Free The Inventor's Secret by Andrea Cremer Page B

whispered.
“No, they’re people like us. Only they make the rules,”
she said. “They just act like monsters when someone tries
to go against them.”
“And you’re hiding from them?”
“We are.” Charlotte nodded. “Because we come from
families who don’t want to live the way the Empire says
they should. They’ve been fighting since the Revolution
failed—at least those who weren’t captured have been.”
Grave asked, “Where are your families?”
“The Resistance has pockets all over,” Charlotte said.
“I’m not exactly sure where my parents are. They move
a lot, and they don’t contact us that often. It’s safer that
way.”
“Do you miss your mother and father?”
She was surprised by the sudden lump in her throat.
“Always.”
He nodded. “Will you see them again?”
“Yes,” she told him. “We only stay here when we’re
too young to help with the Resistance. Ash turns eighteen
soon, so he’ll go.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” she said with a sigh. “But I’d like to go when
Ash does.”
“You’re very brave,” he said. “You want to go fight an
empire.”
Charlotte fell silent. Talk of the Resistance and her supposed bravery made being angry with Ash seem silly.
She looked at Grave. “Do you remember anything today?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know my name. Or if I have
parents. I don’t know why I was in the woods.”
Charlotte took his hand. “We’ll figure it out.”
8.
B
    IRCH SHOUTED INSTRUCTIONS as
they rifled through the sacks. Sorting loot
never failed to require both tenacity and endurance. Charlotte forced herself to be patient as she murmured instructions to Grave,
explaining how to differentiate scrap metal from potentially working parts.
    A whoop brought all of their heads up and sent Moses
spiraling from Birch’s shoulder into the air.
Doing a little jig, Birch held up a small object.
“I think this will prove a good run indeed!”
“What’s that?” Grave whispered.
    “A mouse,” Charlotte answered. “That’s what saved
our lives yesterday.”
Grave spared her a sidelong glance. “You had one of
85
those in your pocket?”
    She nodded. “It’s a magnet mouse. They’re explosive
devices. Once they’re wound, they’ll chase the most metallic object in the vicinity. And for us that’s usually Rotpots.”
“The thing that was chasing us?” he asked.
    “Yes,” Charlotte said. “We call them Rotpots, but
they’re really called Imperial Labor Gatherers.”
“Labor Gatherers?”
As she spoke, Charlotte’s skin crawled. “Life in the
lower levels of the coastal cities is hard—and that’s a kind
way of putting it. Sometimes the workers try to escape.
The Gatherers are sent out to catch runaways and return
them to the Empire.”
Grave continued his methodic sorting of parts—for it
being his first time, he caught on quickly. “Does anyone
think the Empire is good?”
“The Brits,” she laughed coldly. “It’s working out beautifully for them.”
“They don’t have to work in the cities?” He picked up a
brass gear, turning it over slowly in his hand.
Charlotte cast a sidelong glance at him. “You really
don’t know?”
His shoulders hunched in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.
I’ll stop asking questions.”
“No,” she said. “It’s just strange . . . and you must feel
so lost.”
He didn’t look at her, but nodded.
“The resistance began in 1774,” she told him. “The
Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776—Patriots
who wanted independence for the colonies pitted against
Loyalists who supported the British. The Patriots were
sure that France would aid them, maybe the Spanish and
Dutch as well. But American diplomats failed to convince
any other countries to fight with us. Britain was there at
every turn with a counteroffer. They made Canada into
Indian territory to appease their native allies. They gave
Florida back to Spain and promised to leave the southern
Mississippi