“You put me in a cage?” Panic crept into his question.
“Shhh.” She took his hand again as much to stop him from ripping the blindfold off as to reassure him. “I’m here too. It’s not a cage—it’s an elevator.”
With her free hand, she reached up and pulled the wooden handle attached to a brass chain that hung from the ceiling of the basket. Far above them, a bell sounded; its chiming bounced off the cavern walls. A flurry of tinkling notes melded with the roar of the falls for a few moments.
Charlotte shushed the boy before he could ask what the bell meant. Now that she was out of the forest, away from the Gatherers and a short ride from home, she was tired and more than a little anxious about what awaited her on the upper platform. Not so much what as who, she had to admit.
As the clicking of gears and the steady winding of the chain filled the basket, they began to move up. The swiftness of the lift’s ascent never failed to surprise Charlotte slightly, but it caught the boy completely off guard. He lurched to the side, and the basket swung out over the lake.
“Stop that!” Charlotte grabbed him, holding him still at the center of the swaying basket. “If you don’t move, the lift won’t swing out.”
“S-sorry.” The boy’s teeth chattered with nerves.
Peering at him, Charlotte felt a creeping fear tickle her spine. She’d assumed his awful colorless skin had been a result of his fear, but looking at him closely, she thought it might be the natural state of his flesh. And it struck Charlotte as quite odd. Flesh so pale it had an ashen cast. She forced herself to hang on to him so he wouldn’t unbalance the lift again, but she now worried his wan quality was a harbinger of illness. And that it might be catching.
Her nagging thoughts were interrupted when they passed the lip of the upper platform and the gears slowly ground to a halt.
The first sight that greeted her was three pairs of boots. The first was black, thick soled, and scarred with burn marks. The second pair was also black, but polished and trimmer of cut and heel, showing only their shiny tips rather than stretching to the knee like the first pair. The third pair made her groan. Faded brown and featuring an array of loops and buckles that held knives in place, this pair was soon joined by a grinning face as their owner crouched to peer into the basket.
Jack, clad in his regular garb of leather breeches and two low-slung, gun-heavy belts, threaded his fingers through the brass weaving of the basket, rising with it until he was standing. “Well, well. What a fine catch we have today, mateys.”
“Cap it, Jack,” Charlotte said.
He pushed stray locks of his bronze hair beneath his tweed cap and continued to smile as he opened the platform gate. “A mermaid and a . . . what?”
Jack’s mirthful expression vanished as he stared at the blindfolded boy.
Charlotte swallowed the hardness that had formed in her throat. Jack turned to look at the wearer of the polished boots. Charlotte was looking that way too.
The boots were mostly covered by black military pants, close fitting with brass buttons from knee to ankle and looser to the waist, where they met with a band-collared white shirt and burgundy vest with matching cravat. The owner of the boots carried an ebony cane tipped with a brass globe.
Ashley wasn’t wearing his usual black overcoat, but its absence did nothing to impede his air of authority.
“Pip called in that two were arriving instead of just one,” he told Charlotte.
She glanced over to the wheelhouse, where a slight girl wearing goggles was mostly hidden by pulls, levers, and cranks. Pip gave Charlotte a quick, apologetic wave and then ducked out of sight.
Throwing her shoulders back, Charlotte exited the basket, dragging the boy with her.
“The Rotpots were after him,” she said, meeting her brother’s stern gaze. “I had to help him.”
“Of course you had to.” Ash tapped a shiny boot on the stone platform.
She didn’t offer further explanation but refused to look away. Charlotte didn’t want to quail before her brother because rumors of her unexpected guest seemed to have spread throughout the Catacombs. From the mouth of the caverns that led to their living quarters, half a dozen little faces with wide eyes peeked out, watching Charlotte and Ashley’s exchange. The children should have been at their lessons or chores, but Charlotte knew well enough that when something this unusual took place in their mostly cloistered lives, it was irresistible. When she’d been younger, Charlotte had snuck away from her responsibilities many a time for events much less exciting than the arrival of a stranger. Ash had always chided her for her impetuous behavior. Her brother had been born a leader, all sobriety and steadfastness. He was never tempted away from duty the way Charlotte so often had been.
Ash frowned and walked up to the blindfolded boy.
“And what do you have to say for yourself?” Ash asked him. “Who has my sister brought us?”
“I . . . I can’t . . .” The boy strained toward the sound of Ash’s voice.
Ash put the brass tip of his cane beneath the boy’s chin. “I know you can’t see, boy. If you’ll tell me how you came to be in the forest, perhaps we can show you a bit more hospitality.”
Charlotte stepped forward, hitting the length of the cane so it thwacked away from the stranger. She jerked the kerchief down so the boy blinked into the sudden light.
“Leave him be. You weren’t the one being chased by an iron beast with a cage for a belly.”
Ash stared at her, his dark brown eyes full of incredulity and budding fury. He didn’t speak to Charlotte, though, instead turning his hard gaze on the faces peering out from the cavern opening. Ashley didn’t have to say anything. The children bolted away, the pitter-patter of their speedy steps echoing in the cavern like sudden rainfall.
“Do you know if he’s hurt, Charlotte?” The boy wearing the burn-scarred black boots scampered forward, peering at the new arrival.
Jack, who’d taken a few steps back as if to survey the unfolding scene from a safe distance, answered as he threaded his thumbs into his wide belt loops. “He looks fine to me. Are you sure he was really running from them?”
Charlotte ignored Jack, instead smiling at Birch, who trotted over to the boy’s side.
“Let’s have a look.” The boots weren’t the only pockmarked part of Birch’s wardrobe. From his thick apron to his elbow-length gloves, the tinker’s brown leather clothing boasted enough black marks to rival a leopard’s spots.