tell Ash,” Meg said to Charlotte. “Can you take Grave and give me a moment with my mother?”
“Of course.” Charlotte grabbed Grave’s elbow, retreating into the tunnel from which they’d emerged.
“Who are the Sisters?” Grave asked her.
“I’m not sure,” Charlotte answered truthfully. She knew little of the cults of Athene and Hephaestus, only that some men and women eschewed a normal life in favor of serving the Empire’s patron goddess or god.
Grave’s next question was barely a whisper. “Do you think they’ll hurt me?”
“I don’t know that anyone could hurt you, Grave. Given what we’ve seen you do.” Charlotte wanted to laugh, but considering how serious his tone was, she supposed that would be an unkind response.
Rather than reassuring Grave, Charlotte’s answer sent him into a gloomier mood.
“I wish she hadn’t been there,” Grave muttered. “I wanted the machine to tell me who I am.”
“What?” Charlotte asked halfheartedly as they neared the pavilion’s entrance.
“Machines don’t make mistakes,” Grave said. “Machines are perfect.”
Puzzled by his strange words, Charlotte hesitated at the tent flap. “What do you mean? Why would you say that?”
Grave looked at Charlotte, blinking rapidly as if he’d just woken from a dream. “I . . . I don’t know why I said that.”
She had half a mind to turn around and take Grave back to Jedda. Maybe she couldn’t see through whatever cloaked Grave’s past, but it occurred to Charlotte that their visit may have shaken something loose from the boy’s memory.
Deciding she’d best speak with Ashley first, Charlotte released Grave’s arm and stepped into the night air with more than a little relief.
When they appeared outside the pavilion, Ashley didn’t miss a beat. “Well?”
Annoyed that her brother hadn’t bothered to so much as greet her, Charlotte snapped at him. “Did you know Meg’s mother was here?”
She was rewarded by Ash’s ears turning pink. “I promised her that I wouldn’t say anything.”
Jack gave a low whistle. “Her mother is a Tinkers’ Faire mystic? That’s quite a story. What were you doing with our Meg that she’d confide such things, my friend?”
“Hold your tongue, Jack.” Ash’s ears had gone from pink to red. Straightening his collar, he fixed a stern gaze on Charlotte. “Are you going to tell us what happened or not?”
“Madam Jedda told us—” Charlotte began, but Jack’s chuckling interrupted her.
“Madam Jedda?”
“Jack,” Ash said in a warning tone.
Charlotte ignored them. “Meg’s mother couldn’t tell us who Grave is, but she did say that—” Her words were swallowed up by the shrieking of what sounded like a thousand whistles.
Charlotte clapped her hands over her ears to stop the piercing sound. Around them the fair erupted into chaos. People burst from tents in a panic, pushing each other aside as they ran.
Jack’s lips were moving, but Charlotte couldn’t hear what he said. She uncovered her ears, and Jack yelled, “It’s a raid!”
Before she could ask what that meant, Grave began to shout, “No! Not again!” His arms were flailing, his eyes bugged out with fear. “Not again! Not again!”
“Calm down, mate.” Jack reached for the terrified boy. “We have to get out of here.”
The moment Jack touched him, Grave whirled and slammed his fist into Jack’s chest, sending him sprawling on the ground a good distance away. The whistles’ screams were relentless, and Charlotte lost sight of Jack as the fleeing mob rushed over him.
“Jack!” Charlotte cried out. “Ash, he’ll be trampled.”
“Wait here,” Ash told her.
“Why did you hit him?” Charlotte turned on Grave. “What’s wrong with you?”
Grave didn’t respond. His hands gripped his black hair, tugging hard on the roots.
“Not again. Not again. Not again.”
“Grave!” Charlotte wanted to shake him, but she was afraid he’d toss her off like a rag doll.
Grave looked at her, but no recognition registered in his eyes, only confusion and fear.
Charlotte took a step toward him. “Grave, no.”
But he was already running.
“Stop!” Charlotte barreled after him. Within moments, he was pushing through the sea of people fleeing the fair. Charlotte kept running, following the flashes of black hair she spotted moving amid the colorful mob. Where was he running to? Or what was he running from?
The shrill whistles were closer now. The mob surged right, and Charlotte turned to see why. Her heart clenched into a fist. If she’d been a child, she would have sworn demons were hunting her down.
They looked nothing like the carefree fairgoers. Clad in black leather, their hands were gloved in steel; the top halves of their faces were likewise masked in polished steel, their heads covered with hoods. The hulking figures snatched fleeing patrons from the crowd, tossing the captives back to their fellows. Charlotte followed the trail and saw the Rotpots looming in the distance, taller than the fair’s tents. She could find neither rhyme nor reason in the way the raiders chose their victims.
Charlotte’s thoughts of catching Grave dissolved as terror overwhelmed her. She was barely moving of her own volition now, but was being carried along by the tidal force of the crowd’s panic. She had to get free of the mob before the raiders closed in.
She kept glancing back as she ran, checking to be sure the hooded men weren’t gaining on her. What Charlotte saw when she turned made her wish she hadn’t looked. The Empire’s enforcers moved slowly through the panicked crowd, not only so they could take prisoners, but also to terrorize fairgoers with seemingly random violence.
A woman’s face crumpled into a mash of scarlet as a steel fist plowed into her jaw. Another enforcer held a boy of no more than ten by the neck. Charlotte watched in horror as the hooded man lifted the kicking boy from the ground and slowly crushed his windpipe. Behind them, Charlotte saw the Rotpots advancing. Several of their ribbed cages were already full to bursting, but that didn’t stop the enforcers from stuffing more men, women, and children into the Gatherers’ hollow bellies, guaranteeing that the innermost captives would be crushed or suffocate.