Caught up in his own thoughts, Ash’s reply was distracted. “No . . . it’s just . . . never mind. I can’t afford to leave you here. You’re too good with the POC.”
“She’s called Pocky, and of course I am.” Charlotte’s anger withered, and she flung her arms around her brother, kissing him on the cheek. “And you’d miss me too much.”
Ash tensed up for a moment, but his temper had cooled and he ruffled her hair.
Stepping back, Charlotte said, “What did you want anyway? Jack said you sent him to find me.”
“I did.” Ash’s scowl returned momentarily. “And I came to find you myself because he was taking too long.”
Not wanting to revisit their argument, she quickly asked, “Well, what do you need?”
“Meg came to the refectory,” Ash said, looking tired. “Grave just woke up.”
“Who?”
“Your stray.”
“You’re calling him Grave?” Charlotte asked.
“Birch is,” Ash told her. “I guess I picked up the habit.”
Charlotte shrugged. “What about him?”
“He wants to leave the workshop, and we’d like to keep him there. We can’t risk him wandering around the Catacombs.”
“Do you really think he poses a threat?” Charlotte asked. If anything, the stranger Birch had christened Grave seemed sick or mentally unhinged, but not dangerous.
Ash shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I think. We can’t be too cautious. Even if he’s perfectly harmless, he’d get lost in the tunnels without a guide.”
Charlotte nodded. New inhabitants of the Catacombs were required to have a seasoned resident with them until they could manage to navigate the tunnels on their own.
“Would you visit him and convince him that staying with Birch is the best option he has for now?” Ash asked. “Don’t tell him too much about us. Just enough to keep him calm until we learn more about who he is.”
“Why me?” It had been a long day, and Charlotte was feeling desperate for sleep.
“Because he trusts you, Lottie. You’re the one who saved him and all.” Ash smiled. “This is a consequence of your action. Reap what you’ve sown. I’ll consider it a mark of your newfound maturity.”
“Don’t gloat. I’ll go.” Charlotte swiped her corset from the floor. “Just let me get dressed again.”
Ash turned to leave, muttering, “You shouldn’t have gotten undressed in the first place.”
He closed the door before Charlotte had a chance to reply.
5.
EVEN IF CHARLOTTE hadn’t known how to get to the workshop, she could have found it by closing her eyes and smelling her way through the Catacombs. As she approached the tinker’s den, the unmistakable odors of molten metals, sulfur, and charred leather filled the air. Though it was by far the most thoroughly ventilated of any of the caverns, the workshop never lost its haze of steam and smoke.
With a slightly wrinkled nose, Charlotte picked her way through the room. It was the most irregular cave in the Catacombs. Though long and wide, it featured an array of strangely shaped nooks and small chambers that Birch used to house his creations in their various states of completion.
She found Birch at his largest workbench tightening the gears on a conglomeration of mechanical parts that no doubt belonged in the guts of some machine. Moses was hanging from the ceiling above Birch, and Meg was perched on a nearby stool with a wooden cup in her hands.
“Ash said you needed me.” Charlotte waved to Meg before she peeked over Birch’s shoulder. “What’s that?”
“Don’t ask,” Meg said before Birch could answer. “I did, and the answer took half an hour.”
Birch gave her a sour look. “You can’t understand how this part functions without conceptualizing the whole machine.”
“Which is why you don’t want to ask,” Meg told Charlotte as she slid from the stool. Meg’s hair, dark as a raven’s wing, was piled atop her head and held in place by an engraved steel cuff. A matching steel cuff encircled her slender wrist, its bright hue accentuating the loveliness of her deep skin tone.
“Never mind, then.” Charlotte smiled at her while Birch huffed, insulted.
Charlotte turned her smile on the tinker. “Don’t be cross. Not all of us need to know how your inventions work. Just how to use them.”
“No one appreciates my art,” Birch said.
“Pip does,” Meg countered. “She idolizes you.”
“Idolize is a strong word.” Birch brushed metal filings off his apron.
“Strong and accurate.” Charlotte brought Birch a broom. “The moment she’s out of the wheelhouse she’ll be down here.”
Birch coughed his embarrassment. “She’s a fine assistant.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is protégé,” Meg teased. “Or maybe supplicant.”
“Another strong and accurate word.” Charlotte laughed.
“If you’re done.” Birch snatched the broom and swept the filings into a corner full of metal scraps. Nothing that could be melted down and used in the future would go to waste on Birch’s watch. “Can we turn to the pressing matter at hand? Grave is not adjusting well.”
“He’s only just arrived,” Charlotte said. “Do you expect him to settle in like he meant to end up here?”
“People aren’t like machines, Birch,” Meg told him. “They aren’t predictable.”
“Since when are Birch’s machines predictable?” Charlotte smirked.
Birch’s mouth twitched into a wicked smile. “If you continue to insult me, I’ll take the POC away and make you use another gun.”
“You can never separate me and Pocky.” Charlotte wagged her finger at him. “We were meant to be together. But you’re right. I shouldn’t insult you. Your eyebrows have grown back perfectly.”
“As I was saying,” Meg interrupted, “people aren’t predictable, and your boy is . . .”
“A conundrum,” Birch scratched at his temple beneath the leather strap of his goggles.
A new head appeared from around the corner, featuring sea-green pigtails that bounced like springs.
“A what drum?” Pip asked. “Does it need fixing? How can I help?”
“Why, hello, Pip.” Meg winked at Birch, who turned away, but not before Charlotte saw him blushing. “What a surprise.”
Pip bounced into the workshop. “Scoff’s on the night shift this week. He should have been there an hour ago. But he was late. He claims he was this close to a breakthrough, but I think he was just making excuses.”
“A breakthrough on what?” Birch asked, his eyes bright with interest.
“I don’t know,” Pip said, rolling her eyes. “You know how Scoff is. All secretive about whatever he’s working on. I keep telling him he’d be better off watching you work, but does he listen to me? No.”
“Excuse me.” They all turned around at the sound of the unfamiliar voice.
Grave was standing at the edge of the workshop, looking just as odd and ashen as he had when Charlotte had found him. He’d emerged from the side tunnel that led to the infirmary, which had purposefully been placed adjacent to the workshop, since that was where most of the injuries happened. Usually to Birch.
Grave’s eyes found Meg. “I tried to sleep, like you asked. But I couldn’t.”
Meg nodded, and her voice took on the tone she used with the small children who lived in the Catacombs. “That’s understandable. You’ve had a difficult time. I made you a sleep draught.”
She offered him the cup, but he stepped back into the shadows of the tunnel.
“It’s meant to help you,” she coaxed. “We want you to get well.”
“You think I’m sick?” he said from the darkness.
Meg threw a questioning glance at Birch, who pulled off his work gloves.
“We
’re not sure, Grave,” he told the boy. “But it’s a bad sign that you have no memory, and your coloring—”
“What did you call me?” Grave asked.
“Oh . . . ummm . . . yes, the name . . .” Birch tugged at his shirt collar. “You kept talking about a ‘grave time,’ and so I started calling you Grave.”
Charlotte chimed in. “He didn’t mean any harm.”
Grave shook his head. “I suppose I don’t mind. It’s nice to be called something.”
Pip scooted forward, peering at Grave. “It’s not a very nice name, though. I could pick a name for you. I’m very creative.”
“Why is your hair green?” Grave asked.
“Scoff,” Pip answered, without bothering to take into consideration that Grave had no idea who Scoff was. “Shall I name you, then? Something dashing?”
“No,” Grave said quickly. “Grave is fine. That’s all I remember, after all.”
“Please sit.” Meg beckoned Grave from the shadows, inviting him to sit on the stool.
“Thank you.” He smiled at her, but his eyes quickly fixed on Charlotte. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?” Charlotte asked. “Ash said you were trying to leave.”
“Who’s Ash?”
“The boss of us,” Pip answered as she hopped up on the workbench, letting her legs dangle off the edge.
“He’s my brother,” Charlotte cut in. “And Pip is right. Ash is in charge.”
“I told him that you didn’t want to stay in the workshop,” Birch explained. “That’s why Charlotte came.”
Grave ducked his head, throwing an abashed look at Birch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble. The children kept sneaking into the room to look at me. They whispered and giggled, but ran away if I tried to talk with them.”
“They shouldn’t have done that,” Charlotte said. “But they didn’t mean any harm. They’re only curious about you.”
“Neither did I,” Grave told her.
“No trouble, chap,” Birch said. “But you can’t go wandering off in the Catacombs until you get to know the place. You’ll end up walking till you reach the Worldclock at the center of the Earth.”
“Very likely.” Meg nodded. “We weren’t trying to make a prisoner of you. Just to keep you safe.”
“I understand,” Grave said, turning his eyes on Charlotte. His tawny irises were the only feature he had that bore color and light. Their hue reminded her of amber reflecting sunlight—a striking contrast to his silver-white hair and ashen skin.
“I don’t want to give offense,” he said to Meg, though he was still looking at Charlotte. “But I wanted to talk to her because she saved me from that thing.”
“And?” Charlotte asked.
“And I thought you’d be the least likely to lie to me.”
“Pshaw!” Pip brandished a screwdriver at him. “We aren’t a pack of liars.”
“Hush, Pip,” Meg snapped. “We’re strangers to him, and this is a strange place. Have a little compassion.”
Pip rolled her eyes and began sorting different-sized cogs into piles beside her on the workbench.
Grave offered Meg a shy smile. “I thought Charlotte would tell me where I am.”
“You’re in a place called the Catacombs,” Charlotte told him. She waved her hand at her companions. “This is our home. There are about two dozen of us living in the caves at the moment, and there isn’t a person among us you can’t trust. The eldest—Ashley, Meg, Birch, Pip, Scoff, and me—keep the Catacombs supplied and secured so the younger children here have a safe place to grow up. This is a refuge for them—for us—from the Empire.”
“Empire?” Grave sighed, his body wilting a bit. “There’s so much I don’t know. I wish I could remember.”
“We’ll help you,” Meg said, proffering the wooden cup. “But you really should rest.”
Grave looked to Charlotte, who nodded. He took the cup, swirling its liquid contents.
“Before I sleep, tell me why you’re here.” He looked around the group. “You’re so young. I thought I’d be taken to the person in charge. An adult.”
“The adults are doing the important work. Work that’s far from here,” Charlotte answered him, flinching a little at the thought of Ashley’s reminding them that Meg’s eighteenth birthday was drawing close. “And we’ll be doing that same work when we’re of age too.”
Pip giggled. “Safe and cozy caves.”
“Safe enough,” Charlotte said. She frowned at Grave. “You don’t remember anything? Just something about a ‘grave time’?”
Grave nodded. “Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can see a man standing over me, and he whispers, ‘A grave time, such a grave time.’”
“Do you remember anything else about the man?” Charlotte asked.
“Nothing,” Grave told her. “I hear his voice, but I can’t see his face. Just the shape of a man, like a shadow.”
“You really should rest,” Meg said to him, but she fixed a piercing look on Charlotte before she addressed Grave again. “I’ve made up a cot for you in the infirmary.”
Charlotte returned Meg’s gaze stonily. “Why don’t I go with you?”
Meg wore a smug smile when Grave perked up.
“Thank you,” he said, waiting for Charlotte to lead him out of the workshop.
On the short walk to the infirmary, Charlotte sternly shooed away a little flock of children who’d clustered outside the door, hoping to spy Grave. They gave her glum looks, but complied, and Charlotte led Grave into his accommodations. The hollow featured rounded walls, an apothecary’s cabinet, and three cots—one of which boasted fresh linens, courtesy of Meg.
“Am I the only one who’s staying here?” Grave asked as Charlotte turned a crank on the wall. A moment later, the glass globes that ringed the room began to glow, offering more light than the bioluminescent blue fungi.
“Be thankful for that,” Charlotte said with a wry smile. “Anyone else stuck in here might keep you up all night with their coughing. Or their complaining about Birch blowing them up.”
Grave shifted his weight uneasily.
“You’ll have the room to yourself, but Birch sleeps in a room that’s attached to the workshop, so he’ll be close by,” Charlotte said quickly.
“Where do you sleep?” he asked.
Charlotte startled a bit at his query. It was the sort of inappropriate question she’d come to expect from Jack, but not a stranger.
Grave made a choking, horrified noise and stepped back. “Argh. Please. I didn’t intend . . .”
Seeing his distress, Charlotte caught her breath and said, “Of course. No harm done.”
“I only . . . I feel so alone,” he said, sitting on the cot. “And you were so kind.”
“I wasn’t kind,” she told him. “No one belongs in the belly of a Rotpot.”
He nodded, staring into the wooden cup Meg had given him. Charlotte’s heart pinched, and she rested her hand on his shoulder.
“And you’re not alone,” she said. “I’m sure Meg will be checking on you all night.”
“Meg?” Grave frowned. “Not you?”
“Trust me”—Charlotte laughed—“it’s Meg you want. She’s a healer and is quite the mother hen. Now drink that sleep draught she made you and get the rest you need. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“I’ll go to sleep,” he said quickly, “but I don’t want to drink this.”
When she balked, he said, “Please.”
“Very well.” She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to drink the strange-smelling liquid.
Charlotte waited in the room until his breathing was slow and even. She stole from the infirmary and made her way to the workshop. She was surprised to find only Meg waiting for her.
“How is he?” Me
g asked.
“Asleep,” Charlotte told her. “Where are Pip and Birch?”
“At the dock, tinkering with the Pisces.” Meg moved toward the passage from which Charlotte had just emerged. “I think I’ll stay in the infirmary too. In case he wakes up and gets a fright.”
“Good idea,” Charlotte said, making to leave.
“Charlotte.” Meg’s voice made Charlotte pause. “Don’t let Ash be too hard on you about Grave. Bringing him here was the right thing to do, and Ash knows it. He’s just overly protective of all of us.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Charlotte grimaced. “He’s never cross with you.”
Meg laughed. “Good night, Charlotte.”
“Night.” Charlotte retraced her steps out of the workshop and toward her room. Her path took her past Ash’s room. The door was ajar, and the voices within brought her to a halt.
“It will be there,” Jack was saying. “Like we hoped.”
“Intact?” Ash asked. “That’s a big haul. How will we bring it back?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jack told him. “As long as you’re sure that cave you found is a safe enough place to stash it.”
“It’s the best we can manage,” Ash said. “It’ll have to do.”
Along with their voices, Charlotte heard a strange buzzing sound. Curiosity made her peep around the door frame.
Ash was flopped across a chair, his suspenders hanging loose at his waist. Jack stood nearby. His hands were cupped, and a small whirring object hovered above his palms.
Charlotte gasped. “Hephaestus’s hammer! Is that a homingbird?”
Ash jumped out of the chair. “Charlotte!”
The sight of the homingbird had so startled her that she’d forgotten she’d technically been eavesdropping.
She tried to cover her mistake by striding confidently into the room. Jack closed his hands over the tiny bird, and the whirring of its wings stopped.
“Don’t hide it,” she said. “I want to see.”
“This is a private conversation, Lottie,” Ash told her.
She put her hands on her hips. “Then why is the door open?”