The Alchemy of Stone Read Online Free PDF

sharp-edged. “Busy?” he said.
    “No.” She stood in the doorway preventing him from entering. The smell of Iolanda’s perfume saturated the air, and she could not risk him recognizing it later and guessing at Mattie’s connection to Iolanda. “Going out?”
    “Just an informal gathering,” he said, although his clothes clearly begged to differ. “Lunch with some friends and colleagues. Would you like to come?”
    “Of course,” Mattie said. He rarely asked for favors nowadays, and she saw no reason to deny him. Besides, gatherings such as this always offered opportunities for eavesdropping. After her emancipation, she at first resented Loharri’s friends who treated her as before—that is, as his automaton, a part of him that deserved neither recognition nor acknowledgment as an independent entity. Later, she saw the advantage of being invisible—she walked into a room where mechanics talked about their secret business and they never missed a beat, never remembering or caring enough to notice that she was an alchemist and therefore a political enemy. She just didn’t know why Loharri kept giving her such opportunities.
    “Hurry up then,” he said. “You might even learn something about your new friends.”
    “Wait outside,” Mattie said. “I need to change.”
    As she did—striped stockings, white and black, and a black dress with open neckline fringed with foamy white lace—Mattie puzzled over Loharri’s words. Why were the Mechanics suddenly interested in gargoyles? They affected the politics of the city very little—figureheads, outwardly respected but inconsequential. They remained outside of the daily life of the city, subject more to lore and superstitions than laws and elections. Their patronage of the Duke’s family and his court was symbolic—just like their predecessors who had undergone the inevitable transformation and now decorated the palace . . . they were even less important than the court, which persisted only, as Loharri often said, due to inertia and habit. Only the elected parties could pass laws, only they could command new construction and regulate commerce. But the Duke remained in his palace, useless and, as Mattie imagined, lonely.
    Mattie descended the stairs and nodded at Loharri. He grimaced, pale and uncomfortable in his stern clothes. “Ready to go?”
    She threaded her arm under his, and felt his tense sinews relax under the copper springs of her fingers. She hated admitting it to herself, but she stayed close to him because of the influence she had—she had the power to make him less concerned and more at ease, to make him smile even though it pained his broken face. She wondered at herself, at whether she would ever be able to forgive him for being her creator, for having such absolute control over her internal workings. For his love.
    They headed uphill, toward the palace and the heavy gray architecture of the old buildings. Mattie suspected that the stone of which large rough blocks of the palace were hewn was the same as the stone gargoyles became, and wondered if there was a promising venue of investigation there; she made a mental note to take a mineral sample once they got to the old city.
    “It’s too hot to walk,” Loharri said, even though the sun, still low over the rooftops, barely kissed the pavement and the air still retained the pleasant coolness of the night. His gaze cast about for a cab or a sedan.
    “It’s fine,” Mattie said. “I enjoy walking, and you could use a constitutional. You spend too much time indoors.”
    Loharri scoffed. “I should’ve made you without a voice-box. Being lectured by my own automaton—why, that’s an indignity no man should be forced to tolerate.”
    Mattie was used to his querulous tone, and simply changed the subject. “Did you know that Beresta had a son?”
    “I heard,” he replied, smiling. “I see you spoke to the Soul-Smoker.”
    Mattie inclined her head with a slow, ratcheted creaking of