“The scientist?” Dante repeats, daring a glance at me.
“Are you going to kill him?” the guard asks in a tremulous voice.
“We’re going to save him,” I say.
The guard’s eyes dart to each of us, trying to make sense of who we are and why we’ve come. “They don’t keep him here.” He nods to the silent cell block behind him. “He lives in the old warden’s house.”
I’d expected to steal a machine, not stumble upon a scientist tucked away on a prison island.
“If you’re smart,” Dante says, his gun still on the guard, “you’ll get your wife to tend to that wound and then you’ll get off this island. If you come back for us, she’ll be burying you. Do you understand?”
The man groans a yes, clearly torn between his duty and his life.
“I can’t promise they won’t hurt your family if you attack us again, Lucas,” I say, reading the name tag on the guard’s antiquated uniform.
Dante doesn’t lower his gun as the man shuffles toward the exit and I wait, dread pulsing through me, to see if he’ll shoot him. As soon as he gets to the door, Dante calls out and I freeze expectantly. “Lucas, I wouldn’t bother contacting your superiors—not if you want to protect your family. I’d hide if I were you.”
“Where?” Lucas asks in a hopeless tone. “There’s nowhere to hide from them.”
“The Icebox,” Dante answers.
“That’s four hours from here.”
“You better get moving then,” Dante says. “And don’t look back.”
He nods once at us, revulsion and shame mingling in his features.
“Why would they keep a scientist on the island but outside the prison?” I ask. “They have all these cells.”
“Prisoners are happier when they forget they’re in a cage,” Erik reminds me.
“But if he’s not locked up, why doesn’t he leave?” Valery asks in a shaking voice. Her features are pale with fear.
“Look at this rock,” I tell her. “There’s no escaping.” I keep my thoughts about the composition of the prison to myself. If the Guild has artificially altered it, I need to study it more to understand how and why they’ve used such resources, although I have a pretty good idea already. Whatever secrets the Guild keeps here are locked not only on this island but also in time, like the moments I warped to guard my rendezvouses with Jost at the Coventry.
“Actually, it’s a good thing that he’s not locked up,” Dante assures Valery.
She gives him a blank look. I’m not sure I know what he’s getting at either.
“The scientist will have food,” Dante says, making for the exit. “I’m hungry.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
THE WARDEN’S HOUSE LIES BEYOND THE PRISON—far enough to be both convenient to it and secluded from it. Its stone facade sweeps into elegant lines and a tiled roof. Light glows from several of the oversized windows as we make our way to the door. The boys keep their guns raised, and I catch Dante looking back over his shoulder.
We congregate on a worn porch, and I rap on the door. Then we wait, barely breathing, for an answer.
When the door swings open, I can’t stifle my surprise. I know the scientist. He’s the man from the news clipping in the Old Curiosity Shop and from the propaganda film I watched at Kincaid’s estate.
“Company,” he says. His tone is friendly but his voice peaks strangely on the word, highlighting the vowels and making them sound exotic on his tongue. He ignores the guns leveled at his head. “I was making tea. I’ll have to put more water on.”
“Hold it right there,” Dante says.
“My boy,” the scientist says, and I hear the slight shift in his tone—not to anger but rather annoyance—“I’m a man of science, not violence. Keep your guns if you must, but I promise I’m not going to attack you with boiling water.”
I bite against the smile tugging at my lips. No one makes a move to go inside, so I step forward, following him as he shuffles off. Erik is at my side in an instant. He’s lowered his gun, but it’s still in his hand.
“Your friend does not trust me,” the scientist notes.
I blush a little, oddly embarrassed to feel we’ve insulted him with our wariness. It’s a strange reaction given that I know I’m in the presence of the man who’s responsible for creating the first looms and Arras itself.
“He’s a little protective,” I say apologetically.
“Ah, a beau then?” the old man asks with a wink, and I flush more.
“I won’t let them shoot you,” I say.
The man’s head falls back and he laughs, deep and bellowing, ignoring the kettle he’s filling. “I like you. I will pretend that was a joke and that we are friends. Yes?”
“Yes,” I confirm with a smile.
“What are your names?” he asks, setting the kettle to heat on the stove. He ambles to the cupboard and riffles through its contents. Next to me Erik cracks his knuckles until I push his hands apart.
“I’m Adelice Lewys,” I say.
“And you are here to destroy the Guild of Twelve Nations?” He says the last words with mock ferocity, but I hear it in his voice: he’s not mocking our desire, he’s dismissing it. He must have seen his fair share of failed attempts to destroy the Guild over the years.
“I suppose,” I say. “I want to separate the worlds. Not destroy them per se.”
“A worthy ambition,” he notes. “If a foolish one.”
I blink against his honesty. He offers me a mug with a tea bag perched and waiting inside. “You bear my mark.”
I look at my outstretched hand, at my techprint, and nod. “Kairos. Your name.”
“Not my name, but I’m flattered. They called me Dr. Albert Einstein before they called me a traitor and stuck me in here,” he says.
“Dr. Einstein, I’m Adelice,” I say, this time offering my right hand to shake his. It feels awkward given my own preference for the left hand, but we manage it.
“Albert,” he says firmly. “Call me Albert. I have not been called Dr. Einstein in so long it feels I have lost the privilege.”
“We have a lot of questions,” Erik says. He’s juggling the gun and a chipped teacup and it makes me laugh.
“I think you can put that away,” I say, motioning to his weapon.
Erik takes a long look at Albert and then looks back at me. I nod encouragingly and he slips the gun into his waistband.
“Yes, but it will not do to answer them here,” Albert says as the teakettle shrieks its readiness on the stove. “And the tea is ready.”
Albert carefully pours the boiling water into the waiting cups, trying not to spill and apologizing repeatedly for the few drops that splash onto our hands. He’s no threat, but that might mean he’s no help either. I help him with the mugs and we take them into the other room and disburse them to Jost, Dante, and Valery. The three linger, uncomfortably, in the sitting room and Albert gestures for them to sit down while he goes to shut the front door.
When he returns he introduces himself and waits patiently while the others give their names. He repeats each as if consigning it to memory.
“We have a lot of questions, Albert,” Dante says. “Not the least of which is why you’re living here.”
“Instead of the cold prison?” Albert guesses. “A concession for good behavior. The Guild of Twelve Nations views me as a threat intellectually not physically. As long as people are kept away from me, I’m not a risk.”
