Clockwork Thief Box Set

by Katherine Bogle

  Wrapping her fingers around the duct, Narra hoisted herself up. Her muscles strained beneath her weight and her boots scraped the wall. She gritted her teeth .

  Come on, Narra , her father’s voice whispered. She shook her head. Not the time.

  She pulled with all of her might, lifting herself up and into the duct. Cold pressed against her palms, but didn’t quite touch her shoulders or head. She was suddenly thankful the Rupan’s enjoyed their lavish architecture—it made for large air ducts and easy thieving.

  Steadying her breathing, Narra climbed to her hands and knees. She slithered inside, gently placing each hand, and knee against the iron. It didn’t creak or squeal. Good. Quality craftsmanship.

  The shaft narrowed as she continued past a junction, forcing her to duck her head. Metal pressed against her shoulders and stole her breath.

  A scream echoed through the confined space.

  Her eyes widened and she looked ahead.

  She could hardly see a foot in front of her nose. Darkness clung to the shaft. What was going on? Had that been one of the initiates?

  Another cry sent her scrambling ahead. No, no, no. This was the First Mission for these initiates. What could have gone wrong?

  Her knees and elbows scraped the walls as she surged ahead. Cries of pain and moans of agony drifted through the vents. The clash of swords grew audible.

  Emperor’s ancestors , what was going on?

  Her heart pounded in her ears. Dim light appeared in the distance, flooding through another grate. The vault.

  Gritting her teeth, she moved as fast as she could, her fingers itching for her daggers. She had to help them with whatever was going on. It was her duty to protect the initiates.

  A bang interrupted the chaos of her thoughts. She froze. The iron reverberated beneath her bare fingers, sending a shiver down her spine. Someone was in the vents. Narra reached for a dagger at her bicep. The cold metal calmed her racing heart.

  She slipped forward more carefully. The vibrations had come from ahead at a neighboring junction. She crept forward, her body pressed as close to the right side of the vent as she could. A shadow appeared.

  Narra lunged, dagger flashing for the figure.

  Blue eyes cut through the darkness.

  She stopped, her breath exploding from her lungs in a relieved gasp. Erik. Blood soaked his hair and cheeks. He trembled, his eyes wide. Ancestors .

  “Erik,” she whispered. Sheathing her dagger, she inched forward until they were mere inches apart. “What happened?”

  He shook his head slowly, jamming his eyes shut. “Narra.” His voice broke. “I-I-I c-couldn’t—” Her gaze flew to the light shining in from the grate at the end of the narrow tunnel. “I went back out to wait for you, a-and then I heard screaming. By the time I got there, there were so many dead. S-so many. Then I heard a bunch of footsteps rushing toward the vault, so I crawled back into the vent.”

  Her heart plummeted and her skin chilled. “Whose blood is that?”

  Tears welled in her best friend’s eyes.

  “Who’s blood is that ?” she snapped. Narra grabbed Erik’s collar and forced him to face her. A lone tear left a track through the blood.

  “Everyone’s. All of them.” His voice was small, almost inaudible.

  “No.” She released him and scrambled through the space.

  Muffled laughter filtered in, echoing through the hollow shaft.

  Within inches of the grate, Erik’s cold fingers wrapped around her ankle, but his warning came too late.

  Red bathed the enormous vault. The thick steel door was ajar, revealing a dozen army corporals. With their swords drawn, they stepped between the bodies of the initiates—her initiates—and poked at them with their toes.

  Tears stung her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.

  A commander leads. A commander protects. Her father’s voice whispered, leaving a long ringing sound echoing in her ears. A commander must always protect her initiates, Narra .

  A tall man with wide shoulders, a square jaw, and dark brown eyes prodded the moaning body of one of the initiates—one of the young Boomer boys who’d blown up the warehouses of Old Town in order to win.

  The man grinned, flashing his teeth as he looked over his shoulder. He pointed his blade at the boy. “We’ve got a live one!”

  The others laughed. They were enjoying this. Her initiates were suffering, and they were chuckling like they weren’t brutal murderers.

  Embers bubbled in her gut, and flames flared to life in her chest. Her teeth snapped together and she jerked forward to lunge from the tunnel.

  Erik’s cold fingers yanked her back.

  She shot a glare over her shoulder. Anger seethed through her teeth with every hot breath.

  “No,” he whispered.

  Narra couldn’t speak. Her chest tightened. She pulled her ankle from his grasp.

  Erik’s eyes widened. He shot forward before she could move another inch. His hands gripped her calves, her thighs, her hips, pulling her back until his weight crushed her. She growled, shooting her elbow into his gut.

  He grunted, but didn’t let go.

  “Erik,” she hissed. His hand covered her mouth. Copper blossomed on her lips.

  “I won’t let you die, Narra,” he murmured against her ear, breath hot against her hair. “I won’t let you die.” His voice broke.

  The corporal with the wicked grin turned back to the Boomer. The boy was no more than seventeen, possibly younger. She didn’t know him or the others well, even if she had done some of their training. Still, they were children. They didn’t deserve this fate.

  “Who wants the kill?” The corporal swung around to face his comrades, holding his sword aloft. The tip of the blade nearly brushed the cement ceiling. “Anyone?”

  They chuckled and nudged one another like this was all some kind of joke.

  “More for me then.” The man winked.

  Narra gasped against Erik’s warm hand .

  She recognized the man. With his straight nose, wide jaw, tall stature, and dark eyes, it had to be him. He looked just like his father.

  Ezriel.

  Narra’s fists clenched. Him . Asher was wrong. Ezriel needed to die. Not only did he kill innocent men, and rape women, but now he was a slayer of children.

  Her fists trembled against the cold iron vent. She’d kill him. But a quick death wouldn’t be enough. Not now.

  Ezriel pulled back his sword and stuck it through the boy’s left eye. Blood gushed from his socket, flowing down his bronze cheek. His mouth gaped for a moment before he stilled. Ezriel withdrew his sword and wiped the blood on the Boomer boy’s jacket. Her stomach soured and her eyes burned.

  A commander protects.

  She shook her head to push away her father’s voice. She was supposed to protect the initiates. She was supposed to keep them safe, but instead, she’d led them to the slaughter.

  Her heart skipped as she glanced between the soldiers. A man with silver hair lurked in the back. Her fists clenched. Not again. You aren’t real . She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, he was gone.

  “Is that all?” he asked the crowd of soldiers. “The Thieves really have gone downhill.”

  The others laughed.

  They thought these children were the real Thieves? She’d prove to him just how strong the Guild really was. He wouldn’t live to see the light of day.

  “We need to go,” Erik whispered.

  Narra shook her head slowly.

  “We’ll kill him, Narra. But not yet.”

  She glanced back at her friend. Inches from her face, his steely gaze held hers. His jaw hardened. For the first time she saw murder in his eyes, the same intention she assumed was reflected in her own. They’d do this together.

  Narra nodded .

  Erik held her eyes for another long moment before slowly slipping from her back. He had to be sure she wouldn’t dive from the vent the second he moved. But she wouldn’t. She c
ouldn’t leave Erik alone in this world, not yet. And she certainly couldn’t let Ezriel see another sunrise.

  Once the pressure of his limbs left her legs, she took one last look at the bloodbath inside the vault, and Ezriel’s smug face, burning the image into her mind so she’d never again question her resolve. Narra inched back, following the duct to a junction where they could easily turn. Erik led the way, his knees quietly scraping the iron. A trail of blood followed, but in the dark she could see no injury.

  Her pulse pounded in her ears. She hoped Erik hadn’t been stabbed, or worse by those men. Injuring Erik would only add to the burning pyre growing inside her, an inferno ready to be unleashed.

  Several minutes passed in silence. The laughter of the soldiers grew distant as they reached the loading bay. Erik glanced out of the vent before slipping out. He half tumbled, half swung from sight.

  Narra quirked an eyebrow, almost tempted to joke about his clumsiness. His head popped back into view as she reached the end. Blood smeared across his face. She swallowed her comment.

  “Here.” Erik offered his hands so she didn’t meet the same tumbling fate.

  She took them, his fingers warm and rough against hers. Pulling her torso from the vent, she braced herself on Erik’s shoulders. He helped her out, setting her on the ground with a soft grunt. She must be heavy with all the weapons on her.

  Her heart ached as she took the stairs to the loading bay below. All the initiates were gone. For the first time in history, no new blood would fill the Guildhalls.

  And it was all her fault.

  If she had been on time, would their fate have been different? Her fists clenched. She would have fought, would have killed every soldier present. At least a few initiates would have gotten away. If only Marina hadn’t taken off when she did.

  Narra bit back a sigh as they reached the stone floor. The men in the back room were gone, but the warm lantern light remained. She led the way under the loading bay door half rolled into the ceiling, slipping into the shadows of the alley.

  Sirens tore through the silence.

  She froze.

  “Patrolmen.” Erik’s eyes flew wide.

  Narra nodded.

  The tall brick building marking the other side of the alley blocked the road from sight. They raced down the passage, the sirens growing closer. The iron fence blocking their path stood ajar. Narra skidded to a halt, flashing her arm out to stop Erik. He collided with her palm before skidding to a stop. His breath fogged the air.

  Two Patrolmen stood at the gate, motioning to the back of the building, while a security guard clad in black nodded along, handing them a ring of keys.

  “Ancestors ,” she hissed. Narra stepped back into the shadows.

  “It’s only two,” Erik whispered, but he joined in her retreat.

  “We can take them,” she agreed.

  They returned to the back side of the building before the two Patrolmen stepped through the gate.

  The flat cobblestone expanse held no hiding places, no alcoves, and no shadows to dive into. Her heart raced. She glanced at Erik as his eyes widened. He’d realized the same thing. They’d have to take down the Patrolmen at the corner, and hope no one saw them from the road.

  Narra tapped his elbow gently, and nodded toward the smooth stone wall beside the bay doors. Erik followed. She pressed her back to the stone. Erik did the same. His shoulder brushed hers. She took a deep breath to still her racing heart. She had to stay calm and listen.

  She closed her eyes. Two distinct sets of boots walked the alley. One was more hesitant with slightly longer pauses between his steps, while the second charged forward.

  Pulling a dagger from her belt, she waited. The brush of cotton on cotton grew louder. Heavy boots pounded the ground. Just a bit closer .

  She held her breath.

  A shadow rounded the corner. Now!

  Narra leapt on the first man, driving her fist into his cheek as she pushed him to the ground. The second man gasped, but Erik was already on him.

  The young patrolman, perhaps a year or two younger than her, gasped as he hit the ground. She slammed her knuckles into his nose. Blood spurted from his nostrils.

  He reached for the hilt of his sword. She leaned back, flipping from her crouch and back to her feet.

  The soldier stood. He was fast. She was faster. Her boot slammed into his knee. He cried out as his leg collapsed beneath him. Narra spun in a roundhouse kick, knocking him into the brick wall with a thump . His head cracked off the wall and he hit the ground hard.

  Narra took a breath and straightened.

  Erik swept the second patrolman’s feet from under him. His back slammed against the ground and an audible crack cut the silence of the alley. She stepped in to help, but before she made it two steps, a pool of blood slowly encircled the patrolman’s head. He stared sightless up at the sky.

  Her best friend froze, staring wide-eyed at the patrolman.

  She recognized that look. Her stomach soured.

  He might have just killed a man for the first time. Narra took his arm and gently turned his face away. Her heart hammered her ribs.

  “We should go,” she said. He met her eyes, and Narra nearly winced under the pressure of his shock. She held his gaze until he nodded. He’d have time to sort through his confusion once they escaped to the rooftops.

  “Let’s go,” he said, his voice husky.

  Narra released his arm and led the way. Yanking her hood back over her hair, Narra fled down the alley to the main road. The bright lights of the courtyard passed on their right. Two bronze-plated steamwagons pulled up onto the lawn. Several Patrolmen, a detective, and a lieutenant stood by the stairs. Men clad in blue rushed up and down the stairs to the casino .

  “This way,” she whispered. They slipped through the shadows and onto the street. Out in the open, she broke into a run. Her boots hit the stone street quietly, while Erik’s loud shadow followed.

  A block later, she let her grappling hook loose. The metal clanged against the brick chimney of a two-story dress shop. Lights in the second-floor apartment lit the windows, but no shadows moved within.

  She hit the retract button. Torn from the street, she flew through the air, wind rushing against her ears. For a single moment, silence encased her, the perfect moment of serenity where all the chaos of the world fell away. Then her ascent ceased and her boots hit the roof, shattering her clarity.

  Erik landed next to her with a thump. She shoved the grappling hook back in her belt and walked the slanted roof. The shops were close on this side of the street, pressed together with no room for alleys. She moved from the slanted shingles of the dress shop to the flat expanse of a parchment store.

  Crouching in the shadow of the steepled roof next door, she scanned the front of the casino. Dozens of Patrolmen walked the yard, two more heading towards the back of the building. They’d find their coworkers and hopefully stop the bleeding in time.

  Narra glanced at Erik crouching beside her. His lips pressed in a thin, white line. His eyes stayed glued to the dark alley. He felt bad for hurting that man, and possibly killing him. But it couldn’t be helped—it was an accident after all.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. Though her words might not help, she hoped her attempt at comfort might.

  Erik smiled, but his gaze didn’t warm. “I know.”

  Narra searched his expression. She’d never been great at reading people, though with Erik she could at least make an educated guess. He might know it wasn’t his fault, but he’d still blame himself.

  Sighing, Narra turned back to the casino.

  A group of soldiers walked out the front doors.

  She froze, her teeth snapping together. This was their fault, but mostly it was Ezriel’s. His bloodlust must have started it, drove these soldiers to it. How could Asher defend him? How could he believe any good remained within this man?

  Her teeth ground together and she narrowed her eyes. The soldiers descended the
stairs, laughing and slapping each other on the back. They stopped briefly to speak with the detective at the base of the stairs. They stood before the gold deity with great wings exploded from his back and who’s harsh gaze stared down upon them.

  Even if she had no firm belief in gods, she hoped whichever one this was would smite them. If not, would Srah serve justice? Would Ashra deliver vengeance?

  She shook her head.

  Narra didn’t need the gods for either of those things. She’d avenge them herself.

  The soldiers piled into a steamcarriage and left for a nearby bar. Their raucous laughter drifted out of the machine’s back, while Narra crouched on a roof across the street. It had been easy for Erik and her to follow them with their grappling hooks. Once they’d arrived and were sure the soldiers would stay for some time, Erik took off to find a change of clothes and clean the blood from his skin and hair. If they needed to enter the bar for some reason they’d be too conspicuous with him drenched in the initiates’ blood.

  Narra shook her head and sat back on the slanted shingles. With the streetlamps so far away, she was nearly invisible on the roof.

  Ezriel had leapt from the steamcarriage first, followed by his lackeys. They had entered the two-story wooden structure with an arched roof and wide sloping windows. Roars of laughter and a stream of golden light had spilled from the bar as they’d opened the front door.

  The killers had disappeared inside and Erik had flown off in search of new clothes, leaving Narra to her solitude.

  All she needed to do was wait on the roof. Eventually, Ezriel had to leave. As soon as he did, they’d be upon him. But Narra wouldn’t kill him—not yet. His fate had been sealed the moment he laid a hand on one of the Guild initiates. The Thieves would not let this go. There were worse fates than death, and Ezriel was about to find out.

  Her blade would have been merciful by comparison.

  Taking a deep breath, she stilled her pounding heart. She slipped her pistol from her belt. No, not her pistol, her father’s. Hers had been lost to the empire when they took her into custody. Narra sighed.

  “You’ll get your own one day,” she remembered her father saying as she clutched the revolver to her chest at twelve-years-old. At the time, it felt heavy in her hands, like the weight of the world was contained within the gold plating.