Read Online The Clockwork Dagger by Beth Cato - Free Book Online Page A

“I’m over here,” she said, stepping forward. The door shut, reducing the glare, and she could see Mr. Garret’s face sag in relief.
    â€œMy apologies. My absence had been noted and I was required to clean up in the promenade. I hope you were not overly vexed. Here is the lock.”
    She stroked the lock with her thumb, absorbing the lingering warmth of Mr. Garret’s body, and then fastened the metal onto the cage. She tucked the key into her satchel, knowing better than to leave it in reach of the gremlin again.
    â€œI’ll be back soon,” she whispered to Leaf. He trilled a soft farewell.
    â€œCome. I will walk you back to your room,” said Mr. Garret.
    The kitchen had quieted, the smell of food replaced by the fresh odor of soap and lemons. As they passed the smoke room, a deep masculine laugh carried through the walls. Her hand felt strangely empty as she traveled up the stairs. Already, she missed Leaf’s companionship.
    Please, Lady, let him stay safe there.
    They reached the top of the stairs. Sudden and discordant music froze her in place, her hand gripping the rail.
    â€œMiss Leander?” Mr. Garret stopped and turned, his expression quizzical.
    She pushed past him, following a mad cacophony only she could hear. Bleating trumpets and crazed drums competed for dominance. Nothing spoke louder than blood, and this symphony of agony originated behind her very own door.
    â€œOh, Mrs. Stout,” she whispered.

C HAPTER 4
    Octavia grabbed the doorknob. It was locked as securely as the Caskentian royal vault. Her hand dove into the satchel pocket, numb and fumbling.
    â€œMiss Leander?” asked Mr. Garret.
    â€œShe’s dying.” Octavia stabbed the key into the lock and jerked the knob. It spasmed open. Absolute darkness filled the room, but she didn’t need light to see. Shrill flutes and wild drums originated from the bottom bunk. She staggered forward and dropped to one knee, doffing the satchel strap from her shoulder. Mr. Garret’s feet were heavy on the floor behind her. The light clicked on.
    Crimson pooled beneath the cot. Both beds had been assembled, a steel ladder leading to the top. A black canvas tent surrounded both bunks. The bottom bed was zipped shut, slash marks sagging open.
    â€œMy God,” said Mr. Garret. The door shut behind him.
    That was meant to be my bed.
    Someone had carried through with the threat from the note. Why? Why her, why this? The shrillness of the blood in her ears grounded her, forcing her through shock to the duty at hand.
    Octavia unfastened the middle segment of her satchel. Shoving her bag away, she stood and fluffed out her medician blanket. At seven feet by three feet, it filled up the entire floor space with some folding at the edges. In the middle lay the circle—an oval, really—woven of copper thread and honeyflower stems, which created a permanent healing surface bound to the cloth.
    Octavia tore open the tent flaps, her breath catching at the sight of Mrs. Stout. The woman was as pale as death, a blue undertone to her skin. The human body contained some six quarts of blood, and Mrs. Stout’s volume screamed like a thousand starving cats.
    â€œWhat can I do?” asked Mr. Garret.
    â€œLift her at the shoulders.” He deftly stepped around Octavia, taking care not to place his feet within the sanctity of the circle. They set Mrs. Stout on the blanket. Octavia’s fingers brushed the copper weave of the circle. A spark crackled in the air as the enchantment activated.
    Mrs. Stout’s night shift was more red than white. Her large breasts lay like mashed rounds of bread at each armpit. Through the jelling blood, Octavia judged the stab wounds to be in the upper quadrant of the abdomen, most likely striking the kidneys.
    Whoever did this knew exactly how to kill.
    The discordant music wailed as it began to fade. Mrs. Stout’s soul was slipping away.
    Octavia grabbed Mrs.