The Guild Conspiracy (9 page)

Yancy nodded. “The Gatling will do that and more.”

“Then we will focus on equipping the quadruped as you suggest,” said Julian. “Does anyone else have suggestions for improvement?”

One of the older engineers adjusted his glasses on his nose and pointed to a roll of calculations printed by his mechanical calculator. “Not arguing the particular layout of the design, but some of these calculations don't add up. The error is slight, mere millimeters in most cases, but enough of a difference that it could lead to malfunction in the primary gear system.”

Petra froze, heart pounding as she tried to keep her expression neutral. “Could I see your calculations?” she asked, reaching out her hand.

The man nodded, standing up from his chair and circling the table to where she sat. “See here,” he said, pointing to the gear train between the transmission and the driving mechanism for the legs. “It's a simple mistake, but the alignment here is off, see? And these two gears don't quite match up.”

She nodded absentmindedly, acutely aware of Julian glaring in her direction. “I see what you mean,” she said, poring over the engineer's notes. “All right, so if we adjust this one here . . .” She glanced at his calculations, though she knew the exact adjustment that needed to be applied. “ . . .  a two-­millimeter expansion in the gear's diameter should fix the drive issue. And if we lengthen this axle according to your numbers, that should fix the alignment issue, yes?”

The engineer nodded. “That's what I was thinking.”

The meeting went on that way for hours, the engineers all working together to draft a fresh set of schematics to accommodate the adjustments to the quadruped's design, but with each mistake the engineers pointed out, Petra's heart sank a little lower in her chest. Every mistake they found was one less hiccup in the quadruped's manufacture, counteracting the extended deadline she had so desperately tried to buy herself.

She tried not to react, tried not to show her fear, but inside she was terrified, worried that Julian could see through her guarded responses and false excuses as the engineers found mistake after mistake.

If he suspected the truth, she was doomed.

When the meeting finally ended a few hours later, the quadruped design approved and finalized, Petra exhaled a shaky sigh of relief. Not one of the engineers had discovered the clockwork failsafe she had built into the machine. It was a bittersweet victory after the unfortunate discovery of her less subtle sabotage attempts, but a victory nonetheless.

As the other engineers gathered their things to leave the conference room, Petra slung her bag over her shoulder and stood, looking forward to spending the evening with Rupert, repairing the damage to her mech and preparing the machine for the next fight, just a few days away now. She felt Julian's eyes on her as she headed for the door, but she didn't slow down, hoping to escape him before he thought to threaten her again. She squeezed between two of the older engineers and pressed against the door, already thinking of how she might equip the mech against Darrow's underhanded tactics.

“Miss Wade . . .” Julian called after her.

Petra faltered, and the pair of older engineers brushed past and stepped into the hall. As much as she wanted to trail after them, her feet were cemented to the floor, a chill crawling up her spine as she lowered her hand from the door.

“Stay a moment,” said Julian, his tone betraying nothing. “I would like a word in private.”

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, hardly daring to turn around for fear of giving herself away, but she could not hesitate, not now.

Clutching her bag with tight fingers, she strode away from the door and pressed herself against the opposite wall, Julian's gaze following her with the patience of a viper. The remaining engineers filed out of the conference room, until there was only Petra, Julian, and Professor Calligaris, who exchanged a few muted words with Julian before he too slipped out.

Julian closed the door behind him, and the latch clicked loudly in the empty conference room.

“Do you take me for a fool?” he asked, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but there was a deadliness lurking beneath the surface. She could feel it. “Did you think I would not see what you were trying to do?”

Petra shook her head. “I don't—­”

“Do not
lie
to me,” he hissed, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he drew away from the door and faced her. “I warned you what would happen if you tried to sabotage this machine, what would happen if you continued to defy me.”

“I did as you asked,” she said, her knuckles white. “I designed your war machine.”

“A
faulty
war machine,” he snapped. “You may have deceived the other engineers into thinking those
errors
of yours were nothing more than miscalculations, but I know you better than that. You do not make mistakes—­not like this. No, this was intentional. This was sabotage.”

“And why would I sabotage the design?” she countered, determined not to let her fear of him show. “You made it clear what would happen if I tried.”

“Yet you seem to need a reminder,” he said, his voice rising. “I offered you a chance to cooperate, Miss Wade. I offered you amnesty. And yet you continue to rebel, to defy me at every turn. That ends today.”

She faltered, her mouth suddenly dry. “What do you mean?”

“I have allowed you too much freedom,” he went on, his voice hardening. “But no more. From this point forward, you answer to me. No more distractions. No more opportunity for disobedience. You want to be a part of the Guild? Very well. But you will operate on
my
terms.”

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Julian crossed the room and turned the handle, opening the door to reveal a pair of black-­uniformed coppers in the hallway, the chief enforcers of Guild justice—­and fiercely loyal to Julian.

Julian turned toward her again. “It is time you face the consequences of your actions,” he said, his voice firm. “Consider your studentship at an end. You are hereby transferred to the custody of the Royal Forces. Everything you do now will be reported directly to me.”

Petra glanced from the coppers to Julian, her heart sinking. “You don't have the authority.”

“I think you'll find that I do,” he said with a grim smile. “And if I discover any further attempt to obstruct the completion of the quadruped prototype, if any evidence of sabotage reaches me, I will not hesitate to have you hanged for treason.” He let the weight of his words linger in the air for a moment. “Do we understand each other?”

“You can't do this,” she said, shaking her head. “Vice-­Chancellor Lyndon—­”

“The vice-­chancellor has no power here,” he said. “The Guild is my domain now, Miss Wade. You would do well to remember that.” He turned toward the coppers waiting outside. “Take her to the Royal Forces office at once. Colonel Kersey will know what to do with her.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without further preamble, the two men grabbed her and ushered her away from the conference room, their gloved hands forceful, unyielding. She stumbled forward, risking a glance over her shoulder. Julian watched her go, his expression hard and calculating.

What did he mean to do with her now?

“Petra?”

The familiar voice wrested her from her thoughts, and she turned around to find Rupert leaning against a niche in the wall, his hands in his pockets. He stepped away from the wall as they approached, his eyes sweeping over the black uniforms of her two escorts, their tight grip on her arms.

“Petra, what's going on? What's happened?”

One of the coppers detached from her side and blocked him from coming any closer. “Nothing of your concern. This is Guild business. Move along.”

Rupert ignored him, quickly sidestepping the officer. “Where are they taking you?”

“To the Royal Forces office,” she explained, before either of her guards could stop her. “My studentship has been revoked. Julian, he—­”

The guard to her right silenced her with a hard squeeze. “Quiet.”

“Julian?” Rupert paled. “The minister?”

She nodded, wincing as her guards dragged her forward at a faster pace, their hands like iron vices on her arms. Rupert hurried to catch up.

“Petra, talk to me,” he pleaded. He knew the implications of that name, knew the vendetta Julian had against her, the threats he had put on her life. “Tell me what's going on.”

“I—­”

“One more word, and I'll report both of you to the minister,” answered the copper to her right. They came to the end of the hall and stopped in front of the lift shaft. The guard pressed a button to summon the lift.

But Rupert persisted. “Yancy said you stayed behind after the meeting. What happened?”

Petra stared at the blinking lights above the lift doors, her heartbeat quickening as the elevator sped up toward them, cables and gears whirring behind the metal gates. What could she say? What could she tell him that wouldn't land her in even more trouble? She couldn't tell him the truth, not here, not in front of her guards. Any word about the quadruped or her supposed sabotage would be equal to admitting treason.

The bell above the doors rang, and the lift slowed to a stop in front of them. The circular glass doors revolved open, pushing the lift gates aside, and the coppers shoved her forward, forcing her into the mechanical cylinder of glass and gears. Rupert watched helplessly, unable to stop them.

“What happens now?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She shook her head as the two Guild coppers joined her in the lift. “I don't know.”

“We'll fight it,” he said, stepping forward as the glass door slowly closed between them. “I'll go to the vice-­chancellor, appeal to the council if I have to. He can't take away your studentship just because it suits him.”

The door slid shut, and Rupert pressed his fist against the glass, the line of his shoulders tense. “He can't do this to you,” he said, his voice muffled. “He
can't
.”

With a low hum, the lift gears whirred to life, and with a shuddering jolt, the platform began its descent, slowly sinking below the floor.

Petra met Rupert's eyes, her fate sealed. “He already has.”

 

CHAPTER 7

P
etra drifted through the University in a trance, faces and voices blurring into an indistinct haze. The vibrant brass-­and-­copper world she had inhabited for the last several months bled of all color and sound, leaving only the noise of her rapidly beating heart, pulsing through her ears like an executioner's drum.

She stopped suddenly, held fast by the tight grip of her twin shadows, and the world spiraled back into motion. She faced the door to the Royal Forces office, branded by the thin, brass plaque affixed to the door. Her worst nightmare made real.

Julian had caught her in her sabotage, had seen through the guise of her miscalculations and recognized the intent behind the mistakes.

She should have known it would never work.

One of her black-­uniformed escorts knocked on the office door. “Miss Wade for you, sir.”

“Send her in.”

The stoic officer turned the handle and pushed open the door, gesturing Petra inside. With no other choice, she sucked in a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and entered the room, the door shutting soundly behind her.

A large desk sat in the middle of the room, and behind it, the broad-­shouldered officer she had often seen at her Guild proposal meetings, his red uniform decorated with a multitude of ribbons and medals. The nameplate on his desk read C
OL.
K
ERSEY.

The colonel pushed aside his work and glared at her over his prominent mustache. “You're the one Goss sent?”

Petra nodded. “Yes.”

“Stay here,” he said, getting up from his chair. He circled around the desk, cracked open the door, and peered into the hall. “Miles,” he barked. “Where's Cartwright? I have a job for him.”

Petra glanced around. She knew that name.

“He's in his bunk, sir,” answered the soldier in the hall. “I'll get him.”

“Make it quick.”

The colonel drew back into the room, leaving the door ajar as he shuffled back to his desk. He sat down and leaned forward in his chair, the seat creaking beneath his weight. “To business, then. By the minister's order, all activities in conjunction with your studentship shall cease at once,” he said dispassionately. “You will be moved into the engineer dormitories, where you will reside for the duration of the quadruped's production. A letter will be delivered to your family, informing them of your residency at the University, and your professors will be notified of your suspension. Henceforth, you will be accompanied at all times by a military escort, who will supervise and report your activities to me and the minister as necessary.”

Just like that, her freedom was gone.

The few things she had worked so hard to achieve—­her studentship, recognition, respect—­gone. No more classes. No visiting family or Mr. Stricket now. No more nights working on the mech with Rupert.

There was nothing left to her but the war machine.

“Cartwright will keep an eye on you,” continued the colonel. “He will ensure you obey the minister's restrictions and escort you to and from your workspace. He is a junior officer, but his word comes from me, and by that extension, the minister. You will obey any orders he gives, understand?”

Petra nodded slowly.

“Good.”

There was a knock on the door. “Sir? It's Cartwright.”

“Come in.”

The soldier stepped into the office, his uniform jacket unbuttoned and golden-­brown hair disheveled. His gray-­blue eyes swept the room as he entered, focusing on Petra for a moment before turning his attention to the colonel. The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile, but then he cleared his throat and assumed a rigid posture. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Colonel Kersey appraised him with an arched brow. “I know you're off duty, lad, but that's no excuse for coming to my office in such a state. Button your jacket and do something about that hair.”

“Yes, sir.”

The junior officer raked his fingers through his hair, tucked in his undershirt, and did the buttons on his jacket, his movements fluid and precise. When he had his uniform to rights, he clasped his hands behind his back and stood at attention. “Sir.”

Colonel Kersey assessed him with a gruff nod of approval. “Better.” He rested his elbows on the desk and folded his hands together over the mess of paper and envelopes. “You've been temporarily reassigned,” he said, not bothering with idle chatter. “You are now Miss Wade's official military escort for the next several months, effective immediately.”

Cartwright frowned. “A military escort? What for?”

“A matter of internal security regarding the quadruped project,” said Kersey. “The minister to the vice-­chancellor informs me it is necessary to the interests of the Royal Forces that she be monitored for potential actions against the Guild and the quadruped project. Since you were the one to propose her probationary position, I leave her supervision to you. She is to be restricted to University premises, barred from all classrooms, offices, and workshops unless otherwise dictated by the Guild council. Once construction of the quadruped prototype begins, she is to report to her appointed Guild office to perform her duties under the supervision of Mr. Calligaris, and then you will return her to her room. Quarters are being cleared for her as we speak; nearby accommodations will be prepared for you as well.”

“And my other duties?”

“Henceforth suspended,” said the colonel. “Your primary concern is the supervision of Miss Wade. She must not do anything to jeopardize the success of the quadruped. Understood?”

Cartwright hesitated before answering, glancing at Petra with a flicker of suspicion. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. Now escort Miss Wade to her dormitory—­room 738,” he said, turning his attention back to the letters on his desk. “I will update you as needed. You may go.”

The soldier nodded stiffly and gestured to the door. “After you, Miss Wade.”

She glanced back at Colonel Kersey, but he had already turned his attention back to his work. Despairingly, she left the office, and the junior officer followed, closing the door behind him.

The latch clicked loudly, punctuating the finality of her punishment.

She turned away, eyes stinging at the injustice of it all. Emmerich, her studentship, her friendship with Rupert, her
home
—­all taken away because she refused to participate in Julian's war. Because of him, because of his dogged determination to use her, she had lost everything. And now she was a prisoner, a captive in the University she had so long strived to join, forced to work on a project that shouldn't exist—­that
wouldn't
exist if not for her.

Officer Cartwright watched her warily, folding his arms across his chest. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?” he finally asked. “Or should I guess? From what the colonel said, it can't be good.”

Petra glared at him. “By all means,” she said, gesturing grandly to the colonel's door. “Ask him.”

“I'm asking
you
.”

“Is that an order,
officer
?”

Cartwright uncrossed his arms, the tension in his shoulders easing. “No,” he said, his voice gentler. “It's not an order, but—­”

“Then forgive me for not answering.”

She turned her back on him, cursing herself for being so careless, for falling under Julian's power yet again. She scrubbed her hands over her face and combed her fingers through her hair, her mind a fog. She was trapped, and there was no escape, no clever way to maneuver herself free of Julian's never-­ending web. She was alone, and there was no one left to help her.

Sudden footsteps drew her attention down the hall, and she turned to find Rupert rounding the corner.

“Rupert?”

He collided into her with a tight hug. “I came as quick as I could.”

“But what are you doing here?” she asked, pushing him away.

He withdrew a step, still clinging to her shoulders. “I went to the vice-­chancellor,” he explained. “Told him what happened. He's gone to talk with the minister to set things right. You can't have your studentship taken away like that, not without reason.”

Petra frowned. Julian
had
a reason, she thought bitterly, but she couldn't tell Rupert that, not with her military shadow hovering behind her. “Rupert . . .” How could she explain? Even if Lyndon spoke to Julian, nothing the vice-­chancellor said could save her now. He had warned her not to cross Julian again, and now it was too late. “Thank you,” she finished weakly, knowing it was useless. Nothing would change Julian's mind now.

Rupert glanced at the red uniform beside her. “Who's this?”

“This . . .”
she said, gesturing toward him with a dismissive wave, “is my military escort.”

The soldier straightened and formally offered his hand. “Officer Cadet Braith Cartwright,” he said. “I've been assigned to supervise Miss Wade during the production of her Guild project.”

Rupert eyed the officer but didn't shake his hand. “Your Guild project?” he said, turning toward Petra with the flicker of grin. She knew that look. “Where are they taking you now?”

“Engineer dormitories,” she said quickly, before Officer Cartwright could interrupt her. “Room 738.”

A brief smile lifted the corner of Rupert's lips, but he quickly suppressed it. “For how long?”

“I don't know,” she said. “The length of the project, I think.”

His expression faltered. “And then?”

She shook her head, her chest sinking as she considered the possible futures ahead of her. She croaked out an answer, barely able to force her voice above a whisper. “I don't know.”

Rupert gripped her shoulders, a solid physical comfort anchoring her to the world. “We'll fight this, Petra. We'll get your studentship back. We'll set things right. You'll see.”

Holding his gaze, she nodded, not daring to speak.

He pulled her into another tight hug. “If you get a chance,” he whispered, “give him the slip and meet me in the office. We'll talk more then.”

She hugged him back, breathing a little easier. “I'll be there.”

He withdrew. “I have to go,” he said gently. “But I'll send word if anything changes. Hopefully, the vice-­chancellor can do something about this—­and soon.”

Petra nodded again.

“Take care,” he said, offering her one last reassuring squeeze before letting go. He glanced once at Officer Cartwright and then departed, hurrying back down the hall and out of sight.

The junior officer watched him go. “Who was that?”

“A friend.”

“What did he say to you just then?” he asked.

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “I don't know what you mean.”

“He whispered something to you before he went. Don't think I didn't notice. What was it?”

“Nothing.”

“Petra—­”

“No,” she said, whirling on him. A fire burned in her chest. “You do
not
get to call me that. Not now.”

He didn't back down. “I'm not your enemy, Petra.”

“No, of course not.” She scoffed. “You're just my prison warden.”

“I didn't ask to be,” he said acidly. “So stop acting like it's my fault you're here. You seem to have managed that well enough on your own.”

“You don't know anything about it,” she snapped. “You haven't the faintest idea of what's really going on.”

“Maybe not,” he said, holding her gaze. “But I stood up for you. I risked my position and the esteem of my senior officers to help you convince the council—­and the Royal Forces—­of your allegiance. And now I'm supposed to make sure you don't sabotage your own project? Why? What did you do?”

“I didn't ask for your help.”

“No, but I gave it anyway,” he replied. “And maybe that was my mistake. You said you weren't what they claimed, and I believed you. I
wanted
to believe you. I thought you were different. Was I wrong?”

“What do you want me to say?” she demanded. “I'm not a traitor. I'm not what they say I am.”

“Then why are you here?”

Petra pressed her lips together and glanced away. The answer was simple—­Emmerich, the automaton, the decision to bring down a conspiracy, letting Julian turn her into a pawn for his war, and then trying to sabotage his plans . . . There was only person to blame for where she stood now.

“Bad choices,” she muttered. “That's why I'm here.”

And now she was paying the consequences.

P
etra sat in the darkness of her new quarters, her pocket watch open in her hand, ticking soundly against her palm. It had been hours since Officer Cartwright led her up to the seventh floor and deposited her in the lonely dormitory—­nearly midnight now. The hall outside was silent, her room so far removed from the rest of the students and engineers that she hadn't heard a single door shut or a pair of footsteps pass by, apart from her guard's pacing. She had the entire floor to herself.

She stared at the door to her room, considering whether or not she dared sneaking out to meet Rupert. Cartwright had retired to his room thirty minutes ago, and she hadn't heard a sound from him since.

If there was a time to escape, it was now.

She hadn't forgotten Julian's warning—­she knew what would happen the moment he discovered her sabotage on the quadruped project—­but the mech fights were not a part of that. Rupert was not a part of that. The respect she was so close to earning from the other students had nothing to do with it, nothing to do with the quadruped or Julian's plans for war.

She'd be damned if she'd give it up now.

The next fight was no more than a few days away, and she still needed to repair the damage she'd earned in the fight with Bellamy, as well as reconfigure the hidden weapons and replace the broken blade in its left arm. She couldn't do any of that as long as she was stuck in this room.