He held out a gloved hand, gesturing for her to halt. The bright lights of London Bridge were straight ahead, twinkling in the dark night like captive stars. Liliana was filled with a small zing of excitement. The murmur of voices melded with the loud whistle announcing each train coming into the nearby station. She was finally going to cross the bridge and see all the travelers coming through on the other side . . . though she wished she could be there on better terms. Perhaps once all this was over, Arhyen would take her to London Bridge with the sole intent of seeing the sights. The thought of it warmed her momentarily, until she remembered Arhyen was in jail, and his life likely depended on her. She took a deep breath. If she couldn’t prove him innocent, she would help him escape. Even if it meant they’d have to flee the city.
Hamlet was staring down at her, and she realized with a start that he’d been speaking to her. “W-what was that?” she asked nervously, regretting her inattention. Here he was helping her, and she couldn’t even listen to what he was saying.
He watched her for several seconds, making her wish desperately she could view his expression beneath his mask. Finally, he repeated, “The Watch is more intent on monitoring travelers coming in than going out, but we should still avoid you being recognized. If the farmhouse is near, we cannot risk anyone causing a scene and alerting those we seek.”
Liliana nodded, then peeked around the nearest building to peer directly at the nearby bridge. It was early enough in the evening that it was more crowded than it had been on her previous visit. The crowds might help to conceal them, but there were also many officers around, distinguished by the shiny badges on their caps. Retreating back into full-hiding, she looked back to Hamlet. “What is our plan?”
He seemed to think for a moment more. “Can you swim?” he asked finally.
She shifted her gaze to the ground in thought. Could she swim? She wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem overly complicated, but she’d never actually been allowed to try, and she had a feeling the dark waters beneath London Bridge would not be the best place to learn.
Hamlet watched her various expressions, then gently took her arm. “I’ll help you.”
She nodded and allowed him to lead her back down the dark street, away from the main thoroughfare. She hoped it was as simple as that. Her gut clenched in sudden fear of being whisked away by the current, and ending up soaking wet and alone. That was, if she didn’t drown. Could automatons even drown? She was not sure, but hoped there would be no need to test the theory. Then, there was the contents of Arhyen’s satchel to worry about. Most of the remaining supplies were enclosed in glass vials, and should survive a dip into the river, though the satchel itself would likely weigh her down. She briefly debated leaving it behind, but felt she’d likely regret it . . . unless it was the reason she drowned.
Hamlet gave her arm a gentle tug to keep her moving, making her realize she’d become lost in her thoughts once again. She really needed to give her brain a rest some time soon.
Mumbling an apology for dawdling, she hurried along at his side. Soon the sound of flowing water became more pronounced. By her estimations, they’d ventured far from the bridge, at least six blocks north. At that distance, they should be able to slip down into the water unseen by the watch. Icy fear once again tingled through her spine at the thought. The Thames was no small, gentle river. She doubted a normal human would ever try swimming across it, unless they excelled in fitness, and were well-practiced for the task.
The buildings surrounding them became more sparse and squat as the dark water came into view. The air temperature dropped the closer they got, until the already chill air was stingingly icy.
Reaching the water’s edge, Liliana saw that it would be a bit of a drop down into the river. She wondered just how deep it was near the shore, but supposed she’d find out soon enough. Hopefully there would be no need to find out how deep it was in the middle.
There were, at least, no boats in sight, only the glossy reflection of the lights from the distant bridge. Far off on the other side of the river, she could see small pricks of light shining forth through shuttered windows. The village Catherine mentioned? If so, she would be swimming toward the middle of the river. She felt herself trembling.
Hamlet stood at her side, gazing out across the water as if calculating his route. She suddenly realized that such actions were necessary. The current would inevitably carry them aways downstream as they crossed.
After a moment more of staring out at the water, Hamlet turned his gaze down to her. “Are you prepared?”
No, she thought, but externally she simply nodded, too afraid to speak. She had never fully understood phobias, but thought it likely she had just developed one. The rushing water seemed like a dark nightmare, waiting to pull her under.
“I won’t let you be carried away,” he assured, seeming to sense her fear. He glanced at her satchel, then held out a hand for it. “It would be practical for me to swim with that. I promise I’ll return it once we get to the other side.”
She nodded again, feeling almost frozen with fear, though she managed to lift the satchel strap off her shoulders to hand to him. He slung it across his shoulder, then before she could react, he took her hand and launched himself forward, pulling her along with him whether she liked it or not. Seconds later, the icy water closed around her like a liquid fist. The current was stronger than she’d originally thought. Hamlet, still clamping her hand in his, swam against the flow to keep them in place.
Feeling like she might be tugged out of his grasp at any moment, she gave an experimental kick of her legs, but the current whipped her about, dunking her head beneath the water. A tug on her hand brought her back to the surface, gasping for breath. She frantically continued to kick her feet, attempting to keep her head above water, but she feared it was a losing fight. She went below again and water flowed into her nostrils. Panic blossomed inside her. If she lost her hold on Hamlet’s hand, she would be immediately whisked away.
A strong hand gripped her upper arm and hauled her back to the surface. She sputtered and coughed, flailing her free arm as water poured from her mouth and nostrils. She blearily focused her eyes on Hamlet, somehow easily treading the water, keeping his mask and top hat above the surface. She would have laughed at the ridiculous contrast between him and herself if she wasn’t utterly terrified of going under again.
Instead of letting her figure things out on her own, which was a long shot, Hamlet tugged her close, then wrapped her arm over his shoulder, putting his back to her. Not thinking twice about the awkwardness of being so close to the murderous automaton, Liliana wrapped her other arm around his shoulders, pressing her chest against his back. Once she was secure, he began to swim effortlessly across the Thames.
The dark water lapped around them as Liliana relearned how to breathe. Her airways burned from the intrusive water, and it was all she could do to not erupt in a fit of coughs. Something told her Hamlet wouldn’t appreciate it with her mouth so close to his head.
Her hair dribbling water into her eyes, she blinked rapidly, trying to keep an eye on their aqueous surroundings. She didn’t imagine any enemies would be swimming out to get them, but she’d feel like a useless lump if she didn’t at least do something.
She didn’t have to watch their backs for long. Before she knew it, they were halfway across the Thames. London Bridge was just an eruption of light in the distance, its occupants too far off to notice them. The village lights twinkled ominously ahead. While Liliana hoped the farmhouse would be the end of their journey, somehow it seemed too simple. Of course, even if they found who they were looking for, that didn’t mean they’d find the evidence they needed to free Arhyen and Ephraim, nor did it mean they would put a stop to the grave-robbings and murders. Any who might dwell in the farmhouse were likely just a small faction. There could be countless others working on the scheme.
Soon enough, they reached the opposite side of the river without encountering any night time vessels or aquatic
animals. Liliana’s body felt weak with relief as Hamlet reached the shallows and stood, leaving her dangling from his shoulders. She quickly released her grip, then nearly lost her footing on the slippery mud beneath the water. Hamlet caught her arm, then released her as she regained her balance. They both trudged to dry land, the mud suctioning their boots and making the short trip arduous. At least, it was arduous for Liliana. She wasn’t sure if anything was truly difficult for Hamlet.
Their clothes dripping water on the rocky shore, they made their way toward the edge of the village, finding a primitive road to walk along. Though the light shining through nearby windows cast a gentle glow around the small, wooden homes, the street was dark. No street lamps sheltered the buildings with their soft halos this far from the city.
As they walked, Hamlet lifted the satchel from his shoulders and handed it to her. “I hope its contents were not damaged.”
“Thank you,” she muttered. “They should be fine.” Really, she should have stopped to check. Some of the vials were stoppered with corks, which would eventually absorb water and become ruined, but they would likely be fine for the night, and hopefully she would no longer need them come morning. “How do we tell which farmhouse it is?” she questioned.
“That woman said North,” he replied softly, “and this is a small village. I imagine we will not have to look far.”
Liliana heaved a sigh of relief. Hopefully this could all be over with soon. She was not overly frightened of invading the farmhouse with Hamlet by her side. He could take out entire buildings full of armed men on his own, and she wasn’t terrible in a fight herself. She did wish, however, that they wouldn’t have to infiltrate the building while soaking wet. There was something a little less than grand about fumbling through an altercation while looking like a drowned rat.
“Once we find the farmhouse, I should probably go in alone,” Hamlet stated abruptly in a strange tone. If Liliana didn’t know any better, she’d say he sounded almost nervous, or perhaps . . . uncomfortable?
“I can help,” she argued, thinking he simply wanted her to stay outside since she’d proven useless thus far, “and I won’t get in your way, I swear it.”
He didn’t speak for several seconds as they walked on, with only the sound of their light footsteps and water drips to break the silence.
“I am not concerned you will be a hindrance,” he said finally, “but the most efficient way to solve this problem will be to eliminate all who dwell within the building. I presumed you would rather not be a part of that,” he hesitated for a moment, “and I would rather you not stand witness,” he added.
It bothered Liliana that he seemed to know her so well, though she couldn’t really argue with him. She was not sure if she could bring herself to attack someone who was not attacking her, and she definitely didn’t want to see anyone die. Even if she could bring herself to kill at Hamlet’s side, she felt it might change her in some fundamental way.
“If you do not need me, I will wait outside,” she agreed finally, feeling horribly guilty. This was her problem too. It seemed wrong to make Hamlet do all of the work, but . . . well, he was offering.
“Good,” he replied. “If I do not return to you, make your way back to London and hide. With any luck, at the very least Mr. Godwin might manage to find his way to freedom, given his standing with the Watch.”
Liliana nodded her agreement, though part of her felt like if Hamlet did not return, she might just rush in to save him. Perhaps he did not deserve to be saved, but she owed him regardless. She could not simply leave him behind.
They seemed to be nearing the edge of the village, judging by the pitch darkness further down the dirt road. Liliana was beginning to think Catherine had led them astray, and there wasn’t any farmhouse to find, then she saw it. Far off to the left, away from the road they walked, was a two-story, plain wood structure. Light shined out of its shuttered windows, casting a faint glow on a low fence surrounding the property. Within the fence were several black and white cows, and a few squatty animals blending into the darkness, presumably goats judging by their size.
Hamlet had stopped walking to peer at the distant farmhouse. “You will wait outside of the fence line,” he instructed, still gazing at the building. “The grass is tall enough that you should be concealed easily. Stay hidden. When I return, I will find you.”
Liliana nodded, once again unsure of her decision to let him go in on his own. What if he failed in his mission when her presence could have saved him? She already felt responsible for Arhyen and Ephraim’s predicaments, she didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else.
“Are you sure-” she began, but Hamlet had already continued on toward the farmhouse. She hurried after him, stepping lightly to not alert the bovines, though their smell was quickly alerting her. She’d never personally encountered cows before, and she found she didn’t care for their accompanying scent. Or it could be the goats, she supposed, but they seemed too small to create such an overwhelming odor.
Hamlet slowed as they approached the fence, likely having the same idea as she. Nervous animals were unpredictable, or so she’d heard.
She obeyed as Hamlet motioned for her to crouch in the taller grass outside the fence.
“Remember what I told you,” he whispered, then dashed away quicker than her eyes could follow.
Hopefully they’d found the correct farmhouse, else some unsuspecting family was about to be in for the surprise of their lives.
Chapter 16
Liliana swiped her hand through the tall grass, parting it enough to see the farmhouse as she crouched near the fence. The silence from within the structure was quickly becoming unbearable. How long had Hamlet been gone now? She did her best to estimate, judging by her slowly drying clothing, and the stiffness in her knees from crouching for so long. She guessed ten minutes, and still, not a sound.
She glanced at the nearest cow. It appeared to be sleeping standing up. Everything was still. Too still. Should she go in? He’d said to wait for him, but he hadn’t said how long. Perhaps he was stealthily making his way through the farmhouse, slitting throats one by one. If she barged in, she could very well give him away. Unless he was in trouble.
She couldn’t quite imagine what could stop Hamlet, but Catherine’s words had her feeling anxious. If Hazel had been turned into something stronger than human, perhaps there were others. There might even be other automatons. Hamlet could easily kill a human, but what about an army of automatons? Surely even he had his limits.
Her muscles twitching with anxiety, she forced herself to stay hidden . . . at least for a few minutes more. The moon peeked out from its cover of clouds for a brief moment, illuminating the farmhouse and surrounding field. Seconds later, it was dark once more, but Liliana could have sworn she saw a glimpse of movement. Someone running the perimeter of the fence line?
She lunged aside, rolling through the grass at the last second as someone pounced across the area where she’d been crouching just seconds before. She took another roll to give herself space, then hopped to her feet.
The silhouette of a woman stood out briefly as the moon once again revealed itself.
“H-hazel?” Liliana questioned, stunned. Catherine had said Hazel was a part of all this, but she hadn’t expected to encounter her so suddenly.
Hazel still wore her proper dress, her dark hair up in curls, if a bit tousled at this late hour. The look she was giving Liliana was not friendly. “You were a fool to come here,” she hissed.
Liliana didn’t speak. Did Hazel know that she knew all about her involvement with the grave-robbers? Had Catherine somehow escaped wherever Hamlet had put her, to run ahead and warn those within the farmhouse? She remained silent, hoping Hazel would give more away.
“Not so brave now, eh?” Hazel questioned cockily. “With your pet automaton soon to be taken care of, you may as well just leave Arhyen with me.”
Arhyen? This was becoming more and more confusing. Arhyen was in jail. “W
hat did you do to Hamlet?” she demanded. That’s who she had to mean with pet automaton.
Hazel tilted her head, tossing dark curls aside, as if listening. Seconds later, shouts and loud thuds echoed out from the farmhouse.
Liliana tensed, prepared to run to Hamlet’s rescue.
The moon had gone back behind the clouds, but Hazel was close enough that Liliana could see the look of calculation in her eyes. “So you care more for that masked automaton now than you do my brother? Typical.”
“What are you talking about?” Liliana snapped, her entire body zinging with pent up emotion. “Arhyen is in jail.”
Hazel let out a throaty laugh.
The commotion in the farmhouse continued, urging Liliana on, but something about Hazel’s utter calm had her worried.
“Arhyen is with us now,” Hazel explained. “He always looked out for me when we were children. Now I’m going to look out for him, much better than you ever could.”
Every instinct Liliana had was telling her to attack Hazel and charge into that farmhouse, but she needed more information. If Hazel was telling the truth, she might have Arhyen imprisoned somewhere outside the jail. She needed to know for sure before she utterly destroyed the woman.
Hazel smirked, clearly reading the aggression on Liliana’s face. “You truly think you can best me? I’m quite a bit more than human.”
“Where is Arhyen?” Liliana demanded, her voice a low growl.
“He’s in there,” Hazel stated smugly, gesturing toward the farmhouse, “but you’ll never get to him.”
Liliana’s eyes darted toward the farmhouse. That was all she needed to know. Her satchel still rested in the tall grass where she’d been hiding, but she didn’t dare glance at it. Hazel had proven herself to be just as fast as she, if not faster. She’d barely managed to evade the initial assault.
Clocks and Daggers (The Thief's Apprentice Book 2) Page 15
