Clockwork Princess

knife
Invulnerable nothings. We decay
Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief
Convulse us and consume us day by day,
And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay
.
    — Percy Bysshe Shelley,
    “Adonais: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats”
    The courtyard of the Green Man Inn was a churned mess of mud by the time Will drew up his spent horse and slid down from Balios’s broad back. He was weary, stiff, and saddle-sore, and with the bad condition of the roads and the exhaustion of himself and his horse, he had made the last few hours in very bad time. It was already quite dark, and he was relieved to see a stable-boy hurrying toward him, boots splashed with mud to the knee and carrying a lantern that gave off a warm yellow glow.
    “Oi, but it’s a wet evening, sir,” said the boy cheerfully as he grew nearer. He looked like an ordinary enough human boy, but there was something mischievous and a bit spritelike about him—faerie blood, sometimes, handed down over generations, could express itself in humans and even Shadowhunters with the curve of an eye or the bright shine of a pupil. Of course the boy had the Sight. The Green Man was a well-known Downworld way station. Will had been hoping to reach it by nightfall. He was tired of pretending in front of mundanes, tired of being glamoured, tired of hiding.
    “Wet? You think?” Will muttered as water ran off his hair and into his eyelashes. He had his eyes on the front door of the inn, through which welcoming yellow light poured. Overhead almost all light had drained from the sky. Ponderous black clouds loomed overhead, heavy with the promise of more rain.
    The boy took Balios by the bridle. “You’ve got one of them magic horses,” he exclaimed.
    “Yes.” Will patted the horse’s lathered side. “He needs a rubdown, and special care.”
    The boy nodded. “You a Shadowhunter, then? We don’t get many of them around these parts. One a little while ago, but ‘e were old an’ disagreeable—”
    “Listen,” Will asked, “are there rooms available?”
    “Not sure if there are any private ones, sir.”
    “Well, I’ll be wanting a private one, so there’d better be. And a stable for the horse for the night, and a bath and a meal. Run along and get the horse put away, and I’ll see what your landlord says.”
    The landlord was utterly obliging and, unlike the boy, made no comments on the Marks on Will’s hands or at his throat, only asked the very usual sort of questions: “Do you want your meal in a private parlor or to take it in the common room, sir? And will you be wanting a bath before your supper, or after?”
    Will, who felt encased in mud, opted for the bath first, though agreed to take dinner in the common room. He had brought a good amount of mundane money with him, but a private parlor for dining in was an unnecessary expense, especially when one did not care what one was eating. Food was fuel for the journey, and that was all.
    Though the landlord had taken little notice of the fact that Will was Nephilim, there were others in the common area of the inn who did. As Will leaned against the counter, a group of young werewolves by the large fireplace, who had been indulging in cheap beer for most of the day, muttered among themselves. Will attempted not to notice them as he ordered hot water bottles for himself and a bran mash for his horse, like any high-handed young gentleman, but their sharp eyes on him were avid, taking in every detail from his dripping wet hair and muddy boots to the heavy coat that showed no sign of whether he wore the Nephilim’s customary weapons belt beneath.
    “Easy, boys,” said the tallest of the group. He sat well back toward the fire, casting his face in heavy shadow, though the fire outlined his long fingers as he took out a fine majolica cigar box and tapped thoughtfully at the lock. “I know him.”
    “You know him?” one of the younger wolves asked in disbelief. “That Nephilim? A friend of yours, Scott?”
    “Oh, not a friend. Not exactly.” Woolsey Scott lit the tip of his cigar with a match and regarded the boy across the room over the small flame, a smile playing about his mouth. “But it’s very interesting that he’s here. Very interesting indeed.”
    “Tessa!”
The voice echoed in her ear, a ragged shout. She sat bolt upright on the riverbank, her body trembling.
    “Will?”
She scrambled to her feet and looked around. The moon had passed behind a cloud. The sky above was