The Tinker King

by Tiffany Trent

  But the sea in all its vast scarlet tossing was beautiful and wild. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Bayne to grow up with this sound in his ears all day, with the sharp salt winds. There was a great power in this wind. She felt it singing all around her, but she had no idea how to use it.

  She leaned her elbows on the hewn balustrade and looked far out to where she imagined Newtonia waited. And Piskel’s grasslands. And who knew what else.

  For a second, despite her earlier misgivings, she longed to cross that ocean and escape whatever fate surely awaited them in Grimgorn. Even if by some miracle Charles was just as he said, there were still Ximu and her armies to contend with. The spies on the Sullen Harpy were a clear sign that the xiren had followed them, and who knew how many might have been on board that they’d missed? She shivered.

  There had to be a way to prevail against Ximu. Just as there had to be a way with Charles. She still found his tale nearly incomprehensible. But, through it all with the Manticore and the Heart, she had always believed that there was a path she couldn’t see. And now was no different. She just had to find it.

  Her thoughts unreeled until at last exhaustion forced her into the bed. Her final morbid thought: if the cordial had been poisoned, at least she would die in luxury.

  Water splashed, and Vespa opened her eyes. At first she couldn’t recall where she was, and then the memory settled over her like a stifling blanket. The airship. Scientia. Charles.

  She threw off the coverlet and sat up. A maid was refreshing the water in the washbasin and refilling the fruit bowl. Her gold-flecked glance took Vespa in and held her there.

  “You might want to get up,” the girl said. “You’re expected at dinner in an hour and Kraken only knows what the Regent will do if you’re late.”

  The notion of a formal dinner with Charles sounded less than appetizing, but she swung out of bed. Her own smell followed her. It had been a while since she’d bathed. She looked at the dirt and ashes in the creases of the sheets in embarrassment, and realized that all she owned was on her back. Not that she’d had much in New London, but she’d at least had a change of clothes.

  She followed the maid to the bathing room, where it seemed a legion of maids waited beside tubs of magically warm water beneath a domed ceiling. Under the dome it looked as if the old tiles had been ripped out and replaced with a mosaic of a Wyvern rampant. They bathed and scented her and dressed her hair and brought an elegant green gown with matching green-dyed deerskin slippers for her to wear. The fabric under her fingers was very fine, certainly evered in the seams and pleats.

  Vespa had put up with this long enough. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t wear this,” she said. “You must find something that isn’t evered. You do realize this is against the edicts of our Empress?”

  The maids said nothing, but they whisked the garments away. What they brought back was much plainer—an ill-fitting, gray daydress surely meant to shame her—but Vespa wore it with pride. At least she knew with certainty that none of her friends had died to make this garment. She sadly couldn’t say the same for the myth-heated baths. She’d ask for unheated water next time, though she shivered at the prospect.

  When all was done, the maids led her back through the twisting, arched halls and broad stairs of Grimgorn to a small but sumptuously appointed room. No attempt at conversing with any of them brought more than a smile or a whispered answer. When she asked if any of them knew where the Elementals had been housed, they simpered at her and would say nothing. She was concerned, deeply concerned.

  The maids left her at the entrance. She went in a little uncertainly, all her defenses at the ready. All the luxury and beauty here put her on guard, especially since she knew much of it was illegal. There was a forbidden Refinery here somewhere. The room was draped with tapestries of the old conquests of House Grimgorn and filled with display cases of antiques that the Grimgorns must have collected over centuries. Everlanterns made their all-too-familiar circuits around the room, lighting everything with a soft, steady glow. It reminded her of nothing so much as the Emperor’s Cabinet of Curiosities into which she’d followed Bayne what seemed ages ago.

  Under a pillared dome, long, low tables and couches with intricate, eversilk-embroidered cushions had been set up. The tables were crammed with arrangements of flowers and food, a veritable jungle of feasting from sugared dates and figs to vast fish cooked whole, their scales gilded for the table.

  Bayne lounged in the same coat he had been wearing earlier, though it looked as though it had at least been brushed. He was talking to his brother and Olivia, and Vespa noticed Olivia’s gown was as plain as her own. Apparently, they’d all forsworn the evered garments. Nevertheless, the sight of Bayne made Vespa’s breath catch, especially when he looked up from the plate of figs the three of them were sharing and smiled at her.

  Charles came to her side then, and Vespa stepped as far away as was humanly possible. “You do not seem to be wearing the gown I sent for you, Pedant Nyx.”

  “Eversilk is illegal. As is all this,” she said, waving her hand at the trappings of the room.

  Charles nodded. “A regrettable necessity for which I beg your forgiveness. I shall explain all of that soon enough.”

  His reactions confused her. She had never known him to regret anything.

  “I . . .”

  Luckily, Olivia came to her aid.

  “Vespa darling, come sit with us, if you please. Excuse me,” she said. Olivia pulled her away while Charles bowed.

  “I could see you were in want of rescue,” Olivia said.

  Vespa smiled tightly, glancing at Charles, who seemed to be pacing the room. “Yes.”

  Olivia looked at her with concern. “You don’t seem well, dear.”

  Vespa thought that the Empress didn’t look entirely well herself. She still was very frail, and her skin seemed to have a permanent gray tinge to it. There was a slight hum as Vespa leaned in close to her, like a mechanical whirring. She had thought often about what Doctor Parnassus had said, and it still made no sense to her. What could an Artificer do to help her? She realized she’d not yet mentioned it to Syrus, so intent had they all been on getting to Scientia. She would have to speak to him about it as soon as she could.

  “I doubt any of us are entirely well at present,” Vespa said.

  “Indeed,” Olivia conceded.

  Bayne and Arlen looked up as Olivia and Vespa settled near them. They were playing some sort of peg game, and Bayne was clearly losing. It was the illusion of perfect family tranquility, belied by the unspoken tension in every gesture and glance. Finding out the truth was uppermost on all their minds, but none of them dared ask their questions aloud.

  Then she heard Olivia’s indrawn breath. She followed Olivia’s gaze to Syrus.

  “Darwin and all his Apes!” Vespa said before she thought about it.

  “My, my,” Bayne said. “Our Tinker boy cleans up well.”

  “Yes,” Olivia said. She was clearly unable to look away.

  Syrus stood rather stiffly at the entrance to the room. Vespa would not have recognized him if Olivia hadn’t first. He wore an old-fashioned black frock coat and a scarlet cravat. His hair had been carefully sectioned and braided in rows that fell around his shoulders. It was a sight better than the patched clothes he normally wore, but Vespa wasn’t surprised that he had also refused the evered garments the servants of Grimgorn had no doubt tried to give him.

  He came toward them, walking a bit unsteadily in stiff boots.

  “Your Majesty.” He bowed to Olivia. Piskel peeked out from behind one of his braids. Vespa was glad to know that some things didn’t change. Truffler slipped out from behind Syrus and climbed up on the divan next to Vespa.

  Olivia seemed to have recovered herself sufficiently to incline her head. “Artificer.”

  “Very nice,” Bayne said.

  “They took my clothes,” Syrus said, speaking through gritted teeth. “This was all
they could manage that wasn’t evered.”

  “I think it suits you very well,” Olivia said, smiling shyly.

  Syrus said no more at that.

  Bayne made room for him, and they all seated themselves. Vespa noticed that though there was food on the table and more coming out by the moment, no one seemed to be doing more than picking at bits of fruit and cheese or sipping wine.

  “Are we waiting on something?” she asked Bayne.

  He made a move on the pegboard against Arlen. The boy was pale and withdrawn, and had the same pinched expression the people of Scientia had shown when they’d ridden through the gates.

  “I think there is one more guest,” he said, “though I’m not entirely certain. Arlen mentioned we were waiting on someone special.”

  “Hm.” Vespa felt if there were any further surprises today, she didn’t think she wouldn’t be able to handle them. She had never considered herself overburdened with delicate sensibilities, but she admitted she would not have minded retiring to her bed for the foreseeable future over everything that had happened.

  Charles stopped pacing and cleared his throat. “Well, then, while we’re waiting, I hope you’ll allow me to welcome Your Majesty to Grimgorn. We shall have a more formal welcome with the rest of the court tomorrow, but I thought perhaps this more intimate venue where we could chat would be more appropriate.”

  Olivia inclined her head slightly.

  Charles avoided looking at them but stared at some distant point beyond them, as if it had opened a portal into his past. “You all despise me. I understand this, but before you pass judgment, please hear my tale.”

  Glances flew around the table, with no one knowing quite where to rest their gaze. Bayne had that guarded expression that made Vespa wonder if he was calculating what would happen if he sent Charles up in a puff of smoke. She wondered if she needed to remind him that now that the Grue was out of Charles, he was fair game. She was sure Bayne had thought of it. She was also sure that Bayne would never do such a thing.

  “I returned here from Old London worn and weary from my struggles with the Grue. The Grimgorns remembered me from the ill-fated events in New London”—Syrus coughed at that—“and took me in. I fell in love with the eldest daughter of Lord Grimgorn, Lady Artemisia. I was deeply honored when the Duke allowed me to take her hand in marriage.”

  Bayne nearly leaped over the table. Only Olivia’s cool hand on his arm kept him in place.

  Charles glanced at him, twisting the ring on his finger. Then he continued.

  “It was not long after that word came of the Empress’s edict banning all myth. Like dutiful citizens, we tried to enact this, but at a terrible price for Scientia. Not long after, a plague swept through the City, caused no doubt by the lack of myth-powered sanitation and exacerbated by a lack of reliable medicines.”

  He met Bayne’s eyes. “Many, many died. Nearly all of the noble family, including my beloved Artemisia. Only Arlen survived because we sent him away to the country house before the worst of it hit.”

  “Liar!” Bayne shouted. This time he rose from the table. He slammed his fists on it, and Vespa could see them glowing with magic.

  “Bayne.” She tried to calm him, but he shook off her hands. She tried to speak inside his mind, but it was such a maelstrom of anger that she couldn’t break through.

  “Pedant,” Olivia said, her tone like ice. “Please be seated.”

  Even that strong admonition didn’t faze him, until Arlen said, “It’s true . . . what he says.”

  Bayne glared at him, his face so griefstricken, Vespa had to look aside. She had often wondered how he’d felt about his family and whether they had been close before the wedding fiasco with the Virulens. He had never spoken of them after his disinheritance, and she’d been afraid to say anything that might give offense. She saw Charles watching him in that moment. Though his expression seemed nearly as careworn as Bayne’s, there was still a calculating gleam in his eyes that Vespa didn’t like.

  “How can it be true?” Bayne asked. “How? Why did no one alert us in New London?”

  “We tried. Evidently, our messages never reached you. And regardless, it was wise of you not to come to our aid; it’s likely you would have spread the sickness to your City, which has enough of its own problems.”

  Syrus sat back against a pillar, arms folded across his chest. “And so how did you stop it?”

  “When the Duke passed the signet to me on his deathbed and asked me to be Regent for Arlen, I had to make a critical decision. There was stored myth in the warehouses. We used it to provide medicines, heat, and sanitation. People recovered. We are using the last of that store of myth going through winter, and we will create no more. And while I regret the need, in many ways there was no choice. Ruling is difficult.”

  “I’m sure,” Syrus said.

  Bayne didn’t say anything. He was simmering, and Vespa was just waiting for him to fully explode.

  “Ruling is indeed difficult,” Olivia said. “But our edict stands. You must find another way, stored myth or no. The use of this source is offensive to those in our realm who have lost their kin to its production.”

  “I feel the same, Majesty,” Charles said. “We already have plans to that effect. Plans I will reveal in the demonstration tomorrow.”

  He turned back toward Bayne. “Rise, please,” Charles said.

  Vespa thought Bayne might tackle him at that moment. He rose slowly, fury lining every muscle of his body.

  “I won’t make you kneel, though that’s typical for this sort of thing,” Charles said. “I’m guessing you would incinerate me if I tried.”

  “I still might anyway,” Bayne said.

  “You may want to wait until I’ve at least given you this.” Charles slipped the signet off his finger and held it out toward Bayne. “I’m passing on the Regency to you. Whether Arlen wants to reinstate you to the fold and allow you to be Duke, I leave that up to the two of you to decide.”

  Vespa tried to suppress a gasp. She had been sure that Charles would do everything to retain power over Bayne, including using the seal as a goad.

  The ring glimmered as Charles held it out for a long moment before Bayne finally took it, bowing slowly.

  Charles bowed, but it was to Vespa that his gaze went as he said, “I hope you can see by this gesture of goodwill that I mean you no harm.”

  Syrus snorted and was abruptly shushed by Olivia.

  Then there was absolute silence except for the click of Bayne’s boots on the floor as he returned to his seat.

  He slid the ring onto his finger as Arlen curled close to him.

  Vespa thought she heard the boy whisper, “I want you to be Duke again, brother.”

  Bayne bowed his head over Arlen’s. “Later, dear boy. Later.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “I believe our other guest of honor has arrived. Enter!” Charles said.

  Everyone looked toward the door, and a man entered who was the most well dressed of them all. He sported wavy, black hair cut short at the back and sides in a peculiar way. His snapping black eyes surveyed all of them without emotion. He wore a smartly cut coat and embroidered waistcoat with a contrasting gray silk ascot.

  Charles moved to greet him.

  Vespa knew who he was long before Charles announced him.

  Tesla, patron saint of New London.

  Olivia had said the note they’d found was signed “NT.’ ”

  Nikola Tesla.

  Saint Tesla.

  Vespa suppressed a gasp behind her hand.

  The room was echoingly silent.

  Saint Tesla had returned.

  CHAPTER 19

  Saint Tesla,” Vespa breathes beside me.

  I’ve seen his face on some of the old books and church pamphlets from New London. There was a statue of him outside the Church of Science and Technology chapel in Lowtown, though it had gotten knocked from its pedestal during the Rousing. Still, I remember that face
, and I know how the Cityfolk had once revered him.

  Bayne and Olivia are also staring at him in wonder.

  “Ladies, gentlemen,” he says, bowing to all of us. Truffler makes a sound of approval. Piskel sneaks cautiously out from behind one of my braids to peek at him.

  Charles makes hasty introductions, ending with Olivia, whom he introduces as the Empress of the Known Lands. “She has just joined us from the capital, New London, which is apparently under siege even as we speak. Isn’t that so, Your Majesty?”

  “It is.” High color comes into her pale cheeks at the hidden slight.

  “This New London,” Tesla says. “They say an experiment of mine brought it here by accident. But I have no recollection of such an experiment, nor any recollection of the man they say is responsible for funding and aiding me in it.”

  “That would be John Vaunt,” Charles says, “our previous sovereign, who was tragically killed last year.”

  Vespa glares at him, and Piskel buzzes angrily beside my ear until I whisper at him to stop.

  “Yes, that one,” Tesla says. “Perhaps I shall meet him in the future, then. Funny thing, Time.”

  “Maybe you should drop a boulder on his head when you do meet him and save us all the trouble,” Vespa mutters next to me. I cover my mouth with my hand to keep from laughing out loud.

  “So,” Bayne says, “tell us how you came to be here, sir. I should very much like to hear this. I presume Charles here has told you that we are on the brink of war. He brought you at a most inopportune time, I should think.”

  Tesla’s gaze darts between Bayne and Charles, and he swallows. “Well, I . . . have heard something to that effect. But hopefully my demonstration tomorrow will render your worries obsolete.”

  Tesla’s accent interests me. There’s a lilt there that I don’t recognize.

  I look around the table. From their expressions I can guess that they are remembering a similar demonstration that took place a year ago and how that turned out apparently none too well for anyone.