Wings of Sorrow and Bone

by Beth Cato

  “She stood up to Mr. Cody!” Tatiana said. “She certainly didn’t have her chin down then.”

  “Really?” Grandmother perked up. “Do tell!”

  Rivka did. She spoke of Lump, of Mr. Cody’s harvest of gremlins, of Broderick’s horrible labor beneath Miss Arfetta, of how Mr. Cody’s cruelty was inspiring even more cruelty. That she and Tatiana were seeking a way to save the laboratory gremlins.

  Her one omission was Tatiana’s intention to ride Lump in the Arena bout.

  “I daresay, you two are mosquitoes setting out to cause a mighty itch! My pride is boundless!” Grandmother’s eyes sparkled. “You’re right that winning over the population is the surest way to scare a politician witless. Mr. Cody, Miss Arfetta, you won’t change their minds. They’re as dense as that Warriors’ mountain in the Arena.”

  Rivka’s fingers itched with need to do something. To work on diagrams, finish that engine, start on gremlin wings. She walked to the window. The view overlooked a brown-­bricked building and a portion of the street below. From the fifth floor, she could barely hear the constant rumble of cabriolet wheels. The absence of horses stood out to her again.

  “Grandmother, Mr. Cody said something about a campaign to save horses years ago. I’ve noticed very few horses on the streets here, and the ones I do see are in sound health compared to those in Caskentia. Why?”

  “Oh! That. There was a play several years ago that became quite the sensation. It was told from the perspective of a drayman’s horse. Started with his happy years as a colt, through various owners, abuse, love, the whole woe of a working horse’s life. The original production’s technical aspect was quite a marvel as well—­they constructed metal horses that performers used by wires and rods, while a chorus offstage sang the lines. No one had attempted such a spectacle from a horse’s perspective before. I tried to acquire the rights to publish the script in Caskentia. The government refused me a permit, said horses were too valuable to the war effort, and the play was near seditious. Bosh and tosh.”

  At that moment, everything fit together like moving cogs in Rivka’s mind.

  She whirled on her heel to face them. “That’s it! That’s how we connect with ­people to get to Mr. Cody. Not with a play, though. There’s no time for that. We need a book written from a gremlin’s perspective, showing exactly what they endure in his laboratory—­”

  “Yes! An exposé done in fiction. It would require some delicacy, because of potential matters of slander, but this would work!” Grandmother clasped her hands. “I could start on this tomorrow. It would require a quick deadline to be in print before the next bout—­”

  “Grandmother. No.” Rivka grinned. “Tatiana should do it.”

  Tatiana looked between them. “What? Me?”

  “Yes, you! You’re a brilliant writer. You know the laboratory and the chimeras.”

  “I, well, this isn’t part of the plan! Me, writing a book? I can’t write a book!” Tatiana and her plans.

  Grandmother looked only somewhat disappointed. “Well, Miss Garret, I haven’t read your work, but there is something to be said for intimacy with one’s narrative. Besides, it wouldn’t need to be long. Slim, pocket-­sized booklets are our bestsellers here.”

  “Tatiana, you have a knack for being . . . persuasive. You can make ­people feel how a gremlin feels.”

  “You really think so? You’re sure that you don’t want to do this instead? The glory . . .”

  Because Tatiana would certainly never pass on such an opportunity. Rivka shook her head.

  Grandmother lifted a finger in a very regal gesture. “I would caution you against too much focus on glory. A work such as this, flirting with the reputation of a Tamaran august, requires a pseudonym—­a pen name—­and the utmost secrecy about the author’s identity.”

  “Oh.”

  Rivka tried not to smile too much. Loud chattering carried from down the hall, as if the gremlins called for her. Maybe they did. “Grandmother, for the sake of Tatiana’s household, do you think it’s possible to train gremlins to be . . . not so pesky?”

  “Ah, you are speaking of a psychological endeavor! Our little gremlin Leaf on the airship was young and bright. I say start small. Build vocabulary! Come to know the creatures. Speaking of which, gremlins can work locks, did you know? I imagine your little menagerie could wander freely whenever they so desired!” Grandmother airily waved her arm, oblivious to the sudden horror painted across Tatiana’s face. “One thing Miss Leander taught me is that there is great power in simply asking. Many assume they know the answer and don’t bother with the question. Ask of these gremlins. Be a tutor.”

  Tatiana beckoned the servant. “The locks on the door. We need a bolt on the outside, something that’s not silver, that can’t be lifted.”

  The servant looked equally appalled at the idea of gremlins gallivanting about the household. “I’ll send Harris shopping straightaway, miss!” She rushed away.

  Tatiana straightened, calm and collected again. “Speaking of asking, Mrs. Stout, I know you write to my brother and his sweetheart. About all this . . .”

  “I can imagine Mr. Garret would be disconcerted to know you had any dealings with Mr. Cody. I won’t lie to him or Miss Leander, but I will not volunteer information, either. Not unless I find it necessary.” Grandmother stood, with a pointed look at Rivka. “We should be getting along. I must return to my printers. Miss Garret, I will send you a note later on my expectations on this gremlins treatise. I expect my deadlines to be met!”

  “I’m up to any challenge.” Tatiana beckoned. “Rivka, I need to talk to you for a minute.”

  Grandmother headed toward the door.

  Tatiana stood at the window, arms folded. “You really think I can write a book?”

  “Yes. Grandmother will help. Actually, she’ll probably try to help too much.”

  “I just . . . I wasn’t sure why you let me . . .” Tatiana shook her head, her molded hair unmoving. She looked fragile and young, and so very unlike her normal self.

  Rivka shrugged. “If I can befriend a chimera that can bite off my arm, I can be friends with you.”

  Tatiana looked stricken for a moment, then they both burst out laughing. “I suppose if this goes well, I won’t get my Arena bout.” She sounded a little wistful.

  “I wouldn’t say that. You might not ride Lump there, but you can still be a mecha jockey someday and only put your own neck on the line. As for your mount, well, I do happen to be a mechanist in training.”

  Tatiana grabbed Rivka in a split-­second hug, then held her at arm’s length. “You know, it’ll be great fun to train as a jockey for Mr. Cody, all while writing this book. He won’t suspect a thing.”

  “I’m glad you’re on my side,” said Rivka, shaking her head. She wondered if Tatiana even knew that her brother Alonzo had been a Clockwork Dagger, one of the Queen’s elite spies. Perhaps Tatiana was more like her Alonzo than she realized.

  Rivka rejoined Grandmother, and together they walked down the austere white passage lined with doors. Her mind leaped ahead to the work that awaited her at home and the hope of work to come. With Grandmother’s publication house putting out this book, and with Rivka already making her opinions known to Mr. Cody . . . the man would put two and two together.

  He was going to assume Rivka wrote it.

  That might irritate Tatiana, but it’d also keep her safer as she continued to work with him and Lump. Meanwhile, Rivka needed to dig through her scrap bins and paperwork and start sketching metal wings as they waited for word from this mechanist in Caskentia.

  “You’re thinking about machines, aren’t you, child? I can tell. You’re gazing at invisible airships.”

  She fidgeted with the handle of her tool satchel. “More like invisible gremlins. I need to talk to Broderick about how a medician and mechanist work through the early stages of li
mb assembly. Plus, I need to see if he’ll help Tatiana with details in this book.”

  “Mercy upon this poor boy snared in your machinations!”

  “About Broderick.” Rivka’s brows drew together in thought. “Miss Arfetta is a terrible teacher. I know Miss Percival’s academy only takes girls, but what about other medician academies for boys or men?”

  “Hmm. Yes. I can make inquiries, though I didn’t think you’d aim to chuck him so soon. Even I couldn’t help but notice the man, and you’re of age—­”

  “I’m not interested in him like that.” Though she had a hunch that Tatiana was.

  “Ah. You just want to use him for his magic.”

  “Grandmother!”

  “You said as much.” Grandmother pressed the button to summon a lift, her grin wicked.

  “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

  “If your emotions for him change, I want you to feel like you can speak with me. I know . . . it’s hard to be a girl in your time of life, to be without a mother, to endure what you did. I had my own trials, as you know.” Her voice softened, her gaze distant. “Rivka, child. I erred greatly with my son. I don’t understand my own blindness of what he became. I want . . . I want to do better by you. Always know I am here.”

  Rivka blinked back sudden tears as she stared up at the number dial. Grandmother’s plump hand slipped against hers, neither looking at each other as they waited for the lift.

  CHAPTER 7

  Rivka was afraid, and she coped the only way she knew how: she built.

  Blueprints sprawled across her worktable. Large bolts and stubby pipes tamed the stubbornly curled edges of parchment. Kellar Dryn’s notes were stacked to one side, his cramped cursive circling around sketches and diagrams and equations. Rivka scanned over pages as she worked with bits of metal to construct an articulated model wing. It wouldn’t contain any wiring or powering mechanisms yet. Mr. Dryn had advised her to start with the skeleton and work inward.

  She ignored the clock and the protests of her hollow stomach as long as she could. Finally, she wandered to the kitchen, and with a piece of bread in her hand, she stared out the window. Sunset smeared color down the windows of the surrounding towers. Down in the plaza, ­people would be rushing home from school and work, filling any available tram car and taxi cabriolet.

  Rivka needed to go down there, terrified as she was. She needed to know if her idea was working.

  She slipped on her coat and grabbed one of the freshly printed books from the shelf: Gem: or, The True Plight of Gremlins. Today was release day. She hugged the vivid green book to her chest, the cover bold against the deep black of her coat, and headed for the tram.

  Rivka made herself read on the ride even though she had already read the novel to the point of memorization.

  Gem the Gremlin was born to a first-­generation gremlin chimera. He lived in a nest high above the plaza, a time of innocence and frivolity, but also of lessons. He learned to steal food or starve, that ­people were cruel, and that his mother was slowly dying as her body fought against cancerous lesions. Then he was captured by a man known only as The Scientist, who kept a full zoo of gremlins and other creatures that he used to piece together a behemoth chimera for use in what was simply called the Game.

  Rivka looked up as she blinked back tears she couldn’t contain, even after countless readings.

  Advertisements for the real Arena bout plastered the gaps between windows. The event was a week away. Tatiana would be practicing with Lump right now. Rivka felt a twist of yearning. She missed Lump and the other caged gremlins. A few days ago, she and Tatiana had staged a brilliant fight in front of Mr. Cody’s lackeys. Rivka had renewed her argument against the Arena match and the danger that it posed to both Tatiana and Lump. Tatiana had been pompous and utterly herself. By the time Rivka flounced away, she almost believed their own act.

  The schism needed that realism. They needed Mr. Cody to believe Tatiana was blameless in the ensuing hullabaloo. If there was going to be any hullabaloo. Today would tell.

  She disembarked into a teeming sea of ­people. It took her awhile to wade to the upper-­level stairs, where she knew the vantage point would be the best.

  Rivka had told Grandmother about how Mama would sell her bread on market days. If she gave someone a slice of fresh bread to sample, other passersby would notice. They would want a slice of their own, and when they enjoyed that, they sometimes purchased a full loaf to take home.

  Mama always made sure to give slices to children in particular. Children had a way of making parents buy more of what they wanted.

  Grandmother’s inspired strategy utilized members of her publishing staff along with Broderick’s gremlin-­rescue peers. She deployed them with free copies of the book at major train platforms that catered to young academy and university students across Tamarania and the connected isles. Grandmother had spared no expense in her promotional efforts, especially when it became clear that Mr. Cody’s female jockey was Tatiana. By that juncture, stopping Mr. Cody was an even higher priority than telling Tatiana’s family of her mischief.

  From Rivka’s vista, she spied ­people carrying copies of the bright green book. Even more, ­people were reading it! She hugged her own book tighter against her chest.

  Each free copy contained a card that stated the book could be purchased at any bookstore or found at any library within the city-­states. Once the volunteers exhausted their supplies of books, they would pass out these cards as well.

  It had to work. The content had to cause an outcry, and quickly. That was the only way to spare Lump from facing the mechas on Warriors’ mountain, the only way to stop Broderick from his horrid duty of emptying cages in mere days.

  Rivka hopped down the stairs again.

  In the nearest rubbish bin, something green caught her eye. It was a copy of Gem the Gremlin atop the trash. She brushed it off, relieved that it looked as new as ever, then frantically lifted other papers in the receptacle to see if any other books had been discarded. What if everyone threw away their copy unread?

  “This has to work,” she muttered. She walked on, clutching both copies, her mind in free fall. Grandmother would be at the office. Rivka could head there now, see if she had any sales numbers yet. Surely, Grandmother would have good news.

  She boarded a tram. Her thoughts tumbled together, her heart beat like a slamming piston.

  “Excuse me.” A young woman leaned across the seat. “Is that one of those free books?”

  “Oh. Yes.” Rivka turned around and faced a cover toward her.

  The woman glanced at her companions. They all wore vests for a Tamaran academy. “One of our friends was given a final copy from a man out by the platform. She said what she read was good, but is the book really all about gremlins?” Her face twisted in disgust.

  “Yes! It’s a story told by the gremlin. A story based on truth. Here.” Rivka held out both books to her. A young man snared the second copy.

  “You already read it?” the woman asked, her eyes on the cover.

  “It’s short, not even a hundred pages. Reads fast, too,” said Rivka. The man had already settled back in his seat, book open. “It went on sale today. You can find it at all the bookstores.”

  “That’s where we’re going right now! We have papers due soon, but . . .” The second woman’s voice trailed away as she tried to read over the man’s shoulder. The group huddled around both readers, their voices dropping to murmurs.

  Rivka faced forward in her seat. Her empty fingers twined together, and she smiled.

  Rivka and Tatiana faced each other across the shiny expanse of the Stout dining table. Tatiana leaned on her elbows, her eyes shining like stars.

  “There I was, in the full jockey uniform, helmet covering my entire head so no one knew who I was. I had orders to stand behind Mr. Cody. Reporters filled the whole room. Mr. Cody s
tarted talking about how his lawyers were looking into the matter of this new book and that its dreadful Scientist might be based on him. Reporters interrupted, asking about the gremlins, about how many had died to make his new mecha-­chimera, if the laboratory cages were still stocked full. It was glorious. Mr. Cody owns most of those papers and has controlled them for years, but they still couldn’t resist such a controversy.”

  “How did Mr. Cody react?” asked Rivka. This was the first time she had seen Tatiana since their staged fight. So much had happened in the days since.

  “He was Mr. Cody. He was smooth as pudding. He said no more gremlins were being harmed and that he was officially withdrawing Lump from the bout. Everyone started yelling. I had to turn my head away, so many bulbs flashed.”

  “Grandmother had a note relayed here, saying that she’s been swamped by reporters, too. Her whole press is exclusively printing copies of Gem the Gremlin right now.”

  Tatiana nodded. “Lump’s withdrawal from the bout is going to be the headline in all the evening papers. You should have heard the questions yelled at Mr. Cody! He answered a few of them. He said he knew that thousands of ­people were offering up their homes to gremlins, and yes, he would be at the next meeting of augusts that discussed legislation on experimentation on gremlins and other beasts. But then he said he had to go, and it ended, just like that. A few reporters called out to me, too, asking if I was disappointed, if I had a statement. I just waved.”

  “Are you disappointed?” Rivka delighted in every word of the conversation, but her mind kept wandering to blueprints.

  Tatiana settled back in her chair. “I’m still working with Lump every day. With you gone, I’m the only one who can safely enter his circle. And then there’s the book.” Her grin glowed. “I thought it would bother me that I couldn’t be known as the author, but then I get to walk behind Mr. Cody and hear him damn you and your grandmother, saying he wished the Wasters had gotten you, that girls your age shouldn’t be allowed to get ideas and write things like that. And I’m standing right there. The author. All his spies, all his intrigues, and he doesn’t know.”