The Brass Giant

by Brooke Johnson

  Chapter 8

  PETRA HATED LYING, especially to Mr. Stricket.

  When he asked about her plans for the evening, she could say nothing about the automaton, nothing about the Guild or the University, or Emmerich. She merely smiled and told him she had some personal things to take care of, wishing she didn’t have to keep the project secret. Tolly just rolled his eyes.

  That night, she and Emmerich planned to start on the leg mechanisms, building the frames and testing the range of movement before permanently attaching the linkage apparatus to the prototype.

  At the end of her shift, she changed into her spare clothes—­now on permanent loan from Solomon—­and bid Mr. Stricket and Tolly farewell from the back room so they wouldn’t see her wearing her brother’s clothes. Slinging her pack over her shoulder, she slipped into the alleyway through the back door and started toward the University. But then the door to the shop creaked open behind her, and she turned around to see Tolly step into the dark alley.

  Petra gripped the straps of her pack and backed away. “What do you want?”

  “You’re going off to meet him again, aren’t you?”

  “It’s my business what I do in my spare time, Tolly, not yours.” She shook her head and started toward the street, but he grabbed her by the shoulder and whirled her around to face him.

  His cold blue eyes were electric in the darkness of the alley. “Why him?” he asked, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  “What?”

  “What does he have that I don’t?” He stepped closer and raised a hand to her face, his voice softening. “What can he give you that I can’t?”

  She shied away from his touch, her heart racing as she realized what he was saying, what he was asking. “Tolly . . .” she said, shaking her head. “This isn’t—­you shouldn’t—­”

  He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “Why him and not me?”

  Petra bristled. She slapped his hand from her face and pressed both her hands against his chest, shoving him away, but he grabbed her by the wrists and pinned her against the wall, his grip painfully tight. She struggled against his grasp, her hat tumbling from her head and letting her braid fall free.

  “I cared for you, Petra,” he said, his voice cracking as he leaned closer. “I still do.”

  She gritted her teeth. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  “I thought you cared for me too,” he said. “And then some University fop catches your eye and you barely even acknowledge I exist anymore. We used to do things together. We used to talk. I used to think that maybe you and I—­that we could—­” He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. “Why did you have to change?”

  Heat flushed through her body, and she wrenched her arms free of his grasp. “I didn’t change—­you did!” she said, shoving him in the chest. He staggered backward, and she pushed him again, harder. “You changed. You drove us apart when you chose to be just like your father, when you decided that I was your property and not your equal, when you laughed at me and made fun of my dreams, my ambitions—­that was when I turned from you, long before I ever met Emmerich.”

  “You think he is any different than me—­than any other man? He may pretend to care about you, but deep down he knows that you are beneath him, that he is better than you.”

  “No,” she said. “You’re wrong. He is ten times the man you are.” Her skin tingled, euphoria welling up inside her. “You want to know why him and not you? Because he believes in me. He respects me. He cares about what I have to say, what I want to do with my life. He treats me like an equal and doesn’t expect anything from me in return.” Her throat tightened and her heartbeat quickened. “And you . . . You are vindictive and cruel, a spiteful, hateful man, and you are nothing compared to him.”

  Tolly slapped her.

  Petra stumbled backward into the wall and raised a hand to her stinging face, a burning rage swelling within her. She glared at him, every muscle in her body quivering. “Is it really any wonder why I would choose him instead of you?”

  He stepped closer, and she flinched away, bracing for the next strike, but it never came. Instead, she felt his fingers graze her burning cheek. She recoiled from the touch, but he forced her to look at him, his cold blue eyes lingering on her lips.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have struck you.”

  Petra inhaled a shaky breath, aware of how close he stood, his breath on her face, his hand in her hair. Her skin prickled beneath his touch, and she pressed herself against the cool brick behind her. “What do you want, Tolly?”

  “I want you, Petra,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. “I could give you everything—­a comfortable life, a home, children.”

  She blinked, a frown tightening her brow as she searched his eyes. “That’s what you don’t understand . . . I don’t want comfortable. I don’t want to sit at home all day doing needlework and watching after children. I want to build things. I want to be someone.” She swallowed thickly. “You can never give me that.”

  “I could,” he said leaning closer. “If you let me.”

  She felt her heart seize in her throat, paralyzed by his closeness. “Tolly—­”

  He forcefully pressed his lips against hers, stealing her breath from her lungs with a deep, deliberate kiss. She felt instantly numb, unable to move, unable to breathe, feeling his mouth against hers, his hands firm on her neck, cradling her head as he leaned harder into her lips. His body crushed her against the wall, and she felt her heart explode with effort, hammering against her chest with the force of a hundred pistons.

  Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and her muscles tensed as she gained control of herself and wedged her arms between them. She tried shoving him away, but he was too strong, pinning her against the wall again with the full weight of his body. He wrestled her hands down even as she tried to hit him, trapping her legs as she tried to maneuver herself out from beneath him.

  He drew back with a breath and said, “All you have to do is love me, Petra. Stay with me, choose me, and you will have everything I can give you, everything you could ever need.”

  She struggled against his grasp but could hardly move. “No,” she said, spitting in his face.

  With a growl, Tolly reared back to hit her again, but Petra was ready for it. She ducked under his hand as he swung, and his hand collided with the rough brick. As he reeled back from the wall with a snarl, she kicked him in the side of the knee and turned to run.

  She only took one step toward freedom when a yank on her braid brought her crashing to the ground. The breath left her lungs as she landed hard on the cobblestones, her shoulder stinging from the impact. Tolly loomed over her, and there was a dark fire in his eyes, a look that made her heart quail.

  Footsteps sounded in the alley, and suddenly a fist connected with Tolly’s jaw, knocking him cleanly to the ground. Petra took the chance to move out of the way, rolling onto her hands and knees and clambering to her feet. She plastered herself against the wall, breathing heavily as Tolly stood, gingerly touching the bloody gash in his bottom lip.

  Standing between them was Emmerich, his fists clenched at his sides. He glanced at her. “Petra, are you all right? Did he—­”

  His question was cut short as Tolly leapt at him, landing a kick to his leg and an elbow to his ribs. Emmerich tumbled to the ground, and the two of them scuffled across the alley, a flurry of kicks and punches, curses and grunts of pain as they each landed blows. Emmerich righted himself and wiped a stream of blood from his brow before taking another blow from Tolly, knocking both of them into the street. Tolly attacked without mercy, beating Emmerich down even as he crossed his arms over his face and curled up against the onslaught, unable to fight back.

  Then another man came forward, appearing out of the alley opposite the pawnshop. He grabbed Tolly by the collar
and dragged him off of Emmerich. “Enough,” he said, his voice gruff and weary.

  Emmerich lay in the street, his right eye swollen and blood flowing freely from his nose. Tolly looked no better. Blood dripped from a cut across his cheek, and a massive welt purpled his jaw, streaked with the blood oozing from his bottom lip. He struggled to escape the stranger’s grasp. “Let go of me,” he snarled.

  The man obliged, flinging Tolly away. “Go on,” he said, shoving him back as Tolly started forward again. “You’ve done enough here. Go, before I call the bobbies on you.”

  Tolly glared at the man, then gave both Emmerich and Petra a murderous look before storming away.

  The stranger loped forward and helped Emmerich to his feet. “All right, son?”

  Emmerich winced, holding his ribs. “Yeah,” he hissed. “I’ll be all right. Thanks.”

  The stranger nodded and then disappeared back into the shadows, leaving as silently as he had arrived.

  Emmerich staggered back into the alley, wincing with each breath. “Petra, are you all right?” he asked, limping toward her. He looked worse up close. Blood and grime caked his handsome face, his eye red and swollen. “Are you hurt? Tell me what happened.”

  Petra just shook her head, her heart still racing.

  Emmerich grimaced and leaned against the wall, catching his breath. His eyes drifted to her tender cheek, and he gently raised his fingers to her face. “Did he hurt you?”

  She recoiled from his touch and pressed her hand against the side of her face where Tolly had struck her. Her skull ached beneath the tender skin, but it would do no more than bruise. “It’s nothing,” she said quietly.

  “Petra . . .” Emmerich winced again. “What happened?”

  “I—­” She pressed her lips together. She could still feel Tolly’s hot breath on her face, his mouth pressed to hers, the feel of his hands on her neck, and his body pressed hard against her. She shuddered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Emmerich stared at her, concern in his eyes. “Petra, if I need to take you home, if you would rather not—­”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to go home.” She couldn’t go home. She needed a distraction. She needed to take her mind off what had happened. “We should work.”

  “Are you sure? You seem . . . upset.”

  “Of course I’m upset!” She squeezed her eyes shut and bit down hard on her lip. Tears welled up in her eyes and an aching pressure weighed on her chest, but she refused to cry. She refused to show weakness, to be the victim, to let Tolly have the satisfaction of rattling her nerves. Inhaling a deep breath, she opened her eyes again, curling her hands into fists. “I’m fine,” she said evenly. “Really.”

  Emmerich pressed his lips together in a firm line. “If you’re sure . . .”

  “I am.”

  He hesitantly reached out to lay his hand on her shoulder, but she drew away. She didn’t want to be touched. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted a screwdriver in her hand and a machine to build. Without another word she headed for the University.

  IN EMMERICH’S WORKSHOP, they crafted the leg linkages in silence. While he tested rod shapes and angles, Petra fitted washers and turned screws and bolts, neither of them speaking. She noticed him staring at her while they worked, glancing away the moment she looked his way, but still she said nothing.

  What happened in the alley was between her and Tolly, and no one could erase the things that were said or done, not even Emmerich, as well-­meaning as he was. Figuring out what to do next was something she would have to work out for herself.

  Without their usual playful banter and the occasional long-­winded debate on efficient gear train makeup, she and Emmerich worked twice as fast, finishing both leg linkages after only four hours of silent labor. Had it been an ordinary night, they might not have finished the mechanisms until the evening was nearly spent, and though Petra’s hands ached and her fingers were sore, she did not want to end the night just yet.

  Watching the hand-­powered motion of the legs in full stride filled her with pride. They had yet to build the pulleys, drives, sliders, or assemble the gear trains, but the base leg frames worked flawlessly.

  “We should start on the arms,” she said, fetching pieces from the crates stacked in the corner. It would be hours more before she would be too tired to work. She wanted that. She wanted to return home so drained that she’d pass out as soon as she lay down on her cot. No dreams. No time to think of what had happened that day. Just pure, solid sleep.

  When she turned back to the workbench, Emmerich stood in her way, arms crossed over his chest. She stepped left to circumnavigate, but he stepped in front of her. Frowning, she stepped the other way, and he blocked her again.

  “What?” she snapped.

  He stepped forward, taking the things out of her arms—­pipes, bolts, bearings, and scrap bits of titanium filler—­carefully placing them on the floor. With her arms empty, Petra suddenly felt useless, her hands hanging limply at her sides as if they didn’t belong to her body.

  Her throat began to ache, and she felt the heat of tears behind her eyes. “What are you—­”

  Emmerich stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders, silencing her as he hugged her close to his chest. She stood still, only vaguely feeling the warmth of his body against her, as if she was trapped inside a body that wanted to be numb. He smoothed her hair, whispering words of comfort in her ear, words she would rather not hear.

  Didn’t he understand? She wanted to be left alone. She needed freedom.

  She twisted in Emmerich’s grasp. He was a cage, a prison of kindness and sympathy she did not want. She wanted the hurt, the confusion and betrayal seething in her chest, the hatred for Tolly, the memory of his hands on her, the poison of his words. She needed the pain.

  Emmerich’s arms held her resolutely. “I won’t let you go,” he said.

  His words pierced the shell around her.

  The warmth of his voice melted into her skin and carved deep into her bones, creeping toward her heart like a flame. She shuddered, shaking free of the numbness and the cold.

  She didn’t remember her legs giving out, but she found herself sitting in the middle of the floor, Emmerich rocking her as if she were no more than a frightened child.

  Of all the terrible things in the world, of all the dreadful things that had happened to her, she had him. She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and pressed her face into his chest, inhaling his familiar scent, filling her heart with the memory of him holding her in that moment. He rested his head on top of hers and sighed, his breath tickling her forehead.

  Then a door slammed somewhere outside the office, and Emmerich bolted upright, dragging Petra to her feet.

  “Someone’s coming,” he said, lunging for the light switch.

  The room darkened. Petra heard voices come nearer, and footsteps.

  “You are still watching him?” asked a deep, melodic voice.

  Petra felt Emmerich stiffen beside her.

  “As best we can. He spends a lot of time in the fourth quadrant.”

  “Anything to report?”

  “No, sir. He is sometimes seen in the company of a girl, but I suspect that is nothing to concern ourselves with. You know the way of young ­people these days . . .”

  The voices faded to a low murmur as they passed out of range, but two shadows fell across the light beneath the door and did not move.

  “We need to hide,” whispered Emmerich, pulling Petra to the back of the workshop.

  She obediently followed him to the array of pipes along the back wall, slightly obscured by the stacks of crates. Silently, he directed her to a tiny alcove behind one of the larger pipes. She pressed against the wall, feeling movement around her, the familiar click and hum of gears and balance wheels comforting.

 
“Be careful not to move,” said Emmerich, stepping into the narrow recess.

  Even over the sound of machinery, Petra heard the voices approach again.

  “And his progress?” asked one of what now seemed several men.

  “Impressive. He works harder than any of the other junior engineers, completing tasks well ahead of the timeline.”

  “No delays then?”

  “Not at all.”

  “We were right to move his deadline,” said another voice. The others murmured in agreement.

  The grating of a key inside a lock echoed through the room. Petra held her breath. The door creaked open and light flooded the room. She hoped—­willed—­the men would not find their hiding place.

  They examined the prototype in silence.

  “Does he know the true purpose of the machine?” asked one of the men.

  Emmerich tensed. Petra felt the muscles in his back tighten.

  “No,” said the first man, his voice smooth and melodic. “Not yet. But he will soon, and I assure you that when the time comes, he will be willing to do whatever is necessary for our plans to succeed. He is loyal to the Guild—­and to me.” A moment passed. “This machine is only the beginning.”

  Finally, the many pairs of feet trailed away, the light switched off, and the door banged shut.

  “Continue to keep tabs on him. We must be sure of the project’s secrecy.”

  Their voices and footsteps faded away until only the sound of whirring gears and rocking levers remained. Emmerich peeled away from Petra then, carefully guiding her out of the dark alcove. The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the crack of light beneath the door.

  “Who was that?” she asked.

  He dropped into his desk chair, exhaling forcefully. “A few Guild members, I think,” he said, kneading his brow. “And my father.”

  She blinked. “Your father?”