Clockwork Princess Read online

  Gabriel flicked his eyes toward his brother, who shrugged in bafflement. The Argent Rooms were a notorious music hall and gentleman's club in Piccadilly Circus. Ladies of ill repute frequented the place, and there were rumors that the business was owned by Downworlders, and that on some evenings the "magic shows" featured real magic.

  "I used to come here with your father," said the Consul, once all three of them were on the pavement. Gideon and Gabriel were staring up through the drizzle at the rather tasteless Italianate theater front that had clearly been grafted onto the more modest buildings that had stood there before. It featured a triple loggia and some rather loud blue paint. "Once the police revoked the Alhambra's license because the management had allowed the cancan to be danced upon their premises. But then, the Alhambra is run by mundanes. This is much more satisfactory. Shall we go in?"

  His tone left no room for disagreement. Gabriel followed the Consul through the arcaded entrance, where money changed hands and a ticket was purchased for each of them. Gabriel looked at his ticket with some puzzlement. It was in the form of an advertisement, promising the best entertainment in london!

  "Feats of strength," he read off to Gideon as they made their way down a long corridor. "Trained animals, strongwomen, acrobats, circus acts, and comic singers."

  Gideon was muttering under his breath.

  "And contortionists," Gabriel added brightly. "It looks like there's a woman here who can put her foot on top of her--"

  "By the Angel, this place is barely better than a penny gaff," Gideon said. "Gabriel, don't look at anything unless I tell you it's all right."

  Gabriel rolled his eyes as his brother took firm hold of his elbow and propelled him into what was clearly the grand salon--a massive room whose ceiling was painted with reproductions of the Italian Great Masters, including Botticelli's Birth of Venus, now rather smoke-stained and the worse for wear. Gasoliers hung from gilded mounds of plaster, filling the room with a yellowish light.

  The walls were lined with velvet benches, on which dark figures huddled--gentlemen, surrounded by ladies whose dresses were too bright and whose laughter was too loud. Music poured from the stage at the front of the room. The Consul moved toward it, grinning. A woman in a top hat and tails was slinking up and down the stage, singing a song entitled "It's Naughty, but It's Nice." As she turned, her eyes flashed out green beneath the light of the gasolier.

  Werewolf, Gabriel thought.

  "Wait here for me a moment, boys," said the Consul, and he disappeared into the crowd.

  "Lovely," Gideon muttered, and pulled Gabriel closer toward him as a woman in a tight-bodiced satin dress swayed by them. She smelled of gin and something else beneath it, something dark and sweet, a bit like James Carstairs's scent of burned sugar.

  "Who knew the Consul was such a ramper?" Gabriel said. "Couldn't this have waited until after he took us to the Silent City?"

  "He's not taking us to the Silent City." Gideon's mouth was tight.

  "He's not?"

  "Don't be a half-wit, Gabriel. Of course not. He wants something else from us. I don't know what yet. He took us here to unsettle us--and he wouldn't have done it if he weren't fairly sure he has something over us that will prevent us from telling Charlotte or anyone else where we've been."

  "Maybe he did used to come here with Father."

  "Maybe, but that's not why we're here now," Gideon said with finality. He tightened his grip on his brother's arm as the Consul reappeared, carrying with him a small bottle of what looked like soda water but what Gabriel guessed likely had at least a tuppence worth of spirit in it.

  "What, nothing for us?" Gabriel inquired, and was met with a glare from his brother and a sour smile from the Consul. Gabriel realized he had no idea if the Consul himself had a family, or children. He was just the Consul. "Do you boys have any idea," he said, "what kind of peril you're in?"

  "Peril? From who, Charlotte?" Gideon sounded incredulous.

  "Not from Charlotte." The Consul returned his gaze to them. "Your father did not just break the Law; he blasphemed it. He did not just deal with demons; he lay down among them. You are the Lightwoods--you are all that is left of the Lightwoods. You have no cousins, no aunts and uncles. I could have your whole family stricken off the registers of the Nephilim and turn you and your sister out into the street to starve or beg a living amid the mundanes, and I would be within the rights of Clave and Council to do it. And who do you think would stand up for you? Who would speak in your defense?"

  Gideon had gone very pale, and his knuckles, where he gripped Gabriel's arm, were white. "That is not fair," he said. "We did not know. My brother trusted my father. He cannot be held responsible--"

  "Trusted him? He delivered the deathblow, didn't he?" said the Consul. "Oh, you all contributed, but his was the coup de grace that slew your father--which rather indicates that he knew exactly what your father was."

  Gabriel was aware of Gideon looking at him with concern. The air in the Argent Rooms was hot and close, stealing his breath. The woman onstage was now singing a song called "All Through Obliging a Lady" and striding up and down, hitting the stage over and over with the end of a walking stick, which made the floor shudder.

  "The sins of the fathers, children. You can and will be punished for his crimes if I desire it. What will you do, Gideon, while your brother and Tatiana have their runes burned off? Will you stand and watch?"

  Gabriel's right hand twitched; he felt sure he would have reached out and seized the Consul by the throat if Gideon hadn't caught hold of him first and held his wrist. "What do you want from us?" Gideon asked, his voice controlled. "You didn't bring us here just to threaten us, not unless you want something in return. And if it was something you could ask easily or legally, you would have done it in the Silent City."

  "Clever boy," the Consul said. "I want you to do something for me. Do it, and I will see to it that, though Lightwood House may be confiscated, you retain your honor and your name, your lands in Idris, and your place as Shadowhunters."

  "What do you want us to do?"

  "I wish you to observe Charlotte. Most specifically her correspondence. Tell me what letters she receives and sends, especially to and from Idris."

  "You want us to spy on her." Gideon's voice was flat.

  "I don't want any more surprises like the one about your father," said Consul. "She should never have kept his disease a secret from me."

  "She had to," Gideon said. "It was a condition of the agreement they made--"

  The Consul's lips tightened. "Charlotte Branwell has no right to make agreements of such scope without consulting me. I am her superior. She should not and cannot go over my head in that manner. She and that group in the Institute behave as if they are their own country that exists under its own laws. Look what happened with Jessamine Lovelace. She betrayed us all, nearly to our destruction. James Carstairs is a dying drug addict. That Gray girl is a changeling or a warlock and has no place in an Institute, ridiculous engagement be damned. And Will Herondale--Will Herondale is a liar and a spoiled brat who will grow up to be a criminal, if he grows up at all." The Consul paused, breathing hard. "Charlotte may run that place like a fiefdom, but it is not. It is an Institute and reports to the Consul. And so will you."

  "Charlotte has done nothing to deserve such a betrayal from me," Gideon said.

  The Consul jabbed a finger toward him. "That is exactly what I speak of. Your loyalty is not to her; it cannot be to her. It is to me. It must be to me. Do you understand that?"

  "And if I say no?"

  "Then you lose everything. House, lands, name, lineage, purpose."

  "We'll do it," said Gabriel, before Gideon could speak again. "We will watch her for you."

  "Gabriel--," Gideon began.

  Gabriel turned on his brother. "No," he said. "It's too much. You don't want to be a liar, I understand that. But our first loyalty is to family. The Blackthorns would throw Tati out on the streets, and she wouldn't last a moment
there, her and the child--"

  Gideon whitened. "Tatiana is going to have a child?"

  Despite the horror of the situation, Gabriel felt a flash of satisfaction at knowing something his brother hadn't known. "Yes," he said. "You would have known it, if you were still part of our family."

  Gideon glanced around the room as if searching for a familiar face, then looked helplessly back at his brother and the Consul. "I ..."

  Consul Wayland smiled coldly at Gabriel, and then his brother. "Have we an agreement, gentlemen?"

  After a long moment Gideon nodded. "We will do it."

  Gabriel would not soon forget the look that spread over the Consul's face at that. There was satisfaction in it, but there was little surprise. It was clear he had expected nothing else, and nothing better, from the Lightwood boys.

  "Scones?" Tessa said incredulously.

  Sophie's mouth twitched into a smile. She was down on her knees before the grate with a rag and a bucket of soapy water. "You could have knocked me into a cocked hat, I was that startled," she confirmed. "Dozens of scones. Under his bed, all gone hard as rocks."

  "My goodness," Tessa said, sliding to the edge of the bed and leaning back on her hands. Whenever Sophie was in her room cleaning, Tessa always had to hold herself back from rushing over to help the other girl with the tinderbox or the dusting. She had tried it on a few occasions, but after Sophie had set Tessa down gently but firmly for the fourth time, she had given it up.

  "And you were angry?" Tessa said.

  "Of course I was! Making all that extra work for me, carrying the scones up and down stairs, and then hiding them like that--I shouldn't be surprised if we end the autumn with mice."

  Tessa nodded, gravely acknowledging the potential rodent issue. "But isn't it a bit flattering that he went to such lengths just to see you?"

  Sophie sat up straight. "It's not flattering. He is not thinking. He is a Shadowhunter, and I am a mundane. I can expect nothing from him. In the best of all possible worlds, he might offer to take me as a mistress while he marries a Shadowhunter girl."

  Tessa's throat tightened, remembering Will on the roof, offering her just that, offering her shame and disgrace, and how small she had felt, how worthless. It had been a lie, but the memory still held pain.

  "No," Sophie said, looking back down at her red, work-roughened hands. "It is better that I never entertain the idea. That way there will be no disappointment."

  "I think the Lightwoods are better men than that," Tessa offered.

  Sophie brushed her hair back from her face, her fingers lightly touching the scar that bisected her cheek. "Sometimes I think there are no better men than that."

  Neither Gideon nor Gabriel spoke as their carriage rattled back through the streets of the West End to the Institute. The rain was pouring down now, rattling the carriage so noisily that Gabriel doubted anyone would have heard him if he had spoken.

  Gideon was studying his shoes, and did not look up as they rolled back to the Institute. As it loomed up out of the rain, the Consul reached across Gabriel and opened the door for them to exit.

  "I trust you boys," he said. "Now go make Charlotte trust you too. And tell no one of our discussion. As far as this afternoon is concerned, you spent it with the Brothers."

  Gideon climbed down out of the carriage without another word, and Gabriel followed him. The landau swung around and rattled off into the gray London afternoon. The sky was black and yellow, the drizzle as heavy as lead pellets, the fog so thick that Gabriel could barely see the Institute gates as they swung shut behind the carriage. He certainly didn't see his brother's hands as they darted forward, seized him by the collar of his jacket, and dragged him halfway around the side of the Institute.

  He nearly fell as Gideon pushed him up against the stone wall of the old church. They were near the stables, half-hidden from view by one of the buttresses, but not protected from the rain. Cold drops assaulted Gabriel's head and neck and slid into his shirt. "Gideon--," he protested, slipping on the muddy flagstones.

  "Be quiet." Gideon's eyes were huge and gray in the dull light, barely tinged with green.

  "You're right." Gabriel dropped his voice. "We should organize our story. When they ask us what we did this afternoon, we must be in perfect accord in our answer, or it will not be believable--"

  "I said be quiet." Gideon slammed his brother's shoulders back against the wall, hard enough for Gabriel to let out a gasp of pain. "We are not going to tell Charlotte of our conversation with the Consul. But neither are we going to spy on her. Gabriel, you are my brother, and I love you. I would do anything to protect you. But I will not sell out your soul and mine."

  Gabriel looked at his brother. Rain soaked Gideon's hair and dripped into the collar of his coat. "We could die on the street if we refuse to do what the Consul says."

  "I am not going to lie to Charlotte," said Gideon.

  "Gideon--"

  "Did you see the look on the Consul's face?" Gideon interrupted. "When we agreed to spy for him, to betray the generosity of the house that hosts us? He was not in the least surprised. He never had a moment's doubt about us. He expects nothing but treachery from Lightwoods. That is our birthright." His hands tightened on Gabriel's arms. "There is more to life than surviving," he said. "We have honor, we are Nephilim. If he takes that, we truly have nothing."

  "Why?" Gabriel asked. "Why are you so sure that Charlotte's side is the right one?"

  "Because our father's was not," said Gideon. "Because I know Charlotte. Because I have lived among these people for months and they are good people. Because Charlotte Branwell has been nothing but kind to me. And Sophie loves her."

  "And you love Sophie."

  Gideon's mouth tensed.

  "She's a mundane and a servant," said Gabriel. "I don't know what you expect to come of it, Gideon."

  "Nothing," Gideon said roughly. "I expect nothing. But the fact that you believe I should shows that our father brought us up to believe that we should do right only if some reward was the result. I will not betray the word I have given Charlotte; that is the situation, Gabriel. If you do not want a part of it, I will send you to live with Tatiana and the Blackthorns. I am sure they will take you in. But I will not lie to Charlotte."

  "Yes, you will," said Gabriel. "We are both going to lie to Charlotte. But we are going to lie to the Consul, too."

  Gideon narrowed his eyes. Rainwater dripped off his eyelashes. "What do you mean?"

  "We will do as the Consul says and read Charlotte's correspondence. Then we will report to him, but the reports will be false."

  "If we are going to give him false reports anyway, why read her correspondence?"

  "To know what not to say," Gabriel said, tasting dampness in his mouth. It tasted as if it had dripped from the Institute roof, bitter and dirty. "To avoid accidentally telling him the truth."

  "If we are discovered, we could face consequences of the utmost severity."

  Gabriel spit rainwater. "Then you tell me. Would you risk severe consequences for the inhabitants of the Institute, or not? Because I--I am doing this for you, and because ..."

  "Because?"

  "Because I made a mistake. I was wrong about our father. I believed in him, and I should not have." Gabriel took a deep breath. "I was wrong, and I seek to undo that, and if there is a price to be paid, then I will pay it."

  Gideon looked at him for a long time. "Was this your plan all along? When you agreed to the Consul's demands, in the Argent Rooms, was this your plan?"

  Gabriel looked away from his brother, toward the rain-wet courtyard. In his mind he could see the two of them, much younger, standing where the Thames cut through the edge of the house's property, and Gideon showing him the safe paths through the swampy ground. His brother had always been the one to show him the safe paths. There had been a time when they had trusted each other implicitly, and he did not know when it had ended, but his heart ached for it more than it ached at the loss of his father.
r />   "Would you believe me," he said bitterly, "if I told you it was? Because it is the truth."

  Gideon was still for a long moment. Then Gabriel found himself hauled forward, his face mashed into the wet wool of Gideon's overcoat while his brother held him tightly, murmuring, "All right, little brother. It's going to be all right," as he rocked them both back and forth in the rain.

  To: Members of the Council

  From: Consul Josiah Wayland

  Very well, gentlemen. In that case I ask only for your patience and that you not act in haste. If it is proof you want, I will furnish proof.

  I shall write again on this subject soon.

  In Raziel's name and in defense of his honor,

  Consul Josiah Wayland

  7

  DARE TO WISH

  If the past year were offered me again,

  And choice of good and ill before me set

  Would I accept the pleasure with the pain

  Or dare to wish that we had never met?

  --Augusta, Lady Gregory,

  "If the Past Year Were Offered Me Again"

  To: Consul Wayland

  From: Gabriel and Gideon Lightwood

  Dear Sir,

  We are most thankful that you have assigned us the task of monitoring Mrs. Branwell's behavior. Women, as we know, need to be closely watched so they do not go astray. We are grieved to announce that we have shocking tidings to report.

  A woman's management of her household is her most important duty, and one of the most important womanly virtues is frugality. Mrs. Branwell, however, seems addicted to expenditure and cares for nothing save vulgar display.

  Though she may be dressed plainly when you pay a visit, we are saddened to report that in her leisure hours she bedecks herself with the finest silks and the most costly jewels imaginable. You asked us to, and loath though we were to invade a lady's privacy, we did so. We would report the exact details of her letter to her modiste, but we fear you would be overcome. Suffice it to say, the money outlaid upon hats rivals the annual income of a large estate or a small country. We fail to see why one small woman needs so many hats. She is unlikely to be concealing additional heads upon her person.

  We would be too gentlemanly to comment upon a lady's attire, except for the deleterious effect it has on our duties. She skimps on household necessities to the most horrifying degree. Every night we sit down to a dinner of gruel as she sits at table dripping with gems and gewgaws. This is, you may conceive, hardly fighting fare for your valiant Shadowhunters. We are so weak that we were almost vanquished by a Behemoth demon last Tuesday, and of course those creatures are chiefly composed of a viscous substance. At our peak, and sustained with good victuals, either of us would be capable of crushing beneath our boot heels a dozen Behemoth demons at a time.