Dru Pagliassotti - Clockwork Heart

Taya craned her neck, but there was no sign of the second Alzanan who'd been on top of the bridge.

Her wings floated a foot off the ground, trapped by the heavy rope net. Taya hurried over to them, hoping she could untangle the armature from the ropes without damaging it any further.

The newcomer's footsteps sounded behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see a lictor.

Her rescuer had crouched to study the drops of blood on the cobblestones. The hem of his greatcoat dragged on the street, and he held a bulky iron airgun in one hand. Taya had seen the air rifles carried by Council guards, but she'd never seen one that was pistol-sized before.

Then the man looked up, lamplight flashing from the wire rims of his glasses. For a moment he and Taya stared at each other with mutual recognition.

"Exalted." Taya ducked in a clumsy bow, remembering their disagreeable meeting in Decatur Forlore's office. "Thank you for rescuing me."

Cristof was silent a moment longer, then stood. He slipped the gun into his coat pocket, where it made an unsightly lump. The cold night breeze ruffled the uneven ends of his dark hair. Taya had to look up to meet his eyes — like most icarii, she was small and slight, whereas he had an exalted's height, six feet tall or more.

"Well, icarus," he said, frowning. "You're either very careless or very unlucky."

His words irritated her. She turned back to her armature before he could see the annoyance in her expression.

"Actually, I consider myself very lucky," she said, working hard to keep her tone even. "I'm still alive."

"You're bleeding."

She glanced over her shoulder at the dark stain on her flight suit. The wound stung, but it was less inconvenient than the cut across her fingers.

"It's just a scratch." She turned back and tried to find the bottom of the net.

"Don't. You'll break it if you try to untangle it here. Take it back to my shop and do it in the light."

She hesitated. She didn't like his manner, and if she weren't so worried about her wings, she'd take great satisfaction in turning him down.

But it wasn't worth damaging her wings for the sake of pride.

"Is your shop close?"

"A few blocks away." He stepped next to her and began gathering the net's loose ends. She scooped the whole bundle off the ground. He turned his frown on her again. "I'll get it."

"I can do it, exalted," she insisted. "It's not heavy, and they're my wings."

He gave her a cool look, then handed her the rest of the net. As soon as she'd gotten all the ends wrapped up, he began walking, one hand jammed in his coat pocket.

Taya followed, silently, and wondered if this might be a test, after all. Her classes in diplomatic protocol had never covered how to deal with an outcaste exalted.

Cristof's workshop was small, tucked into the basement of a larger building that was filled with small businesses. They descended three steps from the street to get to the door, which he unlocked with two keys.

"Be careful," he said, leading her in. Taya followed, tugging her floating bundle behind her.

The first thing that struck her was the sound — a loud ticking, whirring, and clicking that came from every direction at once.

Cristof struck a lucifer match and lit a lamp. Taya looked around with wonder as he turned it to its brightest level and hung it on one of the low ceiling beams.

The exalted's shop was filled with clocks and watches, pumps and wind-up toys, every kind of clockwork mechanism imaginable. Most were in motion, their hands turning, pendulums swinging, and gears rotating.

"You have so many!" Taya breathed, her annoyance forgotten. She clutched her bundle and stared. Enamelwork and metal gleamed in the lamplight like moving jewels. Cristof had a small fortune hanging on his walls and sitting on his shelves. "Did you make them all?"

"No. Not all." He hesitated, then walked to a desk. The lamplight reflected off his cheekbones, making his face look even thinner. The exalted's waves tattooed on his face seemed to move in the unsteady light. "Put the net on the table. Make sure the armature doesn't float too high."

Reminded of her business, Taya tied two ends of the net to the table legs, letting the rest of the bundle float. Cristof returned with two knives and offered one. His hands were covered with dark smears — dirt or machine oil, she guessed. It was another indication of his outcaste status. Exalteds were fastidious about their appearance.

"It'll be faster to cut the ropes," he said. "That way we won't bend any feathers."

"If those bastards broke my wings, I'll kill them." Taya grabbed the knife, sawing at the cords.

"You might have, already. The man you stabbed was losing a lot of blood."

Taya cut through a rope and attacked the next. Then she set down the knife a moment, looking at the blood welling from the cuts on her fingers.

Had she really killed a man?

If he got to a hospital, he'd be all right.

Of course, he was a foreigner, and probably not even a licensed resident. Physicians weren't obliged to treat anyone who didn't pay Ondinium's taxes, and any respectable doctor would ask questions about those wounds that the Demican wouldn't want to answer.

Why did she care what happened to him, anyway? He'd tried to kill her.

"Scrap," she muttered, angrily.

Cristof paused, on the other side of the table.

"What?"

"What about you? You shot him, didn't you? If he dies, he'll probably die from that."

"Maybe." The exalted studied her. "Although needlers seldom kill at range. They're intended as deterrents."

"Oh. So if he dies, it's my fault." The thought depressed her. How would inflicting a fatal injury on a foreigner affect her chance at the diplomatic corps?

"If he dies, it's his fault for going icarus-hunting, not yours for defending yourself." Cristof went back to work, his slender fingers tugging at the net strands. "And it's his fault for letting himself be led around by Alzanans. A Demican should know better."

Not feeling very comforted, Taya picked up her knife again.

"I guess you don't like Alzanans."

"Half the Alzanans in Ondinium are spies. Maybe more." He sawed through another rope. "It doesn't surprise me that they'd want an operational armature. They could demand a king's ransom for these wings."

Taya began working on another rope, considering his words. She knew her wings were valuable, of course, but she'd never thought they'd attract thieves.

"Do you think they were specifically looking for wings?" she asked.

"They came with a net. That isn't a standard mugger's weapon. Did anyone know you'd be on Tertius tonight?"

The rope unraveled beneath her blade, and she sighed.

"Just about everybody in the neighborhood. I was at my sister's wedding."

Cristof was silent. Taya kept working, ignoring the fresh trickles of blood that ran over her hands as she worked.

She didn't like the thought that those men had been hunting her. They must have heard she would be attending the wedding in armature and — what? Had they waited to see if she'd leave alone? Had they guessed that an icarus would find it easiest to launch from the Market Tower? Was she that predictable?

She could have foiled their plans if she'd done something unexpected, but why would she? No one harmed icarii. They were Ondinium's couriers and rescuers; its alarm system and its luck.

Of course, those three had been foreigners. They wouldn't have an Ondinium citizen's respect for icarii.

The armature jerked as the net slid apart. Taya grabbed the harness before it could hit the ceiling and hauled it back down. Without a word, Cristof tied one of the severed ropes to a harness strap and anchored it into place over the table.