Ticker (27 page)

Marcus bowed to Philomena, but the kiss he placed against my gloved hand sent an arc of electricity through me. Turning on his heel, he went to join the chancellor.

Philomena leaned close, one of her bee adornments bumbling into my head. “Chin up,” she said. “You don’t want whoever may be watching to think they have you at a disadvantage.”

“They don’t have me at a disadvantage.” I put up my parasol with a decisive
snap!
“And I have the umbrella to prove it.” Walking up the ramp to the SkyBox, I realized there was something I ought to have said much sooner. “Miss de Mesmer, I owe you an apology for my behavior the day we met, and for my cynicism.”

“An apology isn’t necessary,” she said. “Plenty of people are skeptical of my abilities. Might I ask what changed your mind?”

Despite the brilliant sunshine slanting over us, I shivered as we stepped into the octagonal gondola. The painted silk envelopes swayed overhead, restless in the gentle breeze that swept over the dedication site. “Yesterday, when the generators malfunctioned, I found myself in an in-between place. I spoke with my sister. Dimitria mentioned you, said she’d been trying to pass messages whenever you approached the veil.”

Sensing I wouldn’t want any part of our conversation overheard, Philomena inclined her head toward me. “And what did your in-between place look like, if you don’t mind my professional curiosity?”

“The dining room at Glasshouse.” Closing my eyes for a moment, it seemed only the thinnest of curtains separated me from that place. “It’s where she died.”

“That makes sense.” After a pause, Philomena added, “Was the little one there as well? I only ever caught the merest suggestion of her.”

“Cygna was there. Or rather, there was a cradle rocking on its own.” My stomach twisted at the memory; I thought I might be sick, and we’d yet to leave the ground. A servitor passed trays of nibbles and drinks, and I reluctantly accepted a flute of Effervescence. Philomena chose instead a cup of the notorious Luminiferous Re-Animator. When I accidentally inhaled the fumes wafting from the etched-crystal glass, I decided that those revived by the mixture had most likely been killed by it in the first place. “What’s
in
that?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea.” The end of Philomena’s nose turned faintly pink. “Perhaps you should have one as well, to steady your nerves.”

“It’s hazardous to allow people to imbibe such a drink when we’ll soon be aloft,” I said. “Take care not to fall out, because I won’t jump after you.”

“You cut me to the quick, Miss Farthing.” When she chuckled, it set the Bumblebees buzzing again.

We both reached for the railing when the ropes were loosened and the ground fell away. With space at a premium, uniformed guards trained to operate the blast valves manned the air gondola. A few brave notables had volunteered to be tucked away in our little jewel cask, including members of Parliament, scientists of note, and a patent holder worth millions. The chancellor remained on the ground with Marcus, wearing a nervous smile and wielding a pair of gold scissors. From our growing vantage point, the red ribbon that spanned the square looked like a blood trail.

A trumpeted fanfare interrupted my observations and signaled the start of the Dedication Ceremony. Everyone leaned over
the sides of the gondola to peer through binoculars. Tinny speakers broadcast the chancellor’s speech into the SkyBox.

“And so . . .” he said between dramatic pauses filled with hiss-and-crackle feedback, “we will heal our great city . . . by dedicating this site to the repairs of . . . the courthouse . . . which will serve as a reminder . . . of Industria’s justice, strength, and bravery.”

Watching through my binoculars, I had to give the chancellor credit for his own strength and bravery. Despite the beads of sweat standing out on his brow, the man wasn’t turning tail to run. He stood front and center on that staircase, trusting that the Ferrum Viriae would keep him safe. Shifting the glasses, I took in Marcus just to his left, the row of soldiers behind him, the plainclothes extras gathered beyond the stage . . .

And my brother, wending a slow and careful path through the crowd.

The surprise was a blow to my midsection, and I sucked in a breath. The very next moment, the speakers cut out with a screeching whine. The other occupants of the SkyBox murmured to one another, frowns spreading like smallpox as I adjusted my binoculars to home in on my twin. Though Nic wore the gray livery of a soldier and a hat drawn far down over his forehead, there was no mistaking him. I whirled about, nearly felling Philomena.

“My brother is down there!” Hitching up my bustle skirt, I tapped out a message to Marcus on the new RiPA he’d assigned me that morning:

NIC IS BEHIND YOU - STOP - HE ESCAPED - STOP - HE WILL KNOW WHERE WARWICK IS - STOP

But I didn’t get a response.

“Here, I’ll try.” Philomena tapped out a message, but the silence endured.

Glancing from the speakers overhead to our communications devices, I was the one having a premonition. “Something is jamming the signals. I have to get Marcus’s attention another way.”

“Follow protocol,” one of the officers announced. They immediately opened the blast valves to take the gondola higher.

“Protocol?” I grasped the nearest of the soldiers by his uniform-clad arm. “I need you to put us down this second.”

“Apologies, Tesseraria,” he said, not sounding at all contrite, “but I don’t take orders from you. The Legatus said that in case of emergency, we’re to remain aloft until the area is secured.”

Distant screams drew our attention. I raised my binoculars in time to see black iridescent water pouring down the sides of the buildings adjacent to the courthouse.

“By all the Bells, what
is
that?” Bringing the picture into focus, I realized that the metallic waves were actually hundreds of mechanical Spiders skittering down bricks, over cobblestones. The tiny creatures clambered up the legs of the soldiers and into their ears; within seconds, most of the victims stood as though paralyzed, rendered catatonic.

At the top of the stairs, Marcus and the chancellor retreated, only seconds ahead of the arachnids. Blasts from Marcus’s Superconductive Slingshot bought him precious moments, but Nic still headed for them at a dead run. Marcus pulled out the first of his powder-flashes and lit it. The brilliant explosion that followed knocked my twin back several feet.

“We have to get down there,” I said, this time to Philomena.

“How far up are we, would you guess?” she asked with great practicality, wrestling open the nearest wicker bench. Stowed
within were a dozen parachutes, just as Marcus had promised when we rode in his SkyDart.

“You can’t mean to jump.”

“Not me. You.”

I stared at her for a long moment. “If I die, I’ll haunt you this lifetime
and
the next.” Off went my skirts with a desperate rip and yank. The glorious hat landed atop the silken heap. I wished I had my goggles, but was thankful beyond measure for my trousers.

“Looks like you expected some mayhem,” Philomena said with approval as she helped me sort out the straps and buckles. The Ferrum Viriae aboard were busy trying to keep the basket level. With all the passengers heaving about, they’d yet to take any notice of our actions; otherwise, they surely would have tackled me.

“Just read me the instructions.”

“According to the pamphlet, you clear the side of the gondola, count to two, and pull this ring. These toggles control the steering lines and will let you guide the parachute down, though you’re going to get a crash course in directional wind.”

“As long as it’s not a crash course in equipment failure.” I climbed up on the ledge, clinging to the ropes tethering the balloons to the basket. One of the guards caught sight of me and shouted a warning, but I fixed my gaze upon the staircase below, held my breath, and jumped.

The rush of wind in my face was different than the Vitesse, different even than the SkyDart, and decidedly the most thrilling and exhilarating thing I’d ever experienced. A week ago, the free fall would also have been the most terrifying, but it was nothing compared to the number of times I’d nearly died in the last few days. When I pulled the brass ring, the silk parachute deployed. Wind filled it with a series of ruffles and a final
snap!
as the fabric went taut. Though I struggled with the toggles, I finally wrapped
my brain around the subtleties of gliding down, down, down. The winds were in my favor, carrying me all the way to the top of the staircase. My own sudden weight startled me; legs buckled and knees protested, but I didn’t stumble, and I couldn’t stop to reflect on my good fortune. Unclipping the harness, I freed myself of the silk lines and parachute.

Not a hundred yards away, my twin raised his arm and pointed a MAG directly at the fleeing figures of Marcus and the chancellor.

“Nic, no!” I screamed.

A second wave of Ferrum Viriae rushed at Nic, weapons drawn. I followed, thinking that somehow I could prevent a bloodbath, but my brother shot the first soldier to come at him and disarmed the next four, breaking bones as though distributing petits fours at afternoon tea. Even years of sparring at Mettlefield’s Gymnasium couldn’t explain the lightning speed at which he moved or the gold glint in his eyes when a semicircle of groaning soldiers lay on the ground before him. Reaching into his pockets, he disgorged a dozen more Spiders that skitter-scattered over their bodies and straight into their ears.

“Nic!” I choked out, still running toward him.

“With me!” he yelled, and the Spider-afflicted soldiers fell in behind him. Nic turned and fled through the crowd, the turncoats clearing a path for him. Leaping aboard a new-model Vitesse, Nic gunned the engine and roared off down an alley. As though triggered by his passing, an explosion detonated inside the courthouse.

Ducking to the ground, I could do nothing but hold my breath as debris and dust engulfed me. A glancing blow to my arm suggested I’d been hit by a stone or a bit of mortar. Before the worst of the cloud had cleared, the Ferrum Viriae who’d followed my brother were gone. I located a mounted officer who was still responsive.

“Get down! I’m commandeering your mount!”

“Tesseraria?” the soldier said, evidently recognizing me from the Flying Fortress. Bewildered, he obeyed the command.

“Help me up.”

He made a cradle of his palms, sputtering protests. “You’re not trained for this!”

“I beg to differ,” I retorted. “I was born to it.”

At the far side of the square, Marcus shoved the chancellor into an idling Combustible. A third wave of Ferrum Viriae approached at a run.

“The streets are locked down to everything except the Emergency Rescue Squadrons!” one of them shouted at me.

“That’s a good thing,” I said, backing out of the knot of new arrivals. “It means I’m less likely to hit something.”

I dug in my heels. With a metallic whinny, the horse leapt clear of the crowd, metal shoes sparking when she landed. I clutched at the reins as we clattered down the narrow avenue leading to the main road. The steady hoofbeats, the rhythmic twin streams of scorching hot steam issuing from my steed’s copper muzzle, and the distant wail of sirens drowned out everything but the frantic beating of my Ticker.

I caught sight of Nic at the far end of the boulevard; it was easy enough to spot him with the rest of the traffic at a standstill. Vehicles were haphazardly pulled over to the sides of the road, and panicked pedestrians squeezed close to the buildings. Some of the onlookers shouted, gesturing to me with their hats and purses. Jostled by the crowd, a bystander fell into the street, directly in my path. I sucked in my breath, squeezed with my knees, and held on for dear life. A frisson of energy passed over the mechanical horse as it bent its knees and sprang forward, soaring with ease over the woman’s head . . .

We landed, and I kept my seat and my life. I stood up in the stirrups as I’d seen jockeys do at the steeplechases, encouraging my mount to go yet faster. Around corners, past the Heart of the Star, down the First Etoile Road.

“Come on,” I urged. “We have to catch up with Nic!”

The Ticker began to wind down in my chest, and everything slowed to match: the pedestrians, the wind whipping at my bare head, the clatter of hooves. Just ahead of me, Nic wove in and out of traffic with a deftness that belied all the time he had spent snubbing the Vitesse.

The brother I knew didn’t move like a soldier. He didn’t raise arms against a crowd. He hadn’t known they were Ferrum Viriae in disguise; they appeared to be normal citizens of Bazalgate. And there was the traitorous behavior of the afflicted soldiers to consider as well.

The Spiders. The Spiders can be used for mind control.

What has Warwick done to you, Nic? And where are you taking me?

He led me back to the West Side, past Lucy Reilly’s photography studio. The buildings climbed toward the sky until they blotted out the sun. Broken windows were boarded over like coins on the eyes of the dead. Rooftops sagged against one another, too tired to stay where they should. Brickwork crumbled to dust before my eyes. Under the sad air of neglect was something rancid. Something choking.

Nic rounded a final corner. By the time I did the same, he’d abandoned the cycle and disappeared. I dismounted, my head buzzing and my legs so wobbly they might as well have been made of Dreadnaught’s blancmange.

“Nic?” It was like a deadly game of hide-and-seek. He always triumphed over me, fitting into cupboards, leaping down from
wardrobes, grabbing my booted ankle from under the four-poster beds. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

No answer, save the patter of retreating footsteps down the alley to my right. I gave chase as best I could with the Ticker’s terrible irregularity. I pressed a hand to my chest, tearing at the buttons of my bodice, fumbling for the key. Before I could wind my traitorous heart, Nic appeared in front of me like a conjurer. The game was over, and I’d lost. He wore a stranger’s face, cheekbones jutting out in defiance of the pale skin stretched over them. The faint glint of his ocular Augmentation was the only light in his eyes. What was left of the blood in my extremities drained away. I’d abandoned my parasol sword in the SkyBox, but I wouldn’t have had time to draw it anyway.