Part 5 (1/2)

Now, all the children aged ten years and older worked, but also spent hours in their schools. Every child raised in the Creche was well fed, well dressed, adept at reading and writing, and knowledgeable in maths.

Though the man never took credit for it, Rhys knew the Blacksmith had been responsible for the strong direction the Creche had taken after the revolution, pouring money into it, staying in the background while offering the children advice and support. For as long as Rhys had known him, the Blacksmith had a soft spot for children.

Rhys hadn't, not until recently. Before Anne, before the possibility that he might have his own with Mina, he'd never thought of them much. They'd simply been there, boys on his s.h.i.+p who'd needed extra protection while they learned the ropes-and he gave it to them. After settling in London, there'd been the urchins who didn't live in the Creche and that needed small jobs to survive, and he gave those to them. To Rhys, the Horde's creches had been a place for children to live until they went to work, and he hadn't known any other way-so when the Horde had fled England, he'd provided work. But he recognized that the Whitechapel creche was better. For some children, it was better than a life with their parents would have been.

Until today, he'd believed Anne thought that living at his home was better. Now he wasn't so certain-and G.o.d, that uncertainty tore him apart.

Though every possessive instinct shouted at him to fly straight into the Creche and land in the middle of their walled city, to search every inch until he found her, Rhys forced himself to land near the front gates.

The children might have shot him down, anyway. The rail cannons mounted around the top of the stone walls told him they were capable of it.

A boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age stood guard at the entrance, a steel pipe hooked to his belt. Judging by the boy's awestruck expression, the guard recognized him. As in most of England, Rhys was a hero to these children, but he didn't think that would get him any further than it had at the Blacksmith's.

”I'm looking for Anne the Tinker.”

As if recalling that he had a duty to perform, the boy suddenly straightened, throwing back his shoulders. ”We've heard.”

Of course he had. The moment Rhys had left the Blacksmith's, one of the tinkers had probably sent a gram to the Creche, warning them. The children's communication system was faster and more efficient than any other in London.

”May I see her?”

”I'll ask if she wants to come out. Wait here.”

If he hadn't been so ready to tear down the walls to look for her, Rhys might have been amused that the boy had told him to wait.

But it wasn't long. Only a minute pa.s.sed before the gate clanked open a few feet, and a slim girl in a blue tunic and trousers slipped through.

Anne. A yellow bruise marred her cheekbone, and a faint pink line that had once been a cut extended from the corner of her left eye-mostly healed now, but someone had put them there. Sudden rage shook him; helpless pain tore at his chest. Rhys didn't let her see it. She looked terrified, shoulders hunched and eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears.

He must seem like a giant towering over her. Rhys went down on his knee, extended his hand to her. ”Are you all right?”

With her teeth digging into her bottom lip, she nodded. His heart pounded with dizzy relief as she put her palm in his.

Carefully, he pulled her into an embrace, closed his eyes when she threw her arms around his shoulders. G.o.d, he'd needed this. Needed to feel her little arms around him. How had he not known that before? ”Come home,” he said, voice thick. ”Whatever happened, we'll help you.”

She mumbled against his neck. ”You might not want me anymore.”

He couldn't bear that she might think so-not when he remembered saying it to Mina once. At the time, Rhys hadn't known how he'd hurt her, but he saw a similar pain now in this girl. He didn't know how, but he'd find some way to convince Anne that he would never not want her, for any reason.

But for now, he'd give her what he had.

”We do want you. I swear it.” He smoothed her hair back from her face, looked her in the eyes. ”All right?”

Though she still looked uncertain, the girl nodded. Perhaps that was all that she could give now, too. If it brought her home, it was enough.

He looked her quickly over when she stepped back. Except for the bruise and the cut, he didn't see any other injuries-and though he wanted to crush whoever had done this to her, Rhys wouldn't push her about it now. He'd wait until Mina was with him . . . but he wasn't certain whether to take her to Mina now, or to wait.

But there was one man here who'd know better than any other. ”Is Mina's father here?”

”I'm here.” Rockingham's voice answered. Rhys glanced up. Mina's father stood near the gate, with a sleeping infant cradled in his arm. The earl studied Anne for a long second, seemed satisfied by what he saw. ”This baby was left at the gate a little while ago. Anne had just been helping me infect it with nanoagents when you arrived. Mina used to a.s.sist me when she was Anne's age, too.”

Hearing that pleased the girl. Her face brightened.

”How many babies are left here?” Rhys wondered.

”Enough that I stay busy,” Rockingham said, and Rhys wasn't surprised. A creche was a way of life for many of the others who'd been raised in one, too-they would never imagine keeping a child. The earl glanced at Anne before looking to Rhys again. ”I sent a message on to Mina, letting her know that Anne was here, but she'll probably want to see her.”

Anne's expression dimmed. ”Will she be angry?”

Not if her reaction was anything like Rhys's had been.

”I think she'll be so glad to see you that nothing else will matter. But even if she is angry, she'll listen to you. And no matter what you've done, if she understands why you've done it, her anger will probably pa.s.s.” Rhys knew this too well. Drunk, he'd once lost all sense and terrified Mina, forced himself on her. Nothing Anne could do would ever equal that trespa.s.s. Mina had forgiven him because he hadn't meant to hurt her, because he hadn't realized that he was frightening rather than pleasuring her-and because he'd been horrified when he had realized the truth of it. He hadn't deserved her pardon, but he thanked G.o.d that she'd given it. ”She's an inspector, remember. She always considers motivations, intentions. Did you mean any harm?”

Eyes filling again, Anne shook her head.

”So tell her-and don't lie. If you do, she'll know, eventually. So even if you're ashamed of what happened, tell her the truth.”

”All right.” Her voice was thin, uncertain again. ”Will we wait for her at home?”

Rhys didn't know. He looked to Mina's father, who knew how family worked, who knew what little girls needed. Rockingham gave a small nod.

”We'll wait at home,” Rhys confirmed. ”We'll send another message and let her know you'll be there when she comes home tonight. Now, I've got an empty seat in my balloon. Will you ride with me?”

Excitement lit the girl's face. Her familiar grin broke through. ”Can I fly it?”

Fly it? Anxiety hollowed out his gut. Rhys looked to Rockingham again for advice, but the earl had disappeared back into the Creche.

G.o.d help him.

As useless as she'd been before Rhys's message arrived, Mina ought to have just gone to the Creche, too. But though she still worried and wondered what had kept Anne from home, she finally settled enough to focus on the task at hand: removing the metal bolt embedded deep in Redditch's chest.

”Look here, Newberry.” With the tip of her pincers, she pointed to the edges of the entry wound. ”What do you see?”

The constable's eyes seemed to bulge behind the lenses of his magnifying goggles. His throat worked as he bent over the body. After a year with her, Newberry no longer questioned the necessity of these morbid examinations, but the close inspection still proved difficult for him. He simply didn't have the stomach for it.

But at least he was trying, Mina thought. Many inspectors only conducted a cursory exam after bringing a body in, and even those inspectors who took more time often overlooked or misinterpreted physical evidence. She wished that it were mandatory for all of them to spend years a.s.sisting a surgeon or physician-as Mina had a.s.sisted her father-but the logistics were impossible. She sighed. At least Newberry would have developed a good eye by the time he advanced to inspector, and hopefully learn to keep down his dinner.

Or breakfast. He straightened again, breathing deep. It was incredible that he could see the worst sorts of injuries and mutilations in the street without this reaction, and yet the moment he magnified a bit of exposed muscle or organs, he was swaying like a seasick urchin.

Mina pursed her lips. Eventually, she would be promoted from inspector and leave the streets behind; she'd always intended to mimic Hale's career and take a supervisory role, but lately she'd begun to consider a position where she could perform these morbid exams, instead. Enough bodies came in to keep her fully occupied every day-and the dead deserved more than what many inspectors could give them.

Perhaps it would be easier on the inspectors, too.

”Constable?”

Newberry swallowed hard. ”The edges are relatively clean, sir. There's a small amount of tearing, but they aren't ragged.”

”And that means?”