The Brass Giant (9 page)

Not yet wanting to go home, she turned toward Emmerich, “Would you like to get a shaved ice in Pemberton?”

Emmerich grinned. “If you do.”

They headed toward Andover, passing by the pawnshop, the barber, and then the pub, happening upon a group of Luddites outside. A woman stood on a crate in front of the window, shouting to the crowd beneath her. She spoke of the corruptness of the Guild, the vulgarity of machines, riling the mob until they shouted in agreement. Emmerich frowned, his arms tensing as they walked past. Petra understood his anger. The Luddites were the real wickedness of the city, not the Guild, not the University or the machines they built. They were a group of zealous radicals, anti-­technologists with a history of violence against the Guild and anyone who believed that machines would pave the way to the future. It was Luddites who set fire to the University all those years ago, the reason Petra was an orphan. She glared at the woman as she and Emmerich passed.

When they reached Andover Street, Emmerich released a forceful sigh.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I hate them too.”

They walked down the street, passing through the original buildings of the fourth quadrant. The shops and houses here boasted Regency-­style architecture with antique lanterns above each door, unconnected to the gas lines that lit the streetlamps on Medlock. The older buildings were not so cluttered and neglected as the rest of the fourth quadrant—­their doorknobs polished and shop faces freshly painted. It was the way the whole quadrant should have been had time, disinterest, and neglect not let the rest fall to ruin. The poorer district still stood only because of the efforts of those who called it home.

At the end of Andover, properly in the first quadrant now, was Pemberton Square. The plaza was full of ­people, mostly families with little children. Young girls and boys sat about the fountain, eating shaved ice and soaking their sleeves in the shallow water as they filched pennies from the bottom of the pool when their parents weren't looking. When Petra was younger, Matron had often taken her and Solomon to Pemberton for shaved ice, or to the beach for a swim. But that was before Constance and the others joined their family. Years of caring for Petra and her siblings had taken a toll on Matron, and she no longer had the means or the energy of her youth, with too many children to care for and too big a heart to admit it.

Emmerich bought their shaved ices, apple for Petra and mint for himself. They sat on a bench at the edge of the square, enjoying the cold treats.

“Petra,” he said, setting his ice aside. “If I might ask, how did you become interested in engineering?”

She glanced down at the empty paper cup in her hands and chewed on her lip. She'd never really thought about it before; that was just who she was. “I don't know that there ever was a time that I
wasn't
interested in machines. I always knew I'd be an engineer, ever since I was little . . .”

She remembered the first time she visited Mr. Stricket's shop with Matron Etta, before he'd gone into business with Monfore. Petra had been mesmerized by the glittering clock faces and swinging pendulums and the gentle sound of ticking gears. She'd hopped up into Mr. Stricket's lap and watched as he repaired a broken pocket watch, as if she had always belonged there. It felt like home.

She set her empty cup on the bench beside her. “I can't explain it any more than that, only . . . when I listen to a clock ticking, when I hear the subtle whirring of a machine with all its parts in perfect synchronization, I
feel
it in my heart, in my bones. Being an engineer just felt . . .
right
.” She bowed her head and cleared her throat. “I know it sounds stupid, but it's always been that way for me. It's just who I am.”

Emmerich regarded her, his eyes gentle. “I don't think it's stupid, Petra Wade.”

She doubted that. “What made
you
decide to become an engineer?”

He glanced away, his copper gaze on the distant gleam of the University. “
Aedificium
futurum
,” he said.

“Building the future.”

He nodded. He did not need to say anything else. The Guild tenet was what first drew Petra to the dream of becoming a Guild engineer. Through science, even the most unlikely engineer could change the world.

 

Chapter 7

P
ETRA EXPECTED T
HE
next two weeks to pass without sight or sound of Emmerich, but not two days went by before she found him standing outside the pawnshop after her shift ended, his hands in his pockets and a charmingly lopsided smile on his face. Nearly every other day since then, he whisked her away to fetch flavored ices in Pemberton Square as they talked about whatever happened to cross their minds—­engineering mostly, the different theories and projects they had dreamed up in the years before they met.

Petra looked forward to their next outing that afternoon. She stood at the window, anxiously counting down the minutes until the end of her shift, excited to show Emmerich the vast gallery of machines beneath the fourth quadrant. He waited for her just outside the pawnshop, leaning casually against the stairs as he regarded the hazy gray sky above, his hair tousled by the breeze.

She felt a presence loom up behind her and turned to find Tolly hovering over her shoulder. She scowled. “What do
you
want?”

“Going out with
him
again, are you?” he asked, gesturing out the window.

Petra crossed her arms over her chest. “And if I am?”

“What interest is he to you, anyway?”

She rolled her eyes without reply.

Tolly hadn't taken well to her increased visits from Emmerich, and try as she might to brush him off, he only stuck to her more fervently, like a determined leech. As if he really cared what she thought of Emmerich. It didn't matter to him that Emmerich saw her as an equal, that they shared the same dreams, the same affinity for engineering. Nor that Emmerich challenged her intellectually, or that she genuinely enjoyed his company, both the moments of carefree conversation and the heavy debates over the latest scientific innovations. Tolly didn't care that Emmerich breathed
life
into her, or that she had never been so content with the world as she was when she was with him.

No, Tolly only cared that her attentions were on someone other than him. Well, she was tired of his unwanted advances and tired of him treating her like a possession, as if he had some right to her because they'd grown up together.

“I can see who I like, you know,” she said quietly, peering out the window.

Movement across the street caught her eye, and she noticed a man in shabby clothing leaning against the barber's window. He reminded her of the strange man with the rusted pocket watch who had visited the shop the other day. She'd almost forgotten. Between the fight with Tolly and the work with Emmerich on the automaton, the odd encounter had slipped her mind, but she was certain it was the same man.

The clocks in the shop chimed four, and Petra reached behind her waist to untie her apron and head out, but Tolly grabbed her wrist. His voice dropped to a low growl.

“You're not bedding him, are you?”

She blanched and swiveled around to face him, her arm twisted crookedly between them. “How
dare
you!” She tried to wrench her arm free, but he only tightened his grip. “Let me go.”

“I've seen you, Pet, sneaking off to meet with him, staying out late. Don't think I don't see what's going on.”

“You have
no
idea what you're talking about.”

Tolly clenched his jaw, a dark fire behind his eyes. “I see the way you look at him, the way he looks at you. You're going to get yourself hurt, Petra. In the end, you're nothing to him. Let it go too far, and he'll ruin you. He'll ruin you forever. And then who will want you?”

Petra jerked her arm free and held her sore wrist, glaring at him. “I can look after myself, thanks,” she said, speaking through gritted teeth. “And I don't need you making assumptions about what I do in my spare time.” She started toward the door but then hesitated, glancing back at him over her shoulder. “I'm not
yours
, Tolly. I never was.”

With one final glare, she turned away and shoved through the front door. She stumbled onto the landing, finding Emmerich waiting at the bottom of the stairs, unaware of her exchange with Tolly. She glanced at the window, and Tolly's dark, leering eyes watched from within. She refused to let him ruin a perfectly good afternoon with Emmerich. With a deep breath, she composed herself and descended the stairs, hiding her reddened wrist behind her back.

Emmerich grinned up at her. “Would you like to go to the square again?”

“Not yet,” she said, forcing a smile. “I wanted to do something else first.”

P
ETR
A LED
E
MMERICH
to the south end of Medlock. The entry to the subcity beneath the fourth quadrant was not a ser­vice hatch but a narrow door in the side of an old apartment building. There was another entrance closer to the pawnshop, but a much higher chance of being seen by Guild engineers if they went that way—­she had learned that from experience. But here, not many Guild-­certified engineers worked below the fourth quadrant, promising them the freedom to roam the subcity unhindered.

They climbed down the brass spiral staircase and stepped onto a catwalk, suspended high over the rows of furnaces and boilers. Steam hissed through the latticework of pipes along the walls and sweat glistened on the underbellies of the boiling tubs. Below, lines of workers rhythmically thrust shovels into coal carts and fed the furnace fires, the light of the glowing coals gleaming off their soot-­covered skin. The air was hot with the tang of metal.

Emmerich leaned against the rail and looked out over the vast boiler chamber. “This is a marvel.”

Petra stood next to him, resting her hands on the railing. She breathed in the cindery smell of burning coal and smiled. “This isn't even the best part.”

“Oi!” shouted a worker from below. “You aren't allowed down here.”

Petra peered over the edge and spied one of the under-­foremen on the catwalk below. “Hello, Mr. Moss.”

“Oh, it's you,” he said, shaking his head. “Let me get Sol.” The foreman leaned over the edge of the railing and shouted for Petra's brother. One of the workers stopped his shoveling and peered up at the catwalks. He spotted Petra and gave a little wave. “Five minutes, Sol,” shouted the foreman. “Then back to it.”

Solomon set his shovel aside and made for the ser­vice ladder.

Emmerich shifted beside her, his hand sliding across the railing. “Who is that?”

“Oh, that's just Solomon,” she said distractedly, staring at the narrow distance between their fingers. Her chest tightened, and she glanced away, clearing her throat. “My brother.”

Solomon climbed up to the catwalk and strode toward them, wiping his hands on his trousers. Soot rested in the creases of his clothes and clung to his sweaty skin. His bronze forearms shone beneath the char, muscled from hours of shoveling coal. He stepped forward and pulled her into a crushing hug, likely covering her one good dress in soot. “It's good to see you,” he whispered. “I've missed you.”

“I know,” she said breathlessly. “I'm sorry. I've been busy.”

Solomon smirked. “I can see that.”

She pushed him away with a gentle shove, her cheeks burning. She cleared her throat. “Emmerich, this is my brother Solomon.”

Emmerich stepped forward, his arm grazing hers as he reached forward to shake Solomon's hand. Her pulse leapt into her throat, and she swallowed thickly, cursing herself for being so affected by a simple touch.

Solomon hooked his thumbs around his suspenders. “So what brings you two down here?”

Petra glanced at Emmerich and felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I wanted to show him the subcity. He's never been to this part.”

“Well, it's a sight worth seeing,” he said with a grin. “I'd show you around the boilers, but I should get back to work.” He nodded to Emmerich. “Sorry to run. It was nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Solomon returned to the rows of boilers, and Petra grabbed Emmerich by the sleeve. “Come on,” she said, dragging him deeper into the subcity. “There's something I want to show you.”

From the boilers, they traveled the tiers of catwalks, descending deeper into the subcity—­vast chambers of enormous gear trains and spinning turbines laid out neatly below, hundreds of floor engineers, foremen, operators, and technicians attending to the chief tasks that kept the city alive and running. The droning roar of the massive machines filled the air with a deafening hum, infused with the sound of clanking pistons, the oscillating whir of spinning wheels and gears, the groan of overburdened pipes, and the gratifying hiss of steam as pressure was released.

Petra and Emmerich drifted through the discordant rhythm, passing by the busy control deck and into the very heart of the subcity—­the primary engine room, the source of all power to the city. They stood over the spinning driveshaft, surveying the grandest of machines from the narrow catwalk bridge that spanned the width of the chamber. It was here, deep in the thrum of the city itself, that Petra felt truly alive, truly inspired—­her sanctuary.

She rested her arms against the railing, breathing in the rich scents of coal, gasoline, and oil, the pulse of the city singing through her body. Emmerich marveled at the whirling turbine, his eyes brighter than she had ever seen them, filled with an excitement she knew well. He no doubt felt the thrum of the machines in his chest, the whir of gears in his mind, the oscillations of linkages in his bones, the hiss of steam in his lungs. Here, he was one with the machines, one with the city, connected in the same way she was. In that moment, caught up in the movement of the machines, he understood her in a way that no one else ever could. It was why she had brought him here.

Emmerich smiled to himself, inhaling a deep breath as he surveyed the machines below. The subcity was reflected in his eyes, his irises mirroring the whirring machinery with a fervid gleam. He gripped the railing and bowed his head, a preoccupied frown weighing on his brow as he stared determinedly at his hands. “I am glad to have met you, Petra,” he said quietly, his voice barely perceptible over the roar of the subcity. He exhaled a heavy sigh and glanced up at the wall of machines, a small smile on his lips. “For reasons I never expected.”

He reached across the railing and placed his hand atop hers.

Her heart fluttered at his touch, and she stared at their hands, unable to breathe. His fingertips hesitantly traced the side of her hand, as gentle and deliberate as a kiss, before finally settling around the curve of her palm. She swallowed hard, a tingle spreading up her arm.

He glanced up at her. “Petra, I . . .” He trailed off as his gaze fell to her lips, and she felt her breath catch in her throat, paralyzed by the intensity of his eyes as they roamed from her mouth to her neck to the collar of her blouse.

Indelicately, she slipped her hand from beneath his and backed away, stuffing her hand in her pocket and anxiously twisting the winding stem of her watch, her pulse leaping in her throat. Emmerich stared at the place where her hand had been, rubbing his thumb across the railing. A thrill swept through her, both terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and she felt as if she were drowning in her own heartbeat, the thrum of the subcity amplifying the sound of her pulse until she could not discern the difference between heart and machine.

Could it be that he—­and she . . . ?

Petra swallowed thickly and took another step back, knocking into the railing on the other side of the catwalk. She felt the metal groan beneath her weight and heard the rail creak behind her. In a single step, Emmerich had one hand around her waist, pulling her to the center of the catwalk. He held her against him. His eyes burned, gazing at her in the same way he had marveled at the subcity machines. He lifted a hand to her face and brushed her sweaty hair to the side, and his fingers seemed to tremble against her skin—­or perhaps she was the one trembling.

She searched his copper eyes, staring back at her with such intimacy. He had no right to look at her that way, no right to touch her that way. She had no right to stand in his arms, pressed against him in the heat, breathing in the saltiness of his skin. Respectable society shunned such brazen behavior. Yet, in the thrum and pulse of the subcity, society had no peering eyes, no whispers of scandal or impropriety. No one would know of their embrace.

Emmerich's heart hammered within his chest, pressing against her with each beating pulse, until her own heart danced in rhythm with his. She could no longer ignore the growing attraction between them, the thrill of his touch, the weight of his gaze upon her. She wanted only to remain in his arms, lost in the beating rhythm of their hearts and the subcity machines. Never had she felt so alive.

Then he released her, stealing her breath and her warmth.

She could only stare at him, her chest aching as she held back the storm of emotion that rose within her. She wanted to tell him everything she felt in that moment—­how vulnerable he made her feel, how his mere touch sent shivers across her skin, how desperately she wished for another embrace, for nothing but breath between them. But she could not find the words to speak.

Emmerich offered her no apology. He merely stood there with his hands clenched at his sides, avoiding her eyes. Petra swallowed her pounding heart, wondering if he did not speak out of shame, embarrassed by his display of affection toward her. Or was his silence equal to her own, bursting with words of romance and feelings he was unable to bring himself to say?

Emmerich finally looked up, his uncertainty reflected back at her. He frowned, worrying at the edge of his trouser pocket. Petra held her breath, waiting for him to speak, but still he said nothing.

“Emmerich—­”

“Petra—­”

They both spoke at once and then fell silent.

She wrung her hands and stepped forward, the pulse of the subcity thrumming heavily through the air, but she did not know what to say. No words seemed good enough to convey what she felt, to address what had happened between them. Her own mind was too tumultuous—­insecure and hopeful and afraid and so full of yearning all at once.