by Gareth Ward
“How the heck would I know?” Sin said. “I don’t know what it is.”
Velvet drew her steampistol and pushed past Sin. She edged into the darkness, her chemlamp casting shifting shadows across the bulkheads. A rapid clicking noise bounced along the corridor and then something scuttled towards them. Velvet’s pistol screamed. She tugged repeatedly at the trigger, sending a barrage of nails ricocheting from the metal deck. The thing kept coming. Her pistol clicked; the magazine was empty.
Sin lunged, raising his boot. He stamped down and trapped the beast below the reinforced sole. Except it wasn’t a beast. It was mekanikal, a clockwork hand. Beneath his boot, the splayed fingers clawed at the deck. He bent down and picked it up. The mekaniks were a work of art, the brassanium beautifully inscribed with Chinasian writing.
Velvet slotted a fresh magazine into her steaming weapon. “It’s just a toy. Come on.”
Zonda took the hand from Sin, examining it with a sense of awe. “It’s no toy. This is like my father’s mekaniks, only far more advanced.” Wrapping her own hand around the metallic fingers, she forced it into the shape of a fist and shoved the balled metal into a spare pouch on her belt.
“What are you doing?” said Sin. “That thing could kill us.”
“It’s evidence of what’s happened here. We need to show Hawk.”
Velvet pushed open the door to the external catwalk. “No one’s showing anyone anything if we don’t make haste.”
The wind buffeted about them, the fresh air a pleasant relief after the stench of decomposition inside the Swordfish. A hundred and fifty yards away the Aether-Mare waited on station, her nose pointing towards them. In the distance, closing fast, loomed the Deadnaught, a giant hulk of an airship, three times the size of the Swordfish. Thick black plumes billowed from two enormous smoke stacks that jutted at forty-five-degree angles from her port and starboard sides. The top of her envelope was flattened, and bristled with cannon and harpoons, while a giant jagged saw blade ran amidships along the bow to the bottom of the armoured gondola.
“I’ll give Hawk the signal to rescue us.” Velvet drew a Very pistol.
Sin seized her arm. “There’s no time. They’d never make it before the Deadnaught’s upon them.”
“We can’t stay. I don’t want to end up like . . .” Velvet shuddered, unable to finish the sentence.
“Neither do I,” said Zonda, “but we have to warn the Aether-Mare off.”
Velvet shoved the pistol back in her belt. “I hate you both.”
His arms progressing through a series of rapid movements, Sin waved the semaphore flags. Run. All aboard lost. Deadnaught approaching.
Binoculars glinted from the Aether-Mare’s bridge and then the starboard propeller spun into life. The rudder altered to full lock and the airship slowly turned. Smoke and steam billowed from her aft exhaust port and the main rear propeller became a blur. Sin glanced over his shoulder. The Deadnaught bullied its way through the sky in pursuit. Perhaps if the Aether-Mare hadn’t lost an engine, she’d have had a chance. As it was, there was little doubt the Deadnaught was going to chase her down.
The elevator flaps on the Aether-Mare’s tail angled down and her nose dipped. She dived, picking up speed.
“Go on, Hawk!” shouted Sin.
The pursuing airship mimicked the manoeuvre, and any advantage was soon lost.
A jet of steam exploded from the bow of the Deadnaught and a boarding harpoon cut through the air, trailing a hawser behind it. The vicious barbed hook fell short and hung suspended below the airship.
“They missed.” Zonda clutched the rail surrounding the aerial gantry, her knuckles whitening.
“That was a ranging shot to gauge steam pressure,” warned Velvet. “The next one will hit for certain.”
The propellers on the Aether-Mare slowed, stopped and then reversed, bringing the airship to a standstill.
Velvet slapped the brassanium safety rail. “What the hell are they doing?”
“Surrendering, maybe?” guessed Zonda.
“You really think Hawk’s the surrendering type?” said Sin. After the dressing-down the Captain had given him and Velvet for abandoning the Swordfish to Eldritch, he couldn’t imagine her submitting to the pirates.
The Aether-Mare’s gas vents flapped open and she dropped towards the ocean.
“Something’s wrong. She’s going down,” said Sin.
Zonda’s grip on the brassanium handrail loosened. “No. This is good. What did Nimrod say? ‘Equally at home above, on or under the ocean.’”
The Aether-Mare hit the water and shuddered. Waves lapped over the rounded gondolas and she began to sink. The nose of the torpedo-shaped envelope dipped, burrowing beneath the waves. A lather of bubbles surrounded the airship then it submerged, a bright patch in the water becoming smaller and darker.
The Deadnaught slowed, hanging in the air, apparently flummoxed by this turn of events.
Sin waved a fist with delight. “Didn’t see that coming, did you? What you going to do now, aye?”
The massive airship turned slowly towards the Swordfish.
“Oh, cark. Back inside.” Pushing Zonda and Velvet ahead of him, Sin pulled the bulkhead door closed and dogged it down.
“Do you think they saw us?” Zonda clasped her arms across her body.
“Why else would they be coming back to a ship they’ve already raided? They want us as slaves.” Sin peered through a porthole.
“Von Darques have never been anyone’s slaves,” Velvet said fiercely. “I’d rather die.”
“It’s not going to come to that. I’ve got a plan,” said Sin.
“I hope this is better than your plan the last time we were stuck on the Swordfish,” said Velvet. “Because that was less of a plan and more of a death wish.”
Sin grimaced. “To be honest, it’s worse.”
Light flooded the Captain’s cabin from a curved bay window. The room had once been finely decorated but, like much of the rest of the ship, it was now a vandalised mess after being ransacked by the marauders. Ripped leather chairs bled horsehair, the Captain’s desk was overturned, and the antique globe rolled across the floor. The viewing station hadn’t fared much better: one eyepiece was shorn off and dents covered the metal structure.
“Why are we here?” asked Velvet. “Surely the engine decks provide more opportunities for concealment.”
Sin ran his fingers over the wood panelling on one of the bulkheads. “Lottie mentioned once that she and Noir hid behind the Captain’s cabin when they were smuggled into Budapest.” He pressed one of the panels and, with a hiss of venting steam, a section of wall slid open, revealing a small room beyond. It was long and narrow, barely the width of a person. At one end nestled a military-style canvas cot. On a shelf above the cot rested a chemlamp, two books and an assortment of canned food.
A tin of Penfold’s Pickled Plums jittered against the wire rail surrounding the shelf. The Swordfish shuddered violently, and clanking vibrated through the litanium superstructure.
Zonda pushed against the walls for support. “They’re attaching docking arms.”
“And none too carefully, either. Hawk would not approve,” said Velvet.
Sin hurried back to the viewing station. “Pick an eyepiece,” he said to Velvet and Zonda. “Let’s see what we’re up against.” He pressed his eye against a rubber seal and an image of the sea below the Swordfish came into view. Sin turned the brassanium selection wheel and the image slid to that of the cargo hold. He turned the selection wheel again and the docking port slid into view. The circular iris valve spiralled open and a hunched figure dressed in what looked like black pyjamas with white cuffs marched onto the Swordfish. The figure stopped and cast its head about. A wide conical hat obscured its face, but it seemed to be sniffing the air.
Maybe it was because he was watching the image without any accompanying sound, but the jerky way the figure moved was inhuman. Sin feathered a wheel, rotating the periscope to follow the int
ruder as it marched further into the hold and then stopped. With a sudden sharp movement, the figure raised its head, looking straight at the viewer’s lens. The hat slid backwards, and Sin inhaled sharply. “God preserve us,” he said.
Half of the figure’s skull was missing, replaced with an ironglass dome fused to the bone. Beneath it ticked an impossible confusion of intricate clockwork, activating thousands of minuscule needles jabbing at the exposed brain.
The intruder raised its hand towards the periscope. Smoke billowed, and in a shower of sparks a rocket blazed from a tube attached to its arm. With a dazzling flash the firework hit the periscope and detonated.
Velvet pulled her head from the eyepiece. “What the hell was that?”
“A Clockill,” said Sin, his vision still a starburst of colour from the bright explosion that had destroyed their view.
“Ha!” Velvet laughed. “The Clockill are a nursery rhyme designed to frighten children to sleep. They don’t exist.”
“They do now,” said Zonda.
Velvet’s face paled to a death-shroud white. “They’re make-believe, fairytales, like Spikey Clawskin or Bella Bloodthirst.”
Sin didn’t want to believe it either, but what they’d witnessed matched the nursery rhyme perfectly. “Heartless, invincible, with cogs for a brain. That thing had a clockwork brain.”
“There’s no such thing as a clockwork brain,” Velvet said stubbornly. “It’s not possible.”
“Actually, it is.” Zonda drummed her fingers against the viewing station. “The watchmek at the palace have clockwork brains.”
“But they’re machines, not human,” said Velvet.
“Your father, the Major,” said Sin to Zonda. “How do his mekaniks work?”
“I’m not entirely sure. The damaged nerves from his injuries were somehow grafted onto a bio-mekanikal interface.”
“Exactly,” said Velvet. “They’re not part of his brain.”
“Well, the monocle in his half-helmet is,” Zonda corrected. “It was experimental, but Yan Shi, the doctor who saved my father’s life, said it was connected directly into his cortex. I only remember because it kept popping out at the wrong time until Father got the hang of it.”
“That still doesn’t make that thing a Clockill.” Velvet’s lips formed a narrow line, pursed in denial.
Sin surveyed the chaos of the Captain’s cabin. Clockill or not, they’d decimated Eldritch’s crew of war-hardened soldiers. The three candidates had no chance in a stand-up fight. They had to hide. “Back into the secret room,” he said.
Velvet drew her pistol. “They know we’re here. They’ll rip the ship apart to find us. We have to fight, not cower and hide.”
“We will fight,” said Sin. “Just not yet.” The Fixer had taught him that you had to pick the battles you could win. And if you couldn’t win, you changed the odds.
Wedged in the confines of the secret compartment, Sin hardly dared breathe. Zonda stood next to him, her hands pressed against the wall, while Velvet waited, pistol aimed at the secret door. On the other side of the thin wood panel, Clockill clattered about, searching the room.
The panelling thudded next to Sin’s head and Zonda gasped. Outside, all went silent. Sin imagined lifeless eyes turning in their direction and clockwork calculations deciding their fate. He grasped Zonda’s hand, entwining his fingers with hers. His heart hammered so hard in his chest he feared the Clockill would hear it. In the Fixer’s gang he’d fought murderers, thieves and villains aplenty, but what waited on the other side of the wall was worse than them all.
Their tense wait lengthened, heartbeat after heartbeat, and then the heavy thud of departing footsteps carried through the walls. Velvet reached for the door release. Sin blocked her arm and shook his head. Although not certain, he didn’t think he’d heard all of the Clockill leave. The Sheriffs had used a similar trick when he and Timmy the Nicker had been on the lam after robbing some sausages from a butcher’s cart. They’d gone to ground on the canal docks, only emerging from their hiding place after they thought they were in the clear, but one of the Sheriffs was still waiting and Timmy got his collar felt.
The minutes passed with an incredible slowness. Sin rested his forehead against the wooden wall. Pins and needles prickled his arm and he fought to keep the tremors at bay. How long could the Clockill wait? Did they get bored or would they just switch off until something happened? Was there even a Clockill lurking, or had he imagined it? The worm of self-doubt squirmed into his thoughts. He reached for the doorhandle. His fingers wrapped around the metal. Outside, a bell chimed, and then heavy footsteps shuffled away.
Velvet eased the pistol’s safety catch back into place. “What do we do now?” she whispered.
“I’m going to sneak onto the Deadnaught and disable it,” said Sin.
Zonda folded her arms. “You mean we’re going to sneak onto the Deadnaught.”
“No. You two should stay hidden. If I get caught, I’ll persuade them it was just me.” Sin wasn’t optimistic about his plan. Nimrod had once told him that destroying an airship’s boiler was the best way to disable it. On something the size of the Deadnaught a boiler explosion could be catastrophic, and his chances of surviving the blast.
“I should go and you and Zonda should stay,” said Velvet.
“No, it has to be me.” Sin clenched his fist, pushing away the pins and needles.
Velvet fixed him with her ice-blue eyes. “Why? You think you’re so much better than everyone else. You don’t always have to be the hero.”
“We’re all COG candidates,” said Zonda. “We’re all capable. We should draw straws.”
She was right: they were all capable. In fact, Zonda and Velvet were probably more capable than Sin. His body was shutting down, the effects of his last injection already wearing off. That was the reason he wanted to go. If he stayed behind, he might die anyway. “I’m used to taking a beating. It won’t matter so much if I get caught.”
Velvet pressed her hands to her face. “I don’t care. I don’t deserve to stay.”
“You don’t deserve to die,” said Sin.
“I’m not a good person.” Velvet wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I killed Jasper. I knocked him overboard.”
Zonda’s knees gave out and she slumped onto the narrow camp-bed.
Jasper had never been one of Sin’s friends – in fact, Sin loathed him – but to throw Jasper from the airship? That wasn’t right. Surely he’d misheard, or misunderstood. His mouth hung open as he struggled to comprehend.
“I sent him a note after the storm and the fire,” Velvet continued. “I wanted to have it out with him for not helping me that day.” She grasped at her hair, her knuckles white. “He was emptying something into the gash torn in the ship by the lightning. I was still so angry I punched him. He slipped in some of the liquid he’d spilled and tumbled into the void.”
Sin swore. “That day I found you collapsed in the Panoramia . . .”
“It had just happened. I didn’t mean for him to fall. I was furious, out of control. Then he was gone, and it was too late. That’s why I should go. I don’t deserve to stay. I don’t deserve to be in COG.” Tears trickled down Velvet’s cheeks.
“No,” said Zonda. “Jasper didn’t deserve to be in COG.”
Sin shook his head, not believing his ears. Jasper had always been the golden boy, unable to do wrong in Zonda’s eyes. Sin had half expected to have to restrain Zonda to keep her from attacking Velvet.
“The liquid Jasper was pouring away. It was blue, wasn’t it?” asked Zonda.
Velvet sniffled. “What does it matter?”
“It matters because it was mine,” said Sin. He was tired of keeping secrets. “Ever since you got me infected in the lab, I’ve needed to inject medicine to stay alive. I don’t think Jasper knew what he was doing when he took it, but he’s killed me.”
“He may not have intended for you to die, but he understood more than you know.” Zonda sighed. “He
found some notes in Nimrod’s lab back at the palace, and has been piecing together the facts ever since.”
Sin’s body stiffened and his palms prickled. This time it wasn’t the effects of the blue blood. “How do you know that?”
“He told me you were infected. I think he was trying to persuade me to go to the Heroes Ball with him.” Zonda dragged a hand across her anguished face. “Ever since your medicine went missing, I knew in my heart it was Jasper. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.”
Velvet clasped Sin’s arm. “Why didn’t you say anything about the medicine before? Get Hawk to turn back?”
“I was hoping to find Jasper. Then we caught up with the Swordfish and I made a new plan: recover the spare vials left in my luggage from when Eldritch took the airship.”
“So let’s go get them now.” Zonda drew her cutlass. “Are you mission-ready, COG Von Darque?”
“Aye-aye,” answered Velvet. She wiped away her tears and pulled open the secret door.
They crept along the starboard passageway. The Swordfish’s litanium superstructure groaned under the strain of the docking arms tethering it to the Deadnaught. Sin had wanted to go alone, except Zonda and Velvet insisted there was safety in numbers. The Clockill were still noisily searching the ship. They were slow and had been easy to avoid so far, but their attempted ruse in the Captain’s cabin worried Sin. It showed a cunning more human than mekanikal.
Her cutlass at the ready, Zonda eased open the door to the crew’s quarters, Sin and Velvet at her shoulder. Broken furniture and spent nails littered the deck. A cracked chemlight dripped glowing liquid from the ceiling, the luminescent chemicals splattering across the chequer-plate. The scene was reminiscent of the devastation on the bridge. A furious and futile last stand had been fought here.
Zonda directed two fingers to her eyes, then pointed her hand towards Sin’s old cabin.
Making a circle with his thumb and forefinger, Sin signalled that he understood. Careful not to disturb the nails and other detritus, he picked his way along the passage. The door had been ripped off, discarded further along the corridor where it lay bent and twisted. Sin stepped inside the cabin. The thin mattresses had been pulled from the bunks and shredded. There was no sign of his steamer trunk, or any of their personal possessions.
