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caliber.”
    â€œYes, well, the thing is . . .” she continued. “I need time to come up with a design, to work out the necessary functions and corresponding mechanisms, and—­”
    â€œYou have a week.”
    Petra blinked, the rest of her carefully rehearsed proposal evaporating in an instant. “A week ? But—­”
    â€œYou will present your war machine to the Guild council first thing Thursday morning,” he said, dropping his gaze to a leather calendar book atop his desk. He grabbed a pen and scribbled a note at the bottom of the page. “Should we find the proposal satisfactory, a team will be assembled, the design finalized, and we will begin work on the project immediately. In exchange, you may remain here and continue your studies.”
    She gaped at him, struggling to find her voice. “You haven’t even told me what you want me to build!”
    â€œA war machine, Miss Wade,” he said, glancing up from his desk with the patience of a viper. “You are to build a device for war .”
    â€œI understand that, sir ,” she said evenly. “But I need parameters, requisites.” She scrambled to think, anything to give her more time. “For starters, I’ll need to know the basic functions of the machine, and there are financial margins to consider, physical limitations, materials . . . not to mention more time. You can’t expect me to design something like this in a week, not on my own.”
    Julian relaxed in his chair, regarding her with the ease of a practiced businessman. “A week is what you have,” he said, a tone of finality to his voice. “Perhaps if you had complied with my request sooner, you would have more time to design the machine you already promised me. But here we are,” he said, gesturing grandly between the two of them. “As for parameters, we require the design accommodate direct personal control by a soldier of the British Armed Forces. The remainder of the design specifics I leave to your discretion and to that of your engineering team.”
    â€œDirect control?” Her professional curiosity got the better of her. “Wouldn’t it be more efficient to control it remotely, using Emmerich’s wireless control apparatus?”
    â€œPerhaps, but the wireless technology used in the automaton project has not been developed to the degree that the Royal Forces requires, and it has proved too costly for the Guild to produce on a large scale, which is why we are in need of an alternative.”
    She stared at him, realizing what he meant. “You built them, didn’t you? The automatons.” A hollow laugh escaped her lips. “You tried to build your army, but you failed.”
    A muscle twitched in his jaw. “The failure was not mine . The design was inferior, too flawed for our purposes, so the project was scrapped. The responsibility for its failure lies solely on its engineer.”
    â€œIts engineer? Your son , you mean?” She scoffed. “Emmerich could have revolutionized modern science with that design. Instead, you used him to create a weapon.”
    â€œMy son knew what he was building the day he signed his contract. Make no mistake. He knew . And in choosing to break his agreement, he failed me. You will not.” Julian leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “You have your parameters now. I suggest you get started on your design. Your proposal is Thursday.”
    She held her ground. “What you’re asking is impossible. There are too many variables to consider for a machine this complex, not least of all the secondary systems I’ll need to implement, many of which I’ll need assistance with. I don’t know the first thing about weapons or manual control interfaces. I need time to—­”
    â€œYou will have a team of engineers assigned to the project to make up for such shortcomings,”