The lock eater, p.17
The Lock-Eater, page 17
They kept quiet the rest of the way. No one wanted to further Melanie’s trouble.
Still, it’s very difficult to be quiet when faced with a real-life princess. As they entered the elaborate receiving room, little Mariana quickly slapped her hands over her own mouth, keeping whatever excited noises were in there from spilling out.
Princess-Electa Maximillia watched them file inside, nestled within a colorful puff-pastry of lace, silk, and other unidentifiable frippery. Though the grouille was very elderly, her eyes sparkled with obvious intelligence.
“What a charming retinue you’ve brought with you, Riquem the Red,” the princess croaked. “When did it become the fashion for aldermages to travel with troupes of children, I wonder? I hope, for my castle’s sake, that none of them are prodigies.” But the princess’s tone seemed more amused than angry. She studied the assembled group delightedly.
“The girl who arrived with Parno is no prodigy,” Riquem answered. “I’m embarrassed to admit that Parno has been duped by a con artist, one who’s made off with a piece of thaumacratic property.”
“The gearling,” the princess said.
Riquem’s friendly expression darkened at the word. “Indeed.”
Curious, Jane thought.
“Well, now it’s my turn to be embarrassed,” croaked Maximillia. “Because I’m afraid the girl and her gearling—your gearling, apparently—have already left.”
Riquem took a step forward, the heat returning to his eyes. “You let them go?”
“I had other pressing matters to attend to,” the princess said dryly. “Like the death of Parno Fabrillo at the claws of his own gryphon. And his attempted burglary of the Lotus Gate.”
There was a lo-o-o-ong stretch of quiet as Riquem processed this announcement. Mrs. Harbargain and the girls gazed at one another in shock. The aldermage with Melanie had died? And he’d tried to steal something from the princess?
“You’re sure?” the Third Eye finally asked.
“I have a castle full of witnesses,” the princess said, “beyond my own two eyes, which work perfectly fine. I’m hoping you will tell me, High Enchanter, that Parno was acting under his own foolish initiative. Otherwise, this might appear to be a breach of the treaty between our governments.”
“I assure you he was,” Riquem said quickly. “The aldermages understand the importance of the Treaty of Water Lilies to our political family.”
The princess croaked thoughtfully. “Family. What an interesting word for an empire.” Then she waved her own comment away. “Very well. I believe you. And you should know that Parno’s gryphon is free, probably eating goats on the mountainsides. I doubt you’ll catch it again. My Greenguard managed to shoo it from the chateau grounds before it killed anyone else, but it wasn’t easy.”
“And the girl?”
“Was instrumental in bringing Parno’s treachery to light. Once he was caught, the aldermage became violent. We were lucky the gryphon attacked when it did.”
Riquem grimaced. “I meant where has she gone? I must insist that you tell me now, Princess-Electa. The gearling she stole is in the midst of a dire magical malfunction. It is extremely dangerous.”
The princess croaked a noise that might have been a sigh, if it had come from a human throat. “I’ll tell you,” she said. “But answer one question for me first, Riquem the Red.”
“I will . . . try,” the High Enchanter grated. Jane sensed that Riquem was nearing the end of his patience. She wondered if he would try to kidnap the princess now as well, and stuff her into the carriage with them.
If the princess noticed his agitation, she didn’t appear to care.
“Why are you going to war with the Hexe of the South?”
The question clearly surprised Riquem. His eyes widened a moment, then cast downward. “She . . . she killed Zerend,” he said. For a moment, all the fervency cooled away, revealing a lost-looking man beneath.
“I’d heard that . . . and that you and the former Third Eye were close. Perhaps very close.”
Riquem’s eyes snapped up, but the princess held out a pacifying hand.
“I only mean that I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “It was an attack on the thaumacracy, true, but surely you felt it more acutely than anyone. I only wonder if you’re sure it was the Ley Coven who launched the spell. Or if perhaps your grief is leading you into a hasty conflict.”
And just like that, the vulnerable young man was gone. Riquem’s expression burned again. “I am sure,” he said tightly. “And I’m afraid I find this newfound sympathy for the Ley Coven extremely troubling, Princess. The thaumacracy has turned a blind eye to the Lotus Gate, but don’t think for a moment that we’ve forgotten the magic that was used to seal it. I hope the grouille won’t be repeating past mistakes.”
The princess sighed at that. “We . . . will not,” she croaked quietly. “Perhaps you’ve heard by now that when the Council of Electors convened to choose the new High Enchanter after Zerend’s death, I was the lone vote opposing you.”
The queen’s three sets of eyelids fluttered as she gazed at the aldermage. She didn’t sound especially contrite to Jane, even facing the man she’d declared against.
“Perhaps you resent me for it,” she continued. “But in truth there was a time when I’d have happily cast my lot with you, Riquem. I remember a bright reformer, a rare voice for restraint among the aldermages. I am sorry for your loss, truly. And believe it when I say I know something of loss myself. I implore you not to let it twist you into someone you don’t recognize.”
Jane watched Riquem as he gazed at the princess-electa, his face working to dam some private flood of emotion. So Maximillia had voted against him. Jane remembered that the princess was among the electing body of the thaumacracy. It was a small concession to the grouille after the Wizard War, as they were no longer allowed a monarch of their own.
Still, despite their differences, her words seemed to have had an effect on Riquem.
After a moment, he cleared his throat, his composure reclaimed. “I will think on what you’ve said, Your Highness,” he muttered. “But now I must insist: the girl. Where. Did. She. Go?”
Princess-Electa Maximillia hesitated, but only for a moment.
Even sharp-eyed Jane Alley couldn’t sense this, but Maximillia had liked Lady Porta quite a bit, despite what the girl had done to the chateau. And she was grateful to her for keeping Hagalaz out of the hands of the aldermages, though it clearly cost her a great deal to reveal her little charade. A weapon like Hagalaz was too dangerous to exist, much less be used. But exist it did. The grouille had created it without first understanding if they could safely uncreate it—and so the grouille would keep it hidden away forever. This time behind a better lock.
If such a lock was even possible.
It was because of her admiration for Lady Porta that Maximillia kept the detail of the girl’s gearling being alive—truly alive—to herself.
Or that Lady Porta had wielded the ley to such explosive effect. Likely the girl herself didn’t understand where her power came from. When she’d told the princess that she had dispelled the door’s protections—a feat no thaumacratic wizard should have been able to achieve—her answers on how had been vague. It was “just something she did,” apparently.
But the princess had studied magic—of all kinds—and she recognized the thrill of the ley when she felt it. She was perhaps the only person in the chateau who still did.
Maximillia had the entire grouille people to consider, however. Her duty to her subjects’ safety must always come first. So she answered Riquem’s question, and she answered it truthfully.
And all Jane could sense was the note of resignation in her in voice as she did.
“Kinderbloom,” the princess croaked. “Lady Porta is on her way to the Garden Village.”
CHAPTER 21
MELANIE stared over the campfire, into the darkness beyond.
The night clicked and cooed, and the fire replied with its friendly prattle. It was the only conversation taking place in the wide, rocky meadow.
Across the flames, Traveler lay on his side, facing away from her. Melanie remembered the gearling told her he spent his nights watching the stars, wondering what lay beyond the thaumacracy’s roads. Was he stargazing now? Or were his glowing motes turned inward, following colder paths?
She scratched absently at Unicorn’s horn. The cloak rested its head against her leg.
It had been three days since they’d left Princess Maximillia’s chateau. Three days of silence and sorrow from the gearling. Melanie and Traveler had fled quickly after the battle with Parno, especially once they discovered the full destruction that her power had caused. They’d traveled along the Wonderstraat through the swamp, then abandoned the road when they reached solid land. It would be too easy for the aldermages to find them.
Melanie wondered how the grouille were faring now.
Princess Maximillia had seemed dazed and suspicious in the wake of the battle, especially of what appeared to be a fully sentient automaton. The princess had escaped unscathed, though her knights earned a few scrapes from the gryphon before Traveler used the eagle’s eye to subdue it. She allowed Melanie and Traveler to leave unimpeded—and even provided them with a bit of food for the journey—under the condition that they never return.
Even three days later, Melanie’s injuries still howled from time to time. When she awoke in the theater, dizzy and confused, she’d discovered Traveler kneeling over her, gently coaxing her awake. The twisted scrap of the copper gearling lay several yards away. Its intricate clockwork body was a ruin.
“Did you . . . ?” she’d asked.
“The gryphon,” Traveler muttered. “With its operator dead, the gearling was compelled to attack the creature that had killed him. It was a short fight.”
Traveler’s glowing motes had shifted to the copper gearling then. He stayed like that a moment, holding a hurried vigil for his fallen cousin.
Now, watching as he stared into the dark, Melanie wondered if perhaps Traveler wasn’t still keeping one.
A vigil for the gearling, and maybe even a vigil for Parno, killed by Traveler himself.
Yes, the gryphon had ultimately stricken the aldermage down, but Traveler had called it to the theater using a mix of spellwork and the eagle’s eye—and he did so knowing what the consequences would be. And this, Melanie knew, was what had ultimately broken the gearling.
I’m not a weapon.
Now he was. And worse yet, he’d used the gryphon as one too. Another living creature, created for war and forced by the gearling to fulfill its cruel destiny.
Melanie had tried to thank him for coming to her aid, had even told the gearling he was a hero. This only seemed to make things worse. Eventually, he asked her to stop.
“I’m sorry, Melanie. I just . . . I can’t.”
They hadn’t spoken since—a full day ago.
Melanie watched the sparks float off the fire, twinkling beautifully before they succumbed to the gloom. She thought of Merrytrails again, and this time the tight grip of heartsickness threatened to shake loose her tears. She could never return now, no matter what she wrote in her letters. The princess had seen Traveler’s true nature. Once that news reached the aldermages, it wouldn’t take long to connect him with the girl who’d left through the South Gate, the foundling who was off to apprentice to a fabricated witch. The authorities would head straight to Merrytrails—to Jane and Mrs. Harbargain and the others. What would happen to them?
Melanie desperately hoped she hadn’t brought the cruel finger of the thaumacracy down upon her home.
“Traveler?” she ventured. In the murk of night, her quiet voice seemed loud as a shout.
There was a soft whir as the gearling turned his head. But he didn’t answer her.
“How far is Kinderbloom?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” The gearling turned his visor back to the darkness.
“I’m cold,” she said. “I wish we were somewhere safe.”
There was a pause, then Traveler lifted himself up from the ground, his body humming with the sounds of clockwork. “I don’t know that safe actually exists, Melanie. I wish it did. I wish I’d never darkened the door of Merrytrails. This is my fault. All of it.”
Melanie shook her head, frowning. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t do that. I made my choices.”
“Did you? At every step you’ve been threatened and coerced into action. Not to mention that you are a child.”
“And what are you, then?”
Traveler looked down at his metal hands, laid atop his metal legs. “I don’t know,” he rasped. A note of despair echoed through his voice. “A thing? A mistake? A weapon? Perhaps I’m all those things.”
An outline of a dead man. A spell gone wrong.
Melanie pushed the memory down. This wasn’t the time for mysterious accusations. Traveler needed certainty now, not doubts.
“Those are his words,” she said. “Don’t let Parno tell you what you are. He never had that right.”
“He knew more about me than I know about myself!” The gearling gestured wildly, throwing his arms into the air. “Or at least he claimed to. And now he’s dead and I killed him. What does that make me, if not a killer?”
“My friend!” Melanie shook her head. “My protector! Possibly the protector of the whole world!” Hot tears were now tracking paths down her cheeks. “And what did Parno call me? A deviant? Do you think that’s what I am?”
Traveler scoffed. “Of course not.”
“I’m a girl in a boy’s coat. I’ve lied and I’ve stolen, and that was just my first day outside the gate.” Melanie sighed. “We’re both still figuring out who we are. Don’t let the cruelest people you meet decide that for you.”
Traveler turned away. Silence flooded back into their campsite, as if it had been waiting just beyond the edges of their conversation. Then, a moment later, the gearling spoke again. “It is a very handsome coat.”
Melanie giggled, wiping her eyes. “The handsomest. At Merrytrails . . .” She swallowed. “At Merrytrails, all our clothes were donated. We didn’t get to pick our outfits, so we became what other people made us. This coat is the first time I made a choice of my own. I became the adventurer I’d always wanted to be.”
“It’s all about choice, hm?” Traveler’s voice echoed softly.
Melanie rose. She wandered around the crackling fire until she stood over the gearling. Then she plopped down beside him—her injuries shrieking. She ignored their protests.
“You told me you’re not here to remake empires,” she said. “That all you want is a peaceful life. But when Parno tried to steal Hagalaz, you didn’t run either. You refused to let the aldermages take it. Your choice saved lives, including mine.” She smiled sadly at the gearling’s wide, glowing eyes. “I know what fighting Parno cost you. I know that you’re—you’re clever and you’re curious and you’re gentle and kind. And those are my most favorite things about you! But maybe—maybe justice is what real peace is built on.”
The gearling pondered this for a beat, before finally responding. “The want beneath the want, hm? Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps peace built over the suffering of others is just flimsy scaffolding. It still hurts, though. More than anything. I wish I’d found another way.”
“I know,” Melanie said gently.
Traveler turned to her. His face was as smooth and unchanging as ever, yet she thought she could sense a shift. “And what is it that you want, Melanie Gate?” he murmured. “Adventure? You’ve certainly had plenty of it in just a few days’ time. But is there something bigger for you? The want beneath the want?”
Melanie startled at the question. “I’m not sure,” she admitted after a moment.
“Well, if you ever figure it out . . .” Traveler said, “you let me know. I’ll do everything in my power to help you get it. I owe you that much.”
This time when the silence returned, Melanie let it. Above them, the moon was half full, a drowsy, drooping eye. Melanie yawned quietly, letting her weariness shiver through her. It was time she got some sleep. Hopefully they weren’t too far from Kinderbloom.
“Maow.”
Melanie’s eyes shot open. She turned sharply, then caught sight of a squat, pointy-eared figure just beyond the firelight. The figure’s tail flicked impatiently.
Abraxas.
Melanie turned to find Traveler’s glowing motes were also trained on the cat, wide and bright with surprise.
“You see him?” she asked.
The gearling nodded. “It’s the same cat. He must have escaped again, but . . . how?”
Abraxas’s response was a second, less tolerant “Maow.” The cat stood and turned, then tilted his head back to glare at the two of them. The yellow iris glowed green in the fire.
“Well, that’s an invitation to follow if I ever saw one,” Traveler said.
Melanie shook her head. This was all too strange. What was Abraxas doing in this wide-open field? And how had he followed them all this way? She stood slowly and Unicorn rose with her, beating her invisible hooves in anticipation of a ride.
Traveler raised his palm and the crystal embedded at the center shimmered with blue light. Their campfire died instantly, blanketing the wide plain in darkness. A moment later, he summoned a pale toverlicht into the air.
But Abraxas had tired of waiting for them. The cat was already padding away across the grass.
* * *
• • •
They rode in silence. Their only lights were Traveler’s spell and the sleepy moon above. Their only guide was the surliest cat in all of the thaumacracy.
The farther they rode, the more trees appeared. The field became something not a field, but not quite a forest, either. Tall, regal elms formed arches for them to walk beneath, like gates into an invisible city.
