The Clockwork God

by Jamie Sedgwick

  “Your hearing is to be public,” River whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the onlookers.

  Kale gazed into her face. “Is that good?”

  “I don’t think they’ll be any help.”

  Maru turned to face Kale, his countenance little more than a silhouette in the darkened chamber. “I have warned your friend River, and I will warn you likewise: do not speak until god asks it of you. Do not argue or attempt to defend yourself. Wait until you are questioned. Speak honestly, for if you do not, god will know.”

  Kale glanced at River and found her distracted. She was staring at the curtains at the end of the room. The guards slammed the doors shut behind them and simultaneously doused the torches. The room became pitch black. The old man called the Thought appeared before them waving an incense burner that gave off a faint red glow. Smoke rolled out of the burner like a fog as he passed before the crowd and circled the room, stopping at last to set the burner before the urns. He then disappeared into the shadows.

  “Follow me,” Maru commanded, striding forward. He led Kale and River through the smoke, which gave off a sickly-sweet odor like that of an overripe fruit. They blinked their watering eyes as they approached the unlit urns and stopped a few feet before them. The shadows beyond seemed to part, and the Keeper came walking towards them from the corner of the room. He raised his right hand and a torch flared to life.

  “From the dawn of days to the breaking of the world, the sacred Keepers have maintained the torch of god. Now in these darkest of days, I -the sacred Keeper of the Word-bring forth the light!”

  He touched the torch to the first burner and it instantly burst into flames. The fire leapt from one to the next, until they were all alight. The Thought appeared at his side and accepted the torch from the Keeper. He raised it high into the air, and in response, the curtains at the end of the room parted. At last, the flickering, dancing firelight fell across the clockwork god.

  It was a machine of steel and brass and copper that to River strangely resembled the visage of a human face. Pipes and steel beams formed the shapes of eyes and a mouth, as well as two arm-like appendages that sprouted out from each side. Through the gleaming metal, River and Kale glimpsed many gears, cogs, and springs. Rising out of the machine’s head was a tall bronze smokestack. To her surprise, River saw something at the center of it all that resembled a large gyroscope, but in the dim light she couldn’t be certain.

  “And now,” the Keeper announced in a loud voice, “God will awaken.”

  He stepped around the flaming urns and walked up to the machine, pausing to bow reverently before it. Then he stepped around the side and disappeared behind the curtains. They heard the telltale creak of a door opening, and Kale and River exchanged a glance.

  “Did he just crawl inside?” Kale said in a whisper.

  River nodded, half-grinning with disbelief. In the distance, they heard the sound of the Keeper closing and latching the door, and then getting himself settled inside. Then, with the flick of a switch, the clockwork god came to life. Two crude electric lights came on in the openings that resembled eyes. There was a hiss, followed by a vapor of steam that washed out into the room like a fog. The arms rose and fell twice, and then the mouth began to move.

  “Great warrior from distant lands,” a voice said, it sounded very much like the Keeper speaking through a long section of pipe: “You stand accused of breaking our sacred laws and slaughtering the Ancients. What say you?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Kale said, shaking his head. “Keeper, what are you doing?”

  “BLASPHEMER!” the voice shouted. “I AM NOT THE KEEPER, I AM THE WORD!”

  “But we saw you get in-” Kale started, but River elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Just play along,” she whispered. Kale rolled his eyes.

  “All right, all right,” he said in an irritated tone. “You are the Word. I plead not guilty.”

  “You may plead for your life, or nothing!” shouted the machine.

  Kale shook his head and looked at River. He was clearly running out of patience with the charade. The look on his face said Can’t we just kill him now?

  River mouthed the word “No,” and shook her head. Kale clenched his jaw but said no more.

  “In one day, at the lighting of the bonfire, you shall be my sacrifice,” said the machine. “Meanwhile, in recompense for your escaped companion, you will suffer thirty lashes in the public square. The sentence is to be carried out immediately.”

  “That’s not fair!” Kale shouted. “I can’t control someone else’s actions.”

  “No, but you can prevent them,” said the machine. Then, with a clunking sound, the mouth closed, the arms went back into place, and the lights went dim. The clockwork “god” had once again returned to sleep. After a moment of scuffling, the Keeper reappeared from behind the curtains.

  “God has spoken!” he said loudly, so that the witnesses at the back of the room could hear. “Let the sentence be carried out!”

  Two guards stepped forward and caught Kale by the arms. He began to struggle, so they pulled him off balance and dragged him backwards from the room. The rest of the crowd closed in around them as they exited the building and headed for the town square. River trailed along behind, fingering the handle of her revolver.

  Kale fought the guards as they dragged him down the street, and for a moment, River almost thought he might escape. As he regained his footing, Kale twisted around, yanking back on his chains. One of the guards stumbled forward and Kale slammed his fist into the guard’s face. The man dropped like a rock.

  The second guard released his grip on the chains and went for his sword. Kale was faster. He leapt on the guard, forcing him backwards, and the man stumbled to the ground. Kale reached for the handle of the sword, still locked in its scabbard, just as someone booted him in the face. Kale rolled aside, dazed as the crowd closed in.

  The next few seconds were a flurry. River saw the townsfolk leap to the defense of the guards. They lifted Kale up into the air and carried him the rest of the way to the square. There, just a few yards from the well, they separated. Four watchmen took hold of his chains and spread out, holding Kale’s arms out to the sides. He was utterly defenseless. The guard Kale had punched reappeared, now brandishing a long bullwhip. The crowd pulled back, giving him room to carry out the sentence. Kale struggled against his bonds in futility. As weak as the soldiers were, he was no match against four of them, much less the entire town.

  “Think you’re clever, eh?” the guard said, raising the whip handle into the air. “I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

  He hauled back to swing. At the same instant, River’s hand flashed to the handle of her revolver. In a fraction of a second, she drew the weapon and fired. Her instinctive aim was deadly accurate. The bullet struck the guard in the hand. He let out a painful yelp and dropped the whip. Terrified voices rose in a clamor around him as the guard clutched at his bleeding appendage. He turned, confused, trying to ascertain what exactly had just happened. His eyes widened as he gaze settled on River, and he saw the weapon in her hand.

  “I told you she was a god!” someone shouted. Another soldier stepped forward, and River recognized him as the young guard she had encountered at the city gate.

  “I’m not a god,” she said tersely. “But I’m a damn fine shot. The next person who touches that whip is gonna get a bullet in the chest, instead of the hand.”

  Off to the side, another guard let out a cry as he drew his sword and rushed her. River leveled the revolver and fired. The man screamed as he fell to the ground, clutching a wound bleeding in his shoulder. His sword clattered harmlessly across the stones. River turned slowly, training her weapon on various people in the crowd.

  “Don’t make me kill you,” she said. “I will if I have to.” She turned her attention to the men holding Kale’s chains.

  “Release him,” she ordered.

  There was a scuffling as one of the guards brought for
th the keys and removed Kale’s shackles. Kale hurried to her side, massaging his wrists.

  “I knew you wouldn’t let them do it,” he said, grinning.

  “I shouldn’t have done that. Socrates won’t be happy. You remember what he said about respecting other cultures.”

  “He’s not the one they were going to sacrifice.” Kale turned slowly as the crowd closed in around them. “What are we gonna do now?” he said.

  “We’re going to leave.”

  River grabbed Kale’s arm and began walking down the street, into the crowd. She held the revolver high with her finger on the trigger, but no one moved to make way for them. Out of nowhere, the Keeper appeared. Apparently, he had been watching from the crowd.

  “She has a powerful weapon,” he shouted, “but she is only one. We are many! She can’t kill us all.”

  “You’re right about that,” River said, training her sights on him. “But I can make sure you’re first.”

  The Keeper stood frozen in front of her. River could see him calculating his next move. He couldn’t back down, not now. He was the Keeper of the Word. He was the mysterious voice of god from the clockwork machine. The Keeper had gambled everything by stepping forward. If he relented now, the townsfolk would think him weak.

  River saw his gaze flash to her revolver and she smiled grimly.

  “Don’t even think it,” she said. “You’re not that fast.”

  They stood there for a few seconds in a tense standoff, frustration oozing from the crowd around them. River had the uneasy feeling that events had just spiraled out of her control. Suddenly, there was no scenario in which everything could come out all right. The Keeper couldn’t back down -not without losing the respect of his followers-but neither could River.

  “This wasn’t how things were supposed to go,” she muttered.

  “You did the right thing,” Kale said. “They were going to kill me.”

  “No, they were going to whip you. Now they want to kill us both, and it’s my fault. Look at them. They don’t even understand.”

  “I don’t care… better them than us.”

  River’s guts twisted up as she thought of the innocent, ignorant townsfolk around her. The last thing she wanted to do was kill them. It wasn’t their fault that they believed the Keeper’s lies. If only they knew… if only there were some way to show them the truth about their Keeper and his phony god. But how?

  A deep mournful howl rang out, and River’s heart leapt at the distant sound of the Iron Horse’s steam whistle. Around her, the crowd shuffled nervously. They stared at the treetops over the castle walls, searching for the source of that unearthly noise. Kale clapped his hand on her shoulder and began to laugh.

  The moment of distraction was all that the Keeper needed. He made a subtle gesture, and two guards leapt out of the crowd. They tackled the couple from behind, driving them both to the ground in an instant. River tried to roll over to defend herself, but the crowd closed in around her, and she felt a boot press down on her back. Another attacker stepped on her hand, crushing it around the grip of her revolver. At the same time, someone put a sharpened blade to her throat.

  “All right!,” River grunted under the crushing weight of her attackers. “I give up!”

  She released her grip on the revolver and it vanished from sight. Her attackers hoisted her up and quickly shackled her arms behind her back. All the while, that cold sharp blade rested against her throat, ready to slice her open at the first sign of resistance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kale. He was in very much the same predicament.

  Within minutes, the couple found themselves back in the tower, locked in separate cells. River was in the cell Micah had occupied, and Kale was back in with Thane.

  “The god’s luck,” Thane said. “Shayla and I had hoped at least you had found freedom. Now no one will live to sing our ballads.”

  “It was my fault,” River said. “I shouldn’t have let my guard down. Not even for a second.”

  “Alas fair maid, at least I will die easier having looked upon your beauty.” River blushed at Thane’s compliment.

  “Pay no attention to him,” Shayla said. “He’s got a silver tongue but a heart of cheap brass. Once he beds you, he’ll be off on his next adventure without so much as a Thank You.”

  “Lies!” Thane protested. “I assure you, my intentions are nothing but honorable. Though, I’ll admit I cursed Kale once or twice for leaving us here to rot, but I was certain he had at least made an escape. Shayla saw that much through the window.”

  “Coming back here wasn’t my idea,” Kale said, making a sour face. Then he hastily added, “I would have come back to rescue you later, of course.”

  “Of course,” Thane said dryly.

  “Well he did promise as much,” Shayla said, grinning. “Didn’t you, my hero?”

  Kale reddened slightly and River arched an eyebrow as she saw the look that passed between the two of them.

  “No matter,” Thane said, changing the subject. “We’re all in the same kettle now. By this time tomorrow, they’ll be prepping the bonfire to cook us.”

  The Iron Horse’s whistle sounded again in the distance, and a smile came to River’s lips.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she said. “I think things are about to get a lot more complicated for the Keeper.”

  The whistle blew several more times over the next half hour. Soon, it was accompanied by the deep, drumming sound of the massive locomotive engine. The noise built up to a roar, and the whistle howled as the Iron Horse bore down on the castle. As it grew nearer, the tracks in the street began to vibrate. The townsfolk gathered in the square, murmuring fearfully as they touched the tracks and felt the Horse’s ominous approach.

  Shayla, who was located next to the window overlooking the street, described the entire scene. The Keeper sent guards to calm the townsfolk, but even the guards lost all sense of composure as the noise built up to a wild crescendo. The peasants began running back and forth, wailing and moaning about the fury of their god, some even calling on the Keeper to defend them from his wrath.

  Then at last, the Horse plowed through the castle wall in a fury of splintered wood and shattered stone, and the crowd scattered to the winds. Only the Keeper remained, watching with dark, calculating eyes as the locomotive roared into the town square. Immediately, the brakes locked up. The shrieking sound rattled the streets and rooftops, and sparks rained down on the square. Finally, the Iron Horse came to a stop. There was a loud hiss as the engineer released the built up steam pressure and the brakes locked into place. The scene became eerily quiet.

  “Someone’s coming out now,” Shayla said, describing the scene to the others from her vantage near the window. “He’s strange looking, like a man but covered in fur.”

  “That would be Socrates,” Kale said, grinning.

  “He’s walking to the front of the locomotive. A crowd is gathering, but he’s just standing there, looking down at them. Oh, my-”

  “What is it?” Thane demanded. “What’s going on?”

  Shayla drew her gaze away from the window and turned to face her companions. “The townsfolk… they’re worshipping Socrates.”

  Chapter 13

  Keeper Toolume stepped bravely out in front of the crowd.

  “Greetings, honored one! I am Blaise Toolume, Keeper of the Word.”

  Socrates eyed the man up and down and then drew his gaze along the street. He noted the impoverished peasants bowing down to him like a god, and the watchmen scattered throughout the crowd, hands uneasily resting on their weapons. Socrates fixed his gaze on the well for a moment, studying it curiously, and then turned his attention back to the Keeper.

  “I am Socrates, engineer and commander of the Iron Horse. I understand you are holding one of my crewmen in your stockade?”

  “Most regrettably, this is true. You may meet with him at your convenience, of course. In the meanwhile, we will begin preparations for a great feast in your hono
r.”

  The Keeper raised his voice at this last part, as if to make sure everyone in town could hear. Instantly, the street became a flurry of activity. The ignorant worshippers abandoned their prostrations and hurried off to perform their duties. Socrates leapt off the front of the Horse and thumped heavily to the ancient cobblestones. He raised himself upright, stretching his shirt and vest across his massive simian chest, and a slight whirring sound emanated from his body. With obvious trepidation, the Keeper approached him.

  “My crewman?” Socrates said, immediately dispensing with any notion of small talk.

  “Of course, this way if you please.”

  *

  Shayla described the scene to her companions and then fell silent as Socrates followed the Keeper into the tower. A minute later, Socrates entered the jail alone. He took a moment to size up the situation, and then fixed his gaze on River.

  “I should have known I would find you here, too,” he said.

  “Sorry, Socrates. I was just trying to help Kale.”

  “Despite having the best of intentions, you’ve managed to do exactly the opposite. The two of you,” he glanced back and forth between them, “have made a mess of things. Are you unharmed?”

  “Just a few bruises,” Kale said. “Although the Keeper is planning to execute us tomorrow.”

  “What were you thinking?” Socrates said angrily as he began pacing between their cages. “What was the first thing I told you, on the day we left Sanctuary?”

  “To follow orders and respect others,” River said quietly.