by Rosiee Thor
Perhaps the wall did protect them, but so, too, did it keep citizens penned like animals. The Settlement’s population had never been large—several thousand, perhaps, no more than ten—but the walls had not been constructed with growth in mind. There was nowhere for them to build but inward, nothing for them to do but cannibalize their own city, dividing it up into smaller and smaller fragments.
Nathaniel had been given far too large a piece of far too small a city. And still, the Settlement was not his. The Commissioner had made himself perfectly clear: Nathaniel was not free to do as he wished, to go where he willed. Nathaniel would never have his father’s permission to leave the Settlement. And so, Nathaniel’s father could never find out.
Nathaniel paused a few yards from the gate. He’d snuck out of the manor easily enough, where few officers roamed the grounds. But two guards flanked the gate, eyes focused, alert. There was nothing to be done for it. Nathaniel needed to leave the city, and they were in his way.
He froze. What if they recognized him? If his father had told the guards of his directive to Nathaniel, it would be mere moments before the officers hauled him back to the manor and his chance to meet the Technician would be gone forever.
A flurry of Orbitals passed by him on either side, chatting animatedly in their tight accents. The officers made way for them as they approached, letting them pass single file through the gate.
Nathaniel glanced down at his clothes. He wasn’t dressed in the same avant-garde manner. The guards wouldn’t believe for a moment that he belonged. Scanning the aisle of pop-up shops, Nathaniel spotted the perfect disguise: a tall hat covered in metallic stars. Nathaniel snatched the hat from its stand, placed it atop his head, and swept through the crowd as covertly as possible.
The officers bowed as the outermost Orbitals flashed silvery identification cards. Nathaniel kept his eyes forward, feet moving. With any luck, the officers wouldn’t realize that one among the crowd didn’t belong.
It worked. For once, Nathaniel’s propensity for invisibility came in handy. No one stopped him to check his nonexistent identity card, and the Orbitals didn’t seem to notice. As soon as they were far enough from the gates, Nathaniel peeled off from the group. He’d done it. He’d left the Settlement.
Getting back inside, of course, would be another challenge altogether, but Nathaniel could worry about that later—he had an appointment to keep.
Outside the Settlement, farmland stretched in one direction, and in the other, rolling green hills. He’d never seen so much green in his life. The gardens outside the manor didn’t compare to the unbridled nature that overtook the horizon. Long grass, colorful flowers, and insects he couldn’t name brushed at his ankles as he walked, heading west.
But twenty minutes later, Nathaniel had found nothing and no one. The farmland spilled back toward the Settlement in his wake, and ahead of him he could see only a rocky coastline.
The Technician wasn’t there.
Nathaniel threw his embellished hat to the ground and stomped his foot, crushing the velvet brim beneath his boot. Then he whirled to check that no one had seen his childish outburst, but Nathaniel was alone with the wind, which promptly lifted his stolen hat and whisked it away.
With a sigh, Nathaniel jogged after it. No use in wasting a perfectly good chapeau. The hat, plastered as it was with metallic embellishment, was hardly wearable for every day, but it was all he had outside the Settlement gates. The Technician might have stood him up, but Nathaniel could still retain some scrap of dignity, even if it was a spectacularly garish scrap.
He caught it, eventually, but not before it took him several yards down the coast. Placing the hat firmly on his head, Nathaniel lowered himself gracelessly onto a rock to catch his breath. He pressed a hand against his chest, which throbbed as his heart thundered beneath his chest plate. At least his little clock came through for him now, even if it had let him down so thoroughly before.
Had the Technician known he meant harm? Perhaps the girl at the market had told the outlaw not to come. But no—she’d looked him in the eye and shaken his hand, not afraid of his status, or his tech, if she’d even been aware of either.
Long four to the short nine. Had he misunderstood the riddle? Had he somehow miscalculated, or misread the clock? How could something so close to him, so ingrained in his being it was embedded in his skin, steer him so wrong? Nathaniel’s fingers crept up to his cravat before he stopped himself. What sort of gentleman would he be if he disrobed out in the open?
A desperate one, that’s what.
And Nathaniel was desperate. But what would the clock on his chest tell him that a clock in his mind’s eye couldn’t? Nothing—and he’d be hard-pressed to read it upside down anyway.
Upside. Down.
Was it possible? Yes, it was—probable, in fact. It wasn’t just anyone who’d created life out of metal and saved Nathaniel all those years ago. It had been the Tarnished, people who used tech on their own bodies. Abominations, according to his father. But no matter how depraved and dangerous they were supposed to be, one of them had saved Nathaniel’s life when he was only a baby, and that was worth something. Maybe it hadn’t been the Technician himself, but someone of the same creed, the same world, had sewn the metal into his chest. And, more than likely, there were others just like Nathaniel. Surely the Technician would know that.
Pushing off from the rock, Nathaniel retraced his steps across the farmlands, dipping away from the Settlement gates to avoid attention, and then east through grassy fields. If he ran, maybe he could still make it. Maybe the Technician would wait for him.
All his effort was finally rewarded when he climbed over a crest, lungs exhausted with asthmatic breathing, to see a building overcome with ivy and uncut grass. In the doorway stood the girl from the market, red hair bright against the expanse of green around them. Surveying him with a smug smile and sharp eyes, she said, “So you found me after all.”
Nathaniel’s stomach sank. He’d found her all right, but she was only the girl from the market, not the Technician he sought.
Anna’s final customer of the day was late. The clock in her chest made her relentlessly punctual, but it also ticked an irksome reminder. The longer she waited, the more likely she was to get caught.
Defying Thatcher had been easy, but as the afternoon wore on with still no sign of the boy from the market, Anna wondered if perhaps her grandfather’s fears hadn’t been so far-fetched after all. The dandy boy from the market had cheated—taking her locket and its contents without her password. With any other customer, she would have left by now, but curiosity gnawed at her insides, the rhythm of his heart ticking a metal memory against her skin.
Leaning against the doorframe, Anna watched the horizon for any sign of movement. If any officers appeared, she’d see their maroon and gray first and begone out the side door before they arrived.
But just as she began to lose hope, Anna saw a figure in the distance, moving down the hill with an uneven gait. It took only a moment before she saw the silver glint of stars on a ridiculous navy top hat.
“So you found me after all,” she said when he was close.
The dandy—Nathaniel—stared, his eyes growing wide. “I—uh—honestly wasn’t certain I would.” He cast his gaze around, eventually landing back on Anna. “Where’s the Technician?”
Anna pressed her lips together, unsure whether she should tell him the truth. If he was only ignorant, there was no harm, but still, her anonymity had served her well. To this day, fewer than half of her clientele knew she and the outlaw were one and the same.
“The Technician only handles the truly complicated cases.” She stood straighter, letting the lie fall from her lips as naturally as leaves from a tree. “I’m to assess your particular case first. Then the Technician will determine whether or not you’re … interesting enough to tend to personally.” She beckoned to him, watching something—disappointment, perhaps—flash in his eyes. “Why don’t you come inside?”
>
He approached with an expression of confused awe, which she found both unnerving and endearing. He removed his ludicrous hat when he stepped over the threshold to reveal a thicket of wavy brown hair.
He was striking, but in an unusual sort of way—or perhaps unusual in a striking sort of way. His coloring was soft, but his features sharp and angular. The dandy had been charming when she’d met him at the market, though she didn’t recall him having such a pleasant face.
“An odd meeting place.”
Anna cocked her head. “I like it.”
“Isn’t it rather obvious? I’d have thought an open field or a forest would be less overt.”
“Obvious?” Anna considered a moment. “No, I don’t think so.” She’d chosen her rendezvous points with care, after all. No one who wasn’t meant to find her ever had. She’d thought at first the Commissioner simply wasn’t trying hard enough, but this boy wasn’t the first legitimate customer of hers to struggle with her riddles.
“Aren’t you at all worried? A building in the middle of nowhere isn’t exactly hard to find.”
Anna tipped her chin down and raised an eyebrow.
“I-I mean,” the boy stammered, averting his eyes as though his difficulty finding her was a secret he could hide. “It’s just that it would be so easy for someone to stumble upon this place—to find you merely by accident.”
Anna considered again for a moment. He wasn’t entirely off; it was risky to pick something so easily marked. But the abandoned building suited her, first and foremost because it was abandoned.
“Did you see the overgrowth on the way in?” she asked, unsure if a boy from the Settlement could truly understand what it meant to be outside the city—to simply be. “This place hasn’t been touched by the Commissioner. It’s completely free of human disruption. No one else comes or goes, not since the Settlement built its walls and closed its gates.”
Nathaniel looked down and crossed his arms. “Th-that’s quite remarkable.” His voice shook.
Perhaps she’d been too honest for his sensibilities—or not honest enough. “The Settlement and the Tower adorn themselves with pieces of culture and history like they’re accessories. They pick and choose the ones they like and cast away the rest without a care for why or how they came to be. This place doesn’t have to pretend to be anything it’s not—this place is history.”
“History,” Nathaniel murmured, eyes still downcast.
He looked positively overwhelmed, and with his late arrival, Anna was already behind schedule. It was time to drop pretense and get to work.
“Enough pleasantries. Why don’t we discuss why you’re here?” She took a hesitant step toward him, desperate to see his tech up close, to inspect the craftsmanship. Perhaps if she could see the other mechanic’s handiwork, she could get a better read on this new player in her game.
“I’m sorry.” He picked at his immaculate fingernails. “I never thought I’d have the chance to ask, well … I’m not actually sure what. I find I don’t know where to begin.” He slid his too-long arms into his pockets, forcing his shoulders into a shrug.
Anna nodded slowly, taking in his defenseless manner. Was it all a ruse, or was his confusion legitimate? Whether she could trust him or not, he needed her help. Of that, she was certain.
“Begin at the beginning.” Anna pointed to his chest. “Where did you get your TICCER?”
Nathaniel raised his eyebrows. “My what?”
Anna tapped her chest where her own TICCER worked beneath her clothes, and comprehension dawned on his face.
“Is that what it’s called?”
“Tarnish Internal Cardiac Clockwork-Enabled Regulator. A TICCER.” She frowned—how could he possibly not know, unless his mechanic failed to inform him? “Who installed yours?”
“No idea. I’ve had it as long as I can recall.” Nathaniel’s eyes snapped up to meet hers.
Anna took several more steps toward him, undoing the latch on her satchel. “That’s not possible.”
But it was—she was the living proof of that. Thatcher had told her he’d only ever installed a TICCER on one infant, that her tech alone was unique, designed to expand through external maintenance as she grew. Though Tarnish took root in children, Thatcher usually refused to install TICCERs earlier than puberty; it was too risky. At seven years old, Roman was one of the few to receive a TICCER so young.
She paused inches from Nathaniel, stopping herself. He was a new client, a patient. He wasn’t the enemy. “I need to take a closer look.”
The dandy’s eyebrows arched even higher, but after a few ticks, he began removing his vest.
Living with a surgeon, Anna had seen nearly every inhabitant of Mechan unclothed for some reason or another, but this felt different. She ought to avert her eyes, but something—fear, or curiosity, maybe—kept her gaze fixed on his hands as they undid the buttons of his shirt. As he pulled down the fabric to reveal several inches of skin, she caught the flash of silver screws at the base of his throat, and all consideration of propriety fled her mind.
When he’d finished, Anna simply stared. The design mimicked her own, an identical steel panel covering the working parts. She reached to touch the metal but pulled her fingers back at the last second. “Do you mind if I …” She held up her wrench.
Nathaniel nodded. “Go ahead.”
Anna’s hands moved in a flash, as though activated by his assent. She removed the small screws, twisting and pulling metal with her tools, until the panel popped off.
Anna stopped breathing.
Beneath the panel, a familiar machine ticked. Silver sheets fanned out like flower petals, interwoven with scarred flesh; the marks of metal from long ago still bloomed angry-red on his skin. She knew this device inside and out, every nook and cranny. She was not simply acquainted with it: Anna’s relationship to that TICCER was intimate.
It was the same as hers.
Whoever had installed it knew Thatcher’s original design, or it was Thatcher and he’d lied to her. Both options unsettled her.
“What sort of maintenance do you do?” Anna bent to get a closer look at the intricate machinery.
“Er—none.” Nathaniel shrugged, the movement throwing Anna’s concentration. “I actually don’t even know how it works … or exactly what it does.”
Anna fiddled with her screwdriver, poking and prodding at the metal as she spoke. “It’s a regulator, so it keeps your heartbeat steady. It can’t go over one hundred and eighty beats per minute, and obviously if it goes too slowly, that’s a problem, too. Using the clock’s natural rhythm, it keeps your heartbeat within a normal range.”
The TICCER stuttered.
Nathaniel coughed, and it returned to a normal pace.
“Or at least it’s supposed to.” Anna frowned, peering closer at the machinery. “Does that happen often?”
“Pardon?” Nathaniel asked between coughs.
Anna ran a hand through her hair, pushing the red flyaways out of her face. “What sort of symptoms do you experience?” She shook her head; she was beginning to sound like Thatcher. “Do you often cough or have chest pain?”
“N—yes.” Nathaniel cocked his head. “Now that you mention it. But it’s only a little cough.”
“It most certainly isn’t.” Anna searched inside her shirt pocket for the L-shaped wrench she used on her own TICCER. Though she’d filled her satchel with every tool she could possibly need for her clients, she kept one close to her heart, just in case. Fitted to her own TICCER, no one else had ever needed it.
Until now.
Thatcher had given it to her on her twelfth birthday. Not exactly the sort of gift one typically gave a young girl. But even at twelve, Anna had wanted to be just like her grandfather, saving people’s lives. After Roman’s surgery—after she’d failed him—that dream slipped away. It was not an easy lesson to learn at twelve, that surgeons lost more patients than they saved. But a mechanic—a mechanic didn’t cut; a mechanic didn’t hurt.
/> To twelve-year-old Anna, that little wrench had signified Thatcher’s blessing, his way of giving his approval of her new path. He’d siphoned away that support as the years wore on, but that little wrench still belonged to her—the key to her own tech.
And now it was the key to Nathaniel’s.
“Hold still. This might pinch.” Anna inserted the wrench, waited a tick, and twisted.
“Oh.” A single note escaped Nathaniel’s lips, and his gaze locked on to hers. He reached up to his chest, fingers dancing an erratic jig, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the floor.
Hatred was an unproductive emotion. It did nothing but fester and ferment if left too long. Still, as Eliza made her way back to her apartment, hatred for her betrothed weighed her down, making her steps slow and beleaguered. She wanted nothing more than to shed her layers, peel back her skirts one by one until every shred of lacey armor was gone and with it the anger nestling against her chest.
But she had a job to do for the Queen.
Settling herself at the black enamel vanity, Eliza removed the letter from her dress pocket. She’d known this would be her fate, of course. Three years ago, still fresh from the wounds of her trial, the Queen had given her a title … and then she’d given her a fiancé. With the diligence she owed her new position, Eliza had penned letters to Nathaniel Fremont once a month since her betrothal. She’d channeled every ounce of grace and patience into her work on the Tower, leaving nothing behind for letters but her raw, authentic self.
But she couldn’t share that girl with Nathaniel. He could not know her, heartbroken and heart-weary as she’d been then—truly, as she was now. Those lesions had never healed, held together only by the patch she sewed over herself each day, woven from determination and resilience. The girl she’d put on paper was only a fraction of herself, a sliver plucked from her open wound and made real through her words. Nathaniel did not know the girl who would someday be his wife. And neither did she know the boy who would someday be her husband. She didn’t care to. Husbands were for other people, people who had time for emotions like love and hate.
