Just when he was about to give up and drop back down, a black-gloved hand grabbed his wrist and hauled him upward. Whoever had grabbed him was incredibly strong, and within seconds he was out of the cylinder, sprawled across the upper landing of the steel staircase, panting with shock and exertion. He gazed up at the man standing over him, taking in his solid black clothing, and smooth, porcelain mask.
“You,” he breathed. He glanced behind him to see the two thugs lying bloody and broken at the bottom of the stairs.
The masked man had Arhyen’s satchel slung across his shoulders. Had he intercepted the men on their way back to Viola? If he’d searched the satchel, he’d know about the recreated journal. Would he now kill Arhyen too? Before he could speak, the man lifted the satchel and held it out to him. He took it gingerly, still staring at the man in disbelief.
“The thugs who brought me here?” Arhyen questioned, requiring affirmation.
“Dead,” the man said evenly.
Arhyen’s eyes widened in surprise. For some reason he had built up the persona in his head that the masked man could not, or would not, speak. When he’d asked the question, he hadn’t really expected an answer.
“Still down here!” Ephraim called from within the cylinder.
Arhyen cast a wary glance at the masked man, then rose to his feet and hurried down the steel stairway. He should have moved sooner, but he’d been too dumbfounded to act. The ore was still pouring into the cylinder, and the blast furnace could activate any second. He needed a rope or something else to lower down to Ephraim. He glanced around as the masked man stood calmly at the top of the stairs. He pointed to a lever on the wall next to Arhyen. The shut off switch? Hoping this all wasn’t some horrible trick, he reached out and pulled it downward. The ore chute shut off, and the room fell silent.
His hand still on the lever, he stared up at the masked man.
“Still down here!” Ephraim called out again.
Arhyen jumped into motion, while the masked man continued to wait silently. He hurried away from the lever, and searched the lower portion of the room. He peeked inside a few barrels, finding nothing of use, but eventually found a folded stack of canvas bags. Three tied together should do the trick. His hands moving quickly, he assembled the makeshift rope, then hurried back up the stairs.
He hesitated at the top, wary of moving too close to the masked man, but he had just saved everyone’s lives, and Ephraim would probably kill Arhyen himself if he dallied any longer. As the masked man watched on, Arhyen tied off one end of the makeshift rope on the railing of the staircase, then lowered the other end into the cylinder. He would be useless tugging anyone up with his injured shoulder, so hopefully they were both in good enough condition to climb. Well, hopefully Ephraim was, at least.
Down in the cylinder, Ephraim glared at Clayton until he backed away, then hopped up to catch the end of the rope. He effortlessly climbed up, requiring no aid to pull himself over the lip of the cylinder. Clayton’s climb was slightly less graceful, and Arhyen finally had to grab under Clayton’s shoulder with his good arm to haul him out. It was tempting to just let him fall back in, but he needed to find out where Liliana was, so he resisted. Clayton hunched against the outside of the cylinder, exhausted and panting, obviously not an immediate threat.
Standing beside Arhyen, Ephraim dusted off his gray trousers, then cast his gaze on the masked man, who stood silently, as if waiting for something.
“Is this the man who stole the journal?” Ephraim questioned calmly.
Arhyen nodded, warily eyeing the man before them.
“Stole?” Clayton panted. He’d moved a few paces to crouch as far away from everyone as possible, while still remaining on the upper landing. “You mean you don’t even have the journal?”
It was amusing to see the normally immaculate man covered in black stains, his hair a total mess, and his broken glasses askew, but there was no time for Arhyen to enjoy the moment. “Yes, it was stolen,” he answered. “Now tell me where Viola took Liliana.”
Clayton stood up straight, though he seemed to be favoring his left leg. “And lose the one piece of leverage I have left?” He glanced nervously at the masked man. “I don’t think so.”
Faster than Arhyen could blink, the masked man whipped out a long, narrow blade, darted forward, then shoved it through Clayton’s abdomen, up underneath his ribcage toward his heart. Finding his target, the man expertly withdrew the blade. Clayton stumbled on his feet for a moment, then fell at Arhyen’s feet, dead.
Arhyen took a step back, then turned wide eyes up to the masked man. “Why?” he croaked.
“I know where the girl is being kept,” the man replied calmly in a cultured voice, slightly muffled by his mask. “It was not necessary to keep Blackwood alive.”
Arhyen spread his arms wide. “No, I mean why? Why all of this? Why lead me to Victor Ashdown? Why frame me for murder? Why save us now?”
“We haven’t much time if you want to save Liliana,” the man said cooly.
Shit. As much as Arhyen wanted answers, the man had him there. “Lead the way,” he demanded, despite the bloody blade hanging threateningly in the masked man’s grip.
Flicking the blood from the blade, the man resheathed it somewhere within his coat, then glided past Arhyen and Ephraim down the stairs toward the warehouse’s double doors. He effortlessly pushed the doors open, revealing darkness and heavy rain, then stepped outside. Arhyen glanced down at Clayton’s body, then met Ephraim’s gaze. Ephraim nodded, and both men hurried down the stairs and out into the night, prepared to follow the masked murderer wherever he might lead them.
Chapter 16
Liliana glanced around the room as much as her neck would allow. The walls and floor had all been painted white, and shelves of what looked like medical equipment lined the edges of the room. She was strapped down on a padded table, with canvas strips not only wrapped around her wrists and ankles, but at intervals down her entire body, holding her entirely immobile. She’d been forced to change into a white nightshift, and her dress had been disposed of.
She tried to shift uncomfortably, but to no avail. She’d been lying there for what felt like hours, with no explanation. Her limbs ached, and her hands felt numb from circulation loss. She stared at the bare, overhead bulb lighting the room. Though she did not suffer from the cold as much as humans, she felt it right then.
Viola had left her alone shortly after she'd been placed in the room, with no assurances about Arhyen’s safety. She was beginning to realize she’d been a fool to cooperate and let Viola not only kidnap her, but strap her down. Perhaps she could have saved Arhyen some other way. She struggled against her bonds for the hundredth time, thinking about Arhyen. Was he even still alive? It was too late for regrets now. It was too late for anything. Even if Arhyen somehow managed to escape Viola’s men, there was no way he’d find her now.
Though the building she'd willingly entered had seemed unremarkable from the outside, inside, it was like one of the fictional futuristic novels Liliana had read while she still lived with her father. There had been different pieces of machinery that she could identify, like an autoclave for sterilizing equipment and centrifuge for separating liquids, as well as tools more specific to alchemy and metallurgy. In addition to the myriad of scientific devices, there had been large, liquid-filled glass tubes, some containing what looked like tiny humans, and others filled with individual body parts or organs. She hadn't had time to look at them closely, but knew the brief glimpses she’d had would give her nightmares for a long time to come. If she lived for a long time to come. Naturally, the research within the building was well-guarded. Even if she managed to escape her bonds, she’d have no chance of sneaking past the pistol-wielding guards.
Her mind flashed again on the liquid-filled tubes. Would she end up in one herself? A few weeks ago, she might not have really cared. Death had seemed a viable option when she was stranded in the darkness with her father's corpse. Things had changed sin
ce then. She’d been offered a true taste of life, and she was loath to let it go so quickly. She struggled against her bonds once more, but it was no use. There would be no escape.
She jumped as the door to the room opened, and high-heeled boots sounded on the bare concrete floor. Seconds later, Viola came to hover over her. She now wore a thin white coat over her black apparel, and silver spectacles perched on the tip of her narrow nose. “Forgive me for leaving you alone for so long,” she apologized, her red lips curving into a smile that belied her kind words. “I had to ensure that all my loose ends were tied up. As things stand now, no one will ever be able to find you. At least, not until I'm done with you.”
It was just as Liliana had thought. No one was coming for her. “What about Arhyen?" she pleaded. “You swore you would not harm him.”
“Did I?” Viola questioned sarcastically. “My memory is terrible, I must have forgotten.”
Tears began to drip down Liliana’s face. Her fists flexed with rage. If only she could get her hands around Viola’s throat.
Viola moved a bare hand to wipe away Liliana’s tears. “She cries," she mocked. “I must admit, Fairfax did a brilliant job at simulating emotions. You almost seem real.” She moved away briefly, then her footsteps were accompanied by the sound of a rickety metal table being wheeled over. He face came back into view, an evil gleam in her dark eyes.
Liliana glared at her, forcing her tears to abate. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, simulating emotions?”
“Why, that’s the entire reason everyone has been searching for you,” Viola explained, fiddling with something on the table out of Liliana’s sight. “Your father managed not only to create synthetic rage, sadness, and joy. He managed to create synthetic love. He used Victor Ashdown’s serum to administer them to you. You were his experiment, nothing more.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” she croaked, fresh tears straining her voice. All she could think about was Arhyen. Had Viola broken her promise and harmed him? Was her entire sacrifice for nothing?
“Imagine how powerful bottled emotions could be, in the right hands,” Viola mused. She turned away from Liliana, and paced around the room, leaving the metal table behind. “They could be used to rule nations. Imagine administering bottled rage to your enemies, forcing them to kill each other. Imagine what people would pay for bottled joy. It would put any other drug to shame. Now, imagine that I control all these things. Why, I could rule the world.”
Liliana continued to cry. “Are you the one who killed my father?”
Viola snorted. “No, in fact, I wasn't even aware that he was dead, though I’m not surprised. I only knew that he had not been seen for quite some time. Around the time he disappeared, rumors began to circulate of what he had created. Anyone with a brain wanted to get their hands on those formulae, and anyone with the correct information knew that Victor Ashdown knew how to do that.”
"Victor Ashdown?” she questioned weakly. After all that had happened, she’d almost forgotten about him. She recalled the note from her father in Victor's book. Victor had known he was going to die, and knew that Fairfax would eventually be next. That meant the rumors about Fairfax’s formulae had begun to circulate before her father’s death, but she saw no point in voicing that to Viola. Still, she wondered who had started all of this. Who had leaked her father’s research, and why?
“But you still don't have the journal,” Liliana observed. “You still don't have your hands on the formulae that you need. So why take me?”
Viola grinned and lifted a shiny silver scalpel into her hand from the nearby table. Liliana struggled, craning her neck to see what Viola was doing. She lifted the scalpel to Liliana’s neck and dragged it across her skin. After the initial sting, Liliana felt her blood slowly dripping down her skin in a warm line.
“You’re right,” Viola answered, twirling the scalpel in her fingers. “I am yet to obtain the journal, but I have you. Your blood contains those very formulae. All I need to do is extract it and refine it.” She stroked her bare finger down Liliana’s bleeding neck, then held the bloody appendage up to her lips. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the blood.
“You're mad,” Liliana gasped.
“We’ll see,” Viola replied, setting the scalpel back on the tray. Then she lifted an empty syringe. “Once I have your blood, no one will dare call me mad. I’ll be as powerful as the Queen. More so, if I have my way.”
Liliana struggled against her bonds, unable to take her gaze off the shiny silver needle at the end of the syringe. She didn’t want to die here. “What did you mean about my father creating love?” she blurted, grasping at the first thought that came to her. She needed to keep Viola talking to buy time. Time for what, she was not sure.
Viola sneered. “I have on high authority that Fairfax Breckenridge created four special formulae. They simulate the chemical reactions that occur in the brain during different emotions. He created one for happiness, one for sadness, one for rage,” her mouth placed emphasis on the word, as if she very much enjoyed using it, “and one for love,” she finished. “They are of course, not true emotions, only chemical reactions to simulate emotions. Though why their components continue to affect you long after the initial administration, I am not sure. I’m no alchemist.”
Liliana made no effort to hide her confusion. Viola had said nothing about manufacturing fear, yet that was exactly what she was feeling. Had her father created more than just the four formulae, or had she perhaps developed other emotions after receiving the first few? More confusing still, was the fact that her emotions were in direct correlation with events. They came and went. Had her father conditioned her to feel emotions at the correct times? She wasn’t sure.
While she was deep in thought, Viola had once again lifted the syringe. Without warning, she jammed it into Liliana’s arm.
All of her previous thoughts rushing away, she screamed.
Arhyen crouched in the moonlit darkness beside Ephraim and the masked man, observing their target location.
The masked man had led them to the outskirts of London, originally where those of the nobility and old money dwelled. Most of the mansions had been long since abandoned as the nouveau riche popularized the central area of town, near the market district the wealthy often frequented. Now all that was left were empty homes, some mere skeletal remains of their former glory, where vagrants lived until the Watch came through to chase them out. Ornate iron fences still loomed on either side of the streets, more sturdy than the homes they guarded.
The yard of the mansion standing before them was strewn with old furniture and other refuse, cast aside as the abandoned homes were looted for any valuables that might have been left behind. The wood of the building, painted charcoal gray, had long since started to rot and warp, though the building still had sturdy-looking doors. While some of the windows retained their glass, it did not matter, because boards had been nailed up from the inside. Arhyen could see soft light peeking out from behind their slats, though as far as he’d been previously aware, the homes in the area no longer had electricity supplied to them.
A sudden noise caught Arhyen’s ear. “What was that?” he whispered frantically. It had sounded like a woman’s scream, muffled by the walls of the home.
“That was Liliana,” the masked man stated emotionlessly. He’d yet to reveal his face, and Arhyen was finding him increasingly strange. His speech was often disjointed, and lacked the proper emphasis on certain words and syllables, yet when his speech was clear, he spoke with a high class mien that hinted at a thorough education.
Arhyen began to stand, ready to rush toward the house, but the masked man reached out and grabbed him by the arm. Arhyen pulled against him. If that scream was Liliana, he needed to go to her. There was no telling what harm might befall her while they waited out in the dark. When his arm did not come free, he pulled again, sending a jolt of pain across his body to his wounded shoulder. The masked man’s grip was unbelievably strong
. He could not tug free, no matter how hard he tried.
“I do not intend to let her come to any harm,” the masked man explained calmly.
“She's coming to harm now,” Arhyen argued, bordering on frenzy.
“Arhyen think,” Ephraim cut in, still crouched in the same position. “We must be organized if we hope to rescue her. Rushing in without a plan is suicide. We cannot help her if we are dead.”
Arhyen knew Ephraim was right, but couldn't seem to calm himself. Something terrible was happening to Liliana right that moment, and he couldn't just stand idly by. It was all his fault she was in there in the first place.
Releasing Arhyen’s arm, the masked man explained, “I will enter through the front of the building to create a distraction. The two of you will wait ten minutes before entering through the back. Keep to the lower-level of the house as you search for Liliana. I do not believe the upper levels are in use, due to structural disintegration.”
Arhyen was more than ready to go ahead with the plan, but Ephraim stood and crossed his arms. “And just how are we supposed to trust you? For all we know, we may be the actual distraction, so that you might kidnap Liliana for yourself.”
The masked man stood eerily still. “If that were my intent, I would have taken her long ago.”
“I believe him,” Arhyen interrupted, hoping to quickly convince Ephraim. “He led us to Victor Ashdown, and I believe,” he turned his gaze to the masked man, “he was the one to kill Clayton Blackwood’s men, before leaving them on his front lawn.”
Clockwork Alchemist (The Thief's Apprentice Book 1) Page 16
