The Guild Conspiracy (19 page)

Braith's steps echoed off the walls as he hurried across the hangar floor, his heavy boot steps accompanied by a string of curses. “Damn it, Petra, where the hell are you?”

“Up here,” Rupert called, leaning over the railing.

Braith's footsteps quickened. “Rupert? Is Petra with you?”

“She's here.” Rupert pushed her toward the lad­der. “Go.”

Petra clambered over the rails and climbed down the ladder, her hands sweaty on the coarse rope. She reached the floor just as Braith rounded the corner, his cap gone, hair disheveled, the top of his uniform jacket unbuttoned. Then his eyes met hers, and a dozen emotions ran across his face in an instant.

She gravitated toward him, drawn forward by an irresistible pull until they met halfway, stopping just short of reaching out and touching one another. He held her gaze without speaking a word, his face completely disarmed as he slowly raised a hand to her cheek, his fingers hovering mere inches from her skin. She swallowed hard, paralyzed by the crack in his demeanor.

He had never looked at her like that before.

Then he curled his hand into a fist and withdrew, falling behind the mask again. “Tell me this wasn't you,” he said quietly, lowering his hand.

The world rushed back into motion, and she shied away. “What do you mean?”

“Tell me this wasn't your doing,” he said more urgently. “That you aren't a part of this.”

“A part of what?” she demanded, her pulse thundering in her ears. “Braith . . . what's going on? What's happened? We heard—­”

Another explosion thundered outside, even nearer than before, and the floor trembled, the entire hangar shuddering with the aftershock. Petra stumbled forward, and Braith caught her by the shoulders.

He steadied her and forced her to look into his eyes, his grip firm. “Petra, tell me you had nothing to do with this,” he said, his jaw tight. “Swear to me you aren't behind this attack.”

She blinked. “An
attack
? How could you think—­”

“You
disappeared
,” he said, his voice hardening. “You said you'd wait for me, but instead you snuck off and left me to come find you . . . and then
this
happens,” he said gesturing toward the hangar doors. His voice cracked. “What were you thinking? Why didn't you wait?”

“We
did
wait,” she said. “You didn't come.”

“You should have waited longer!” He pressed his lips together and tore away from her. “Of all the
stupid
things you could have done . . . Don't you realize what this looks like? If anyone finds out you snuck away, that we were separated in the midst of an attack . . .”

Petra blanched. “But I didn't—­I wasn't—­I had nothing to do with this! I've been with Rupert the entire time. I swear it. Braith . . . you have to believe me,” she said. “I'm not an anti-­imperialist spy. I'm not a traitor. I had nothing to do with the attack. If anyone thought . . . If you said anything to make them think—­”

“I believe you.” He touched her shoulders, silencing her fears. “I just . . . I had to ask.”

She closed her eyes with a sigh, relief flooding her veins.

“Despite what you may think, Petra, I'm on your side. I trust you.”

She glanced up at him, her gut wrenching with guilt.
You shouldn't
, she wanted to say—­but she didn't. He still didn't know what she and Rupert had found in the belly of that airship. He didn't know she had already sabotaged the war machines, that she had lied to him—­was still lying to him. But he couldn't know the truth, not yet, not until she knew what to do, not until she knew how to stop the Royal Forces from sending those machines into battle. Not until she had fixed her mistake.

“What now?” she whispered.

“We need to get you out of here,” he replied. “Away from the hangars, away from the airfield. Whatever is going on here, you need to be as far away as possible before you're dragged into it somehow. We can't let anyone think that you were involved. Where's Rupert?”

“He's—­”

“Here.” Rupert dropped down from the ladder and jogged up next to them. “Braith, what's going on? Who's behind the explosions?” he asked. “Is it the French?”

Braith shook his head. “I don't know, but whoever it is, the military hangars may be their prime target. We should go. It isn't safe here.”

“Right. Let's get out of here.”

T
he airfield was chaos.

Petra, Braith, and Rupert stood at the northern edge of the airfield, their backs to the military hangars as black smoke billowed across the sky. Sirens blared as a pair of water trucks sped toward the fires. Droves of military vehicles rolled across the grassy field, soldiers in uniforms of red and navy wielding rifles as they headed toward the source of the explosions. All around them, ­people clambered to safety, away from the smoke and flames.

Braith withdrew his pistol from its holster and held it aloft, his finger resting against the trigger guard as he scanned the airfield ahead.

She grabbed him by the sleeve of his red uniform, her throat suddenly dry. “Don't leave me,” she said, a tremor in her voice.

A faint smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Wasn't planning on it.”

The earth shuddered as another explosion rattled the airfield—­dangerously close. The deep boom ripped through the air, and the resounding shockwave clapped the breath from her lungs as it passed. She stumbled into Braith, and the world plunged into thick silence as he caught her against his chest. A white haze clouded her vision, and ringing filled her ears, dust and smoke clogging the air, making it hard to breathe. Hands touched her shoulders, and she looked up into Braith's face, his voice muffled and distant as he steadied her on her feet.

Then it pierced through the noise, like static through a telephone. “—­a way off the airfield.” His brows drew together, and he searched her eyes. “Petra? Are you all right? We need to get out of here.”

She met his gaze and nodded.

“There are still some vehicles at the southern gates,” said Rupert, standing on his toes. He pointed toward the encampment of booths and tents to the south. “We might be able to catch one if we hurry.”

Another explosion sounded, further off than before—­another hangar up in flame.

Braith grabbed Petra's hand. “Come on. Let's go.”

The three of them headed toward the other side of the airfield, weaving through the panicked crowds as fires burned through hangars and airships, dark smoke curling into the open sky. The sound of popping gunfire pierced the noise of disorder all around them, and Petra gritted her teeth against the sound.

Rupert ran ahead a few paces, and Petra and Braith shoved after him, buffeted and elbowed by the rush of ­people around them, all running away from the heavy smoke and curling flames. Many headed toward the few remaining airships, escaping the burning airfield by taking to the air, while others hurried toward the airfield entrance to the south, silk hats and lace fans discarded, crumpled beneath muddy boots.

Halfway to the southern gate, Rupert paused and turned toward both Braith and Petra. “I'll run ahead and hold one of the buses before it leaves, get us a way out of here.” He sprinted toward the departing vehicles, leaving Braith with Petra.

Braith tugged her forward. “Let's hurry.”

They ran forward as quickly as the two of them could navigate over the trampled tents and booths, passing the few ­people that still remained as they headed toward the gates. Steam boilers hissed and combustion engines rumbled to life as passengers piled into the scattered automobiles and through the gates, escaping the airfield grounds in a flurry of footsteps and squelching tires.

Petra spotted Rupert several yards away, waving at them from the back of an idle omnibus, the passengers all leaning out the windows as they looked toward the columns of smoke rising to the west. The explosions had stopped for now, but the fires still raged, black smoke spilling into the sky, the sounds of collapsing structures punctuating the cacophony of panic.

Braith and Petra caught up to the bus, and Braith quickly scaled the ladder and held out his hand for Petra to follow.

She hesitated next to Rupert, noticing the lack of space within the omnibus. Her heart sank. “You're not coming.”

Rupert shrugged. “I'll catch the next one.”

“Don't be stupid. There won't be a next one,” she said. “All the other buses have gone.”

“I'll be all right.”

Petra reached out and grabbed his hand. “Come with us.”

He raised a hand to her cheek, his touch gentle. “I can't. Go with Braith. Get back to the city. I'll message you as soon as I can, let you know what's going on.”

The omnibus driver shouted something from the front of the vehicle, and Rupert pulled her into a tight hug.

Tears burned her eyes and she hugged him back. “Be careful.”

He sighed against her neck, holding her close. “You too.”

Then he let her go, and Braith pulled her onto the carriage, his hands secure on her waist. Rupert closed the carriage doors behind her and drew the deadbolt shut, stepping away from the carriage with a frown. Not a moment later, the driver shifted the vehicle into gear and they rolled away from the airfield, leaving him behind.

Petra gripped the carriage doors as the omnibus wheeled down the long, dusty road and out of sight of the airfield. Airships floated overhead, drifting aimlessly above the burning airfield, their colorful banners fluttering in the smoky breeze, until they too disappeared from sight, obscured by tree and hedge as the bus drove on.

“He'll be all right,” said Braith, his voice close and quiet, the two of them pressed tightly together in the overcrowded carriage.

All around them, the other passengers exchanged frantic worries in hushed tones, speculating the cause of the explosions, who might be behind them. But it didn't matter whether it was anti-­imperialist radicals or French soldiers, not really.

Either way, the result would be war.

Petra curled her hands into fists, fighting back tears.

Hours ago, she had believed she could escape this war, escape Julian and the quadruped and her sabotage, but she should have known escape would be impossible. Julian would always find a way to drag her back into his web. And now he had an army, soon to have a thousand quadrupeds at his command, ready for whatever war might come—­an army that would fail in battle because she was stupid enough to think she could stop him.

Braith had been right.

This war would happen with or without her.

There was only one thing she could do now: she had to fix the quadrupeds. Whatever it took. Whatever the cost.

She would not let men die because of her.

 

CHAPTER 14

P
etra stood at the bow of the overcrowded ferry, a cold stone of nausea settling in the pit of her stomach as they approached the brass towers of Chroniker City. She gripped the rail with shaking hands, her fingers and toes soaked through by the relentless mist of sea spray crashing against the hull of the ship. A chill wind gusted over the choppy ocean waves, bringing dark clouds in from the west. Braith stood at her back, the only source of warmth on the deck of this godforsaken ship, but nothing could warm the chill that had settled deep in her bones.

She saw her fate now with the utmost clarity. When she left the city that morning, she had thought she could escape it, but there was only one way forward now. If she wanted to repair the quadruped before war struck, then she had no choice but to expose her sabotage, and if that meant surrendering herself to Julian, so be it.

The ferry docked and Petra hurried off the ship, Braith not far behind. She shouldered through the crowd, the docks bustling with redcoats, coppers, bobbies, and pedestrians alike, everyone swarming toward the arriving ships as droves of passengers came ashore. News of the attack circulated through the crowd—­panicked exchanges and whispered speculation, questions of war, fear of other attacks, worries of whether the attackers had targeted more than the airfield, if this was part of some greater scheme against the British Empire.

Petra shoved past them all, pausing only to show her papers to the guards at the gates before hurrying up the street toward the University, towering high above the rest of the city.

Braith finally caught up to her on the other side of Pemberton Square and grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop. The busy main-­street crowd bustled around them, a confusion of voices and bodies, faceless and ghostlike.

“Petra, slow down,” he said, holding her steady. “Why are you in such a rush?”

“I need to speak to Julian,” she said, trying to tug free of his grasp. “As soon as possible.”

“Why?”

She faltered. How could she explain? If he knew what she had done . . . There would be no going back after that, no returning to the lies that had kept her safe until now. To tell him the truth would break down every last wall she had built to protect herself.

Could she trust him with that?

He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Petra, what's wrong?”

She met his concerned eyes, her resolve starting to crack. What point was there in hiding the truth from him now? After today, that would be the end of it, the end of her rebellion, proof of her sabotage handed over willingly. Julian would have everything he needed to get rid of her, and there was nothing Braith could do that she wasn't about to bring down on herself.

If there was a time to trust him, it was now.

“There is something I need to tell you,” she said slowly. “Something you're not going to like. I—­” She choked on the words, the truth sticking in her throat.

“What is it?” he asked. “Petra . . . you can tell me.”

“I made a mistake,” she whispered, her voice quavering. “I—­I was wrong to think I could stop this war, to think—­” She swallowed thickly and closed her eyes, seeing again the rows and rows of quadrupeds in Rupert's airships, just waiting for an excuse to go to war. “I have to fix them, Braith. Whatever it takes. If I don't . . . men will die because of me, because of what I've done.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. “What mistake?”

She pressed her mouth shut, glancing up and down the heavily congested street. Too many eyes. Too many ears. “Not here.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him down a side street to a less populated area of the city, between the first and fourth quadrants. She stopped at the mouth of a derelict alley, the brick and cobblestones grimy with soot and dirt.

“Petra, what—­”

“I told you before, of my involvement with the automaton,” she started, worrying at the stem of her pocket watch as she paced across the narrow alleyway. “How Emmerich destroyed it trying to protect me from his father.”

She remembered that day with perfect clarity—­the fire in Emmerich's eyes as he turned the frightening machine against his father, how he used the automaton to smash a hole through the floor so she might escape. “Well, there is a bit more to the story than I let on . . .

“I tried once to stop this war, to stop Julian when I realized the truth of what he was trying to do, but I failed. The automaton was his first attempt to create a war machine, long before there was any conflict with the anti-­imperialists. It was proposed as a preemptive measure, but that was a lie. All along, he planned to replicate the automaton, create an army, and use it to mount an attack on the French once his plans to fuel a war were in motion. When we discovered the truth—­Emmerich and I—­we intended to destroy the prototype and reveal his conspiracy, hoping to stop the war before it ever began, but before we could prove anything, I was arrested and accused of being a spy and a traitor, of being involved with the anti-­imperialists. Emmerich helped me escape, but by then, it was too late. The damage had been done. The destruction of the prototype was all Julian needed to fuel the conflict between Great Britain and the anti-­imperialists. By trying to stop him, I played right into his hands.

“By the time I was cleared of any crimes, the designs had already been prepared for manufacture. There wasn't enough evidence to prove that Julian was behind the war. There was nothing we could do to stop him. We failed.”

Braith stared at her. “Hold on . . . You think the
minister
is behind the war? What possible reason—­”

“He wants to create a new world,” she said, the words bitter on her tongue. She still remembered the glint in Julian's eyes the night he told her his plans. “He'll burn this one and build a new one from the ashes, with him in power and all the world at his mercy.”

“That's madness.”

“That what's I've been trying to tell you,” she said. “This war isn't what you think. Julian is behind everything—­the automaton, the rising conflict between Great Britain and France. All along, he's been the one pulling the strings. He forced Emmerich to present the automaton project to the Guild. He perverted it into a war machine. And when Emmerich and I destroyed the prototype, he turned it into an anti-­imperialist attack on the Guild. Everything he's done, everything he's worked for, he only ever intended to start a war, to fuel the fire between Great Britain and the anti-­imperialists.”

“Petra, one man can't orchestrate an entire war. The conflict between Great Britain and the anti-­imperialists has been brewing for decades. It only needed—­”

“A spark,” she said, finishing for him. “A catalyst.
Me
.”

“But why you?”

“Because I was the one stupid enough to design his war machine,” she said bitterly. “I was the one stupid enough to try to stop him.”

He remained silent for a moment. “That's why you feel responsible for this . . . for the war. You think you're the cause.”

She nodded. “Which is why I have to stop him, why I've fought so hard to end this. I never wanted to build a war machine, I never wanted to be a part of this war, but after what happened with the automaton, he threatened to turn me over to the Royal Forces as a traitor and a spy unless I cooperated with him, unless I built him a new war machine. If I agreed, he promised to withdraw his statement about my anti-­imperialist ties; he promised me a position within the University and the Guild—­as long as I did as he asked. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut, build his war machine, and do nothing else to sabotage his plans. I resisted as long as I could, trying to earn a position in the Guild on my own terms, but in the end, building the quadruped was the only way to keep my freedom—­to keep my
life
. The day you and I met outside the council chambers, he threatened to repeal my pardon and send me to the Royal Forces to answer for my crimes, unless I delivered on our agreement. I thought that if I cooperated, it might buy me the time I needed to expose his conspiracy, to expose him for what he was, but—­”

She paused, the truth of what she had done sticking in her throat. “After failing with the automaton,” she went on, “I knew I needed a contingency plan, in case I couldn't find a way to expose the truth about the war and Julian's hand in it. A surefire way to stall the production of the quadruped and delay the war.”

Braith regarded her with a frown. “How?”

“I . . . You have to understand,” she said thickly. “I thought I could delay his plans, put off the war long enough to find another way to stop him. I thought I had more time. I never meant for it to—­” She broke off, shaking her head. “If I had known what he was planning . . . if I had realized . . .”

“Petra, what did you do?”

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “I sabotaged it,” she said bluntly. “The quadruped design. From the very beginning.”

Braith took a step back. “You didn't.”

“I thought it was the only way. I didn't—­” She glanced away, an ache spreading through her chest. “I didn't
think
. You were right, Braith. I can't stop this war. I was wrong to think that I could. I realize that now.”

“After all this time . . . after everything I did for you . . .” The muscles in his jaw twitched, and he turned away from her with a shake of his head. “I
lied
for you, Petra,” he said, his voice barely a hiss. “I stood up for you. And now you tell me you already sabotaged it? Why?”

“I didn't think I had a choice.”

Braith scoffed.

“I thought I could stop him before it came to war, but now—­”

“But now what? Why are you telling me this now?” he demanded. “What changed?”

“Because after today, I may not get another chance,” she said. “I have to fix it.
Today
. If I don't . . . Julian, he—­” She pressed her lips together with a frown, her mouth suddenly dry. “He built an army of them, Braith,” she said thickly, her voice cracking. “An army of quadrupeds, built from the sabotaged design.”

“What?”

“I saw them, at Hasguard, sitting in the cargo hold of one of Rupert's warships. We found them right before the attack on the airfield—­eighty to a ship, with more being commissioned as we speak.”

“How?”

“I don't know,” she admitted, shaking her head. “But you have to believe me—­those machines were never supposed to exist; the schematics were never meant for mass production. The prototype was designed to fail, delaying manufacture until the fault was repaired. But Julian must have bypassed the council somehow, ignoring Guild protocol to advance construction before the prototype could be approved.” She swallowed hard. “And now, because of what I've done . . . if the quadrupeds in those ships are deployed, every one of them will fail.”

The sky darkened a shade, the smell of rain on the air.

“That's why I have to fix them,” she went on. “Before it's too late. I may not be able to stop this war, but I can fix my mistake.”

He looked up at her. “How?”

“There is an axle plate,” she explained, reaching into her skirt pocket and withdrawing the faulty device. “A part of the regulatory system linking the intersecting mechanisms. Without it, the quadruped will function as intended, the sabotage rendered inert.” She gripped the device in her hand—­this tiny thing, a weapon in its own right, capable of disabling an entire army within mere minutes. All because she was stupid enough to believe she could stop Julian's schemes. “You have to believe me, Braith,” she went on, her voice quiet. “I never meant for it to go this far. All I ever wanted was to delay the war, stop it if I could. Not this.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, distant thunder echoing across the sky. The sky turned a slate gray, casting the city in shadow.

“Turn me in if you have to,” she said. “Report me to the Guild. I don't care. But first, let me fix my mistake. Let me make this right.”

Finally, he spoke. “What do you plan to do?”

“The only thing I can do,” she said. “Tell Julian of the fault and hope it's not too late to fix them.”

“Petra, if the minister learns what you've done—­”

“He'll have me arrested—­I know—­but he's the only one who can have the army repaired in time. I don't have any other choice.”

Braith shook his head and turned away, slowly running his fingers through his hair. “No, there has to be another way,” he said, starting to pace. “You can't just waltz into his office and tell him you sabotaged the quadruped . . . or what's more, that his entire army—­an army you shouldn't even know about—­is defective.”

“What else am I supposed to do? If the quadrupeds aren't repaired in time, those men will die.”

He stopped pacing. “And if you tell the minister the truth,
you
will die,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft. “You realize that, don't you?”

Rolling thunder punctuated his words, and a cold shiver crawled down her spine. She knew what would happen when she told Julian of her sabotage—­she had known from the very first day she decided to sabotage the quadruped—­but there was no other way to stop the Royal Forces from sending the faulty machines into battle.

“I have to fix this,” she said quietly. “Whatever the consequences.”

“So you're going to hand yourself over? Just like that?”

“If that's what it takes to repair them, then yes. I know what needs to be done; I've known since I first saw the quadrupeds sitting in Rupert's warship. So either you can help me, or—­”

“What do you think I'm trying to do?” he asked. “I'm trying to figure out a way out of this that doesn't end up with you dead. You need a plan.”