by Adam Millard
Octavius removed his machinist goggles and began to nonchalantly clean them with his waistcoat.
Abigale sensed something was wrong; she reached out and touched his arm. He ceased cleaning his goggles momentarily and looked into her eyes. She knew what he was thinking. He worried too much about her, and right then he was petrified.
“I can do this,” she said, glaring into his face intently. “I have to. That fool Mordecai has left me no choice, so it will do us no good to stand around her pondering what-ifs.”
She was right, and she knew that he knew it, but that didn’t make it any easier. She knew he saw her as a daughter. A very crazy and slightly dangerous daughter.
“Paris,” he said.
“Paris?” She was temporarily confused, and it didn’t register straight away what her mentor was talking about. Then she said, “Oh! The third piece is in Paris?”
“The Louvre, of all places.” He pulled the goggles over his head. He seldom took them off, and when he did, it was for cleaning. He looked…odd without them. Like when a man who has had a moustache for a very long time and suddenly shaves. “The final piece is called “Wanderlust”. It’s a painting.”
Abigale glanced down at the picture. The painting depicted a sky-city. Towers stretched up to the clouds while the ground seemed to reach down to those below. One large structure stood out in the centre of the image, a gargantuan masterpiece of architecture that was something of an optical illusion. Turrets jutted up, interlacing after several storeys, twisting into one long spire that looked like a strand of thread. It was remarkable and nothing like Abigale had ever seen before.
“Wanderlust?” she said, chewing the word over. “I like that. Sounds like it’s worth a few bob.”
“Priceless,” Octavius confirmed. “Frederic Laffitte’s paintings are perhaps the most famous in France. Stealing it will most definitely substantiate the claims that you are, in fact, the greatest thief in the world.”
Smiling, Abigale said, “Sounds good to me. It’ll put an end to all those naysayers.” There were many of them out there, amateur bandits that had nowhere near her skills and portfolio, and yet, that didn’t prevent them from running around badmouthing her.
Octavius removed the bag of money from the wooden box and placed it down upon the table. “There should be enough here for your expenses,” he said, slowly and carefully counting it out. “If you find yourself in Paris looking at shoes, try not to get carried away. This is intended, one would imagine, for food and lodgings.”
“Hey, since when did I become a shoe hoarder?” She only had three pairs, not including the boots she wore when she was working.
“Yes, but you’ve never seen genuine French shoes,” Octavius said, stacking the money into a semi-neat pile. “You will have no capacity to carry unnecessary items.”
“Unless the triptych is smaller than it seems,” Abigale said. “These objects are just the vessels. You said it yourself, whatever Mordecai wants, it’s inside.”
He nodded. “Then you must get to the core of these objects and destroy the evidence.”
Was he suggesting what she thought he was? “You mean smash the vase? It’s been around since the Thirteenth Century. The dinosaur egg has been around since… Well, since dinosaurs walked the Earth…”
“All needless weight and bulk you can ill afford to transport.”
She knew he was right. He was always right. It just seemed sacrilege to destroy objects that had been around for so long, even if it was for the greater good.
“You need to study,” Octavius said, waving a gnarled and veiny hand over the papers strewn across the table. “I will build what I can, but time is limited.”
Abigale lunged for him, grabbed him around the neck and kissed him just above his beard. When she pulled away, he looked positively terrified. Creases in the corners of his eyes stretched right across to his ears. If Abigale didn’t know better, she would have said he was smiling.
They set to work.
7
The explosion wracked through The Guild headquarters with such force that three members of Mordecai Pick’s security team were instantly evaporated. When the dust settled a moment later, a large man wearing a rifleman’s coat walked slowly over the rubble. A lead in his hand finished at a brass-armoured wolf—his personal pet, Kai.
Dorian Clowes, a necromancer of some renown, did not look in the mood for games. His wolf growled, and its master released the lead. The wolf launched itself toward a suited man, who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. With one snap of its gaping maw, the unfortunate man’s throat was torn away. Blood hit the wall at the edge of the room, painting it crimson, and the wolf momentarily nuzzled at the flesh at its feet before growing bored and returning to Dorian.
“Keep that thing on its lead, would you,” a beautiful woman said as she sidled up alongside the necromancer. Her hair was long, blacker than night. A dark, veiled hat covered one side of her face entirely. Her ruby-red lips gave her the appearance of some ancient vampire, but Blithe was worse than any vampire could ever hope to be.
“Yes, Mistress,” Dorian said, patting his brass-wolf on its side. “He is mostly harmless.”
Blithe nodded. “I’ll bear that in mind,” she said. “Come. I’m guessing they will be expecting us now.”
Dorian led the way, his brass-wolf loping steadily alongside him. Blithe followed, casually brushing debris from her shoulder. It had taken almost a year to find out where The Guild operated from, and they’d brought it to its knees in less than ten seconds flat.
*
Mordecai sat behind his desk, his feet up and resting next to a block of contracts he’d been working through. The explosion had surprised him, but only with its suddenness. It had always been inevitable that the wizard would track them. She always did, but it had taken a little longer than usual, and Mordecai had mistakenly started to believe they had finally given her and her cronies the slip. Someone had been complacent. He would find out who, if he survived the day.
On the other side of his office door, someone groaned, and then there was an almighty thud as if something—A limb?—had been launched in his direction.
Werner, standing at the edge of the room, shot Mordecai a nervous glance, but the big man just shrugged as if to say, “What do you want me to do about it?”
There was gunfire, another grunt, a scream that would have raised the hackles on even the most stoic of henchmen, and then the door burst from its frame in a great red conflagration of magic and fire. Mordecai didn’t flinch. He didn’t even drop his feet from the desk. There was no point. Escape was futile, and if he knew Blithe as well as he thought he did, she wasn’t there to kill him.
She was there to squeeze him for information.
Time to play dumb, he thought.
In she came, as stunning as ever, as deceiving as anyone that had ever graced the Earth. Mordecai had always seen her as a venomous snake, all pretty colours and very distracting, but deadlier than almost every other creature and liable to swallow you whole if she had half a chance. She’d brought her personal favourite with her, too, which didn’t bode well. Dorian was known for his lack of patience and love of gore. If that chainsword of his came out, it was all over. At his side was a brass-wolf. Never leave home without one.
Mordecai clapped his hands together, feigning joy. “Ah, Blithe, my dear sorceress. How delightful it is to see you again.” He remained seated, even going so far as to light a cigar. If she was going to torture him, he was going to get in something pleasurable first, take the edge off.
Werner held his hand aloft in the corner of the room. He looked pathetic.
“No, Werner, you may not leave,” Mordecai said. To Blithe, he added, “Honestly, they’re all loyal when the world is filled with peace, but as soon as the shit hits the fan…”
“Have you quite finished, Mordecai?” Blithe said. “You know why I’m here.”
“Have you killed everyone?” asked Mordecai.
From where he sat, he could see a severed arm, and what appeared to be a clump of hair attached to a thin slice of scalp, lying just beyond the exploded door.
“Pretty much,” she said, indifferently. Kai growled at Werner as he edged along the wall. “I wouldn’t do that, little man,” Blithe told him without turning from Mordecai. Her long, witchy finger pointed toward him, though. “I don’t think he ate many of the people on the way up here. He’ll still be peckish.”
Werner fell still.
“Where are the final pieces?” Blithe said, hissing the last word, further proof that she was a snake in disguise.
Mordecai thoughtfully chewed on his cigar. “Aren’t you the all-powerful, all-seeing Blithe? Shouldn’t you know where to find them? If you do, please let me know. The Guild has been searching for those missing pieces for centuries.”
Dorian unsheathed his chainsword with a chi-ching. He took a step forward and was about to pull the starter cord.
Blithe stopped him. “Not yet, Dorian. I’m willing to give him a chance to change his mind.”
Dorian grunted and reluctantly stepped back. His eyes burned with rage, and the cords of his neck stuck out like razorblades.
“Now, Mordecai,” she continued. “As you can see, Dorian is very eager to cut you into tiny pieces, and I’m in two minds whether to let him just go ahead and get it over with. You’ve been a thorn in my side for long enough, and I don’t care about The Magocracy’s rules and regulations. I’m this close to putting an end to you, once and for all.”
Blowing out a smoke ring that was larger than his own head, Mordecai smiled. “You know very well that they won’t allow it. Murdering a mortal just because you’re tired of them is not acceptable behaviour, you know that. The Magocracy will put you to death, and then what? We’ll both be in hell. You’ll never get rid of me.” He snorted. It was so ridiculous, and yet true.
Blithe took a step toward the desk. Her corset crunched as she leaned over, pushing her face as close to Mordecai’s as she could without actually touching it. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Sitting up here in your mortal office, with your giant globe and your drinks cabinet?”
It was a sure-fire sign of success, yes. Did he think he was smart, though? Yes, he did.
Blithe raised her hand so it was between their faces, and as she slowly opened her fist, a small cobalt flame began to materialise. Mordecai could feel the energy radiating from it, could feel the heat as it grew and grew, still not leaving a mark on the sorceress’s slender palm.
“You know what you are, Mordecai Pick?” She pushed her lips into a pout, and then peeled them back to reveal a row of jagged teeth that would have better suited a shark. “You’re an ant. Such a tiny thing to be, an ant. Always walking around, trying not to get squashed. But then, one day, along comes a giant boot, and your head is where your stomach used to be.”
The glowing orb continued to grow. It was almost as big as Mordecai’s head, at that point, and no matter how hard he tried not to look at it, he found himself drawn into its beauty. Worlds swam around inside it, entire universes that scientists would kill to take a closer look at. For a brief moment, he wanted nothing more than to be devoured by it wholly.
“You have an important decision to make,” Blithe said in barely more than a whisper.
She was trying to hypnotise him, flummox him into giving her information. He fought against it, trying not to allow her to consume his thoughts. He didn’t know whether she was capable of it, but she was strong. Nothing would surprise him.
“Do you want to continue being an ant, Mordecai? Stumbling around, wondering how long it will be before that giant boot falls. Or do you want to become something much more? Something…unstoppable?”
Clouds flew around in the shimmering bulb upon her hands. Clouds and planets, a thousand of each. It was all he could do, not to reach out and plunge his hand into it, to feel the textures of such wondrous things. Smoke drifted up into his eye, snapping him from his reverie. He wedged the cigar into the corner of his mouth and clamped down on it,
“Not today,” he said, “but thanks for the offer.” Phew, close call. He didn’t think she’d managed to search his soul for answers because the angry face glowering at him across the desk suggested she had nothing.
“You will regret this,” she said. “I will make it my lifelong goal to cause you, and everyone around you, unthinkable pain.” The giant blue orb dissipated, fizzling out to nothingness. She clenched her fist and drove it straight into Mordecai’s smug face, knocking him back hard into his chair.
Blood dribbled from his nostrils, and his head buzzed as unconsciousness beckoned. He managed to gather himself and watch as the sorceress whirled and summoned her personal necromancer to follow.
“We’re wasting our time here,” she said as she reached the door. She spun, her face contorted into something like pure malevolence. “We’ll find those pieces, and when we do, you will be the first to know.” She walked through the hole in the wall that had, until a moment before, been a rather pleasing oak door.
Dorian followed, dragging his hungry brass-wolf with him. Someone fired a shot, but then came the scream, and the sound of Kai tearing at flesh filled the office.
“Well, that went about as well as expected,” Mordecai said.
In the corner of the room, Werner slid down the wall, gasping for breath and looking more than a little peaky.
Something exploded on the floor below, but that was okay. It meant they were leaving.
8
Studying the pages Mordecai had left her, Abigale realised how dangerous the whole thing was. She sat at Octavius’s desk, diligently working through the plans to each museum. They were rudimentary, but gave her an idea of where she would find each artefact, how many people would try to take it from her when she had it, and what other security measures the museums had in place to prevent people like her from earning a dishonest living.
Behind her, Octavius was grinding away at some contraption or other. It was hard to concentrate with all that noise going on, but she didn’t want to take the plans home with her. Mouse would understand, and Octavius had promised to keep an eye on the little bastard while she was out of the country, which was a huge weight off her mind.
Paris. Russia.
It was as if she was trapped in a dream, some magnificent delusion where she travelled the world and stole from the greatest museums ever built. It was easy to forget that she had a deadly device pushing against her skull, ready to kill her at any moment. In fact, it was a nice distraction. The last thing she wanted to do was worry about whether she was going to drop dead unannounced. It would throw her off her stride.
Ignoring the racket of her tinkerer, she pressed on, making notes in a small journal that she would take with her. The rest of it would remain with Octavius. He would destroy it as soon as she was gone, leaving no trace of it behind, nothing to link either of them to the crimes.
Rule number one was the most important—Always cover your tracks. If the police can’t find you, you will live to steal another day. Try robbing a bank from a prison cell. It’s almost impossible.
Almost.
She made notes, scrawling in her little book about every possible exit, every structural weakness of miscalculation.
Most people wouldn’t think an architect, building something designed to house hundreds of invaluable artefacts, would make such easy errors, but they do. Things such as forgetting to seal up a basement, or placing walls in a manner that someone could simply run through from one to the next, dodging the law all day long. Architects are all about aesthetics. If it looks good, they’re happy, and to hell with functionality.
The London job would be the most difficult. Stealing anything during the day was hard, and stealing it from what would be a heavily secured building made it even more difficult. It just so happened that Abigale was an expert in blending. Even with her bright red hair, intense emerald eyes, and propensity to wear alluring—though not r
evealing—clothes, she could meld into any background like a chameleon. Part of the furniture, some might say. It was easy to be unassuming because she knew what she was doing. However, at the Victoria and Albert Museum, she would have to be so inconspicuous that if her own mother were to come back from the dead, she wouldn’t notice her.
Vase. Egg. Painting. What could possibly fit inside those three very different objects? How heavy is it going to be? Will it be awkward to carry, with lots of sharp edges?
She had to consider each and every aspect. She would be bearing her satchel during the heists because she needed to make sure she would have her hands free once the artefacts were in her possession. People would be coming at her from all angles, and the last thing she wanted to have to do was toss the treasure in their direction in order to make good her escape. It had never happened before, but there was a first time for everything. If it was a choice between unloading a dinosaur egg and serving life in a Russian gaol, she didn’t think it would take her too long to decide.
She studied the diagram of Poseidon’s Gale. For some reason, Mordecai had seen fit to include a map of its interior. What was he anticipating? Surely, the trip across the ocean would be uneventful. She wondered why she would need to know where the life ships were, or that there were six of them strapped to the left-hand side of the dirigible?
According to the plans, Poseidon’s Gale had a capacity of two hundred, while each life ship was able to accommodate up to seven people. Abigale was no mathematician, but even she knew that didn’t quite add up, that the majority of the travellers would be going down with the dirigible if they should find themselves plummeting toward the ground. She guessed it was just a matter of first come, first served. She considered that maybe Mordecai knew that, too, and had included the information, so that Abigale could remain close to one of the ships.
