The Conjurer's Riddle

by Andrea Cremer

  “Bromley, yes,” Caroline murmured. “But before the boy became . . . Grave, he was Bromley’s son. A sickly boy?”

  “Very sickly,” Charlotte said. “He died.”

  Caroline drew up a chair alongside the table and gestured for Charlotte to sit.

  “But Grave lives.” Caroline tapped her chin with her index finger. “That’s quite the puzzle. To be honest, Charlotte, I don’t know if it’s a puzzle that we can solve. Do you understand how this inventor, Bromley, revived your Grave?”

  Did Ashley withhold Bromley’s revelation about the Book of the Dead? Does Mother know that Meg joined the Sisters in the Temple of Athene in the hope of learning more about Grave’s creation?

  “I’m inclined to believe it doesn’t matter,” Caroline went on. “How he came to be might be much less relevant than what he is now.”

  “He’s a person,” Charlotte blurted.

  Caroline leveled a cool gaze on her daughter. “I never said he wasn’t.”

  “I just meant . . .” Charlotte was tongue-tied. Of course her mother would disapprove of such an outburst. It had been both unnecessary and disrespectful. “I don’t like it when people treat him like a thing.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” Caroline replied. “You’ve made it clear that Grave is a friend to you. And that’s good. But Ashley told me Grave is different. I’m not denying that he’s a person, but I am acknowledging that he boasts qualities unknown to most people. And part of what serving the Resistance includes is gathering any intelligence that may be relevant to our struggle—even things that appear strange or unlikely to bear weight on the outcome of this war. We know that Hackett Bromley was taken into Imperial custody shortly after your encounter with him. If the Empire deems Bromley a person of interest, then we must assume his work, and Grave’s existence, are important to the Resistance as well.”

  Charlotte nodded, despite the stubborn persistence of her hesitation to speak about Grave.

  “Strength.” Caroline paced in front of her. “Imperviousness.”

  “Yes.”

  “Grave remained with you when Ashley left,” Caroline said. “Is there anything else you’ve observed in the time that’s elapsed since you parted ways with your brother? Anything more that sets him apart?”

  He doesn’t sleep. He never tires. He thinks about his actions. He is loyal. He has a conscience.

  “No.”

  “Still . . . ,” Caroline said quietly and to herself, lost in thought.

  The sound of boots striking the metal grate of the staircase snapped Charlotte’s mother from her musing.

  “The other officers will be arriving soon,” Caroline said. “But I’ve arranged for someone to show you the rest of the Tower. Someone who’s very eager to see you.”

  “I don’t know if I’m fond of the word ‘eager’ as a defining quality of my character.” The quip came from the door.

  Charlotte went rigid. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm.

  Why does it have to be here? Why now, with my mother?

  Swallowing hard, Charlotte opened her eyes and smiled up at her mother. Then she stood and turned to face Jack.

  HE HADN’T CHANGED. The face smiling at her had the familiar impish cast Charlotte knew so well. She’d missed it. She’d missed him.

  Charlotte gripped the back of the chair, hoping to rid herself of the nervous energy surging through her.

  A part of her wanted to run to Jack and throw her arms around him. It was a relief to see him, to know he was safe and well.

  But Charlotte’s other inclination was to run from Jack as swiftly as she could. She wasn’t ready for this encounter. She didn’t know how to be near Jack, given the things that had happened on the river with Coe. She didn’t know if she was ready to forgive him for deceiving her. For pledging his affections to another.

  “It’s good to see you, Charlotte.” Jack’s voice had a catch when he said her name.

  “Thank you.” Charlotte let go of the chair. “I’m glad you and Ashley arrived here safely.”

  More footsteps rang against the metal in the corridor. Jack stepped out of the doorway and into the room just in time to let a man with thick silver hair and a mustache pass through.

  “Captain.” Caroline inclined her head. He responded with a curt bow.

  Charlotte was waiting for her mother to introduce the captain when Caroline spoke again, to someone following behind him. “Commodore.”

  “Commander,” a familiar voice answered.

  No.

  No. No. No.

  This isn’t happening. I’m caught in a dream. A terrible, terrible dream.

  “I didn’t expect to find you here, Charlotte,” Coe said. “You’re making an impressive leap up the ranks.”

  “Hello, Coe.” But it wasn’t a dream. He was walking toward her.

  Coe gave a polite bow, then clasped her hand in both of his. “How do you like the Daedalus Tower?”

  Charlotte glanced at her mother and saw Caroline’s eyebrows rise with interest. Charlotte quickly stepped back.

  “I have yet to see all of it,” Charlotte said. “But my mother has arranged a tour.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Coe smiled. “Though I’m sorry for such a brief meeting. May I call on you this evening?”

  “I—”

  Jack coughed loudly.

  “And here’s another surprise,” Coe said, sounding much less enthusiastic about Jack’s presence.

  “Athene’s blessings on you, brother,” Jack said in a wry tone. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to take up your time. Are you ready?”

  Coe looked at Charlotte. “What’s this?” His voice had an edge.

  Charlotte was startled when her mother answered.

  “I’ve asked Jack to take Charlotte through the Tower,” Caroline told Coe. “It can be overwhelming at first.”

  “It can.”

  Caroline fixed Coe with an expectant look, and Coe joined her at the table.

  Jack had already ducked out of the room, and Charlotte found him waiting for her on the landing. Two more officers, a man and a woman, came up the stairs. They greeted Jack before going to join their peers. The door closed and Charlotte stood alone with Jack.

  For what felt like ages, they simply looked at each other. Then Jack moved toward her.

  “Don’t.” Charlotte backed away. “Please don’t touch me.”

  Jack stopped, looking terribly awkward with his arms half raised. “If that’s what you want.”

  I have no idea what I want.

  “You’re supposed to be introducing me to the Daedalus Tower,” Charlotte said.

  Jack frowned. “Can’t we at least talk?”

  “Do you really want to talk here?” Charlotte glanced at the closed door, then wiggled her fingers at a passerby on the stairway below.

  “I—” Jack leaned against the railing. “No. I suppose not.”

  “Then show me this place, so I won’t get lost,” Charlotte said. “I’m sure you can find someplace along the way that’s more suited to a private conversation.”

  Jack brightened, and Charlotte’s heart crumpled. She was only delaying the inevitable, but for the moment it would have to serve.

  “Follow me, dear lady.” Jack spun on his heel. “I could not bear it should you become lost in these halls.”

  “Ugh.” Charlotte folded her arms across her chest and fell into step beside Jack.

  He lowered his voice. “To be honest, they all go on about how confusing and intimidating the Tower is to newcomers. It is nothing compared to the Catacombs.”

  Charlotte laughed, but immediately wished she hadn’t. She wasn’t ready to invoke their shared past or indulge in nostalgia about the home they’d lost. She glanced at Jack and saw a shadow passing over his expression as well. He
glanced back at her.

  “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he said, all teasing gone from his voice. “And that you made it here. I wanted to go out to search for you, but the officers wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “They were right,” Charlotte said. “It could have exposed all of us. A Dragonfly combing the countryside wouldn’t have gone unnoticed.”

  “I didn’t care,” Jack replied. “I had to know you were all right.”

  “I am all right.” Charlotte needed to cut off this line of conversation. “You haven’t told me anything about where we are or where we’re going. I will definitely get lost if you don’t start doing your job.”

  Jack gave her a withering look, but he dove into an explanation of the Tower’s layout. Serving as both a refuge for the Resistance and a defensible position in the event of direct assault, the Daedalus Tower had been designed to provide everything needed for day-to-day operations and to weather a long siege. Links to the city and the Quay channeled supplies into the Tower. Air shafts and repurposed piping brought light and air into an otherwise austere space. Despite the presence of people moving from one floor to the next and in and out of doors, the inside of the Iron Wall was so gaping that it gave the impression of emptiness.

  As they descended the stairs, Jack explained that, other than the War Room—where the officers were meeting—the third floor served mostly bureaucratic functions: relaying intelligence, archiving records, managing accounts. The second floor exterior wall was lined with hatches. Jack opened one. The light from above shone on massive artillery.

  “All of the hatches lead to gun wells?” Charlotte gasped. The Tower truly was equipped to repel an assault.

  Jack nodded. “The guns and the operating capsules are anchored to the wall. The outer doors are kept oiled but opened only when absolutely necessary for maintenance. The Resistance believes the Empire does not know about the gun wells, and they want to keep it that way.”

  They descended to the bottom staircase, and Charlotte learned that in addition to the living quarters, the first floor was home to a basic foundry for metalwork and munitions productions and the tinkers’ workshop.

  “Scoff will be disappointed there’s not an apothecary,” Charlotte said. Perhaps that was a recommendation she could give her mother. While some of Scoff’s experiments were bizarre, he had real talent. With practice and refinement, he could make important contributions in the form of his tonics and elixirs.

  “The Resistance prefers to work with apothecaries by contract,” Jack replied. “Apparently it wasn’t always that way, but somewhere along the line the decision was made that having an apothecary in the Daedalus Tower posed more risk than reward.”

  As they neared the workshop, Charlotte slowed. A barrage of sounds emitted from within—whirs, clicks, buzzes, whizzes, jingles, jangles, pops, and hisses—along with the acrid scent of smoke and charred leather, layered in strength from dangerously recent to faint and stale. Curiosity made Charlotte pause and peek inside.

  In the Catacombs, Birch often had the workshop to himself, with Pip appearing on whatever days she styled herself his apprentice. The workshop Charlotte now entered was far from a space for solitary creation. Tinkers crowded the room, hunching over tiny contraptions that they concentrated on through magnifying goggles, soldering components that would eventually form a gun, poring over schematics for surveillance equipment, consulting with one another about recent innovations.

  She wondered if Birch would welcome the change or feel burdened by the presence of so many others in his workspace.

  “Charlotte!”

  Pip came bounding down the corridor.

  “Jack!” she cried again.

  Pip jumped up and Jack caught her, swinging her around in a circle. She laughed and hugged him, and Charlotte was a little envious.

  “How are you, Pip?” Jack batted at her pigtails. “Keeping Birch out of trouble?”

  Pip grinned, nodding. “We came to see his aunt. She has blue hair. Scoff’s gonna try to make a tonic for me so I can get it too.”

  Charlotte smiled at Pip. Envisioning a role for the enthusiastic girl was easy enough—she’d been Birch’s de facto apprentice in the Catacombs for almost a year. Making that an official relationship would be the most logical step in the development of her skills. But would it better serve Pip to separate her from Birch? She obviously adored the tinker and they had a strong bond, but sometimes comfort and familiarity undermined growth and innovation. These were considerations Charlotte would have to weigh before making her recommendation.

  Birch, Grave, Scoff, and a spindly woman whom Charlotte assumed was Aunt Io came up the corridor at a less energetic pace. Aunt Io’s hair was not only blue, it also shimmered and sparkled, giving the appearance of a river of sapphires cascading down her back. Blue hair was only one of several distinguishing features. Birch’s aunt had two pairs of goggles pushed up onto her forehead, and another dangling around her neck. She wore a leather apron similar to the kind Birch donned when he was working. Thick-soled boots reached past her knees, and gloves with blackened fingers stretched well past her elbows.

  “Aunt Io.” Birch grinned. “I’d like you to meet Charlotte and Jack.”

  Charlotte thought she’d never seen Birch so happy. If Pip were to suggest that he skip up and down the corridor, Charlotte wouldn’t have been surprised to see him do it.

  “Everyone here knows Jack,” Io said, with a flap of her hand. “But this is the girl who hacked her way through the forest to get here? It’s a pleasure.”

  “I’m glad to meet you.” Charlotte didn’t want to be rude, but she couldn’t quite take her eyes off the length of Io’s tresses.

  Io followed Charlotte’s gaze and chuckled.

  “Observant, this one is,” Io said to the others. “Go ahead, ask your question.”

  Charlotte hesitated. “I don’t want to give offense.”

  “You won’t,” Io replied. “Go on.”

  “Given your vocation,” Charlotte said, “doesn’t your hair present a hazard?”

  “Well, yes, it did.” Io pulled off a glove and gathered her locks so they fell over her shoulder. “But I like having long hair. And I don’t like wearing it up. Wearing it up always gives me a headache.”

  Charlotte decided against asking how wearing her hair up gave her a headache when wearing multiple pairs of goggles did not.

  “I complained about it to a friend of mine who happened to be an alchemist and apothecary.” Io smiled wistfully. “And he suggested I make it fireproof.”

  Scoff made a strangling sound. Pip stared at Io’s blue hair in awe.

  “He came up with the mixture,” Io continued. “I drank it. And then we tried to set my hair on fire.”

  Jack began to cough violently, but Charlotte suspected it was to hide a fit of laughter.

  Io tossed her hair back over her shoulder with a flourish. “His experiment was a success! My hair is completely fireproof. And the side effects weren’t bad at all.”

  Scoff had managed to recover, but where Pip was mesmerized by the color of Io’s hair, Scoff looked at it with the pained expression of an artist who’d just come upon a skill he believed he could never master. “What side effects?”

  “Well, the color, obviously.” Io put her glove back on. “And it doesn’t grow anymore. It doesn’t fall out, but it doesn’t grow. Oh, yes, and for about a month if I ate anything with lemon in it, my face developed purple stripes.”

  “Is there any way you could introduce me to your friend?” Scoff was grabbing tufts of his hair and tugging on them, his eyes wild. “I have a lot of questions. And some theories I’d like to discuss with him.”

  “You’re a budding alchemist, then?” Io asked.

  Scoff nodded. He was still giving mad tugs on his hair. Charlotte was fairly certain he had no idea he was doing it.

  �
�I wish I could introduce you,” Io sighed. “But I’m afraid dear Albion blew himself up years ago.”

  Scoff turned a shade of green not unlike Pip’s hair.

  “He actually blew himself up?” Birch asked. “I always thought those stories were exaggerations.”

  “Mostly,” Io told them. “And he might not have blown himself up. We only found the feathers.”

  “Feathers?” Scoff squeaked out the word.

  “He was working on an elixir that he hoped would allow him to transform into a bird at will,” Io said in all seriousness. “And I sincerely hope that’s what happened. I still scatter seeds in the Garden every Saturday, in case he’s there. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to assign my nephew a workstation. I am ecstatic over what he did not only to aid a poor little beast, but in doing so, also to gain a marvelous companion.”

  Charlotte gave Io a puzzled look, but when Birch’s aunt clucked her tongue, Moses crawled out from beneath her waterfall of hair.

  “I’ve never been so enchanted by a creature.” Io scratched beneath Moses’s chin with the tip of her pinky. “My nephew is brilliant and pure of heart.”

  Birch ducked his head, his cheeks reddening. “I just wanted to help him.”

  “Of course you did.” Io beamed at her nephew. “And you will continue to do great things now that you’re here.”

  She put her arm around Birch and steered him into the workshop. Pip trotted after them; Scoff stumbled.

  Grave, who in his usual manner had been observing the conversation in silence, smiled at Charlotte. “She’s very strange. I quite like her.”

  Still somewhat bewildered by Io’s tale, Charlotte made an affirmative noise.

  “Hello, Jack,” Grave said.

  “Grave.” Jack shoved his hands into his pockets, doubtless mindful of how much Grave knew about his troubled relationship with Charlotte.

  Charlotte broke the awkward pause by saying, “Do you want to come with us, Grave?”

  She knew Jack was glaring at her, but she ignored him.