Clockwork Legion (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 4)

by Jamie Sedgwick

  Kale and Gavin exchanged a look. “You’re sure? You’re certain it was the Iron Horse?”

  “Yes, sir. It was black with lots of brass pipes and chimneys.”

  Kale’s face darkened. “What happened?”

  “It looks like the Horse derailed, sir. The tracks were damaged, and it was lying on its side.”

  “And the crew?” said Kale.

  “I’m sorry, sir. They were all dead.”

  Kale dropped his mug. The mulled wine splashed across his boots as he lunged forward, grabbing Wil by the lapels. “What did you see?” he said. “What exactly did you see?”

  “I’m sorry, sir I went inside, and… the smell. There were bodies everywhere.”

  “Easy,” Gavin said, putting a hand on Kale’s shoulder. “Let him breathe. He’s been riding hard for three days. Don’t hurt the poor kid.”

  Kale released his grip and leaned back. He took a deep breath, trying to get control of himself. “Go on,” he said after a moment.

  “I couldn’t stay long,” Wil said. “The place was infested with dragons and other… things. I’m sorry,” he apologized for what seemed like the thirteenth time. “They were all dead, sir. All of ‘em.”

  “All right,” Gavin said. “Go get yourself a meal. We’ll summon you if we have any more questions.”

  Wil hurried out. Kale turned, staring into the flames. Gavin settled down on the bench across from him.

  “She’s dead,” Kale said. “It doesn’t seem… it doesn’t seem possible.”

  “The blonde?” Gavin said. “I didn’t know you were still pining-”

  Kale glared at him, and Gavin bit his tongue. He lowered his gaze and stared at the fire.

  “River and I grew up together,” Kale said. “We were best friends. We fought the Vangars together…”

  “She’s gone to the gods now,” said Gavin. “You have to let her go. She’ll be waiting for you when it’s your time.”

  “Are you sure?” Kale said, locking eyes with him.

  Gavin sighed. “Let’s go to the cellars. I know where there’s a barrel with your name on it.”

  Kale shook his head. “Not right now. I need some time.”

  “I understand. I’ll call on you in the morning. I’m sorry about your friends, but remember, their battle is over. Pity is for the living.”

  Kale let the words slide off as Gavin quietly left. They didn’t mean anything. No words could make sense of what had happened. The senselessness of it was staggering. It didn’t seem possible that River could have died in such a futile and meaningless way. It didn’t seem possible that she could have died at all. He had seen her survive so many things… things far worse than a simple accident.

  They had battled against impossible odds together. They’d fought Vangars, defeated the Ancients, and escaped the Forgotten. Time and again, they had come through together. If only he’d known, he wouldn’t have stayed behind…

  Who was he kidding? She was the reason he had stayed behind. Somehow, Kale had thought he could prove something to River. He’d wanted to prove that he wasn’t the irresponsible child she remembered; that he was a man, and she needed to take him seriously. It seemed so silly now. So trivial. Had he really thought he could make River love him?

  The flames crackled, and an ember popped out. Kale stared at it as it hit the stones and slowly faded into blackness.

  Chapter 20

  After the failed attempt to overthrow the Ana-nuit, River found herself captive in a small stone building just a stone’s throw from the pyramids. Socrates was there, but remained unconscious, and River was worried. She had already opened the hidden cavity in his torso to examine his internal mechanisms, and found everything working perfectly. River also knew how to open the secret locks that held the ape’s skull together, but doing so would have been a waste of time. The automaton’s head was filled with tiny intricate electrical parts that River couldn’t possibly hope to understand. There were wires finer than a strand of hair, glass tubes filled with warm glowing light, and dozens of banks of memory circuits a thousand times more complicated than the electric motors and generators she had studied.

  When River couldn’t wake Socrates, she began studying the room, searching for some means of escape. It was sparsely furnished, with a crude wooden table with benches on either side. To the right stood an old pot-belly stove made of corroded copper and brass, and to the left, a small counter with a wash basin. Socrates was in the middle of the room, where they had left him sprawled out across the floor. It had taken half a dozen of Ranash’s men to haul him there. The entire process would have been rather amusing, if not for the severity of their situation.

  The building they were in had no windows, and two armed ghouls stood just outside, guarding the one door. The walls were made of impenetrable stone, but the roof was thatched straw, and the floor was made of lumber crudely laid out on the bare ground. River had already discerned her two most likely means of escape. The first and easiest would have been to climb the wall and cut an opening through the straw. The downside of this plan was that it would inevitably make a lot of noise, and even if River managed to get out, she would be standing on a rooftop in the middle of the village. And Socrates would still be trapped inside…

  The second was to pull up the floor and tunnel under the wall. This was feasible, given enough time, but improbable since she had no tools and no way of knowing how long it would be before the guards returned. This plan also didn’t take Socrates into account. Unconscious as he was, River wouldn’t have been able to free him even if she could walk right out the front door. He was simply too heavy.

  River heard a noise and her thoughts snapped back to the present. She glanced at Socrates, and realized that the fingers of his right hand were twitching. She rushed to him, kneeling down to take his hand.

  “Socrates! Do you hear me? Wake up!”

  His spine suddenly straightened, and his body went stiff as a board. Then his eyes opened wide and began flicking wildly from side to side, making loud clicking noises. They moved so fast that River worried something might break that she wouldn’t be able to repair. This went on for about twenty seconds. Suddenly, Socrates went calm. He sat upright. His eyes came into focus, and he turned his head to look at River.”

  “Did it work?” he said.

  “Not exactly.”

  At that moment, the door opened and one of the guards stepped inside. River realized they must have been listening at the door, waiting for Socrates to regain consciousness. This guard was more skeleton than corpse. His entire lower body was encased in a steel framework, and metal gears filled his abdomen. His upper torso was in slightly better condition, but only slightly. It was mystifying how the creature could still be alive. Just looking at it sent a cold chill down her spine.

  It couldn’t speak, but the ghoul made a gesture for them to follow. River glanced at Socrates, wondering if this might be the time to make their escape. Socrates could easily take out a couple of guards. But Socrates gave her a subtle shake of his head as he pushed to his feet and turned to face the guard.

  “We will come without a fight,” he said. “Please, lead the way.”

  River gave the ape a frustrated look, but Socrates ignored it.

  It was early evening and the air was cool and filled with the scent of wildflowers and fermenting wine as they stepped outside. The stars twinkled brightly overhead, and torches flickered along the pathways and around the pyramids. It was an almost perfect evening, which made the appearance of the ghouls an even starker contrast to the paradisiacal setting.

  The guard with the clockwork guts led the way and the other fell in behind. As they made their way down the path toward the great pyramid, River couldn’t help second-guessing her companion’s decision to cooperate with the ghouls. The guards were walking at a slow pace, focused more on watching their comrades who were gathering around a distant bonfire than on guarding their prisoners. The guard with the clockwork guts even stumbled, and
barely caught himself before he sprawled out in front of them. The two were practically begging the prisoners to escape.

  Perhaps, River thought, that was the reason Socrates had chosen to cooperate. Perhaps they wanted their prisoners to try to escape. Maybe they wanted to make an example of them.

  The guards guided them around the great pyramid to a large tent that had been erected on the north lawn. It was not a sophisticated structure by any means, just simple linen draped across a framework of wooden poles. Compared to some of their other technologies, River was a little disappointed by the Ana-nuit’s lack of creativity.

  There were a few scattered bonfires in the area, where the undead had gathered to consume the harvest grapes, or to drink the wine, and two guards stood posted outside the tent’s doorway.

  River followed Socrates inside, and the guards stepped in behind them, flanking the doorway. The couple found themselves in a large room that made up the front section of the tent. A hanging linen curtain separated this room from the others, which River presumed were sleeping quarters. Sergeant Ranash sat at a desk with a large map spread out before him. To his left rested a bowl of grapes, and to the right sat a half-filled glass of wine next to an open bottle. He no longer wore the mechanical eyepiece, and had retrieved his hat, the overall effect of which made him look only slightly less horrifying.

  The sergeant’s long white hair rested like silver threads across the dark fabric of his sleeveless coat, and his mechanical arm made typewriter-like clacking noises as he used a brass mechanical pen to make a few notes on the map. After he finished, he set the pen aside, leaned back in his chair, and looked the couple up and down. His eyes were a dull blue color, and the organs seemed somehow shrunken inside the leathery folds of his flesh.

  “I’m pleased to see that you’re still functioning, Socrates. It would be a shame to lose a valuable commodity such as yourself.”

  “You overestimate me,” Socrates said with a slight bow. “I’m no more valuable than any other machine.”

  The sergeant grinned, a horrific gesture that revealed rows of broken and misshapen teeth. “On the contrary. Humility is no virtue, machine. You are filled with valuable engineering information.”

  “We won’t tell you anything!” River said, her lips curling into a snarl.

  “Even so, I will learn what I want to know. Your humble mechanical friend will give up his secrets one piece at a time, if necessary. You will as well, should I choose to extract this information from you.”

  They were interrupted by a knock on the post outside. The clockwork guard pulled the flap aside, and another soldier stepped in. “Sergeant, we’ve taken inventory of the harvest. It’s all accounted for. We even have an extra barrel or two.”

  “Excellent,” said Ranash. “Tell the men they may drink tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll load the wagons.” The guard left with a bow.

  Ranash took a drink of his wine. He didn’t seem to swallow it so much as to savor it in his mouth until it had soaked into his palate. This, River realized, must be how the starfall nourished their brains. The liquid could permeate the ghouls’ dry flesh, wicking through it and into the brain through a sort of capillary effect. No wonder these creatures could remain sentient, even as their bodies rotted away. She wondered how long it took until there was nothing left to keep alive…

  Ranash, having finished his drink, turned his attention back to the captives. “Ah, now where were we?”

  “I believe you were going to interrogate us,” Socrates said.

  “Why don’t you just spare me the trouble,” Ranash said, “and spare yourselves the pain? Tell me everything you know.”

  “Why would we do that?” River said.

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll have your friends brought in here and flayed, one by one in front of you. I’ll start with the little one. What was his name? Micah?”

  River’s hands clenched into fists. “If you touch him-”

  “Easy,” Socrates said in a low voice. “The sergeant is right. We should cooperate.”

  She spun around to face him. “What has gotten into you? I’ve never seen you like this before! Why should we cooperate with these monsters?”

  “Hush!” the automaton said, glaring at her. “Remember your place, River!”

  Her eyes widened, and her face reddened She opened her mouth to yell at him again, but found herself speechless. She clamped her mouth shut, crossed her arms over her chest, and refused to meet his gaze. Socrates turned his attention back to Ranash.

  “Sergeant, I’m from a city known as Sanctuary. It is a place of high technology, similar to yours, but perhaps even more advanced.”

  “I see,” said Ranash. “And in this city, there are others like you?”

  “No, I am the only machine I know of with sentience. I was merely a complex toy -a mechanical distraction no smarter than your chariots- until an accident gave me self-awareness.”

  Ranash leaned forward, gazing into the ape’s eyes. “You have my interest,” he said. “Tell me more.”

  River began to protest again, but Socrates silenced her with a wave of his hand. “I presume you are familiar with starfall?”

  The sergeant stared at him.

  “Perhaps not,” said the ape. “It is an element… like iron, or water. For some creatures, it is a necessary nutrient, for others a toxic hazard. Perhaps most relevant to you is the fact that this jungle is awash in the vital element.”

  The sergeant narrowed his eyes. “Relevant in what way?”

  “I’m speaking of the grapevines, of course,” said Socrates. “It was clear to me from the moment we arrived that this fruit somehow played a role in your unique… situation. Upon further investigation, I learned that the juice of the grape plays a pivotal role in the life and creation of the Ana-nuit. When I learned that these grapes were your sole source of nutrition, it became entirely obvious.”

  “Did it?” said Ranash. He seemed genuinely interested in the ape’s analysis, but the unsettling tone of his voice belied this interest.

  Ranash knew all of this, River realized. He was just prying, trying to find out exactly how much they had figured out. The sergeant took another drink of his wine, savoring the flavor, allowing its vitality to soak into the pores of his rotten flesh.

  “…And what else have you learned?” he added with a dangerous glare.

  “Oh, I know everything,” said Socrates. “I know that the roots of the vine dig deep into the earth, where they gather starfall and filter it through the fine-mesh fibers of their pulp. I know that this highly filtered material enters the fruit in a purified and concentrated state that would be nearly impossible to replicate. And I know that without this purified juice, you and your kind would die.”

  The sergeant rose to his feet, glaring down at Socrates. When he rose to his full height, the top of his head nearly brushed the roof of the tent. River took an unconscious step back as the creature loomed over them. “You,” he said, pointing a finger at the automaton, “will die for what you have revealed here today.”

  His words were slightly slurred, and he swayed unsteadily, as if he were drunk. The sergeant straightened his shoulders, trying to correct his balance. He shook his head, trying to shake out the dizziness.

  “What is this? What’s going on?”

  “That would be my fault,” Socrates said matter-of-factly. “I suspect it has something to do with the iron.”

  The sergeant licked his lips, making dry smacking noises. “What?”

  “Iron,” the ape repeated. “Another element, of which I’m sure you’re aware, which is one of the most prevalent on this planet. In fact, much like the grapevine, it has the unique ability to attract and absorb large quantities of starfall.”

  The sergeant’s knees wobbled unsteadily. He lowered himself back into his chair. “What did you do?”

  They heard a thump, and turned to see that the soldiers who had been guarding the door were unconscious on the floor. The clockwork guts continued ticki
ng, the machine steadily working away, unaware that its host was dying.

  Socrates grinned. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a vial of fine black powder. He held it up in front of Ranash. The creature stared at it, confusion and fear mingling in his grotesque features.

  “This is powdered iron,” Socrates said. “I laced your fermentation tanks and wine barrels with it. It doesn’t dissolve in liquids, of course, but when ground fine enough, it works as an adequate suspension.”

  Ranash tried to speak, but grunted instead. His voice rattled in his throat. “I don’t understand,” he managed to say. “What is happening to me?”

  “Put simply, you’re dying,” Socrates said. “Although one could easily make the argument that you are already dead, and have been for a long time. That is a conundrum with which I must grapple in the future. I would not have chosen it thus, but I’m afraid you gave me no choice. I have poisoned you, Ranash. At this very moment, the iron is drawing the starfall from your body, leeching it from your organs and your flesh. Very soon, you will reach the critical juncture where your reanimated mind will no longer function. The rest of your men are dying, too. It won’t be long now.”

  A panicked look came over the sergeant’s face. He latched onto the sides of his armchair, trying to push to his feet. “Guards!” he shouted. “Guards, help me!”

  He managed to move, he fell back, exhausted. His head lolled back against the chair and one arm dangled limply at his side. His hat toppled off, revealing the gleaming white of his skull. He reached out with his mechanical arm, his fingers clawing at the map on the desk. The paper curled, ripping as he clawed at it, pulling himself forward onto the desk. The wine bottle tipped over, crimson liquid splashing across the paper. The glass crashed to the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” Socrates said. “Violence is not my way, yet I find myself drawn into it time and again. I’m afraid I’m beginning to lose all faith in humanity. Or, perhaps I’m losing faith in myself.”

  “Guards!” Ranash cried out again, his voice hoarse and shaking with terror. The effort drained the last of his energy. He twisted awkwardly, the map crinkling and tearing beneath him as he collapsed across the desk. He let out a gurgling breath as he fixed Socrates and River with a menacing glare. “You will never defeat us,” he coughed. “We… are… legion.”