The Inventor's Secret (6 page)

“A mouse,” Charlotte answered. “That’s what saved
our lives yesterday.”
Grave spared her a sidelong glance. “You had one of

She nodded. “It’s a magnet mouse. They’re explosive
devices. Once they’re wound, they’ll chase the most metallic object in the vicinity. And for us that’s usually Rotpots.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “We call them Rotpots, but
they’re really called Imperial Labor Gatherers.”
“Labor Gatherers?”
As she spoke, Charlotte’s skin crawled. “Life in the
lower levels of the coastal cities is hard—and that’s a kind
way of putting it. Sometimes the workers try to escape.
The Gatherers are sent out to catch runaways and return
them to the Empire.”
Grave continued his methodic sorting of parts—for it
being his first time, he caught on quickly. “Does anyone
think the Empire is good?”
“The Brits,” she laughed coldly. “It’s working out beautifully for them.”
“They don’t have to work in the cities?” He picked up a
brass gear, turning it over slowly in his hand.
Charlotte cast a sidelong glance at him. “You really
don’t know?”
His shoulders hunched in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.
I’ll stop asking questions.”
“No,” she said. “It’s just strange . . . and you must feel
so lost.”
He didn’t look at her, but nodded.
“The resistance began in 1774,” she told him. “The
Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776—Patriots
who wanted independence for the colonies pitted against
Loyalists who supported the British. The Patriots were
sure that France would aid them, maybe the Spanish and
Dutch as well. But American diplomats failed to convince
any other countries to fight with us. Britain was there at
every turn with a counteroffer. They made Canada into
Indian territory to appease their native allies. They gave
Florida back to Spain and promised to leave the southern
Mississippi corridor and the French Caribbean untouched.
Without naval assistance from the French, the Patriots
couldn’t hold the ports. The British navy was too powerful. The colonists surrendered in 1781.”
“What happened to the Patriots?” Grave asked.
“All signers of the Declaration were hung as traitors
to the Empire,” she said somberly. “Boston—where much
of the Patriot support was concentrated—was razed. It’s
a prison now. Whenever members of the Resistance are
captured, they’re sent to Boston and are never heard from
again.”
Charlotte’s hands paused from their methodical sorting. “British policy toward the colonies after the war was
called ‘benevolent reform.’ The colonies were divided into
three provinces: Amherst, from New Hampshire to New
York; Cornwallis, from Pennsylvania to Virginia; and Arnold, the Carolinas and Georgia.”
“Why did they change the names?” Grave asked.
“The provinces are named after British war heroes,”
she said. “But the names weren’t all they changed. The
‘benevolent reforms’ were meant to teach the Patriots a lesson.”
“How?” He was staring at her now, eyes wide.
“They claimed that the Revolution took place because
the colonists had grown selfish and corrupt,” she said. “To
prevent future dissent, the policy was put in place that all
Patriots owed the Empire twenty years of indentured labor. It didn’t stop there. Any children born to Patriots were
subject to fifteen years. And their children to ten. And so
on.”
“They had to work for the Empire.” Grave resumed
sorting. “But eventually it would stop.”
Charlotte laughed. “So they said. But once the Resistance formed and continued to fight in the borderlands
along the Mississippi, the Empire changed the policy. Now
it stands that as long as there is a Resistance, each child
born to an American is indentured for twenty years.”
“But are they free after the twenty years?” he asked.
When she frowned at him, he said, “Not that it sounds
fair, but at least that’s something.”
“No one survives the twenty years,” she told him. “Unless they manage to curry favor with the right authorities
and somehow regain Imperial Citizenship. That’s rare.
The Empire needs laborers, especially since they abolished
slavery.”
“What?” Grave asked, surprised. “Isn’t the term of indenture like slavery?”
“In practice, yes,” Charlotte said. “But until 1807, slavery of Africans was tied to their mother’s status. Anyone
born to a slave became a slave. The Empire declared chattel slavery to be immoral because it wasn’t punishment for
a crime, whereas the postwar indentures were.
Pietas super omnia.
”
He scratched his head, brow knit in confusion.
“It’s Latin.” She smiled thinly. “Loyalty above all—the
policy of the Brits.”
He was still frowning, and Charlotte said, “Please
don’t misunderstand. Slavery was appalling. A horror born
of man’s cruelest tendencies. The Empire claimed benevolence by bringing about its end.. But they forfeited that role
by replacing slavery with punitive indentures. And the indenture system is much more beneficial to them, since they
don’t need as many people to work the fields anymore.”
“Why is that?”
“Mr. Whitney’s Harvestman,” Charlotte said. “One of
the Empire’s innovations. It looks a little like a Rotpot, but
instead of a cage, it has a storage compartment and more
arms. It can harvest five times as fast as a man and works
for any crop—cotton, tobacco, indigo. It’s all picked by
Harvestmen now, and each machine only needs one operator where the fields used to be full of slaves.”
Grave was quiet, sorting parts but not asking further
questions. Charlotte returned to her task as well, mood
soured by the conversation.
“Do you really think the Resistance has a chance?”
Grave’s question was so quiet that Charlotte almost didn’t
hear it.
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Since the French and Spanish
have started helping, it’s more likely.”
He dropped a cog. “But why would they help now? You
said they wouldn’t help in the Revolution.”
“There were more wars after the Revolution,” she said.
“Wars in Europe. France and Britain had tinkers creating
more machines. Huge war machines. Napoleon sent up
the first fleet of airships, but Britain’s built their own fleet.
Each time, one side or the other unleashed some fearsome
new invention that wreaked destruction across Europe.
When Spain began building a Doomsday machine, they
negotiated peace.”
“A Doomsday machine?”
“They claim it’s a device that can break apart the earth
itself,” Charlotte said. “Spain threatened that if their borders were violated, they would use the machine to sever the
Iberian peninsula from Europe and let it float away from
the continent.”
“Can they do that?” Grave gasped.
“They say so,” she told him. “No one has ever actually used a Doomsday device. Rumors have it that they’re
building one in Florida too.”
They both looked up when Birch gave a joyful shout.
“Whatcha got?” Pip asked the tinker.
“A heap of parts to build us dozens of mice! I’ve already
put two together,” he told her, lifting his hand. In his grasp
was a second fully assembled magnet mouse. “Let’s test
out this one’s motion, shall we?”
He turned the key several times and set the mouse on
the ground. It whirred to life and zoomed across the floor.
As everyone watched, it raced toward Grave.
“What the—” Birch gaped as the mouse bumped into
Grave’s foot and climbed onto his ankle.
Pip screamed. Grave began to flail, beating at the critter that had whirred up his leg and now latched on to his
chest. Moses swooped around Grave, nearly crashing into
the boy with each dive.
Birch tugged off his goggles, which retracted from their
telescoped position when he tossed them on the workbench, and his eyes bulged.
“Keep calm, Pip! I haven’t armed them yet.”
Birch dashed to Grave, grasping the mouse and tugging
hard. The magnetic creature wouldn’t budge. “Holy Hephaestus . . .”
Grave began to shout. “Get it off! Get it off!”
“I’m trying,” Birch cried. “Hold still, man.”
The mouse still clung to Grave’s chest as if it had been
welded to his flesh. Despite Birch’s assurances, Pip was still
screaming.
Ash appeared in the mouth of the tunnel that led to the
infirmary with Jack at his side. His leg freshly bandaged,
Ash was using his cane to aid his steps.
“What in Athene’s name is going on out here?”
He looked at Birch trying to pry the mouse off of Grave,
and his face went chalky. Beside him, Jack drew a sharp
breath. Ash gave him a pointed stare and handed Jack his
cane.
Jack strode across the room, shoving Birch aside. Moses flew to the tinker, landing on top of his head and clinging to his mad thatch of hair.
“What are you?” Jack hissed into Grave’s face.
Grave stared at him, shaking and speechless.
Jack shook his head. “Sorry, mate.”
He brought Ash’s cane up in a swift arc. It cracked into
Grave’s temple and though the force of the blow made
Charlotte cry out, Grave stood still, unfazed. He watched
as Jack took a step back. When he swung the cane again,
Grave grabbed the handle and jerked it out of Jack’s hand.
He didn’t attack but simply gazed at the long ebony cane
in his hand. All eyes in the room were locked on him, some
filled with fear, others disbelief.
“What are you?” Jack asked again.
Grave sighed and dropped the cane. “I swear to you, I
don’t know.”
In the center of his chest, the mouse still whirred and
chirped, unwilling to release its target.

Ash didn’t look at her, continuing down the
hall with rigid steps, his spine stiff as he did his
best to hide the slight limp in his gait.
Walking before Ash was Grave, flanked by Jack and

Birch. Jack held Grave’s right arm in a firm grip, guiding
his prisoner through the narrow corridor. Though Grave
had done nothing that Charlotte considered hostile, Jack
had unholstered his revolver, which he carried in a deceptively casual manner. Charlotte knew that if Grave so
much as twitched in a way Jack didn’t like, Jack would put
in a bullet in Grave’s head before any of them had a chance

to blink. Then it occurred to Charlotte that a bullet might
have as little effect on Grave as Ash’s cane. The thought

Birch walked apart from Jack and Grave. The tinker’s
gaze roved over Grave’s form, apprehensive but equally curious. Dipping down one minute and then straining to his
tiptoes the next to observe Grave from as many different
angles as he could manage, Birch looked not unlike an exotic bird in the throws of its mating dance.

“Something metal is inside,” Birch commented to no
one in particular. “How can that be?”
“Promise me you won’t let Birch cut him open.” Charlotte leaned closer to her brother. “He hasn’t done anything
to threaten us. If he were here to cause harm, wouldn’t he
have already done so?”
“Charlotte.” Ash stopped mid-stride. He turned, grasping Charlotte’s arms and speaking in a low, dangerous
voice as he stared hard into her eyes. “We know nothing
about this boy—or whatever he is. Not all weapons are
guns or blades; the most dangerous are subtle, hidden.”
“You think he’s a spy.” Charlotte didn’t break Ash’s
gaze. While she couldn’t deny the potential dangers that
Ash was suggesting, her instincts shouted down any pragmatic thoughts about who Grave might be. Charlotte simply
knew
he wasn’t their enemy.
Recognizing the stubborn lift of his sister’s chin, Ash
sighed and released her arms. When he closed his eyes,
Charlotte winced. Her brother looked so tired, so much
older than his eighteen years. She didn’t want to cause him
more strain, but she was unwilling to condemn Grave before she understood who the boy was.
“Ash, I’m just worried—”
He cut her off. “Charlotte, have I ever acted rashly since
I took charge of the Catacombs? Have I given you cause to
doubt my choices?”
“No, but—”
“Then trust me to act wisely now,” Ashley interrupted
again. “I have to consider what’s in the best interest of everyone who lives here. I don’t know whether Grave is a
spy, or a weapon, or a fool boy with an impossibly thick,
or rather unbreakable, skull. But until I’m certain of who
he is, he will be locked up . . . but not cut open. We’re not
monsters here. Not like our enemies out there.”
Charlotte knew she was beaten, but she blurted out,
“I’ll stay with him. Sit by his cage to make sure he knows
that he has a friend here.”
“As long as you get your work done, Lottie, you can
do whatever you please with your free time.” With those
words, Ashley turned to continue down the corridor, leaving Charlotte to taste the stale desperation in her lame outburst. What did it matter if she kept Grave company? Ash
had declared her stray a serious threat to them, and that
was that.
Trying to pretend it wasn’t a childish thing to do, Charlotte huffed at her brother’s back and spun on her heel. She
took off in the opposite direction, unwilling to watch as
Jack and Ash muscled Grave into a cage while Birch took
notes. Still hoping for a sympathetic ear, Charlotte went in
search of Pip and Scoff.
Pip wasn’t in Birch’s workshop where she’d been standing, white-faced, after the incident with Grave and the
mouse, so Charlotte headed for Scoff’s laboratory. As
soon as he was old enough to leave the children’s quarters,
Scoff had announced his plans to build a live-in laboratory.
Given the volatility of Scoff’s experiments, it had been
concluded that the best—nay, only—place for the laboratory was adjacent to the river, where there was an endless
supply of water to extinguish inevitable flames. Charlotte
thought Ash really should have insisted that Birch move his
workshop down to the river’s edge as well.
“Are you sure this will work?” Charlotte heard Pip
query.
Scoff was tugging at his wild, lilac hair as Charlotte
entered the laboratory. “It should work—”
He stopped talking when he caught sight of Charlotte.
If she hadn’t known how dangerous Scoff’s lair could be,
Charlotte would have considered it the most beautiful part
of the Catacombs. The spacious cavern was bursting with
shelves and tables, which in turn were crammed with beakers, bottles, vases, bowls, tubes, and measuring tools.
The menagerie of objects was mostly glass, with a few
metal and wooden pieces scattered throughout. Few of the
containers were empty, and Charlotte could identify only a
handful of their contents. The variety of powders, liquids,
dried herbs, and preserved oddities filled the laboratory
with a kaleidoscope of colors.
Jumping off the stool on which she’d been perched, Pip
greeted Charlotte with a warm smile. “Hi, there!”
“Charlotte,” Scoff said more warily, “can I help you?”
“I’m just seeking asylum from my brother’s boorishness,” Charlotte told them.
Pip bobbed her head and giggled. “Ash can be a bit
bossy, huh?”
“He is the boss,” Scoff chided. “I don’t think bossy can
be used as an insult when you’re supposed to be in charge.”
Charlotte let that slide, wanting to get her mind off Ash
and knowing that Scoff would never miss an opportunity
to expound on his latest discoveries. “What’s new in the
laboratory?”
“Scoff’s a genius!” Pip replied, and Scoff went red behind the ears.
“A genius, eh?” Charlotte said.
Nodding a little too enthusiastically, Pip said to Scoff.
“Go on, tell her.”
With a flourish, Scoff produced a stoppered bottle
full of a dark, viscous substance. “It’s a formula I’ve been
working on for an event just such as this.”
“Such as what?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow. She
couldn’t think of any precedent that would make Scoff anticipate Grave’s arrival.
Scoff lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“The capture of an enemy.”
“Grave is not an enemy!” Charlotte hadn’t meant to
shout, but she had, and Scoff went pale.
Pip wedged herself between Charlotte and Scoff.
With her hands on her hips, Charlotte said, “Tell me
what’s in that bottle.”
“I call it the Elixir of Intentions.” Scoff held up the mixture as if to admire its color, but Charlotte found nothing
appealing to look at. The slimy concoction reminded her
of congealing blood.
When Charlotte failed to appear impressed, Scoff
added. “When Grave drinks this, he’ll be compelled to tell
us the truth of his identity.”
“Have you tested it?” Charlotte asked.
Scoff let out an exasperated breath. “I haven’t had anyone to test it on!”
“Are you sure it won’t hurt him?” Charlotte looked
meaningfully at Pip’s green locks.
Pip grinned and tugged at her pigtails. “This didn’t
hurt at all . . . I suppose it itched for a day or two.”
Charlotte ignored Pip, who’d wrinkled her nose and
was now scratching at her scalp, instead saying to Scoff,
“And how can he be compelled to tell the truth when he
remembers nothing?”
“He could be lying.” Scoff sounded hurt, but Charlotte
was too frustrated to care.
“Has everyone gone mad?” Charlotte stomped her
foot. “He’s just a boy. He’s like us. Grave needs our help,
not cages and poisons.”
Scoff cradled the glass bottle against his chest. “It’s not
poison.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t kill him,” Pip said to Scoff. Her
smile was reassuring at first but then faded. “Would it?”
Charlotte turned away from them just in time to hear
the clang of a bell echo through the Catacombs. “Ugh.”
“Ooh! Dinner!” Pip exclaimed as Charlotte exited the
laboratory.
Charlotte cursed under her breath and grabbed her
skirts so she could move more quickly. Hurrying up the
stairs and dashing to the mess hall, Charlotte tore off part
of a round loaf of brown bread and grabbed some clothwrapped hard cheese from the larder before retreating to
her room. She was too miffed to eat in a room crowded
with jostling children and the constant buzz of conversation, and she wanted to be sure Ash knew. And Jack too,
for that matter. As she ducked out of the mess hall, Charlotte wondered if she shouldn’t force herself to share a table
with her brother just to be sure that Scoff didn’t convince
Ash to try out that elixir on Grave. She quickly pushed
the thought away, telling herself that even if Ash gave in
to Scoff’s assurances, Meg would never allow Scoff to experiment on Grave. At least there was one person in the
Catacombs Charlotte could trust to act with some sense.
As she sat on the edge of her bed, Charlotte barely
tasted the hunks of bread and cheese as she chewed and
swallowed. She was already contemplating her next move.
Ash might view Grave as a threat, but Charlotte could still
show the boy some kindness. She’d visit him while the others were at dinner, reassure him that all would be well soon
enough. Satisfied with her new plan, Charlotte returned to
the winding corridors. She was careful to choose a route
that would not take her past the mess hall.
Her mood buoyed by this new course of action, Charlotte stepped lightly through the passageway. Nearly smug
with satisfaction, Charlotte pulled up with a start when
she suddenly heard voices just around the bend in the hall
before her. She quickly backtracked until she reached a side
passage. Ducking around the corner, Charlotte pressed
herself up against the wall and listened.
Meg’s gentle tone reached Charlotte’s ears. “When he’s
alone, I sometimes hear him talking to himself.”
“What does he say?” Charlotte tensed when she recognized Ash’s voice.
“He whispers of clocks,” Meg answered.
“Clocks?” Ash said. “What do you mean clocks?”
Meg uttered a low laugh. “It really is odd. ‘Ticktock,
ticktock. Never, never stop.’”
“That’s what he says?”
She made a soft, affirmative noise. “It’s almost like a
song. There’s something about him, Ashley  .  .  . I don’t
think he’s overtly dangerous, but he unnerves me in a way
I can’t explain.”
“Of course he unnerves you. He’s a nutter,” Ashley said
sharply. “Lottie never should have brought him here. What
was she thinking!”
“She was trying to save him from the Rotpots,” Meg
answered. “What would you think of your sister if she’d
seen him running for his life and not done anything?”
Charlotte heard Ash grunt in reply, and Meg laughed
again. “Someday you’ll have to let her grow up.”
“Athene have mercy, not you too,” Ash moaned.
“Me too?” Meg asked.
“Nothing,” Ash replied quickly. “Just something Jack
said earlier . . . speaking of Jack, I should—”
Meg picked up where Ash’s voice trailed off. “You
should go. I’ll oversee dinner.”
“Thanks, Meg.”
“Hurry back.”
There was a long pause and Charlotte held her breath,
worried it would give her away. Finally, Ash spoke again.
He sounded nervous.
“Um, yes. Well. I’ll be off, then.”
“Don’t forget to tell me that you’re safely returned. No
matter how late it is,” Meg said quietly.
“Of course,” Ash said and cleared his throat. “Always.”
Charlotte heard the scuff of Ash’s boots as he passed
her hiding spot and continued down the corridor. A moment later, Meg’s soft footfalls moved off in the opposite
direction.
Where was Ash going?
The swell of self-righteousness that had carried Charlotte toward an imprisoned Grave lost out to her curiosity.
Ignoring a twinge of guilt, she snuck back into the corridor
after Ashley.
Following her brother proved to be more of a challenge
than Charlotte had anticipated. She was forced to stay out
of sight to avoid discovery, yet at the same time keep close
enough behind Ash so that she didn’t lose him in the labyrinth of tunnels. It was also difficult not to be distracted by
the route he was taking. The corridor had begun to slope
upward. The path wasn’t unfamiliar to Charlotte; she
knew it to be one of the tunnels that wound its way to the
surface, but the few exits like this one were for emergency
use only. All arrivals and departures from the Catacombs
were strictly regulated by use of the wheelhouse.
“Ho, there!”
Charlotte pulled up sharply and held her breath at the
sound of Jack’s voice.
“Evening, Jack.” Ash’s reply carried along the dark passage.
“Took you long enough,” Jack said. “Any trouble getting away?”
“No,” Ash told him. “I was just talking things over
with Meg.”
“Ah,” Charlotte could hear the grin suffusing Jack’s
tone. “If I’d known
that
was it, I wouldn’t have complained. You should take all the time you need with Meg.
Hephaestus knows you could use it.”
“Shut your trap, Jack.”
The scuff of boots signaled that the boys were moving
again. Now that they were talking, Charlotte could move
more freely. Their voices covered the sounds of her pursuit and made it much easier for her to track them, though
she found she couldn’t follow their conversation and still
creep silently along behind them. Since Jack seemed keen
on continuing to hound Ash about Meg, Charlotte decided
it didn’t much matter what they were saying.
As they climbed through the caverns, the boys suddenly
veered into a side passage where no phosphorescent mushrooms had been cultivated, causing their path to be swallowed up by darkness, and Charlotte became more and
more perplexed. Neither Ash nor Jack carried a lantern,
which meant they were feeling their way along the stone
walls just as Charlotte was. She thought she knew where
they were, but if she was right, their location didn’t make
any sense. The natural formations of the Catacombs afforded them a safe, secret habitation, but it wasn’t without
its drawbacks. Such as that several tunnels came to an end
in unhelpful or, worse, dangerous places. And one of those
dead-end corridors was precisely where Ash and Jack were
headed.
If Charlotte had guessed correctly about the passage
they were in, it would only be another few minutes until
they arrived at wide rock shelf that led nowhere. The opening in the hillside was partially covered by a jutting slab of
rock precariously overhanging the shelf, above which was
a steep face made slick by rivulets of water that coursed
over its surface. Only an intrepid squirrel would dare to
climb it. At its far edge, opposite the narrow entrance to
the Catacombs, the cave’s gaping maw opened onto a sheer
cliff that dropped into the gorge below. Neither up nor
down provided a means of escape; thus, this passage was
one that remained unused.
Until now.
Very slowly, the moon’s cool, silver light trickled down
the path from above, offering Charlotte a reprieve from the
darkness. She watched Ash and Jack’s tall silhouettes crest
the steep corridor ahead and then disappear from view,
leaving Charlotte to gaze at the bright orb of the full moon
that hung in the night sky.
Afraid the light would give her away, Charlotte dropped
to her hands and knees and crawled the remaining distance
up the path. Her fingers curled over the lip of the corridor,
which dropped down abruptly onto the rock shelf. Charlotte gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth, silently
cursing herself for letting her surprise get the best of her.