Free The Deepest Poison by Beth Cato

glanced at the building above. At least now she was at the right place. It was just a matter of gaining entry and going from there. Could she sneak around the back? Perhaps there was a goods entry. She walked past a doorman, looking for any placard listing residences.
    â€œHey! You!” The doorman lunged to grab her arm.
    Octavia’s hand immediately went to her torso for her capsicum flute. Drat. Used it on the airship! When she found nothing, her hand formed a fist and she punched at his fingers. “Let me go! Stop!”
    â€œStop struggling, woman. I been told to look for you. Come here.” Chew tobacco reeked on his breath. Mouth lesions.
    She stopped fighting, though her heart continued to hammer in her chest. A small twist and she could grab her parasol from its loop on her satchel. It’d make a fine cudgel.
    â€œWho told you to look for me?”
    â€œA Mr. Garret. Said to look for a pale young woman with brown hair and a ripped black coat. You fit the description mighty well. Hold on. He just went inside to the lobby.”
    She could have melted into the pavement in relief. The doorman returned to his station and scribbled a note. He tucked it inside a strange capsule and set it at the base of a clear pipe. At the press of a button, the capsule shot up the tube with a mighty whoosh and vanished through the ceiling. She stared, mouth gaping.
    â€œWhat, never seen a pneumatic tube system before?” He brayed a laugh. “The message will go right to the desk. Hold here.”
    All the best inventions come from Tamarania. She shook her head in awe. Yet another reminder that she was in the place that invented airships, mechas, and even gremlins.
    A few more minutes of restless pacing, and she heard that familiar song of marching-­band brasses—­distorted. Alonzo nigh broke the glass door as he flung it wide. Relief shone in his eyes. Even with noise of his song dimmed by the headband, blood screamed beneath his clothes. Ribs. Muscle shredded. Bone chipped.
    â€œAl . . . Mr. Garret.” She could have hugged him, but she knew it would worsen his pain.
    â€œI was just about to head upstairs, m’lady. Now we shall go together. My thanks to you, sir.” Alonzo extended a hand to the doorman, to which the man responded with a bright smile. There’d been a coin tucked in Alonzo’s palm.
    She followed Alonzo into an austere hallway. “You were stabbed. Several hours ago,” she murmured.
    â€œYes. ’Tis not that bad, truly.” He frowned. “You are aware of this, just as you were aware of the ailments of the factory workers?”
    â€œYes. My senses have strengthened in a rather obnoxious way. The city . . . has been especially taxing.” She gestured to her headband. “This is all that’s keeping me from crouching in a corner, aware of the screaming maladies of passersby.”
    Alonzo’s brows drew together in thought. They stood before the black wire of the lift doors. Judging by the number of floors, they would have quite a wait. At least her senses informed her that he could manage awhile more, though in agony.
    â€œWhat happened, Alonzo?” Shallow wound. No poison, but there are always zymes to cause infections. Someone aimed for his kidneys. “ Someone was trying to kill you. Was it . . . ?” Clockwork Daggers? Wasters?
    He stared at the ticking light on the dial that showed the lift floors. “No. None of our past acquaintances. The train car was mostly occupied by Caskentian workers of a desperate nature. One decided to liberate me of my coins and bag, and when that effort failed, my body.”
    â€œYes. They were a rather desperate lot.”
    His gaze snapped to her. “Were you assaulted?”
    â€œDon’t you dare fuss over me. Must you end up injured in every single city?”
    â€œConsidering our ‘smashing’ arrival in Tamarania, I feel I have done quite