Clockwork Princess (The Infernal Devices 3)

"I think the Lightwoods are better men than that," Tessa offered.

Sophie brushed her hair back from her face, her fingers lightly touching the scar that bisected her cheek. "Sometimes I think there are no better men than that."

Neither Gideon nor Gabriel spoke as their carriage rattled back through the streets of the West End to the Institute. The rain was pouring down now, rattling the carriage so noisily that Gabriel doubted anyone would have heard him if he had spoken.

Gideon was studying his shoes, and did not look up as they rolled back to the Institute. As it loomed up out of the rain, the Consul reached across Gabriel and opened the door for them to exit.

"I trust you boys," he said. "Now go make Charlotte trust you too. And tell no one of our discussion. As far as this afternoon is concerned, you spent it with the Brothers."

Gideon climbed down out of the carriage without another word, and Gabriel followed him. The landau swung around and rattled off into the gray London afternoon. The sky was black and yellow, the drizzle as heavy as lead pellets, the fog so thick that Gabriel could barely see the Institute gates as they swung shut behind the carriage. He certainly didn't see his brother's hands as they darted forward, seized him by the collar of his jacket, and dragged him halfway around the side of the Institute.

He nearly fell as Gideon pushed him up against the stone wall of the old church. They were near the stables, half-hidden from view by one of the buttresses, but not protected from the rain. Cold drops assaulted Gabriel's head and neck and slid into his shirt. "Gideon--," he protested, slipping on the muddy flagstones.

"Be quiet." Gideon's eyes were huge and gray in the dull light, barely tinged with green.

"You're right." Gabriel dropped his voice. "We should organize our story. When they ask us what we did this afternoon, we must be in perfect accord in our answer, or it will not be believable--"

"I said be quiet." Gideon slammed his brother's shoulders back against the wall, hard enough for Gabriel to let out a gasp of pain. "We are not going to tell Charlotte of our conversation with the Consul. But neither are we going to spy on her. Gabriel, you are my brother, and I love you. I would do anything to protect you. But I will not sell out your soul and mine."

Gabriel looked at his brother. Rain soaked Gideon's hair and dripped into the collar of his coat. "We could die on the street if we refuse to do what the Consul says."

"I am not going to lie to Charlotte," said Gideon.

"Gideon--"

"Did you see the look on the Consul's face?" Gideon interrupted. "When we agreed to spy for him, to betray the generosity of the house that hosts us? He was not in the least surprised. He never had a moment's doubt about us. He expects nothing but treachery from Lightwoods. That is our birthright." His hands tightened on Gabriel's arms. "There is more to life than surviving," he said. "We have honor, we are Nephilim. If he takes that, we truly have nothing."

"Why?" Gabriel asked. "Why are you so sure that Charlotte's side is the right one?"

"Because our father's was not," said Gideon. "Because I know Charlotte. Because I have lived among these people for months and they are good people. Because Charlotte Branwell has been nothing but kind to me. And Sophie loves her."

"And you love Sophie."

Gideon's mouth tensed.

"She's a mundane and a servant," said Gabriel. "I don't know what you expect to come of it, Gideon."

"Nothing," Gideon said roughly. "I expect nothing. But the fact that you believe I should shows that our father brought us up to believe that we should do right only if some reward was the result. I will not betray the word I have given Charlotte; that is the situation, Gabriel. If you do not want a part of it, I will send you to live with Tatiana and the Blackthorns. I am sure they will take you in. But I will not lie to Charlotte."

"Yes, you will," said Gabriel. "We are both going to lie to Charlotte. But we are going to lie to the Consul, too."

Gideon narrowed his eyes. Rainwater dripped off his eyelashes. "What do you mean?"

"We will do as the Consul says and read Charlotte's correspondence. Then we will report to him, but the reports will be false."

"If we are going to give him false reports anyway, why read her correspondence?"

"To know what not to say," Gabriel said, tasting dampness in his mouth. It tasted as if it had dripped from the Institute roof, bitter and dirty. "To avoid accidentally telling him the truth."

"If we are discovered, we could face consequences of the utmost severity."

Gabriel spit rainwater. "Then you tell me. Would you risk severe consequences for the inhabitants of the Institute, or not? Because I--I am doing this for you, and because ..."

"Because?"

"Because I made a mistake. I was wrong about our father. I believed in him, and I should not have." Gabriel took a deep breath. "I was wrong, and I seek to undo that, and if there is a price to be paid, then I will pay it."

Gideon looked at him for a long time. "Was this your plan all along? When you agreed to the Consul's demands, in the Argent Rooms, was this your plan?"

Gabriel looked away from his brother, toward the rain-wet courtyard. In his mind he could see the two of them, much younger, standing where the Thames cut through the edge of the house's property, and Gideon showing him the safe paths through the swampy ground. His brother had always been the one to show him the safe paths. There had been a time when they had trusted each other implicitly, and he did not know when it had ended, but his heart ached for it more than it ached at the loss of his father.

r /> "Would you believe me," he said bitterly, "if I told you it was? Because it is the truth."

Gideon was still for a long moment. Then Gabriel found himself hauled forward, his face mashed into the wet wool of Gideon's overcoat while his brother held him tightly, murmuring, "All right, little brother. It's going to be all right," as he rocked them both back and forth in the rain.

To: Members of the Council

From: Consul Josiah Wayland

Very well, gentlemen. In that case I ask only for your patience and that you not act in haste. If it is proof you want, I will furnish proof.

I shall write again on this subject soon.

In Raziel's name and in defense of his honor,

Consul Josiah Wayland

7

DARE TO WISH

If the past year were offered me again,

And choice of good and ill before me set

Would I accept the pleasure with the pain

Or dare to wish that we had never met?

--Augusta, Lady Gregory,

"If the Past Year Were Offered Me Again"

To: Consul Wayland

From: Gabriel and Gideon Lightwood

Dear Sir,

We are most thankful that you have assigned us the task of monitoring Mrs. Branwell's behavior. Women, as we know, need to be closely watched so they do not go astray. We are grieved to announce that we have shocking tidings to report.

A woman's management of her household is her most important duty, and one of the most important womanly virtues is frugality. Mrs. Branwell, however, seems addicted to expenditure and cares for nothing save vulgar display.

Though she may be dressed plainly when you pay a visit, we are saddened to report that in her leisure hours she bedecks herself with the finest silks and the most costly jewels imaginable. You asked us to, and loath though we were to invade a lady's privacy, we did so. We would report the exact details of her letter to her modiste, but we fear you would be overcome. Suffice it to say, the money outlaid upon hats rivals the annual income of a large estate or a small country. We fail to see why one small woman needs so many hats. She is unlikely to be concealing additional heads upon her person.

We would be too gentlemanly to comment upon a lady's attire, except for the deleterious effect it has on our duties. She skimps on household necessities to the most horrifying degree. Every night we sit down to a dinner of gruel as she sits at table dripping with gems and gewgaws. This is, you may conceive, hardly fighting fare for your valiant Shadowhunters. We are so weak that we were almost vanquished by a Behemoth demon last Tuesday, and of course those creatures are chiefly composed of a viscous substance. At our peak, and sustained with good victuals, either of us would be capable of crushing beneath our boot heels a dozen Behemoth demons at a time.