by Gareth Ward
“You’ve got to go. The bomb’s about to explode,” yelled Sin.
Velvet ducked away from the grasping metal fingers. “I’m not leaving you again.”
“Please. Save Zonda.”
With an apologetic hiss, the pistol in Zonda’s hand spat its last nail. She threw the weapon at the Clockill’s head. It bounced off the ironglass dome and clattered to the floor in pieces.
“COG Von Darque, you need to think of the mission,” commanded Sin.
Velvet stopped trying to free him and her gaze met his. “Always got to be the hero,” she muttered and sprinted to Zonda.
“We can’t leave him.” Her eyes full of tears, Zonda struggled against Velvet’s attempts to force her to safety.
“Genuinely sorry about this.” Velvet’s fist shot out and then, rag doll-like, Zonda crumpled to the floor. Grabbing the D-ring on the back of Zonda’s flight suit, Velvet started dragging her one-handed from the boiler room.
The sound of the hissing fuse grew fainter behind Sin. It was burning inside of the cap. He had seconds to live. He thought of his mother and wished he could remember her. He thought of Nimrod, his classmates. Velvet. Zonda.
Bright light filled Sin’s vision and pain pierced his brain.
Bright light filled Sin’s vision and pain pierced his brain. Emerging from the tunnel of white, Sin slowly became aware of the room around him, although he was unable to fathom quite how he’d got there. The walls were hung with red tapestries on which golden Chinasian symbols were embroidered. Water trickled down a tall egg-shaped stone into a pool where large orange fish lazily swam. One of them came to the surface, sucking at the air before splashing away with a swish of its metallic tail. Around the pool, bamboo reached for the silk-swathed ceiling, brassanium leaves sprouting from the green stems.
Was he still aboard the airship? The last thing Sin remembered was the explosion and pain. His whole body felt like it had been run over by a traction engine. He lifted an arm. Someone had dressed him in what looked like the black pyjamas worn by the Clockill. Pins and needles stabbed the muscles where the sleeve of the fabric touched his skin.
He glanced down. He was seated on the floor, his legs stretching beneath a low table. Pressing his palm against the reed-matting, the familiar vibrations of engines trembled his hand. So, still aboard an airship. Surely it couldn’t still be the Deadnaught? The room was so different from the industrial functionality he’d previously encountered.
A door, which Sin had mistaken for a wall panel, slid open and a man-monster marched into the room. His entire face was a mask of brassanium, above which protruded a domed ironglass skull. Possessing a stature that would have dwarfed the deceased Johnny Knuckles, the small lacquered tea tray the giant held seemed absurd. He lowered it onto the table with mekanikal precision and then took up sentry behind Sin.
A tip-tapping like twenty cobblers’ hobnailing boots sounded from the corridor, then a man in a silk robe that trailed to the floor swept into the room. His cheeks were gaunt with a greenish hue, and from his chin trailed a wispy goatee. Across his eyes, a brass banded rectangle of smoked glass seemed to have been surgically attached to his face. “You will join me for tea.” It was a statement, not a question.
Sin stifled a gasp, and not because he recognised the voice as belonging to Yan Shi. Beneath the robe, Sin had glimpsed metal spiderlike limbs propelling the doctor in place of his legs.
Yan Shi lowered onto a cushion opposite. Sin tried not to think of the mekaniks involved.
“How are you feeling?” asked the doctor.
Confused. That’s how he was feeling. What was going on here? He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t tea. No, he did know what he’d expected. He’d expected to be dead. The pipe bomb had exploded. No wonder everything hurt. “I feel like I’ve been trampled by a flock of elephants,” answered Sin.
“A parade of elephants,” corrected Yan Shi. “It is fortunate that you survived. Your flight suit was made of a most ingenious material. Nimrod Barm’s special invention protected his special creation.”
Sin stretched. His back hurt like hell. Even so, he’d have to thank Nimrod if he somehow escaped. “You know of the Professor?”
“We studied at Coxford together. You could say we were competitors, both trying to create the perfect soldier. I built the first of my mekanikal men and Nimrod . . . well, he created you.” For a moment the doctor’s eyes glazed over before his expression hardened. “When Eldritch reported that the blue blood hadn’t killed you, he was tasked with bringing me Nimrod’s special boy. His crew were punished for letting you escape, as would Eldritch have been had he not spied you aboard the Swordfish.”
Sin scowled. Bloody Eldritch. That was why the Deadnaught had come back. They wanted him. “You’ve wasted your time. I’m dying. The blue blood don’t work.”
Yan Shi unfolded a hessian cloth on the tray, revealing a puck of dried leaves. “The blue blood failed on my creations too – until I improved it.”
“You’ve fixed the blood?” Sin wasn’t sure he’d understood correctly. Was it possible there was a cure to his condition? “Can you fix me?”
“Oh yes, I will fix Nimrod’s special boy.” Yan Shi dug a bamboo scoop into the centre of the crumbling leaves. “First, we drink. To Chinasians, tea is very important.”
“It’s pretty important to the Britannians too.” The leaves didn’t look anything like the tea Sin was used to. He supposed that the Chinasians did things differently.
“Let me teach you how it’s supposed to be drunk. Our great civilisation discovered tea many centuries before Britannia stole it from us.” With ritualistic reverence, Yan Shi placed the full scoop down, then poured steaming water from a chemkettle into an earthen teapot. “Britannia wants to steal my mekanika-men too.”
“That may be what Eldritch wants, but not COG,” said Sin. “We’re trying to stop the war.”
Discarding the water from the teapot into a bowl, Yan Shi added the scoop of leaves to the teapot and more boiling water. “Eldritch works for COG.”
“Eldritch stole from COG. He’s a traitor. You can’t trust him.” If Sin could convince Yan Shi that they had a common enemy, maybe he had a chance of getting free.
“He told the truth about you – about the Eugenesis project.” Yan Shi gently swirled the pot.
Sin didn’t understand what game Eldritch was playing. However, if Yan Shi had attacked the Swordfish there must be some bad blood between the two, and that was something he could use to his advantage. “He only tells the truth when it suits him. He just wants your clockwork soldiers.”
“The soldiers are not mine to give. Two thousand years ago, Yan Shi the Artificer created a mekanikal man for King Mu of Zhou. It’s been my life’s work to replicate his lost creation.” Yan Shi shook his head. “My attempts fail too quickly. The servant I build for Emperor Tongzhi must be perfect.”
Yan Shi poured the tea into two bowls then handed one to Sin. He bowed his head and raised his bowl to his lips. “It will help your blood.”
Sin took a tentative slurp. The tea had a flowery tang to it and left a warm afterglow all the way to his stomach. He gulped another mouthful, the anaesthetic effect on his pins and needles most pleasant.
Yan Shi placed his bowl back on the tray, his tea untouched. Sin’s head spun, and the room became a blur. The bowl slipped from his fingers and fell. He toppled sideways.
At the edge of his consciousness, Sin heard Yan Shi speak: “I will fix Nimrod’s special boy, then with my mekanikal additions he will make a most special gift for the Emperor.”
Sin stirred from his stupor. He was bound hand and foot to a human-shaped table constructed from a sheet of litanium, around which ran an ominous-looking gutter. Trays of surgical instruments sat on a nearby trolley, their jagged blades, spikes and pincers like something from a torture chamber. On the walls hung detailed charts of human anatomy, interspersed with complex clockwork designs. Sin panted in short, s
harp breaths, the air unpleasantly tainted with the vinegary smell of surgical carbolic acid.
What had they done to him? Was he now an inhuman Clockill? No. Surely he wouldn’t be thinking like this if his head was full of clockwork. The Clockill didn’t speak; if he could talk, he was still himself. “Not Clockill,” he mumbled.
“Not yet,” said Eldritch from behind him. “Yan Shi’s fixed your blood, and we haven’t got long until he makes his mekanikal modifications.”
Eldritch released the wrist restraints and eased Sin upright, then placed a thermogauge against his forehead. “Your temperature’s down. That’s good.”
“Get off me.” Sin batted Eldritch’s hand away.
“Steady on.” Eldritch took a step backwards. “I know we’ve had our differences –”
“You tried to kill me,” Sin said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, but –”
“Twice!”
“That’s true. However, if you stay here, you’ll be worse than dead.” Eldritch unstrapped Sin’s legs. “Can you move? What’s your escape plan?”
Bending his legs to his chest, Sin’s knees cracked. “Is this the part where you pretend to rescue me from the scientist’s lab, so I tell you everything I know? Then you try to kill me?” He swung his legs from the operating table. “Because I think we’ve done this before.”
Eldritch helped Sin from the table. “I must admit there is a touch of deja vu about the situation. This time it’s different. My motives are honest.”
“I’m not sure you understand the meaning of the word.”
Eldritch handed Sin a cotton undershirt, a battered leather flight suit and some well-worn rigair boots. “Put these on. They’re the best I could find.”
“You still haven’t explained why you’re here.” The undershirt was soft and warm against Sin’s skin, but every muscle in his torso complained as he shrugged into the leather flight suit.
“I need you to help me escape. We’ve got to detach the Swordfish and flee,” said Eldritch. “Yan Shi is insane.”
His spine aching, Sin bent over and pulled on the rigair boots. He didn’t trust Eldritch – only a fool would – however, he needed to play along until an opportunity to gain the upper hand presented itself. “I thought you were on his side?”
Eldritch sighed. “It’s become apparent he isn’t a team player.”
“Unlike you, who told him to capture me?”
“It was the only bargaining chip I had left. I’ve convinced him that because I know about the Eugenesis Project I’m worth keeping around.” Eldritch picked up a scalpel from a tray of operating theatre tools. “For now, he pretends we’re working together again. Once he decides I’m no more use, he’ll turn me into one of his creations, sure as clockwork.”
Sin took a tentative step, testing his legs. “And you expect me to trust you?”
“Oh, no. You definitely can’t trust me.” Eldritch made some experimental slashes in the air with the scalpel, evaluating it as a weapon. “You are still the proverbial thorn in my side, which at some point I intend to remove. However, the enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that.”
“I’m still not sure which of us is the enemy and which is the friend,” said Sin.
“Yan Shi was a friend. Unfortunately, a defective batch of the blue blood ruined a host of his Clockill and he seems to blame the King’s Knights.” Eldritch wrapped a strip of bandage around the scalpel’s blade. “He’s psychotic. Today I’m his friend, tomorrow I’m his experiment, and that really is a position I find untenable.”
“Why don’t you just kill him?”
Tucking the scalpel into the rear of his waistband, Eldritch said, “He’s built himself a most formidable bodyguard, a Shield. Also, I’m not sure Yan Shi can die. He’s like one of his Clockill: heartless and invincible.”
The Clockill weren’t invincible; Zonda had proven that with her pipe bombs. Sin rubbed his aching back. Where was she now? Was Velvet with her? Surely Yan Shi would have said if they’d been captured. Wherever they were, it looked like Sin was going to have to take care of Yan Shi alone. Well, maybe not alone. “Together we can deal with Yan Shi.”
Eldritch shook his head. “When the Clockill attacked us on the Swordfish, we emptied magazine after magazine of nails into them and they just kept coming.”
Sin rolled his shoulders and cricked his neck. “Someone once told me, never shoot a large-calibre man with a small-calibre round. You’ve been thinking too small.”
Sin shuffled along the corridor with Eldritch’s steampistol pressed into his back. He was supposed to be taking Eldritch prisoner, not the other way around – that was the mission. The traitor had betrayed him before. Was it a mistake to let his nemesis put a gun on him? Maybe, but if Eldritch had wanted Sin dead he could have killed him in the operating theatre.
“I still think we should just flee,” whispered Eldritch.
“Yan Shi will come after us. We have to stop him and disable the Deadnaught.”
A pair of Clockill patrolled into the corridor. By their sides they held steel cutlasses, grafted in place of their hands. With clockwork-controlled precision they marched in unison, their boots clanking against the deck.
Eldritch shoved Sin in the back with his pistol. “I told you,” he said loudly, “Yan Shi wants to see you before the operation.”
The Clockill stopped dead, the only movement the myriad needles pricking their brains below the ironglass skulls.
Sin stumbled past. The Clockills’ heads turned, their dead eyes following his progress.
“Gentlemen,” said Eldritch, and raised a finger to his forehead in a half salute.
Playing the part of the subservient prisoner, Sin kept walking. They rounded a corner, out of view of the Clockill, and Eldritch lowered his gun. “God, I hate them.”
“Hate them or fear them?” Sin rubbed the spot where Eldritch had jabbed him.
“Both. I’ve been through some hellish battles. I’ve fought tough men, I’ve fought angry men, I’ve fought wave after wave of enemies determined to die for their country. But I’ve never fought anything like these lifeless machines. The dead should be allowed to rest.”
“You’d be dead if Yan Shi hadn’t put that plate in your skull,” said Sin.
“Indeed. I suppose I should thank him for this.” Eldritch rapped his forehead. “Right before I kill him.”
They let themselves into the landing locker, where the apparatus for tethering the airship was stored. Shelves of hawser line, clockwork winder wheels and racks of landing harpoons lined the walls. Sin hefted a harpoon and flicked the igniter to start the pressure boiler. “You reckon this is a big enough calibre?”
Eldritch hauled a second harpoon from the rack. “Let’s go and find out.”
Sin and Eldritch paused at the entrance to the bridge, harpoons at the ready.
“No clever words, no hesitation,” whispered Eldritch. “You shoot the Shield, and once he’s down, I’ll shoot Yan Shi. Then we run for the engine deck.”
Sin nodded towards the door. “After you.” He still didn’t trust Eldritch, and wanted the traitor in front of him.
They strode onto the bridge, interrupting Yan Shi in the middle of giving orders. Eldritch headed to the right, leaving Sin to advance from the left. The Shield stepped in front of Yan Shi. With the loud ratchet of clockwork gears, steelridium plates unfolded from behind his back. Extending like massive metal butterfly wings, the protective barrier completely hid the doctor, preventing Eldritch from taking his shot.
Sin lowered his harpoon to the horizontal. Since the transfusion of Yan Shi’s improved blood Sin felt stronger than ever, and the massive weapon felt no heavier than a pop-gun in his hands. Sighting down the harpoon’s length, he squeezed the trigger. Steam exploded from the barrel and Sin was thrown backwards by the weapon’s recoil.
With a sickening squelch, the monstrous metal spike skewered the Shield’s chest. He staggered, then toppled to the deck.
&n
bsp; Yan Shi pulled a hexagonal vial of yellow liquid from a leather wristband and hurled it at Eldritch’s feet. Shattered glass sparkled on the deck and the zesty scent of lemons filled the air. The harpoon dropped from Eldritch’s hands. He clutched his head and fell to the floor, his face twisted in agony. “What have you done?” he screeched.
Yan Shi stroked his wispy beard and sniffed the air, seeming to enjoy the fruity scent. “I added some additional safety features when I fixed the plate in your head.”
The bridge’s Clockill crew advanced towards Sin with a mekanikal inevitability. Behind them, the Shield raised himself to his knees and pulled the harpoon from his chest.
Sin glanced at the starboard bulkhead, where a framed engineering schematic hung. The fine pen-and-ink drawing of the Deadnaught diagrammed every deck in plan and elevation views. Sin fixed the image in his mind, then ran.
Blaring alarms and the monotonous footfalls of the Clockill drowned out the clank of Sin’s boots pounding the metal deck. He paused, trying to get his bearings and catch his breath, except he wasn’t even panting. Yan Shi had not only fixed the blue blood’s rejection issue, he’d improved the blood in the process. Sin was as good as new. No. Better than new.
A pair of sword-handed guards entered the corridor. Sin turned and sprinted to a stairway. There was no way he was going to get to the engine room, and the Clockill were shepherding him upwards. Well, if they wanted him to go that way, he could use it to his advantage. He hurtled up the stairs, a plan beginning to form.
Yan Shi’s voice sounded over the vocifertrump. “I have captured your friend. If you do not surrender, I will be forced to operate.”
Yan Shi could do what he wanted to Eldritch. Good riddance to him. It was nothing more than the traitor deserved.
“Miss Von Darque has taken your place on my surgeon’s table.”
