The Inventor's Secret

  “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,” Grave replied.

  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 he 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, b
ecause 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 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.”

  23.

  CHARLOTTE HAD TO REPEAT what had transpired within the temple of Athene three times, and then Meg had to confirm what Charlotte had said before Ashley would believe it.

  “That’s just mad,” Ash muttered. He’d said the same thing several minutes ago, and several minutes before that.

  Charlotte found no fault in her brother’s assessment.

  Meg sighed. “Maybe. But it’s all we have to work with.” She’d been distracted, fidgeting and falling behind in their conversation since leaving the temple.

  “So our plan is to find a dead boy’s father and show him Grave,” Ashley said. “That is a terrible, terrible idea.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “I agree, but what else can we do?”

  “I have another question that no one will like,” Coe put in.

  They all looked at him, and he continued, “If, as seems likely, this trip leads nowhere, what then?”

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Charlotte was surprised that it was Grave who finally spoke.

  “You won’t send me away, will you?”

  Ash shifted uneasily on the trolley bench. “What do you mean?”

  “I want to stay in the Catacombs,” Grave said firmly. “I think that’s what’s best for me. I like Birch. I’ll help him with his work.”

  “There’s more to it than that, Grave,” Ash told him. “We don’t just live in the Catacombs. We’re hiding there.”

 
Grave nodded vigorously. “I won’t tell anyone where you are. I promise. Just don’t leave me with that woman at the temple.”

  Charlotte gave an affirmative “hmmpf.” She wouldn’t want to be sent back to the temple either. Creepy, rude priestesses in their creepy, cold room.

  Meg sighed again.

  “Are you unwell?” Ash leaned forward to peer at Meg.

  “I’m fine. Just tired.” She waved him off, but Charlotte agreed with her brother. Meg didn’t seem fine at all. Her face was drawn. Her gaze faraway.

  Charlotte reached for Meg’s hand. “If you need to rest, go back to the mansion. We’ll come to you once we’ve finished this wild-goose chase.”

  “Have a little faith, Lottie.” Meg smiled at Charlotte. “We don’t know that it’s a wild-goose chase yet.”

  Meg’s words made Charlotte’s skin crawl, though she couldn’t say why.

  “There’s the Hive.” Coe pointed to the front of the cable car.

  True to its namesake, the Hive’s tall, cone-shaped structure dominated its platform. Plated in brass interrupted by the rare window and steam vent, the Hive wasn’t a welcoming sort of place.

  Even before the trolley arrived at its station, Charlotte sensed the distinct change in atmosphere from the rest of the Floating City. The other platforms exuded an ease that bordered on laxity. The Hive, by contrast, was noisy and harried. Passengers, wearing the plain gray garb that signified their status, rushed to exit the car, while others shoved their way onto the trolley. The only thing that curbed their pushy behavior was the sight of Coe’s uniform. When Coe walked at the head of their small party, people moved aside to give him a wide berth. As he passed, nervous glances and whispers trailed him.

  Coe led them to one of the arched entrances at the Hive’s base. Access to the interior was gained through narrow gates that opened and closed at the discretion of an operator.

  Coe cleared his throat to gain the attention of the wiry man who sat in the gatehouse. The operator’s cap was too big for his weasel-like features and kept sliding over his eyes, making him more inclined to repositioning the cap than opening the gate.