The Gadgeteer

by Gin Hollan

  // Chapter 4 //

  After a fruitless day pulling the automaton’s head apart, and a run back to the place she’d first seen it to track its origin point but failing, Arabeth was no closer to understanding how it worked. All she’d found was a mess of colour-coded wires, a pair of clear glass tubes holding what seemed to be gem fragments, and a primitive circuit board. She needed a way to read that board, but it was unlike anything she’d seen before.

  There had to be a trigger for the fighting, and this seemed the most likely choice. Normally civilized people didn't just break out into block-wide brawls, then stop and go on with life as if someone hit a switch.

  She needed more information. She'd even revisited the place where Dawson died, but the area had been scrubbed clean. Maybe Melanie would share some information. Arabeth and Marble hurried to the station.

  Samuel Hicks stood at the station counter. Not that it bothered her, but she'd hoped Melanie would be working. She ought to be, since it was a weekday during normal business hours. Arabeth knew Hicks wasn't giving her any information, but she tried nonetheless. She glowered at him as he stared back, face expressionless.

  "You should go home and gadgeteer up something interesting."

  "I would, but I can't focus. You have to have a theory."

  "Not as yet."

  "You're being … uncooperative. Have there been new attacks today? It's all calm at the sites where they happened yesterday. I need to help."

  "No, you don't." His posture reinforced what he said.

  At this rate, she would have to build her own grid map and plot out what she already knew about the attacks, then wander around, hoping to catch sight of one in progress. That was actually a good idea, she thought. Sort of.

  "Have it your way, Hicks. I have other sources."

  "Come on, Arabeth. People are being killed out there. You don't want to be one of them."

  "Come on, tell me, what's today's region? You don't want me walking in there by mistake, right?" She bit her lip, and immediately blushed at such a childish antic. He was worried, but he had to see reason.

  "Stay out of it, Abby. We're figuring this out. I know you won’t stay home, but wouldn’t this be a good time to finish off a few projects? When the city is safe again, you’ll hear. There's no mystery that's worth risking your life over."

  "The city isn’t safe. That's exactly why I want to help." She shrugged. "I'm not a detective, but I have related skills. It's my life, my loss." She leaned forward again. "If the bounty program really shuts down, my mother is going to find a way to marry me off again. You know I can't let that happen."

  A look of concern flashed across his face but he stared at her, saying nothing. It was a little unnerving, but she wasn't going to back down.

  "All right. I'll see you later, Hicks." She spun to leave, ensuring that Marble made it through before the door slammed behind her. She winced a little, inwardly. He was worried—justifiably, she supposed. But now she'd wasted too much time trying to convince him.

  So, where was Melanie, anyway? She'd missed her last three shifts.

  The door opened from behind her.

  "Wait," Hicks called out. "I saw that look. What are you going to do?"

  She shrugged as she walked away, raising her arms out at her sides but not turning back.

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to face him. "No. Arabeth, seriously. This is not someone who is trying to avoid notice. This is someone who wants the newspaper front page. Killing a ... a pretty, rich widow could be the exact target they want."

  "I don't dress like that. There is no way they'd know."

  "Wait. I'll go with you."

  "I haven't said I'm going out."

  "We both know you are. Wait for me."

  She heaved a sigh. Building her map and plotting out the current incidents wouldn't take long, then yes, she'd be out again. As long as he understood it was her map, and her life, he was welcome. A second pair of eyes might come in handy. He’d been out of her life for seven years, and he seemed to be making up for lost time. This would have been annoying, if she hadn’t missed his company so much.

  "If you get to my workshop before I'm done the map, then fine."

  "That's not waiting."

  "But it is a compromise. If you bring today's addresses, that would be a great help." It would also be worth waiting around for.

  The barest shadow of a smile flashed across his face. "Agreed."

  A sense of comfort sat on the edge of her mind. She pushed it away, not sure why it existed. Comfort was not something she wanted. It was an illusion.

  "There's something I need to talk to you about, too," Hicks said. "Business related."

  "Can you tell me now? I have time."

  "You're not going to like it."

  "It's about Harbertrope, again, isn't it?"

  "In a way." He paused, seeming to consider how best to say it. "The bounty program is officially shut down as of Friday."

  "Do they think it's not effective? They should lift my quota!"

  "I'm not sure why. I'll try to find out, but Harbertrope knows we're friends. He may not say. Honestly, there aren't many people willing to do the job. It may also be that he fears your parents and what they can do to him in political channels if anything happened to you on the job."

  "That's ridiculous." She sighed. "There's nothing else I'm suited to."

  "Do you need a job? I mean, you're one of the idle rich. You can do anything. Why do that?"

  He had a point, but she wanted to work her way out from under her parents’ financial wing. Working for compensation was the only choice she had.

  "Call it validation."

  He chuckled. "It makes you happy?"

  "Right. That."

  He nodded. Fiscal compensation was a security he understood.

  "I'd better get back inside."

  She smiled. "I'm sure someone is screaming for you by now."

  Laughing, he turned but stopped and looked back at her.

  "I'll be at your place as soon as I can break away here. Wait for me."

  "Sure, sure." She waved him off. "Go before you get fired."

  Back home, Arabeth fed Marble and went straight to her workshop. What sort of map would be most useful? Paper and tacks? Forget the tacks—she’d want to carry this one. Pen would make marks less likely to rub off than pencil. Best to start simple.

  She unrolled a large map of the city across the workshop floor, wishing she had a table big enough to keep her from sitting on the cold tiles. One by one, she marked where she knew attacks had happened. The early reports showed attacks spread around the city, not clustered. That wouldn't be overly useful without a pattern. She needed more recent information.

  Her mind wandered back to the conversation with Hicks. What had she done to earn Harbertrope's ire? She didn't fit into a neat box. Was that his problem? It was lunacy, the lengths he would go to in order to get at her.

  Slapping her ruler down, she decided to avoid the station until things calmed down. If only for Hicks's sake. He was right; it wasn't like she needed the money. And she had the Dawson case to keep her busy. She wanted to convert Marble's tracker so that it would be wrist-mounted, too.

  This would also give her time to work on her kinetic energy manipulator. She had it down to half the size of conventional boilers and coal-burning setups. It was far safer than either of those options, but there were a few kinks in the design still. If she could get that sorted, and build it into a self-contained apparatus, it would generate power indefinitely.

  Tinkering felt good. That device was her big project before her family guilted her into getting married, and it was one of the few devices her husband hadn’t been privy to. He'd sold almost all her other patents to fund his own projects, most of which were screaming disasters.

  Was that why he'd wound up at the bottom of a mining shaft, bones shattered from the long fall, dead and cold seven years ago? Had he borrowed from loan sharks? Or was it an experiment
gone wrong? No one knew, or if they did, they had refused to tell her. She was only the widow, afterall, not a detective, not a constable.

  She stepped back from the table. The map was as up-to-date as it could be without new information. It didn't look overly useful just yet. She needed more.

  A knock on the lab door gave her an excuse to stop thinking about it. She expected Hicks, so when the door opened to reveal her mother, she frowned unintentionally. Quickly correcting her expression, she smiled and walked out, locking the door behind her.

  "You locked your fox in," her mother, Carol, said. "And you are far too private these days. You need to re-enter society soon and your reputation needs fixing."

  "She has her own door." Arabeth pointed to a small opening in the wall, a few feet down. "Nice to see you, but a bit of a surprise. Is something wrong?"

  Arabeth walked to the sitting room nearest to the exit and sat, emotionally bracing herself as her mother joined her. Her mother was brilliant at business, but rarely included her in any of those talks. Translation: her parents wanted something from her.

  "Yes, dear. Your father is bearing some grief over your antics, and we need you to settle down and choose a respectable life."

  "They're not antics. It's my occupation." Arabeth's gut flipped once. She couldn't tell them the bounty program was being shut down. "And that sounds egregious." Her sister, Maralise, joined them at the table, setting down a short stack of papers.

  "As you probably know, your mourning period is about to end. We want you to remarry," her mother said, flipping the papers over to reveal pictures of eight men. "I have been told that each of these men are highly eligible bachelors."

  Wait … should she be surprised? No, she reminded herself; this was how her mother worked, and Maralise learned this sort of thing fast.

  "I'm not obligated to remarry, and I have no intention to do so. If I were to remarry, I already have a candidate."

  "You can't be serious," Maralise said. "You're talking about Mr. Hicks, aren't you?"

  "It's him or no one." Shrugging, Arabeth sat back in her seat. "You can relax, though. I'm not remarrying. Once was enough. It's your turn."

  "I don't care who it is. There is a lot at stake," her mother said. "And you will remarry."

  "What could possibly be gained by my marital status?"

  "You have an inheritance coming due in two years, when you turn thirty. The condition is that you have to be married."

  "From who?"

  "There is a trust being held by my parents’ lawyer. My firstborn has to be married to get that estate, and either have a child or be with child by the time they turn thirty. Now that you are out of mourning, you need to think forward. There are plenty of orphans you could adopt, but the marriage certificate cannot be forged."

  "And if I'm not, what happens?" she asked out of morbid curiosity, knowing this would irk her mother.

  "It is turned over to Betsy, with the same stipulations."

  "That would be good, actually. She needs it more than I do."

  Her mother clamped her mouth shut and Arabeth could tell she was scheming something.

  "I would consider remarrying, to someone that actually loved me, not my money. I think I deserve that much, after what happened with Matthew."

  "Life is not fair," Carol insisted.

  "Unless we insist," Arabeth countered. "I won't be a barter chip again. Once was more than enough."

  "Come on, Bethy," Maralise started. "Marriage is just a contract. No one expects love to be part of the deal. Take a lover. That's what all the modern women are doing. Men have been doing it for decades."

  Arabeth frowned. Her sister was definitely up to something.

  "What's in it for you?"

  "The peace of knowing my sister is financially set? Can't it be as simple as that?"

  "Not with you, and marriage is more than finding someone whose flaws you can live with or hide from," Arabeth countered.

  "Well then, fine," their mother interrupted. "I would like to hear your parameters."

  This was unexpected. Arabeth had been stalling, trying to draw out their true agenda. She suddenly had to come up with something.

  "I want someone who is my age, or very close. He can't have children yet. I want a clean start. He has to pass medical tests of my choosing, and he has to be financially independent of his family."

  "That's it?" Maralise said. "There must be hundreds of men who fit that."

  She cleared her throat. "I'm not done. He has to not only accept my crafting, but stay out of it or be a Maker himself. He needs a history of celibacy, too. I won't see anyone who frequents prostitutes."

  "I have my own requirements." Her mother pulled out a sheet of paper. She'd already drafted the newspaper engagement notice. "He will be well-featured in business and in private life to enhance our own status. He must also be willing to cooperate with us in business ventures, accepting my judgement in those matters."

  Arabeth didn't care about those. "He must also pass Father's inspection."

  Her mother bristled at that.

  "He can't be bothered. You know that," Maralise scoffed. "I can't think of anyone who meets both yours and mother's requirements."

  "I'm not locking myself into another life contract unless all of my parameters are met." She knew for a fact that her father preferred Hicks, though she didn't know why. "Mother's requirements are her own."

  "Fine," Carol nodded.

  Her heart jumped at the small victory but she didn't let it show.

  "And I'm the one who makes the final decision," she finished.

  Maralise frowned. "We're doing this for you, you know. We have other things we could be out doing."

  "I doubt that very much." Arabeth shrugged. "It's Maralise's turn to wed. Until then, I don't want this mentioned again."

  Maralise sat back in her chair, surprised.

  "Meeting a few eligible bachelors won't hurt anyone. One of them may intrigue you." Her mother pulled a picture out and turned it to face Arabeth. "This man has already approached me, with an interest in you. I believe you're acquainted."

  She recognized his face instantly and shuddered. He was half the reason she’d gotten married in the first place—he pursued her with an unhealthy interest. He was after her again? A wave of nausea washed over her, pushing her up out of her chair.

  "Tell him no. Feel free to use the words 'never' and 'over my dead body.' We're done here." She turned and stood, not waiting for an answer. "I have work to do."

  There was a knock on the kitchen door frame.

  "Sorry to interrupt." Hicks walked in and gave Carol a slight bow. "Greetings Mrs. Barnes, Miss Barnes. I hope you've been well."

  "Well, enough. Thank you. How are your mother and her new family doing?"

  "She is busy." Even a stranger could feel the ice in his voice when he talked about her. He looked at Arabeth. "I have more points for the map. Is this a good time?"

  "Yes, perfect."

  Thankful for a mandatory transition to her workshop, she smiled, not noticing the concerned look exchanged between her mother and sister.

  "Thank you for the visit, Mother. Carol. I'm sure my current project would bore you, so I'll let you let yourselves out." How long had Hicks been in the hall before he knocked? One of these days she'd like her family to visit just as a visit, but somehow they always had a scheme going on.

  "Remember, daughter, this society is built on relationships," said Carol. She glanced in Hicks's general direction. "Families rise and fall on these arrangements."

  Cringing, Arabeth shot her mother a warning look, implying they should leave Hicks alone. Mother wasn't actually talking to her. This was an attempt to put Hicks in his place and to create a barrier he couldn't breach. She'd heard that line her whole life. That rhetoric was how she’d gotten stuck in a loveless marriage in the first place. 'Love will come in time,' they’d told her. 'That's how it works.'

  What a load of rubbish. Maybe she should throw hersel
f into Hicks’s arms while her mother and sister looked on. Maybe she could give him a nice, long kiss while she was there. As unladylike as it was, she did consider him eminently kissable. She cleared her throat, hoping she hadn’t been staring at him while she thought that.

  In the workshop with the map spread out on one of her larger worktables, Marble walked the table and Hicks hovered, penciling in new information.

  Could she ask him if he would pretend to be her fiancé, just to shut her mother up, or would that be cruel? He was a good man and a better friend, even if he didn't fit her mother’s criteria of a suitable match. He’d been interested in her, back when they were too young to know better, but she was too obsessed with her gadgets and her grandfather’s projects.

  As they looked the map over she stole glances, wondering why Hicks had never married. He certainly had his appeal. He could be charming … at times. He was better looking than almost any other guy she’d seen.

  Even in these modern times, a broken engagement would hurt his reputation. She wouldn’t do it. He might want to marry, and she wouldn’t be his impediment. It would be better for her to go on a few blind dates and convince the men she was never, ever marrying again, thank you very much.

  “Look,” he said, tracing his finger around an area drawing her out of her thoughts.

  “Hey, that looks like it’s forming a pattern, Hicks."

  "You know, when we're alone you can call me Sam. We are friends, after all."

  She felt a blush rise up her face and bent closer to the map to hide the colour.

  "I mean, we are friends, I thought," he said, half-teasing.

  "Can we focus on the map, please?" She ducked her face, hiding her flushed cheeks.

  Hicks leaned forward and pointed to the southwestern corner near the river. "I think we should start there."

  "It is oddly untargeted," she agreed.

  She suddenly recalled the document Matty had handed her that showed her family house and several devices. What if the sketch only coincidentally resembled her home? Contractors liked repeating blueprints. Familiarity helped the crews build faster, better. Still, she needed to check it out.