“So he must have come with you somehow.” Cade shook his head as if disbelieving his own words.
“Yes,” she replied. “Somehow.” Or, had he been here all along through time? He was, after all, eternally lived, and Eletians did not appear to age. But she did not think so. The scarcity of etherea in this mechanical world was antithetical to the existence of Eletians. She’d assumed they’d vanished, died out for good thanks to Amberhill. Besides, Lhean looked like he was suffering. Could he have sustained his life for almost two hundred years in this condition? There was much she did not know about Eletians, but instinct told her he had arrived in the future when she did.
Why was she only seeing him now? Why had they not arrived together? The breaking of the looking mask had sent her cascading through the universe, and Westrion had brought her here. That was what she now believed. But why Lhean? Were any of her other companions at large in this time, or another? Were they, too, held captive by Dr. Silk? What was Westrion’s intent? Was there an intent? She had many questions but no answers.
Cade tapped his fingers on the seat beside him to the rhythm of the trotting carriage horses, his expression pensive. “I hope the professor is home. He will want to hear about this right away.”
“We need to rescue Lhean.”
“I do not doubt that, but I need to talk to the professor. Any rescue requires planning.”
He was right, but would the professor actually help?
“There is one thing I hope,” Cade said.
Karigan waited. “Well?”
“I hope that Silk did not see that the Eletian sought you.”
SILK
Silk bade good-bye to the last of his guests as they funneled out of the big top entrance. Already workers swept the floor and removed his exhibits. The operator of the music steamer had played his final note and was now lowering the lids over the keyboards.
It had been, on the whole, a successful evening. His guests had been impressed by his offerings. The Eletian, especially, caused a sensation, and all of Mill City and beyond would talk about it for weeks to come. Hadley had approached him about using the Eletian as part of his sideshow, which would no doubt fill circus coffers, but Silk needed to get the Eletian to Gossham to be examined by his father and other members of the emperor’s inner circle. He would deliver the creature himself to ensure he received proper credit for its capture. One day, he hoped to personally present the Eletian to the emperor as a gift.
Silk gazed at the diminishing crowd searching for Miss Goodgrave and her escort, but in vain. They must have slipped out early, which annoyed him. He’d ask Howser if he’d seen them leave, and if not, tell him to ask around. Discreetly, of course. There was something about that young lady, something much more than was hidden behind the veil. He’d known this since the first time he’d looked upon her. The vibrancy of life energy that pulsed around her—favoring green hues—had intrigued him, had roused his interest enough that he needed to know more. Tonight it had been much the same, but . . . At one point as they sat at dinner, a wavering of her aura caught the edge of his vision, like the downsweep of vast, dark wings. He fought to conceal his surprise, and soon wondered if he’d actually imagined it all, for it did not happen again. An enigma was Miss Goodgrave.
He had noted, of course, how careful she’d been answering his questions, almost shrewd in her responses. She did not seem insane to him, but she mystified him with contradictions. In many ways she carried herself in a confident manner, and in others, less so, such as when confronted by the taxidermy specimens from the Imperial Museum. Clearly she was intelligent but appeared naïve, as if she did not know the customs of society. The latter, he thought, could be due to her confinement to the asylum and life in the country. And insanity did not necessarily negate intelligence. It disappointed him she’d shown little interest in the artifacts he’d so carefully displayed. She did not fit easily into a puzzle.
And then, he could not swear to it, because he’d been more focused on the reaction of his guests to the Eletian, but he thought he’d seen the Eletian reach out to her, speak to her . . . He’d ask Howser about that, too, and also question the creature later. Not that the creature would cooperate—it refused to respond to the common tongue and spoke only in Eltish gibberish when it spoke at all.
Silk espied T.C. Stamwell dismantling his curtained image trapping space, and on impulse Silk set off across the ring. When he arrived, Stamwell paused what he was doing and bowed.
“How may I help you, Dr. Silk?”
“Miss Goodgrave . . . Did she pick up her portrait before she left?”
A strange expression fell over Stamwell’s face. “No, sir, she did not, nor did Mr. Harlowe. It’s probably just as well.”
“Explain.”
“Her image, well, it came out poorly. The young man’s quickened just fine, and so did every other portrait I trapped tonight, but not hers.”
“How so?”
“Let me show you.” Stamwell climbed up into his wagon and rummaged around. He soon returned with a small portrait in each hand. “This is Mr. Harlowe’s.”
Silk took it and gazed hard at the image of Josston’s protégé. In Silk’s vision, the image was dim, but Cade Harlowe was defined well enough for him to make it out, and the image probably appeared as it should to people with normal vision. He discerned a strong, if disapproving, face. Harlowe was still young and inexperienced, but Silk did not doubt he’d be a force to be reckoned with one day, considering who his mentor was.