Chains of Silver: a YA Theater Steampunk Novel (Alchemy Empire Book 1) Page 2

  I froze. Trying to keep my smile on my face, I scooted forward until he wasn’t touching me anymore. Sitting on the edge of my seat, I fought back the sickening panic that was never far away. To make it look natural, I leaned my elbows on the chair back in front of me, and set my chin in my hand, watching the director.

  He was pretty young, only twenty from what I’d heard. But everything about him was so elegant and confident, he seemed way more grown up than the rest of us, even if he was only a couple years older.

  He was some kind of genius, too. We’d heard he finished his apprenticeship when he was only sixteen, and he’d been working as an assistant director at the theater in Caerdydd in the province of Cymru for the last four years. When our theater manager, Master Fenrey, announced that he’d hired Dietrich Wolff to be our apprentice company director, you’d have thought he’d hired the Crown Prince himself. He was that proud.

  Smart, elegant, almost-famous. And those amazing curls, and eyes that were warm and mysterious all at once. If it weren’t for his directing magic and the terror it woke in me, I’d be just as in love with Presul Wolff as at least half the other apprentices were.

  “Here.” A handkerchief flopped over my shoulder. “You need this.”

  I twisted around to see Jasper smirking at me. “What for?” I batted the handkerchief away. Who knew where that thing had been?

  “To wipe away the drool.”

  “Ew. What are you talking about?”

  Chester smiled sweetly. “The drool over the presul.” He looked at Presul Wolff and then back at me, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Not that I blame you.”

  Jasper snorted. “Should I be jealous?”

  “Oh, please. You’ve studied his arse so much, you could pass an exam on it.” Chester scowled at Jasper, but softened it with a fond wink.

  I groaned. “Enough! I was not drooling. Over Presul Wolff or anyone else.”

  Chester gave me an overly-polite nod of his head. “I hate to argue with a lady, Miss Mellor, but the lust energy from this part of the theater could have powered a small brothel.”

  Jasper nodded. “It would be a definite ten on a lust-o-scope.”

  “You cog.” I jabbed his arm with my elbow. “It would be a lust-o-meter, not a lust-o-scope.”

  “I leave the gadgets and devices to you. I was merely doing my duty as a gentleman, aiding you in your time of need—”

  “If I was lusting after Dietrich Wolff,” I murmured, leaning close to them to keep my voice low and a little wicked, “which I certainly was not, it would not be your handkerchief that I would need.”

  “Unless you were planning to polish his telescope.”

  “Clean his pistons,” Chester added.

  “Tighten his nuts.” I plucked the hanky from Jasper with my thumb and forefinger.

  He snatched it back. “You can’t do that with a handkerchief.”

  I grinned. “Watch me.”

  Chester swallowed a laugh. It burst out his nose instead, and both boys sniggered even harder.

  I giggled with them, hating myself a little for having to always play this part with the boys. I had them all convinced I was a carefree flirt with a dirty mind.

  They didn’t know how afraid of them I actually was. It wasn’t so bad with Jasper and Chester, since they really did have eyes only for each other. But it still wasn’t easy to sit here with them without panicking.

  “Presul Wolff!” Delphine’s insistent voice sliced through our muffled snickers. “How am I supposed to concentrate over all this noise?”

  He turned those expressive eyes toward us. My laughter faded.

  Weary lines creased his face. “Keep it down, please.” It didn’t seem his heart was in the scolding. He turned back to Delphine, the tails of his morning coat swishing over that lovely arse. “Miss Birdwell, your line.”

  Not wanting to get in trouble, I reached down into my bag and pulled out my sketch pad even though I had finished my set design and a sketch for a mechanical lion a week ago.

  Jasper leaned down to peer at my bag. “Is that a Gazette?”

  I pulled out the copy of the Illustrated Daily Gazette and handed it to him. “Latest issue. Miss Harrison and Miss Forge bought it and gave it to me after they finished reading it. I haven’t had time to look at it.”

  The Gazette was a gossip tabloid full of lurid stories about celebrities, fashion, disasters, crimes, and intrigues. Occasionally, some of it was even true. Jasper and Chester huddled over it, snickering quietly.

  “Anything good?” I whispered, keeping my eyes on my sketchbook.

  “Sileryns got into it with Empire soldiers out in the Cossack wilds. Again,” Chester replied.

  “Lady Kidley chartered eight airships for her thirty-second birthday party,” Jasper added.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Who celebrates thirty-second birthdays?”

  “Ooh, kracken attack.” Jasper tilted the newspaper so I could see. “Took down another kracken-proof ship.”

  I peered at the illustration of a giant squid in the side box labeled, “How To Protect Yourself In a Kracken Attack.”

  Chester pointed to the side box. “Maybe number one should be ‘Don’t sail the ship through kracken-infested water.’”

  I smothered a giggle. “You both better get your light designs done.”

  They acted like they hadn’t heard me. Jasper nudged me. “Says here Dame Fairchild has another secret lover. What’s that now, like fifteen?”

  Chester sniggered, but I couldn’t laugh at that one. “They should leave her alone. She’d never cheat on Lord Deverey. She can’t afford it.”

  Jasper snorted. “Neither can the theater.”

  “True.”

  Nadine Fairchild was our lead actress at the theater and one of the biggest celebrities in the empire. I loved her with everything in me. She had saved my life three years ago—risking her fortune and her career to rescue me. I never understood why she had bothered, but the love she had poured out on me over the years made me wonder: who would do that for me but my own mother? It wasn’t something we could really talk about. I didn’t know how to ask—it would be humiliating if I were wrong.

  And she was the mistress to the powerful Lord Deverey. Even if I was her child, she couldn’t acknowledge me without embarrassing her patron. He didn’t just pay her for being with him, he contributed loads of money to the theater, too. Admitting to an illegitimate child was a scandal she couldn’t afford.

  But she loved me. I knew that much. And I couldn’t help loving her in return. So I hated seeing her gossiped about in the papers. Those kind of stories made her face turn white and her mouth pinch in fine lines. She would sigh and shake her head, looking worn. You’d think she’d be used to it by now, but it always seemed to bother her anyway.

  Jasper nudged me again. When I glanced at him, his face was somber. He pointed to another article, on the opposite page from the kracken attack story.

  Celebrated Actor Becomes Third Peacock Victim

  Ice sludged through me. I scanned the article about the latest Guild member we’d lost to the serial killer the press had nicknamed The Peacock.

  I looked up at the boys’ grim faces. “I heard some Guild members talking about it last night.” My throat tightened. “I never met Sir Alexander, but Dame Fairchild always said he was one of the nicest men she’d ever met.”

  “What if the Peacock comes here?” Jasper whispered.

  That was the fear, creeping like a slow fog into every theater in Aldwych. What if we’re next? The murderer seemed to be going after our top actors and actresses, and from the rumors, the police had zero leads to go on so far. Guild members like Dame Fairchild and Sir Alexander, and our own Sir Harrington, were more than just celebrities to us apprentices—they were our mentors, teachers, and the closest thing to family most of us would ever have. And now they were being murdered one by one, and no one had figured out a way to stop it.

  Jasper and Chester suddenly looked so you
ng, almost lost. They’d never experienced real terror before. But I had. I’d lived it. Seeing their fear made me feel years older, instead of only one.

  I gnawed on my bottom lip and glanced back down at the article. On the opposite page was the illustration of the kraken, and this gave me an idea.

  “Hey,” I whispered to the boys, “watch this.” I picked up my pencil and opened my sketch book to a new page. While Delphine continued to flounce through her scene and argue with Presul Wolff, I quickly sketched a cartoon of her as a giant kraken, tentacles wrapping around a ship’s hull.

  The boys snickered, and the pale worry gradually eased from their faces. My distraction was working.

  I added a few bodies, dressed in our apprentice uniforms, sticking out of Delphine-Kraken’s mouth.

  Jasper and Chester laughed a little louder, and started giving me suggestions for additions. I sketched more little apprentices and audience members on the ship’s deck, their faces wearing expressions of adoration, even as the Delphine-Kraken devoured their friends. By the time I was finished, the boys’ faces were both red and they were shaking, trying to hold in their laughter.

  I penciled in her name along one curling tentacle: Delphine the…

  No, wait. I erased the “De” from her name and added “Hel.” Now it read “Hellphine.” Hellphine…the Harpy. Yes, I’d drawn her as a kraken and not a harpy, but the alliteration was too funny to resist. Jasper hooted softly, and Chester elbowed him to hush.

  Smirking, I added in a few more details.

  By the time I was done, all three of us were giggling out loud. The sound ricocheted into a sudden silence.

  Damn.

  “Minx!” Delphine bellowed, “Is something amusing?”

  There was nothing to do but brazen my way through it. I raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

  I went back to my drawing, letting a few more giggles escape on purpose. Now that I was center of attention again, I might as well give a good show.

  “Perhaps you should share it with us so we can all be entertained.”

  “Mmm. Tempting. But…no.”

  She huffed, and stomped in front of Presul Wolff. “This is ridiculous. Are you going to let her get away with being so rude?”

  Wearily, he stepped down off the stage. He walked toward me, and I could feel his magic pressing into my personal space before he reached me. I stood, because that’s what you do when there’s someone of higher rank walking toward you. My pulse raced, and I focused hard on fighting back the panic.

  “Miss Mellor,” he said, all trace of his previous awkwardness gone, “do you have the mechanical lion sketch for Act Four?”

  “Of course. I had it finished last week.” I was surprised my voice sounded as steady as it did. Hastily, I grabbed my sketch book from the arm of the seat and pulled out the page the lion sketch was drawn on. I handed it over, trying to ignore my sudden dizziness and the black spots in my vision.

  Breathe. Don’t faint.

  A flare of amusement lit his eyes as he studied the sketch. Huh. I expected approval—it was a good sketch—but it wasn’t funny. Then he clamped his lips tight, forcing away any threat of a smile, and turned a stern gaze on me.

  I leaned closer to peer over the page, trying to figure out what displeased him.

  Bloody hell—I hadn’t given him the lion sketch. I’d given him the Hellphine sketch.

  I was a cog. I reeked of cogocity.

  I braced myself for his response. I could feel the curiosity from the others in the theater as they watched us.

  Slowly, he handed the page back to me, his expression carefully neutral.

  “Juvenile,” he said, drawing out each syllable into a low growl that sent shivers through me. Then he lowered his head, turning slightly toward the back of the house, and spoke so softly that even Jasper and Chester wouldn’t be able to hear. “And you mixed your metaphors.” The low tone was laced with laughter. He flicked the word “harpy” with his fingers.

  My face felt hot, and my mind flooded with visions of his lips on my cheek and sliding along my neck, chiding me in soft whispers for mixing my metaphors. At the same time, his magic wound around me, like a chain around my neck, and I wanted to scramble over the rows of seats to get away from him.

  I stared at the sketch, willing myself not to react—no shiver, no increased breathing, no looking at anyone. No cringing. No whimpers.

  I stood tall and silently retrieved the correct sketch. He took it, and I could feel his gaze on me, assessing, wondering, trying to figure me out. Once more, he leaned slightly closer. “A word, after rehearsal, please.”

  Nodding, I stared at my clasped hands until he returned to the front of the house. As I returned to my seat, I saw the smug expression on Delphine’s face, and the curious stares of everyone else. She had no way of knowing exactly what I’d drawn, but it was obvious that I’d gotten in trouble for it.

  The room tilted around me and I put my head down between my knees, sucking in air and hoping it looked like I was just putting books into my bag.

  Rehearsal was dismissed, and soon, everyone else had gone. I raised my head, and saw that Presul Wolff was leaning against the stage, waiting for me.

  I gathered my bag and the remains of my courage and went to join him.

  Chapter Two

  When I reached the front of the house, I stopped, hefting my bag higher over my shoulder and running a sweaty palm over the striped fabric of my apprentice skirt. “I am so sorry about the sketch. She and I have never gotten along,” I explained in a rush. “I shouldn’t antagonize her. It’s—”

  He shook his head, waving aside my explanations with his hand. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. He just studied me with those fathomless eyes. I knew he sensed my magic—directors and performers with magic always recognized each other’s powers. I saw his confusion—the technomancy that allowed me to create robotic insects didn’t match the other, much rarer magic he surely sensed in me. But I wasn’t about to explain it to him.

  Again, he shook his head. “That’s not why you’re here.”

  I startled. “Wait…what?” If he was also a psychic like my friend Thea, then I was seriously screwn.

  “The sketch. You don’t need to apologize for it.”

  I exhaled, blood pulsing through my head. “Oh. All right. Then why—”

  “She’s trying to get me sacked, isn’t she?” He turned so that he faced the stage and leaned his forearms on the edge of the platform.

  I hesitated. This was a Guild member, a director. A man whose magic terrified me. And it seemed like he wanted to talk to me like I was his equal.

  Like a friend.

  And that didn’t make sense because why would he want to befriend an apprentice? Unless he wanted something from me. But apprentices were already at the mercy of Guild members. If he wanted something, he could just demand it. No need to act like a friend.

  This was weird. He was up to something.

  But I couldn’t just stand here refusing to talk, either. Disrespecting a Guild member could get me a month of degreasing pulleys or cleaning the gas lamps. Not worth it. If he wanted to chat, I’d just have to chat. But it didn’t mean I had to trust him.

  “Sacked? I think she is, sir.”

  He dropped his head and ran his hands through his hair. “Why?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  He angled a piercing glance at me. “And are the rest of you hoping she’ll succeed?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think ‘hoping’ is the right word, sir.”

  He flipped around again, his back against the stage, his arms crossed. The curls on top of his head were sticking up a bit, and his cravat was coming untucked. “Would you stop calling me ‘sir’?”

  He looked frustrated. And sweet. Maybe not so scary.

  Maybe all right to chat with.

  My lips tilted in a tiny smirk. “Yes, sir.”

  Some spark flared in his eyes. His cheeks grew a little pink, and he ga
ve me a brief smile before looking away. “Any idea why she’s trying to be rid of me?”

  I really didn’t want to answer that question. Chatting with him was one thing. But tattling to a Guild member about an apprentice crossed all sorts of lines. I’d already done that before, but only because it had been essential. Explaining it to Dietrich Wolff was not essential.

  “Please, Miss Mellor.” He faced me now, his moss-colored eyes deep and pleading. “I’m not asking you to rat on Miss Birdwell. I’m just trying to understand what I’m dealing with.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Know what I’m thinking.”

  He shrugged, looking self-conscious. “It was right there,” he said, “on your face. And besides, I remember how apprentices are.”

  I had to steer this conversation off me. Immediately. I set my bag on the floor and joined him leaning against the stage. “Our previous director was a zerk.”

  His eyes widened. “Oh.” He drew the word out. “What kind of payments?”

  “Oh the usual—one or two months of our allowance to get into the apprentice company, and then either more allowance or gifts to get roles or to be introduced to her Guild friends from other theaters.”

  “Her? Most zerks are men.”

  “Maybe so, but it didn’t seem to matter to her. It wasn’t just the usual bribes, though. She liked to humiliate us, just because. Especially the younger ones. She’d walk right up to them and do things like smell their armpits and mock them for having body odor. She also liked to write on us. If someone had pimples, she’d outline them in ink, or write insults on our foreheads and make us guess what they said.”

  Director Wolff’s jaw clenched. His eyes had gone stormy. “Master Fenrey let her get away with it?”

  “He didn’t know. She was very careful. And it’s not like zerking is illegal or against Guild rules.”

  He nodded grimly. “So what happened?”

  “She started pressuring some of the fourth and fifth years for sexual favors in order to get into the apprentice company. When I heard about it, I confronted her. We were in the paint studio, and she said that she’d leave them alone if I’d make their ‘payments’ instead.”