The clock from the vault sparked something inside me, and whatever marginal downtime I had over the next few days were filled with rigorous sketching. Or maybe it was the relief of finally knowing Detective Atwood had caught a break in the case. Either way, I’d finally finished the design for my dress.
I held the sketch at arm’s length, examining the pen strokes of my masterpiece. The gown was perfect. A clockwork bodice of tiny rings with a skirt of leather, organza, and lace.
I copied the design onto a fresh sheet of paper, then made notes for Geneve. With only two weeks to the wedding, I was pushing things, but as long as I found a metalworker willing to build the mechanical parts of the dress, we could finish the rest between us.
“It’s time for lunch,” Cogsley said from the doorway.
“All right.” I stood and stretched.
When the bot didn’t move, I looked up and said, “Was there something else?”
“There’s a message for you in the siphon. Would you like me to bring it to you?” she said in a monotone voice.
“No, thank you. I was heading that direction anyway.” I stood and stretched, then pulled on my satin robe and slid my feet into a pair of matching slippers before padding downstairs. It was probably one of the girls from last week’s dinner party with Papá inviting me to some social event or another.
As I walked down the hall, I could faintly make out Cogsley muttering to herself, “Why does she insist on making a mess of the room every single time?”
I pulled my robe tighter as I walked into the server bot’s charging room, where the cold from the floor crept through the soles of my slippers. A fire burned in the kitchen as one of the server bots cooked breakfast, but the heat’s warm fingers hadn’t yet reach here.
“Who could it be?” I muttered to myself as I reached for the brass pipe on the right. The one on the left was Papá’s, and a small light blinked above it as well, announcing that Papá also had new messages. Flipping open the bottom of my pipe, a small glass bottle with a scroll of paper inside fell onto the desk with a quiet clink.
Before I read it, I sent off my finalized design to Geneve, adding a note asking if we could push back our monthly visit to the Lower Chimes to deliver clothes until after the wedding. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have much spare time to make extra clothes between now and then since I needed to complete my wedding dress and the final preparations for the ceremony.
With that off my circuit, I focused my attention on the new message. I broke the seal on the paper and unrolled it.
Poppy,
I pulled a few strings to receive a copy of your aether chip so I could check on you more discreetly instead of sending a note to your house again. I wanted to make sure you were all right after the incident with your father the other day.
P.S. Attached, please find a copy of my aether chip you can use to respond. I would appreciate it if you would do so with haste.
-H.A.
I smiled as I shoved his note in my pocket and studied the blue chip about the size of my thumbnail. After pulling a piece of paper from the desk, I scribbled a reply, keeping my message as vague as his. Clearly, he didn’t want to go over any details unless we were in person.
H,
I paused for a moment and stared at the letter. It felt weird to be calling him H, because that was practically the same as calling him Hiram, which felt far too intimate. Yet writing H.A. as an address felt too formal and writing “Detective Atwood” completely ruined whatever anonymity he’d been attempting with his note when he’d failed to sign it.
Shaking my head, I pushed away my reservations and penned on.
I appreciate your concern. Everything is all right on my end, though it’ll be a little while before I can easily leave the house. In the meantime, I’d love to know if you have any updates for me.
I hesitated a moment, debating between signing with a K or a P. The first felt strange after he’d already called me Poppy, but if I signed P, that would just encourage his nickname. With a firm nod and a flourish, I signed K.
I rolled the letter tightly and sealed it with a drop of wax. I almost pressed my family ring into the seal before I caught myself. I wasn’t writing the detective as Kyra Annandale, but merely K. I used a basic seal, put my message into the glass container, then placed the tube inside the pipe. I slid Detective Atwood’s aether chip into one of the empty niches next to Desmarc’s—his and Geneve’s were the only other aether chips I used regularly—then sent the message.
If we didn’t wrap up this case before my wedding, would Desmarc be all right with me working with the Blue Capes? I had no intention of stopping, but I also didn’t want to put a strain on our marriage from the beginning.
My stomach growled. I pushed aside my worries and made my way to the dining room, where Papá sat at the long table, reading the paper.
“Hello, Kyra.”
“Papá,” I said stiffly as I took a chair in the middle of the table.
A bot wheeled over to me, its tiny steam engine puffing like a mechanical heartbeat. It poured me a cup of tea, and steam rose from the china cups, bringing with it the scent of chamomile and honey.
“What are your plans for the rest of today?” His paper rustled as he turned a page.
“I’ve been working on the design for my dress all morning, and this afternoon I have another meeting with the wedding planner.”
“Good.” Papá finished his tea, then poured himself a cup of coffee. He must’ve had a late night. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than ever before. Despite my frustration with him, a twinge of concern ran through me.
“Are you doing all right, Papá? Do you need to talk about anything?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He waved a hand, dismissing my worries. “Let’s make sure we stay on top of the wedding preparations. I don’t want there to be any issues.” Papá looked at me over his cup, his gray eyes sending a silent message: No more spending time with the Blue Capes. Don’t do anything to draw undue attention. Don’t mess up this wedding.
“You aren’t the only one with something to lose here, Papá.” It’s not like I wanted to ruin my engagement with Desmarc.
We ate the rest of the meal in a strained silence.
“Would you like to go to the training room together?” he asked as I stood to leave.
“Right now?” I raised a brow. “I thought you were busy.”
“I need a break.” He stood and pushed his chair back, watching me warily.
I hesitated a moment. Papá and I had hardly talked since our outing together, and while I was still upset about his refusal to answer my questions, there were other things I wanted to talk to him about—like his platform for the upcoming debate.
“I’ll change and meet you there.”
A flicker of relief crossed his face before he spun and left the room.
I returned to my room and changed clothes, then joined him in the training room attached to the back hall. A massive cogwheel mural decorated the only wall not adorned with targets, dummies, and weapons. I closed the door, then crossed the space to one of the polished wooden workbenches that held a variety of blades.
Papá leaned against one wall, watching to see what I’d pick.
The session had already begun.
I studied my options, running a gloved finger across the smooth brass handles: a robust blade with a clip point for slashing and cutting, a double-edged dagger with a wickedly sharp point that was perfect for close-quarter fights, and a straight-edged blade with a sharply angled point for stabbing through tough materials.
But I wasn’t in the mood for any of that.
I lifted a throwing knife off the table, testing the balance and admiring the symmetrical design. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the Lower Chimes.” I tried to keep my tone as nonchalant as possible. He didn’t like it when I reminded him of Mamá; I’d have to be careful how I went about this.
“Oh?” He didn’t move from his position against the wall, still studying me silently.
“My visits to the Lower Chimes with Geneve don’t feel like enough these days.” Nothing I did before felt like enough anymore.
I spun around and hurled the knife at a contraption standing near the far wall that resembled a clockwork dummy. Its articulated limbs could replicate human movements, but for now it was still, and my knife pierced it in the stomach a few inches from where I’d hoped.