“Better?” Emily asked. She was standing by the bed with her hands on her hips.
“Some.” I tried to sit up again, and it went better. My chest felt like a stack of very precariously balanced plates, cracked and tottering. I put a hand on Emily’s shoulder. Her skin was cold. “What the hell’s wrong with me?”
“Wilson said something about the bug not reading right. And you’re mending fast, like nothing he’s seen.” She carefully shrugged off my hand, took the empty glass and set it on one of the work benches that circled the room. “The healing is taking up a lot of you, all at once. Here it is.”
She came back to the bed, holding a stoppered bottle. She presented it to me, turning it so the bug inside clinked against the glass. “Make any sense to you?”
I peered in at the bug. The beetle was dead, its legs curled up like burnt eyelashes, its back shiny and black. The pattern scrawled across its shell was complicated and unfamiliar.
“What do I know about engrams?” I peered at the pattern on its back. When you took foetal metal for an implant, the docs had you memorize a pattern for the living steel to imprint upon. That pattern should somehow be reflected on the beetle. It had been a while for me, but the bizarre scraping in my hand looked like nothing I’d seen before. It hurt to look at. “Mean anything to you?”
“Mm,” Emily said, her lips pursed. “Means you’re one complicated son of a bitch. Wilson thinks maybe the beetle was bad, or the massive damage in your body threw it off. He insists you couldn’t make anything with a pattern like that.”
“Well.” I slid the beetle back into the bottle from my cupped hand, put the stopper in and set it by the bed. “That’s a mystery for another mind. How’d your errands go?”
“Poorly. Lots of Badge out there. Most folks are just staying low. You’ve made a hell of a mess out there, Jacob Burn.”
“I have. Did you get in touch with Cacher?”
“No,” Emily said quickly. “I was… his business and mine don’t cross, right now.”
“Business.” I grimaced. “He seemed pretty worried about you, last I saw him.”
“Well. Maybe with good reason. Hanging out with you seems to be a world of trouble.”
She was leaning against the bed, her arms crossed, just a crack of a smile leaking across her face. I smiled and put a hand against her elbow. She didn’t move it.
“Hanging out with me has always been trouble. Why should now be any different?”
She smiled a little more, but didn’t move her arms. She turned away and walked to one of the tables nearby.
“I got you some new clothes. Took the sizing from the ones you ruined. I hope the cut’s not too modern.”
“I’m sure they’re fine. Emily, what happened in your apartment? What did you do with the Cog?”
She paused, rearranged the clothes on the table, folding and refolding the pants and vest.
“What’s the story with that Cog, Jacob? What’s the real story?”
“Like I said. Marcus gave it to me, but I think there’s a lot going on with it.” I didn’t want to tell her more than that, yet. I didn’t know what she had to do with all this. Didn’t know I could trust her.
“A lot going on with it.” She nodded and turned to me, leaning against the table, her hands behind her back. “That’s one way of putting it. There were some men, after you left. They must have been watching the place.”
“What men? How were they dressed?”
“Nondescriptly. Perfectly… unremarkable. It scared the hell out of me. They were asking about you, what my business was with you.”
“What’d you say?”
“That I didn’t know you. Never heard of you, or anyone fitting your description. They didn’t pretend to believe me.”
“Did they ask about the Cog?”
She turned back to the clothes. I could see that she had hidden the shotgun among them, and was now refolding the clothes and checking for grease. She set the shotgun aside. “They asked about any strange devices. If you’d tried to sell me anything, or seemed anxious to move any strange property.”
“How the fuck did they know?”
She shrugged and hefted the shotgun, then turned back to me. “Point is, they knew.”
“Who were they?”
“I told you, there was nothing remarkable about them.”
“Who do you think they were?” I asked. I realized I was leaning forward, gripping the bed. My chest wasn’t hurting anymore.
“They were Council. Had to be. One of them was really creepy.”
“Sloane.”
“You know the guy?” she asked.
“We’ve met. And I’ve seen his name around.” I flopped back onto the bed. I wanted to have a little talk with Mr. Sloane, one of these days.
“So where’s the Cog?” I asked.
“I hid it. As soon as they left I took it and went out the dumb waiter. It’s safe.”
“There’s another way out of that place? You could have told me, Em. I had to do some damage to your property getting out.”
She smiled. “Girl’s got to have some secrets, Jacob Burn.”
“Your secret almost got me killed.”
Again, she shrugged. She put the shotgun into a travel bag, along with some food and a knife she produced from her skirts.
“You got out, and then I came and rescued you, and took you to my very competent and expensive friend. So we’re even.”
“I’m going to leave that ledger open, Emily.”
“So what about you? Did the meeting with Prescott go okay?”
“Did it go… my god. No, Emily, it did not.” I was standing and didn’t remember doing it. “Everything about it went exactly not okay. I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Did you make the deal?”
“Yes.”
“So that went okay.”
“Except Prescott insisted that the meeting place was a requirement on our side. That Valentine or Cacher or you had required we meet at the party. Was that your requirement, Emily?”
“No, of course not. I just handed you the job.” She finished with the bag and folded it closed. “The details came from Valentine.”
“From Valentine, or from Cacher?”
“Well… Cacher. But he said-”
“Nevermind. Someone set up that meeting, and not for the cassiopia. Strange things happened, Em. Where’s my coat?” I stumbled across the room, the bedclothes clutched around my chest. Emily raised a hand and put it against my arm.
“Oh, no. You’re recovering fast, but you’re not going anywhere.”
“Not yet at least, but I don’t like staying still. Now where’s… here.” The coat was thrown across one of the tables, blood still spotting the chest and arms. I started to rummage through it. The revolver was still in the pocket. I took it out and turned.
Emily had that shotgun of hers out, braced against her hip, the dark little barrel staring at my belly. I held up my hands and let the pistol dangle from a finger.
“Jumpy?” I asked.
“You’re acting strange and pulling guns. I have every reason to be jumpy.”
“Just look at the pistol, Em.”
She grimaced and lowered the gun. “Sorry, Jacob. Strange days.”
“Strangest.” I reversed the grip and handed it to her.
“It’s seen some use, but it’s pretty clean,” she said as she turned it over in her hands. “What am I looking at?”
“Provenance.”
She peered at the inscription along the barrel. “ Glory of Day? Did Marcus give you this, too?”
I shook my head. “Nope. But someone did, up on the Heights. And if that were the strangest thing that happened, I’d thank the hidden cogs and become a holy Wright.”
She snorted and handed me the pistol. “The monk’s life doesn’t suit you, Jacob. It’d be such a waste.”
I realized I’d lost hold of the blanket, and that most of my chest and leg was exposed. I flushed, and Wilson barreled into the room.
“You’re up,” he said. He turned to Emily. “What’s he doing up?”
“Making a point,” I said, taking the pistol from Emily’s hand and covering myself with the sheet. “Where have you been?”
“Been? I’ve been down the street, trying to find a way in without getting caught. The whole iron-damned Badge is outside. Some kind of big metal carriage trundling around.” He rushed to his table and began throwing things into a belted pouch. “You should get your things together.”