The Machine (Blood and Destiny Book 1)

by E. C. Jarvis

  “However, in this case I think I have a right.”

  She opened the file to find it empty save for a scrap of paper inked with poor handwriting, which read:

  Theft of items – price to be agreed based on size and value.

  Interrogation – 50 gold.

  Assassination – 150 gold.

  General threats, beatings, and mutilations ranging from 20 – 100 gold.

  You know where to contact me should you require further services.

  - S

  A streak, both hot and cold, ran down her spine and settled in her unpleasantly tingling toes. Her mouth fell open and she shook her head in disbelief. She read the words on the paper over and over, as if she hadn’t read them correctly the first time. Somewhere in the back of her psyche she heard her mother tutting in disapproval, the all-too-knowing sound that said, What did you expect from throwing yourself at a complete stranger? Larissa shook her head, refusing to believe the worst without further evidence.

  The sound of boots clunking on the deck above made her jump. She stuffed the note in her bra.

  “You awake down there?” Cid yelled as he thumped on the deck, making the ceiling bounce.

  “Yes. I’ll be up in a minute,” she yelled back.

  She quickly shuffled through the remaining papers; there was nothing of note save an invoice for materials made out to “Professor Maximilian Watts”.

  “Maximilian.” She tested the word out loud, wondering why she hadn’t thought to ask him what his first name was.

  Because you’re a stupid, naive child.

  After setting the remaining papers back in place, she made her way to the deck. Cid was perched on a handrail, legs dangling; he tinkered, jamming a spanner into a metallic box. She regarded him for a moment, his bandages still in place and his face still covered in unsightly, blistered burns. She smoothed her fingers across her face; the skin was cool just like the freshly healed skin on her arms.

  “What now?” she asked, drumming her fingers on her thigh when he did not answer immediately.

  “Breakfast,” Cid said. He sniffed, cocking his head down and to the side without looking at her, indicating to someplace over the rail. She glanced over the side and saw a gas cooking ring burning, utensils and a few odd ingredients scattered haphazardly across a table.

  “You’re a girl,” Cid stated inanely, bashing at the box in his hand with the tool.

  “You have powerful observation skills, Mr. Mendle.”

  “I can’t cook. You’ll have to do it,” he barked.

  “As much as I look forward to serving you your breakfast, I was actually asking what your longer-term plans are.”

  Cid shrugged his shoulders and looked up at her, his face setting into a frown, and the wrinkles in his forehead deepened. She presumed his expression was a reaction to the speed at which she had healed.

  “I’m an engineer, not a boss. I build, not plan.”

  “What about the Professor?”

  “He’s a clever man. He’ll figure something out.”

  “What? And you think we should just sit here, wait, and hope he turns up?”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “We should...” She flailed her arms in the air in exasperation. She had hoped Cid would have some idea of what to do, but his lack of action was as frustrating as her own lack of a plan.

  “We can’t just... There must be someone who knows where this Doctor is.”

  She glanced at the box in his hand as he placed the Anthonium inside it. He swung down from the handrail and handed her the box.

  “It’s a lock-box. You choose the code and no one else can open it unless you tell them.”

  “Why can’t I just wear it as a necklace again?”

  “Gods!” he spluttered with a shocked laugh. “It’s An-thon-ee-um. It’s bloody poisonous. I’m surprised you haven’t grown an ear on your forehead or something after you’ve been wearing it so long.”

  She regarded the box then looked at Cid, who scratched his chin and gave her an odd appraisal.

  Yes, he’s definitely wondering why you healed so quickly.

  Her mind seemed to rush with a thousand questions—about the Anthonium, the note in her bra, the machine, the Doctor, and the Professor. Unfortunately, Cid was not the greatest conversationalist, and she realized she would have to pry information from him piece by piece. Above all else, she needed to do something, and she needed to convince him to help her.

  She began by turning the dials on the box over. There were eight separate sections, each with twelve different symbols and numbers from which to choose.

  This will have to be easy enough to remember or I’ll forget.

  “You said Doctor Oro...”

  “Orother.”

  “You said he knew I had the Anthonium and he trashed my apartment to look for it.”

  Maybe my birthdate?

  “I guessed that. Doesn’t mean I’m right. Don’t choose anything obvious like your birthday.”

  Damn.

  “So he either found out that I had the Anthonium because the Professor had shown an interest in me, or he found out I had it the same way the Professor traced it to me.”

  That one looks like a cat. I’ll start with that.

  She pushed the first symbol down, locking it into place.

  “Well?” she looked up at Cid.

  “You didn’t ask a question.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, do you know how the Professor traced the Anthonium to me?”

  Three. I’ve been on three dates with the Professor—if I count the time he was kidnapped and I almost died.

  She locked the second dial in place.

  “I don’t think he would want me to tell you that.” Cid spoke slowly, seeming to choose his words carefully for a change.

  “I’m sure that would have been the case yesterday. Given everything that’s happened, I’m sure he would allow it.”

  A top-hat, perfect.

  The third dial clicked into place.

  “What exactly is it that you’re planning on doing, Miss Markus?”

  She looked up at him; his eyes narrowed. She wasn’t sure if she was more worried about the fact that he’d used her actual name for the first time or that he could read her so easily. She tried her best to appear unperturbed by his question and turned her focus back to the box.

  A dirigible, hmmm.

  The fourth dial locked.

  “Well, I don’t intend to sit here and do nothing for goodness knows how long.”

  “I only said you could stay a couple of days.”

  “You haven’t told me how he traced the Anthonium.” She bit her tongue as she tried to stifle a sigh. This was not going very well. In her frustration, the fifth and sixth dials clicked into place on the number two and a picture that looked a bit like a snake.

  Damn, how am I going to remember those?

  “He didn’t share the details with me.” Cid scratched his nose. “I do know he had a lot of communication with one person in particular.”

  “Oh?”

  An M...for Machine? Good as any, I suppose.

  “I think the name was Serenia. A mercenary. Ruthless-looking woman. Always made me nervous when she showed up.”

  Larissa’s eyes widened at the name. Serenia—could that be the S on the note in her bra? The list certainly seemed like the sort of services a mercenary might offer. Not that Larissa knew anything about those sorts of people.

  “And how would one go about contacting this mercenary?” She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. Yesterday morning she was a respectable citizen, a sales clerk with a good position and a hopeful future. She had only heard of mercenaries in hushed stories that almost always ended up with someone dead or brutally maimed, and now she was actually considering contacting one. A fish out of water, indeed.

  Fish. That’s me.

  The final symbol locked.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Do you have any idea what you
’re getting yourself into?” Cid tucked his shirt into the top of his trousers and adjusted his braces.

  “I have some clue.”

  Liar.

  “I had a feeling you’d be a bad idea the moment he said he was going to take you to dinner instead of just buying that stone off you.”

  “Who says I would have sold it to him?”

  “He’s a shrewd businessman with vast wealth and charm. If he wanted to, he would have gotten you to name a price, and he would have paid. That simple.”

  “How do I contact the mercenary?” She shifted her tone, hoping a more authoritative voice would make better progress.

  “No idea. They did often meet in one particular place.”

  “And where was that?”

  “At Misty Bar in Sherwater.”

  Larissa smiled. It felt like a small drop in a very large ocean, but at least it was more information than she had at the beginning. The box in her hand automatically clicked and whirred into life, the dials scooting round and jumbling themselves up.

  “I hope you don’t forget it.” He prodded the box with his grubby index finger, the nail chewed down to a stub.

  “I won’t.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  It had taken Larissa the entire morning to prepare. She had cooked Cid his breakfast as requested in the hope that it might appease him, although he hadn’t appreciated it when she asked him why a single man of his age couldn’t cook for himself.

  “I worked as an engineer at the Hub since I left school,” he had explained, obviously irritated. “They always brought food to the workers, and I was always working.”

  “Where did you sleep?” she asked.

  “Nowhere.”

  It seemed her cooking had been as hopeless as his conversation skills.

  She had managed to find a boiler suit and boots that would work as better protection against the freezing air than her tattered clothing. It was at least two sizes too big in the most unflattering shade of grey, but in their current situation, a shopping trip for a new outfit was out of the question.

  She emerged from the cabin onto the deck. Cid fiddled with the controls, a box full of tools scattered around his feet. Out of habit she reached up to her neck, expecting to find the necklace. Her fingers twitched nervously when they didn’t find it and she sighed as she dropped her hand down.

  “Is this thing ready to fly?” she called out. Cid poked his head around a wooden beam to look at her, his goggles down over his eyes. He slowly peeled the goggles upwards.

  “We’re not taking this ship out just to take you to Sherwater to get yourself killed. And what the heck are you wearing?”

  “I had no intention of asking you to do that.” She ignored his query about the suit. “I was simply asking if the ship is capable of flying, or if it’s still awaiting parts or something.”

  “She’s ready...apart from the balloon.” He jabbed a spanner toward the folded balloon on the ground.

  “Right. Good to know.”

  “Not that I’d take her anywhere unless the Professor was here to give the order himself.”

  “You did hear the Professor before I gave him the necklace last night, didn’t you?” she asked in a measured tone. Cid didn’t answer. “You did hear his declaration, that he would give me anything and everything I wanted in exchange for the stone?” She saw his jaw poke outwards as he crunched on his bottom teeth.

  He had heard? Good.

  “I’d say that gives me free rein over all the Professor’s assets...even his employees, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Mendle?”

  “I don’t think—” he began.

  Larissa interrupted. “Like I said, I have no intention of taking this ship out for a simple trip to Sherwater. I just wanted to clarify our situation.” She tried to stifle a grin at the air of authority she managed to develop in such a short time. “Do you want to come with me, Cid?”

  “No.” He plopped the goggles back over his eyes and returned to his work. Her pride disintegrated.

  “How will I recognize the mercenary...Seren—um...”

  “Serenia. She’s not quite as tall as me, dark skin, dark eyes, shows too much flesh, got a head full of curls like you, except hers are brown and not natural. One would likely mistake her for a harlot.”

  “Sounds charming.”

  “Of course, you’d better not get confused with the actual harlots at the bar. You start asking one of them for services and you’ll end up with a very different result.”

  “Marvelous. It would probably help my cause if you were with me. She might recognize you and be more willing to talk.”

  He threw his spanner down in frustration and leaned around the beam again. “First, I doubt she would recognize me, because she never took her eyes off the Professor the few times I was with him when he met with her. Second, she’s a mercenary. If she doesn’t like the look of you, she’ll stick a knife in your eye. I couldn’t charm a starving bird to eat a seed, let alone talk that woman into giving up information. Finally, if you’re stupid enough to believe that waffle the Professor spun at you about promising you the world, then perhaps you deserve a knife in the eye. Maybe I should have left you to burn. This ship is grounded—indefinitely.” He picked up a new tool and banged it loudly against something metallic.

  As if Larissa’s nerves weren’t frayed enough at the dubious plan, now she felt her knees start to wobble. With a heavy sigh she turned on her heels and headed down the rope ladder and out the door. One final call from on deck pricked her ears.

  “And don’t forget your cat.” Imago was already at her heel.

  Outside, the snow storm had passed. The sunlight was strong enough to start melting the icicles that hung from the eaves of the surrounding warehouses; the melting snow rose up into thin steam clouds. As she reached the street corner she spotted a large cloud of smoke hanging in the air in the distance. The sound of a heavy engine chugging towards her made her smile; the trains were running again.

  She reached Sallarium City Limit Station just as the steam engine arrived, the brakes screeching to a halt. The smoke cloud from the chimney stack surrounded the station, hanging low in the damp air and coating the snow with a layer of soot.

  Larissa paid for a ticket with the money she managed to collect from her apartment the night before and headed to the platform. A rusty sign showed the stops along the eastern line, though most of the place names were obscured by a layer of snow. The last name on the sign was Aditona, the eastern coastal city and the largest port in all Daltonia. Though it was many hundreds of miles away, she knew it was at least the correct line to take to reach the nearby town of Sherwater.

  After climbing aboard the train, she sat in the carriage and subtly eyed the contents of her purse, unsure if the meagre collection of coins would be enough to buy information from the mercenary. After all, there was no value in the information on the ominous price list she found in the Captain’s cabin, which she had assumed the mercenary had written.

  As the train moved off, the carriages lurched into one another. Imago sat on the seat beside her, his claws gripping the fabric to keep him steady.

  “Just two stops,” she whispered down to him. The carriage was pleasantly quiet, probably, she assumed, due to the bad weather. Perhaps nobody knew the trains were running again.

  The city faded into the distance as the train raced cross-country. The landscape had turned to a blanket of pure white. Occasionally, the smoke plume would cover the window as the track curved, plunging the carriage into darkness. Larissa mindlessly rubbed the lockbox in her pocket, pondering the best approach to speak to the mercenary. She tried to ignore Cid’s comment about her naivety, not to mention the fact that she was out of her depth with everything else.

  The Professor wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to pursue her if he hadn’t truly been interested. What would be the point in theatrics if he didn’t really care for her? And what of the airship? Surely such a romantic gesture as naming a beautiful flying machine af
ter her meant something? She thought back to their first meeting, how nervous she was, how it had felt like fate had swept him into her path. Now she knew the truth, and it all seemed so false. She had acted like a fool and he had taken advantage. So why did she continue to put herself at further risk for such a man?

  “Tickets, please,” the Conductor called, making her jump out of her musings. The Conductor eyed her carefully as he clipped the ticket stub.

  “If you haven’t got a ticket for the cat, then it can’t sit on a seat.” He gestured to Imago with his thumb.

  Larissa glanced around the carriage; she was the only passenger. The Conductor didn’t seem to care, and rather than risk an argument she scooped Imago into her lap.

  By the time they reached Sherwater it was past lunchtime and her stomach was growled furiously. Any energy she had from the meager breakfast rations had been expended in her nervousness. She held her breath as she passed rows of street vendors selling roasted chestnuts and fresh-baked breads. She didn’t dare waste any coin that might be needed for the mercenary.

  She found the bar tucked down a side alley. The buildings hung over the street at jaunty angles, blocking out the sunlight. A pair of grizzly looking men stood in deep discussion beside the entrance to the bar. Their conversation paused pointedly as she passed by. Imago didn’t follow her inside, choosing to remain in the alley hunting rats.

  Inside, the bar was lively, at odds with its appearance from the alley. Elaborate chandeliers dangled down from tall ceilings and pretty barmaids in skimpy outfits frittered between the tables serving the patrons. Larissa tried her best to look like she fit in, though she couldn’t help but wonder how out-of-place the Professor must have looked in such an establishment. It was hardly the place for the aristocracy to frequent.

  At the back of the room, a large figure stood behind the bar wearing a ghastly red corset that did nothing to hide her bulging figure. Along one wall, a staircase led up to a balcony where a line of scantily clad women stood. Larissa looked down at the grey boiler suit she wore and started to wonder if she should have just worn her tattered rags instead. She undid the first few buttons and wriggled the suit off her shoulders as she walked towards the bar. Somehow the small gesture worked to make her look slightly less out-of-place, although she still felt the back of her neck burning as though she were being watched.