Rise of the Arcane Fire Page 7

  Even David shook his head in amusement as he slapped his friend Samuel on the shoulder. The burly young man had turned as red as a radish, and was probably just as sour. David gave me an assessing gaze that made me uncomfortable. “Never enter a duel without knowing your opponent,” he said to Samuel, though he didn’t break his gaze from mine.

  I couldn’t determine what it was about him that made me want to kick him, soundly, but my toe twitched to do it.

  Just then the large doors that led into the monastery opened. Five men stood in the doorway wearing dark scarlet robes with hoods, like old monks.

  The one in the middle lifted his head, and I recognized his monocle. He had been the one to lead me into the main hall of the Order during the Gathering.

  He lifted a long black staff.

  “Welcome to the Secret Order of Modern Amusementists!” He let the staff fall to the stone with a loud crack.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The boys fell silent, and I felt an unwanted shiver race over my shoulders and arms as I lifted my chin and tried not to appear nervous.

  “You are about to enter hallowed halls of science and imagination,” the man with the monocle announced. I vaguely recalled someone referring to him as Nigel at the Gathering. “Within this sanctuary of the mind, we expect the impossible, and we demand perfection. We will hone the best and brightest among you and lead you to your rightful place within the Order. Only then will you know what it means to bear the honor of calling yourself an Amusementist. As for the rest, should you fail, you will always be no more than a child within the Order and a scourge upon your family name.”

  One of the boys coughed. I spared a glance, and judging by the wan faces on the others, I was not the only apprentice who suddenly felt pressure. Peter’s face had turned a rare shade, and he looked as if he might take ill and loose the contents of his stomach upon the ground.

  “Follow me,” the Amusementist announced, and turned away from us with a sweep of his dark red robes. The boys pushed forward, falling into a neat queue, and I found myself between Peter and a stocky young man with chestnut hair.

  My throat felt dry and my palms damp as we ascended the steps, snaked through the dark corridors, and passed the statue by the front entryway of the old monastery. Several of the boys gasped as the light swirled around us, glinting off the goddess’s shining sword.

  One of the men in the dark red robes fell back until he walked alongside me. “Don’t worry, Meg. She’s been here for centuries. You’re not really the first woman to set foot in these halls,” a familiar voice whispered.

  “Oliver!” My voice squeaked as I tried to contain my relief. At least one person I could trust was here with me.

  He put a finger to his lips beneath his red hood. “I just wanted to wish you luck.” He gave me a parting smile, then lengthened his steps to return to the front of the line. I now recognized where we were as we followed the same path I had the day of the Gathering.

  We filed into the assembly chamber and descended the stairs between the gallery of seats to the floor where I had stood before the podium. A stream of men in dark red robes flooded into the chamber to stand just behind the top rows of benches along the high walkways. Each carried a torch, their faces obscured by the heavy hoods.

  It all gave a rather dramatic impression, like a ritual sacrifice. For the briefest moment I wondered what I would have to lay upon the proverbial altar. I already felt I had sacrificed too much.

  A loud boom echoed through the chamber from the ceiling above us. I gripped the silver key hanging by a chain around my neck and looked up with the rest of the apprentices.

  The clicking of moving gears and the rattling of chains filled the room.

  Like with the deus ex machina of ancient times, a platform slowly lowered from the ceiling. A man in a black robe with deep-red-and-gold trim stood amid four columns of fire that seemed to twist along coils around him.

  For a moment I wondered if all this was necessary, but in truth the spectacle was so magnificent, I felt a deep desire to prove myself worthy of it.

  Headmaster Lawrence pushed back his hood, looking very dramatic with his sharply angled face and pointed beard. He stepped off the platform and made his way to the podium before us. At once the contraption he had descended upon retreated, and the ceiling righted itself.

  “He certainly has my attention,” Peter murmured, and I bit back a laugh, doing my best to look somber and serious.

  “My dear students,” Headmaster Lawrence greeted. “It is my great honor to be the one to lead your instruction and initiation into the Secret Order of Modern Amusementists. As the majority of you already know, our Order is based on a foundation of absolute secrecy and trust. Betray the Order at your peril, for here you will find inspiration and fortune, but never fame. We create because it brings us closer to the divine.”

  His words boomed through the chamber, aided by the machine at the podium.

  “It is time to pledge your fealty.”

  He waited as we each raised our hands and swore the oath I had already carefully memorized. At first all our voices were jumbled as we each said our name, but as a group we fell into rhythm, the words coming from us as one. “We swear by the arcane fire to guard the secret of the Order with our lives, to be true to the lineage that has made us great, and to aid one another when the need arises. . . . ”

  My mind wandered a bit as I recited the rest of the oath. During my initial adventures with Oliver and Lucinda, I’d found that the oath held little weight at all. It didn’t stop a terrible string of murders, and sometimes the Order’s secrecy was its greatest weakness. Too many dark intentions could hide behind the veil.

  “. . . And should I betray that trust, I forfeit my life.”

  The last word rang in the silence as we each felt the weight of it. I glanced around, wondering if the others felt the same heaviness that seemed to press on my shoulders. Peter looked at his shoes, clearly deep in thought about something. Only David looked confident. Surely he wouldn’t have looked so righteous if he’d known the truth about the atrocities his father had committed. It was a horrible thought.

  Secrets were a heavy burden to bear.

  “Congratulations!” Headmaster Lawrence proclaimed. A round of applause and cheers erupted from the men in robes standing above us. They began to take down their hoods, beaming. Some, most likely proud fathers, waved to the boys.

  Headmaster Lawrence continued. “You are now sworn apprentices of the Order. We are all equals here, and no title should set you above your peers. The honor and the prestige of your family name now rest upon you. Do well, and your family will gain greater power and fortune within the Order. Do poorly, and your family’s fortunes will pay the price. From this point on you shall only refer to one another by your given, Christian names.” At this point the boys around me seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as they started to mingle and introduce themselves. “Except!” Headmaster Lawrence’s voice rose even as I felt my heart fall. His gaze locked on me. “Due to propriety, the young lady in our midst shall only be called by her proper name, Miss Whitlock. For the duration of your time as apprentices, she is to be treated with special care.”

  Oh, hell!

  I opened my mouth to protest. I didn’t wish to be the only one forced to use my family name. Propriety could be damned. I had worked as a housemaid, for heaven’s sake. My name was Meg! And frankly, while I understood the need, I didn’t wish to feel the burden of such scrutiny, either.

  “With that, we shall adjourn until instruction begins. Welcome, apprentices, and best of luck.”

  “Wait!” I called out, holding my hand up toward the dais, but Headmaster Lawrence had already disappeared into the crush of men descending the stairs.

  Men pressed in all around me as fathers congratulated sons. I felt adrift in the sea of bloodred robes. Everyone seemed to know everyone—they were smiling and patting backs—but I was lost and very much alone.

  I tried to imagine
what my father’s face would have looked like as he stood among his peers welcoming me to the Order, but he was dead. My dear grandfather wasn’t here to see me either.

  The worst of it was, if they had been here, I wouldn’t have been. They never would have allowed me to become an apprentice. Only Oliver was enough of a rebel to suggest it. Suddenly the crowd of bodies was too much. The overlapping scents of torches, sweat, and imitation cologne nearly choked me.

  A hearty laugh rang out over the crowd, but it sounded as harsh and jarring as breaking glass. I looked up to see David with his head thrown back, regaling a large group. His icelike gaze met mine, and he cocked his head, watching.

  I felt my eyes sting. I couldn’t show weakness here. Not in front of any of them. Lifting my chin, I climbed the steps and found my way into the cool, dark hall that led outside.

  My breath caught in my throat as I stepped down into the empty courtyard. The warm summer air didn’t give me much relief, and the smell of the Thames was hardly more appealing than the air in the hall.

  Glancing around, I noticed a light glinting off the mechanical aviary.

  Oh, how I wished Will were with me. I depended on him too much. Perhaps that was the problem.

  I didn’t wish to linger in the courtyard, either. It was only making me feel worse. With no other place to go, I descended the ramp to the carriage bay and sat near the bottom, waiting for Bob to return with the cart. If I had to wait an hour, at least I’d be alone.

  Propping my hands under my chin, I sighed and listened to the dark and empty tunnels before me. Only then did my exhaustion begin to take hold. My eyelids felt heavy, and I rested them for only a moment.

  Something clattered from beyond the second ramp that led down into the darkness on the other side of the carriage bay. I bolted up, my heart suddenly in my throat.

  My mind raced as I fought the urge to call out, “Who’s there?” My silence was my only advantage. I pressed myself against the smooth brick and listened. If I had any sense, I’d return to the hall at once.

  It was dark, and I was alone.

  If the man in the clockwork mask came upon me now, it would be all too easy for him to carry me off into the catacombs beyond the second ramp. He could murder me in the dark, and no one would hear me scream.

  As I grabbed my skirts to retreat to the courtyard, I thought I heard footsteps.

  They seemed to be coming from the catacombs. If I tried to run up the ramp to the courtyard, a person climbing up from the catacombs would see me. I didn’t have a weapon, which was foolish.

  There was only one thing to do. Keeping myself pressed to the brick, I slid deeper into the long dark tunnel of the carriage bay until the inky blackness completely shrouded me.

  Footsteps echoed, coming closer . . . closer. Someone was down there.

  I held my breath and tried to make my body as still as possible. Whoever it was, they would hear me. Somehow they would see me.

  I felt a bead of sweat trickle close to my ear as I stared, transfixed on the patch of evening light pouring down through the ramp’s archway that led to the courtyard.

  A distant rumble of hooves sounded, and suddenly the entire corridor brightened as the whirring flint-wheels fixed above the lights spun against strikers and rained sparks down on the braziers beneath them. In the glow of the sparks, I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of a dark cloak caught in the air as a man turned and disappeared quickly into the darkness of the catacombs.

  The braziers blazed to life, and I winced, closing my eyes. I held my breath as I blinked, trying to adjust to the light. When I could open my eyes once more, the dark apparition I thought I had glimpsed was gone.

  I feared he was all too real.

  The plodding gray horse and old cart ambled toward me with Bob at the reins.

  “I’m here!” I called.

  “Hullo, miss!” he greeted as he waved. “Did you have a good time?”

  I rushed to the cart. “I have never been so glad to see you.” Or the pistol he carried.

  “As my mother likes to say, if you’re early, you’re on time.” He gave me a cheerful grin as I climbed into the cart, and then I looked down the ramp toward where I had heard the footsteps. I wasn’t sure if it was the man in the clockwork mask, but I didn’t wish to linger to find out.

  “Your timing is impeccable,” I responded. I wanted to believe the Academy was safe. Now I had my doubts.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I received my first summons to the Academy for lessons the very next morning. It was a simple card marked with the symbol of the Order and a date and time. I would likely see several more of the notes before the summer was through. The majority of our instruction needed to take place while my fellow apprentices were home from their other schools.

  The following day I had prepared to arrive well before the appointed time at the Academy, but the horse threw a shoe on the way there. I could see the tower of the old monastery peeking above the roof of a trodden-down apothecary, but I couldn’t get there. Bob had to check the poor beast for lameness, and I was forced to wait patiently while he unhitched the old horse and then led him up and down an alley, watching his feet.

  The horse had a slow and awkward gait on a good day. I couldn’t see anything amiss, but Bob insisted on walking him up and down five times before he was satisfied the situation wouldn’t get worse. I could swear my insides were crawling with frustration as I watched Bob’s knotty hands slowly buckle the harness once more. It was a nightmare, and the panic I’d felt at being late for the Gathering was nothing compared to this.

  Finally we reached the monastery, but I was so late, the person managing the hidden ramp had left his post, and I was forced to enter through the front. After I gave the password, the doors pulled open. I could sense disapproval from the statue of Athena in the entry. She peered down at me with a scowl as if she were thinking the very thing I was.

  You’re tardy.

  I had only ever been in the Gathering hall and did not know my way around the stone corridors. A man with a pronounced widow’s peak and an equally impressive glower led me to a room on the second level. Our footsteps echoed down the long, empty corridors. I winced with each step. He opened the heavy door to a large room. It creaked almost as if it were laughing at my predicament.

  The large room had tiers of heavy wooden desks, with a stone stair leading down to a large table at the front of the room. Weak light filtered in through mullioned windows, but it did little to augment the light burning in glowing lamps suspended from the ceiling with thick iron chains.

  I tried to slip quietly into a seat at the back, stowing my basket beneath the bench, but it was of no use. The room was filled with young men in smart red waistcoats and trim black jackets. All their eyes were on me.

  “Good of you to join us, Miss Whitlock,” stated the old man standing behind the long table at the front of the room. He squinted at me through his spectacles, and his heavy jowls twitched. Dear Lord, it was the same man who had so vehemently protested my nomination at the Gathering.

  I felt hot through the tips of my ears as I kept my eyes down. I didn’t even know his name, or what the rest of the apprentices had been discussing. A large arrangement of parts and gears had been spread out over the head table, but I didn’t know what to make of it.

  “As I was saying.” He sounded quite perturbed. “First and foremost our work is about precision.” His wrinkled brow creased. “Miss Whitlock!”

  I stood while keeping my hand pressed against the desk to steady myself. I waited, knowing he was only calling on me to humiliate me. The quiet huffs of suppressed laughter from the boys in the room weren’t muffled enough for me to ignore.

  “Could you please tell me what the gear ratio for an epicyclic gear configuration should be and describe the difference between the ratio from the sun gear to the planet gears versus the annulus?” He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels so that his rounded belly swung forward and back.
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  Epicyclic gear trains. I knew I had read about them, but I couldn’t recall the exact formulae regarding them. I needed to see it written down. I attempted to picture the complex gears from the drawings in Simon’s notes, but the pages of his journals remained blank in my mind. My palm began to feel slick on the smooth wood of the desk.

  “Is the sun gear to remain stationary?” I asked, horrified that I didn’t know the correct answer. I needed more time. The hushed whispers among the boys grew louder. My cheeks felt as if they had caught on fire.

  “Sit down, Miss Whitlock.” There was no ignoring the disgust in his voice. I didn’t just sit; I tried to melt into the floor. I wanted to disappear. I felt as if every boy in the room were staring at me as though I were an imbecile.

  The instructor continued on for two hours, and his voice sounded as if he were speaking through mud. I tried to write down all the things he said. Simon’s notes were so fluid and clear. Mine looked like bits of words here and there. When I looked back on them, they seemed to have no real meaning at all.

  Finally the instructor announced a break between lectures, and instead of feeling elated I felt completely defeated. I just wanted to escape, but as I tried to leave the room, the boy named Samuel blocked my path. David stood beside him.

  “Feeling overwrought?” Samuel asked, his voice pitched high with fake concern, like a violin bow scratched discordantly against a string. “You know there are places dedicated to the care of women suffering from such maladies.”

  David arched a perfect eyebrow. One of the other boys knocked into my shoulder, throwing me off balance.

  Horrified at the suggestion that I belonged locked up in an asylum, I tried to think of a witty retort. In the end all I could say was, “I’ve done nothing to you.”