“These came from Nautilus’s ship,” Honorine said. “If I can at least figure out how he’s using them, then maybe I can find a way to use them to our advantage.”
“That seems reasonable,” Astraea said with a nod. “Use his own weapons against him. Are you going to be able to do it?”
Frustration bubbled up in Honorine’s stomach, rising through her chest and into her shoulders, before causing her cheeks to flush bright pink.
“I don’t know,” she muttered.
Astraea looked around uncomfortably, tilting her head, which made her look more birdlike. “You seem discouraged,” she said.
“Of course I am!” Honorine replied. “I can’t help you. I can’t help Francis. We’re running out of time to catch Nautilus!”
Astraea nodded again, her face remaining blank. She was never particularly warm or comforting, and her attempts to be helpful or supportive only made her seem more rigid and difficult to talk to.
“Perhaps this isn’t the way,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the field of little copper bodies and jointed brass legs.
“This is the only way,” Honorine said, pushing back from the table and crossing her arms. “For me, I mean. I don’t know what else to do, besides try to work out how to stop Nautilus’s machines. But this is the closest thing I have to Nautilus’s machines, and he didn’t—”
She stopped herself. She was about to say he didn’t even build these, but no one on the Carina besides herself knew that these bees had been made by Francis, and something in her warned, harsh and stern as Agnes ever was, to keep that information to herself for the time being.
“He didn’t… make these very… easy to understand,” Honorine finished, fumbling through an obvious lie.
Astraea’s eyes remained as cold and steady as ever, as her brow slowly crushed together in an uncomfortably suspicious expression. She seemed about to ask further questions that Honorine most likely couldn’t answer, when a tremendous crack of thunder rang outside the study walls. Lord Vidalia stirred in his chair, waking with an interrupted snore.
“What was I saying?” he mumbled, sitting up and patting the desk in front of him, as if having woken from a dream of filling out paperwork.
“You weren’t saying anything,” Astraea replied. “We’re descending, and we should probably assemble upstairs to see why.”
Astraea flitted ahead, swooping up the stairs and out onto the deck. Honorine lagged behind, waiting for Lord Vidalia to rise unsteadily from his chair and make his way up the stairs with stiff, labored steps. His health seemed much worse without Sirona around to provide tinctures and remedies, but he rarely complained. This time he seemed particularly slow, his steps dragging, his grip unsteady on the handle of his cane.
“Have you had your tea today?” Honorine asked, reaching out a hand to help him over a rather tall root at the foot of the steps.
“Yes, I have,” he said, taking her hand instead of waving her away. His fingers felt brittle and weak. “Two cups.”
“Perhaps you should have another,” Honorine said.
Lord Vidalia shook his head, then stepped up close, his gaze shuttling from the stairway back to Honorine several times as he spoke.
“Remember what I said when you first arrived. You do not want the Mapmaker as your enemy. He may be away from the ship for long stretches of time, but he keeps a keen eye on us. Don’t let him see what you’re doing down here.”
Honorine frowned. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“Oh, you have been, and now he trusts you, I think,” Lord Vidalia continued. “Don’t give him a reason—any reason—to doubt you. It’ll be the end of you.”
Honorine wanted to protest, but Lord Vidalia wasn’t scolding. He was warning. He patted her on the shoulder as he started up the stairs, taking each one with careful steps.
The Carina was sailing quite low when Honorine and Lord Vidalia stepped out onto the deck. Eridanus was already assembling a compact thunderstorm, the dark clouds flashing with lightning just off the port side of the ship. Below them was a sea of soft, fat clouds, huddled together and barely drifting, blocking out the world. Astraea peered down over the railing, her wings dark silhouettes against the bright clouds.
“Where are we?” Honorine asked as a flash of pale lightning brightened the forest. Eridanus’s storm was drawing closer.
“It should be the eastern Andes,” Astraea said. “Ah yes, look up there.”
Straight ahead, a sharp, dark ridge rose up through the clouds like a jagged black eyetooth. The mountain peak was capped with a temple built from huge beams of dark wood covered in fine golden moss and skirted by wide, grassy paths cutting back and forth across the steep grade of the mountain slope, down into the valleys below.
“That’s Libra’s temple,” Astraea said.
“Already?” Honorine asked. “It seems like we just left the river.”
The bees weren’t ready. She didn’t know what she would do when Nautilus turned up again. She needed just a little more time.
“We’re not terribly far from the coast,” Astraea said, raising her wings to shield Honorine and Lord Vidalia from a spattering of rain.
The Carina slowly circled the temple on the mountain peak. Honorine thought of the images of Libra from Lord Vidalia’s books and journal. She was depicted differently in each illustration, with clothing and features familiar to the people of whatever region she was in at the time. Her constellation was described as the scale, but she was portrayed as a woman in human form.
Though she hadn’t shared her suspicions with anyone else on the ship, Honorine had begun to harbor a small seedling of hope that Libra might be her mother. And from that seed a little sprout began to burst up as the Carina slowed and approached very near the temple where Libra might be living that very moment. The sprout lasted until the ship came to a hovering halt. Even from above, Honorine could see that something was wrong.
Gathered around the temple, on narrow, flat terraces carved along the slope of the mountain, stood elegant houses with stone foundations, beautifully carved timber walls, and windows of wavy glass, each surrounded by little yards of stubby mountain plants. Water flowed down through carved stone channels, filling the reservoirs for the houses along the way. This was not just a monument, but a proper city, built for people to live and work.
Yet there was no one to be seen.
The Mapmaker arrived at the side of the ship.
“Are we setting down?” Astraea asked. “It doesn’t look as if anyone is here.”
The sprout of hope began to wilt and curl, but Honorine took a breath and stared out hopefully over the ominous landscape.
“We need to at least have a look,” the Mapmaker countered. “Libra might very well still be here, holding out against Nautilus. Perhaps she sent the villagers away for their own safety.”
“I don’t like the look of it,” Astraea said, shaking her head and stepping back from the railing. “This could be another ambush.”
The Mapmaker nodded.
“I will go this time. Nautilus can’t do a thing to me, even if he were standing right out there in the courtyard.”
Honorine looked up sharply. “I’ll come as well.”
“No need,” the Mapmaker said, shaking his head. “Nautilus can’t catch you with his machine, but that won’t stop his men from picking you up and carrying you off.”
“But I want to help,” Honorine said, struggling to come up with an excuse to get onto the mountain and see Libra for herself. If she was there but wouldn’t come with them, Honorine might completely miss a chance to meet her mother. “I don’t feel like I’ve done enough yet. I want to be useful. I persuaded Eridanus to join us. I could do the same with Libra.”
The Mapmaker took in an impatient breath.
“Fine, then. We’re already wasting too much time. But hurry. This will be just a quick look around. We’ll know if Libra is here as soon as we get into that temple.”
The Carina dr
ifted toward the jutting rooftop of a house near the peak of the mountain. They hopped across from the ship to the roof, and then made their way up a short rise to the foot of the temple. It was as quiet and dead as the rest of the town. The ground was covered in a great circular wash of burned grass and ash, spreading up the steps to the temple’s open arched doorway. Lines of flags strung over the courtyard still fluttered in the thin air, their edges singed and blackened.
In the precise center of the great circle of ash, two small footprints stood out, the grass dead and white beneath.
“Well, I think we can stop looking,” the Mapmaker said. His eyes flashed the color of lightning, and his fists tightened at his sides, the blue star pulsing on the top of his hand. “This is the last place she stood upon this earth.”
He stepped cautiously around the perimeter of the ash, careful to keep his boots from touching the singed grass. Honorine briefly explored the courtyard and the steps to the open door of the temple. Inside, she could see gray stone statues and brilliantly colorful weavings hanging on the walls and across the ceiling. But there was no Libra. A tug in her heart told her the place was barren and deserted.
“How very curious that Nautilus managed to get all the way here and then back to Eridanus before we could even reach the coast,” the Mapmaker said, standing at the foot of the temple steps, directly in front of Honorine.
“That airship of his must be very fast,” she replied.
“Or he knew where we were going,” the Mapmaker continued. “But how could that be possible?” He reached out toward Honorine and opened his hand, revealing a copper bee resting on his palm. “Maybe this had something to do with it?”
It suddenly felt very cold on the mountain, and it wasn’t the altitude or Eridanus’s storm rolling overhead. It was a fear shooting through Honorine from the inside out, threatening to swell into a panic.
“Could be,” Honorine said, trying to look as if nothing was wrong, while her heart pounded so anxiously that she began to feel light-headed.
“And what does it do?” the Mapmaker asked.
“It… it finds Mordant,” Honorine said.
“Do you know how?” the Mapmaker asked. “I know you’ve been tinkering with these, down in Lord Vidalia’s study. And I’m guessing you don’t want to tell me what you know.”
“But I do,” Honorine said, taking a half step back from him. “I only wish there was something to tell. Nautilus uses those to track Mordant, but I don’t know exactly how he uses them. I’ve been trying to figure out—”
“And what if you’re wrong?” the Mapmaker snapped. “What if you’ve made a mistake, and these are telling him everywhere we’ve traveled, and where we are right now?”
“Well, I suppose I could be,” Honorine said. “But then he already knows. So we might as well try to figure out how he’s doing it so we can find a way to fight back, right? Isn’t that what we’re trying to do?”
“Of course,” the Mapmaker said, and his tone made Honorine pause, just for a moment. His eyes had returned to a calmer blue. “That’s a perfectly reasonable plan. But you see, I am responsible for everyone on the Carina. Which means I need to know what’s happening, because I can’t protect us from what I don’t know. Do you see?”
Honorine swallowed, her cheeks still flushed and warm, and nodded, looking down at the charred ground and the stark footprints in the pale grass.
“Someone else is telling you not to trust me,” the Mapmaker said. “That wolf and I have never been square.”
Honorine shook her head. “Lux hasn’t said anything against you. No one has. I just haven’t had much occasion to trust anyone, in my life. It’s as new to me as flying forests or talking wolves or mechanical bees.”
The Mapmaker, after a pause, gave her a faint half grin.
“Yes, well, I suppose being raised as you were, there wasn’t much around that couldn’t be taken away. But I would never take anything from you, Honorine, to be petty or controlling. I would never keep you from something, or someone, without reason.”
The heat flushed hotter in her cheeks, and she looked away again.
“What, the boy? Francis?” the Mapmaker asked. “I haven’t done a thing to harm him, Honorine, I swear—”
“No, I know that,” Honorine said. “You’re right, you haven’t kept anything from me. But the others have.”
The Mapmaker looked from Honorine to the ground with a puzzled expression that eventually faded into realization.
“Ah, your mother,” he said. “Yes, I suppose that is something you would want to know.”
“Of course,” Honorine said.
“I can tell you this. She is not Libra.”
The seed of hope withered, but it was almost with relief. If Libra wasn’t her mother, then her mother could still be out there, somewhere in the world.
“Does that help?” the Mapmaker asked. “Do you trust me, just a little bit more now?”
Honorine nodded. The Mapmaker nodded in reply.
“Well then, I feel I can trust you with this,” he said as he handed her the bee. Honorine clutched it in her hand and nodded again.
The Mapmaker pointed at the footprints outlined in the ash. “With Libra gone, there is only one left. Sagittarius, the archer. The muse of Defense. The good news is I believe I know exactly where he is. The downside, however, is that if Nautilus gets to him before we do, he can use the archer to defend his ship, and we won’t be able to stop him.”
“Well, the longer we stay on this mountain, the farther Nautilus gets from here,” Honorine said.
“Quite right,” the Mapmaker replied. “So we’d best get going. We are now in a race for our lives.”
Honorine gave it her very best, most genuine, and thoroughly sincere effort, but she found that she did not entirely trust the Mapmaker, not even after he returned the bee. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him. She just didn’t think, after much consideration, that he had been entirely truthful with her since their meeting in the dark greenhouse many weeks ago.
She did not say this to the Mapmaker, nor anyone else on the ship. Instead, while the Carina raced to reach the archer first, Honorine settled back into the study to work on the mechanical bees and her own personal theories on what exactly was happening around her.
Her first concern was the Mapmaker himself. She believed he was rightly alarmed about Nautilus’s ability to hunt and capture the Mordant. She also believed that he wanted Nautilus stopped, yet she had seen him send a wave high and strong enough to nearly capsize the Gaslight with only a gesture of his hands. An ability of that kind could surely stop Nautilus cold, if that was what the Mapmaker wanted. It almost felt as if he was biding his time, waiting for a specific moment, but she could not begin to imagine what that would be.
The other bit she did not completely believe was that the archer was the last Mordant left on Earth, aside from the handful of passengers on the Carina. He might have been almost the last, but there had to be at least one more.…
Her mother.
She had thought about it for hours, down in the study. She didn’t understand exactly why Nautilus would want to track down all those Mordant. Except if it was to find his lost love. This thought buoyed Honorine when she was feeling frustrated with the increasingly uncooperative bee project. Lord Vidalia watched her work intently, though often from a comfortable chair near the woodstove, with a thick blanket tucked over his legs and a cup of tea within reach. Sirona had been doing much more for him than he would admit, but Honorine could see it, as he moved slower, slept more, and tried unsuccessfully to hide the increasing winces and grunts when he moved his old joints to lift a pen or a book or his ever more stooped body.
He was curled in his chair, asleep, and looked more like a knotted length of wood than a man, when Honorine managed to get her first taken-apart-and-repaired bee to fly. Unfortunately, it was in a straight line right into his crown, the little copper projectile striking him just above his right eye before droppin
g onto his blanketed lap.
“Hmm?” he mumbled as he stirred, his eyes each prying open in their own time. “What’s this, then?”
With some difficulty, he picked up the bee from his blanket.
“This seems so familiar,” he said. “Like I’ve seen it before.”
“You have,” Honorine said. “I’ve been working on them right over here for some time.”
Lord Vidalia’s memory seemed faulty at times, and he would ask odd questions or suddenly look quite confused about where he was, or whom he was with. Honorine wasn’t sure how much more serious a symptom this was than stiff hands or an unsteady gait, so she tried to help him along as best she could.
“You made these?” Lord Vidalia asked. “How remarkable.”
“No, I did not make them,” Honorine explained. “Actually, Francis did.”
“Ah, Francis,” Lord Vidalia said with a nod. Francis he always remembered.
“He’s a very good inventor, it seems,” Honorine said.
Lord Vidalia smiled. “He should be,” he said. “Growing up with you. I do hope I might see him again one day.”
“When this bother with Nautilus is over, you will.”
“I’m sure I will,” said Lord Vidalia. “Though he’ll hardly know me. I only saw him as a wee baby. So he’s never really met me.”
“I’ve only met my father once,” Honorine said. “And I didn’t know he was my father at the time, so I suppose it almost doesn’t count, now, does it?”
She imagined that Nautilus would have been much different if he had known who she was when he first met her.
“Well, if you do see Francis before I do,” said Lord Vidalia, “tell him to look up the story of the Stolen Fire. From mythology. If he’s read anything from my study, he’ll know it.”
Honorine looked up, suddenly hit with a strong but cloudy memory.
“I’ve heard of that before,” she said. “You wrote it in your—”
She was about to say journal, but Lord Vidalia interrupted her.
“And do give your mother my regards, if you should see her first,” he said as he set the bee down, pulled off his blanket, and prepared to get to his feet.
The Star Thief Page 13
