Between knife training with Papá, different political events, my usual duties around the house, and wedding planning, I couldn’t get away the next day. By the following afternoon, my impatience was nearly boiling over, leaving me like a bot with a short circuit.
“I’ll see you tonight, Kyra,” Papá called from the other room before leaving for his lunch appointment.
“Goodbye.” I was in my room with my sketchbook in front of me, scraps of paper and fabric littering the floor. While most brides bought a premade dress, I was determined to design mine myself, but with the wedding three weeks away, I was running out of time. And while Geneve and I had already made the bulk of it—the basics that would be the same no matter what—I’d insisted on coming up with the finishing touches myself.
Papá poked his head back into the room and fixed a stern glare on me. “Be careful and keep your gloves on.” Which was code for No Slipping. “I shouldn’t have to remind you how dangerous it is to leave your body unattended. Anything could happen to you.”
“I know.” Thankfully, he didn’t repeat the rest of his lecture from last night about the dangers of Slipping or the necessity of keeping it a secret.
After another minute, the slamming of the door announced his departure.
I counted to one hundred, then raced to the entryway. Outside, the bright morning sun revealed the flowers in the garden rustling in the breeze and an empty pathway leading to the road. Perfect.
Returning to my room, I changed into the same cotton tunic, linen vest, and leather pants as before. There was little I could do about the materials’ finer quality and make, but at least they helped me blend in.
I pocketed my watch and thimble and slid my favorite knife into my boot since I didn’t have a skirt to hide my leg sheaths. Papá had given me this knife to me for my eighteenth birthday before turning down my request to go to AIR U. But the terrible memory associated with the gift didn’t dull its sharp edge or throw off its excellent balance.
Cogsley wheeled into the room and started to clean up my mess. “Is there any assistance you require?”
“No,” I grunted as I exchanged my skirt for breeches.
“When your father returns, shall I tell him you went out garbed in unusual attire?”
“No, you should not.” I grabbed a pair of short brown gloves from my bedside table, plopped Mamá’s old top hat with her favorite pair of goggles on my head, and left my hair hanging down my back. “If he asks about me, just tell him I went for a walk. Nothing more,” I added over my shoulder as I ran to the front door.
I couldn’t help the smile that took over my face as I hustled down the road that led from our estate to the main road. Though I could’ve had one of the server bots drive me in a steamcab, the Annandale cabs drew too much attention and walking felt like another way of exerting my independence. Our estate was in the Tenth Chime, along with all the other elites and those with old money who had more land than they knew what to do with. To get to the Iron Watch, I had two options. I could either cut through the Ninth Chime, where most of the high-class merchants and government buildings were, cross the Steele, and then continue through the residential areas in the Eighth until I reached the Iron Watch in the Seventh. Or I could head straight east through the Tenth to the Epoch Clock, then go south to the Seventh. Either way, it would be at least an hour of walking, which would give me time to clear my head and enjoy my freedom. Since the Iron Watch was fairly close to the city center, I headed to the Epoch Clock.
The wind whispered its encouragement as I walked, like it was proud of me for finding a way to finally help people. Eventually, I wanted to tell it to stop being so proud of me, because it was making my hair a mess. Maybe leaving it down had been a mistake. I untied the scarlet ribbon from the brim of Mamá’s hat and used it to tie my hair back low on my neck while I thought about what I’d planned to say to Detective Atwood.
My resolve had hardened while I slept until I couldn’t imagine not helping him with the case. Not only might it have something to do with my family personally, but this was my chance to be like Mamá. Following in her footsteps wasn’t as black and white as going to university. I didn’t have to attend classes or have the same professors; I just had to live like she had. Now my small rebellion of Slipping had a purpose: to catch a killer.
I just had to convince Detective Atwood I could help. Revealing my secret completely was out of the question, but maybe I could convince him with a partial truth. The thought of telling anyone anything about my ability made my stomach tighten, but I pushed my nerves down as best I could.
As I made it to the edge of the area around the Epoch Clock, the smells of the city grew stronger. The fishy scent of the Steele. The pungent tobacco stench from the factories drifting from the First Chime. The sweet doughy aroma of fresh steamed buns from the street vendors. Overhead, an airship floated under one of the arched bridges connecting two buildings. They were fascinating to watch, but I trembled at the thought of riding on one—I hated heights.
I ducked my head at a couple walking past. The woman’s cotton dress and the man’s crisp button-down shirt and tweed pants were all well-made, though nothing compared to Geneve’s handiwork. And they didn’t look twice at my attire. They inclined their heads at me and kept walking, appearing not to give me a second thought. The Epoch Clock was a gathering place for those from different Chimes, but it was much more common to see those from the Lower Chimes walking. I grinned at my anonymity. I could be anyone. Do anything.
I made it to the Epoch Clock, where the gurgle of the Steele grew louder where it split into two as it continued south. The Epoch Clock had been built on the narrow piece of dry land where the river branched. On days when big political events happened, like the upcoming debate, the market shut down.