Her fingers were clenched around the shimmery fabric of a veil, her face yet her own for the moment. Like Lore, the younger woman was dressed in sturdy boots, trousers, and a well-worn linen blouse—the typical outfit a working-class girl in the outskirts of the city might wear.
The places they were going weren’t exactly popular with high society, and so they had to play the part. Blaine’s own veil was tucked away in his trouser pocket, a pistol holstered at his lower back. He knew Lore was similarly armed, having pocketed two aether-powered smoke bombs from the weapons store that could help hide their retreat if necessary. She’d holstered her derringer around her right ankle, the small pistol hidden by the wide cuff of her trouser leg.
Caris, he noted, wasn’t carrying a wand of any sort. Despite the revelation of her magic, no one wanted her to use it. The North Star may have ordered Meleri to allow Caris fieldwork, but there were limits to the duchess’ obedience. Caris was not to tap the aether, and that was for everyone’s safety. Blaine only hoped she listened.
“Yes,” Lore said.
“You could have picked anyone else but Tristan.”
Blaine hadn’t yet found the time—or been given permission—to tell Caris that Tristan wasn’t his real name. He still lived under a false identity where she was concerned, and he knew the longer he went without telling her the truth, the more trouble it would cause.
Lore gestured at the entrance to the catacombs that Fred guarded, the automaton having not moved from its post. “Shall we?”
Getting into the catacombs was the easy part. Navigating the underground tunnels was something else entirely. Blaine knew some of the routes, but Lore had memorized the safe passages as a child and so led the way.
The Clockwork Brigade wasn’t the only organization to access the catacombs. The Collector’s Guild had sought to lay claim to the underground world from time to time, but the Clockwork Brigade never let their access remain for long. Inevitably, people died, buildings were burned, and records were forcibly lost to help keep a city’s secrets.
Lore’s handheld gaslight was a bright point in the dark. It was cold below, making Blaine’s skin prickle. None of them had worn anything warmer than summer clothes, because it would draw too much attention once they made it across the city to their destination.
Where they were going was the Pemberry neighborhood, named for the type of flowers the prostitutes who worked the corners and alleyways outside of pubs wore in their hair in the summer months. The petals were as red as their lip rouge and the blood that sometimes stained the streets during territory fights of the local gangs.
None of that mattered in the chill of the catacombs, the strange metal walls lacking the rust other metals in use gained after time passed. Lore had always wondered about what ancestors had built the tunnels belowground, and why. The Northern Plains weren’t dangerous if one were behind walls, and the catacombs stretched farther than even where the city walls currently stood.
The only sound below was their breathing and footsteps in the dark as they traversed the seemingly never-ending tunnels. By the time they reached the ladder that would take them up to a grate covering, Blaine’s feet ached.
They huddled by the ladder, looking up as Lore clicked the handheld gaslight off, plunging them into near darkness. Water dripped from a distant pipe, and the smell was atrocious, but the ladder leading to the grate appeared sturdy enough. Blaine squinted through the iron bars, barely able to see the darkening sky above.
“The grate is located in an alleyway rather than the street. I’ll go up first and check our surroundings,” Lore said.
She took a moment to put on her veil, and Blaine followed suit, as did Caris. The world shimmered like when one broke the surface of the water while swimming, flecks of light scattering across his vision. Then it settled, the fabric a ghostly touch against his skin, some other face, he knew, stretched across his own visage now.
Lore tucked the handheld gaslight into her trouser pocket and climbed up the ladder. After a moment, he heard a muffled pounding from above as Lore worked the mechanism to get the grate to move. Clearly, this was a route rarely taken.
Moments later she got the grate open and Blaine winced at the creaking sound the hinges made. Lore climbed out, disappearing from view. Then her head popped back into view and her voice called down to them in a hiss. “The way is clear.”
Blaine glanced at Caris as he gestured at the ladder. “After you.”
Caris said nothing, merely climbed up the ladder with an easy swiftness. Blaine followed after her to the alleyway. It was empty at the moment, even if the street past the mouth of the alley was not. Blaine knelt and carefully replaced the grate. It locked automatically, no one the wiser of its secrets.
“Where to now?” Caris asked, clearly not oriented.
“We find ourselves a good time,” Lore said.
Which could have meant a drink, a game, or an illicit affair conducted in public. The opportunities, while not endless, were at least typical of the neighborhood, and they were here to play a part while spying. Lore hooked her arm around Blaine’s and Caris belatedly did the same. One man with two women went unremarked on beyond drunken leers of passers-by.
Blaine got eyes on a street sign screwed to a building half a block later. He tilted his head in that direction, silently asking Lore for directions. She smirked and tugged on his arm, leading the way. The catacombs had apparently spat them up a quarter mile away from the apothecary, and the way to their target was accessible by winding, cobblestone streets.
The Pemberry Apothecary was located down a narrow street filled with dingy storefronts selling wares no one in the center of Amari would buy. Not fashionable by high society’s standards, less-than-stellar craftsmanship for the goods, and in general, meant for the poorer segment of the working class.
“This way,” Lore said right before pulling them into the apothecary, ignoring Blaine’s hissed warning.
“Wait,” he managed to get out before clamping his teeth shut on the rest of his protest.
A bell jingled overhead as the door opened. Lore stepped inside with a loud giggle and Blaine could only follow, pasting a smile on his face. The space wasn’t large, with a glass display counter taking up a prominent spot. Vials and jars, along with pillboxes, were neatly lined up inside. Rows of shelves on the wall behind it were filled with yet more medicinal-type offerings.
The place smelled faintly of chemicals, making his nose twitch. Caris stepped away from them to go peruse the locked glass case on the other side of the shop. The apothecary was empty for another minute before the chemist came out from the back, the door to the back swinging open on squeaking hinges. The woman wasn’t tall, though she was a little on the heavier side. Blaine was still able to look past her, getting a brief glimpse of two people in what looked like a messy workroom.
The woman in a rich, plum-colored tailored suit had her back to them, long black hair contained in a thick braid down her back. The man stood next to a worktable, face in profile, a jagged, circular scar pock-marking his cheek, like something had tried to bite off his face. He wore a pair of lab glasses, the brass of it dulled.
