Lumière (The Illumination Paradox) (8 page)

She turns and swipes her lavish cranberry bustle out the door. It falls, adorning her bottom in layers of velvet, so rich, so plush, it looks as though she’s stepped straight out of the palace court. Granted, I don’t know much about women’s clothing, but I know no one in all of Gears or the Follies dresses so.

Good God
. I gulp. Don’t tell me I’ve kidnapped royalty. I’m both a kidnapper
and
a thief.

Don’t be silly. I’ve kidnapped no one. She came of her own volition.

Didn’t she?

My eyes fall to her mud-caked hems, the lace on her sleeves stained in what appears to be…

Good Lord, is that blood?

She straightens, her bosoms bubbling up against the border of her low-cut chemise—
not that I’m noticing.
A tinge of heat rises in my cheeks. I tug down the tips of my waistcoat and avert my eyes. That’s when I notice it. The necklace she wears around her neck. A vial of something pulsing green, on an emerald-and-ebony beaded chain. I’ve never seen anything like it. I must ask her what that is. The vial rolls, lodging low between her breasts. Embarrassed, I dash my eyes away. Later, of course. Not now. I swallow. That would be ridiculous.

Wouldn’t it?

“What’s happened to your gloves?” I say, noticing them balled in her fist.

“They’ve become soiled, I’m afraid,” she says, hiding them in her skirts.

“Where are we?” she demands, turning her attention to the escarpment, her gaze tracing it from mount to base and back again. Wisps of nutmeg and crimson hair frame her face, where her upsweep has become all unswept. She brushes a rouge strand from her eyes and I’m rendered breathless.

“Home,” I say, pulling myself back into the moment.

“Home?” she repeats, sounding a mite frazzled. “And where might
home
be, specifically?”

“Ramshackle Follies—”

“Ramshackle Follies!” Her head swings around. “
The
Ramshackle Follies?” Her mouth falls agape.

“Yes.”

“The Follies that lie beyond the limits of the Commonwealth, where—?”

“Those would be the ones.”

She falls back on her heels and twists her hands together. “I see.” She exhales. “Very well then,” she narrows her eyes and addresses me firmly. “It seems I’ve made a grave mistake. I’ll need you to return me to the marketplace, immediately.” She raises her skirts and tromps back toward the carriage, the heel of her right boot wobbling.
“Perhaps I can hire someone to fetch the machine for me…”
she mumbles.

“What was that?”

“I said, I need to be getting back to the city.”

I chuckle, which sharpens her copper eyes even more.

“Do you find my plight amusing?”

“No, it’s just—” I stammer.

“Fine then,” she starts away. “If you won’t take me, I guess I’ll just have to walk.”

I laugh. “You’ll not get far in those.” I point to her wobbly heel. “And then there’s always the criminals.” I turn my back.

“Criminals?” She falters, halting mid-step.

“The woods are full of them,” I say, loosening Clementine’s tack. “Not to mention the Infirmed.” She turns, her eyes wide and lily white through the grey trolling fog. “You know, those mentally incapacitated creatures even the asylums won’t accept?” She swallows. “The discards of your society deposited here by your beloved Commonwealth. Thrown from passing steamploughs in the night, or strung up by their necks in the trees and left for dead.” I slip the harness from Clementine’s back. “Trouble is, some die...and others
don’t.
”

Her eyes grow wide as saucers under tea.

“And if the criminals don’t get you, the Vapours will.”

“The Vapours?”

I gesture behind me, at the roiling dark mist that hovers over the escarpment’s mount. “Random clouds of gas that roll the hillsides out here, asphyxiating all in their path. Surely you’ve heard of them,” I jest, knowing full well Brethren’s Ruler erected giant scrubbers—known as booms—years ago, to filtrate the air around the entire perimeter of Brethren, protecting its people from the toxic effects of the Vapours...leaving the citizens of Gears and the Follies to fend for themselves. “The Vapours are particularly lethal in late summer”—I lean toward her—“which it currently is. And particularly severe during half-to-full-moon phases”—I whisper—“which are due now, any day.”

She scuttles closer.

“But don’t let me deter you.” I loosen Clementine’s halter and let it drop from her face. “If you really need to get back to Gears, you’d best get going.”

Her face prunes.

I grin as I turn my back to her.

“Perhaps it would be best then if I stayed.”

Her words catch me. “Who said anything about staying?” I whirl back around.

“What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t—”

“And why not?”

I crinkle my brows. “Considering you basically shanghaied my carriage, I think perhaps you should divulge
your
name first.”

Her lips pull into a firm thin line.

“Fine.” I loosen another strap on Clementine’s back. “What do you say we both reveal on the count of three? Ready? One. Two. Thr—”

“Eyelet Emiline Elsworth!”
she blurts.

I grin, saying nothing.

She scowls. “A man of your word, I see.” She turns on her heel and starts away.

“Now, where are you going?” I call after her.

“Well, you can’t expect me accept the hospitality of a person I can’t even trust.”

“What hospitality? Who said anything about hospitality?”

“Are you denying me shelter?” She swings back around.

“Denying you? I haven’t even offered—”

“I cannot believe you’d drag me all the way out here and then refuse to keep me—”

“Me? Drag
you
?”

“What kind of a monster does that?”

I stiffen.

“Brute, I mean.” She blushes.

I purse my lips, eyeing her hard over Clementine’s withers. My blood bubbles under my skin. And to think, I thought she was pretty! “Is there somewhere you’d like me to drop you off? A relative’s house, a friend, an acquaintance maybe? Perhaps there’s someone I can summon to come pick you up?”

“You’re not serious—”

“Very.” I turn, hauling the rest of Clementine’s gear off to the barn.

She steams after me. “You can’t just leave me alone in this terrible place.”

“I could.” I turn. “But then you’d die. And I’d be the monster you just accused me of being.” I stiff-arm my way past her gape-mouthed expression, making my way back to Clementine.

“I demand you give me shelter.” She stamps her foot.

“You what?”

“I demand you take me in and keep me for as long as I need.”

I stare at her, shocked, unbelieving.

“Look, for reasons I’d rather not discuss, I can’t keep you here. Now there must be somewhere else you can go. Surely you had a plan.”

Her face falls.

She didn’t. I sigh. What kind of girl shanghais a carriage out into the middle of nowhere without concern for her wellbeing? What’s the matter with this girl?

I scratch my head. “Do you do windows?” I say.

Her chin snaps up. “Do I do
what?”

“What about the dishes? Would you prefer to do the dishes?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, surely you don’t expect me to keep you for free?”

Her lips clench tight as a pair of pliers, and it almost makes me laugh.

“What about the privy?”

She scowls.

“The floors?

She gasps.

“All right, then. Dishes it is.” I extend a hand to seal the deal.

She hesitates, her lip in a pout. Finally she drops her hand into mine. I shake it firmly, jumping at the sparks that light between us.

“But, absolutely
no
laundry.” She grins.

“Damn,” I drop her hand. “I forgot that one.”

She smiles, then traipses after me, circling. “But don’t go thinking just because I’ve accepted your
strained
offer of hospitality that I’ve agreed in any way to become your property, or your slave.” She juts out her bony chin. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Sparkling.” I push past her. “Lucky for you, I don’t believe in slavery,” I mutter.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” I turn. “You’re welcome to stay until the Vapours have cleared”—I grow serious—“but after that I must insist you find another place.”

“How long before Vapours clear?”

“Couple of weeks maybe, could be a month.”

“A
month!
”

I reach back and slap Clementine on the arse, sending her off into the underground stable, trying not to laugh as Eyelet jumps.

“What then?” she says, primping away her ruffled look.

“Then,” I tilt my head toward the escarpment, “we’re good for another three to six months before they rear their ugly head again.”

“I see,” she stares off over the horizon. “And where is it that you live, exactly, Master…” She looks around.

“Babbit,” I mumble “Urlick Babbit.”

The words struggle from my mouth. It’s been years since I formally introduced myself. I lower my eyes to the ground.

“Urlick.” She rolls the word around on her tongue, her eyes shining. “Is there a house?”

I point to the base of the landscape behind her, to the weathered, brass porthole door, burrowed into the side of the escarpment’s base, beyond the belly of the moat. Gutter water runs past the entrance beneath a wooden pallet porch. A swing bridge made of planks and twine fixed to a pair of old trees connects the dwelling to the side of the earth. Her eyes slowly drink in the scene.

“You live there?” She points. “In that hole, in the rock?”

“That’s correct.”

She looks as though she’s drunk a vat of poison.

“Rather the perfect hiding place, don’t you think?” I lower my voice, flitting past her toward the carriage. “For someone who’s on the run.”

She darts backward as if she’s been singed. “I take it you live alone?”

“No. I live with my father.” I pick up the forks of the buggy.

“Really. What does he do?”

“He’s a scientist—”

“How interesting—”

“Not really.” She drops her hands.

I yank on the forks, wincing under the weight of the carriage, pushing it parallel with the barn.

“Have you forgotten something?” I say, catching her eyeing the carriage door.

“No.” She drags her hands down her skirts.

I drop the forks, pull myself up on the coachbox, and yank a lever, sparking the fifth-wheel running gears into motion. The axles on either side of the carriage pivot a full one hundred and eighty degrees. From there, the whole carriage sets into motion, drifting sideways, parallel parking itself in the barn. Eyelet’s eyes grow wide at the sight.

She’s never laid eyes on a self-parking coach before. But of course not, I’ve only just invented it. They don’t have
everything
in Brethren.

“How did you do that?”

“It’s a secret,” I say, jumping down next to her, slapping the dust from my hands. I pause, reaching for the gash at the side of her temple. “What’s happened to your head?”

“Nothing.” She ducks away. “I’ve just grazed it, is all.”

“On what?”

“On the machine that rode next to me in the carriage.”

I swallow.

How does she know about the machine? Was she watching me? Did she see me steal it? Who is this girl? Has she been sent?

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, altogether too quickly.

“Nonsense,” she scoffs. “You’re the one who stole it from—” She stops herself.

I twist my brows and stare at her sternly. My hands begin to sweat.

She purses her lips and stares back. For a long moment there is nothing but silence. Then, before I can stop her, she turns and bolts toward the carriage.
I can’t let her open the door. I can’t let her see it.
I lurch forward, catching her hard by the wrists. “That machine is none of your business,” I seethe, through clenched teeth.

“Really?” She yanks herself free and rubs her wrists. “I’ll have to try to remember that.”

S
ix

Eyelet

I follow Urlick out over the makeshift bridge that leads to the portal door to his home. The bridge swings and I grab for the handrail made of dried twisted vine, pulling back at the prick of thorns.