“So, you don’t know.”
“I think it is powered by one or more wary knives and I have not had access to any to test the hypothesis.”
They are here, Havarr said in my mind. She began to spin near my ear.
My pulse leaped. How many?
Two.
I crossed to the window. In the distance, two men on horseback remonstrated with the guards in the gatehouse. Both horsemen wore the extravagantly caped greatcoat and gray beaver hat that were the unofficial uniform of the Brotherhood. A scouting group, or merely the advance guard?
I saw the flash of metal as a wary knife emerged into the air beside one of the horseman then disappeared. Frenzied sprays of red crisscrossed the inside glass of the box. I closed my eyes; they did not have to kill the guards. That poor boy.
We can hold against two, Havarr said in my mind.
Perhaps. But they were only the beginning.
I swung around to face Mr. Wainright again. “Why should I trust you?” In all truth, my options were narrowing down to this man, but too much relied upon his claims.
He straightened. “All I can offer is my word, my lady, as a scientist.” He opened his hand and smiled; a rather mischievous expression that brought a startling youth to his face. “And of course this.”
We all stared at the tiny silver mechanism upon his palm, shaped like a diamond.
Isabel leaned forward. “What is it?”
His long thumb touched the top of it. And then he was no longer standing before us.
“God save us,” Isabel whispered. “He is gone.”
“I am still here, my lady.” Mr. Wainright’s voice rose from the same place he had previously stood.
“Ah, it hides you in plain sight.” I peered at the empty space. “Are you phasing like a wary knife?”
A flicker of light and then the man stood before us again, his hand still outstretched. “I do not believe so. It is a disruption of the light upon the eye, I think.”
“Can you move around with it?” Such a device would be very useful in a fight.
Mr. Wainright shook his head. “Ah, there’s the rub. The human eye is conditioned to the perception of movement and so, at present, it really only works when one is still.” He gave a small sheepish smile. “Or moving very slowly.”
So, not that useful.
They are coming, Havarr reported, her spinning increasing into a blur. They are all coming. Beyond the crossroad.
That was barely ten minutes away. Forty-nine men. Forty-nine wary knives. My time had run out. I must decide: did I sign and save an innocent child from a life ruined by bastardry, or refuse to sign and hug my hurt to me for the remainder of my life? However short that might be.
“Mr. Dorner, show me where to sign,” I said, waving the solicitor into haste. “Mr. Wainright, is there a way to the scout that is not across the lift-off grid?”
“There are tunnels underground, my lady, for transport of cargo. They will take us most of the way to the ship.”
Mr. Dorner laid out the papers upon the secretaire and dipped the quill into the ink.
“You should read it, my lady,” he said.
“In ten minutes, either I will be dead or I will no longer be on this planet, Mr. Dorner. There is no time for legal niceties.” I completed my name with my usual flourish and jabbed the pen back into the inkwell.
“Isabel, we have never been friends, but trust me now. You and Mr. Dorner must go immediately, before the Wary Brotherhood arrive. Do not head out the front gate.”
Isabel nodded. “Godspeed, Mathilda. Thank you for signing.”
Mr. Dorner hurriedly collected the papers and his hat.
He bowed. “Thank you, my lady. I hope…”
“So do I, Mr. Dorner. Goodbye.”
He followed Isabel out of the room, their footsteps along the corridor a quick tattoo of alarm.
I turned to Mr. Wainright who had retrieved his beaver hat and stood watching me. “We have ten minutes Mr. Wainright. Show me the way to the tunnels and the Scout.”
Mr. Wainright led the way down the worker’s staircase, our progress echoing in the deep stairwell. Ten years of service had left their mark upon the gray walls—scrapes, smears, gouges—and the air had a staleness, underpinned by the ever-present caustic stink. Havarr phased in and out above us, checking each floor as we descended.
“Did you know that your knife is the only one with a full starburst etched upon it?” Mr. Wainright asked, glancing up as Havarr hovered a few yards ahead then disappeared again.
“Of course.” In fact I had found illustrations of all the starburst configurations on the other knives and memorized them in the hope that it would make sense one day. “The current theory—from Mr. Bentham—is that the symbol is the name of the Celestial who held the knife.”
We rounded another landing.
“Possible, I suppose,” Mr. Wainright said. “May I ask, does the knife speak to you?”
“In a way. She understands my needs and responds to them.”
“I see. Have you ever asked her about the ships or the Celestials?”
I cast a scornful look at his back. “Naturally, but whatever information she offers is in the language of the Celestials and it does not seem in her ability to translate or in mine to understand.”
We rounded the fourth floor landing.
“I figured as much: the knives are the first logical source of information and we still do not have much knowledge about the ships at all.” Mr. Wainright looked back over his shoulder. “Forgive me for speaking plainly, my lady, but I do not think you will survive long in the ship without my knowledge of its systems. If you will allow, I would like to accompany you.”
The sheer impropriety of the suggestion took me aback. The scandal would be explosive. Still, the man had a point. Moreover, I would place odds that the universe beyond England and Earth would not give a rat’s arse about us inhabiting the same ship.
“I will allow it, Mr. Wainright.” I grasped the worn banister a little harder, steadying myself into the knowledge that I had just agreed to travel the stars with a stranger. “But first we must make it to the scout. Two of the Brotherhood are already here and the rest are on their way. They cannot risk killing me until their new knife candidate is nearby, so we can expect an attempt to disable me or render me insensible. We must aim for the same. They cannot risk untethering Havarr and we cannot risk untethering either of their knives.”
We passed the entrance-hallway level.
“You seem very calm about it,” Mr. Wainright said, his breath coming harder. Twelve flights down was a long way to run, especially if one did not have the benefit of enhanced knife stamina.
“I have always known this day would come.”
It was the truth, but it was also true I was not as calm as I appeared.
We reached the bottom of the stairwell. The air was substantially cooler underground, the walls whitewashed stone with oil lamps affixed in plain sconces.
“Where now, Mr. Wainright?”
He bent to catch his breath from the speed of our descent and pointed to an archway ahead. “That will take us out to the main cargo tunnel.”
The corridor sloped upwards and the sound of industry reached us first. Men’s voices and the grind of cartwheels upon paving. We emerged cautiously into the wide and well-lit underground thoroughfare that serviced the lift-off grid.
A cart pulled by a pony and stacked with bales rumbled past, its driver dipping his head into a quick bow at the sight of us. More carts and workers made their way along the cobbled tunnel towards a wide ramp that clearly led up to the cargo ship being loaded with supplies.
Mr. Wainright turned left, against the tide. I followed him. We kept close to the wall, our progress marked by bows and some bewilderment as the workers caught sight of Havarr flying above us.