The hardest part would be finding someone to Change into, and finding the opportunity to do it. Tessa had not seen a single human or Downworlder in the house other than Mortmain and the warlock he had been shouting at before; the place was crawling with clockwork automatons, and though Tessa had never tried turning into one before, she wasn't eager to find out if she had that particular skill. Just imagining her insides replaced with metal made her shudder.
And so, Tessa supposed that the warlock was her best chance. Mortmain was out of the question, as a guard of automatons constantly surrounded him, and the thought of turning into him, even briefly, filled Tessa with revulsion. Unfortunately, there were several problems with this plan.
Firstly, Tessa had no idea where the warlock's rooms were, if he even stayed in Mortmain's mansion at all. He might have fled after Mortmain's tantrum, which would have been the wisest thing to do, in Tessa's opinion. She prayed that he had been offered a reward large enough to coax him to stay.
Secondly, Tessa wasn't sure she would be able to incapacitate or distract him long enough for Mortmain to believe that she was the warlock. If he saw both of them at the same time, he would know at once what was happening, and her cover would be blown.
And lastly but perhaps the most pressing problem of all, Tessa was locked quite firmly in that dank cell, and her food was slipped to her through a one-way flap at the base of the door. She had not seen another face since she'd been locked away.
At least contemplating these things provided her with a distraction, though it was an infuriating one. Her brain chased itself in circles as she sought to come up with a solution to all of these problems. At last, after what felt like hours of brainstorming, she came up with an idea. It was a grab at air, but maybe, just maybe, it would work. What did she have to lose?
She waited until she heard the telltale footsteps of whoever brought her food coming down the stone hallway outside. She knelt on the filthy floor, and put her face close to the flap, tilting her head to the side so that when it opened, she could see out.
It swung outward with a creak, and the smell of broth—cold, most likely—wafted into Tessa's cell. It did not smell very desirable, but Tessa's stomach growled with hunger anyway.
"Excuse me," she called through the now-open flap. "Hello? Is anyone out there?"
There was a pause. Tessa could see the hem of a gray dress, the same one that the clockwork maid that had caught her escaping had worn. Her heart sank just a bit; she had already seen the lack of compassion in this automaton, not that any of the others had a sense of it either. Still, it wasn't a reassuring reunion.
"Please," she hurried on, desperate to try even though she expected the flap to be shut in her face at any moment, "I—I feel dizzy. My head is spinning and my legs are too weak to stand. I feel like I might faint." She did her best to sound convincing, making her voice fluttery and thin. She waited, holding her breath, for a response.
After a long stretch of silence, it came in the form of a flat, inflectionless voice from the other side of the door. "You are ill, miss?"
Her heart leaped. "Yes," she said quickly. "I feel feverish. My skin is burning hot but I'm shivering with cold."
Another long pause. Then, to Tessa's surprise, knees came into her view, and then a face as the automaton mimicked her position on the floor. Tessa hurriedly arranged her face into what she hoped was an ill expression even as it struck her that this was not something she had ever seen an automaton do. It was the same clockwork maid that had turned her over to Mortmain. When she looked closely, she could see gray flecks in the maid's blue eyes, a detail she was surprised Mortmain would bother with.
They stared at each other, the empty eyes of the clockwork creature scarcely blinking. And then, for just a moment, the blankness slid off the girl's face, and there was a look of great indecision in her detailed eyes.
Tessa's breath caught in her chest. "You aren't an automaton," she whispered.
Fear replaced the irresolution in the maid's expression. "Please," she said breathlessly, "don't tell a soul."
Tessa could hardly believe what she was seeing. "You…Mortmain doesn't know?"
The maid bit her lip, an irrefutably human gesture, and glanced away. Tessa took that as a confirmation.
"How have you managed to keep him from noticing?"
"I stay out of his way. I've always been fond of pretending and acting. I thought pretending to be a lifeless automaton would be simple." Her eyes stared past Tessa, who pitied her for the fear in them. "I was wrong."
Tessa looked at her, and for a moment she wanted to ask her why she had taken her to Mortmain and let her be beaten unconscious. But this was not the time for that; Tessa pushed her anger to the back of her mind and forced herself not to think of it.
"Why are you doing this?" Tessa pressed her face closer to the flap. "What's the point in pretending?"
"He has my sister," the girl whispered back. "I have to find her."
Tessa's sympathy grew. She wanted to reach out and touch the girl's arm through the hole in the door, but she didn't think the other girl would appreciate it. "You should go home," she said seriously, trying to catch the maid's eye, but she was looking everywhere but at Tessa. "Your sister…there isn't much hope for her. Mortmain doesn't keep mundanes around."
"She's alive," she hissed, eyes suddenly sparking. "I know it! If she were dead, I would be able to tell."
Tessa wasn't sure about that, but she didn't have the heart to argue further. "Please," she said, her heart beginning to pound once again. "Can you get me out of here?"
The maid's eyes flickered with uncertainty. "I would like to, miss," she murmured, "but I cannot risk showing my identity. Not when I haven't found my sister."
Tessa knew what it was like to have a sibling in an enemy's clutches. She would have stopped at nothing to get Nathaniel back. Of course, he had turned out to be a traitor all along, but that wasn't important now.
"I understand." Tessa tried to sound calm.
The girl's eyes flitted to Tessa's and then away again. "What would you have me do," she whispered, "to help you?"
Tessa tried not to feel the hope that flared in her chest. "I'm a shapeshifter," she blurted out. "I can turn into anyone as long as I have something of theirs—a scrap of clothing or hair."
The maid shook her head. "That's impossible."
"Here, I'll show you. Give me something of yours."
The girl shook her head again, harder and faster, looking alarmed. "No, that's all right. I believe you, miss."
Tessa gripped the edge of the flap with her fingers. "If you let me turn into you, just for a few minutes, until I can get out—"
"No!" The maid's voice was a horrified whisper. "Mortmain will know I'm human if he finds you out, and he'll also know that I helped you. He'll either drag me off to where he's taken the other girls, or kill me, or something equally horrible—"
"Wait," Tessa said sharply. "What other girls?"
"He's taken several from what I understand," the girl told her, eyes skittering nervously to and fro as if wary of listening ears. "I don't know why, but I know he's storing them away somewhere."
Tessa felt her muscles tense, hating the idea of young girls being locked up like she was. "Are they in the other cells?"
The maid shook her head sadly. "I've checked, miss."
Tessa would not ask the girl to borrow her identity a second time, especially when she had refused so vehemently. But Tessa could not bear to let this golden opportunity go to waste.
"Can you bring me to the warlock?" she asked, and the girl looked up uneasily. "The one that Mortmain was shouting at the other day. That's all you have to do. I'll take care of the rest from there."
The maid bit her lip again and chewed it, continuing to avoid Tessa's eyes. "I don't know, miss," she said quietly.
"Please. He's going to kill me." She said it in a matter-of-fact way that surprised even herself.
The girl closed her eyes. "I have to find my sister first. After that…after that, I will help you."
With that she pushed the broth into Tessa's cell and, without looking at her, closed the flap, shutting Tessa back in darkness.
Will leaned his elbows on the bar counter and put his face in his hands, trying to push back the beginnings of a dreadful headache. He'd come to one of his favorite pubs directly after speaking with Tessa at the Institute, feeling the strong need to douse his spinning thoughts and aching heart in alcohol. Unfortunately, it hadn't done much to make him feel better.
"You all right, mate?" a voice to his left asked. "You look a bit blue."
"My apologies," Will said, his voice a little slurred from the drinks he'd downed, "I've been trying to get more sun on my skin, but it's a difficult feat in London."
"That's not what I meant," the man said, sounding puzzled. "I meant you looked depressed is all." Will sighed; obviously this was not a man familiar with sarcasm.
"It's really not your business, is it?" Will said, rubbing his palms into his eyes.
"We've all got problems," the man continued. "Me, I been looking for my daughter for the past three days." He heaved a deep, sorrowful, tired sigh that Will did not have much sympathy for. He had enough issues of his own to deal with, and he did not have the time to listen to this stranger's woes.
"Look," he said irritably, lifting his head to look at the person sitting beside him, who turned out to be a huge, muscled man with a bushy beard and a thick scar on one cheek. He looked like the sort of man who'd gotten into more than one scuffle in his lifetime.
Before Will could go on, the man moaned and slumped against the counter. "She been kidnapped," he muttered. "Don't know how it happened, but she's gone. I was there, ya know—I was sitting right out in the hall, ready for trouble, 'cause there been rumors of kidnappings. I didn't want my little Marina to get snagged. I musta dozed off, 'cause the next thing I knew there were bangings and crashings comin' from Marina's room. By the time I broke the door down—was locked from the inside, see—she was gone."
Will was about to turn away again, but something about the story attracted his interest. He hadn't heard anything about kidnappings around the city lately, but then, he hadn't been paying much attention to mundane news.
"Put up a good fight, though," he said proudly, puffing out his huge chest. "Like a daughter of Rufus Hatter would. I gotta believe she's okay. There weren't any blood in the room, just a scatterin' of her belongings and some oil, don't know where that came from for the life of me. And—"
"Wait," Will interrupted sharply. "Did you say oil?"
Rufus Hatter blinked at him, looking startled that Will would disrupt his tale. "Aye," he said. "Didn't know Marina was into machinery and whatnot, but don't know where else that stuff would've come from."
Will narrowed his eyes in thought. He knew of one good way a kidnapping could take place and leave a mess of oil in its wake—automatons. But why would Mortmain be capturing mundane girls?
Will felt like he was on the verge of something, but his mind just couldn't grasp it. His frustration started to grow, until he wanted to punch something, anything, until his hands ached.
In fact, getting into a good fistfight sounded like a lovely way to let off some steam.
Will turned to Rufus, who was still slouched with a dejected expression on his scarred face. "Say, Mr. Hatter," he said casually. "You get into fights often?"
Rufus looked confused. "Er, not often. Sometimes a man's gotta, you can't just walk away when your honor's been insulted, or the honor of your family. But I don't like fightin' much."
"Seems like you're squandering your talent," Will observed. "You're a particularly large, hulking man. You could crack a few heads and break a few bones if you set your mind to it."
"Wouldn't want to be doing that," the other man replied, furrowing his brow. "That's causing trouble that don't need to be caused."
"What about me?" Will said, getting to his feet and spreading his arms to invitingly display his upper torso area. "If I were to offer, would you hit me right now?"
Rufus Hatter looked completely bewildered. "Why would you offer? Seems like a strange thing to do." Then he gave Will a suspicious look, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to hang around someone who was mentally unstable.
Will had not anticipated this giant to be so peace-loving. He would have to aim a little lower if he wanted to get into a decent brawl.
"I might have an answer to the question of how your daughter disappeared, Mr. Hatter," he said, and the man's eyes glimmered with hope. "Perhaps she was not kidnapped at all. Perhaps she ran off and doesn't want to be found. It's not uncommon for girls to choose the life of a prostitute when in need of a pound or two—"
Rufus stood up so fast his chair was knocked to the ground. The miserable look about his face had vanished, and he stood looming a good foot over Will, huge hands balled into fists and eyes gleaming with fury.
"Take that back, you—you—rat!" he bellowed.
Will chuckled, amused. "A rat, am I? I daresay you've hurt my feelings, Mr. Hatter."
With a roar that resembled that of an infuriated lion, Rufus swung at Will, who ducked, feeling the air from the punch ruffle his hair. He slammed his fist into Rufus's stomach, who barely flinched. Will did not care that this was not an even match; he did not care that he was about to be pummeled by a giant. The fight chased away the restless frustration that had been stewing in his chest for days, and it felt wonderful.
Rufus grabbed Will by the back of the neck and flung him across the room. Several other men yelled and lunged out of the way, spilling their drinks everywhere. The bartender was waving his arms and trying to break up the fight, but he was no match for Rufus's fury. Rufus swept the skinny bartender out of the way as he stalked toward Will.
Will sprang to his feet, swaying a little bit and wishing he had not had quite so much to drink. He put his fists up, unable to keep from grinning in anticipation. He tried to block Rufus's next hit but it didn't soften the blow as much as he would've liked. Pain burst from Will's jaw and he staggered back to the floor.
"If I was sober, sir," Will said from the ground as Rufus loomed over him, "I would beat you senseless."
"I'm sure you would," Rufus said, delivering another solid punch to Will's face. Blood was trickling from his nose and he was fairly sure he'd be sporting a black eye the next morning, but he didn't care.
Will dragged himself back to his feet and managed to duck the next few blows from his opponent. He observed distantly that Rufus had brute strength on his side, but he let his anger take over his movements, and he was slow. Also, he was not showing much mercy; Will was beginning to think that perhaps he should not have made the jibe about the man's daughter.
Will got in a punch at Rufus's face, a blow that was strong enough to make the other man stagger back a few steps. Will went at his stomach again, this time hitting hard enough to make Rufus double over. But when he aimed at the giant's face a second time, his hand was caught halfway to its mark.
"Nice move," Will complimented him a moment before Rufus's fist hit him squarely in the face.
Will managed to keep his feet for a few more seconds, and then he found, curiously, that he was staring up at the ceiling from the floor.
"Will?" The shocked voice was enough for Will to tilt his head backward and see a familiar face leaning over him, mouth open in a mixture of astonishment and horror.
"Hello, James," Will slurred. "He sure taught me not to insult a young lady's honor, eh?"
Jem's expression turned exasperated, and that was the last thing Will saw before he passed out.