A Riddle in Ruby (17 page)

The girl paled and cast her eyes to the floor. “Pate was not at the door. I thought you would want to see these right away.”

Hearth shook her head once. “The liberties you take will catch up with you. You are not in Van Huffridge House, but in the Warren. Go out, all of you, and return when I call you.”

Athena spoke up, “Madame . . .”

The woman's eyes were dark and cold inside the fireplace. “Boyle means no more here than Van Huffridge, young sir. If you are a journeyman, do not question a master's orders. The hall.”

They left, closing the door after them. They waited in the hall for three minutes, no more. A voice called them back in.

The woman called Madame Hearth was there, but no sign of the other four. Ruby pulled her fingernails out of her palm, and a little thought blossomed: Gwath Maxim Number Sixteen: “The Way In Is the Way Out.”

A Most Clever, Strange, and Dangerous

WAIF

A Young Girl Answering to Aruba Teach, also Ruby Teach

Of dark complexion, small stature and with features foxlike
(as drawn below)

Wanted for Crimes against the Crown

READY MONEY REWARD FOR HARD NEWS

Inquire at Berth No. 5, Benzene Yards Wharf, His Majesty's Ship
Grail

—Wanted poster

T
he ornate chemystral samovar was shaped like a bookshelf, with pipes and levers cleverly concealed in metal books that pulled in and out of the shelves. However many dials, levers, and rotating panels there were, the tea that came out of it was a bitter blend of angry dirt and sad foliage.

Madame Hearth was perched in the highest backed
of the wooden chairs surrounding the table. She had not offered them seats but had her man, a bald fellow called Pate, pour tea. He had returned on the heels of their second entrance, out of breath. His mask had no image on it.

They drank tea in silence before their interviewer placed her cup precisely in the center of its saucer. “Welcome to the Warren.” She had not acknowledged Cram's existence, nor had he received any tea. Ruby envied him. “Thank you for completing your mission, journeyman.” She nodded to Athena. “I would have a private word with your companion. A bed has been prepared for you in the men's dormitory. You may retire there if you wish. The library and workrooms are also available to you as befits your station. Master Bale can aid you with your wounds. He is two doors down the hall to the right.”

“Madame Hearth, this was not an uneventful journey. There are several circumstances of which I should inform you. Surely you wish to hear of them as soon as possible?”

“My wishes are my own, boy. And for the moment I require your exit.”

“Thank you.” Athena turned and, in passing, looked Ruby a warning. “We will await you in the library.” And then she left, Cram in tow.

The Van Huffridge girl had found a bookshelf in the corner and was ogling it with deep concentration. “You too, miss,” Madame Hearth insisted.

The girl grimaced, curtsied, and then left, giving Ruby her own long stare as she passed. The little spider would be trouble; she could feel it. The door closed, and they were alone. The man called Pate refilled her teacup, cradling it in his beefy hand.

“You will be wondering at your surroundings. This is the Warren, the halls of a part of our order called the Bluestockings. We teach science, alchemy, and chemystral artifice to those who cannot claim it in the light of day: women, foreigners, Africans, indentures. We wear our masks to make all equal. There is no class here, no station. Only hard work and merit. You may call me Madame Hearth. And you are Aruba Teach.”

No one called her Aruba.

“How do you know my name?”

“The order has been looking out for you since you were born. It stands to reason that we have gathered a tidy package of information concerning you and your father, do you not agree?”

This woman, never once mentioned by her father, or Gwath, or any of the crew, had been watching over her since she had been born? Ridiculous. Ruby resisted pointing out to her that they had recently been doing a very poor job of it.

“You will be staying with us for some time, but as a sign of good faith I will answer you ten questions in this interview. Use them wisely. In return, you will answer my questions. Have we an agreement?”

Ruby's breath quickened. Finally some news. “How do you know my father?”

Sip. Clink. “He was once a member of our order and then left us to protect something for us and mask the fact that you were alive.”

“Why? He took me away from . . . this? On purpose?”

“Exactly.”

Sip. Clink.

Barnacles. This was an exchange, and she was throwing about the little she had to work with, applying no mind or care or strategy. “That was four questions.”

“Indeed.”

Ruby gathered her wits. She needed time to understand the rules. “I would ask for more tea if it were not seen as a question.”

Dribble. Clink.

“Where is my father?” Ruby asked.

“As far as we can tell, your father and his crew were taken to the Benzene Yards, the Tinkers' stronghold near the river. He is being held there by the Royal Navy and the Reeve. A daunting set of jailors.” She gave the teacup to Pate, who refilled it. “My turn, I fear. What do you know of your mother?”

“Nothing.” For her entire life, the crew had not said ten words about her mother, though they had hinted at something dire. Her father would not speak of it. They had even fought about it. It was the only time she had ever seen him angry. He had thrown a mug across his cabin and ordered her out. Later that night, eyes red, he
had woken her to give her the button she wore around her neck. He begged her not to speak of it again and swore that he would tell her when it was the proper time.

The proper time. She'd had more than a bellyful of the proper time. People of a certain age—Gwath, her father, this woman: they hoarded knowledge. They kept it locked away and just out of reach, until they needed to use it. Ruby dug her toes into the floor.

“What manner of man is Godfrey Boyle?”

Clank. The teacup chipped the saucer. “Where did you hear that name?”

Ruby took a sip of the tea. It tasted the way tin tailings smelled, but it gave her a moment. “Lord Athen mentioned him.”

Madame Hearth plucked at her mask, settling it over her ear. “Ruthless, brilliant, tireless.”

There was a whiff of something here. The way Hearth had answered. She was unsettled.

Ruby bluffed. “Why did Godfrey Boyle send Lord Athen to look for me?”

“Sir Godfrey Boyle sent his only son to find you when
he discovered”—she raised her spoon like a flag—“that someone had informed the Reeve of your and your father's whereabouts and that they were actively looking for you.” She lowered her spoon and began stirring the tea.

“Godfrey Boyle, Athen Boyle, you, the Bluestockings. Who are you?” Ruby asked.

“We are the Worshipful Order of Grocers.” Hearth spoke the name with deep reverence. “It is a common name, but a great responsibility. Our task is to keep balance in the world.”

“Why do you need me to keep balance in the world?”

Hearth clapped her hands. The gloves flapped faintly, like birds in the morning. “The first perceptive question.”

“Well?” Ruby said.

“We seek a recipe. Your mother gave you the key, somehow, before . . . she left. Or so they tell us.”

“A recipe. And a key. Like a fairy story. Like Perseus, who killed the Gorgon.” Ruby took care to keep the question out of the statement.

“Clever girl. You do possess a kind of low cunning. Unfortunately, since it was not phrased as a question, I will not answer it.” Madame Hearth toyed with the handle of her teacup. “Would you like to sit down?”

Ruby sat without speaking. Madame Hearth came around the table and perched a hip on the corner near her. She leaned over. The paint on the flames of the hearth was flaking.

“Aruba, it is not my intention to alarm you. However, it is also far from my intention to coddle you. You must understand some hard truths. You are running from very powerful people, and you need protection. We can offer you this protection and indeed an education. Your mother was an accomplished chemystral practitioner, did you know that?”

Ruby shook her head.

“She was a grand master of the chemystral arts. We can help you become one—if you have it in you. You are intelligent and passionate. This is easy to see. Those are two powerful facets that will give you an advantage. A third is your lineage.”

She tapped a book on the table beside her. It was plain and weatherbeaten, bound by leather and secured by a brass lock with a button-shaped keyhole. “This journal was your mother's, and it can be yours if you earn it. It is a chain that traces back thousands of years. We can restore your true family to you.”

Ruby could not take her eyes from the journal. A storm raged inside her, and she struggled to stay above water and appear calm. “I have a family.”

“Scalawags. Rapscallions. The dregs of the earth.”

“Will you help me find my father?”

Madame Hearth offered a warm smile. “Soon, perhaps. Our position here is too precarious to make an open assault at this time, but when the opportunity is right, after you have found some skill with chemystry, perhaps we will be able to take him back. When the time is right, we will absolutely rise up and tear down the walls of the Tinkers and the merchant lords of England and reunite you with your father.”

The emptiest of promises. Ruby fought to keep the red rage from her face. She hated not knowing what was
happening. Ever since she was a little girl, the worst thing her father could do was to not tell her where they were bound or how long they would be berthed in port.

She was done with not knowing.

I will not comment upon our Affections. They are one part Unreason, one part Madness, and no parts Science.

—
Conrado Flacian, recording secretary,

Andalu Philosophical Society

P
ate showed Ruby down the hallway back into the newer passages. They twisted and turned, but the tangle inside her knotted even tighter. Her father, the recipe, her mother. Could they be this connected?

Madame Hearth had released her from the interview into what passed for night in this strange place. The tinker's lamps, many of them curiously shaped or oddly colored, glowed at half strength, and the shadows
raced ahead and then behind them as they passed. The workrooms had emptied of students, alembics and burners waiting patiently in formation for the next morning. In one room the woman in the badger mask stood at a chalk slate, hunting through a forest of equations. Ruby's warden, for that is what he was, hurried her on.

She turned to him. “I need to find the library.” He hesitated and then nodded and led her down a side passage.

The library was a small, plain affair, with rough wood furniture. There were several orderly bookshelves and a large workbench, stocked with a set of tools. It was empty, save for Athena and Cram. Both were passed out asleep, she facedown in a leather-bound tome, and he sprawled out on the bench as if it were a bed. They seemed like a crew. Together. It made Ruby smile, and it also made her feel strangely shy.

“Hello,” she said. Athena straightened quickly, stood, and bowed. Cram woke with a squeak and a jerk and fell from the workbench onto the floor. When he saw that it was Ruby and that he was safe, he waved, curled
up on the sealed earth floor like a kitchen dog, and closed his eyes again.

Ruby sat down across from Athena, who rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Pate planted himself next to a bookshelf, a vigilant urn. Athena smiled. “Hello, Miss Teach. I trust your interview passed pleasantly.”

“Pleasant as milady's tea,” she joked.

Athena only smiled.

It was hard, with Pate there, to see her. She was wearing her Lord Athen mask with more purpose.

“Madame Hearth seems an intelligent and driven woman.” Athena offered Pate a nod of the head, which he returned. “You are in good hands and will be safe here.”

“And I have you two to thank for that, I know. You got me here,” Ruby said.

She had much to report, but Pate was listening. The next words were tricky, dancing out of reach. “What are you reading?”

Athena said, “
Arts Martial and Practice
, Ezekiel Pelham.”

Ruby laughed. “Aha, a fencing tome. Good. You need the practice.”

“I'm sure a lady would not be interested.”

Her stiff courtesy hit Ruby like the north wind. “There are no ladies here.”

“I disagree, miss.”

Ruby stood up. “Do you? Sir?”

“Yes?” Athena waited politely, the picture of a perfect gentleman. “My apologies. Have I offended you in some way?”

This was all going wrong. Athena was speaking to her like a distant acquaintance and not as she should. Ruby cast about for something to say, anything. “No. No. Tomorrow I am to begin my instruction in chemystry. I would be grateful for any advice. Will you be breaking your fast?”

“Alas, apprentices are not permitted to pass time socially with journeymen.” The gray eyes were clear. Empty nothing stared out from behind them.

“I—I see.”

“But I am certain we will see each other from time to
time. I will await word from London as to where they wish me to proceed next.” The words were faint, drowned out by the thunder in Ruby's ears. Athena was leaving. She was leaving Ruby here. Now that she had delivered the baggage, the ruse was revealed. It was all one big sharp: the bravery, the respect, the protection. The crew.

“Of course.” She drew herself up as tall as she could. “Mr. Pate, I am sleepy.” The man nodded and led her out. Athena did not call after her. Ruby would not turn around.

They came to a featureless door with a brass handle in the shape of an outthrust hand, atop an old-fashioned keyhole. Pate opened it with one of many keys he wore on a chain around his waist and then held it open for her, offering her a smart bow.

“My cell?” Ruby asked.

He smiled and shook his head. “Young ladies' chambers,” he said. His voice was very deep.

“Oh,” Ruby said. That was perhaps worse than a cell, but still she stepped forward. Soft rugs covered the cold earth floor, and the light was a bit brighter. Pate did
not follow her in but stood in the doorway. It was warm and cozy and smelled of hyacinth.

“The door at the end is locked and not to be opened,” he whispered. “Young gentlemen's chambers. Yours is the third room on the right.” And he closed the door, and a lock clicked from the other side. The hallway was empty.

It was the first moment she had been alone since breaking into Fen's place.

She leaned her shoulder and face into the cool, smooth wall, because she could not stand upright anymore.

She would not cry. She would not scream.

There were things that she must do.

She slipped off her boots and dug her toes into the wonderful thick weave of the rug. The tinker's lamps had been turned down for the evening, but she could still read scripted nameplates hanging next to each of the doors. Apparently the secrecy was for people who came and went, not for the students who lived there.

Pettifell. Wainwright. The door was closed most of the way, but she could hear snoring through it.

Baker. Cooper. The top had green painted vines
tracing the letters, and the bottom had an inscrutable notation scratched into the wood below the name.

Van Huffridge. And then: Teach. The paint was still wet.

Greta Van Huffridge was seated on a high stool in a spoiled pea green nightdress, picking her teeth and reading from another massive tome. Next to her was a mountain of fluffy pillows that might have contained a bed. On the other side of the room sat a plain desk and a serviceable bed, with woolen blankets and two feather pillows. There was also a wardrobe and a nightstand.

To Ruby's surprise, the tiny girl hopped off the stool and presented her a curtsy with a grim smile. “I am afraid we have gotten off on the wrong foot, Miss Teach. May I call you Ruby?”

“What?” Ruby asked. “Oh, yes.” She cleared her throat. If she were to do this, then she would do it right. “Miss Van Huffridge,” she added.

“Greta, please.” She popped back up onto the stool and stared down at Ruby. Her back was very straight. “If we are to live together, we must put aside formalities. I
apologize for my rudeness earlier, but I did not know that you had achieved merit in the order. I would never had behaved that way if I had known that you had standing.”

“Thank you. Um, apology accepted.” It was news to her that she had standing, whatever that was. But she would not let Greta Van Huffridge know otherwise. Another high stool sat next to her desk, which was stocked with an inkwell, paper, a letter opener, and even a simple mechanical pen. She did not know if she was to sit at it or stand at attention or curtsy over and over while making flowery girl conversation. She sat on the bed instead. That was probably safe.

They stared at each other. Greta was a fine-boned sparrow, with a narrow chin and a keen eye. Ruby supposed she might be fetching. She wondered what her new roommate was discovering on her part. Slouchy. Unkempt. Scarred. The cut under her eye was burning.

“I am happy to have another girl here. The other four are slow. They think only of gossip and boys. I hope you can keep up.”

“I shall do my best,” Ruby responded.

“And I hope your best will be sufficient,” Greta enunciated. She continued her scrutinization.

“Do the Bluestockings normally just take people in like this?”

“No.” The examination moved away from her face down her arms and legs.

“Why not?”

“It is a forbidden thing, against English law to teach chemystry to women, the landless and other peoples. Even in Philadelphi, one cannot do such things and avoid punishment. My father is a man of no small means, and even he could not have me taught publicly. He spent two years searching for the order before one of his men found this place.” She turned a page in her book. “They are cautious, here, and positioned against both England and the Tinkers of Pennswood Colony.”

Ruby couldn't sit on the bed anymore, so she stood. “You know Lord Athen Boyle.”

“He and his serving man will have gone to bed with the rest of the residents. Madame Hearth keeps a tight curfew and early-morning hours. We will wake at the
stroke of six.” She pointed to a clock on the shelf. An angel's sword pointed to one o'clock. “Only five hours from now.” She marked the book and closed it, then placed herself in bed. “We will then break our fasts in the dining hall with the boys, and after, I shall introduce you to your instructors. I am to be your guide in the process. I am the most advanced student here, so it is naturally my place.”

“Thank you,” Ruby said. “Will Lord Athen be about?” She tried to sound casual.

“Lord Athen Boyle is a journeyman sentinel of the order and most likely will be on his way on another mission soon enough. Sentinels rarely stay in-house for very long, and I suspect he misses his sword and wishes to reclaim it. That one will be on his way sooner rather than later, I wager.”

“You still retain your opinion of him?”

“Oh, indeed.” She yawned.

“And why is that?”

She huffed. “I thought we had an understanding of sorts. He did not. Let us leave it at that. He is a cad of
the first order. He does no honor to his rather illustrious name, I am not afraid to tell you.”

“I see.” Ruby opened the wardrobe. “What are these?” She was quite speechless.

“Proper garments, I expect. I have not snooped. I am no busybody. I gather Pate can find somewhere to dispose of your rags.” It was indeed a set of clothing for her: three very nice dresses and a nightdress, like those a young lady would wear. An actual young lady. They had provided everything that might help a young girl feel at home. There was even a small stuffed pony on the pillow.

She curled up in the wool blankets of her bed and listened to the sounds of Greta falling asleep. It was so quiet. She pulled the blanket over her head. She was hidden, cradled in the earth. She was safe, if just for a little while, from the dangerous people who were stalking her, and from those who pretended to be other than they were. This could be a place to heal, to grow strong, to start up right again, to learn the chemystral arts and become a master of alchemy. It was deeply comforting.

But it was not for her.

She counted to two hundred and then slipped out of bed. After she had eased her Robby clothes back on, it was a tricky thing to use the sheets to tie Greta down to her bed without waking her. Near the end she did wake up and almost cried out. Luckily Ruby had kept the pony ready to pop in her mouth.