“Meridian Lambkins is dead?” I repeated the words numbly. I’d just seen him at the debate last week—the same debate where someone had tried to kill Papá. But that man was behind bars now. He couldn’t hurt anyone.
Liam lowered his voice. “A pair of officers went to arrest Meridian Eliver. There were a few pieces of evidence linking him to the death.”
“Is that where Detective Atwood went?”
“No, Detective Atwood is tracking down a lead. His reaction was a little strange when he heard about the murder.” Liam scratched his head, revealing graphite-stained fingers.
“Does he think that Meridian Lambkins’s death is related to the other murders?” It was preposterous to think we might have caught the wrong person. We weren’t just following some clues and hoping we’d caught the right suspect. I’d seen that man murder those people with my own eyes. There was no doubt in my mind that he was our culprit. But...what if he hadn’t been working alone?
Liam looked around, then pulled me into a small office down the hall. “I don’t know. He was at his desk for a while going over the old case notes.” He paled. “Actually, don’t mention that to anyone. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that he’d reopened the file.”
“Why not?” A trickle of foreboding slithered through me.
“The higher-ups closed the case once we caught that man at the debate.”
I reached a hand into my pocket and held Mamá’s thimble. “Why would they do that? We’re—you’re still lacking so many answers.”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, reminding me he was a sketch artist and not a typical Blue Cape.
If only I hadn’t told Hiram not to contact me anymore. But, of course, I’d had no way of knowing something like this would happen. I’d assumed the case was closed just like everyone else had—well, everyone but Hiram.
“Where is Detective Atwood now?”
Another shrug. “He rushed out the door after studying some notes.”
“Alone?” Cold dread slithered through me like spilled oil.
Liam shrugged. “He doesn’t have a partner assigned at the moment, and he couldn’t very well take someone with him when he isn’t supposed to be investigating that right now. I’m sure he’ll be fine, though,” he hurried to tack on after a glance at my face.
“Did you hear anything else?”
“I think he said something about ‘a target’ as he rushed out the door.”
Did Hiram think that Meridian Lambkins had been the target all along and it wasn’t Papá the murderer had been after? After all, Meridian Lambkins had been at the debate that day too. It made sense in a way. If Meridian Eliver had hired someone to kill Lambkins, that was less competition for him. Maybe Papá would’ve been next. Why had I thought it was Papá the man was after?
I thought hard, then remembered the man’s comment about those who use the misfortune of others. I’d assumed he was talking about Papá because he’d just talked about helping the Lower Chimes as part of his speech, but Papá hadn’t been the only one to mention them. Meridian Lambkins had also brought it up in his opening remarks.
I curled a hand into a fist around the thimble. Papá had never been the target from the beginning. I’d been wrong and had let my fear for my family cloud my judgment.
And if I was wrong about this, the odds were good that I was wrong about other things as well.
Liam frowned. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, but I have to get back to work.” He looked around worriedly. “You won’t tell anyone what I told you, right?”
I put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a small, forced smile. “Your secret is safe with me, Liam.”
He blushed a little, then stumbled into a desk on his way through the room.
If Hiram believed Meridian Lambkins had been the target all along, then that meant Meridian Eliver was somehow connected to the man they arrested before. And if I was wondering about it, surely Hiram had been too.
As casually as I could, I meandered to Hiram’s desk and perused the papers on it. There wasn’t much there. Being the fastidious person he was, he’d probably been careful to put the case folder back in the records room. And considering how I had no escort, no aether key to open the file cabinet, and no connection to the case anymore, I doubted I could get back there.
A notepad on Hiram’s desk caught my eye. Most of the page had been ripped out, but a few words remained on the sliver left behind. It read Vault. Epo—
The rest of the words were gone. I looked around, sucked in a deep breath as I prayed not to get pulled into a Slip, then pulled off a glove and felt the indentation left from the quill. The indent on the paper spelled out Epoch Clock.
“Hey, what are you doing over there?” an officer called to me.
“Oh, sorry. I was going to leave Detective Atwood a message, but I changed my mind.” I pulled on my glove and hurried out of there before anyone else could question me. Surely none of them would be as helpful as Liam. He’d given me more than enough to think about.
In the distance, the Epoch Clock chimed fourteen times, reminding me that I only had a few hours until tonight’s charity dinner with Papá, not that I could imagine sitting next to him and pretending everything was fine right now. But I also couldn’t miss it with how much negative press we’d been getting.
I should go home and get ready, but my curiosity about the Epoch Clock and Hiram’s mysterious lead ate at me. I’d promised Desmarc I wouldn’t see Hiram again, but that was because I’d believed the case was closed. Now that I knew it wasn’t, it changed everything. If necessary, I’d help the Blue Capes again, but this time I wouldn’t keep it a secret.
I could make this work. I just needed to find Hiram, keep it professional, then explain to Desmarc that the case wasn’t closed. I left the Iron Watch and turned down the street leading directly to the center of town. A steamcab rumbled past, so I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled. It would take less than an hour to walk to the Epoch Clock, but time was of the essence.
The steamcab rolled to a stop. “Take me to the Epoch Clock, please,” I told the driver, jumping inside.
“Aye, miss.”
We clattered over a bridge that spanned the river while I tried to connect the dots between the Bartholomew’s vault to the Epoch Clock. Maybe the family had finally come back and he was meeting them there.
Once the cab arrived at the roundabout surrounding the Epoch Clock, I jumped out and tossed a knob at the driver, shouting “Thank you,” over my shoulder. I darted around a few pedestrians and charged into the roundabout around the market.
Steamcabs surged around the street, their gears whirring and pistons pumping rhythmically as they occasionally used their horns. A rush of wind brushed against me as I narrowly avoided someone on a hovercraft.
“Get out of the way!” the driver shouted.
“Sorry,” I called without looking back. After a few more harrowing close calls, I made it to the clock. This close, whir and ticking was audible even from outside the clock. I climbed the steps leading to its base, then walked in a slow circle around the black edifice while I scanned the crowds for Hiram.
Women in petticoats and leather, men in top hats and goggles, steamcabs and hovercrafts and pedestrians. People were everywhere but none of them had Hiram’s bright eyes and blond hair.
Over my head, the minute hand on the Epoch Clock moved again, the clank of the metal and grinding of the gears extra loud.