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  Opening her satchel, she wished she had a variable gap wrench or other tool to prise the bolts free. How could she separate the head? Coming back with the right tools was not an option. There was no time for that.

  How hard would it be to just … bend it until it snapped off? She could use leverage. Bend the legs back at the knees, tie the end of the rope around the forehead, then force the feet back to the ground. She might have to use the legs as pulleys. It was worth a try.

  The odd fact that the machine was shaped as a humanoid gave her a moment's pause, but only a moment. Moving quickly, she used her full weight and snapped the neck off but needed to cut wires. She pulled out a wire cutter, but noticed something interesting about the wires - one was at least twice as thick as the others. That wouldn't be a problem, but what was it for?

  She packed the cable and picked the head up, a little surprised at its light weight. It was made of thin metal then, and either nearly empty, or filled with non-metal parts. This worried her: Innovation this extreme was usually funded by war efforts. Had the war finally reached their isolated corner of the country? They'd been protected by how isolated they were - mountains on one side, an ocean on another, and dense, steep ravines on the other two.

  Moving as quickly as she could, she almost reached home before realizing how strange she looked. Stranger than usual, she corrected. Oh, well. Everyone that knew her knew she was a gadgeteer. Still, curious passersby might talk.

  The head wouldn't fit in her bag. Taking off her jacket was almost as bad as walking naked down the road according to the rules of society, but what choice did she have? She slipped it off and tucked the head inside, hurrying her stride. Her shirt was long-sleeved and high-collared. She’d just have to pretend the weather was good today.

  Someone picked up pace beside her. She glanced, a little startled.

  "Bernie -- what a surprise." She smiled but kept walking. He was the leader of her favourite informant network, a busy trade even in a remote city.

  "Hello, missus."

  "What can I do for you?" Arabeth often hired Bernie to get leads for the bounties she hunted when time was short, or it was more efficient.

  "I am here to repay a favour."

  "Oh? To whom do we owe this great debt?"

  He chuckled. "I came to warn you. Your friend Samuel Hicks seems to be caught up in some politics."

  "What sort of politics?"

  "The kind that get you killed for talking, Mrs. I'll see you around."

  She stopped, staring after him as he jogged to an alley and disappeared.

  "Well, Marble, what should we make of that?" she asked the fox.

  Hicks, involved in police politics? He may have changed over the last five years, but he'd seemed to have come back to himself recently. Politics? That didn't seem like him, at all. Later. She'd have to ask him later.

  Clearing Hicks from her mind was an increasing challenge, but she had a strategy: Go home and lock herself in her lab. Get focused on a real problem.

  // Chapter 4 //

  AFTER A FRUITLESS DAY pulling the automaton’s head apart, and a run back to the place she’d first seen it to track its origin point but failing, Arabeth was no closer to understanding how it worked. She'd even revisited the place where Dawson died for clues, but the area had been scrubbed clean.

  All she’d found was a mess of colour-coded wires, a pair of clear glass tubes holding what seemed to be gem fragments, and a primitive circuit board. She needed a way to read that board, but it was unlike anything she’d seen before.

  She had to admit, she couldn’t see how this thing got people attacking each other, although this hardware had to be a part of it. Civilized people didn't just break out into block-wide brawls, then stop and go on with life as if someone hit a switch.

  Arabeth and Marble hurried to the station, hoping Melanie would have some useful information. It was Samuel Hicks at the station counter, instead of at his detective’s desk. Not that it bothered her, but where was Melanie? Hicks wouldn't give her any information. She glowered at him as he stared back, face expressionless.

  "You should go home. Straight home," he said. “There’s still a lot of fighting going on, even though the automaton left.”

  "I would, but I can't focus,” she sighed and tried to look encouraging. “You have to have a theory. Do you think something else is causing the madness?"

  "That’s not how this works, Abby. You should go home and stay inside, and let us do our jobs."

  "You're being … uncooperative. Have there been new attacks today? It's all calm at the sites where they happened yesterday. I need to help."

  "No, you don't." His posture reinforced what he said.

  At this rate, she would have to build her own grid map and plot out what she already knew about the attacks then wander around, hoping to catch sight of one in progress. That was actually a good idea, she thought. Sort of.

  "Have it your way, Hicks. I have other sources."

  "Come on, Arabeth. People are being killed out there. You don't want to be one of them."

  "Only if you tell me what today's dangerous spots are. You don't want me walking in there by mistake, right?" She bit her lip, and immediately blushed at such a childish tactic.

  "Think of this as a good excuse to stay home and finish off a few projects. There's no mystery that's worth risking your life over."

  "The city isn’t safe. That's exactly why I want to help." She shrugged. "I'm not a detective, but I have related skills. It's my life, my loss." She leaned forward again. "If the bounty program really shuts down, my mother is going to find a way to marry me off again. You know I can't let that happen. I need work."

  A look of concern flashed across his face but he stared at her, saying nothing. It was a little unnerving, but she wasn't going to back down.

  “I don’t see how that is related to this,” he said through a clenched jaw.

  "All right,” she relented. “I'll see you later, Hicks." She spun to leave, ensuring that Marble made it through before the door slammed a little too loudly behind her. She winced a little, inwardly. He was worried - justifiably, she supposed. But now she'd wasted too much time trying to convince him.

  So, where was Melanie, anyway?

  The door opened from behind her.

  "Wait," Hicks called out. "I saw that look. What are you going to do?"

  She shrugged as she walked away, raising her arms out at her sides but not turning back.

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to face him. "No. Abby, I’m serious. This is not your run-of-the-mill vagrant. This is someone who wants the front page of the newspaper. They want terror. Killing a privileged ... an attractive, young, rich widow would do exactly that."

  "I don't dress like that, act like that, or even share that information with anyone. There is no way they'd know." She frowned.

  "Wait. I'll go with you."

  "I haven't said I'm going out."

  "We both know you are. Wait for me."

  She heaved a sigh. Building her map and plotting out the current incidents wouldn't take long, then yes, she'd be out again. As long as he understood it was her map and her life, he was welcome. A second pair of eyes might come in handy. He’d been out of her life for seven years, and he seemed to be making up for lost time. This would have been annoying, if she didn’t enjoy his company so much.

  "If you get to my workshop before I'm done the map, then fine."

  "That's not waiting."

  "But it is a compromise. If you bring today's addresses, that would be a great help." It would also be worth waiting around for.

  The barest shadow of a smile flashed across his face. "Agreed."

  A sense of comfort sat on the edge of her mind. She pushed it away, not sure why it existed. Comfort was not something she wanted. It was an illusion.

  "There's something I need to talk to you about, too," Hicks said. "Business related."

  "Can you tell me now? I have time."

  "You'r
e not going to like it."

  "It's about Harbertrope, again, isn't it?"

  "In a way." He paused, seeming to consider how best to say it. "The bounty program is officially shut down as of Friday."

  "If they think it's not effective, they should lift my quota!"

  "I'm not sure why. I'll try to find out, but Harbertrope knows we're friends. He may not say. Honestly, I suspect that he fears your parent’s political influence. If anything happened to you on the job, he’d lose more than his occupation."

  "There's nothing else I'm suited to. Gadgets pay well enough, but …."

  "Why do you need an employer? I mean, you're living well on the income from your patents, come from wealthy family, and you could follow your interests. Why bail enforcement?"

  "Call it validation. And I get to test prototypes you may find useful."

  He chuckled. "It makes you happy?"

  "Right. That. I’m choosing my own path."

  Memories of a five year marriage where she was all but locked away by a husband that ignored her in every way was enough to trigger panic. He came and went and … entertained friends, but she could not. How had she and her family fallen for his ruse?

  In the two years since his death, she’d never smiled more, never been as happy, cruel as that might sound. And no one was taking that away from her.

  Sam took gentle hold of her arm. “It’s okay. I just want you safe. Would you rather wait here?” Freedom he understood.

  “No, you’re right. I’ll try to wait. No promises, though.”

  "Fine, no promises. I'd better get back inside," he smiled.

  She smiled. "I'm sure someone is screaming for you to get back to work by now."

  Laughing, he turned but stopped and looked back at her.

  "I'll be at your place as soon as I can break away from here. Wait for me."

  "Sure, sure." She waved him off. "Go before you get fired."

  // Chapter 5 //

  BACK HOME, ARABETH fed Marble then went straight to her workshop. What sort of map would be most useful? Paper and tacks? Forget the tacks - she’d want to carry this one. Pen would make marks less likely to rub off than pencil. Best to start simple.

  She unrolled a large map of the city across the workshop floor, wishing she had a table big enough to keep her from sitting on the cold tiles. One by one, she marked where she knew attacks had happened. The early reports showed attacks spread around the city, not clustered. That wouldn't be overly useful without a pattern. She needed more recent information.

  Her mind wandered back to the conversation with Hicks. What had she done to earn Harbertrope's ire? She didn't fit into a neat box. Was that his problem? It was lunacy, the lengths he would go to in order to get at her.

  Slapping her ruler down, she decided to avoid the station until things calmed down. If only for Hicks's sake. He was right; it wasn't like she needed the money. And she had the Dawson case to keep her busy. She wanted to convert Marble's tracker so that it would be wrist-mounted, too.

  This would also give her time to work on her kinetic energy manipulator. She had it down to half the size of conventional boilers and coal-burning setups. It was far safer than either of those options, but there were a few kinks in the design still. If she could get that sorted, and build it into a self-contained apparatus, it would generate power indefinitely.

  Tinkering felt good. That device was her big project before her family guilted her into getting married, and it was one of the few devices her husband hadn’t been privy to. He'd sold almost all her other patents to fund his own projects, most of which were screaming disasters.

  Was that why he'd wound up at the bottom of a mining shaft, bones shattered from the long fall, dead and cold seven years ago? Had he borrowed from loan sharks? Or was it an experiment gone wrong? No one knew, or if they did, they had refused to tell her. She was only the widow, after all, not a detective, not a constable.

  She stepped back from the table. The map was as up-to-date as it could be without new information. It didn't look overly useful just yet. She needed more.

  A knock on the lab door gave her an excuse to stop thinking about it. She expected Hicks, so when the door opened to reveal her mother, she frowned unintentionally. Quickly correcting her expression, she smiled and walked out, locking the door behind her.

  "You locked your fox in," her mother, Carol, said. "And you are far too private these days. You need to re-enter society soon and your reputation needs fixing."

  "She has her own door." Arabeth pointed to a small opening in the wall, a few feet down. "Nice to see you, but a bit of a surprise. Is something wrong?"

  Arabeth walked to the sitting room nearest to the exit and sat, emotionally bracing herself as her mother joined her. Her mother was brilliant at business, but rarely included her in any of those talks. Translation: her parents wanted something from her.

  "Yes, dear. Your father is bearing some grief over your antics, and we need you to settle down and choose a respectable life."

  "They're not antics. It's my occupation." Arabeth's gut flipped once. She couldn't tell them the bounty program was being shut down. "And that sounds egregious." Her sister, Maralise, joined them at the table, setting down a short stack of papers.

  "As you probably know, your mourning period is about to end. We want you to remarry," her mother said, flipping the papers over to reveal pictures of eight men. "I have been told that each of these men are highly eligible bachelors."

  Wait … should she be surprised? No, she reminded herself; this was how her mother worked, and Maralise learned this sort of thing fast.

  "I'm not obligated to remarry, and I have no intention to do so. If I were to remarry, I already have a candidate."

  "You can't be serious," Maralise said. "You're talking about Mr. Hicks, aren't you?"

  "It's him or no one." Shrugging, Arabeth sat back in her seat. "You can relax, though. I'm not remarrying. Once was enough. It's your turn."

  "I don't care who it is. There is a lot at stake," her mother said. "And you will remarry."

  "What could possibly be gained by my marital status?"

  "You have an inheritance coming due in two years, when you turn thirty. The condition is that you have to be married."

  "From who?"

  "There is a trust being held by my parents’ lawyer. My firstborn has to be married to get that estate, and either have a child or be with child by the time they turn thirty. Now that you are out of mourning, you need to think forward. There are plenty of orphans you could adopt, but the marriage certificate cannot be forged."

  "And if I'm not, what happens?" she asked out of morbid curiosity, knowing this would irk her mother.

  "It is turned over to Betsy, with the same stipulations."

  "That would be good, actually. She needs it more than I do."

  Her mother clamped her mouth shut and Arabeth could tell she was scheming something.

  "I would consider remarrying, to someone that actually loved me, not my money. I think I deserve that much, after what happened with Matthew."

  "Life is not fair," Carol insisted.

  "Unless we insist," Arabeth countered. "I won't be a barter chip again. Once was more than enough."

  "Come on, Bethy," Maralise started. "Marriage is just a contract. No one expects love to be part of the deal. Take a lover. That's what all the modern women are doing. Men have been doing it for decades."

  Arabeth frowned. Her sister was definitely up to something.

  "What's in it for you?"

  "The peace of knowing my sister is financially set? Can't it be as simple as that?"

  "Not with you, and marriage is more than finding someone whose flaws you can live with or hide from," Arabeth countered.

  "Well then, fine," their mother interrupted. "I would like to hear your parameters."

  This was unexpected. Arabeth had been stalling, trying to draw out their true agenda. She suddenly had to come up with something.

  "I
want someone who is my age, or very close. He can't have children yet. I want a clean start. He has to pass medical tests of my choosing, and he has to be financially independent of his family."

  "That's it?" Maralise said. "There must be hundreds of men who fit that."

  She cleared her throat. "I'm not done. He has to not only accept my crafting, but stay out of it or be a Maker himself. He needs a history of celibacy, too. I won't see anyone who frequents prostitutes."

  "I have my own requirements." Her mother pulled out a sheet of paper. She'd already drafted the newspaper engagement notice. "He will be well-featured in business and in private life to enhance our own status. He must also be willing to cooperate with us in business ventures, accepting my judgement in those matters."

  Arabeth didn't care about those. "He must also pass Father's inspection."

  Her mother bristled at that.

  "He can't be bothered. You know that," Maralise scoffed. "I can't think of anyone who meets both yours and mother's requirements."

  "I'm not locking myself into another life contract unless all of my parameters are met." She knew for a fact that her father preferred Hicks, though she didn't know why. "Mother's requirements are her own."

  "Fine," Carol nodded.

  Her heart jumped at the small victory but she didn't let it show.

  "And I'm the one who makes the final decision," she finished.

  Maralise frowned. "We're doing this for you, you know. We have other things we could be out doing."

  "I doubt that very much." Arabeth shrugged. "It's Maralise's turn to wed. Until then, I don't want this mentioned again."

  Maralise sat back in her chair, surprised.

  "Meeting a few eligible bachelors won't hurt anyone. One of them may intrigue you." Her mother pulled a picture out and turned it to face Arabeth. "This man has already approached me, with an interest in you. I believe you're acquainted."

  She recognized his face instantly and shuddered. He was half the reason she’d gotten married in the first place - he pursued her with an unhealthy interest. He was after her again? A wave of nausea washed over her, pushing her up out of her chair.