The Great Unravel, page 8
part #3 of Riddle in Ruby Series
“’S right. Some tinker fella set up a flash little shop. You go right in, and they sit you on a nice sofer, and then they give you a kind of contraption for your face—”
“Like this one?” Henry pointed to Marise’s mask, lying on the floor.
Penny laughed. “No, silly, just for your mouth. And it has tubes and the like on it, and you lie down, and breathe easy”—she demonstrated—“and you have the most wonderful dreams, and then they come and wake you, and they gives you two whole shillings for your trouble!”
Ruby’s stomach rolled. All she could think about was Evram Hale, skin mottled like Penny’s, but even worse—not talking and just staring—the first victim of the Swede’s machine. For all she knew he was still sitting there back at Fort Scoria. Where she had abandoned him. Her cheeks flushed. Evram had helped her at every turn, even putting himself in danger for her, and she had left him behind.
Henry leaned closer, looking closer at Penny’s features. “They put a mask over your face?”
“Yeah, you breathes in, and it tastes like flowers or somethin’. Then feels like someone’s sucking your air out your mouth, but soothing, like. So nice. You should try it.”
Henry’s chuckle was strained. “Maybe I will, Miss Penny.”
Ruby could not keep herself or her thoughts still. How long had it been since she escaped Fort Scoria? A fortnight? Had fourteen days been enough for the Swede to get the apparatus into the city? If he was using it already . . . She tried to keep her voice calm. “The machine, Penny. There’s a ticking kind of hum? And a thump in the air, against your skin, like a heart is beating somewhere?”
“That’s it. You know.”
Ruby’s heart fell into her boots. “That’s it. It’s the Swede’s machine.”
The woman yawned. “I’m sleepy.”
Marise shook her head in exasperation. “Ruby, please. We do not know for certain. We need to discover exactly—”
How could she say that? It was her invention they were talking about! The plans for this, for what was sitting in front of them, had been put into Ruby’s body by her mother and then ripped out by the Swede. “Of course you know what it is. Of course you do. Of course you do.”
“Ruby—” Captain Teach said.
She turned on her father, her chest tight with fury and guilt. “Father, of course the great inventor knows her work. Why not take credit where it’s due for this wonderful—”
Madame Hearth interrupted. “We should let Penny have her rest. But before we go, I would like you to observe one more thing.” She turned to the woman on the cot. “Penny, please stand up.”
The woman smiled, then stood up.
Athena frowned. “What does this have to do with—”
Hearth ignored her. “Penny, hop on one leg.”
She picked up her foot and began hopping, a distant smile still plastered on her face.
Ruby didn’t know why, but it disturbed her. Something about the vacancy, the emptiness there. It wasn’t the emptiness of the Reeve. It was something scarier.
“Penny hop up on the bed.”
She did.
“Penny, flap your arms and squawk like a chicken.”
She did.
“Penny, choke yourself.”
Henry turned to Hearth, eyes wide. “What?”
Penny put her hands about her throat and began to squeeze.
“Stop her,” Ruby said. Her voice shook.
Penny continued, and she started to make small gurgling sounds in her throat. Her eyes bulged.
“Penny, stop!” said Ruby.
Penny pulled her hands away, easy as you please.
The room was silent, save for the sounds of the woman heaving in great gouts of air.
Ruby wanted to scream. Or retch. She turned back to Hearth. “Why did you do that?”
Hearth’s eyes were granite. “You needed to see it. Now I suggest we all retire to my study and let Miss Penny here get some rest.”
Penny immediately yawned. “Thank you!” And she curled up on her bed, ready to sleep.
Hearth led the pack of them down the corridors back to her office. Silence preceded them. Students stared. Masked adults tried to pretend not to. Whispers spread behind their passage like the wake of a ship. Everyone was looking. But they were not looking at Ruby or Athena. Every eye followed Wayland Teach and Marise Fermat.
Athena leaned over to Ruby as they walked. “Well, this is different.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re not gawking at us.”
Ruby scanned the halls as they walked. These people did not know Marise Fermat and Wayland Teach as her father and mother. To them they were something else. Something apparently important. On Ruby’s first visit Madame Hearth had said her mother was a brilliant alchemyst and had implied her father had stolen Marise away from greatness. Was that the truth? Did Ruby even know them? That big, bearded man up ahead had always been her rock in the storm, a pillar of strength. But he wasn’t what she thought he was. Was he? A wave of dizziness struck her.
Athena was there to steady her, taking her elbow. “You all right?”
She nodded and squared her shoulders. “Just— I’m reeling, Athena. I don’t know what to think. Wet is dry and dry is wet.”
Athena smiled sadly. “We have to keep up. Can you make it, or will I have to carry you? I can do it, you know.” Her eyebrows shot up, perfectly innocent. “Then perhaps people will start looking at us again.”
It brought Ruby back to the world. They walked on.
They arrived at Hearth’s office and arranged themselves on the battered furniture. Cram was there, sitting on a wooden chair, wide eyed as a new colt. The washtub next to him was full to the brim with strawberry-smelling ooze. He sat wet and shivering in a robe, small pieces of pink goo still hanging from his nose and ears. Ruby hugged him in relief.
“Easy, Ferret.” He smiled shakily. “Take care you don’t tarnish your hard reputation.”
Athena and Henry greeted him as well, but the whole group quickly subsided into silence and their own thoughts.
Hearth busied herself with the samovar. “So.”
Ruby saw no reason to be tactful. “So what kind of cruel madness was that?”
“Ruby, I think Madame Hearth was correct. I think we needed to see her—” Henry said.
“To see that woman choke the life out of herself? I suppose we have been a bit starved for entertainment out in the wilderness, Henry, but why not some old sea shanties? Don’t you think those might go down a bit more smoothly?”
“If you cannot keep a civil tongue, I will have all the children removed, and the adults can continue this conversation,” said Hearth.
“Children? Why, you gussied-up bag of—”
“Ruby.” The shards of glass in her father’s tone stopped her short. He was still her father to her, but in the days since Gwath’s revelation it had not gotten any less confusing. And where was Gwath? No matter who knew what, he should have been here. With her other father. Ruby’s pulse raced. The room was vibrating.
“Fine.” She waved her hand airily in the direction of Henry and her mother. “The chemysts should speak. Tell us about the Swede’s work, will you? Of excellent quality, is it not? He seems to have made some modifications since his first experiment. Evram Hale couldn’t even speak when I saw him. Charming woman Penny is, don’t you think?”
Marise stared at her for a moment, face unreadable. “Henry?”
He hesitated.
“It’s all right,” said Marise. “You can speak candidly. Obviously my work is no longer a secret. Report your findings.”
The young chemyst cleared his throat and looked about nervously. He steadied himself on Hearth’s table. “From her description I believe that woman to have been subjected to some variation of the process you discovered, the one encoded into Ruby’s blood, the process that harvests the chemystral energy from living subjects.”
“Juicing, she called it,” said the captain. He kept on looking back and forth between Ruby and her mother, tentative and pained.
“But how did the process become known?” Hearth asked. She turned to Marise. “If you were hidden in the mountains, and Collins here had the journal—”
“It was Swedenborg,” said Ruby, “the chemyst from Fort Scoria.” She wanted to throw something. The words tasted bitter on her tongue. “He . . . harvested the plans from my blood. He must be in the city. Somehow he has reached Philadelphi before us.”
Marise rolled her eyes. “Chemysts can move quickly if they choose. I’m certainly not the only one to ever have created a flying house.”
Athena frowned. “How long has this been going on?”
“A few days perhaps,” said Hearth.
“How many people?” said Teach.
“No way of knowing. There is at least the one shop in UnderTown.”
“Why— I’m sorry.” Athena cleared her throat, and Ruby could read the disgust on her face as clearly as if it were on her own. “Why were you telling her to do those things?”
“Penny is susceptible to suggestion. Highly susceptible. I wanted you to see.”
“Swedenborg added that little hint of spice to your recipe, Mother,” Ruby managed to get out. She wanted to scream. “Now the machine sucks your will right out along with your Source.”
Henry said, “With just one of those machines the amount of chemystral energy they could be harvesting would be, well, significant.”
“Significant? Really? Is that all you care about?” Ruby ground her teeth. How could they all just be sitting there, drinking their tea, discussing it so calmly?
“No, but with reserves of energy like that, a skilled chemyst could do, well, almost anything.”
“Skies open, fire from the heavens, cracks of doom, that sort of thing?” said Athena.
Henry blinked. “Well, yes. Exactly that sort of thing.”
They stared at one another. Ruby held herself completely still. It was the only way she could stop herself from throwing things.
Madame Hearth turned back from the samovar and plonked a tray of steaming teacups down on the table. Henry picked up a cup. Everyone else, who had tasted this particular tea before, found somewhere else to look.
“And with a populace subject to that sort of suggestion, there would be no resistance to the exercise of such power.” Madame Hearth sat in her chair and sipped her tea. “There is something else you should know.”
Henry sampled his cup. Choked. Eyes watering, he managed to ask, “And what is that?”
“Well, a few things actually.” Hearth produced a sheaf of papers. Wanted posters. Drawings stared up from them: Captain Teach, Marise, Ruby, Athena.
“No Cram or Henry?” said Ruby.
“Henry and Cram are apparently less of an official priority,” Hearth said. “But the rest of you are wanted. In Philadelphi and abroad. Enemies to the crown.”
Ruby’s eyes narrowed. Hearth was no idiot. Why would she show them the posters now? To soften them up? For what? “Being wanted is nothing new to us. You said a few things?”
Hearth stared at her for a moment. “Your arrival is fortuitous.” She spooned sugar into her cup. “You are a formidable set of folk. I know this from our history together and from my experiences with you and Lord Boyle there. Not to mention the company of mercenaries you have brought with you, currently squatting in my hallways. You are a walking collection of balance shifters.”
“Thank you?” said Ruby. Shifting the balance. Hearth sounded eerily like Wisdom Rool. She dug her fingernails into her palm.
“I hope you also know that I am showing you a tremendous amount of trust by allowing you to enter the Warren at this time and by introducing you to our . . . guest.”
“We thank you for it,” said Ruby’s father.
“Well, then. Here it is.” Her cup clanked down on the table. “War is coming. This you know. Militias on both sides are setting fire to towns, salting fields, sowing terror. Boston itself is half burned to the ground. For some time now the people of Pennswood and several other colonies have chafed under the rule of the crown. The Worshipful Order has fed the fire of the current unrest. We see it as the perfect opportunity.”
“For what?” said Henry.
“A rising. To name our own monarch. A king in America.”
Ruby’s jaw dropped. A king. She certainly had no love for the English crown. It had hunted, captured, and filleted her. But throwing off a king would not be easy. It would cost lives.
Her father had a distracted look, too, as if he were doing sums in his head. “Who?”
Hearth put down her cup. “Lothor Van Huffridge.”
“Greta’s father?” Athena shook her head in wonder. “It works. He is strong, admired by many, has relationships throughout the colonies, even in New France. . . .”
Henry cut in. “Does what happened to Penny have something to do with this? If I wanted to take the fire out of a revolt—”
Hearth nodded bleakly. “I might attempt to make the people amenable to do whatever I told them to. Even if they were harming themselves. Yes.”
All at once everyone was talking. Questions filled the room. Madame Hearth looked about and waited until they all became quiet. “If you are with us, you may stay. If you are not, I will expect you to depart forthwith, with your mercenary accompaniment. You will be allowed to depart in peace.” She stood. “I imagine you wish to discuss this among yourselves. You may use this room to plan your road forward. You have one hour.”
She knocked at the door. Pate opened it, and she flowed out.
The door clacked shut.
They stared at one another.
“Well, I do know one thing,” said Henry.
“What’s that?” said Ruby.
“This tea is terrible.”
CHAPTER 10
When Freedom wakes in the New World,
it will not be put back to sleep.
—Elizabeth de Toqueville, Travels in the Colonies
Ruby shook her head. A strange little whistle hung in her ears, just on the edge of hearing. “Did she say—”
“A king?” Henry said. “On this side of the ocean? Besides Greta’s father, who is Lothor Van Huffridge?”
Lost in thought, Captain Teach stared at the wall. “Van Huffridge, yes.” He shook himself, waking from a dream. “The head of the Rupert’s Bay Company. They do all of the fur trading in the colonies. Powerful man. Savvy. I met him once, outside a tavern in UnderTown.”
Ruby squinted. He had on his it’s-not-my-fault look. “In the street or the alley?”
Teach licked his lips. “Alley.”
“So you robbed him?”
“Well, he had so much money—”
“You robbed the king of America?”
“He wasn’t king at the time.”
Cram shook himself like a dog after a bath. Pink goo flew. “Mayhap he will be, though, Captain.”
“Hold on,” said Marise. Her hand flew up, as if to ward off demons. “Are you lot actually considering staying here?”
“What do you mean?” said Ruby.
“I mean, this city is about to explode. People will die. Many people. Colonial revolts do not succeed. They get squashed.” She pulled her hair out of the greasy band that held it back and started to regather it into a tight bun. “It’s out of the question for any of you to stay here.”
Ruby laughed, a long, low, bitter chuckle. “Out of the question? Marise, who are you to tell us what is or is not in our futures?” Besides, Ruby was completely flummoxed by the news. She loved Philadelphi, but a rising? A revolt? A strange excitement flared at the base of her spine. If the English crown was the Swede and Rool, perhaps this rising would rid the city of them. Or the countryside. What if the crew didn’t have to stay on the run? What if they could make a place of, of refuge?
“I am your mother, Ruby. This is no time for petulance.”
Fury pulled her out of her chair. “What do you know of petulance? You feared for your precious secret. You feared for it so deeply you hid yourself away for over a decade. You left us!”
“Ruby, this is not the time—” said Athena.
“No, no, Athena. She left me and him”—Ruby waved her hand at Captain Teach, who leaned against the edge of the sofa; he looked ill—“and the crew and, and”—she took a shuddering breath—“and Gwath, and she ran away.” She whirled back to Marise. “Would you have us do the same?”
The scorn was gone from her mother’s face. Now she measured the rope of her words, knot by knot. “I would. Because despite what you think of me, Ruby, I did and do care for you. And Wayland. And yes, Gwath.” There was something in her gaze, a machete of a look. Did she know that Gwath was here in this place?
“Stop it, the two of you,” said Captain Teach.
“Father, she is manipulating us right now. She—”
“Wayland, this has nothing—”
“Stop.” The captain’s sledgehammer of a fist slammed down on the back of the sofa. It snapped in half with a loud CRACK. A storm of anger loomed in his eyes. Ruby stopped talking. Her father was a pleasant man, a nice man. But she had seen him angry. A hurricane. No one could stand before him. Beside her, Cram whimpered deep down in his throat.
Captain Teach blew out his mustaches and shook himself like a bull. “Now. You heard Madame Hearth. We have one hour, and we must decide; it is dishonorable to abuse her hospitality. Ruby, your mother is right. If the city rises, no one will be safe, including us.” His glance cut short Marise’s interruption. “But I consider you companions, not children. I shall not tell you what to do. You must decide for yourselves. Who will stay and who will go?”
“Wayland—” Marise interrupted.
“Marise. Please. Look at them.”
Ruby followed her mother’s gaze.
Athena stood before them. Even in her frontier leathers she cut a figure of valor. Her chin jutted forward with grace and resolve, an image of her warrior goddess namesake, carved from living stone.
Cram. Restless fingers worried at his bag, constantly checking to see that its knots were secure. Somehow he had found a plate of biscuits and a never-ending stream of them rolled into his mouth. His eyes never rested, though, always searching for a side door to guide them through or a safe haven to hunker down in.
“Like this one?” Henry pointed to Marise’s mask, lying on the floor.
Penny laughed. “No, silly, just for your mouth. And it has tubes and the like on it, and you lie down, and breathe easy”—she demonstrated—“and you have the most wonderful dreams, and then they come and wake you, and they gives you two whole shillings for your trouble!”
Ruby’s stomach rolled. All she could think about was Evram Hale, skin mottled like Penny’s, but even worse—not talking and just staring—the first victim of the Swede’s machine. For all she knew he was still sitting there back at Fort Scoria. Where she had abandoned him. Her cheeks flushed. Evram had helped her at every turn, even putting himself in danger for her, and she had left him behind.
Henry leaned closer, looking closer at Penny’s features. “They put a mask over your face?”
“Yeah, you breathes in, and it tastes like flowers or somethin’. Then feels like someone’s sucking your air out your mouth, but soothing, like. So nice. You should try it.”
Henry’s chuckle was strained. “Maybe I will, Miss Penny.”
Ruby could not keep herself or her thoughts still. How long had it been since she escaped Fort Scoria? A fortnight? Had fourteen days been enough for the Swede to get the apparatus into the city? If he was using it already . . . She tried to keep her voice calm. “The machine, Penny. There’s a ticking kind of hum? And a thump in the air, against your skin, like a heart is beating somewhere?”
“That’s it. You know.”
Ruby’s heart fell into her boots. “That’s it. It’s the Swede’s machine.”
The woman yawned. “I’m sleepy.”
Marise shook her head in exasperation. “Ruby, please. We do not know for certain. We need to discover exactly—”
How could she say that? It was her invention they were talking about! The plans for this, for what was sitting in front of them, had been put into Ruby’s body by her mother and then ripped out by the Swede. “Of course you know what it is. Of course you do. Of course you do.”
“Ruby—” Captain Teach said.
She turned on her father, her chest tight with fury and guilt. “Father, of course the great inventor knows her work. Why not take credit where it’s due for this wonderful—”
Madame Hearth interrupted. “We should let Penny have her rest. But before we go, I would like you to observe one more thing.” She turned to the woman on the cot. “Penny, please stand up.”
The woman smiled, then stood up.
Athena frowned. “What does this have to do with—”
Hearth ignored her. “Penny, hop on one leg.”
She picked up her foot and began hopping, a distant smile still plastered on her face.
Ruby didn’t know why, but it disturbed her. Something about the vacancy, the emptiness there. It wasn’t the emptiness of the Reeve. It was something scarier.
“Penny hop up on the bed.”
She did.
“Penny, flap your arms and squawk like a chicken.”
She did.
“Penny, choke yourself.”
Henry turned to Hearth, eyes wide. “What?”
Penny put her hands about her throat and began to squeeze.
“Stop her,” Ruby said. Her voice shook.
Penny continued, and she started to make small gurgling sounds in her throat. Her eyes bulged.
“Penny, stop!” said Ruby.
Penny pulled her hands away, easy as you please.
The room was silent, save for the sounds of the woman heaving in great gouts of air.
Ruby wanted to scream. Or retch. She turned back to Hearth. “Why did you do that?”
Hearth’s eyes were granite. “You needed to see it. Now I suggest we all retire to my study and let Miss Penny here get some rest.”
Penny immediately yawned. “Thank you!” And she curled up on her bed, ready to sleep.
Hearth led the pack of them down the corridors back to her office. Silence preceded them. Students stared. Masked adults tried to pretend not to. Whispers spread behind their passage like the wake of a ship. Everyone was looking. But they were not looking at Ruby or Athena. Every eye followed Wayland Teach and Marise Fermat.
Athena leaned over to Ruby as they walked. “Well, this is different.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re not gawking at us.”
Ruby scanned the halls as they walked. These people did not know Marise Fermat and Wayland Teach as her father and mother. To them they were something else. Something apparently important. On Ruby’s first visit Madame Hearth had said her mother was a brilliant alchemyst and had implied her father had stolen Marise away from greatness. Was that the truth? Did Ruby even know them? That big, bearded man up ahead had always been her rock in the storm, a pillar of strength. But he wasn’t what she thought he was. Was he? A wave of dizziness struck her.
Athena was there to steady her, taking her elbow. “You all right?”
She nodded and squared her shoulders. “Just— I’m reeling, Athena. I don’t know what to think. Wet is dry and dry is wet.”
Athena smiled sadly. “We have to keep up. Can you make it, or will I have to carry you? I can do it, you know.” Her eyebrows shot up, perfectly innocent. “Then perhaps people will start looking at us again.”
It brought Ruby back to the world. They walked on.
They arrived at Hearth’s office and arranged themselves on the battered furniture. Cram was there, sitting on a wooden chair, wide eyed as a new colt. The washtub next to him was full to the brim with strawberry-smelling ooze. He sat wet and shivering in a robe, small pieces of pink goo still hanging from his nose and ears. Ruby hugged him in relief.
“Easy, Ferret.” He smiled shakily. “Take care you don’t tarnish your hard reputation.”
Athena and Henry greeted him as well, but the whole group quickly subsided into silence and their own thoughts.
Hearth busied herself with the samovar. “So.”
Ruby saw no reason to be tactful. “So what kind of cruel madness was that?”
“Ruby, I think Madame Hearth was correct. I think we needed to see her—” Henry said.
“To see that woman choke the life out of herself? I suppose we have been a bit starved for entertainment out in the wilderness, Henry, but why not some old sea shanties? Don’t you think those might go down a bit more smoothly?”
“If you cannot keep a civil tongue, I will have all the children removed, and the adults can continue this conversation,” said Hearth.
“Children? Why, you gussied-up bag of—”
“Ruby.” The shards of glass in her father’s tone stopped her short. He was still her father to her, but in the days since Gwath’s revelation it had not gotten any less confusing. And where was Gwath? No matter who knew what, he should have been here. With her other father. Ruby’s pulse raced. The room was vibrating.
“Fine.” She waved her hand airily in the direction of Henry and her mother. “The chemysts should speak. Tell us about the Swede’s work, will you? Of excellent quality, is it not? He seems to have made some modifications since his first experiment. Evram Hale couldn’t even speak when I saw him. Charming woman Penny is, don’t you think?”
Marise stared at her for a moment, face unreadable. “Henry?”
He hesitated.
“It’s all right,” said Marise. “You can speak candidly. Obviously my work is no longer a secret. Report your findings.”
The young chemyst cleared his throat and looked about nervously. He steadied himself on Hearth’s table. “From her description I believe that woman to have been subjected to some variation of the process you discovered, the one encoded into Ruby’s blood, the process that harvests the chemystral energy from living subjects.”
“Juicing, she called it,” said the captain. He kept on looking back and forth between Ruby and her mother, tentative and pained.
“But how did the process become known?” Hearth asked. She turned to Marise. “If you were hidden in the mountains, and Collins here had the journal—”
“It was Swedenborg,” said Ruby, “the chemyst from Fort Scoria.” She wanted to throw something. The words tasted bitter on her tongue. “He . . . harvested the plans from my blood. He must be in the city. Somehow he has reached Philadelphi before us.”
Marise rolled her eyes. “Chemysts can move quickly if they choose. I’m certainly not the only one to ever have created a flying house.”
Athena frowned. “How long has this been going on?”
“A few days perhaps,” said Hearth.
“How many people?” said Teach.
“No way of knowing. There is at least the one shop in UnderTown.”
“Why— I’m sorry.” Athena cleared her throat, and Ruby could read the disgust on her face as clearly as if it were on her own. “Why were you telling her to do those things?”
“Penny is susceptible to suggestion. Highly susceptible. I wanted you to see.”
“Swedenborg added that little hint of spice to your recipe, Mother,” Ruby managed to get out. She wanted to scream. “Now the machine sucks your will right out along with your Source.”
Henry said, “With just one of those machines the amount of chemystral energy they could be harvesting would be, well, significant.”
“Significant? Really? Is that all you care about?” Ruby ground her teeth. How could they all just be sitting there, drinking their tea, discussing it so calmly?
“No, but with reserves of energy like that, a skilled chemyst could do, well, almost anything.”
“Skies open, fire from the heavens, cracks of doom, that sort of thing?” said Athena.
Henry blinked. “Well, yes. Exactly that sort of thing.”
They stared at one another. Ruby held herself completely still. It was the only way she could stop herself from throwing things.
Madame Hearth turned back from the samovar and plonked a tray of steaming teacups down on the table. Henry picked up a cup. Everyone else, who had tasted this particular tea before, found somewhere else to look.
“And with a populace subject to that sort of suggestion, there would be no resistance to the exercise of such power.” Madame Hearth sat in her chair and sipped her tea. “There is something else you should know.”
Henry sampled his cup. Choked. Eyes watering, he managed to ask, “And what is that?”
“Well, a few things actually.” Hearth produced a sheaf of papers. Wanted posters. Drawings stared up from them: Captain Teach, Marise, Ruby, Athena.
“No Cram or Henry?” said Ruby.
“Henry and Cram are apparently less of an official priority,” Hearth said. “But the rest of you are wanted. In Philadelphi and abroad. Enemies to the crown.”
Ruby’s eyes narrowed. Hearth was no idiot. Why would she show them the posters now? To soften them up? For what? “Being wanted is nothing new to us. You said a few things?”
Hearth stared at her for a moment. “Your arrival is fortuitous.” She spooned sugar into her cup. “You are a formidable set of folk. I know this from our history together and from my experiences with you and Lord Boyle there. Not to mention the company of mercenaries you have brought with you, currently squatting in my hallways. You are a walking collection of balance shifters.”
“Thank you?” said Ruby. Shifting the balance. Hearth sounded eerily like Wisdom Rool. She dug her fingernails into her palm.
“I hope you also know that I am showing you a tremendous amount of trust by allowing you to enter the Warren at this time and by introducing you to our . . . guest.”
“We thank you for it,” said Ruby’s father.
“Well, then. Here it is.” Her cup clanked down on the table. “War is coming. This you know. Militias on both sides are setting fire to towns, salting fields, sowing terror. Boston itself is half burned to the ground. For some time now the people of Pennswood and several other colonies have chafed under the rule of the crown. The Worshipful Order has fed the fire of the current unrest. We see it as the perfect opportunity.”
“For what?” said Henry.
“A rising. To name our own monarch. A king in America.”
Ruby’s jaw dropped. A king. She certainly had no love for the English crown. It had hunted, captured, and filleted her. But throwing off a king would not be easy. It would cost lives.
Her father had a distracted look, too, as if he were doing sums in his head. “Who?”
Hearth put down her cup. “Lothor Van Huffridge.”
“Greta’s father?” Athena shook her head in wonder. “It works. He is strong, admired by many, has relationships throughout the colonies, even in New France. . . .”
Henry cut in. “Does what happened to Penny have something to do with this? If I wanted to take the fire out of a revolt—”
Hearth nodded bleakly. “I might attempt to make the people amenable to do whatever I told them to. Even if they were harming themselves. Yes.”
All at once everyone was talking. Questions filled the room. Madame Hearth looked about and waited until they all became quiet. “If you are with us, you may stay. If you are not, I will expect you to depart forthwith, with your mercenary accompaniment. You will be allowed to depart in peace.” She stood. “I imagine you wish to discuss this among yourselves. You may use this room to plan your road forward. You have one hour.”
She knocked at the door. Pate opened it, and she flowed out.
The door clacked shut.
They stared at one another.
“Well, I do know one thing,” said Henry.
“What’s that?” said Ruby.
“This tea is terrible.”
CHAPTER 10
When Freedom wakes in the New World,
it will not be put back to sleep.
—Elizabeth de Toqueville, Travels in the Colonies
Ruby shook her head. A strange little whistle hung in her ears, just on the edge of hearing. “Did she say—”
“A king?” Henry said. “On this side of the ocean? Besides Greta’s father, who is Lothor Van Huffridge?”
Lost in thought, Captain Teach stared at the wall. “Van Huffridge, yes.” He shook himself, waking from a dream. “The head of the Rupert’s Bay Company. They do all of the fur trading in the colonies. Powerful man. Savvy. I met him once, outside a tavern in UnderTown.”
Ruby squinted. He had on his it’s-not-my-fault look. “In the street or the alley?”
Teach licked his lips. “Alley.”
“So you robbed him?”
“Well, he had so much money—”
“You robbed the king of America?”
“He wasn’t king at the time.”
Cram shook himself like a dog after a bath. Pink goo flew. “Mayhap he will be, though, Captain.”
“Hold on,” said Marise. Her hand flew up, as if to ward off demons. “Are you lot actually considering staying here?”
“What do you mean?” said Ruby.
“I mean, this city is about to explode. People will die. Many people. Colonial revolts do not succeed. They get squashed.” She pulled her hair out of the greasy band that held it back and started to regather it into a tight bun. “It’s out of the question for any of you to stay here.”
Ruby laughed, a long, low, bitter chuckle. “Out of the question? Marise, who are you to tell us what is or is not in our futures?” Besides, Ruby was completely flummoxed by the news. She loved Philadelphi, but a rising? A revolt? A strange excitement flared at the base of her spine. If the English crown was the Swede and Rool, perhaps this rising would rid the city of them. Or the countryside. What if the crew didn’t have to stay on the run? What if they could make a place of, of refuge?
“I am your mother, Ruby. This is no time for petulance.”
Fury pulled her out of her chair. “What do you know of petulance? You feared for your precious secret. You feared for it so deeply you hid yourself away for over a decade. You left us!”
“Ruby, this is not the time—” said Athena.
“No, no, Athena. She left me and him”—Ruby waved her hand at Captain Teach, who leaned against the edge of the sofa; he looked ill—“and the crew and, and”—she took a shuddering breath—“and Gwath, and she ran away.” She whirled back to Marise. “Would you have us do the same?”
The scorn was gone from her mother’s face. Now she measured the rope of her words, knot by knot. “I would. Because despite what you think of me, Ruby, I did and do care for you. And Wayland. And yes, Gwath.” There was something in her gaze, a machete of a look. Did she know that Gwath was here in this place?
“Stop it, the two of you,” said Captain Teach.
“Father, she is manipulating us right now. She—”
“Wayland, this has nothing—”
“Stop.” The captain’s sledgehammer of a fist slammed down on the back of the sofa. It snapped in half with a loud CRACK. A storm of anger loomed in his eyes. Ruby stopped talking. Her father was a pleasant man, a nice man. But she had seen him angry. A hurricane. No one could stand before him. Beside her, Cram whimpered deep down in his throat.
Captain Teach blew out his mustaches and shook himself like a bull. “Now. You heard Madame Hearth. We have one hour, and we must decide; it is dishonorable to abuse her hospitality. Ruby, your mother is right. If the city rises, no one will be safe, including us.” His glance cut short Marise’s interruption. “But I consider you companions, not children. I shall not tell you what to do. You must decide for yourselves. Who will stay and who will go?”
“Wayland—” Marise interrupted.
“Marise. Please. Look at them.”
Ruby followed her mother’s gaze.
Athena stood before them. Even in her frontier leathers she cut a figure of valor. Her chin jutted forward with grace and resolve, an image of her warrior goddess namesake, carved from living stone.
Cram. Restless fingers worried at his bag, constantly checking to see that its knots were secure. Somehow he had found a plate of biscuits and a never-ending stream of them rolled into his mouth. His eyes never rested, though, always searching for a side door to guide them through or a safe haven to hunker down in.
