Curio (13 page)

Grey shook her head. “I don't know anything about Haimon's business here. I need to . . .” She held back the words. Perhaps there were things Lord Blueboy shouldn't know.

Benedict's gaze sharpened. “He didn't send you here?”

“Well, he did, in a manner of speaking.”

“Why? What does he seek?” Benedict's hands clenched on the balustrade for a moment, but then he relaxed his long fingers and resumed his casual pose. “What does he want? Is our beautiful city not to his satisfaction?”

Grey took a step forward. “I told you, I don't know anything about that. I-I came here in a hurry. There wasn't much time for explanation.”

“I see. And what of the Mad Tock?”

“Who?”

He leaned toward her. “The Mad Tock was spotted the night my soldiers found you. They saw him leave you in the street.”

The footsteps. The wings. The scent of machine oil mixed with something warm and spicy flooded her memory. “I thought there was someone, but I didn't see—”

“Then the Mad Tock didn't bring you here?”

“No, I . . . I was alone when I came to Curio.”

“And how are you to return?”

She swallowed past an itch in her throat and lifted her chin. “I will return when my job is done.”

A scowl darkened Benedict's perfect features, but he pushed away from the railing and donned a smile. “Then we'll have to make your stay as pleasant as possible.” He sauntered toward Grey, hand extended.

Clearly laws were different in Curio. Still Grey cringed from the contact. Benedict's smile remained in place even as her hesitation lengthened. He inclined his head toward the house. The murmur of voices and the familiar clatter of tableware filtered through the open door behind her.

“It's time for evening sip.” Benedict offered his elbow. “If you'll allow me to escort you?”

She ignored the goose bumps that rose on her skin and slid her arm through the porcie's.

He covered her hand with his and led her through the room with the circle of chairs and out into the museum-like hall. His arm beneath her hand was firm, and the cool fingers that rested on hers drew tiny circles of frost on her skin.

What would it be like to live without laws preventing touch? The memory of Whit's arms holding her brought warmth to her cheeks. She shifted her scrutiny from a sculpture of a winged horse to the man beside her.

Benedict's attention centered on a doorway ahead that led off of the gallery. The double doors were flung open, and tocks in black-and-white uniforms bustled in and out.

Grey stumbled, dangling on Benedict's arm a second before righting herself.

The porcie's head swiveled in her direction. Something was wrong. His movements were stiff and jerky.

Grey shivered as Benedict's dazzling smile twitched into place.

“I do apologize, Miss Grey. I'm afraid we lingered on the veranda a bit too long.”

Grey stared at him. They'd stopped walking and he seemed . . . frozen.

His head jerked to face forward and he called out, “Della, here.”

A tiny tock woman who'd just slipped out from the open doorway changed her course and scurried over to stand before Lord Blueboy.

“Yes, my lord?”

He glanced down at her, something like boredom in his eyes. “I've cooled.”

“Shall I fetch a cup, my lord?”

“I've no wish to draw attention.”

The tock, Della, bobbed her head. “Of course not, my lord.” She fumbled with the buttons on the cuff of her white sleeve, exposing a panel in the metallic skin of her wrist. She winced as she pressed it and the metal slid open a notch. Clear liquid bubbled from the slit. She raised the leaking arm to Benedict's mouth.

Grey's stomach rolled. She turned, catching the maid's widened eyes before the grandeur of the foyer swam out of focus. She saw Whit, blood seeping from endless cuts. A scream built in her chest, but if she opened her mouth her meager meal would rise.

“Miss?” The whisper thrummed low in Grey's ears.

Filling her lungs, Grey straightened, her hand still tucked in the crook of Benedict's stiff arm. A faint hiss sounded deep within the porcie's chest.

Della was buttoning her sleeve, her dull eyes fixed on Grey. “Are you well, Miss?” She paused in her task. “Fully animated?”

Grey jerked her head in a nod.

“Very well, then.” The maid adjusted her sleeve and scuttled away.

Benedict shuddered, sending a tremble through Grey's arm. The fingers over hers grew warm, and the porcie took a step forward and another. He didn't move his head to look at her, but his arms and legs moved with the fluidity she'd observed on the veranda. Grey staggered along until she managed to match his stride in her unfamiliar heels.

What had just happened? What kind of . . .? Benedict had drunk from Della like some storybook vampire. Grey set her jaw and tried to bring some rationality to the ghastly display. It wasn't blood. It was likely water. And since tocks ran on clockwork, not water, Della probably carried the reserve for just such an occasion. But it had hurt the little maid.
She'd seen pain in the tock's eyes. Grey's skin crawled under the porcie's heated fingers.

Benedict paused before moving into the doorway. A tock in an embellished uniform stood just within the entrance. Beyond him stretched an expansive room with a gleaming floor reflecting strings of light like glowing pearls thrown over the surface of a glassy lake. The liveried tock nodded to Benedict then turned toward the interior of the room.

His mechanized call reminded Grey of the metal soldiers. “Lord Blueboy and his honored guest.”

Benedict ushered her through the double doors into the cavernous room. Above them, huge chandeliers spread tentacle-like arms dripping crystals. Half a dozen miniature fountains tinkled and shimmered on small, high tables arranged throughout the room. Goblets circled the water features and lined the edges of the room on narrow buffet boards festooned with shimmering gauze.

Grey's eyes widened as she took in the porcies milling about the sparkling room. Exquisite faces peered from under elaborately styled hair. The women wore shades of gold, silver, and white, the light so dazzling on their shining clothes that it almost hurt to look at them. But she couldn't look away. Many of the men wore lighter shades as well, their pale grays and muted tans mixing with the elegant black suits of others.

A spot of color caught Grey's attention as Fantine emerged from a glittering cluster of ladies, her blue gown a focal point amongst the pale splendor.

She rushed over, a long-stemmed glass nestled in one of her tapered white hands and a frown dragging her pink lips.

“There you are.” She attached herself to Benedict's other arm but shot him a cool look. “You've not changed for sip.”

Benedict moved amongst the groups of porcies, smiling and nodding. Grey caught the low words he flung at Fantine. “I don't care much for your themed evening sips, my dear.”

He led Grey and Fantine to one of the raised tables in the center of the room. A tiny fountain bubbled in the center, and Grey kept her eyes on the feature. But she didn't miss the pout in Fantine's next words.

“All is not lost. You are wearing blue, of course. We shall still stand out as Beauty's Best among our fair guests.”

Benedict shifted as though observing the milling porcies, but Grey heard him mutter, “Oh, thank the Designer. Our evening will not be ruined because I've forgotten to change.”

Following Fantine's example, Grey snagged a glass from the table, dipped it into the fountain, and drank. Water. It felt good going down but refused to settle in her stomach. The oat cake and apple were a distant memory. She'd need something more than water, and soon. Grey gripped the edge of the tabletop as the periphery of the room quivered.

The porcies gathered in clusters or walked between fountains, dipping their glasses in and sipping as they conversed. But jewel eyes darted in Grey's direction, or fixed on her person in bold stares almost punishable back home in Mercury.

“They find you fascinating.” Fantine leaned over the table, the bodice of her dress straining at her bosom. Grey's hand moved to her own chest, but she stopped short of yanking the neckline of her gown higher.

Fantine edged around the table until she stood by Grey. The porcie rested her delicate hand on Grey's shoulder and inclined the tower of burnished red curls toward Grey's own piled-up hair.

“They've never seen anything like you and are eager to hear your tale.”

A group of females floated by, their movements slow and graceful. Grey stared at the display of elegant attire and exposed skin. The light twinkled off satin, gems, and teeth.

She leaned into Fantine and murmured, “You're all so beautiful. How—”

“Of course we are. We were designed to be beautiful, were we not? It's our duty to make our creator proud, to be the most beautiful that we can be. Beauty's Best.”

“And the tocks?”

Fantine offered a delicate snort. “As long as they function properly, they please the Designer, don't you think? But that doesn't mean they shouldn't try to look as pleasing as they can. Why, Nettie is almost presentable, isn't she? The poor dear does try.”

Fantine rambled on, but Grey's attention followed the striking figure of Benedict as he moved throughout the room. He'd left their table after a quick sip from the fountain and now slid from group to group. The men bowed and the women gave him looks that made Grey blush. The heat on her cheeks increased as Benedict sought her gaze. All the porcies clustered around him followed suit, smiling at her as he spoke.

Grey flinched as the white fingers on her shoulder tightened. Fantine watched Benedict's progress as well, and the lovely porcie's eyes glittered like shards of crystal.

Turning away from Benedict's probing stare, Grey launched into what she hoped would be a welcome topic. “How long have you and Lord Blueboy been, er, that is to say . . . how long have you cared for one another?”

Fantine's brows nipped together and she scrutinized Grey. “I've been Benedict's mistress for five arbor cycles now. Do you not remember the ball welcoming me to his estate? Even the most remote villages received a detailed account.”
She leaned in, her smooth face inches from Grey's. “Where
are
you from? Beyond the countryside? Surely not the Glass Forest.”

Lord Blueboy's raised voice cut off Grey's response.

“Welcome, my friends. Fantine and I are honored by the beauty you bring to our home. Surely the Designer is pleased by your efforts.”

He'd moved to a stage at the back of the large room. Behind him chairs and instruments waited for musicians. The porcies gathered in a semicircle around the platform while tocks whisked into the room, silently removing the tables and fountains.

Following Fantine's lead, Grey drifted toward the assembled porcies. Benedict's eyes followed her. He wore a small smile that told a story of closeness and familiarity, a story she didn't know. The porcies smirked.

“I know you're all anxious to meet our lovely guest.” Benedict held out his hand. “Grey, would you join me please.”

Her feet refused to move. Glints of light bombarded her, like dozens of lamps lit at once. Benedict smiled and beckoned.

Grey glanced down and didn't recognize her own body. Who was this woman wrapped in the thinnest layer of silver silk? Her cheeks flamed as though she stood naked in a morality service.

A jab to her back jolted her out of the horrible daydream.

“Go up there,” Fantine whispered. “Benedict is waiting for you.”

After one uneasy step in her towering heels, Grey regained command of her limbs and moved through the crowd. The porcies smiled and nodded. Smooth figures in elaborate clothing pressed close, and warm fingers touched her arms and back. Grey forced herself not to recoil. The
heat of the crush made her head ache. She almost thanked Benedict when he met her at the stairs and took her hand as she climbed the two steps.

He led her to the center and rested one hand on her lower back as they faced the sparkling circle. Grey tightened the muscles in her stomach, arching her back away from Benedict's satiny fingertips. He ignored the subtle movement and loosed his most charming smile on the assembly.

“Grey joins us from one of the southernmost settlements, near the borders of the Glass Forest.”

She forced a nod of agreement to accompany Benedict's lie.

He turned toward her, his smile softening. “Her unusual yet enchanting condition kept her prisoner in her home for all our time here in Curio.”

His hand slid up to grip her elbow as he faced the porcies again and raised his voice. “She feared that we would reject her for her uncommon design, but as for me, I have never seen such amazing craftsmanship.”

Lord Blueboy took a step back and motioned toward Grey as though showcasing a rare piece at an auction. “I declare her Beauty's Best and commend her bravery as she walks among us.”

A murmur spread through the gathering, punctuated by low words and a few harsh notes.

“Now, now, no politics tonight, my friends.” Benedict silenced the growing unease with a tone that carried both friendly reproof and unmistakable command. “I speak of courage as an ideal—a quiet and strong condition of the mind—not the foolhardy whims you've heard whispered in the streets. Grey is cautious and mindful, as we all strive to be. I hope you'll welcome her as Fantine and I have and appreciate the new beauty she brings to our city.”

An odd sound, low and ringing, spread from the back of the room, growing louder with each second. Grey searched the crowd, their stunning faces almost blinding in the white light. After a moment she noticed the movement of their hands. Each porcie rubbed his or her palms together in slow circles. Applause?

Benedict gave her the slightest of nods and tilted his dark head toward the crowd.