The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(52)
“It’s not that cold.”
“Ari, my fingers are turning blue.”
Before she could even comment on where, when, why, or how he thought it was acceptable to refer to her as “Ari,” Will had pulled open the heavy door to the top-deck cabin and disappeared within. She looked back down at her own hands and realized she wouldn’t be able to tell if her fingers turned blue.
Even out of his element, Louie could still be a problem . . . She needed to tread carefully and learn what game he was really playing.
It was, in total, a two-day ride from Ter.0 to Ter.3, thanks to Arianna’s contributions with magic, Will and Willard working together on improving the engine, and Helen’s keen insights on charting their course.
Thick palm fronds branched out overtop each other. Stronger trees that preferred dryer climates quickly disappeared as the land became more marshy and wet. The bogs in the forests to the south of Garre held dark waters, caged by tree roots.
Garre itself was known as the clockwork city.
Tethered by her cabling and winch box to the heavy door behind her, Arianna crouched atop the cabin roof for the best vantage the airship could offer. She dug her knees and fingers into the metal grooves for stability, but the wind threatened to rip her away. The city of her childhood grew from a speck in the distance to the towering mechanical marvel that rivaled any in the world.
The capital of the Rivets was entirely the guild hall. There were no other elements to the city itself; there were no visitors without specific business for the Rivets.
Even late in the year, humidity crept beneath her coat and made her hair cling to her neck. It was an omnipresent citizen of Garre, rising up from the marshes under the city’s stilts. A mechanical haven built atop water, destined to fight an endless war against rust and corrosion. It was the worst place possible for the Rivets to have attempted to build, and it was all the more perfect for the fact.
The airship banked and began its descent.
Closer up, the movements of the guild could be seen. Slowly rotating upper walkways ticked around cores like odd-faced clocks, counting down to something unknown. Steam billowed in jets, piped from the depths of the all-metal guild hall. Giant gears showed their teeth proudly on the outside of walls, perpetually churning against equally sized counterparts within.
Arianna had never seen her guild from the air before, and it was quite the sight. There was an undeniably breathtaking quality to its spectrum of metallic colors and carefully constructed pathways and structures that formed one tight, singular city. A city that changed before her own eyes on their descent, as walkways moved with the groaning of gears and various windows and doorways opened and closed.
It was also a vantage by which she could clearly see the remnants of the Dragons’ attack—wounds that could not be healed with the limited hands available. An entire wing seemed to have been hit hard, the metal jagged and oddly bent, pulled apart by blasts that Arianna could still imagine the echoes of.
The whole of Garre was spotted with such damages, but it persisted.
The airship looped three times before finally finding a landing that would fit their wingspan. As soon as they touched down, Arianna leapt from the roof, tumbling into the metal below with a clang. She sprinted for the doorway into the guild.
Locked.
This was not like the usual locks she faced. She was back in the Rivets’ Guild. Here, everything was designed as a challenge—a mental puzzle where success often hung opposite bodily harm. Right now, she suspected that harm took the form of a collapsing platform beneath their feet if she couldn’t open the door in time.
Arianna ran her fingers along the lock. There were a series of pictures and numerals on its spinners. She could either solve the puzzle, or break her way in. The Arianna of the past would have delighted in the former . . .
But she was too old for games.
Arianna unclipped and unrolled a bag of tools from her belt, quickly selecting a narrow, flat-headed screwdriver. Fortunately for her . . . the designer of this particular lock expected her to revel in solving the puzzle, not dismantling the thing entirely. Its seams were well exposed and screws easy to access. Arianna had the box apart in a mere minute, manually unlatching the heavy curved bolt that affixed the lock to the door.
The room within crackled with electricity. Arianna could hear it humming in the wires that draped from the ceiling like moss off swamp trees. She flipped a switch next to her, funneling that energy into a bulb in the center of the room. Arianna blinked at the light. The last time she had been at the guild, electricity was new and only in a few areas.
She looked around the room, finding a series of levers on one of the side walls, nestled between two bookcases.
“Lock, raise, release . . .” She read the labels scribbled on each of the handles. Arianna tugged on the one labeled lock. The release lever raised slightly in reply, a soft click engaging it in place.
“You’re much faster than I,” a weathered voice spoke from the doorway.
“I should be.” Arianna turned to face Willard, rolling up her tools. “You have a good fifteen years on me, old man.”
“You’re back in the hall; you’d think you’d show a little more respect to your vicar.”
“Just honoring what would’ve been the wishes of my Master.” Arianna couldn’t fight a small smile at the idea of being back in the Rivets’ Guild, but her face fell at the thought of Master Oliver. He had never been able to return.