The Machine (Blood and Destiny Book 1)

by E. C. Jarvis

  “The girl is the key to the source.” His words were rough, barely audible. A small voice at the back of his head screamed for him to stop, yet the break from the pain was too sweet a moment to lose.

  Orother frowned and removed the pipe from the back of his own head, then crawled onto the table to perch on all fours above the Professor.

  As the Professor’s vision returned, he saw only an outline at first. After a moment, the features of Orother's face fell into place; a soft, disturbing smile danced across his lips.

  “Oh? Do tell me. How is the girl the key to the source?”

  A second face came into view above him, though the man’s features were obscured by a dark red hood—the Cleric. The Professor had been aware of the man’s presence from the beginning, though the Cleric had stayed out of view and hidden in the background until now. A pair of green eyes pierced into his soul with an unnatural intensity.

  The Professor opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He lay in silence, his mouth opening and closing like a mindless fish trapped in a bowl.

  “Silence, Maximillian? That’s fine, no need to talk. Just think of it...” Orother softly stroked the Professor’s face.

  The Professor’s first instinct was a feeling of disgust and fear. As the soft strokes slowed his pounding heart and replaced the aching pain in his body, he understood the depressing truth; he had already succumbed to the ‘training’. The pleasure he experienced at seeing the Doctor pleased with him was just as intense as the pain he experienced when the Doctor was not happy. Now, he felt a burning desire to remain that way, in comfort and at rest.

  Orother stopped stroking and climbed down from the table. The Professor let out a whimpering noise. The small voice within him, calling for him to fight, to not give in, faded to nothing more than a whisper.

  “Show me how the girl is the key, and I will release your legs.”

  The Professor watched as that sickening grin on the Doctor’s face spread from ear to ear. The Cleric backed away from view and Orother’s grin twisted and faded into the background, replaced by a large bookshelf. The Professor found himself within an older memory, one he had hoped never to share with this maniac.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The first thing Cid became aware of was the thumping pain behind his eyes and a ringing in his ears. It felt as if his entire brain had been pummelled to mush with a club. He kept his eyes squeezed shut and opened his mouth to swear. That was when he noticed the unmistakable metallic taste of blood. His stomach lurched and he spat a great globule of bloody spit across the floor. His tongue protested with a bolt of pain, and as he sucked on it he realized there was a chunk of tongue missing.

  “Mmmm, fuck it.”

  Cid opened his eyes and found the room appeared sideways; his brain tried to un-jumble the mess and he realized he was laying down. He tried to sit, lifting a hand to the greatest source of pain on the side of his head. The tender lump that had formed on his temple screamed out when he touched it and he collapsed down onto his back.

  He spent the next few moments listening to the ringing in his ears, and as it subsided he heard a dark chuckle coming from somewhere nearby.

  “Mr. Mendle, you awake?” a male voice filtered through the ringing sound. It was not a voice he recognized, although he didn’t need to know who the speaker was to determine that he was not a friend.

  “Fuck off,” Cid spat. The words came out in a lisp and slur.

  “Captain hit you hard.”

  “Tell Captain to fuck off.”

  “Captain dead.”

  “Good.” Cid didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he tried to remember precisely what had happened and where he was. He felt a knot in the wood beneath him—the ship. He tried to place a Captain—the pirates. Then he tried to place himself in context and instead remembered the girl. His eyes snapped open.

  Above him stood a man whose head almost touched the ceiling, which must have made him at least seven feet in height. They were positioned within a small room, bare save for a few boxes stacked in a corner. A lantern hung from the wall provided the only light. Cid’s captor had short-cropped hair, an excessively muscular build, and attached to his belt was a long, thin, leather whip.

  “I am Hans. Doctor sends regards,” the man said. If his accent hadn’t given away his foreign origins, his lack of grammatical accuracy would have sufficed.

  “Tell Doctor to fuck off.”

  “You tell him yourself soon. First, you tell me where Anthonium is.”

  Cid replayed the last few days in his head, winding the clock backwards to piece it all back together. Had this man been in the Hub? Was he the one who searched the girl’s apartment looking for the stone? Did Orother think Cid had taken the Anthonium? It didn’t make as much sense as he’d hoped, though now he knew what they wanted and that he’d left the Anthonium with the girl. It was only a matter of time until they found it.

  “How the fuck should I know? The last time I saw it, it was in the machine. The machine that your Doctor burned to the ground.”

  “The machine was searched. Anthonium was not there. You are lying. I will find the truth, either from you or from the girl.”

  “Where is the girl?” As soon as he’d asked he regretted it, seeing the grin grow on Hans’ face.

  “She killed Captain. She is being punished...I will show you.”

  Hans leaned down and dragged Cid to his feet to march him out into a hallway. As Cid followed, he realized this was not their ship; this interior was different. The slatted wood along the corridor walls was old and faded to pale grey with signs of rot, and the entire place smelled like a beer barrel. A line of matching lanterns lit their path along the hall. They turned a corner and found a collection of men huddled around an open doorway, their faces sullen. Their expressions did not improve when they saw Cid.

  Hans pushed past the men, pulling Cid along with him.

  “Oi, mate, what makes you think you can push in?” one man barked as they moved past. A few others muttered amongst themselves.

  As they reached the doorway, Hans pushed Cid into a small storage room which was haphazardly dotted with irregular boxes, and between the boxes stood clusters of men, each of them looking down into one corner. Their path forward became blocked by male bodies that refused to move and Cid could not see past them. In his peripheral vision he caught sight of a flash of purple, and as his attention was drawn he saw a bundle of clothing stashed beside a box. The purple material of Larissa’s corset was torn to shreds and spread across the bundle.

  A muffled cry from behind the wall of men drew Cid’s attention away from the clothes. The sound was followed by the unmistakable thud of a fist connecting with bone and the cry disappeared.

  Cid trembled. He could not see what was going on so his mind decided to fill in the blanks, and he stood helpless and useless to change anything. Unexpectedly, a gap appeared and a man emerged with a smug expression plastered across his face. As the man pushed past, Hans charged forwards, dragging Cid with him.

  “I will use the girl, now,” Hans stated.

  “Like hell you will. You got your prize, the rest is ours. That was the agreement, mate.”

  As Hans argued with the other men, Cid’s attention fell to Larissa. She was naked and curled into a ball in the corner. She’d buried her face in her hands, her pretty blond curls matted and tainted with her own blood over cuts on her head. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Cid looked over the line of her body; her pale flesh was dotted with vicious cuts and bruises, and he found his heart aching to scoop her into his arms and carry her away from all the madness.

  Somewhere in the mess of events he had come to develop such a deep affection toward her, one he’d thought himself incapable of feeling. He inched closer as the men behind him argued. Larissa sensed someone moving toward her and she shuffled backwards into the wall, squeezing her legs into her chest and bringing one arm down to cover her breasts. She kept the other hand across her eyes. Cid immedi
ately stepped back, wanting desperately to shout at her that it was him and that he didn’t want to look at her body or touch her like that. Not like these other fucking pigs.

  “Brennan,” a voice called from the corridor, “Jameson says he’s having trouble with the other ship.”

  “Damnit. All right, everyone up on deck,” Brennan said to his men, and turned back to Hans. “You can have her for however long it takes us to sort this out. After, we’ll get right back to it. We’re not done with this little bitch, not until every man here has had a piece of her. When we’re done, we’re gonna climb as high as the ship will go and push her over the side, see if she can fly. If you get in the way of that then the good Doctor’s money won’t save you from the same fate. Come on, you lot, I said up on deck.”

  The rest of the men filtered out one by one, grumbling amongst themselves until finally Cid and Larissa were left in the room with Hans.

  Cid looked the man up and down. Cid was not a fighter, and had never claimed to be a brave man, though he was smart enough to know a losing battle when he saw one. Hans was a behemoth; he stood well over Cid’s initial estimate of seven feet, and his shoulders were wider than the doorframe.

  If Hans were similar in size and stature as Cid, he might have tried his luck and attacked, though with this huge brute Cid didn’t even know where to start.

  Hans bent over and grabbed hold of Larissa’s wrists, dragging her along the floor and forcing her to stand. He reached out and grabbed a thick length of rope from a box and swiftly bound Larissa’s wrists. He threw the rope up through a rusty old hook hanging from the ceiling, leaving her dangling there. Hans pressed his fingertips between her legs, into one of her thighs, and proceeded to drag his fingers upwards, scraping his nails through her blond tufts of pubic hair. His fingers traced a line up her pale stomach, pausing as he reached her breasts. He flashed a dark glance at Cid, who watched in sheer horror. Larissa whimpered through tightly pressed lips and tears spilled out the corner of her closed eyes, rolling down her puffy face to leave tracks in the soot and blood-soaked skin. Hans lightly ran his fingertips across one of her nipples. Cid looked down at the floor, a feeling of utter shame folding over his mind like a darkened veil.

  “You will look at her, or I will make her suffering worse,” Hans stated plainly, and Cid forced himself to watch again.

  He slumped against a box as his head throbbed with pain. Larissa kept her eyes squeezed shut, and Hans pulled the whip from his belt. Cid squeezed his own eyes shut, instantly forgetting the threat. It was too much to bear to see her so abused and fragile, and the thought of having to watch her suffer further punishment sickened him. His mind turned to dark thoughts and he chanced a glance around the room, looking for a knife; if not to kill Hans, perhaps to kill the girl, put her out of her misery. She faced death anyway. Could he bring it upon her sooner?

  “Where is the Anthonium?” Hans asked Cid, though Hans’ gaze was trained upon Larissa.

  “I don’t know,” Cid sighed.

  Hans took one step backward and flicked his arm, bringing the whip down in one smooth motion straight across the front of Larissa’s body. She screamed and bucked against the rope, a thin pink line immediately emerging across her chest.

  Cid collapsed to his knees.

  “Please, stop. It’s...I think it’s in her cloak. There’s a lockbox.” Cid waved to the bundle of clothes.

  “You find it,” Hans ordered, and Cid crawled to the bundle to search frantically for the lock box. After a few minutes he found nothing and his stomach lurched with despair.

  “Well? Where is box?”

  “It’s not here,” Cid whispered as his voice threatened to break into a sob. He looked up and found Larissa had opened her eyes and was staring down at him. In that moment he felt pure hatred for himself, that he had let her get into this predicament. He had let her down, and he hung his head in shame.

  “Holt,” Larissa whispered through shaky breaths.

  “That fucking bastard,” Cid spat.

  “What, who is Holt?” Hans asked as he twitched the whip in his hand.

  “The man who got off the ship at the mountain.”

  Cid sputtered through gritted teeth. A quiet pause filled the room as Hans, Larissa and Cid all passed uncertain glances at each other. The quiet was filled with shouts and calls from above. Hans stared up at the ceiling, only inches from his head; he let out an odd growl of frustration and turned to Cid.

  “You, get up there. See what happening and come back. Bring Brennan with you, he’s the new Captain.”

  Cid stood up again, his legs struggling to find balance. He looked at Larissa and all she could do in return was look back, her face blushing pink as she did so, and he didn’t need to ask her why. He felt the same flush of embarrassed shame.

  “I will not hurt her while you are gone, though I will hurt her if you don’t go. Go, now!”

  Cid stumbled out into the hallway and lurched in the direction the other men had gone. As he turned a corner he found a stairwell and he crept upward, still moving on uneasy legs. He paused as the door opened out into the world above.

  “Tell him to come around starboard side and we’ll go over to check it out,” the new Captain, Brennan, called out to someone. Cid chanced a glance up on deck; the majority of the men stood along one side, looking out across the sky.

  “Something’s wrong, Brennan. Jameson’s dropping,” one man called.

  “What? Where are the others?”

  “Dead. He says they’re all dead.”

  “What the fuck? Tell him to just hold it in the air and we’ll come him.”

  Cid emerged from the stairwell and stood beside a mast pole; everyone else was too busy to notice him. He craned his neck to see between the heads blocking his view, and he spotted the Professor’s ship, The Larissa. As it slowly lost altitude, one man stood at the wheel frantically trying to control the entire thing by himself. Cid spotted the problem before anyone else had seemed to notice; there was a large hole in the tip of the canopy fabric which flapped in the wind. It was more of a slice than a tear—a deliberate act caused by a knife.

  “Vent some hydrogen. We need to lose some altitude to get to him.” Two men scuttled past Cid, disappearing into the bowels of the ship to follow orders, and moments later everyone on board felt their stomachs lurching as the ship dipped in the air. Within minutes the two ships were at the same height and closing toward one another.

  “We’re too close to the ground. You boys need to get on board and find out what the fuck is going on. Get him up high or we’ll crash. That ship is worth a fucking mint and I don’t wanna lose it,” Brennan called, his voice reaching a frantic pitch.

  Some men at the side scuttled backwards at his orders, cursing and shouting. The Larissa came into full view and Cid’s jaw dropped as he saw the ship hull swinging out of control and lurching straight toward the pirate ship. He grabbed the mast pole and braced for the impact. Seconds later it came, a gigantic thumping crunch that rippled throughout the ship as the two wooden structures knocked together, throwing bodies left and right. The cracking sound continued on, as wood panels buckled and bowed in reaction, floorboards popped away, shedding nails. The force of the hit sent both ships plummeting off at odd angles.

  Cid watched on helplessly, gripping the pole as he saw Jameson’s body aboard The Larissa fly through the air. The man wasn’t moving due to the impact, though. Instead, he soared through the air with blood pouring from his slit throat. The downy hairs on the back of Cid’s neck prickled and his breath caught in his lungs when he saw a black-clad figure sprinting across the other ship’s deck, closely followed by a slim-lined, black and white cat. The two creatures reached the edge at the same time and simultaneously jumped through the air toward the pirate ship. As The Larissa bucked and rolled over on its side, cascading downward at an unstoppable rate, the cat landed on the rail with grace. The figure in black disappeared out of view beneath.

  Cid forgot himself a
nd ran forward, gripping the rail to look over. As he reached the edge he saw the last of The Larissa crashing into a rocky mountain ledge, his heart pausing as he waited for the inevitable—the furnace explosion mixing with the leaking hydrogen. It ignited as predicted and, at first, the explosion echoed in a low rumble from within a deep orange flash. The blast finally released, piercing the air and forcing a fireball up in a great plume. The heat singed Cid’s knuckles and face, and the force pushed him onto his backside. A shudder ran through the entire ship.

  His body tingled all over, the experience more intense than he’d expected, and he was left once again, helpless and useless. Voices around him infused the air with cursing. He looked up to the pirate ship canopy and rolled onto his side to find the cat, her cat, staring at him with the kind of impassivity only a cat could pull off in this circumstance. The cat slowly curled its neck to look at the rail and Cid unwittingly followed its gaze. He saw it, for just a split second; a hand reached up and grabbed the rail, then disappeared from sight. He turned to find Imago had disappeared as well, and his heart sank as he was brought straight back to grim reality.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Professor stared at the bookshelf. He found himself in the odd position of realizing this was a memory, not a real experience. He tried to wiggle his fingers, expecting to feel the table beneath him and his arms pinned. Instead, he found his fingers would not respond to any amount of coaxing; the memory was fixed and he was trapped within its confines. On some conscious level he was grateful to at least be free from pain for a while.

  “If you’re looking for the map, it’s not there,” a male voice called behind him as footsteps sounded on the tiled floor.

  The Professor sighed and turned, expecting it to take a bucket-load of charm to extract information from the fellow approaching. And if not charm, perhaps a bucket-load of gold.