The Clockill and the Thief

by Gareth Ward

  The door at the base of the tower slammed open and out poured a mob of caterwauling Red Blades. Sin pulled a handful of marbombs from his pocket and threw them towards the door. The ironglass spheres bounced across the cobbles, the swirls of colour inside glowing brightly.

  “Gap it,” shouted Sin. Scattering more marbombs, he sprinted across the square, Stanley close behind. Sin’s ears rang, the crump of explosions interspersed with the anguished screams of fallen Red Blades. Not intended to be lethal, the marbombs were designed to act as a deterrent to any pursuers. Those caught in their blast would be picking ironglass splinters from their legs for weeks.

  They charged past the gallows and dived into Gypsy Row, the grimy smog covering their retreat. A dirty blue door next to Maroney’s Meat Emporium clattered open and out lumbered Zonda, her face flushed. Slung across her back was the Entangler, while in her arms she cradled a steamrifle, white wisps rising from its barrel.

  Sin placed his hands on her shoulders. “You saved me.”

  “We’re not saved yet.” Zonda nodded in the direction of the square. “The marbombs have stopped.”

  Dulled by the thickening smog, the shouts of the Red Blades seemed to echo from every direction.

  “We need to get out of here.” Sin grabbed the Entangler from Zonda’s back, lightening her load, and the three of them ran up the narrow street. Night waste trickled along the gutter, adding an unpleasant earthy smell to the toxic mist they sucked into their lungs. Their legs pounding, they hurtled past dreary shopfronts, the heavily shuttered windows and barred doors offering little chance of escape.

  A whooshing cut the air, and ten feet above their heads a dark shadow hurtled through the smog. From the clouds descended Eldritch, his scarlet coat now transformed into a pair of giant, bat-like wings. His feet hit the cobbles and in a graceful half-run he slowed to a halt. Turning to face them, his wings softened, morphing back into a coat.

  “Well look at you three little pigs.” Eldritch’s lips curled into a smile. It contained no humour. “I guess that makes me the big, bad wolf.”

  Zonda shouldered the rifle. “Stay there, or –”

  “Or what? You’ll shoot? I don’t think so. You had your chance on the tower and you couldn’t take it. Up close it’s even harder. You’re not going to shoot me.”

  “She’s not.” Sin sighted down the Entangler. “But I am.” With a blast like an overexcited trumpet, the net flew from the weapon’s four barrels and slammed into Eldritch. The weighted ropes encircled him, pinning his arms and ensnaring him in the net. With a thud, the cocooned traitor collapsed onto the cobbles.

  Sin rested the Entangler on its barrels and approached their restrained prey. “Mission accomplished.”

  “This isn’t over, not by a long road,” threatened Eldritch.

  Sin dropped a knee onto the traitor’s chest, getting no small satisfaction from the grunt of pain it elicited. “It is for you.” Through gaps in the net he snaked his fingers inside Eldritch’s pockets, looking for his keeper. He found a diary, a letter and a wallet before the cool brassanium tube brushed across his palm. Taking the lot, he shoved it all into his pack.

  “Give us a hand, Stanley,” called Sin. “We need to lift him to his feet.” Sin heaved Eldritch into a sitting position.

  “Thank you,” said Eldritch. “That was exactly what I needed.” An explosion of steam surrounded him and his coat expanded, changing back into wings, driving hard against the net. Sin dived on top of Eldritch, knocking him back to the cobbles, but the damage was already done. The net was loosening.

  “Brother, we need to go,” shouted Stanley.

  “No. Together, we can still do this.” Sin heaved on the ropes, tightening them.

  “We can’t. We’ve got company.” Stanley grabbed Zonda and started running.

  From out of the smog emerged a trio of Red Blades, cruel curved daggers in their hands.

  Casting a vicious look at Eldritch, Sin hurled the last of his marbombs then sprinted in pursuit of his friends.

  “Splendid. I do so love a chase,” Eldritch called after him.

  The loud slap of the three friends’ feet hammering on the cobbles echoed back at them, trapped by the smog. Sin had run through the city trying to escape Eldritch once before. He hadn’t succeeded that time, but things were different now. With his blue blood and COG training he reckoned he could easily outpace the traitor, only he’d have to abandon Zonda and Stanley to do so, and that simply wasn’t going to happen.

  They turned into Crosses Court and Zonda pulled to a halt, her chest heaving like a blacksmith’s bellows. “I’m spent. We can’t keep running.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” said Sin. “It’s me Eldritch wants. You two hide here and I’ll lure him through Patriot’s Gate. Once he’s safely locked on the other side, head back to the hotel.”

  “We can’t leave you,” protested Zonda.

  “Sin ain’t even puffed.” Stanley placed his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. “On his own he’ll run Eldritch ragged. It’s our best chance.”

  “Trust me, Zon,” said Sin. “What’s the wor –”

  “Don’t say it!” Zonda frowned and stared him straight in the eyes. “Just posituitively promise to come back safe.”

  “Promise.” Sin nodded curtly.

  Stanley leapt over a low stone wall at the front of Mortimer and Flance’s Solicitors and beckoned to Zonda. “There’s a sunken stair you can’t see from the street. I used it to hide from the sheriffs one time.”

  Leaving his friends to complete their concealment, Sin trotted into Archimedes Way, his feet deliberately loud against the cobbles. The impressive carved facades of the university college loomed over him, his fate watched over in stony silence by the audience of statues decorating the building. Against all instinct, he slowed his pace, giving his nemesis a chance to catch up.

  Patriot’s Gate, with its cruelly barbed metal spikes thrusting some twenty feet into the air, blocked his path. Sin grabbed two of the bars and twisted. They didn’t budge. A jolt of adrenaline jangled his veins. The bars should have turned easily, creating a gap for him to squeeze through. He gripped harder and tried again. They remained steadfast.

  “That’s the thing with being away from the streets,” said Eldritch from somewhere behind him. “Things change. The City Council welded them solid last month.”

  Sin’s escape route was sealed, the gate impossible to climb without being shredded by the barbs. Eldritch emerged from the smog, his sabre held before him in his left hand. It seemed Sin was destined to be slashed whichever way he chose.

  The Fixer had a saying: the best thing to do in a knife fight is to bring a gun. Sin’s hand went to his holster. Empty. Eldritch had seen to that on the tower. He was going to have to fight. In COG they’d been taught a defence method called “slap, wrap, attack”. Slap the weapon hand away, wrap yourself around the arm holding the weapon so it can’t be used, and then attack the person for all you were worth. There were two drawbacks to this method. Firstly, whatever happened, you were likely to get badly cut. Secondly, it was Eldritch who had taught it to them, and he’d be expecting Sin to use it.

  Eldritch wasn’t left-handed, and it was unusual for him to be holding the weapon in his least-favoured hand. That meant he was either injured by Zonda’s shot, or it was a trick. Sin glanced at Eldritch’s right coat sleeve, knowing that beneath it, on a mekanikal arm, was a second blade waiting to be delivered to wherever the traitor directed. It was what the Fixer called a come on. Eldritch wanted Sin to commit himself, attacking the sabre arm, after which the second blade would be deployed with lethal effect.

  Well, Sin had one last trick of his own. He only hoped it would be enough. The Quacker-Jack had started out as a joke, when Zonda had challenged him to imagine the most ridiculous spy gadget possible. Then Sin had gotten into the idea. It was the first thing he’d ever invented, and with Nimrod’s help they’d turned it into a reality. He’d intended to show it to
Zonda at the palace, except events had spiralled out of hand, and when they’d been sent on this mission, he’d decided to bring it along.

  From beneath his jacket Sin retrieved one of the yellow rubber ducks that had been resting on the bench in Nimrod’s laboratory. He twisted its head, breaking a glass vial inside that released a chemical catalyst. Immediately the rubber felt warmer in his hands. The duck began to glow, and he tossed it onto the cobbles in front of Eldritch. A long, low, drawn-out quack sounded: the gases from the chemical reaction being forced through the duck’s orange beak.

  Eldritch’s gaze didn’t stray from Sin. “You really expect me to be distracted by a toy?”

  Sin didn’t. Not yet. The quack may have worked on a less shrewd adversary, but the jack would work on anyone.

  In an explosion of venting gases, the bottom safety seal ruptured, and like a jack-in-a-box the duck sprang upwards and thumped Eldritch in the stomach. Sin leaped, directing a kick at the sabre, which sent it clattering across the alley. He dodged past Eldritch. The traitor flung out a leg, sending Sin sprawling.

  The first rule of street fighting was “don’t stay on the ground”, but Eldritch was on Sin before he could roll to his feet. A crisp metallic schink cut the air and Eldritch’s blade shot from his sleeve into his hand. Sin grabbed the traitor’s wrists, holding the knife at bay. His blue blood-enhanced muscles had made him strong, yet he was still a fourteen-year-old boy struggling against a full-grown man made tough by years in the army. Slowly the blade descended over Sin’s heart, the point pricking between his ribs.

  “This is how you accomplish a mission,” taunted Eldritch. “I’m going to skewer something a little more vital than your shoulder this time.” In a sudden movement, he brought his face closer to Sin’s and pressed harder on the blade. “Any last wor –”

  The scream of a steamrifle ricocheted from the towering street walls and Eldritch collapsed, a dead weight bearing down on Sin. From the centre of his forehead protruded a nail.

  “Mother of COG!” exclaimed Sin. Bile rose in his throat. He slithered free and pushed himself to his feet, his pulse racing, then backed away from the lifeless body and spat on the ground.

  “Brother, we need to back-slang it,” shouted Stanley. He stood at the entrance to the street. Beside him, silent as a statue, kneeled Zonda, the steamrifle held tightly to her shoulder.

  Sin sprinted up the alley to join his friends. Zonda’s face bore a waxy white sheen, showing none of her normal rosy complexion. Sin crouched beside her and took hold of her arm. “Zon, what’s wrong? You don’t look too good.”

  She blinked rapidly, then her head twitched and she seemed to become aware of his presence. Her eyes widened. “I feel a bit . . .”

  Bending double, she spewed into the gutter.

  “Well that’s added a splash of colour.” Stanley lifted the rifle from Zonda’s hands.

  Scowling at Stanley, Sin pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Zonda. “What’s wrong?” he asked again, easing her upright.

  “I shot him. He wanted to kill you, so I thought I’d be fine.” Zonda sniffed. “It’s not the same as shooting targets.”

  Sin squeezed her arm. “You did what you had to.”

  Zonda shook her head, tears glazing her eyes. “I killed Eldritch. I didn’t mean to. I was aiming for his shoulder, but he moved.”

  Sin knew what Zonda was feeling. The first time he’d been in a big gang-fight, things had got messy and he’d ended up hurting people. They weren’t bad people, just kids like him, who happened to have found refuge in a different gang. He’d punched, kicked, clawed and headbutted, at first out of fear and a sense of self-preservation, then anger had taken hold. When the fight was as good as over, he could have walked away – should have walked away – from the kid lying in the gutter, except adrenaline fuelled his body, shutting down his reason, turning off all that was human in him. The pitiful look of fear in the urchin’s eyes and the sound of breaking bone as Sin had stamped on his arm still haunted Sin’s dreams. He hadn’t killed the boy, not directly, yet in the squalor of the streets the injury could have easily become infected, with fatal consequences.

  Sin took Zonda’s hand. “You saved me, again. We’re safe now.”

  “Not yet we ain’t, brother.” Stanley cradled the steamrifle in his arms. “There’s still a mob of Red Blades baying for our blood out there.”

  His friend had a point, but with Eldritch gone the streets of Coxford suddenly felt a whole lot safer.

  Sin placed the wallet, letter and diary he’d taken from Eldritch on the desk in his room at the Aquarinomic. He’d insisted that Zonda join him, concerned about her state of mind. She’d hardly talked on their way back to the hotel and now she sat quietly on the floor, disassembling her rifle.

  After her breakdown in the alley, Sin had expected that she’d never want to touch a gun again. Counterintuitively, it appeared the routine of stripping and cleaning the weapon soothed her.

  “How are you feeling now?” he asked.

  With well-practised ease, Zonda slid the working parts from the weapon. “I’m not sure. Betterlicious, I think.”

  “You want to talk about it?” he offered.

  “I really don’t.” She took an oily cloth and ran it over the steam-rod and frapping springs. “So, what’s in the letter?”

  “Dunno,” Sin said. “I thought we should wait for the Major.”

  “You’re going to make a craparooney spy if you don’t learn to be more inquisitive. Read it to me.”

  Sin unfolded the paper. This was the most animated Zonda had been since their return and he was keen to keep her engaged. He began to read. “Dear Admiral Fairborne, Your offer is not without appeal. In these troubled times of missing airships, protection of the Britannian Empire would help allay our fears of piracy or worse, and your promise of aeronautical improvements is most intriguing. It is such a shame that the samples are lost with HMS Pegasus. However, the Sky Palace enjoys being a haven of neutrality for all that brave the air and so, for now, your flag will remain but one of the many we fly with pride. May your winds always be favourable and your horizon ever blue. Sincerely, Sky Vizier Ozman.”

  Zonda stopped polishing her rifle. “Ghhhoooolly-ghhhooosh!”

  Sin frowned. “I don’t get it. Why’s that important?”

  “Douglas Fairborne is Admiral of the Empire’s Sky Navy. If the Union Jack flew exclusively over the Sky Palace it would become a protectorate.”

  Sin refolded the letter. “So?”

  “So, come the war, the Sky Palace would be a forward operations base of vital strategic importance for the Empire.”

  “It doesn’t matter though, does it? Ozman said no.”

  “Wrongarooney,” Zonda said excitedly. “He didn’t say no. He said he would like the Empire’s protection and he’s hinted that he’s open to persuasion.”

  “Really?” Sin crinkled his nose. “I didn’t get that.”

  “Diplomacy is like courtship. Subtle messages and what’s left unsaid are as important as any sentiments vocalised.”

  “Never got the hang of subtle.” Sin cracked his knuckles.

  “Or courtship.” Zonda sighted down the rifle at Sin.

  He pushed the gun barrel to one side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oi! Oi! Major on deck,” shouted Stanley, bursting into the room.

  The Major clanked through the doorway and, with a mekanikal sweep of his arm, slammed the door shut.

  Stanley joined Sin and Zonda, facing the Major. Although not part of the original mission, it seemed that he was now to be included.

  “I got your tweet,” said the Major. “I gather things have gone a little off script.”

  “Eldritch surprised us, sir.” The strawberry scent of Zonda’s hair wafted towards Sin’s nose. He rubbed his face and took a sharp breath. He needed to focus.

  “Did the Fixer betray you?” the Major demanded.

  Did the Fixer betray hi
m? On the way back from the tower, Sin’s thoughts had gone around and around in circles, trying to make sense of what had happened and what he’d discovered. The Red Blades weren’t expecting him, yet somehow Eldritch had known he’d be there. Was it the Fixer? If there was a profit to be made, he might have betrayed Sin to the Red Blades, but Sin’s foray into Carver’s room had gone without a hitch.

  “I don’t think it was the Fixer.” Sin ran a hand over his short black hair. “One of the Fixer’s men told the Red Blades I was back in town; however, we knew that before we scaled the tower.”

  Stanley raised his arm. “Sir, the Fixer wouldn’t help Eldritch, not after he stabbed Sin. The next best place for information is Carver and the Red Blades.”

  The Major nodded. “Carver’s ex-Steam Cavalry too. He could be sympathetic to Eldritch and the King’s Knights’ cause.”

  Something niggled at Sin, worming away in his mind like a maggot in an apple. Eldritch must have known they would be at the tower, so who had told him? Could it have been Noir? The magician had proclaimed his innocence with respect to the sabotage of the fish, but did he want Eldritch to escape badly enough to warn him about their plan? Would Noir sacrifice Sin, Stanley and Zonda if he believed it served COG’s greater good?

  Steam seeped from the Major’s mekaniks. He clanked to the desk where the wallet, letter and diary rested. “This is everything you got from Eldritch?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Sin.

  “And COG Chubb definitely killed Eldritch?” The Major lowered his mekanikal hand onto Zonda’s shoulder. Whether this was supposed to be a comforting gesture or the compliment of a proud father, Sin couldn’t be sure.

  “COG Chubb nailed him dead centre of his forehead, sir,” said Stanley enthusiastically.

  Zonda made a muffled yelp. Sin brushed his fingers against her hand and she glanced towards him. A sickly sheen of perspiration dampened her pale forehead, all colour drained from her face.

  “You saw this, COG Nobbs?” A monocle slid from the Major’s half-helmet and his magnified eye zeroed in on Stanley.