Curio (42 page)

The porcie man leaned back in his seat, surveying his fleet of walking carriages and the soldiers picking their way from the road up the long drive to his estate. Their conveyance was in the lead. The tock in control seemed to be heading for an outbuilding near the sprawling mansion.

“I can assure you he's not.”

“What?” Blaise focused on Weatherton.

“I can assure you this tock is not the leader of the Valor Society.”

Blaise slid a glance at his immobile friend. Callis would've told him if Gagnon was the rebel leader. The tock was a skilled inventor and a believer in equal rights to purified water, but Gagnon's gearish face and gravelly voice lacked a leader's charisma. Did Callis know who led the secret society? Had his friend hidden the truth from him? Blaise met Weatherton's eyes.

“Then who is?”

The porcie smiled, revealing a row of large, straight teeth. “I am, of course.”

In the absence of her Defender protection, in the absence of any protection whatsoever save a few bubbles and a cloud of steam, Grey retreated to a place within herself she hadn't known existed. She locked out everything—dread, humiliation, her determination to get home, even the warmth of Blaise's face.

She let Nettie scrub her head to toe and wash her matted hair, watching the sponge glide against her skin as though she watched a sculptor dab at clay. If Nettie yanked the
tangles in her hair, if the water was too hot or her bruises tender, she didn't feel it.

Drakon never moved an inch from his post. His gaze never wavered. His expression never changed.

When the bath was over, Nettie rubbed a creamy polish into Grey's skin. The tart, chemical smell made her eyes water and every surface sting as though bitten by winter wind. She looked down, expecting to see red patches, but her body gleamed, her skin almost as radiant as a porcie's.

Nettie slipped a gown of ice-blue lace over Grey's head. The numbness cracked and tears throbbed behind her eyes. She clenched the fabric in her hand.

“I'd rather be naked than wear this, Nettie.”

The tock maid stilled in the act of wrapping a sheer blue robe around Grey's shoulders. Her scolding was gentle. “Oh, no, Miss Grey. You look lovely in this color.”

“It's
his
color.”

Drakon shifted at Grey's tone.

Nettie drew the robe closed over the plunging neckline and tightened her metal fingers around the fabric. Her voice whirred low. “Oh, Miss, just be good. Just be obedient and he won't hurt you.”

Grey clasped her hand around Nettie's wrist where the outline of a water compartment in her metal skin spoke of Benedict's abuse. “That's not true. You know that's not true.”

“Enough!”

Nettie jumped back at Drakon's command.

“Is she ready?”

Grey searched the tock woman's face for any sign of aid, a tiny clue that hinted she was an ally. Nettie's soft brown eyes studied the floor. She didn't answer Drakon, and when the butler marched to Grey and clenched her upper arm, Nettie shuffled aside.

Out in the gallery, a door clicked shut. Grey bored a hole into Fantine's door with her eyes, willing the porcie to open up and confront what was going on beneath her own roof.

When they reached the door of the gallery, Grey could hold it in no longer. “Fantine!”

A metal hand lashed her face. The blow stung her lips and sent the pink and wine room spinning into a chamber of flesh and blood.

Drakon propelled her into the outer gallery and back to the elevator, where he punched the button for the third story. Grey's stomach plummeted as the elevator surged to Benedict's private floor. She'd never been to this part of the house. Maybe she'd look for the first window and throw herself from it. Out of nowhere, the memory of flying with Blaise overtook her. She closed her eyes and let it soak through her. When the elevator stopped, she took a deep breath and tripped over the threshold before Drakon could pull her arm out of its socket.

A black marble floor shot through with azure veins gleamed beneath her feet. No rugs or carpets softened the unforgiving surface. Tall windows in the center of the cavernous room let in what little remained of the daylight. Grey consumed the view to the east. The column of smoke had diminished, but thick clouds lay over the city, muting the lights of homes and establishments. Was Blaise out there somewhere? She strained to see a dark shape flying over the city. Nothing.

Drakon hauled her away from the towering windows, past groupings of dark furniture, a full-length mirror in a silver frame, and arrangements of blue roses with stems so dark green they were almost black.

Grey surveyed the apartment. Half a dozen doors led off from the main room. The one he dragged her toward surely
wasn't the exit. Maybe the door by the mirror led to freedom. Or the one on the left that she suspected led to the tower stairs. Another door, tucked in an alcove near a wooden cabinet, might be the way out. Yes, the cabinet probably held a water station, and the plain panel next to it was likely a servants' access. If she managed to get away, she'd try that door or the tower.

Drakon opened an ornate door and shoved Grey inside, following her and closing the door behind him. The bedchamber echoed the deep blue and black of the outer rooms. Silver curtains filtered ghostly light over sleek furniture and the patterned rug beneath her feet. Grey started for a grouping of two chairs and a small table by the window, but Drakon's grip stopped her.

“You're to be restrained, Mistress.”

A cold stone sank in Grey's gut, but she held her head high. “That's not necessary. I came willingly. I told Lord Blueboy I would give him the answers he seeks.”

“And you've proven yourself a liar before.” His hold on her wrist tightened and he yanked her toward a bed with blue-black furnishings and wicked spiked posts at each corner.

Grey's heartbeat sped, sending waves of panic crashing through her body. She dug in her heels. “No. No, no, no.”

The butler's metal fingers pinched her wrists tighter than the manacles she'd worn earlier. “I will leave here and go directly to your friends if you don't cooperate, Miss Grey,” he said.

She forced herself to breathe. She'd agreed to take Callis and Seree's punishment, but this wasn't their punishment. This was Blueboy's curiosity and cruelty. This was
her
punishment for refusing him. For daring to flout his power.

“Drakon, take me back to Harrowstone, to the Dulaig. I'll serve the sentence there for my friends. Please. I will cooperate, but not like this.” She pulled against his grasp.

The butler picked her up. Had she really thought he looked like a toy earlier? He deposited her over his shoulder and carried her to the bed. Grey kicked and beat against his back, but the hands holding her never lost their unnatural grip.

A moment after her back hit the mattress, an iron knee lodged in her ribcage. Grey gasped for air.

Drakon produced a coil of rope and tied it around her left wrist, then secured the other end to the corner post. Grey flailed despite the metal limb jabbed into her chest. Drakon tied her right hand up then bound her legs together. The moment he stood back, she thrashed with all her strength, screaming and panting with the effort.

The butler's face returned to the blank expression he'd worn as Nettie bathed her. He backed toward the door.

“I'll tell my master you're ready.”

Evening stretched over Weatherton's estate, sped by the dark clouds of smoke in the air. Blaise blinked when the walking carriage tottered into the well-lit barn. Brahman piloted the contraption into an empty bay and flipped a few levers. A portion of the basket wall slid away and a ladder descended toward the floor.

Weatherton grinned and swung himself down with a porcie's natural grace, but none of the caution.

Blaise sat, his head a muddle of pain and confusion. They'd attacked the hydro hub of the leader of the Valor Society? It couldn't be a coincidence, and yet the porcie appeared every bit the aristocrat despite his fondness for odd transportation.

“Are you coming, Mad Tock?” Weatherton called from the bay entrance.

Another walking carriage trekked in, heading for the next open bay. Steam horses shifted in their stalls, swinging their gently puffing heads to watch the action.

“I say, if we're going to conceal you before Blueboy's men arrive, we'd better be about it.”

Brahman was already lowering Gagnon to the ground with his pole-winch system. Blaise scooted toward the ladder, dragging his steam pack with his right hand. He halted, preparing to jump rather than navigate the ladder without the use of either hand.

Weatherton peered up, “Brahman, bring the Mad Tock's flying device, and be quick. Leave the rebels in one of the bays if you must. Once I head off Captain Crimson Croaker, we'll get them all below.”

Blaise scrambled down the ladder and followed Ames Weatherton deep into the recesses of the barn. The porcie glanced back at him, black gem eyes twinkling.

“I'm afraid you'll have to manage another climb, if you can.” He stepped into an unused stall. No, not unused. A mechanical pony with a barrel belly and a large key planted in her forehead clambered to her feet as Weatherton stepped to the middle of the stall. She made a friendly sort of clicking sound and shuffled to the side.

“You should hear the noise she makes when a stranger comes back here. Oh, don't worry, she won't mind you with me here, will you, Hillary?”

The pony's yellow eyes rolled in Blaise's direction, but she offered him the same clicking sound.

Weatherton paced to the back wall, where a collection of tack hung from hooks and nails. He slid his hand beneath a bridle and a faint droning sound sifted through the floorboards.

Blaise eyed the spot where Hillary had rested a moment ago. A section of boards dropped inward, leaving a rectangular opening in the ground.

“You'll find a lighting mechanism on the wall to your right. Hurry now.” Weatherton waved a hand toward the dark cavern.

What choice did he have? It was either attempt to slip past Weatherton, out of the barn and away from a small army—all with a useless left arm and no wings—or trust the man who claimed to head the Valor Society.

He lowered himself into the opening, finding rungs with his feet. Wrapping his right arm around the side of the ladder, he continued his blind journey. The hatch above his head closed, plunging him into total darkness.

Bit by bit, he made his way down until his foot landed not on another rung but solid ground. He turned, right hand stretched out. Stumbling sideways, he connected with a wall and ran his hand over the surface. His fingers landed on a switch, and a second later flickering light flooded the area.

Blaise blinked. He stood in a long hallway with white walls and white tiles beneath his feet. If his guess was correct, the tunnel led in the direction of Weatherton's house, probably connecting the barn to the mansion. Doors led off from the passage. Blaise opened the first and found a store room. Jugs of what he guessed to be water filled a floor-to-ceiling shelf occupying an entire wall. So the household wouldn't suffer without their hydro hub, at least for a few days.

Another door led to a dormitory room with neatly made bunks, and another opened onto a private chamber with a bed, dresser, and wardrobe. Blaise continued to explore, poking his head into a room stocked with oil, cleaning brushes, and other tock necessities. Just over halfway down the hall, he opened a door on his right and paused. Light from the
passageway leaked into the room but failed to reach the far corners. Whirs, bubbles, and muted ticks combined into a pleasant rhythm. Blaise located another switch just inside the door and flipped it.

His jaw dropped. A spacious laboratory spread out before him in well-ordered segments. He recognized some of the equipment—tubes, slender pipes, gears, and tools for repairing tocks and porcies. But Weatherton's modifications surpassed Blaise and Callis's repairs. Molds for hands and legs, ears and fingers hung in brackets on the wall. Blaise shivered as he walked farther. Completed clay-colored body parts lay in straw-lined crates.