Clocks and Daggers
The Thief’s Apprentice - Book Two
Sara C Roethle
Vulture’s Eye Publications
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Note from the Author
Copyright © 2016 by Sara C Roethle
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Chapter 1
Arhyen stared down at the Watch report in his lap. He’d been sitting on his blue, threadbare sofa for the past hour, attempting to divine who the grave-robbers might be, and why the body was so horribly mangled. He repressed the need to vomit as he looked over the gruesome photo once more. Crime scene photography had recently developed as a common practice with the Watch, though Arhyen wished it hadn’t. The image had fortunately been robbed of color, but he could still make out the lacerations covering the victim’s nude body, and the natural decay that took place when a corpse had been dead for nearly two weeks.
According to Ephraim, the wayward detective he had suddenly found himself partnered with in his fight against the London Network, the victim, Marabella Conway, had been buried three days prior, after the initial mourning period had passed. She’d died young at only twenty-two in a carriage accident. Two days after her burial, her body had been found stuffed into a waste bin on the other side of town, near where she’d been buried. The waste-service men had reported the corpse to the Watch, and the case had been immediately forwarded to Ephraim, who’d become a sort of specialist on the strange and unusual. All odd cases came across his desk at one point or another.
He glanced at the picture again. Grave-robbing was unfortunately common, as alchemists and surgeons alike prized fresh cadavers for their experiments, but there was something off about this one. The organs had been stolen, and the body tossed away like garbage. Normal grave-robbers - he hated thinking of any grave-robbers as normal, but there it was - would take all they could from the body, then incinerate the remains to eliminate evidence. This one was left in an obvious place, as if its kidnappers had wanted it to be found, or else were not overly concerned with it being linked to them.
He flipped through the remaining pages of information, wanting to ensure he’d missed nothing. Ephraim would want to return the file to Watch headquarters before anyone realized it was missing. It was illegal for him to divulge crime scene information to not only a standard citizen, but a known thief, yet for Arhyen, he’d made an exception. The case reeked of the London Network.
Over the past three weeks since the existence of the LN had been revealed to them, Ephraim, Arhyen, and Liliana had been immersed in their reconnaissance mission. They would find out as much information about the LN as possible, then they would take the organization down from the inside. How was an inside job possible? Well, they were all technically members, for starters.
An emissary for the London Network, an automaton known as Codename Hamlet, or simply, Hamlet, had allowed Ephraim, Liliana, and Arhyen to live on the condition they joined the LN. They simply knew too much to be allowed re-entry into their normal lives. Since joining, they’d been constantly followed and spied upon, yet they’d had no direct contact with Hamlet, or any other members. Arhyen knew it was only a matter of time before that would change. They’d been left alive solely because they might prove valuable to the LN, especially Liliana.
Arhyen shook his head, attempting to turn his thoughts away from Liliana. She was out with Ephraim, under the guise of going out to lunch, though really they were meeting with one of Ephraim’s contacts, one of the many criminals who’d filed a report with the Watch against the LN. Unfortunately, as far as the Watch was concerned, the LN was a myth. Such reports were recorded, then instantly cast aside.
Though Liliana, with her automaton strength and speed, was more than capable of taking care of herself, and Ephraim could protect her should the need arise, thoughts of the meeting made his stomach churn. It had been the perfect opportunity though, for Ephraim to not only covertly slip him the case file, but to give him a chance to investigate further with fewer tails. Ephraim and Liliana were the ones being interesting at the moment, so the LN’s spies would likely be focused on them, another fact that had Arhyen worried. As the creation of the late Fairfax Breckinridge, the alchemist who created synthetic emotions, Liliana was of immense interest to the LN. He feared they’d eventually tire of watching her from afar, and would take her for experimentation. He would burn all of London to the ground before that happened.
Giving the case file one final look over, he stood and hastened toward the bathroom where his secret safe lay hidden beneath a floor tile. Already within the vessel was the recreated journal of Fairfax Breckinridge, containing the formula to create emotions, along with an electricity stone concocted by the late Victor Ashdown. The stone could generate large amounts of electricity without any connection to a power source. Liliana, the only member of their small group with any knowledge of alchemy, had speculated that perhaps the stone absorbed charged particles out of the air, or else somehow worked on friction, much like Liliana’s clockwork heart.
Reaching the bathroom, he forced away thoughts of Liliana to focus on the matter at hand. He crouched before the central tile and pried it up with a lock-picking tool before using a small key to unlock the safe. He placed the file within, not wanting it to fall into the wrong hands should a member of the LN break into his apartment while he was away. As far as he knew, it hadn’t happened yet. He had trip wires and various traps in place, and they’d only been multiplying since the night they met Hamlet. The triggering of any traps would let Arhyen know someone had invaded their space, but he was still wary. He wouldn’t be surprised if Hamlet found a way to enter the apartment while evading all traps. He was faster and stronger than any normal man, and was intelligent. He could be sneaking in every night to watch Arhyen and Liliana sleep, and they’d be none the wiser.
Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he shut and locked the safe, then slid the tile back into place. With a tired sigh, he stood and caught sight of himself in the oval mirror above the sink. He straightened his black ascot over his black shirt. His hair was its usual mess, and his face held two days worth of stubble, but he didn’t bother remedying either. People tended to pay less attention to someone who looked like he might hit the bottle a bit too often, and the fewer eyes on him, the better.
He exited the bathroom and took the time to set the various traps. Liliana knew where they all were, and could disarm them should she and Ephraim return in his absence. That task finished, he retrieved his satchel and black bowler cap from the low table in front of the sofa, then moved toward the door. He instinctively hopped over the tripwire that remained set at all times, removed his overcoat from a wall hook, then turned the row of locks two at a time before letting himself outside.
He squinted up at the unusually sunny sky, his mood contrasting sharply with the cheery blue hue, then turned the many lock
s on the door, stifling a shiver. Despite the sun’s rare appearance, winter was definitely on its way. With the apartment as secure as he could make it, he glanced both ways down the narrow alley that served as his entryway, then took off down the cobblestone street, listening for signs of pursuit, though he’d seen no signs of life.
Normally when he was attempting to remain hidden from the LN, he would take to the drainage canals beneath the city, but he would not do so today. The graveyard where Ms. Conway’s corpse had been exhumed was far across the city. He’d need to catch a public carriage if he hoped to make it there in a timely manner, and could always lose any of the LN’s spies that followed him that far once he was back on foot.
He wasn’t sure if he’d find anything at the graveyard that the Watch may have missed, but it was a logical place to start, just in case. After that, he’d begin to research Ms. Conway herself. Hopefully her life and connections would provide further insight, and perhaps even a link to the LN.
He half-jogged down the street toward the Market District, shuddering to think what use the London Network might have for a young woman’s corpse. Liliana had regaled him of what she’d seen when Viola, the leader of a group that had branched away from the LN, had taken her prisoner. Viola’s faction had obviously been doing extra experiments that had nothing to do with the bottled emotions they’d also hoped to manufacture. Liliana claimed she’d seen tiny humans suspended in large glass tubes of liquid, along with individual organs, and unidentifiable masses of flesh. Hamlet had destroyed all evidence in the building that night, but their memories were still fresh.
Reaching the main street of the Market District, bustling with the lunch crowd, he almost considered popping in to check on Ephraim and Liliana. Sadly, he had no excuse to do so, and neither would thank him if he managed to scare off whatever criminal they were meeting with today. It was unfortunate that their most trustworthy allies in their fight against the LN were common miscreants, all slighted in some way by the organization, or else currently fearing for their lives, but most normal folk weren’t aware the London Network even existed.
He passed by the cafes, his mouth watering at the scent of fresh baked bread and boiling soups. He would have liked to stop and eat, but it was the perfect time to catch one of the multi-passenger carriages that would be full come the end of the lunch hour. Ms. Conway had been buried in one of the Magnificent Seven, large, private graveyards that weren’t a part of church grounds, so unfortunately, the public carriages would not likely take him all the way there, but they could at least save him several hours of walking.
He picked up his pace as one of the oversized, horse-drawn carriages came into view. Though coal and steam-powered automobiles were becoming more popular, they were just beginning to cross the line into public transit. Currently the only alternatively-powered locomotives available to the lower classes were the railways, which was fine by Arhyen. He preferred the occasional equine smell to the billowing black clouds of acrid smoke spewed forth by the coal-powered vehicles’ burners.
He slowed his trot as he reached the boxy wooden carriage, a line forming at its side. It was mostly ladies in full, frilly dresses climbing inside, their heads adorned with large hats, bedecked with either feathers, lace, or both. He found the hats ridiculous, and was glad Liliana seemed to steer away from the more garish styles . . . not that it was any of his business what styles she chose to wear.
A few of the older ladies were chattering loudly as they waited to board. Arhyen did his best to tune them out, focusing his senses on his surroundings. Was the newspaper boy across the street looking at him oddly? Did the man in line behind him have a strange, nefarious air? He shook his head. He’d been jumping at shadows for weeks. Unfortunately, most of the jumps were warranted. He could not grow complacent simply because Hamlet had yet to force his side of their agreement.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally able to board the carriage. He paid his coin to the porter, then scanned the rows of seats, divided down the middle by a narrow corridor. Each individual bench was meant to hold two people, but could fit three if necessary. There were more passengers filling the rows of seats than he would like, many sitting three to a seat, but it was to be expected at that hour. Hopefully most would depart before the carriage reached the end of its route.
He spotted a bench near the back where a single woman was sitting. Deeming it an acceptable option, he hurried down the corridor and sat, just as a jingle and a thwap signaled the driver shaking the reins, urging the team of horses into motion. He gripped his seat as the carriage jolted forward, then continued smoothly across the asphalt of the main street. Remaining tense and fully alert, he observed the woman beside him through his peripheral vision. She wore a modest, pale blue dress with long sleeves and a high collar. Dark hair hung in ringlets around her face, topped with a lacy blue hat. He sensed no animosity coming from her, but he was suspicious of everyone these days. He tightened his grip on his satchel and forced his gaze forward.
Several minutes passed, enclosing Arhyen in the sound of hushed conversation and the click-clack of the horses’ hooves on the asphalt. The reins jingled rhythmically outside, under the command of the out-of-sight driver atop the carriage. Arhyen had almost begun to relax when something touched his hand. His initial reflex was to lash out, catching who or whatever had caught him off guard, but he forced himself to remain still. He glanced down to see the woman at his side covertly sliding a folded piece of paper underneath his bare palm where it gripped his satchel.
He turned to look a question at her, but she’d moved her gaze forward, her expression partially hidden by her dark curls. He folded his fingers around the note, debating his next course of action. Before he could decide, the carriage slowed at its first stop. The woman rose with several other passengers and quickly departed. They’d stopped in the Business District, where lawyers, private investigators, and other freelance civil servants plied their trades. It was just as crowded as the Market district had been, and the woman quickly disappeared into the crowd. A few more passengers boarded, paying their coin to the porter up front, then the carriage began to move once more.
With a sigh of irritation, Arhyen looked down at the folded paper in his hand. An older gentleman had taken the seat to his right, and seemed to be paying him little attention as he unfolded the note. The text within was neatly printed using a typewriter. It read: London Bridge, Midnight.
He folded the note and stuffed it into his satchel, clenching his jaw to hold back a grunt of irritation. The last time he’d followed a note with a late-night meeting place, Viola had been waiting to ambush him. Of course, Viola was dead. Arhyen had watched as Liliana jammed a broken bottle into the side of her neck. Could this current note be from the LN, or was it one of Ephraim’s many contacts? Either way, it wasn’t likely a planned ambush. Contacts would provide information, and if the LN wanted him dead, he would have already been skewered by Hamlet’s sword.
He remained deep in thought as the carriage continued onward. There was no doubt he would visit London Bridge at midnight, the only question was whether he’d go alone, or with his comrades, ready for a fight.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Liliana muttered, smoothing loose strands of red hair back into her bun. She’d been pondering their meeting with the criminal ever since they left the cafe. Something about his story just didn’t add up.
Her boots fell noiselessly on the cobblestones of the alley as she and Ephraim made their way back toward Arhyen’s apartment. She swatted at her deep blue dress as it swirled around her legs, irritated at the added hindrance. She’d grown quite used to the equestrian trousers she wore during the more stealthy, nighttime expeditions, and was sorely missing them now. Unfortunately, a woman wearing trousers out to lunch with a finely dressed gentleman would draw attention. Ephraim seemed comfortable in his three-piece charcoal suit, topped with a tan overcoat. Comfortable because he gets to wear trousers, Liliana internally lamented, glancing at the ma
n in question. His short blond hair was covered by a black fedora, complementing his suit nicely.
“What doesn’t make sense?” Ephraim inquired, making her realize she’d spoken her worries out loud.
She frowned, nearly tripping as she walked, trying to quickly organize her thoughts. She knew Ephraim was only quizzing her. He preferred to gather the opinions of others before stating his own, even though he seemed to figure things out long before most. It likely all made sense to him.
She sighed. “The man we met with today didn’t seem overly capable. Why would the LN hire him as a guard?”
Ephraim’s gaze shifted minutely. It was a small movement, but she knew he was aware of the entire empty street around them. It wouldn’t do to have anyone listening in on their hushed conversation.
“Go on,” he pressed.
“Well,” she continued quietly, “the men who worked for Viola were all . . . professional. They could have easily been members of the Royal Guard, and Viola wasn’t even a valued member of the LN. It would stand to reason the organization itself would only hire those well-suited to their tasks. They wouldn’t waste their time with a man like Martin Burbank.”
At the announcement of the criminal’s name, Ephraim glanced warily around the street. Liliana blushed at her mistake. Naming their contacts in public was not wise.
Fortunately, Ephraim did not criticize her further than a stern look, non-verbally warning her to watch her tongue. They continued walking in silence for so long that Liliana suspected Ephraim might not speak again. For this reason, she jumped when he did.
“So you believe our contact was lying?” he asked, moving closer to her as they turned down another narrow alleyway, the next step on the roundabout route to Arhyen’s apartment. The LN already knew where she and Arhyen lived, but there was no reason to alert anyone else who might be watching them by accessing the building directly.
Clocks and Daggers (The Thief's Apprentice Book 2) Page 1
