Page 78

Shortly after midnight, the parchment I’d folded and hidden in my sock crackled softly, and I woke on the cusp of a dream.

Patrick’s lips were parted in sleep. I untangled my limbs from his with acute slowness, watching his face the entire time, ensuring it did not twitch.

I pulled the fold of parchment out inch by inch and unfolded it just the same—as though it were a trip wire. Polly’s tiny scrawl now appeared.

Eastern tunnel. One hour.

I shuddered delicately.

The eastern tunnel led to Dorser, out to the seaways, not Dunnitch.

There are a million ways for this to go wrong , rang Polly’s voice in my mind. I swallowed, looked back at Patrick one last time, then made myself stand. Dress. Patrick’s pocket watch ticked down the hour.

When I finally slipped out of number fifteen, my belly rolled with sick.

Go back inside , the deepest parts of me begged. For several long moments I stood frozen, at war with myself. I even turned back and let my forehead rest against the paint. I traced the brass numbers one and five. I thought of every reason not to go.

But there was that train hurtling down the tracks toward me, and a reutterance of Polly’s voice whispered They’re coming .

You could tell him everything , I thought. Tell him that Tanner won’t attack Kenton Hill if he has his Alchemist. Patrick will make the trade to save this town. He’ll listen. He loves you.

But telling him the truth would mean confessing myself an infiltrator. And would his love hold, if he knew why I’d come to Kenton Hill?

If not, would he take my life as routinely as the next traitor?

And so that was that. All the sand heaped the bottom of the hourglass.

I buttoned my coat to the throat, spared Sam’s vacant seat a fleeting glance, and began the descent downstairs.

With every creak I was sure I’d be found out, that some door would swing open and catch me. I carried my boots in my hands, and yet still, it seemed every board was determined to creak beneath my feet.

The pub was quiet and silver with moonlight. I wove through the beams like a thief, as though the shadows would render me invisible. Isaiah barely lifted his head at my presence. He’d lowered it to the floor again before I’d made it to the door.

The air outside winded me. It sliced my throat, forced me to bury my nose in my coat collar, but I did not stop.

I slid my boots on, tied the laces, coursed down the alleys of Main Street as quick as I dared, not crossing a single soul save the stray cats and vermin.

Patrick’s stolen pocket watch pressed tightly into the palm of my hand.

The time read a quarter till the hour Polly had marked.

It wasn’t a long journey to the eastern tunnel, and I was thankful I’d been there before.

Left at the saddlers, then past the town houses, row after row; they were all black-windowed and silent.

I tried not to think of anyone pulling their curtain aside to see a woman alone at an hour meant only for dark work.

I passed through identical brick veneers, moving mud away from the soles of my feet as I passed over gutters, and finally, finally, the hills spread out before me, and I could see the indentation on the hillside that would burrow into its depths, then fathoms below, all the way to the Alchemist.

There was no sign of Otto or Scottie, though I squinted through the dark for any sign of movement. Perhaps they were already partway down the tunnel, leaving me to follow quietly behind at a distance.

The yellow grass stalks were monochromatic in the night. The hill fell away behind me and it seemed as though this journey might not be so difficult. That I could simply slink away and be back before the sun threatened to rise. In the morning, I would have the exact location of Domelius Becker.

The pit entrance was small and vaulted with thick struts. It would be pitch-black inside, and I hadn’t accounted for that. I would need to walk with either hand pressed to the walls and feel my way through. I shuddered and stepped into the gloom.

I felt my way along in the dark, ears straining for the echo of far-off footsteps. But there was nothing. Just uninterrupted black, dirt beneath my hands, Patrick’s watch ticking its reproach.

I tripped and almost fell, my hand flying to my mouth to muffle the gasp.

And then a sound came.

Feet on the earth. Not the far-off kind I expected to hear. This was close. Discordant. I turned blindly in all directions and felt something touch my calf. The beginnings of a scream strangled me.

That something circled my ankles, sniffed at the hem of my skirt. Panted. And all the breath in my lungs released at once. I laughed, relieved. “Isaiah,” I whispered, leaning carefully to feel for his scruff. He licked my hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Funny” came a wrathful voice. There was a click, and a light flared.

I backed into the wall hard, my head bouncing off the struts.

Patrick stood before me in the halo of his lighter. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”