by Simon Haynes
Clunk was still trying to estimate the weight of jewels attached to Sur Loyne's hilt when his enemy let out a battle-cry and charged him, sword drawn back for a strike. He came running at Clunk, neck muscles corded as he yelled with all his might, trying to put his opponent off.
Clunk waited until the last second, side-stepped Sur Loyne's charge and ducked effortlessly under the wildly-swung sword. He straightened, completely unharmed, and there was a titter from the crowd. The laughter was quickly stilled as the big fighter ran a fierce, angry gaze over the watching faces. Slowly, Sur Loyne turned to face the robot, his forearms bulging as he took a strong grip on his sword.
Meanwhile, Clunk swung his weapon in one hand, spinning it so fast it turned into a whirling, gleaming disk. The metal blade hummed loudly as it cut the air, and when he'd judged the sword's balance to his satisfaction, Clunk finished with a flourish, the tip pointing at Sur Loyne's throat. Clunk stood there, as rigid as a statue, while his opponent frowned and took several steps to the side. Then Sur Loyne took out a small dagger with his left hand, and prepared for a double strike.
Varnish leaned forward eagerly. "Now we'll see the colour of that abomination's insides!"
"Don't be so sure," said Lord Chylde. "The mechanical man could be even faster and stronger than it looks. Sur Loyne wants to be careful, or the metal man will take his head and crush it like a melon."
"There's more chance of finding a maiden in the slums."
"Five guineas says the creature ends Sur Loyne with a single blow."
"I do not gamble," said Varnish softly.
"I'm not surprised. You don't really do much of anything."
Clunk and Sur Loyne were still facing off, although the human was now circling the robot, weapon at the ready. He darted in suddenly, aiming a blow, but Clunk deflected it easily. Sur Loyne stood his ground, aiming frantic swipes at the robot, but every single one was blocked. He even tried the dagger, intending to slip the wicked point between gaps in the robot's armour, but that too was blocked effortlessly.
By now, Clunk had gathered the information he needed. His opponent's sword was forged from mild steel, and weighed slightly more than two kilos. The effect of the sword on his plasteel skin would be negligible, and so the next time Sur Loyne aimed a swipe at his chest, Clunk merely raised his arms.
Clang!
The crowd gasped as the sword struck home.
Snap!
As Clunk expected, the blade broke against his hardened shell, and Sur Loyne staggered back with the useless hilt in his grasp. The rest of the blade clattered on the paving stones, gleaming and sharp, but totally useless.
"By Zephyr!" whispered Lord Chylde, eyes wide. Sur Loyne's blade was famed for its strength and quality, and yet it had snapped like a stick on the metal man's armour. He'd thought the metal man a curio, some wind-up mechanical toy discarded by a wealthy princeling. Now it dawned on him that he had been a little hasty giving the thing to his niece, for a metal man such as this, at the head of an army, would be nigh invincible. Why, a Lord might even consider taking back the Four Kingdoms, uniting them under a single banner!
Lord Chylde glanced along the table, worried his treasonous thoughts might be plain to all. Fortunately, most were engrossed in the one-sided fight. Sur Tainty and Sur Reptishis were watching the duel avidly, while Sur Blyme and Queen Therstie only had eyes for the half-naked beefcake strutting around the arena.
In fact, Chylde only knew of one man with sufficient wit to come to the same conclusion as himself, and, sure enough, when he met Lord Varnish's gaze it was obvious the devious, traitorous wretch was thinking along the same lines. "A night time meeting in my chambers, do you think?" murmured Chylde.
Varnish tilted his head in acceptance.
"You there!" shouted Sur Loyne, making them both start guiltily. The fighter wasn't about to expose their duplicity, though, he just wanted the lend of a new weapon. "Your war hammer, and quick!"
A guard tossed his hammer, Sur Loyne snatching it from midair and twirling it around expertly, getting a feel for the balance. Then he advanced on the robot once more.
Chylde watched the metal man parrying the blows with ease, and decided to up the challenge a notch or two. He turned to a guard, who was standing to attention nearby. The man had a bow slung over one shoulder, a quiver of arrows at his hip. "A guinea if you can land a shot on that metal creature."
The guard looked startled, then nodded and unslung his bow. He drew back and fired with one fluid motion, and the arrow sped across the square towards its target.
Clunk was busy fending off blows from the hammer, but he perceived the arrow in flight and plucked it from the air with a lightning-fast move. Then, with more urging from Chylde, half a dozen guards took up position and began to loose off arrows, all desperate to claim a gold coin. Unfortunately, their hopes were in vain, because Clunk handled the rapid volley with aplomb, until the arena was littered with spent shafts. Also, several dead spectators, as a number of arrows missed the mark and plunged into human flesh instead.
Eventually, Chylde halted the archers. It was clearly a waste of time, and if one of them shot Sur Loyne by mistake there would be hell to pay. He saw Varnish smirking, and frowned at him. "What?"
"You're going to need a bigger bow," said the Master of Spies.
By now, the combat had been going on for twenty fruitless minutes, and the surviving members of the crowd were getting bored. Their taunts were ignored, the robot could plainly handle anything thrown at it, and Sur Loyne was panting and red-faced as he struggled to hit the metal creature with his war hammer.
The queen judged the mood, and decided to end it. She stood, and with a curt command she brought the fight to an end. "Well done, very well done. I declare the result a draw."
Clunk nodded politely to his opponent and returned to the marquee, splintering fallen arrows underfoot. He returned the sword to its owner, then eyed the queen, trying to decide whether he'd earned her favour. After all, he'd done his best not to hurt her champion.
Behind him, Sur Loyne rested on his war hammer, struggling to get his breath back. He had a face like thunder, and his eyes glinted dangerously as he watched the robot.
Chapter 9
Father M stood on tiptoes, trying to see over the crowd of people trying to get into the city square. Runt stood on tiptoes as well, and an ant might as well have climbed onto a toothpick to get a better view of the horizon.
Cunning merchants had blocked most of the alleys and byways leading into the square, with the result that everyone had to pass through the same narrow gap. Two smart operators were manning a hastily-erected ticket booth, while a couple of guards stood nearby ready to move them on if a superior showed up. The unofficial ticket booth was raking in the pennies, and it was obvious the guards were in on the take.
Every now and then a clash of swords, a shout of triumph or a cry of despair could be heard in the town square, the latter frequently cut short with a gurgle and a roar from the crowd.
"Hurm fight!" muttered the big fighter. He was practically dancing from one foot to the other, bumping into people and knocking them into barrels of produce, traders' handcarts and fresh pats of horse manure. Several bounced up, eager to have words with the clumsy oaf after losing their place in the slow-moving queue. Then they became aware of his granite-like physique, and wisely moved to the back of the queue, wiping horse muck from their clothes.
"We should have got here earlier," muttered Runt.
"Yes, well perhaps you shouldn't have messed with Sur Cumfrence."
"Maybe you shouldn't have split the barkeep's lip with your stick."
"Did you try those drinks? Anyway, it's not a stick, it's a magic wand."
"Not in this city it isn't," snapped Runt. "Use magic here and they'll chop your head off."
"I'd like to see them try," muttered Father M, but all the same he drew his embroidered robes tight around his gaunt frame. If anyone searched him, they'd find enough hundred-proof
potions, suspicious herbal ingredients and explicit etchings to have him up for every vice under the sun … and both moons.
"Hurm fight!" grumbled their companion, and having completely lost his patience he began to push forwards, elbowing aside the packed ranks of locals. Runt saw his chance and nipped in behind the human, following in his wake. Father M was about to protest, then realised it was pointless, and so he followed as well.
They reached the ticket booth, where a snaggle-toothed man held out a blank scrap of paper. "Ten pence for entry."
There was a riiissskkk as Hurm drew his sword, still in full flight, and with a swish the top came off the kiosk. The same could have been said for the ticket seller, had he not ducked at the last second, and as he cowered on the cobblestones the rest of his kiosk was chopped into kindling around him. As for the guards, they took one look at the big fighter's sword and walked off, one whistling tonelessly while the other began discussing the weather.
Hurm charged into the square with Runt hot on his heels. The halfling couldn't see where they were going, but he did take the opportunity to relieve the ticket-seller of his weighty purse.
The rest of the people in the alley, initially inclined to object to this blatant queue-jumper, now realised they'd saved themselves a month's wages, and followed him gratefully.
As Father M brought up the rear he saw something that made his eyebrows lower until they were almost covering his eyes. Said eyes glittered with suppressed anger, and he paused in the alley to look at a boarded-up shop. Not just any shop, this, as the faded sign said 'Mages Guild & Supplies'. Someone had painted a red pentagram over the sign, and the boards covering the entrance were likewise marked. Through a gap he saw a counter inside, charred and broken, with traces of ingredients and broken glass trampled into the dirt floor.
His lips set in a firm line, Father M turned away and followed the others into the square.
— ♦ —
Clunk watched the queen sink several glasses of wine, and when he judged the time was right, he approached to ask his favour.
"Sur Roybot," said one of the guards, as though the queen might mistake Clunk for anyone else. Then again, after a few more flagons of wine she might think him to be the wind god Zephyr made whole. Such mistakes had been made before, only to be discovered with much embarrassment the next morning.
"Your Majesty," said Clunk quietly, with a bow.
"Speak up, speak up," said the queen irritably. "Can't stand mumbling."
"Might I beg a favour?"
"Depends," said Therstie, and she took a decent slug of wine from her glass. "What's in it for me?"
Clunk hesitated. What did he have that an all-powerful ruler might desire? He knew a few card tricks, and he believed he could pilot a spaceship, but neither were likely to find favour. Then he hit upon the perfect answer. "Did you notice how the champion's sword broke on my armour?"
"Did I ever! I thought Loyne was going to burst, he was so angry."
"How would Your Majesty like me to teach advanced metallurgy to your subjects? With armour such as mine, your troops would be invincible."
Therstie paused, glass halfway to her lips. Then, slowly, she put the glass down. "Better armour? Invincible?"
"Indeed. If given access to a forge, I could soon teach them the basics."
"It shall be arranged, Sur Roybot." The queen studied him. "Where did my uncle get you, anyway? He never did tell me."
Clunk hesitated. Lord Chylde had lied to the queen, and Clunk was incapable of doing the same. On the other hand, if he dropped Lord Chylde in it, the man would probably be executed, and Clunk couldn't have that on his conscience either. So, he adopted the middle ground. "I was unconscious, lost at sea."
"Gosh, how exciting. Was it a shipwreck?"
"I fell off a ship, yes." Clunk frowned as he tried to remember more, but he could only recall the same scene, over and over again. A freighter travelling through hyperspace. The cargo doors wide open. Him, either falling out, or being pushed out. And then … darkness, at least until he'd woken on the beach. "I don't remember where I came from."
"Well, you're mine now, so it doesn't matter, does it?" Therstie looked up at him. "So, what do you want, Sur Roybot? What is this favour of yours?"
"Once I build a forge, I would like the use of it from time to time."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, majesty. It pleases me to build trinkets and small devices." Small devices like a refinery, a basic computer and spaceship engines … but he decided not to mention those. Indeed, before he got that far he'd need survey equipment to locate suitable minerals and crude oil deposits, and those would require a flying vehicle of some kind. "Tell me, majesty, has your civilisation mastered the skies?"
The queen frowned at him. "What do you mean?"
"Flight, ma'am. Air travel."
Therstie eyed her wine glass. "Once, kings and queens travelled on dragon-back. Then, during the Great Famine, a remote outpost encountered the fresh corpse of a fallen dragon. Starving and desperate, they cooked the flesh." Therstie ran a tongue across her upper lip. "Once word got out, dragons were butchered and eaten wholesale. Few survived, and the remnants have taken refuge in the rocky wilds of the West."
"I'm sorry, did you say … dragons?"
"Sure. Don't you have them where you're from?"
"My … dictionary … lists them as mythical beings."
"Oh, they exist all right. I saw one once, as a child." Therstie sighed. "It was the last in captivity, and they'd saved it for a royal wedding. There were many guests, and the dragon was young. Alas, we barely got a mouthful each."
Clunk added the valuable information to his store. He would need one of these dragons for his plans, and that apparently meant travelling to the rocky wilds of the West. But first —
The queen interrupted his thoughts. "Sur Roybot, you will have your forge in return for the secrets of invincible armour."
Clunk realised his audience was over, and he bowed deeply before returning to the far end of the marquee. On the way he caught a glance from Lord Chylde, the man clearly worried that Clunk had said too much. Moments later, the queen's uncle got up, collected a flagon of wine, and made his way to the queen's side. They spoke together at length, with both of them casting sidelong glances at Clunk. The queen seemed unconvinced about something, but as the level of wine in the carafe went down, so did her defences, until she waved a languid hand in defeat.
Lord Chylde gave Clunk a victorious smile, then gestured to the guards. Before Clunk realised what was happening, he was surrounded. Then, once he judged it was safe, Chylde came over and explained.
"The queen is concerned that you might be an enemy spy, sent here to learn as much as possible about our kingdom." He raised his voice so that everyone in the party could hear. "Therefore, her majesty has authorised certain precautions. You will be incarcerated until further notice, and any attempt at escape will be met with your destruction. You will be held in isolation, and anyone attempting to communicate with you will be executed. Guards, take him away."
The guards hesitated. After all, they'd been watching when the mechanical man had embarrassed the queen's champion, and they knew their weapons were no match for its speed and armour.
"Forward, men!" shouted Lord Chylde. "Dare you disobey your queen?"
Clunk raised his hands, palms outwards. "I will not harm you," he said quietly.
At that, the guards found their courage, and they surrounded Clunk, hoisted him off his feet, and carried him away to the dungeons. Lord Chylde watched them go with some satisfaction. With the marvellous device locked in his own cells, he'd have full control of the thing … for the time being at least.
— ♦ —
Tiera was lying on her bunk when she heard a key in the lock, and she jumped up immediately. She'd heard the unmistakable sound of a sword fight in the square, as well as the noise of a restless crowd. She knew how these things went, and wise rulers knew that the best way to appease a c
rowd was to drag a few extra prisoners out and lop their heads off. If Spadell didn't hurry up and release her, some busybody might have her off to the executioner any minute.
So, as the door opened she was once again crouched behind it, ready to sell her life dearly.
"It's just me," said Spadell calmly. "You can come out."
Tiera left her hiding place, and to her surprise she saw the captain had released the youth, Thonn, from his chains. The kid was clutching his stomach, and she could see bruises where the queen's champion had bravely beaten the skinny teenager while he was still chained to the wall. "Are you all right?" she asked him.
Thonn made a rocking gesture with his free hand. The other was still holding his belly, and his face was grey. There was gratitude in his eyes though, and he gazed at Tiera as though she were a vision sent by the gods themselves.
"There's no time to lose," said Spadell. "The men on duty have been told you're both being released, so there won't be any trouble. Head down the passage to the rear exit, and get away from here as quick as you can."
"Aren't you coming with us?" Tiera could just imagine some jobsworth holding them up while he made a show of checking their release details. It was a classic shakedown, and she didn't have any money.
"No. The captain of the watch doesn't escort prisoners. If I made an exception, someone would ask why." Spadell saw her hesitation. "Relax, my men are well trained. They won't question my orders."
She nodded at this, and clutching the rough cape around herself, she guided Thonn into the passage. Before they left, Spadell touched her arm and handed her the stiletto he'd found in the High Priest's quarters. "If you flee the city without completing your … mission … I will understand. But I will not forgive."
"I gave you my word," murmured Tiera, tucking the knife inside her sleeve. "It will be done, and then we will head north, to the land of the Barks."
