The Inventor's Secret

  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 to me 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 sabre. 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 betwe
en 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 from halfway 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.

  “In a closet,” Coe answered. He reached out and turned a doorknob. The door swung open to reveal a clockmaker’s workshop. “This is one of Lord Ott’s stores. We’re on the Market Platform.”

  Coe stepped out of the closet, and Charlotte hurried after him, eager to get away from the compression lift. Coe shut the closet door and gestured for Charlotte to follow him to the workshop’s rear door.

  As they walked to catch the trolley, Charlotte attempted to smooth her hair and straighten her clothes. She was grateful for the benign movement of the cable car after her harrowing trip up the pipe. The realization that she was out of danger set in, and exhaustion made Charlotte’s shoulders slump.

  When the trolley stopped before the Winter mansion, Coe offered his arm. Charlotte took it gratefully and leaned against him as they walked up the path to the house.

  The door swung open, revealing Thompson with a lantern in hand. “Mr. Coe, we’re relieved to see you home. Word of the raid on the fair just reached us.”

  “You should have retired for the night, Thompson,” Coe told him with a kind smile. “I’m fine.”

  Thompson shook his head. “There’s no rest for me until the house is at peace for the night. Your brother has been terribly worried.”

  Coe frowned at that. “Have Jack meet me in the drawing room.”

  “What can I bring you, sir? A brandy?” Thompson asked.

  “I’ll serve myself,” Coe replied. “Tell Jack I’m waiting for him and then get to bed.”

  Thompson looked none too pleased at the dismissal, but he assented. Turning to Charlotte, he said, “I’ll rouse Mrs. Blake to draw you a bath.”

  Charlotte blushed, knowing how disheveled her appearance must be.

  “Now, now, Thompson,” Coe chided. “I’ve just told you to turn in. Don’t go getting Mrs. Blake up at this hour.”

  “My maid can assist me,” Charlotte offered.

  “As you wish, Miss Marshall,” Thompson replied, deflated. “Good night, then.”

  Thompson left them, and Coe took Charlotte through the long dining hall into the drawing room. Charlotte was grateful when he led her to a velvet sofa. She was so tired she could barely hold herself upright.

  “Brandy?” Coe asked, pouring himself a glass of bright amber liquid from a crystal decanter.

  “No, thank you,” Charlotte said. She wanted to see Jack and Ash before she slept, but that was the only reason she hadn’t yet sought her bed.

  Coe came to sit close to her on the sofa. He put the etched tumbler of brandy in her hand.

  “Have a nip of this,” he urged. “It will take the edge of
f your nerves. You’ve had quite an evening.”

  “That’s true enough,” Charlotte agreed. She sipped the brandy, which had a smooth fire, rich and spicy, when she swallowed.

  A light touch on Charlotte’s jaw surprised her. Coe slipped his fingers beneath her chin, turning her face toward his.

  “Are you all right?” Coe asked, his blue eyes holding hers. “It was a lot to take in. The fair, Lord Ott, Linnet.”

  Charlotte stiffened. Coe’s touch was gentle, but his face was so close to hers. Too close for someone she’d just met. Yet she found herself leaning toward him.

  “I’m fine,” she said. Coe’s thumb stroked along her jaw, making her shiver. He wasn’t Jack, and Charlotte didn’t understand why Coe had such a similar effect on her. Was it only because they were brothers? Was there something in the Winter boys’ blood that Charlotte found irresistible? She was about to pull away when she heard someone enter the room.

  “Charlotte!” Ash came through the door. “By Athene’s mercy, you’re safe.”

  “Yes,” Charlotte replied. She would have said more, but then she saw Jack standing at the drawing room door.

  Jack was staring at Charlotte and Coe, and Charlotte realized that Coe was no longer touching her face; he had taken her hand and now held it on his thigh. The color began to drain from Jack’s face.

  “Why is she wearing your coat?” Jack asked his brother.

  He should have asked me, Charlotte thought, and answered before Coe could. “We were set upon by brigands in the Iron Forest. My dress was torn.”

  Charlotte withdrew her hand from Coe’s grasp and rose, going to Ash and embracing him.

  Ash held her tight. “I was so afraid for you,” he whispered. “Were you hurt?”

  “No,” Charlotte said, hugging him. “And all is well now.”

  “Mostly well,” Ash told her when he let go. “Meg returned with us, but Grave is still missing.”

  “Not for long.” Coe rose from the sofa and joined them. Jack stood stiffly at the door. Coe smiled at his brother. “Linnet’s gone to fetch him.”