Clockwork Prince
Page 36

"No." Charlotte's tone was final.
"Well, I highly doubt she wishes to see me," said Will. "It Will have to be Jem. He's impossible to hate. Even that devil cat likes him."
Jem exhaled, still staring into the fire. "I Will go to the Silent City," he said.
"But Tessa should come with me."
Tessa looked up, startled. "Oh, no," she said. "I do not think Jessamine likes me much. She feels I have betrayed her terribly by disguising myself as her, and I cannot say I blame her."
"Yes," said Jem. "But you are Nate's sister. If she loves him as you say she does . . ." His eyes met hers across the room. "You know Nate. You can speak of him with authority. You may be able to make her believe what I cannot."
"Very well," Tessa said. "I Will try."
This seemed to signal the end of breakfast; Charlotte darted off to call for a carriage to come for them from the Silent City; it was how the Brothers liked to do things, she explained. Henry returned to his crypt and his inventions, and Jem, after a murmured word to Tessa, went to gather his hat and coat. Only Will remained, staring into the fire, and Tessa, seeing that he was not moving, waited until the door shut behind Jem and came around to stand between Will and the flames.
He raised his eyes to her slowly. He was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing the night before, though his white shirtfront was stained with blood and there was a long, jagged rent in his frock coat. There was a cut along his cheek, too, under his left eye. "Will," she said.
"Aren't you meant to be leaving with Jem?"
"And I shall," she replied. "But I need a promise from you first."
His eyes moved to the fire; she could see the dancing flames reflected in his pupils. "Then tell me what it is quickly. I have important business to get to.
I plan to sulk all afternoon, fol owed, perhaps, by an evening of Byronic brooding and a nighttime of dissipation."
"Dissipate all you like. I only want your assurance that you Will tell no one what transpired between us last night on the balcony."
"Oh, that was you," said Will, with the air of someone who has just recol ected a surprising detail.
"Spare me," she snapped, stung despite herself. "We were under the influence of warlock powders. It meant nothing. Even I do not blame you for what happened, however tedious you are being about it now. But there is no need for anyone else to know, and if you were a gentleman-"
"But I am not."
"But you are a Shadowhunter," she said venomously. "And there is no future for a Shadowhunter who dal ies with warlocks."
His eyes danced with fire. He said, "You have become boring to tease, Tess."
"Then give me your word you Will tell no one, not even Jem, and I Will go away and cease to bore you."
"You have my word on the Angel," he said. "It was not something I had planned to brag of in the first place. Though why you are so keen that no one here suspect you of a lack of virtue, I do not know."
Jem's face flashed across her inner eye. "No," she said. "You truly don't."
And with that she turned on her heel and stalked from the room, leaving him staring after her in confusion.
Sophie hurried down Piccadil y, her head bent, her eyes on the pavement beneath her feet. She was used to hushed murmurs and the occasional stare when she went out and eyes fell upon her scar; she had perfected a way of walking that hid her face beneath the shadow of her hat. She was not ashamed of the scar, but she hated the pity in the eyes of those who saw it.
She was wearing one of Jessamine's old dresses. It was not out of fashion yet, but Jessamine was one of those girls who dubbed any dress she had worn more than three times "historical" and either cast it off or had it made over. It was a striped watered silk in green and white, and there were waxy white flowers and green leaves on her hat. all together, she thought, she could pass for a girl of good breeding-if she were not out on her own, that was-especial y with her work-roughened hands covered in a pair of white kid gloves.
She saw Gideon before he saw her. He was leaning against a lamppost outside the great pale-green porte cochere of Fortnum & Mason. Her heart skipped a little beat as she looked at him, so handsome in his dark clothes, checking the time on a gold watch affixed to his waistcoat pocket by a thin chain. She paused for a moment, watching the people stream around him, the busy life of London roaring around him, and Gideon as calm as a rock in the middle of a churning river. all Shadowhunters had something of that to them, she thought, that still ness, that dark aura of separateness that set them apart from the current of mundane life.
He looked up then, and saw her, and smiled that smile that changed his whole face. "Miss Col ins," he said, coming forward, and she moved forward to meet him as well, feeling as she did so as if she were stepping into the circle of his separateness. The steady noise of city traffic, pedestrian and otherwise, seemed to dim, and it was just her and Gideon, facing each other on the street.
"Mr. Lightwood," she said.
His face changed, only a little, but she saw it. She saw too that he was holding something in his left hand, a woven picnic basket. She looked at it, and then at him.
"One of Fortnum & Mason's famous hampers," he said with a sideways smile. "Stilton cheese, quails' eggs, rose petal jam-"
"Mr. Lightwood," she said again, interrupting him, to her own amazement.
A servant never interrupted a gentleman. "I have been most distressed- most distressed in my own mind, you understand, as to whether I should come here at all. I finally decided that I should, if only to tell you to your own face that I cannot see you. I thought you deserved that much, though I am not sure of it."
He looked at her, stunned, and in that moment she saw not a Shadowhunter but an ordinary boy, like Thomas or Cyril, clutching a picnic basket and unable to hide the surprise and hurt on his face. "Miss Col ins, if there is something I have done to offend-"
"I cannot see you. That is all," Sophie said, and turned away, meaning to hurry back the way she had come. If she was quick, she could catch the next omnibus back to the City- "Miss Col ins. Please." It was Gideon, at her elbow. He did not touch her, but he was walking alongside her, his expression distraught. "Tel me what I've done."
She shook her head mutely. The look on his face-perhaps it had been a mistake to come. They were passing Hatchards bookshop, and she considered ducking inside; surely he would not fol ow her, not into a place where they'd likely be overheard. But then again, perhaps he would.
"I know what it is," he said abruptly. "Will. He told you, didn't he?"
"The fact that you say that informs me that there was something to tell."
"Miss Col ins, I can explain. Just come with me-this way." He turned, and she found herself following him, warily. They were in front of St. James's Church; he led her around the side and down a narrow street that bridged the gap between Piccadil y and Jermyn Street. It was quieter here, though not deserted; several passing pedestrians gave them curious looks-the scarred girl and the handsome boy with the pale face, careful y setting his hamper down at his feet.
"This is about last night," he said. "The bal at my father's house in Chiswick. I thought I saw Will. I had wondered if he would tell the rest of you."
"You confess it, then? That you were there, at that depraved-that unsuitable-"
"Unsuitable? It was a sight more than unsuitable," said Gideon, with more force than she had ever heard him use. Behind them the bel of the church tol ed the hour; he seemed not to hear it. "Miss Col ins, all I can do is swear to you that until last night I had no idea with what low company, what destructive habits, my father had engaged himself. I have been in Spain this past half-year-"
"And he was not like this before that?" Sophie asked, disbelieving.
"Not quite. It is difficult to explain." His eyes strayed past her, their gray- green stormier than ever. "My father has always been one to flout convention.
To bend the Law, if not to break it. He has always taught us that this is the way that everyone goes along, that all Shadowhunters do it. And we- Gabriel and I-having lost our mother so young, had no better example to fol ow. It was not until I arrived in Madrid that I began to understand the ful extent of my father's . . . incorrectness. Everyone does not flout the Law and bend the rules, and I was treated as if I were some monstrous creature for believing it to be so, until I changed my ways. Research and observation led me to believe I had been given poor principles to fol ow, and that it had been done with deliberation. I could think only of Gabriel and how I might save him from the same realization, or at least from having it delivered so shockingly."
"And your sister-Miss Lightwood?"
Gideon shook his head. "She has been sheltered from it all. My father thinks that women have no business with the darker aspects of Downworld.
No, it is I who he believes must know of his involvements, for I am the heir to the Lightwood estate. It was with an eye to that that my father brought me with him to the event last night, at which, I assume, Will saw me."
"You knew he was there?"
"I was so disgusted by what I saw inside that room that I eventual y fought my way free and went out into the gardens for some fresh air. The stench of demons had made me nauseated. Out there, I saw someone familiar chasing a blue demon across the parkland with an air of determination."
"Mr. Herondale?"
Gideon shrugged. "I had no idea what he was doing there; I knew he could not have been invited, but could not fathom how he had found out about it, or if his pursuit of the demon was unrelated. I wasn't sure until I saw the look on your face when you beheld me, just now . . ."
Sophie's voice rose and sharpened. "But did you tell your father, or Gabriel? Do they know? About Master Will ?"
Gideon shook his head slowly. "I told them nothing. I do not think they expected Will there in any capacity. The Shadowhunters of the Institute are meant to be in pursuit of Mortmain."
"They are," said Sophie slowly, and when his only look was one of incomprehension, she said: "Those clockwork creatures at your father's party -where did you think they came from?"
"I didn't-I assumed they were demon playthings of some sort-"
"They can only have come from Mortmain," said Sophie. "You haven't seen his automatons before, but Mr. Herondale and Miss Gray, they have, and they were sure."
"But why would my father have anything of Mortmain's?"
Sophie shook her head. "It may be that you should not ask me questions you don't want the answer to, Mr. Lightwood."
"Miss Col ins." His hair fell forward over his eyes; he tossed it back with an impatient gesture. "Miss Col ins, I know that whatever you tell me, it Will be the truth. In many ways, of all those I have met in London, I find you the most trustworthy-more so than my own family."
"That seems to me a great misfortune, Mr. Lightwood, for we have known each other only a little time indeed."
"I hope to change that. At least walk to the park with me, Soph-Miss Col ins. tell me this truth of which you speak. If then you still desire no further connection with me, I Will respect your wishes. I ask only for an hour or so of your time." His eyes pleaded with her. "Please?"
Sophie felt, almost against her will, a rush of sympathy for this boy with his sea-storm eyes, who seemed so alone. "Very well," she said. "I Will come to the park with you."
An entire carriage ride alone with Jem, Tessa thought, her stomach clenching as she drew on her gloves and cast a last glance at herself in the pier glass in her bedroom. Just two nights ago the prospect had precipitated in her no new or unusual feelings; she had been worried about Will, and curious about Whitechapel, and Jem had gently distracted her as they'd rol ed along, speaking of Latin and Greek and parabatai.
And now? Now she felt like a net of butterflies was loose in her stomach at the prospect of being shut up in a small, close space alone with him. She glanced at her pale face in the mirror, pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to bring color into them, and reached for her hat on the stand beside the vanity.
Settling it on her brown hair, she caught herself wishing she had golden curls like Jessamine, and thought-Could I? Would it be possible to Change just that one smal part of herself, give herself shimmering hair, or perhaps a slimmer waist or full er lips?
She whirled away from the glass, shaking her head. How had she not thought of that before? And yet the mere idea seemed like a betrayal of her own face. Her hunger to know what she was still burned inside her; if even her own features were no longer the ones she'd been born with, how could she justify this demand, this need to know her own nature? Don't you know there is no Tessa Gray? Mortmain had said to her. If she used her power to turn her eyes sky blue or to darken her lashes, wouldn't she be proving him right?
She shook her head, trying to cast the thoughts off as she hurried from her room and down the steps to the Institute's entryway. Waiting in the courtyard was a black carriage, unmarked by any coat of arms and driven by a pair of matched horses the color of smoke. In the driver's seat sat a Silent Brother; it was not Brother Enoch but another of his brethren that she didn't recognize.
His face was not as scarred as Enoch's, from what she could see beneath the hood.
She started down the steps just as the door opened behind her and Jem came out; it was chil y, and he wore a light gray coat that made his hair and eyes look more silver than ever. He looked up at the equal y gray sky, heavy with black-edged clouds, and said, "We'd better get into the carriage before it starts to rain."
It was a perfectly ordinary thing to say, but Tessa was struck speechless all the same. She fol owed Jem silently to the carriage and all owed him to help her in. As he climbed in after her, and swung the door shut behind them, she noticed he was not carrying his sword-cane.
The carriage started forward with a lurch. Tessa, her hand at the window, gave a cry. "The gates-they're locked! The carriage-"
"Hush." Jem put his hand on her arm. She couldn't help a gasp as the carriage rumbled up to the padlocked iron gates-and passed through them, as if they had been made of no more substance than air. She felt the breath go out of her in a whoosh of surprise. "The Silent Brothers have strange magic," said Jem, and dropped his hand.
At that moment it began to rain, the sky opening up like a punctured hot water bottle. Through the sheets of silver Tessa stared as the carriage rol ed through pedestrians as if they were ghosts, slipped into the narrowest cracks between buildings, rattled through a courtyard and then a warehouse, boxes all about them, and emerged finally on the Embankment, itself slick and wet with rain beside the heaving gray water of the Thames.