gatherings such as this always offered opportunities for eavesdropping. After her emancipation, she at first resented Loharri’s friends who treated her as before—that is, as his automaton, a part of him that deserved neither recognition nor acknowledgment as an independent entity. Later, she saw the advantage of being invisible—she walked into a room where mechanics talked about their secret business and they never missed a beat, never remembering or caring enough to notice that she was an alchemist and therefore a political enemy. She just didn’t know why Loharri kept giving her such opportunities.
“Hurry up then,” he said. “You might even learn something about your new friends.”
“Wait outside,” Mattie said. “I need to change.”
As she did—striped stockings, white and black, and a black dress with open neckline fringed with foamy white lace—Mattie puzzled over Loharri’s words. Why were the Mechanics suddenly interested in gargoyles? They affected the politics of the city very little—figureheads, outwardly respected but inconsequential. They remained outside of the daily life of the city, subject more to lore and superstitions than laws and elections. Their patronage of the Duke’s family and his court was symbolic—just like their predecessors who had undergone the inevitable transformation and now decorated the palace… they were even less important than the court, which persisted only, as Loharri often said, due to inertia and habit. Only the elected parties could pass laws, only they could command new construction and regulate commerce. But the Duke remained in his palace, useless and, as Mattie imagined, lonely.
Mattie descended the stairs and nodded at Loharri. He grimaced, pale and uncomfortable in his stern clothes. “Ready to go?”
She threaded her arm under his, and felt his tense sinews relax under the copper springs of her fingers. She hated admitting it to herself, but she stayed close to him because of the influence she had—she had the power to make him less concerned and more at ease, to make him smile even though it pained his broken face. She wondered at herself, at whether she would ever be able to forgive him for being her creator, for having such absolute control over her internal workings. For his love.
They headed uphill, toward the palace and the heavy gray architecture of the old buildings. Mattie suspected that the stone of which large rough blocks of the palace were hewn was the same as the stone gargoyles became, and wondered if there was a promising venue of investigation there; she made a mental note to take a mineral sample once they got to the old city.
“It’s too hot to walk,” Loharri said, even though the sun, still low over the rooftops, barely kissed the pavement and the air still retained the pleasant coolness of the night. His gaze cast about for a cab or a sedan.
“It’s fine,” Mattie said. “I enjoy walking, and you could use a constitutional. You spend too much time indoors.”
Loharri scoffed. “I should’ve made you without a voice-box. Being lectured by my own automaton—why, that’s an indignity no man should be forced to tolerate.”
Mattie was used to his querulous tone, and simply changed the subject. “Did you know that Beresta had a son?”
“I heard,” he replied, smiling. “I see you spoke to the Soul-Smoker.”
Mattie inclined her head with a slow, ratcheted creaking of the neck joints. “I have. You should meet him.”
“No thanks,” Loharri said. “I prefer to keep a hold of my soul, thank you.” He almost stumbled as a large puddle suddenly opened before them on the pavement, but circumvented it.
Mattie, whose legs were agile but not nearly as long as Loharri’s, stepped into it, wetting the hem of her dress and soaking her slippers—she wore them for the occasion’s sake, even though she had no need of footwear.
Loharri grabbed her elbow, pulling her out of the mess. “Look at that,” he said. “I swear, the condition of these streets is just shameful.”
“Why don’t you do something about it?” Mattie shook out her skirt, spilling the murky drops onto the pavement. “You’re in charge of the city—you and your friends, I mean.”
“Priorities, dear.” Loharri still held on to her elbow and dragged her along. The fresh air apparently energized him, since he was now moving in long, confident strides. “And besides, this is the Duke’s territory, and he wants to keep it ancient and quaint. And it is only right to abide by his wishes—as long as they don’t interfere with our plans.”
Mattie was getting a distinct feeling that Loharri’s willingness to discuss political and urban matters with her had a hidden purpose—perhaps he wanted her to talk… but to whom? Mattie was not a full member of the Alchemists’ party, and as such she saw little interest in politics—why worry about something she would never have an impact on? She shook her head. Loharri was rubbing off on her, scheming and trying to guess people’s motives and question everything—that was him, not her. Mattie only wanted to do her craft, and worry little about civic planning.
“What are the main priorities then?” she asked.
“Governance.” He gave her a long look. “So, what did you hear about Beresta’s son?”
“Nothing.” Mattie shook her arm free and threaded it under his, as was proper. “Just that she had one. Why, is he famous?”
“Not in a way you’d want to be,” Loharri said. “So, nothing about his current whereabouts?”
Mattie moved her head side to side, in a slow gesture of negation. “I just told you. I only learned that she had a son… she was not communicative.”
“Hm,” Loharri said. “I suppose you’ll try and look for him then? To see if he knows of his mother’s work?”
“Maybe,” Mattie said. “Why?”
“Just curious. He’s been missing for some time now. You’ll tell me if you find him, won’t you.” Loharri did not wait for her answer—he turned under an arch of crumbling stone encrusted with pallid circles of lichenous growth, into a shaded courtyard. The wall of the building, gray like the rest of the district, was half-hidden under the living green carpet of toad flax, which already sent forth its tiny white flowers. Mattie recognized the building because of it—this seemed a side entrance into a little-used wing of the ossuary adjacent to the Parliament building. This wing contained no bones yet, and its echoey empty halls were occasionally used for parties and large-but-clandestine gatherings.
Loharri knocked on the small door half-hidden under the curtain of vegetation, and they were admitted inside. Lamps on the walls created warm semicircles of yellow light, and they overlapped, creating a scalloped edge on the walls and the floor made of large oblong slabs, destined to one day become the coffin lids of the notable citizens. The floor resounded hollow under the feet, always reminding of its ultimate purpose.
The mechanics were apparently throwing a party, but surreptitious business was the usual side effect of such events. These men, fastidious and solemn, did not seem to be able to remain in the same room with another human being without trying to figure out exactly how the fellow could be useful, harmful, or neither. They paid Mattie little mind, and no wonder—regular humans were mere clockworks to them, to be examined and figured out and, if necessary, taken apart; the automatons passed beneath notice.
Several serious fellows greeted Loharri with nods and reserved smiles—Mattie suspected that he was too lively for them, too moody, too unpredictable. His position of influence was assured by his proficiency and his many inventions—the most recent one already belched fire in every foundry, increasing their efficiency by some subtle but important percentage—but his demeanor and his disordered personal life earned him a few disapproving looks.
Loharri acted as if he didn’t notice—he shook hands and chatted, and even came to say hello to several women sitting around the long tables, away from the men. They came as a decoration, and no one else seemed to pay much attention to them. Mattie wondered if she should join them and keep away from trouble, but her feet already led her after Loharri, the role of an obedient automaton as familiar to her as the sight of her own face.
She caught snatches of conversations—some talked about the Alchemists rallying for the next election; there were rumors that they were holding their most potent medicines in reserve, to be unveiled before the election, to wow and stun the populace. Imagine that, curing typhoid! Would there be anything but gratitude? Others mentioned that the Alchemists had been getting cozy with a few of the Duke’s courtiers, seeking influence by the route of tradition rather than popularity.
And yet others talked about the gargoyles. Mattie stopped shadowing Loharri for a moment and listened, not
