The Girl and the Clockwork Cat (Entangled Teen) Read online

  The leg, so perfectly made she wouldn’t have been surprised to see the claws retract, gleamed through smears of grime. The sound of gears spinning smoothly when the cat moved further attested to the craftsmanship of the piece. She might not have a proper education, but any thief worth their salt would recognize the value of such an intricate device.

  Worth enough to pay Mum’s debt?

  The cat walked over to sniff at the rat corpse, its tail high with pleasure at having friendly company, showing off its male parts to the world.

  She averted her eyes and giggled. “Boy, huh?”

  When she spoke, he turned and trotted back to her, rubbing into her offered hand, placing his trust in her. Desperate for companionship.

  A lot like me.

  What would happen to the cat if she sold him for his leg?

  There was a sinking in her chest.

  Nothing good. Nothing good at all. It was one thing to nick from people with more than they needed, but this cat wouldn’t survive long without its leg.

  He licked her fingers, then walked past her toward the alley entrance.

  “Where’re you off to? You’ll be nicked in a heartbeat out there.”

  The cat stopped a few strides away, looked at her, at the alley entrance, then at her again and meowed.

  She grinned. “Oh? Brilliant plan. A half-Japanese street rat and a cat with a mechanical leg traveling together. That won’t draw unwanted attention.”

  A metal door halfway down the alley shrieked open. Maeko grabbed the cat, tucking him against her chest and wrapping her arms around him to hide the anomalous leg. The cat made a small squeak of surprise but didn’t struggle when she cradled his warm body against hers. She pressed back into the shadowed corner and waited to see who would come out.

  Chapter Two

  A tall, heavyset man stepped through the door and scowled at the fallen ashbin. The ends of his long moustache drooped below his chin, adding a comical exaggeration to the severity of his frown. Then his eyes tracked to her corner and the scowl deepened. His brow furrowed under the rim of the brown bowler balanced crookedly on his head.

  He strode over to her, the anger in his eyes fading the closer he got until he looked more distressed than angry. A good sign. The expression on a person’s face in the first few moments of contact often told volumes about how they were likely to treat her. This man seemed to suffer from a kind heart and good intentions. His type often caused more harm than good simply by misunderstanding her situation, but they tended toward generosity and were usually easy to slip away from.

  He stopped, looming over her, and grabbed her upper arm, his big hand wrapping easily around it. Clinging to the failing dregs of his anger, he pulled her out into the reaching light of a gas-lamp and turned her to face the ashbin.

  “Here now, what’s the meaning of this mess?” His growl lacked conviction, and she began to sense an opportunity.

  She sagged, letting his strong grip keep her from falling. He grunted and reached out to grab her other arm, supporting her until she was firmly on her feet again. His eyes focused on the cat, his big nose crinkling up with puzzlement. The cat stared back at him.

  “Running from the Lits are you?”

  She nodded.

  “Cat got your tongue?” He had a hearty laugh. When she didn’t join in his merriment, he nodded to the quiet animal in her arms. “You know…” She gave him a blank stare. “Forget I said it. Come along, you won’t be running far in the shape you’re in, and you smell bad enough to clear the city.”

  He turned her, guiding her through the open door with his hand still tightly clasped around one arm. She scuffed along, making a point of leaning on his hand so he wouldn’t forget about her significantly weakened state.

  “You should eat the damned cat,” he muttered, pushing her ahead of him.

  She frowned, clutching the cat a little tighter. Enough people she knew might do just that, but a person could starve for company just as they could starve for food.

  Music thrummed down the hallway ahead of them, much louder now. They were in the pub. What a triumph! A bowl of food waited at the end of this hallway, she could smell it.

  The man pushed her through an open doorway into a small, dingy room with a basin of murky water sitting in the middle.

  “Clean yourself up a bit. Heldie’s going to tan my hide for bringing you in here, but if you smell a little less offensive, she might not take my head completely off.”

  She walked around the basin, setting the cat discretely beside it to keep his unusual appendage hidden. He sat politely and began to groom one paw, apparently aware of the washroom’s purpose.

  Smart indeed. She held back a grin. It wouldn’t do to look less than miserable for her audience.

  With the man looking on, she rinsed her hands and face, her motions slow and weary.

  “There’s a mass of dirty skin showing through them sorry trousers. You might as well rinse that too.”

  With a small huff, she scrubbed through the many holes in her trousers then scowled up at him.

  The man chuckled. “You’d think I was beatin’ you for the look on your face.”

  He snatched a stained towel off a narrow counter and tossed it to her. When she was dry, he beckoned her over. Carefully picking up the cat again, she walked up to him and he took hold of her arm, once more guiding her down the hallway and through a swinging door into a hot room brimming with the dizzying aromas of cooking food. This time she didn’t have to fake it, swaying as the twisting ache of hunger made her lightheaded. The man supported her again, guiding her to a seat on a rough-hewn bench before a table facing into the kitchen.

  She stared into the room, unable to think past the empty ache in her middle. A woman turned from a large pot and stared back at her, red curls in wild disarray around her face. The top laces of her red corset had popped loose under the weight of her heavy bosom and the sides of her skirt were tied up, revealing banded stockings and knee-high boots. Her face, already flushed with the heat from the cooker, burned a brighter red the longer she stared.

  Finally, she pointed accusingly at Maeko with the wooden spoon she held. “What is that?”

  The big man flinched and Maeko couldn’t blame him. The woman had a shriek that would make a banshee cringe and the way she rested one fist on her hip brought Maeko’s mum to mind with a flood of guilt and anger. Like this woman, her mum could throw out some alarming volume when riled. Maeko could see her clearly in her mind, her black hair pulled partly down from an ornate bone clip and one fist pressed into her hip.

  “Don’t you ever mouth off to the gentlemen who come here!”

  “He hit you!”

  “That’s none of your affair, Mae!”

  She remembered tears sparkling like small gems in her mother’s dark, angled eyes, a spot of blood shining like a ruby on her lip. It was nothing compared to the injuries that had driven her mother out of the brothel.

  Had that really been ten years ago? Oh, the things her mother would say to her if she knew what Maeko was doing now. Would her reasons for doing them even matter to her mother? She’d given Maeko up. Abandoned her.

  Maeko stroked the cat’s neck. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of—”

  “The poor thing weighs a feather,” the man in the bowler hat said. “She ain’t going to eat enough for us to notice the loss.”

  “We don’t feed rats, Barman! Any minute now them players is going to be stormin’ in ’ere to eat us out of ’alf our food. We ain’t got enough for one more.” The hand with the spoon pointed to the door now. “Get it out of ’ere!”

  The man, Barman, puffed up his chest, ready to defend his decision. Maeko cheered him on silently. “Heldie, I…”

  He trailed off when a group of people barged into the room. Maeko hadn’t noticed that the music had stopped until then. Three men and one woman entered in a shroud of tired but enthusiastic chatter. They wore an odd mix of clothing that combined societ
y panache with accents suggesting science, adventure, and a flair of danger. Typical pirate or anti-Literati fashion given a kiss of personal drama. They came and sat at the table around her as if they found nothing unusual in the arrangement. None of them appeared to notice her less than pleasant aroma under the strong stench of sweat, smoke, and liquor that entered with them.

  An imposing, broad-chested man sat on her left, his short dark hair spiked rebelliously behind the aviator goggles perched above his forehead. He wore an elaborate brass and leather wrist brace with a watch face and several other instruments of uncertain purpose embedded in it. A lot less fancy than the one in the clock shop, but similar enough to be a bitter reminder of the failed heist.

  His virtual opposite, an older, thin man with an elaborate headdress of woven material strips cascading down from the back of his crooked top hat, sat on her right. The blond woman, slender and seductive, decked out in a silky corset dress and feather hairpiece that swayed with every move of her head, sat across the table beside the third man who was rather average in this group, both for his more sedate attire and for his groomed look. Neither of the last two gave her more than a cursory glance.

  The door opened once more and a younger man trailed in behind them, his dress more sedate in the manner of the man across from her. He had messy, overlong dark brown hair that edged toward black. He looked a little younger than Chaff, about her age. Where the rangy thief was tall and lean, he was shorter, with thick musculature and strong features that resembled those of the man sitting on her left.

  When his gaze lit on her, she glanced away. Not out of shyness or embarrassment. Well, mostly not. He had the loveliest pale green eyes she had ever seen, framed by thick dark lashes that would make most women envious. Those beautiful judging eyes brought a flush to her cheeks and made her all too aware of her own appalling state.

  The spike-haired man mussed Maeko’s hair. “Joining us for supper, Rat?”

  “I’m not a rat,” she snapped, her cheeks burning with irritation. She was small for her age, and with her breasts bound down under shapeless boys clothing, people assumed she was much younger. The deception was handy for living on the streets, but always being treated like a child got bothersome, more so with those pretty green eyes looking on.

  “It does speak.” Barman grinned at her while he laid bowls out.

  She glowered back at him, but he had already turned his attention to his task.

  “Does that have to eat with us? It smells awful.”

  Maeko glanced up to find the young man still staring at her from where he’d sat beside the blond woman. He waved a hand in front of his nose to emphasize his point.

  “Ash! Mind your tongue,” the man next to her snapped at the same time the woman smacked him on the back of the head.

  Ash stared down at the table with a defiant glower.

  Barman cleared his throat. “Lively crowd tonight, Captain Garrett?”

  “Very lively. We—”

  Maeko glanced up at him. “Are you a real captain?”

  Garrett looked at her, his spiked hair and the odd high collar on his stylishly worn jacket making him appear much bigger than he was. His charmed smile brought a shy blush to her cheeks. She looked down at the cat in her lap and began to stroke his head with determined intensity.

  Barman set an empty bowl in front of her and the thrill of anticipation made her swoon. She rocked back on the bench and Garrett caught her shoulder, keeping her upright.

  “I think you had best feed the rat first.”

  “And my cat,” she croaked, now finding it hard to project her voice above a whisper.

  Garrett chuckled. “It seems that the cat needs a bowl too.”

  “Bloody foreigners ought ’a take care of their own rubbish,” Heldie snarled with a targeted look at Maeko.

  The comment stung. She’d been born in London, even if she did look like her Japanese mother. She had every right to be here. Still, this was the best luck she’d had all week. She could tolerate a few abuses from a bar wench and a handsome over-privileged boy if it meant a hot meal.

  “Be easy on the poor thing, Held,” Garrett called to the woman.

  Held?

  “Yer always too nice to folks. It’ll get ye taken advantage of,” Heldie answered, but the smile she cast over her shoulder at him was a fond one.

  Barman carried over a hot pot of stew, redolent with the faint otherworldly aroma of imported spices, and two warm loaves of bread. She started to lift one shaky arm toward the pot. Garrett pushed her arm back down and ladled some of the steaming stew into her bowl. He tore off a chunk of bread for her then accepted a smaller bowl Barman passed over to him, filled it, and set it on the floor behind her.

  The rest of the group watched with interest now, their attention drawn by the captain’s kindness toward her. The three across from her looked torn between disgust and pity. Maeko ignored them, turning around to hide the cat’s unusual leg as she set him on the floor. Then, her body trembling in anticipation, she attacked the stew and bread with gusto. The others soon started eating, chatting over their meal and forgetting their momentary interest in her until Garrett tapped her shoulder.

  “Slow down, Rat, you’ll make yourself sick.”

  She heard him and recognized the truth in his words, but she couldn’t slow down. Chunks of real meat and potato and other delightful foodstuffs she hadn’t tasted in some time urged her on. She continued shoveling until the bowl vanished out from under her spoon. She grabbed after it, but Garrett snatched it from her grasp. He pushed her back on the bench.

  “Eat some bread. I’ll give it back when you start showing sense.”

  She snatched the bread off the table and bent over it, forcing herself to take small bites. He just smiled, setting her bowl down on the far side of his, impervious to the long-suffering sigh of the woman sitting across from him and Ash’s deepening scowl. When Maeko had nibbled her way through most of the bread, he moved the bowl back, even ladling in more stew in spite of the scathing glare Heldie gave him.

  Though Maeko long ago made a vow not to trust strangers, she found Garrett’s ministrations comforting. He was intelligent, but most likely not Literati. Outside of law enforcement officers and discrete visits to the brothels by some of the gentry, the Lits didn’t come to this part of town. His music and his clothing screamed pirate, in open opposition of the Lits, which inclined her to trust him more than some. She thought of asking if he was really a captain again, but a soft meow drew her attention. It also caught the attention of the men sitting on either side of her.

  “What the…”

  The older man trailed off when Garrett reached down to pick up the cat. Pushing his bowl aside, he set the animal in front of him and started to examine the armored leg.

  Maeko’s stomach clenched and she stopped eating.

  “He’s mine,” she muttered. Even to her ears, her voice lacked conviction.

  They ignored her. All eyes were riveted on the cat. Garrett found a small latch on the front of the leg and released it. The cat stood patient, as though accustomed to such handling. A metal panel swung open to reveal a delicate arrangement of clockwork gears and pulleys where the real leg should have been. The open portion of the leg was separated off from the shoulder with a metal plate through which several tiny belts passed. The captain’s brown eyes lit with feverish intensity as he felt around the shoulder, perhaps looking for another way in.

  “How does it work?” he asked of no one in particular.

  Only she was close enough to catch his quick intake of breath. Something caught him by surprise.

  “He’s mine,” she repeated, putting more strength into the declaration.

  “I don’t think so.” Garrett turned the cat so she could see the words etched into the inside of the open panel. Beneath an address, it read: Macak, Property of Lucian P. Folesworth.

  Was it the name that caught his attention? It did almost sound familiar.

  “Little thief,�
�� Ash accused, his pale eyes narrowing.

  The woman caught him in the rib with a quick jab of her elbow. “Have some manners, Ash.”

  “She’s a rat.” Ash rubbed at his ribs. “You know she nicked it.”

  Garrett ignored him, turning a sober gaze on her. “Where did you get this cat?”

  She lowered her eyes. The cat was as good as gone now. It shouldn’t matter, she’d only had him for a short time. Who was she to look after him anyway? Even if she had a safe home to offer, the leg would require maintenance she wasn’t qualified to give. But there was something liberating about having another living creature to look after.

  Loneliness opened up in her like a fresh wound.

  “I found him in the alley,” she murmured.

  “Curious.”

  “How does something like that end up in an alley frequented by street rats?” the older man asked.

  “I’m not a street rat,” she said. They ignored her again, the way most people ignored lesser things.

  “Good question.” Garrett examined the etching inside the leg again, running a finger over it before closing the panel.

  “That kind of work’s worth a fine stack of tin,” the older man commented over her head.

  “That it is,” Garrett agreed. “I bet someone would pay a tidy sum to get this back.”

  Maeko glanced at Ash and caught a glimpse of something that might have been pity in his eyes, though his expression closed up too fast for her to be sure. Maybe he wasn’t as cold as he acted, but she didn’t want his pity. She spun around on the bench and stood.

  Before she took more than two steps, Garrett leaned back and caught hold of her arm. “Where’re you going?”

  She stared at the floor. “I don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

  “I’m sure Barman and Heldie will lend you a spot of floor tonight.” The irritated snort from Heldie argued against this, but he didn’t let go of her arm. “Sit down.”