Tangle of Thornes

by Lorel Clayton

“What?” I was tired, grumpy and not feeling helpful.

  “I’d rather not say here. Come to my place and I’ll show you.” She took off and didn’t look back to see if I was following. I groaned and went after her. More of Jessup’s people could be about, and she’d left Duane and the rest of her crew behind. Stupid girl.

  We detoured to the border of our neighborhood and a new shanty town recently erected for the latest influx of refugees. They were still under quarantine—who knew what nasties they carried with them from the war zone, or if they were nasties themselves—so the area was cordoned off. All I saw were a few flickers of firelight through the gaps in the high wooden fence.

  Our destination was a metal shack nestled between two abandoned factories. I couldn’t see the shack well, because of the head high piles of metal junk barring the way. There were broken wagon parts, rolls of resin tubing, and other paraphernalia beyond my comprehension. I’d never been to Bell’s home before, if you could call it a home.

  “Where do you sleep?”

  “Not here in the yard. Inside, of course.” She wiggled through the maze of scrap, and I followed awkwardly, catching my sleeve on sharp wires and rusted metal sheets every few steps. I wasn’t as petite as Bell, but I did have the advantage of height and, on tiptoes, could peek over the obstacles to get a better perspective on the maze.

  We finally reached the door, and I stepped through, gratefully stretching my shoulders.

  Bell’s place wasn’t just the shack but the whole factory itself. She had a cot in the shack section, along with a small kitchen, consisting of a water barrel sprouting pipes and a dripping faucet that overhung a ceramic bowl. Next to it was a black metal stove that emanated heat, the copper kettle on top nearly fused to it.

  “Frazzle,” Bell semi-swore. “I left the tea on.” She grabbed a thick pair of gloves from atop a nearby gas tank that had hoses attached to it. Some sort of homemade acetylene torch. I backed away from the flammable container nestled a mere arm’s length from the cooking stove. She cut the kettle free and set it aside.

  Bell was a mystery to me. “How does a girl like you end up outside Karolyne’s in the middle of the night waiting to jump Jessup’s gang? Does Duane bang on your door when you’re sleeping and say, ‘it’s time to knock a few heads’?”

  “Pretty much. But I’m not assigned head-knocking detail. I’m the bomb-wielding back up.” She pulled several orbs from the huge pockets of her work overalls. They were tarnished brass and covered in an ornate pattern of interlocking gears.

  “I hate to ask, but what sort of bomb is that?” I knew of magical fire bombs and poison flasks, but a mechanical bomb was unheard of.

  “It opens up like a flower and shoots out a cloud of tiny needles coated in sleep powder. I’ll show you....”

  “No, no, no.” I said quickly when it appeared she might activate the damn thing. “Your description was clear enough. Now, why am I here?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Bell pulled her gloves on tighter and reached for a copper lever mounted on the wall. She flipped the switch and sparks flew. A glass jar next to the lever glowed with more of the green goo I’d seen at the ironworks. A line of it ran up a wire that stretched into the other room, up brick walls and to giant lamps dangling from the rafters. They weren’t oil lamps, because they shone with the same yellow-green light put off by the goo, only brighter.

  I could see the full contents of the old factory now and my mouth fell open. There were grall-sized mechanoids in neat rows, dozens of them, as well as other contraptions I didn’t recognize. A few appeared to be based on the same locomotive design as the ice scrapers. Some sprouted metal arms, others wielded shovels or hammers.

  Bell was creating mechanical replacements for almost every line of work. There was even a mechanoid with a serving tray attached. I would have worried about my job and everyone else’s, if I didn’t know how useless those things were. It took twice as many people to operate one mechanoid as it did people to do the job the regular way.

  “Impressive,” I said. “It must have taken a while to build all these. I hate them, but I can see why you’d be proud. Can I go home now?”

  “I didn’t bring you here to brag. There’s something you’ll find very interesting. Magic.”

  “I don’t like magic any more than I like mechanical abominations. Combining the two, as everyone in Highcrowne seems to be doing these days, is worse.”

  “Is there anything you do like?”

  “Sleep.”

  “Well, let me rephrase then. You’ll be interested in what I have to show you because it involves Viktor.”

  That did catch my attention. “Go on.”

  “This way.”

  The inside of Bell’s place was more organized than the outside, and I had plenty of shoulder room as I walked between the rows of her creations. “You plan on selling any of these, or is Duane building an army?”

  “This was all my idea,” Bell said, as she removed her gloves and dropped them on a worktable we passed. I noticed she didn’t answer my question as to the purpose of creating so many mechanoids.

  I thought there were plenty in the main room, but she took me to a bricked off section and another door. Inside, there were two more machines. These were smaller than the grall-sized versions, nearly human or elf in proportion and shape, but with rods for legs and gears for hips and joints. The body cavity and head were disturbingly life-like: The metal casings for each sculpted with the detail sometimes seen with fine marble statues. Their bronze skin exuded living warmth.

  The humanness of the machines made it even more disturbing when Bell grabbed the chest of one and cracked it open. Inside were shiny wires and clear tubing, as well as glass jars for more green goo, but they were currently empty. The whole thing looked new.

  “If you want me to help fix that thing, it’s not my area,” I said. “But here’s a tip. Maybe you need to fill the jars with green goo. I don’t think any of these clunkers work well without the enchanted fluid the Avians are selling for a fortune.”

  “Ha, ha, not so funny. This is one of my pet projects, and I’m trying to keep it goo-free. I’m planning to implant a miniature steam engine, one fueled by microfyrite crystals from the new mines north of the Kingdoms. If I can get the combustion and pressure chambers small enough, air intake and water circulation worked out—maybe they can drink it? —not to mention attaching gears to link the other appendage servos, a guidance switch system....”

  “Whoza whaddit?” I said. Bell had lost me. Although I think I might have drifted off into a bizarre dream. I really needed to get to bed. “Can you skip to the part about Viktor?”

  “Just giving you a glimpse of what one of these should look like. This one’s mine. It’s a special project Viktor...helped finance.” The way her voice caught when she said Viktor’s name this time made me cock my head.

  “I saw you at the funeral,” I said. “There were a lot of dry eyes there, typical for Solhans and Thornes, especially, although Duane managed to respect our ways too. But you and Little Viktor must have soaked through a dozen handkerchiefs. I didn’t know you and my brother were so close.”

  “We aren’t. I mean weren’t. Well, not as close as I would have liked. He loved Emily so much. I understand completely. But from the moment Duane took me in, Viktor was there too. I looked up to him. He deserved to be happy. At least...he would have made me happy, if only he could have moved on. I waited for three years after Emily. I tried to be his friend, but....”

  “So, you were jealous of Emily’s ghost? Men can be so infuriating. I bet you hated Viktor after he turned you away.” I was trying out a new theory. Love, hate, passion. They were strong motives for murder. I liked Bell, but it didn’t mean I trusted her. I didn’t trust anyone.

  “What? No. I could never hate him. Never mind. None of it is important now. What I need to show you is the other automaton. Viktor’s.”

  She indicated a machine identical to the one she had
rummaged inside, except its chest cavity was intact. The casing was dented in a few places and smeared with dirt, but it looked functional.

  “What use would Viktor have for an ‘automaton’? What is it?”

  “It’s a more elegant mechanoid. One that doesn’t need an operator. It obeys your commands.”

  “What? Like a living person?”

  “Like the golems built by dwarfs and powered by magic. I wanted to experiment with one, as I said, but it had to be imported from the Fortress of Mages. You know how impossible it is to get someone to send a message that close to the front, let alone drag back a wagon of rare, automaton cargo? Very pricey. Viktor offered to buy two. One for him and one for me. If I taught him how it worked. I did. He took it home with him.”

  “You didn’t think that odd?”

  “It was easier not to question too much. I told myself he wanted it to stack books in his shop or take over some housecleaning from Nanny.”

  “And now it’s here?”

  “Arrived last night. By itself. I don’t know how long it’s been wandering around, the way it’s scuffed up. Maybe since Viktor died? It banged its way in here, woke me, but then marched past everything until it reached the other automaton’s side. I started making tea to wake up and get my head around what had happened, when Duane showed. It was perfect timing rescuing you, because I could use your help.”

  “Duane didn’t rescue me. You’re telling me machines can go walking around on their own and know how to find their way home? That creeps me out more than Nanny’s cooking or Uncle’s shrine. Way more.”

  “It’s not the creepiest part.” Bell reached for Viktor’s automaton, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she cracked open the casing. She took a big step back, giving it some distance and allowing me to peek inside.

  I thought I might be sick. There were organs in there. At least lumps of flesh that looked like organs. Veins pulsing with blood... Symbols were etched into the metal and smeared with black charcoal over the living tissue. I knew enough to recognize necromancy when I saw it.

  “This one’s powered by magic too, just a different sort,” I said. I thought the green goo was disgusting enough but, evidently, there were worse things to animate a machine with.

  “Is it human?” Bell shivered. “Is that Viktor’s heart in there?”

  I saw the pumping chunk of flesh she was referring to, but it was too big to be human. Nothing inside was. “Most necromancy uses animal components. Since the Dead God’s invasion, no human flesh is controllable. It’s His domain.”

  “I knew when I saw dark evil necromancy stuff you’d be the one to talk to.” She smiled.

  “Hey! I don’t do magic of any kind. I would never do anything like this. Neither would Viktor.”

  “Well someone did. Come on. We all know you’re destined to go dark. You’re Ilsa’s twin. You’re a Thorne.”

  I wasn’t very happy with Bell right now. “I’m going.”

  “Wait. I don’t want this weird thing around. It might wake up again and try to kill me.”

  “Why would it do that? Besides, you know more than I do about machines. Shut it down.”

  Yes, Bell was the one who knew about automatons. It would be much easier to send a machine to rip out the heart of the lover who spurned her rather than get her own hands bloody.

  I didn’t think she knew necromancy, a flaw in that theory, but there were plenty from Solheim who did. Even Nanny used it to keep the stew fresh. Bell could have paid for the work to be done, to throw blame onto a Thorne and off her. She hadn’t expected the abominable creation to come back here and find her though.

  “This is magic,” Bell said, as though she considered it more dangerous than brass bombs in her pocket. I wasn’t so sure. “If I start tearing stuff out, I might curse myself. Right?”

  Was this petite girl Viktor’s murderer? I couldn’t just leave her to be killed by a rampaging mechanoid—unless I had proof.

  “Let me look at this thing.” I ignored the chest cavity and reached for one of its arms. The metal was heavy, but after a moment the weight vanished. The thing was holding out its arm for me. I shivered.

  Grime was smeared along its once-polished surface. It wasn’t sewer muck: not smelly enough. The dirt had a grayish cast, like damp ash, and was mixed with rust-colored streaks of fine crystal. Pot ash. It was used to make soap and to bleach clothing white. More knowledge inadvertently picked up from Nanny.

  One thing for sure, the automaton hadn’t been cleaned by anyone or been out in the falling snow for long. That meant traces of whatever else it had touched would remain. Such as blood stains.

  I pried open its fist and examined the fingernails. It had them, made of brass, a bit shinier than the rest of the human-like bronze hand. It was amazing how the metal bent and flexed like flesh, when it should be stiff as a statue.

  There was nothing under the fingernails or inside the palm. Pot ash smeared the knuckles, but wherever the automaton had been, it hadn’t touched anything with an open hand. So, it hadn’t reached into Viktor’s chest and ripped his heart out.

  At least not since its last bath. If machines had regular baths.

  “Sorry. I told you, I don’t know much about magic. And what I do know I don’t want to know.” I couldn’t help Bell the way she wanted, but I could give her some advice. “You should lock up this room and bar the door from the outside. Maybe Duane can help you dump this thing in the river or send it back to the Fortress of the Mages? Whatever you do, do it soon. This thing is definitely alive...because it’s holding my hand.”

  I yanked free of its grip and shoved Bell out of the room. I followed my own advice and barred the door behind us. The automaton banged on the iron door, the sound echoing through the open warehouse. The rhythm was that of polite knocking, which I found more disturbing than if it had tried to break the door down.

  “Do you have any bigger bombs?” I asked Bell.

  “Yes, but we’re not blowing up my workshop. Or the good automaton. It cost a fortune.”

  “Are you sure there’s such a thing as a ‘good’ automaton?”

  Bell threw up her hands and stamped off to retrieve her stash of explosives. She returned with a stick of dynamite.

  “No fancy brass contraptions or mechanized whatzits?”

  “Sometimes simpler is better,” she said.

  I thought there might be hope for Bell yet.

  I lent her my sparker. Once the fuse was burning, a much shorter fuse than I would have liked, I yanked open the door long enough for her to toss the stick of dynamite inside. I closed the door as quick as I could and ran all the way back to the shed section, dragging Bell behind me.

  We took cover, but there was no need as the explosion was contained to the workshop. A loud bang, smoke creeping through the edges of the door, and an automaton-shaped dent in the metal were the only signs the bomb had worked.

  We stared at the misshapen door.

  “Do we open it?” Bell didn’t seem too eager.

  “I hate not knowing. We have to check.” I crept forward, arm outstretched, when the door came flying off its hinges. It whacked me good, and I went down, bruised all along my right side.

  The automaton stepped out of the smoke. I hadn’t noticed in the dim workshop, but it had a woman’s face, delicate and kind. The eyes were the same bronze as the rest of it, so I didn’t know how they could see, but they did somehow. It noted me on the ground and Bell standing frozen and open-mouthed.

  It had survived a bomb and destroyed an inch-thick metal door. I was sure it would smash us next, but it took off running. It slammed through the nearest brick wall, a cascade of debris falling. An upper story window shattered, and glass rained down. I closed my eyes to protect them from the dust and glass fragments, but nothing large hit me. When I opened my eyes, the automaton was long gone.

  “Duane will find it,” Bell assured me.

  I wasn’t so confident, but I really didn’t care anymore. It had
n’t hurt us. Maybe all it wanted was to find its way back to the Fortress where it was created. It wanted to go home; I wanted the same thing.

  I didn’t bother telling Bell goodbye. I just left, taking the shortcut through the brick wall the automaton had created.

  10│ KALI

  ~

  WHEN I REACHED VIKTOR’S HOUSE, I made sure the front door was locked securely behind me before I trudged up the stairs to the sitting room. Not only were Jessup’s goons on the loose, but a creepy, living automaton thing was roaming the streets as well. Could this city get any worse?

  It was black, except for a faint glow from the stoked fire. I wasn’t familiar with the layout of the house yet, and I tripped over something. It was soft and too low to the ground to be one of the hardwood salon chairs or the sofa. I felt the outlines of the object, and realized it was a suitcase.

  Morgan had brought my old things over. Yay! There were two suitcases. I hefted the largest with both hands, dragged it up to the guest room and then went back for the other one. On the way up the second time, I saw Nanny standing at the top of the stairs with a candle and a frown.

  “What are you doing? Shifting dead bodies around in the middle of the night?” She was in a huff.

  “Having raised Ulric, you’re no doubt familiar with that sound. Why didn’t you ask Morgan to carry these upstairs for me?”

  “I told him to take them back to your uncle’s, and he wouldn’t oblige me. This is my home, and no one asked me whether you could move in, you and your disrespectful slave girl.”

  “You think anyone who disagrees with you is disrespectful.”

  “They are, and stupid too.”

  “Well, I am stupid, and I am staying in the guest room because it’s what Viktor wanted. Probably not the guest room part, though. Where’s Kali? I didn’t see her on the couch.”

  “On a rug, next to the kitchen hearth.” She gave me a smug smile.

  “In the cinders? Your nastiness is dangerously close to cliché. Tell her she can sleep in the guest room with me.”

  “I’m not telling her anything, besides, I lied. She disobeyed me and went to bed in Little Viktor’s old room.”