This Monstrous Thing(54)

“Frankenstein is a book,” I said. “This man”—I thrust my leaflet at Mirette—“he isn’t real. He’s just in a book.”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong. We’re waiting for him. Me and Frankenstein’s Men.”

That made everything inside me go cold and shaky. I couldn’t decide what was more unfair—that this small, pale girl had nowhere to go, or that she wanted to use Oliver to do something about that. I creased the leaflet and shoved it in my pocket as I stood.

Mirette grabbed my coat sleeve and used me to haul herself up. I resisted the urge to shake her off. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about the Cogworks,” she said.

“We’ll keep it secret,” Clémence replied.

Mirette tugged on my sleeve again, and I looked down. “Thank you for fixing my foot, Shadow Boy,” she said. Her hand slid into mine and gave one quick pulse, and then she trotted off down the street, steps big and buoyant on the cleaned springs of her foot.

I watched her go, my fingers worrying the edge of the leaflet in my pocket as I turned it over in my mind. I forgot Clémence was there until she nudged her fist against my arm. “Here, take this.”

I opened my palm and she dropped half the coins from the pawned necklace into it.

“What’s this for?”

“Something to eat; you look wretched.”

“’Course I look wretched,” I snapped. “Apparently all the clockwork men in Geneva are waiting for my resurrected brother to come lead their uprising against the city.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

“People are fighting back. It’s brave.”

“It’s bleeding stupid.”

“Says a boy who’s never been thrown out on the streets because he’s got metal pieces in him.” She swiped her hair out of her face and glared at me so hard I looked away. “Do you know the address for where we’re meeting Geisler?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then, I’ll meet you there.”

“What?” I looked up, but she was already walking away from me, hands in her pockets, in the same direction Mirette had gone. “Where are you going?”

She didn’t even turn. “There’s something I need to do.”

I thought about chasing her down and demanding to know exactly what it was, but I was still annoyed with her for nothing in particular, and being apart after days together was sort of appealing. So I turned in the opposite direction and started off alone. The coins in my pocket danced against the crumpled leaflet.

Geisler had chosen a run-down public house sloping into the Rhone for our meeting place. The sunset had collapsed into the foothills by the time I arrived and darkness had taken its place across the copper rooftops. Geisler was already there, finishing supper at a table by the fire. “No problems?” he asked as I slid onto the bench across from him.

“None.”

“Good, I got in smoothly as well. Perhaps the city’s security is not as tight as they like to boast.” He glanced around. “Where’s Mademoiselle Le Brey?”

“She . . . We got split up,” I said. “She should be along soon.”

“I’ve got work for her.”

“You knew about the magnets,” I said before I could stop myself.

He looked up from his supper. “Of course.”

“She could have been caught.”

“But she wasn’t. Alasdair, is something wrong?”

“Is it because of Frankenstein?”

His brow creased. “I hadn’t thought of that. Did you hear something?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I was just wondering if you knew.”

He frowned at me, and for a moment I was certain he saw straight through my lie. Then he picked up his knife again and said, “Do you want supper? You look half starved.”

“I don’t—”

“Go get something to eat. Your parents wouldn’t forgive me if I let you waste away.”

He tucked back into his plate, and I sat in stupid silence for a moment before I stood up and wandered over to the bar. I was so sick with the weight of everything, I wasn’t sure I could keep any food down, but I didn’t want to go back and sit with Geisler, so I just stared at the board for a while. I could feel the barkeeper’s eyes on me.

After a while I heard the inn’s door open, but I didn’t turn until a tight hand closed on my arm and started pulling me away from the bar. I yelped in surprise and whipped around, ready to fight or run. But it was Clémence.

“What are you doing?” I hissed at her, but she didn’t answer. She tugged me after her to the corner on the opposite side of the room, then put her hands on my shoulders and twisted me sharply so I was facing away from the door. Her cheeks were very pink. “God’s wounds, what was that about?” I demanded.

“Don’t turn around.” Her voice was low and fast, and her eyes darted behind me as she spoke.

“What’s wrong? Where have you been?”

“Keep your back to the door.”

“No, tell me what’s going on.” I started to turn, but she grabbed my face and pulled me back toward her.