They were all staring at her. Jem was the only one to offer a smile as she blinked in the light.
“Uncanny,” said Henry. His hand rested lightly on the object on the table. Tessa, uncomfortable with the eyes on her, moved toward it. “What is that?”
“It’s a sort of . . . infernal device that Henry’s created,” Jem said. “Meant to disrupt the internal mechanisms that keep the clockwork creatures running.”
“You twist it, like this”—Henry mimed twisting the bottom half of the thing in one direction and the top half in another—“and then throw it. Try to lodge it into the creature’s gears or somewhere that it will stick. It is meant to disrupt the mechanical currents that run through the creature’s body, causing them to wrench apart. It could do you some damage too, even if you aren’t clockwork, so don’t hang on to it once it’s activated. I’ve only two, so . . .”
He handed one to Jem, and another to Charlotte, who took it and hung it from her weapons belt without a word.
“The message has been sent?” Tessa asked.
“Yes. We’re only waiting for a reply from your brother now,” said Charlotte. She unrolled a paper across the surface of the table, weighting down the corners with copper gears from a stack Henry must have left there. “Here,” she said, “is a map that shows where Jessamine claims she and Nate usually meet. It’s a warehouse on Mincing Lane, down by Lower Thames Street. It used to be a tea merchant’s packing factory until the business went bankrupt.”
“Mincing Lane,” said Jem. “Center of the tea trade. Also the opium trade. Makes sense Mortmain might keep a warehouse there.” He ran a slender finger over the map, tracing the names of the nearby streets: Eastcheap, Gracechurch Street, Lower Thames Street, St. Swithin’s Lane. “Such an odd place for Jessamine, though,” he said. “She always dreamed of such glamour—of being introduced at Court and putting her hair up for dances. Not of clandestine meetings in some sooty warehouse near the wharves.”
“She did do what she set out to do,” Tessa said. “She married someone who isn’t a Shadowhunter.”
Will’s mouth quirked into a half smile. “If the marriage were valid, she’d be your sister-in-law.”
Tessa shuddered. “I—it’s not that I hold a grudge against Jessamine. But she deserves better than my brother.”
“Anyone deserves better than that.” Will reached under the table and drew out a rolled-up bunch of fabric. He spread it across the table, avoiding the map. Inside were several long, thin weapons, each with a gleaming rune carved into the blade. “I’d nearly forgotten I had Thomas order these for me a few weeks ago. They’ve only just arrived. Misericords—good for getting in between the jointure of those clockwork creatures.”
“The question is,” Jem said, lifting one of the misericords and examining the blade, “once we get Tessa inside to meet Nate, how do the rest of us watch their meeting without being noticed? We must be ready to intervene at any moment, especially if it appears that his suspicions have been aroused.”
“We must arrive first, and hide ourselves,” said Will. “It is the only way. We listen to see if Nate says anything useful.”
“I dislike the idea of Tessa being forced to speak with him at all,” muttered Jem.
“She can well hold her own; I have seen it. Besides, he is more likely to speak freely if he thinks himself safe. Once captured, even if the Silent Brothers do explore his mind, Mortmain may have thought to put blocks in it to protect his knowledge, which can take time to dismantle.”
“I think Mortmain has put in blocks in Jessamine’s case,” said Tessa. “For whatever it is worth, I cannot touch her thoughts.”
“Even more likely he will have done it in Nate’s, then,” said Will.
“That boy is as weak as a kitten,” said Henry. “He will tell us whatever we want to know. And if not, I have a device—”
“Henry!” Charlotte looked seriously alarmed. “Tell me you have not been working on a torture device.”
“Not at all. I call it the Confuser. It emits a vibration that directly affects the human brain, rendering it incapable of telling between fiction and fact.” Henry, looking proud, reached for his box. “He will simply spill everything that is in his mind, with no attention to the consequences . . .”
Charlotte held up a warning hand. “Not right now, Henry. If we must utilize the . . . Confuser on Nate Gray, we will do so when we have brought him back here. At the moment we must concentrate on reaching the warehouse before Tessa. It is not that far; I suggest Cyril takes us there, then returns for Tessa.”
“Nate will recognize the Institute’s carriage,” Tessa objected. “When I saw Jessamine leaving for a meeting with Nate, she was most decidedly going on foot. I shall walk.”
“You will get lost,” said Will.
“I won’t,” said Tessa, indicating the map. “It’s a simple walk. I could turn left at Gracechurch Street, go along Eastcheap, and cut through to Mincing Lane.”
An argument ensued, with Jem, to Tessa’s surprise, siding with Will against the idea of her walking the streets alone. Eventually it was decided that Henry would drive the carriage to Mincing Lane, while Tessa would walk, with Cyril following her at a discreet distance, lest she lose herself in the crowded, dirty, noisy city. With a shrug she agreed; it seemed less trouble than arguing, and she didn’t mind Cyril.
“I don’t suppose anyone’s going to point out,” said Will, “that once again we are leaving the Institute without a Shadowhunter to protect it?”
Charlotte rolled up the map with a flick of her wrist. “And which of us would you suggest stay home, then, instead of helping Tessa?”
“I didn’t say anything about anyone staying home.” Will’s voice dropped. “But Cyril will be with Tessa, Sophie’s only half-trained, and Bridget . . .”
Tessa glanced over at Sophie, who was sitting quietly in the corner of the library, but the other girl gave no sign of having heard Will. Meanwhile, Bridget’s voice was wafting faintly from the kitchen, another miserable ballad:
“So John took out of his pocket
A knife both long and sharp,
And stuck it through his brother’s heart,
And the blood came pouring down.
Says John to William, ‘Take off thy shirt,
And tear it from gore to gore,
And wrap it round your bleeding heart,
And the blood will pour no more.’”
“By the Angel,” said Charlotte, “we really are going to have to do something about her before she drives us all to madness, aren’t we?”
Before anyone could reply, two things happened at once: Something tapped at the window, startling Tessa so much that she took a step back, and a great, echoing noise sounded through the Institute—the sound of the summoning bell. Charlotte said something to Will—lost in the noise of the bell—and he left the room, while Charlotte crossed it, slid the window up and open, and captured something hovering outside.
She turned away from the window, a fluttering piece of paper in her hand; it looked a bit like a white bird, edges flapping in the breeze. Her hair blew about her face too, and Tessa was reminded how young Charlotte was. “From Nate, I suppose,” said Charlotte. “His message for Jessamine.” She brought it to Tessa, who tore the creamy parchment lengthwise in her eagerness to get it open.