Shadow of the War Machine (The Secret Order) (26 page)

“We need to brace the cage wall,” Papa said. He reached back and tipped over the chair, then pushed the bed so the foot was facing the cage to give us as much room as possible.

The cage wall reached the foot of the bed and continued to press until the wood of the bed frame creaked and moaned from the pressure.

“It’s going to snap,” I warned, but I was too late. The side
board of the bed fractured. Shards of splintered wood flew at us. One of the pieces struck me on the forearm hard enough to feel like the sting of a whip across my already wounded arm.

The cage wall lurched forward.

“We don’t have much time. Pull together on my count,” Papa ordered as he found a good hold on the flexible steel. “One, two . . .”

My heels hit the back wall, and I panicked. The cage had pressed the remnants of the bed and chair into a ghastly heap. Feathers flew everywhere as the saw caught the mattress and ripped into the filling. I nearly lost my footing. I needed room to pull, but there was no room left—in another few seconds the cage would press me into the stone. The saw buzzed too near my face. Sweat trickled down near my ear.

“Now!” Papa shouted.

We pulled, and the band of metal came free. The saw squealed as it came to life, becoming a smooth pale disk and masking its cutting teeth with its speed, but the cage still moved toward us. I scrambled backward, pressing myself against the stone wall.

The rest of the saw blades whirred back to full speed. One of the blades spun as it passed so near my cheek, I could feel it catch the wayward strands of my hair.

This was it. We were going to die, and it was my fault.

“I’m sorry Papa.” I grabbed his hand against the stone and held it tight. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my girl.”

I closed my eyes, my breath coming in quick pants as I waited for the burning pain of the saws catching my flesh. I had stared into the eye of death before, but never like this. I was about to be ripped apart. I squeezed Papa’s hand more tightly, dreading that first terrible bite of metal to my skin.

I heard another loud
thunk
. I blinked open my eyes as the press of the wall creaked to a stop, the blades still spinning near my ear.

I didn’t dare breathe. I was about to faint. If I did, I would fall against the blades.

In the corner of my eye, the blade slowed. I dared to gasp a breath, but then the blade spun in the opposite direction. By the Lord! That wouldn’t do any good. It was equally deadly one way as the other. The grinding started again, and I winced, waiting for the slicing to come. But suddenly I could see more of the blade from the corner of my eye. I blinked again, unable to believe my eyes as I now had enough room to turn my head.

The wall was in retreat.

A squeak escaped my parched throat.

Thank heaven. The cage wall was moving back.

Once I had enough room, I collapsed to the floor, pulling in great gasps of air as I tried to settle my innards. I was about to be ill.

Papa’s chest heaved as he braced his hands on his knees with his head hung low, as if he’d just run across half of England.

My throat felt too dry for me to speak. I placed a hand to my chest where the key should have been.

“Are you hurt?” Papa finally asked. I shook my head, unable to form words, even though I could see a red stain seeping into my sleeve. I must have opened one of my wounds. There was nothing I could do for it, except let it bleed. I glanced around at the shredded timber, canvas, and feathers. We’d be sleeping on the floor, if I ever managed to sleep again.

Papa put a hand on my shoulder. Then huffed. “The juggernaut is not here in France. If they wish for us to use the key, they will have to take us to it. That is the moment we should strike, when they are vulnerable at last.” Papa gave me a hard pat.

The bars looked dark against the light coming from the
lantern, and the saw blades pitched high and whined as the wall settled back into its original position.

I heard a footstep on the stair.

“Oh no. Honoré and Boucher must have heard the racket. What are they going to do?” I asked, turning to Papa.

“Well, they’re not going to give us a new bed,” Papa said.

I held on to Papa’s arm the way I had always done as a little girl. We watched the stair, forced to wait helplessly to meet our fate. I trembled, but I had to be brave. I didn’t want Papa to feel he had to protect me from fear.

“Meg, are you in here?” a soft voice whispered.

There, standing in the light of the lantern, looking haggard and sick with worry, was Will.

“
WILL
!”
I GASPED, UNABLE TO
contain my shock and elation.

He rushed toward us. “Thank God you’re alive.” Will skidded to a stop. “What in the good name is this?”

I ran toward the blades that only moments ago had nearly ended my life. “It’s nothing to be trifled with, believe me.”

We faced one another, only feet apart but separated by the terrible cage.

I longed to reach for him, to let him hold me in his arms. I had nearly died. I would have never seen him again. Now here he was, and yet there was no way to breach the atrocity between us. “How did you find me?”

“You left me a note, remember?” He didn’t smile as he inspected the cage.

“It only said that I would be on the island. However did you find the house?” I’d thought there was no hope, and yet somehow Will had found a way. He always did.

“I crept into every single mews on this island until I found the horse and carriage that had followed us.”

“Leave it to a stable boy.” I never would have thought of that.

“Meg,” Papa said. “Who is this young man?”

I took a small step back and ducked my chin. I felt suddenly on edge with nerves. “Papa, this is William MacDonald. He was Rathford’s stable hand when I was a maid in his house, and now he’s a member of the Foundry. I would never have found you without his help. Will, I’d like for you to meet my grandfather.”

Will gave Papa a respectful bow. “I’d shake your hand, sir, but I’m afraid that under the circumstances, we’ll have to wait on good manners.” Will took a step to the side and raised up to get a closer look at the corner of the cage. “If we can stop the blades, we can get you out.”

“No,” Papa and I called at once. Will stared at us as if we’d lost our wits.

“I’ve already tried that,” I explained. “If you tamper with the blades, the cage will crush us against the back wall.” There was no way to escape. Not until we could defeat Boucher and her son. “There’s no way out. Rally the Amusementists and bring them here. You have to stop Madame Boucher.”

“Who is this Madame Boucher?” Will looked at the center of the cage, then drew his attention to the lower left corner.

Papa stepped forward. “Boucher is Richard Haddock’s daughter. The man in the clockwork mask is her son.” He paused, then hung his head. “He’s
my
son.”

That caught Will’s attention, and he looked up at Papa with a wary expression. They didn’t say anything, and I felt uncomfortable in the silence.

“What does Boucher want with you?” Will finally asked.

“She’s seeking a set of plans Papa locked away inside her father’s juggernaut. She hopes to sell them to the rebel army in America,” I said, the words tumbling out of me like a sudden flood. “She’s ruthless and prepared to kill. You must leave before you are caught. Boucher must be stopped before she can travel back to London.”

I didn’t want for him to go, but he couldn’t stay. We had made a terrible amount of noise. Boucher could come down
the stairs at any moment, and they would have no reason to lock Will up. He was of no use to them. He only posed a threat. They would kill him.

“I’m not leaving without you.” He backed up a step, his eyes darting as he followed the pattern of blades around the cage.

“Please, Will. There’s nothing you can do for us here. You have to escape.” I looked into his eyes. “Save yourself so you can return.”

Will removed the knife from his boot.

I thought he was going to jam it into the gears, and I surged forward—only to balk as I came too close to a blade that slid on a diagonal in front of my face.

“Will, don’t,” I said, but he stepped as close as he could to the bars and knelt. Then, with a quick jab, he pushed his hand through. “Take it,” he insisted. “Use it if you have to.”

I clasped my hands on his, taking the knife and putting it on the ground as I fell to my knees before him. The blades passed dangerously close to his wrist, but he didn’t flinch. He’d found the single gap in the pattern.

“Will.” I felt dizzy and breathless as warmth and hope did battle with the cold fear running like ice in my blood. I pressed my face against his palm, trying desperately to feel
closer to that warmth that kept me whole and brave. His fingers combed into my hair around my ear. I kissed his palm, uncaring if my grandfather saw. The blades passed dangerously close again, slicing through the sleeve of Will’s coat beneath his arm. Still he didn’t falter. “I love you,” I whispered. I had come dangerously close to death, and if I didn’t make it out of this, I wanted him to know. He had to know without a doubt.

“I will come for you,” he said, his dark eyes unwavering. “I promise. I will come for you.”

“I know you will.” I let go of his hand. He pulled it out from the cage, moments before a new blade slid down in front of me.

I picked up his knife as he grabbed his lantern and jogged to the steps. He looked back over his shoulder and nodded to me before disappearing silently up the stair as quickly as he had come.

I didn’t move. The leather sheath of the knife still felt warm from being pressed against his body. I held it tightly against my heart as I listened and waited. With every effort of my soul I prayed for his safety, and that he would be able to find Gustave and the others.

Help would be here soon. We just needed to wait.

Finally Papa broke the silence. “So, you have a young man in your life.”

I felt raw and exposed as I turned to face my grandfather. “I do.”

“And I suppose you wish to marry him?” One of Papa’s eyebrows rose as he crossed his arms.

“Not at this time, but perhaps one day, if he’ll still have me.” I bent and secured Will’s knife in my own boot. It was uncomfortable pressing against my ankle, but the pressure was also reassuring in its own way.

“I beg your pardon?” Papa stepped closer to me and took my elbow in hand, forcing me to rise. “Clearly you have feelings for this boy. Has he compromised you?”

“What?” I stared up at him in disbelief.

Papa cocked his head, and his eyebrows drew close over his eyes. The expression made his already hawk-like features even more intimidating. “Because if he has, I will insist upon your marriage as soon as we are free. Now, has he compromised your reputation?”

I yanked my elbow from Papa’s grasp. My face grew suddenly hot. I had been through too much to have this argument now. “That’s a fine question coming from the man who sired a bastard while still an apprentice.”

Papa looked as if a snake had risen up in front of him. “Margaret Anne Whitlock! You will not speak to me in such a way. I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.”

It didn’t matter to him that Will and I had done very little that was unseemly. It only mattered what others would say about us. I’d been through too much to care one whit what anyone else thought anymore. “Well, then expect to be disappointed, because I don’t feel like giving it.” It wouldn’t matter if I did. He’d already drawn his own conclusions.

I turned away from him to the crushed and splintered bed and began stacking the larger pieces of wood against the wall. There was no real point to it, but I needed something to do. I slammed a piece of the wood to the ground and turned to him. “You may attempt to force my hand, but I will not marry.”

“I am your grandfather and guardian. You are to obey me in all things, and I demand your respect.” He stiffened, rising to his full height, but I stood up straighter.

“Then you should have earned it instead of fostering a reputation that nearly burned my ears clean off my head. To accuse me of some moral failing now is the grossest hypocrisy.” My hands shook, and I couldn’t stop them. All the tension of the last day took hold, and I felt like a pressure vessel with a dangerous crack in the casing.

“I am a man.” My grandfather pointed to the ground as if his gender entitled him to the entire world he stood upon. “You are a young lady. The consequences of a lack of morality are much more severe for you.”

I held my hands out to my sides and gestured to the cell we were in. “Are they? Because I can’t imagine consequences much more severe than this.”

“Your tongue has grown sharp.” Papa scowled at me, and in that moment I really saw the similarity in our features. I was a Whitlock through and through.

“It’s not the only thing that has,” I muttered. I had grown much in the last year. I’d had to, because I had spent the last year alone, facing unimaginable danger, all because he had chosen to abandon his family and fake his own death.

Yes. I knew he’d had his reasons, and they were good reasons. But a small part of me could not abide him forcing me to live on my own in this crazy world of his invention, and then expect me to remain as fragile and untarnished as a porcelain doll on a shelf. I ripped open the buttons on my cuff and pushed back the heavy mutton sleeves to inspect the wounds on my forearm. The burned scabs were seeping blood, the dark stain growing as blood soaked into the linen. I yanked the bandage tighter.

Thankfully, Papa let the argument settle for a moment or two, and I was able to cool my head. When he spoke again, his voice was more gentle.

“I don’t understand. You care for this boy. So why would you refuse to marry him? Is it because he is a Foundry man?” he asked in a conciliatory tone. “Because I’ll admit I had higher ambitions for you, but if this is what you want, I’m willing to consider him.”

I let out a heavy sigh and faced my grandfather. He knew about Will. I might as well confess the other weight upon my shoulders. Though, should we escape, he had very real power to take the thing I loved away from me.