Wings of Sorrow and Bone

by Beth Cato

  “What is this hullabaloo?” Miss Arfetta swept over, her face a dark storm cloud. “You girls, spying on us?”

  “Best let Mr. Cody know,” said one of the men.

  “Best let me know what?” Mr. Cody’s voice boomed from the entrance. “That my two youngest guests decided to explore the premises?” He glanced behind him. “Go fetch Mrs. Stout.”

  Tatiana curtsied as Mr. Cody approached them. Rivka followed Tatiana’s example.

  “It’s very good to see you, Mr. Cody,” said Tatiana. “This laboratory you created is a marvel!”

  One of his hands rested on the great swell of his gut, which was barely restrained by a red vest. “Well, yes, but—­”

  “I had heard you were making another chimera, but it’s amazing to actually see the process.” Tatiana clutched her hands to her chest.

  “I don’t perform for audiences!” snapped Miss Arfetta.

  “I didn’t invite them down here, Miss Arfetta, I assure you.” His cool gaze shifted to Rivka. “This must have been especially educational for you as an aspiring mechanist. That one-­man band upstairs is playing better than when it was new. I hire the best engineers in the city, and you bested them when it came to a mere toy.”

  She kept her chin ducked, unsure of what to say.

  “There you are, my dear!” Grandmother strolled into the room. “Goodness, the tizzy you caused! We have searched here, there, and everywhere!” She embraced Rivka, almost crushing her against the magnificent cushion of her sequined chest. Her lips pressed to Rivka’s ear.

  “Tell the man as little as possible. He’s a rabid mouse in search of any crumb,” she whispered. Grandmother turned in a dramatic gesture to beam at Tatiana. “And you are Alonzo’s sister! My goodness, the resemblance! Blue eyes and all.”

  Tatiana curtsied again, wariness lurking behind a poised smile.

  Grandmother turned her bright smile to their host. “Oh Mr. Cody, I’m so very glad for your help in finding my dear granddaughter. I hope we haven’t been too much trouble. I can walk them upstairs. Tatiana, do you have an escort home?”

  “One of my manservants brought me since it’s after dark. I can send a message—­”

  “Wonderful, wonderful.”

  Rivka glanced at the medician’s apprentice, Broderick, who stood at the back, forgotten in the fuss. He gazed at her, clearly chagrined. She gave him the tiniest of nods. They’d surprised him, so she couldn’t blame him for giving them away.

  Behind him, the torso of the gremlin lay very still in its circle, though it had turned just enough to keep its gaze on her. Rivka ached to hug it, even with all the risk involved, just so the chimera knew it wasn’t alone. That someone cared.

  She cared about the yellow-­flagged little gremlins, too. What could she really do for them? The apprentice had been kind enough to give the large chimera blankets. Surely, he’d take good care of the little ones, keep them comfortable at the end.

  That cart would be emptied tonight, only to be filled again.

  Mr. Cody’s wide grin exposed brilliant white teeth in contrast to his rich skin. Disturbing, really, how most everyone here lied through smiles all at once. “Of course they’ve been no trouble. They’re inquisitive young ladies, dangerously bright. I hope to see you again soon, Mrs. Stout.”

  “I will call on you, Mr. Cody,” she said airily. “Perhaps you’ll need more mechanicals repaired.”

  Rivka turned enough to see the chimera one last time. Its brand-­new arm rose, just a tad, as if to wave her farewell.

  To an Arena audience, it didn’t matter if mechas were destroyed in the process—­they were just metal. Mr. Stout used to rejoice when word spread that jockeys were burned or crushed; he liked it when ­people suffered as he had.

  That chimera was not metal. It knew pain. It had a soul. Rivka could tell, looking in those eyes. Same with the little ones in their cages.

  Grandmother, Rivka, and Tatiana waited together for the lift. “I’m appalled, Rivka,” Grandmother murmured. “Your new dress, spattered in oil!”

  Rivka glanced down. “I’m sorry. I started to work, and I didn’t even think about it.”

  “One must always think of one’s attire! It’s how you present yourself to the public, as important as a smile—­yes, even your smile, dear child. I should note, a smile can disarm someone more readily than fisticuffs, and it will not destroy clothing.”

  “Maybe my next dress should match oil stains,” Rivka muttered, feeling guilty at Grandmother’s waste of money on her attire. She had to depend on Grandmother for too much already—­her private tutor alone cost a fortune.

  “A dress that allows spatter to blend in! Excellent idea.” Grandmother nodded, not sounding the least bit facetious.

  “Mrs. Stout, my brother Alonzo mentioned you when he was here,” said Tatiana. “You were on that airship together?”

  “That airship. One way of describing it though I certainly hope he granted you a more sanitized version of events.”

  The lift lowered into place. This time, an operator manned the station and returned them to the fourth floor. They disembarked into a quiet hallway. The doors that had been locked before were now wide open in wait for them.

  “You girls make your farewells. I’ll proceed to the party to fetch our hats and coats. I trust neither of you will wander again?”

  The look in Grandmother’s eye governed both their responses. “No, m’lady,” they said, almost simultaneously. Grandmother granted them a prim, royal nod and strode down the hall.

  “That was very clever, how you acted for Mr. Cody,” said Rivka. “I thought we’d be boiled meat for sure.”

  “Like your grandmother said, a smile’s a powerful thing. Mr. Cody might not be happy with us right now, but I’d much prefer to have him as an ally.”

  “The gremlins down there. He just creates and re-­creates . . . living things? No one tries to stop him?”

  “Why would they? Mr. Cody’s probably one of the wealthiest men in all the city-­states, and an august, too. He’s not a fellow you say ‘no’ to. ­People love his Arena. They loved his first big chimera, too.”

  “I can’t bear to think of that new one being ridden into the Arena like that. It’s cruel. It’s horrible.” She paused, realizing how that sounded. “I’m not judging your brother for what he did before—­”

  “You’d better not.” Tatiana’s voice had an edge to it.

  “Your brother was put in terrible danger by being a rider, too. That doesn’t have to happen again.” Rivka nodded to herself, decision made. “I need to return to Cody’s laboratory.”

  “Why? To go into the circle again and get your head chomped off? Open up all the little cages?”

  “No. Those gremlins are hurt, some of them wingless. Setting them loose in the city won’t save them. It’s a different sort of cruelty.” So many were dead or about to die. Too many. “I need to fix this. Somehow.”

  That’s what it came down to. Rivka couldn’t tolerate it when things were broken. It made her itchy, anxious with need to get her hands into the guts of a machine and make it work. Mr. Cody seemed to do a good job of making gremlins, but assembling the big chimera . . . he was completing the job, but there was an inherent wrongness to it. Death was supposed to bring peace, and those little gremlins were granted no such consideration. How could a medician even be party to such a thing? Miss Leander wouldn’t be. Rivka was sure of that.

  “The apprentice,” she said slowly. “Broderick. Maybe he would help. In any case, he’d know more about the process.”

  “That’s an idea.” Tatiana clenched Rivka’s bared wrist, her fingers dark against the golden skin. “I bet I can find out where their shop is. We can ask him.” For once, her smile seemed bright and genuine. “I’ll call on you!” With that, Tatiana left in a swirl of skirts.

  In the party
, the one-­man band seemed even louder, the laughter higher, the liveried servants scurrying about like ants. Like Tatiana, many of the guests wore cream-­colored attire; Tamarans certainly loved their trends.

  Grandmother waited by the door. She remained silent until they were farther down the hall.

  “I didn’t have a proper chance to nose around down there. Am I correct that Mr. Cody is in the thick of creating another of his hybrid mechanicals for the Arena?” she murmured.

  “Yes.” Rivka didn’t feel like talking about it with Grandmother. She’d want to meddle and control.

  “Hmm. Those white robes are the signature of a woman trained at Miss Percival’s academy. She must have come after my time.” Grandmother had no magic but had taken sanctuary at the academy through her teen years. “A medician doing that kind of insidious work. My goodness. I tell you what, Octavia Leander would be outraged. She has a peculiar fondness for gremlins.”

  Judging by the big chimera’s reaction to Miss Leander’s name, that fondness seemed to be mutual. Rivka pursed her lips in thought.

  “Tatiana—­Miss Garret—­said she would call on me soon.”

  “It does my heart good to see you make a friend through mischief! Though mind you, that girl’s sharp as a knife with both her wits and tongue. She cuts anyone who gets close. You know what she did to Miss Leander?” Grandmother waited for Rivka’s reaction and nodded as well. “Still, I have to admire the way she handled Mr. Cody. That smile of hers could almost fool me. Almost.”

  “I don’t think I’d call her a friend yet.” Rivka scarcely knew what to make of Tatiana Garret, but she was willing to help with the gremlins. That was almost enough.

  “Whatever she is, if she’s able to pry you from your gadgets for a time, bless her! Oh, I know you have excuses aplenty. You need to pay your way. You need to prove yourself. But you also need to get out! And do lift your chin when you’re in society. You have nothing of which to be ashamed! Well, on that account. That dress of yours is a totally different matter . . .”

  CHAPTER 3

  Days later, Rivka and Tatiana sat together on a train headed south. Tatiana looked at ease, but Rivka could not relax. Mercia’s trams were nothing like those of Tamarania. Their railcar had full-­glass windows, clean floors, clean ­people. No one tried to sleep under the seats or stank of pox or tried to pickpocket or grope. The foreignness of it was disconcerting.

  “That medician, Miss Arfetta, lives on the south end of the isle,” said Tatiana. “It’s a few more stops away.”

  “That far away from the plaza? What weapon do you have?” Rivka fingered the tiny screwdriver tucked into her sleeve. It’d do no good unless someone was mere inches away, but she wasn’t half-­bad if it came to a brawl. Her formal academics may have stopped at age nine, but Mercia had been quite educational in other ways.

  Tatiana gawked. “A weapon? No one is going to bother us.”

  Rivka cast her a sidelong look. “Really. How often do you wander from the safety of the plaza?”

  Out the window, the sky sagged with gray clouds. Raindrops dappled the glass. Airships passed every which way. Their brightly colored envelopes stood bold against the dreary backdrop. Mercia didn’t have colorful airships—­they were too good a target in Caskentia’s constant war with the Waste.

  “The south isle isn’t that dangerous. It’s not like the tenement district where most Caskentian refugees live. That’s on another island altogether. This one is for . . . lower caste. Magi. Day laborers. Tamarans who get their hands dirty.”

  Tamarans held aether magi in good esteem, from what Rivka understood—­they were necessary to run airships—­but it vexed her that other magic was regarded as quaint, the very opposite of science and progress. It seemed idiotic that ­people couldn’t appreciate magic and science together.

  But then, maybe there’d be more ­people like Mr. Cody, too.

  “How long have you lived in Tamarania?”

  Tatiana continued to stare out the window, and for a minute, Rivka wondered if she had heard her. “A few years now. When Mother started to get sick, that’s how she tried to hide it from me. She acted like it was all for my education, of course.”

  “It’ll be nice for her to be here. For you to be together.”

  Tatiana grimaced. Rivka wondered if Tatiana’s help with the gremlins was a sort of last hurrah before her freedom was greatly curtailed. Rivka could understand that, in a way. Tatiana had known years with no parents present, a life of wealth with a household of undoubtedly indulgent servants.

  “It sounds like your mother was very sick. She could have died without Miss Leander’s intervention.” Rivka leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Trust me. Don’t take her for granted. I was very close to my mama. After Papa died in the war, all we had was each other.” Papa, who wasn’t really her father. Her mind could never stop wrestling with that. “I was out delivering bread and making machinery repairs when our building caught fire. Mama was on the ninth floor. I watched from a neighboring tower as our tenement collapsed.”

  Tatiana’s eyes were wide. “There were no firemen?”

  “This was Mercia. The firemen came, eventually. The neighboring buildings paid to be sprayed down with water. My home . . . was mostly gone by then.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’ll be a change for you to have your mother here. I know. My grandmother makes me feel like a bug beneath a boot sometimes, but I don’t take her for granted. I can’t.”

  Tatiana nodded and withdrew closer to the wall, her hands clenched on her lap.

  Rivka sat back. It was strange to speak of what happened. She’d only told the full tale to Grandmother, and that had been especially hard, because of her son’s role. Rivka wouldn’t talk to Tatiana about that. Tatiana lived a different sort of life. She would never understand.

  The tram squealed to a stop. Tatiana stood, and Rivka followed her to the door. Two young women in broad hats whispered to each other as they passed by.

  “She looks Frengian with that light brown skin . . . sounds Caskentian.”

  “That lip . . . should wear a mask. Travesty here . . .”

  That old, festering rage welled in Rivka’s throat, and she ducked her chin, self-­conscious. Soon enough, she’d have money saved up to have her lip fixed. She wouldn’t need to try to hide her face anymore, or deal with these stage whispers.

  She pounded out her frustration on each metal step going down, and by the time they reached street level, she was breathless yet felt better. Brick buildings around them looked old and eroded but in good shape, with windows intact and doorsteps swept. Residents reflected the same shabby tidiness, as mothers with out-­of-­fashion hats pushed prams loaded with babies and groceries. Older-­model steam cabriolets cluttered the streets, as did numerous bicycles.

  The smell struck Rivka as strange. It took her a block to realize why—­there was almost no horse manure in the street, even in a poorer neighborhood such as this. The few horses they encountered were in good health, too, quite a contrast to the bony nags that dragged wagons throughout Mercia.

  Rivka spied a parasol jutting out of a rubbish bun. The stick was wooden and curved. The cloth of the parasol was stained yet mostly intact, barring a few tears near the edge. She pushed the canopy open, causing Tatiana to glance back in surprise.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Picking up a weapon just in case. Back in Mercia, I used to carry one of Mama’s old rolling pins.”

  “That’s just a parasol,” scoffed Tatiana. “And this isn’t Mercia. ­People are civilized here.”

  Rivka pulled the parasol shut again, her grip tightening. She had imagined how her rolling pin would meet Mr. Stout’s skull so many times. When Mr. Stout finally did die—­though not at her hand—­Rivka had been unnerved at how accurate her imagination was. The way his skull crunched. The strange, almost chemical
smell it emitted.

  She still dreamed of that moment. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure if she’d call it a nightmare.

  “A parasol can do more than ward away the sunlight and rain,” she said quietly, and hooked it on her arm. “As for the civilization here, Tamarania likes to think well of itself, but there’s still the Arena and that bloodlust. There’s still Mr. Cody.”

  Tatiana dismissed the argument with a flick of her wrist. “That’s still not as bad as Caskentia and its fifty years of war. You don’t even see many teenaged boys there. So many are already wounded or dead.”

  “There are different kinds of awful.” She hefted the parasol and walked on. Tatiana tried to act as nonchalant as always, but Rivka noted she was much more alert. Good.

  The address Tatiana had acquired led them to a redbrick building five floors high. Beyond the roof were high spires of airship-­mooring towers, some with ships attached. The wind carried a stronger scent of the sea.

  They took two flights of stairs up to a cramped hallway with mostly functional electric lights. The wooden floor griped beneath every footstep. Doors were adorned with signs of various residents and businesses, ranging from homeopath to seamstress to baker. That latter made Rivka smile—­a home baker, just like Mama. She inhaled deeply to take in the lovely, yeasty smell that had penetrated the corridor. Maybe as they left, she’d buy something.

  Tatiana knocked on the door bearing Miss Arfetta’s sign. Even her knock was clipped and commanding. The floor creaked in warning of an approach. The door cracked open.

  “Miss Arfetta’s Medician Shop . . . oh. It’s you two.” Broderick opened the door wide, his expression puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’re potential customers.” Tatiana, short as she was, breezed inside beneath his extended arm. Rivka offered an apologetic shrug and ducked beneath his arm to follow.

  They each made formal introductions. The small room sang of fragrances. Shelves lined the walls to shoulder height and displayed jars of ingredients and poultices used in common doctoring. On a table sat a large mortar and pestle, the bowl mounded with partially ground red leaves.