The Clockwork Dagger by Beth Cato

Author:Beth Cato
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780062313850
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-07-13T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

“Now, really! Are you going to sleep until that Lady’s Tree of yours dies and turns the world to ice?”

Mrs. Stout’s voice rang, clear and obnoxious, directly into Octavia’s ear. Octavia moaned and turned her head away, her arm flailing to find a pillow. A beam of sunlight sliced through her shut lids and she couldn’t help but wince.

“Tired,” she said, the words hot and muffled against the pillow.

“Of course you’re tired, child. You didn’t get here until an obscene hour of the night.” The words sounded harsh, but Mrs. Stout spoke with the same scolding fondness she had used for Leaf.

“Timeszit?”

“Past eight.”

“Eight? Balderdash.” She propped herself up. A mat of crazed brown hair blinded her. She shoved the hair from her eyes to see Mrs. Stout sitting on a chair beside the bed. She appeared especially prim in a powder-blue gown far superior in quality to anything she had worn on the airship. The shimmery blue complemented the bold streak in her hair. An antiquated corset uplifted her bosom in a spectacularly gravity-defying way, creating planets of flesh that hovered above an unblemished satin sky.

Octavia pushed her feet out onto the floor. Fierce cramps jolted through both legs and sent her sprawling backward onto the bed. They had walked for hours until a farmer with a wagon had come along.

Mrs. Stout’s expression softened. “Oh, child. You should see about healing yourself.”

“There’s no time.” And definitely not the supplies. She gritted her teeth and made herself stand, sparing a moment to massage both calves. Her stomach rumbled, clearly still in need despite the four stale scones she’d inhaled when they arrived at the hotel. The blood loss and the day of exercise had drained her. “This is the only full day in Leffen I have. You said it could take hours at the bank, and I must reattach Mr. Garret’s leg this afternoon.”

“You’ll be the death of me, child.” At that, Octavia arched an eyebrow, and Mrs. Stout burst out laughing. “Sorry.”

“It would be funnier if it didn’t nearly come to pass.” Octavia stepped behind a dressing partition and found her burgundy and sailor dresses already laid out. Goodness, she had been sleeping soundly. She sniffed at the red dress, approving of the lingering lavender scent from the hotel laundry.

“I do need to talk to you, Octavia.” Mrs. Stout stood on the other side of the screen. Octavia flinched in full expectation of more nagging about Alonzo, and at the same time was surprised to hear the woman use her first name. “I understand your circumstances yesterday were quite . . . extraordinary.”

Octavia snorted softly as she slipped off her clothes. She had relayed some story about the stolen wagon, conveniently omitting the whole strafing assassin episode.

“I had a brief chat with Mr. Garret last night.” Mrs. Stout spoke with the enthusiasm of one discussing a loved one’s terminal illness. “He was quite apologetic, for all that means. But my concern is not with his behavior, but with appearances.”

Octavia paused as she pulled on the burgundy dress.

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