“What is all this?” she asked.

“They’re… that’s… it’s tools, that’s all. This is a workshop,” she finished, as if that explained everything.

Briar picked at the edges of the heaps, running her fingers through tubes, pipes, and wrenches in sizes so odd she couldn’t imagine what nuts they might twist. Stacked along the outer edges of the room more equipment had been abandoned or stored, and none of it looked like it could’ve possibly done anything more useful than beep or chime. But there were no clocks, only clock parts and hands; and she saw no weapons, only sharp instruments and bulbs with tiny wires running through them like veins.

The unmistakable slapping rhythm of incoming feet filtered inside, past the slim barrier of the old train’s dented door.

“He’s coming,” Lucy breathed. A look of panic crossed her face, and her malfunctioning arm jerked in her lap. She said quickly, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know if this was the right thing to do, but in case it wasn’t, then I’m so sorry.”

And then the door opened.

Twenty-two

Briar held her breath while she stared.

Dr. Minnericht’s mask was as elaborate as Jeremiah Swakhammer’s; but it made him look less like a mechanical animal than a clockwork corpse, with a steel skull knitted together from tiny pipes and valves. The mask covered everything from the crown of his head to his collarbones. Its faceplate featured a flat pair of goggles that were tinted a deep shade of blue, but illuminated from within so it appeared that his pupils were alight.

No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see his face. He was neither short nor tall, fat nor thin. The whole of his frame was covered by a coat shaped like a duster, but made from dark maroon velour.

Whoever he was, he was staring right back at her. The sound of his breathing exhaled through the filtering tubes was a small musical of whistles and gasps.

“Dr. Minnericht?” Lucy said. “I thank you for making the time to see me. And this is a new friend. She came down off the Naamah Darling, and she helped me find my way to you, since my arm’s giving me hassle again.”

He said, “I’m sorry to hear about your arm,” but he didn’t take his eyes off Briar. His voice was altered like Swakhammer’s when he spoke. But the noise was less the sound of speaking through a tin can, and more the tune of a grandfather clock chiming underwater.

He came inside the warmly lit workshop, and Lucy chattered nervously as he shut the door behind himself. She said, “Her name’s Briar, and she’s looking for her boy. She was hoping maybe you’d seen him or heard about him, since you’ve got so many men out on the street.”

“Does she speak for herself?” he asked almost innocently.

“When she feels like it,” Briar answered, but offered nothing more.

The doctor did not quite relax, but he settled into a deliberately nonchalant posture within his oversized coat. He gestured at the table, inviting Lucy to come and sit on the bench beside it and set her arm down on the surface so he could see. He said, “Won’t you have a seat, Mrs. O’Gunning?”

Behind the door was a box that Briar had not yet seen. The doctor retrieved it and approached the place where Lucy had come to sit. Briar backed away from the pair of them, feeling her way along the cluttered walls until she came to a clear spot beside a window.

It was a horrible game — wondering if he knew, and wondering if he’d say anything. She was still very certain, wasn’t she? He wasn’t Leviticus Blue — she could swear as much, and she had sworn as much before, and she would swear as much again; but she could not deny that he moved with a certain controlled swagger that seemed almost familiar. And when he spoke, there might be a cadence that she’d heard someplace before.

Minnericht unfastened the box a buckle at a time, then opened it and added a set of articulated lenses to the faceplate on his mask. “Let me take a look at that,” he said, as if he intended to wholly ignore Briar. “What have you done to it this time?”

“Rotters,” Lucy said, and her voice was shaky.

“Rotters? That’s no surprise.”

Briar bit her tongue so she would not say, “Not for you, I don’t imagine — since you’re the man who sent them.”

Lucy mumbled, “We were leaving Maynard’s and Hank got sick. His mask wasn’t on him good, and he turned, and we ran into trouble. I had to bust my way to the Vaults with Miss Briar here.”

Within his mask he made a clucking noise that sounded like a parent’s gentle admonishment. “Lucy, Lucy. What about your crossbow? How many times do I have to remind you: This is a delicate piece of machinery, not a truncheon.”

“The crossbow… I didn’t have… there wasn’t really time. In the chaos of it all, you know. Things get lost.”

“You lost it?”

“Well, I’m sure it’s still down there somewhere. But when I got up topside, it wasn’t there anymore. I’ll find it later. I’m sure it’s still in one piece.” She cringed when he opened the top panel of her arm and began to poke through its interior with a long, thin screwdriver.

“You’ve let someone else work on this joint,” he said, and Briar could hear the frown she couldn’t see.

Lucy looked as if she’d like to go crawling away from him, but she held still and almost simpered, “It was an emergency. It wasn’t working at all, except to spasm and kick, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone so I let Huey take a crack at it.”

“Huey,” he repeated the name. “You mean Huojin. I’ve heard about him. He’s developing quite the reputation in your quarters, or so I hear.”

“He’s… talented.”

Without looking up from his work, he said, “I’m always interested in talent. You should bring him here. I think I’d like to meet him. But, oh dear — just look what he’s done. What is this tube made from, Lucy?”

“I… I don’t know.” Lucy clammed up, but Minnericht wasn’t finished with the subject.

He said, “Oh, I see what he was trying to do. Of course, he couldn’t have known what kind of heat the friction inside can generate, so he wouldn’t have known that this couldn’t work. Even so, I do want to meet him. I think that’d be a fair means of repayment, don’t you, Lucy?”

“I don’t know.” She sounded like she might be choking. “I don’t know if his grandfather will let him—”

“Then bring his grandfather too. The more the merrier, as they say.” But it didn’t sound merry at all to Briar, who wished that the compartment were bigger — if only so she could farther remove herself from the man’s presence.

“Miss Briar,” he said, suddenly directing his attention her way. “Could I impose upon you for a very small favor?”

She said, “Sure, ask.” Her throat was too dry to carry the message with any coolness.

He used his screwdriver to indicate a place. “Behind you, over there. If you turn around, you’ll see a box. Could you bring it to me, please? ”

The box was heavier than it looked, and she would’ve preferred to hit him over the head with it than hand it to him; but she lifted it off the table and carried it to his side. Beside him, there was a cleared space on the bench. She placed it there and backed away again.

He still did not look at her. He said, “You know, Miss Briar, I can’t bite you through this mask.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” she said.

“I’m forced to wonder what dear Lucy here has told you of me, to send you so far out of my reach. Won’t you have a seat?”

“Won’t you tell me if you’ve seen my son?”

His hand froze and the screwdriver hung midair, suspended in his grip. He dipped it again, gave it a twist, and reached for a fresh tube from the box. “I’m sorry. Were we talking about your son?”

“I believe he was mentioned.”

“Did I mention that I’d seen him?”