“Quite a chase you’ve led us on.” another says as he enters the room. The man’s jawline is strong and his face angular but common. Two extraordinary features distinguish him from plain: a long, angry scar across his cheek and piercing silver eyes. Behind him, another man enters, his face shrouded between a tall collar and the brim of his hat.
“I won’t let you take me.” His own voice sounds foreign, yet feels familiar.
“Oh, I should hope not,” Silver Eyes says. “This chase has been far too fun to end in something as pedestrian as surrender.”
The boy stands at the man’s shoulder, seething in mindless fury, waiting to be unleashed.
“Is the boy to be my demise, then?” he asks. “Do you throw away the lives of children in your pursuits?”
“Him? He’s just a tool. A means to an end. A distraction.” The boy lunges forward around the scarred one’s shoulder. He brings his metal hand across the boy’s face, hoping to deter any further attacks rather than cause real injury. The boy screams in rage as he stumbles sideways, then turns and launches another blind attack. This time, he takes no chances, landing a thunderous punch. Bones collapse under the force of his knuckles. The boy slumps to the ground, no longer a danger.
He wants to turn back to the other danger, but he can’t move. A hand slides around his side, and a voice slithers over his shoulder, whispering, “Gotcha, copper-pot.” Another hand applies the lightest of pressure to his shoulder. He topples over, coming to rest on his back. Those piercing silver eyes come into view over top of him, and he senses hands on his torso.
“This has been a long time coming,” The man with silver eyes says. He raises his right hand and licks the ends of his fingers and thumb. “You’ve been one of our more…difficult charges.” Wet fingertips press against the center of his chest, and he is taken with a sense of deep cold. Slowly, he loses all sensation in the extreme reaches of his limbs, the loss of feeling creeping toward his torso.
His vision fills with blue-white light, wavering like a waterborne reflection. In the dancing light, the second man’s face looks down on him, slipping amongst the waves in his vision, indistinct. He feels, more than hears, the same creeping whisper say, “Bye-bye, you ragged old toy,” as his vision fails. There is a sharp vibration in his chest and a feeling like all the air rushing from the room, and he is gone.
• • • • •
His movements are uncoordinated, almost drunk, making the journey take much longer than it normally would. As he walks, his movements become smoother, but not faster. Nothing he does restores his control, making him feel like a puppet at the hands of a torturous puppeteer.
And what is the reason for his return? He wants only to be away from this place, to be away from himself, but he is driven back here. The need to return overwhelms his desire to leave. In spite of his fight against it, he is powerless to stop himself. His vision stutters as his consciousness wavers, causing him to stumble in the alleyway before righting himself against the back wall of some featureless building. Not far now.
The back of the manor house comes into view, and he heads straight for the rear entrance. He ascends the stone steps to the kitchen entrance and stops, placing a hand on the doorframe to steady himself. The compulsion to enter wars against the logic telling him to run, to get away from here. His resolve weakens, and he opens the door.
His hand leaves a tacky crimson streak on the jamb as he enters. Two steps in and his balance gives way. He falls in a heap on the kitchen floor.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
* * *
Samuel’s senses swam and he couldn’t see. “I need you to stay quiet,” the voice whispered. “I’m going to take it off of you, but you have to stay quiet, okay?”
He couldn’t move, so any form of acknowledgement was impossible. The speaker would have to trust he wouldn’t make any noise. Something moved on his face, covering his mouth. A screeching noise was quickly squelched and a jolt ran through his body. Vision snapped back to him, along with the rest of his senses, as something was peeled away from his face and thrown aside. Samuel lay on his back, staring at the heavy beams and metal plates of Atherton’s workroom ceiling through dimness broken only by the flicker of lamplight. He tried to turn his head, but couldn’t. Feeling flooded back into his limbs, save for his left arm. He realized he was strapped down.
Michael’s face came into view over him. “Does everything feel normal?”
“Yes, I think so.” Samuel’s voice came out loud, and Michael winced.
“SSSHH!” Michael’s eyes snapped to the doorway, then back down to Samuel. “Quieter!”
Samuel hadn’t needed to speak in a quiet tone yet, and hoped he would get it right with his next question. “Michael, what’s going on?” His voice didn’t whisper like a person’s would, but came out at a much lower volume.
“We have to get you out of here,” Michael said.
“What happened?” Samuel asked. “I must have blacked out. I saw…”
“I don’t know, Samuel,” Michael interrupted, his voice raw with fear. “You and I were talking, and you just fell over. Your eyes went dark, but you were still moving…like…twitching and stuff. I…I called Atherton and we were able to get you rigged up in the hoist and onto the table. Once we got you strapped down, he…changed. He pushed me out of the room, and wouldn’t answer any of my questions. I just wanted to know what was going on, but he wouldn’t talk to me. He got angry and yelled at me to leave, then locked you in here and wouldn’t let me come in.” Tears rolled down Michael’s face. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Michael, it’s okay,” Samuel said, trying to be reassuring. “I want to help, but you’ve got to unstrap me from this table.”
Michael took a deep breath, wiping the tears away from his eyes. “I can’t yet. I’m going to get your arm back first, and I’ll need to leave you strapped down for that.”
“Michael, just let me up. We can worry about that later.”
“No, Samuel, it’ll be okay. Atherton’s asleep. He thinks I’m locked out of here but I snuck out and got the door open. I’ll be quick—I can do it quick.” Michael stepped out of Samuel’s view, and Samuel heard him moving around the room gathering tools. Being strapped to the table was making Samuel anxious; he wanted to be up and moving.
Michael sat down next to the table and began to work. The sensation was something between irritating and unnerving as Michael worked tools into the metal structure of Samuel's shoulder, bending damaged parts back into place, or at least out of the way so he could move in deeper. Now he knew why Michael wanted him strapped down; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to bear this otherwise.
Samuel tried to distract himself with a question. “Michael, what were you pulling off of my face when I was waking up?”
Michael continued working while he spoke. “A siphil. It’s an animal that feeds on khet. I had to get it out of the way so I can work on repairing the flow to your arm.” A pause. “They attack people in forests and jungles by dropping on them from above. Once they’ve latched on, they’ll drain a person in minutes. All their khet gone, until they die.” Samuel felt him shudder through the tools in his shoulder. “They don’t have the same effect on constructs. They’ll try to drain the khet out of the construct’s core. A siphil can’t destroy a construct, but they can disrupt the flow of khet enough to immobilize one.”
“That’s what it was doing to me,” Samuel said.
“Yeah. Atherton must have put it on you after he kicked me out of the workroom.” Michael took in a sharp breath, choking back his emotion. “I don’t even know why Atherton would have one here. It’s illegal to keep them in Morrelton. They’re too dangerous… What was that?”
Samuel had heard it, too: a noise from the front area. Both of them fell silent. Michael held his breath. The noise was faint, but sounded like footsteps. Michael leaned in close to Samuel, his whisper almost too quiet to hear. “Someone’s out there!”
Samuel felt Michae
l return to his shoulder, his search for the malfunction becoming frantic. “Michael, unstrap me.” he said, as quietly as he was able.
“It’s fine,” Michael whispered, quickening his pace. “I’ve got the door bolted from the inside. Listen to me, Samuel. Once you’re free, you need to head east, into the mountains.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Samuel heard the door latch click several times, but the door did not open. After a moment of silence, there was a clanging rap that jarred Michael from his concentration, then another, followed by a third. The pauses between each were long enough to let the ringing of the iron die.
Michael shook his head and turned back to Samuel. “You need to go north out of town, then head east up the main mountain road at the fork. It’ll take a few days on foot, but look for the Bleeding Pine and head north into the woods on the trail there. It’ll be hard to see, but Kaleb can follow it. There’s a cottage in the forest there where my friend Pare apprentices. His master can help you. I know he can. Can you remember that?”
Samuel nodded.
“Come out, Michael.” Atherton called, his voice muffled through the heavy door. “Don’t do anything…rash.” His tone was calm. Unsettling.
Michael’s constitution held and he did not respond.
“Michael?” Atherton said, trying to sound amiable. “What are you trying to accomplish? That construct is dangerous, Michael.”
“Why?” Michael yelled back at his master, his voice cracking. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“You’re too young to understand!!” Atherton screamed, snapping in anger. “Damn your foolishness. Come out of there right now!!”
Samuel couldn’t hold his voice any longer. “Why are you doing this, Atherton? Please, just tell me what’s happening.”
The pause was longer than Samuel liked. “You removed the siphil, Michael?” Atherton’s voice was quiet now, burning low with rage. “What have you done?”
“Hurry, Michael,” Samuel said. “Hurry and unstrap me.”
“I’m almost there!” Michael said. “I can see it now! I can fix it! Here…” Michael reached up and released the strap holding Samuel’s head. It wasn’t much freedom, but it was something. He looked over at his shoulder, expecting to see a mass of bent metal and openings, and was surprised to see much of the work Michael had done was to repair the external structure. It looked less damaged, but one of the plates covering the front had been removed, and several tools were clamped into place deep within the opening.
Atherton’s voice came louder, more forceful this time. “Malthoranic!” Samuel didn’t understand the word, and Atherton paused before repeating it. “Malthoranic, awake!”
Then Samuel understood. An inactive construct in the corner of the room sprang to life, its eyes glowing a deep green. It stood, awaiting orders. Michael’s hand stopped moving and he gaped at the construct.
“Michael, hurry!” Samuel barked. Michael shook his sight free of the construct and began working again.
“Malthoranic, unlatch this door for me,” Atherton said.
Malthoranic moved stiffly, its joints creaking from disuse. It reached for the door. Grabbing the inner hardbolt, the construct pulled, tearing it free of the door in the process and dropping it on the floor. Samuel didn’t know what level of intellect this construct possessed, but he was quite sure it was not aware of its own strength.
A twinge of feeling shot down Samuel’s left arm, all the way to his fingertips, then receded back to his shoulder. Samuel turned and saw Michael smiling. “I’ve almost got it.” he said, unbuckling the straps that held Samuel’s arm in place.
The latch on the door slid free. Atherton hauled it open and stepped through. “Thank you, Malthoranic,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I knew you’d be useful at some point.” Atherton placed his hands on the door and there was a whoosh of air, and a faint tinge of light glittered across the metal of the room’s interior armor plating. He turned toward Michael but did not approach, and Michael did not stop working.
“Oh, Michael,” he said, spying what the boy was up to. “Malthoranic, stop him, please.” The construct took several jerky steps toward the table where Samuel lay.
“Hurry up, Michael!” Samuel said.
Michael wiped sweat from around his eyes and tried to steady his hands. Malthoranic rounded the end of the table. Michael glanced quickly over, pressing a long metal tool into the opening in Samuel’s shoulder and letting it rest against the side of the opening. Malthoranic covered the gap in two long strides as Michael reached to retrieve his other tools. The construct grabbed his wrist and pulled him upward. Samuel heard two loud cracks as the boy’s wrist snapped in Malthoranic’s grip. Michael screamed as the construct held him up by his broken arm.
“Let him go!” Samuel yelled, struggling against the restraints.
Atherton approached the table on the other side, bending down to retrieve something from the floor. Before him, he held a small creature with two short, clawed appendages and a long tail, its back covered in blue feathers and its underside leaking a viscous fluid onto Atherton’s hands. A long cut marred the creature’s back, and blood ran down its sides. “You killed it, Michael? You killed my siphil?” Michael couldn’t respond, only sobbing in pain as he hung from the construct’s grip. Atherton’s attention turned to Malthoranic. “Drop him,” he said. “But don’t let him near Samuel again.” The construct released Michael who fell in a heap on the floor. Atherton set the dead siphil on the workbench and stepped up next to Samuel.
“Why?” Samuel asked.
Atherton leaned over and looked Samuel in the face, his lips curled in a sneer. “Because I know what you are. It was your kind that was responsible for the death of the Queen Consort,” he said through gritted teeth. His voice was thick with contempt. “I’ll not have you destroy everything I’ve built here, everything I’ve worked for!”
“My kind? I don’t understand, Atherton! I hold no malice toward you. I don’t want to harm you.”
“Just your presence is a blight that could ruin me,” Atherton sniped, his words tinged with fear. “Handing you over will guarantee my safety and protect my prosperity.” His face softened, just a little, and he lowered his voice. “You’re a fascinating creature, Samuel, but you’re not worth my life and livelihood.”
“Just tell me what you’re talking about! Maybe I can help!”
“There’s nothing you can do!” Atherton screamed, his anger boiling to the surface. “And nothing I’d let you do!”
Atherton’s eyes darted to the door as the sound of the front entryway closing echoed through the front room. “Samuel?” It was Kaleb’s voice. “Michael? Atherton?” Atherton’s hand pulsed a deep blue as he placed it just below Samuel’s chin. Samuel tried to speak, but was unable. “Samuel?” Kaleb repeated.
“KALEB!” Michael yelled. “Help us! Atherton’s gone crazy!”
Atherton shot a look at the boy, but didn’t remove his hand from Samuel’s throat.
“What?” Kaleb yelled. The door latch clicked, but would not turn. “Atherton? What are you doing? Michael?”
“You can’t come in here right now,” Atherton yelled. “Something’s gone wrong with Samuel, and it’s dangerous.” The artificer’s eyes were frantic, searching the room.
Michael sprang to his feet, grabbing a mallet off of the rolling table next to Samuel, striking down onto the tool he had left in Samuel’s shoulder. Samuel’s arm flooded with life, feeling and strength returning all the way to his fingers. Malthoranic swung a backhanded blow that connected with Michael’s cheek, sending him reeling into the workbench behind him.
Samuel pulled his newly restored arm free from the loosened straps, shoving Atherton, who lost his grip and stumbled to the ground, his head striking the side of one of his workbenches. “Kaleb, get in here now!” he shouted, trying to loosen the buckles on some of the straps holding him to the table.
Samuel had almost freed his other arm when At
herton, the side of his head covered in blood, barked at Malthoranic to stop him. The construct grabbed Samuel’s left arm and pulled it back to the table, pinning it down. He wasn’t sure if Malthoranic was stronger than him or not, but the mindless construct had leverage on its side, which made all the difference in the moment. Samuel hadn’t been able to pull his right arm free, and now Malthoranic stood over him, pinning his head and his left arm and staring down at him with those glowing green eyes. “Kaleb! Get in here right now!”
There was a loud whump outside the door, like the sound of someone striking a feather pillow with their open hand.
“You won’t be able to get in that way.” Atherton said, leaning against the leg of his workbench and holding a hand to the injured side of his head. “I’ve warded it.” He let out a weak laugh.
“Samuel, can you move?” Kaleb asked.
“Not at the moment,” Samuel replied, struggling to free himself from Malthoranic’s grip.
“Michael! I need you to open the eyeslot on the door!” Kaleb said.
Michael moved around behind Malthoranic, keeping as far back against the opposing workbench as he could, then turned to sprint towards the door.
“Stop him, Malthoranic!” Atherton said.
The construct released Samuel’s arm and gave chase after Michael. Samuel freed his right arm and began working on the other straps. The boy reached the door and grabbed the handle of the eyeslot, slamming the thin metal portal open. “Michael, look out!” Samuel yelled. Michael turned, a half-second too late.
“Wait!” Atherton screamed, understanding the order he had given, and what he’d given it to.
Malthoranic struck Michael with a sweeping backhand that caught him at the base of the jaw, shattering it. The blow flung him into a bookcase on the opposite wall. His head struck the frame at a terrible, impossible angle and he went limp, tumbling into a pile of loose parts.
Construct Page 9
