The Gadgeteer

Chapter 5

ARABETH FED MARBLE some fresh-killed chicken, courtesy of the maid her mother sent in twice a week, 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 happened.

The early reports showed attacks centralized around the location where she first found the automaton. That wasn't a pattern. She needed more recent information. If the violence had stopped, she wouldn't have to pursue this, but it hadn't.

What had she done to earn Harbertrope's ire? Was it that she didn't fit into a neat box?

Slapping her ruler down, she decided to avoid the station until things with Harbertrope calmed down. She had a long list of held-up projects because of this shiny detour.

Marble's tracker needed to be wrist-mounted, too. Lab time 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 electricity indefinitely.

Gadgeteering felt like she put her God-given talents to good use. That device was her big project before her family conned her into getting married. It was one of the few devices her husband hadn't been privy to. The low-life had sold almost all her other patents to fund his own pet 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 two years ago? Or was it divine justice? 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 stood up and stepped back from the map. It 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 workshop 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. "If I may enquire as to the nature of your unscheduled visit - is something wrong?"

"Do not use that tone on me," her mother purred her warning.

Arabeth walked to the sitting room nearest to the exit and sat, emotionally bracing herself as her mother joined her. Her mother was a brilliant negotiator and practised on her daughters.

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

Predictable. After all, hadn't she just talked with Sam about this very thing?

"Occupational hazard, Mother," Arabeth's gut tightened, ready for her Mother's demands to be laid out. "Let's cut out the fat, shall we? What's this about, really?"

"Sanctimonious to the end, sister." Her sister, Maralise, joined them at the table, setting down a short stack of papers.

"Arabeth, 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."