Threadbare Volume 2

by Andrew Seiple

  “Linkages aligned!” She shouted, and the port slammed shut, as the cables throughout the massive metal suit stretched taught and fed into the clockwork gears. Stamina leaked from her, and fed into the suit, and she took her first shuddering steps, as the counterweights and gyros kept her upright.

  “Cast In Steam and Steel, Raise thy Blade! All Systems Go!” Cecelia finished the last of the five spells, and that strangest feeling of all came, as her fortune fell, transferring to her steam armor.

  Skill-ups rolled by, but she ignored them, as she piloted her armor out through the hangar doors, and to the practice grounds.

  She was taking a risk, she knew, lowering her pools this close to father’s unknown test, but piloting Reason always settled her nerves. Grabbing a clockwork arbalest, she fitted it into Reason’s arm, winding the bolt feed carefully into the compartment she’d built for it. For the other hand, a wrecker blade, ten feet long and three feet from the edge to the back, like a massive cleaver that had been stretched out to a ludicrous length.

  And as the sun sank below the castle walls, she stomped around the proving grounds, shooting targets and chopping through logs, running the obstacle course as she went. She’d hit level four in the Steam Knight job recently, about as far as she could go on the training grounds alone.

  It had been a hard job to achieve, pushing her tinkering skills to the limits. But she’d thrown in even more of a challenge, by enchanting the various components, buffing her knight well beyond the specs that most who came to the job bothered to. It was an odd job anyway, mixing Knight and Animator and Tinker, and requiring a ton of resources and components to first craft the suit, then figure out how to animate the various parts to do what they needed to, and THEN you had to be a fifteenth level knight, so you could use the “Favored Mount” skill upon the finished product. Only then would the second-tier class unlock.

  But holy fump, could she kick ass when she wore Reason. Fifteen foot tall and almost every bit of it crafted by her own hand, she was in full control when the boiler was screaming behind her and the mighty cable muscles were stretching at the guidance of her responsive clockwork.

  She felt strong inside the suit. Untouchable, unbeatable. And more than that, it was a symbol of her freedom. The only way she’d be able to leave this castle, was as one of the elite steam knights sent to fight the dwarves on the eastern front. Only then, her father told her, would he be willing to let her anywhere near a battlefield. Steam Knights had the best survivability rate, and they got taken alive, thankfully. The dwarves had weird rules when it came to killing tinkers.

  Her father had laughed, when she named it Reason. He thought it humorous, but he was mistaken about the meaning of the name. Her hope was to make him see reason. That was why it was called what it was.

  And all her good mood and restored confidence fled as she turned back to the hangar, and saw who was waiting there.

  “Oh fump,” She muttered. “You?”

  Smiling, Anise Layd’i raised her hand and waved.

  Cecelia stomped back, brought her armor’s components down one by one, and stepped free of the cockpit. Soaked in sweat, uncaring, she hopped down to glare at the demon who wore her dead mother’s face. “What?”

  “Aren’t you eager to get to your test?” Anise smiled, blandly.

  And suddenly, Cecelia felt a lot less confident.

  *****

  The Tower of Shame stood in the middle of the keep, holding those that the Crown chose not to kill, but could not let free. It had thick, thick walls, layers of stone lined with cork, that ate up the sound and prevented the screams and wails of the prisoners inside from disturbing the rest of the Castle’s inhabitants.

  But once you were inside the tower, you could hear the Tower's prisoners shouting, crying, begging for mercy. That’s what Cecelia found as she followed Anise into the tower, ascending the long stair that broke off into corridors, heading into the various cellblocks.

  Cecelia smoothed her arming jacket. A clean and press had gotten rid of the sweat stains, but Anise hadn’t given her a chance to get armored, let alone grab a sword. “Always in Uniform,” she muttered, using a knight skill to buff her armor for the third time since she’d followed the demon. It kept running out, but it hardened her clothes, gave her SOMETHING in the event of sudden violence. And it used moxie, so whatever. She didn’t have many abilities that used that, none that mattered for this test, she reckoned.

  “Here we go,” Anise hummed, opening a door near the top. Cecelia eyed it warily, but her alertness didn’t fire off, so she figured she wasn’t going to be ambushed yet. Still... “After you, I insist,” she told Anise.

  “Of course, dear.” Anise strode into the cellblock, into the corridor that ran between the cells.

  It was dark in here, and empty, save for a pile of rags in the corner of a far cell. As she watched, they stirred, and an old, weathered face lifted up from the man lying under them. A white-bearded, unshaven face, bald-headed with bushy eyebrows.

  A familiar face, that she hadn’t seen in a long while. “Mister Mordecai?”

  “Celia? Celia girl?” Mordecai leaped up, and in a flash grabbed the bars. He was nearly naked, save for dirty, torn trousers, and thin, so thin, with ropy muscles straining under his withered flesh. “Celia? Is this a trick? You bastards, you ain’t trickin’ me!” In a heartbeat he went from smiling to screaming, pounding his head against the bars. “Stay out of my ‘ead! Stay out of my ‘ead! I ain’t tellin’ yer nuffing!”

  “No! No, it’s me, please Mordecai, please stop hurting yourself!” She ran to him, then flinched back as he punched through the bars, his hand falling short by inches. “Please stop!”

  He screamed himself hoarse, then seemed to come to himself, looking around at the cell, looking down at himself in shame. “Sorry. I... sorry. Real. Hope yer real. Hope... sorry. Oh Celia girl, don’t look at me. What they done to me... what they done to me...”

  It was hard to tell what they’d done to him. He was covered with scars, but then again, she had seen how his marriage was firsthand, so she had no way of knowing if they’d been the ones to...

  ...no. They’d tortured him. “Mordecai, it’s me.” She reached through the bars, took his hand, and he wept, pushing his hairy cheek against it, dirty beard rasping against her skin. “It’s me. I’m... I’m sorry.”

  “And here he is,” Anise said. “Your enemy. The enemy to the Crown.”

  Cecelia froze. “What are you... what are you saying?”

  “Did you think it would be an easy test?” Anise dropped a key on the ground, followed by a dagger. Then she turned and left. “Good luck!”

  “What... demon!” Mordecai hissed. “Wears her face wears little Amelia’s face I know what you are! I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!” He tore free of Cecelia’s hand with enraged strength, grabbed the bars and pushed his face out between them, roaring at the departing monster. “YOU DEMON!”

  Then he collapsed, sobbing, leaving Cecelia with the key, the dagger, and the dawning realization of the nature of her test.

  “Oh no,” she whispered, sinking to the floor. “No, no, no...”

  She weighed her freedom against the old man’s life. Old man, sick and wasted, thin and ragged from starvation and suffering. An old man, mind broken, barely anything left of the strong, confident scout she’d once known.

  He’ll die here anyway.

  It would be a mercy.

  They’d just keep torturing him.

  These thoughts and more trembled through her head.

  And finally Cecelia picked up the dagger.

  *****

  The guards didn’t look twice at her as she descended the stairwell, empty handed. She’d taken nothing from the cellblock, and she was alone, so they didn’t check her.

  The keep was oddly quiet, and the door to the wing leading to her chambers was locked.

  Cecelia blinked, then her eyes settled into a squint as she realized. There was one route around the locked door,
and it led through the courtyard.

  She took a ceremonial shield off the wall. “Animus Shield.” It was lower quality, but better than nothing. “Harden,” She said, patting her clothes. “Always in Uniform. Keen Eye.” She didn’t have any other buffs that were useful to the situation, so she took a deep breath, and walked through the keep, reaching the side courtyard with her shield bobbing merrily along behind her.

  And there Cecelia found the knights waiting. Everyone in her training squad by the looks of it, and Sergeant Tane too. Seven Knights, ringing the courtyard, fully armed and armored, drawing blades as she approached.

  “This is your test, girl,” her father called from the battlements, the demons in his armor glowing and active, hellblades whirling around his head. “There are no rules! Fight for your life!”

  Celia smiled.

  And then, a song rang out, bouncing around the walls, echoing from the outbuildings, causing the King and his knights to peer around.

  “There was a fool king, who clung hard to the dark...”

  King Melos stiffened. “Who... who dares?”

  “Killed his own wife, and thought it a lark...”

  “You’ll die for that!” Melos yelled.

  “But in all of our hearts, he lit the spark... of rebellion!”

  It was an old, raspy voice, unsuitable for a bard. But it was a song that heartened Cecelia nonetheless. “Status,” she whispered, and smiled at the strength buff she’d just received.

  All too soon the song ended but it was replaced by quietly chanted words. And every one made the King’s eyes go wider.

  “Fast as Death. Build Up. One Track Mind. Power From Pain. Ambush. Subdue... RAGE!”

  “And oh yeah, Backstab!” And then, a knight went sailing backward, helm crumpled. Mordecai stood where he’d been, camouflage fading, grinning. “ello there Melly. Long time no see!”

  “You son of a bitch!” Melos roared, then froze in horror as Mordecai whirled, and tossed his dagger at Celia... who stretched out a hand, and smiled. “Animus Blade!” She shouted as it passed her head, and swung into a low orbit around her.

  “No rules, father! No rules!” She reminded him, and charged the remaining knights as Mordecai whooped and laid about him, fists falling like hammers.

  On the battlements, Melos leaned his elbows on the battlements, and palmed his face with both hands. “She is our daughter, Amelia,” he whispered, unheard. “Hell help us all.”

  Each one of Cecelia’s class had at least three levels on her, but she was an animator, too, and their weapons had been padded. They hurt, they sapped her stamina and left bruises every time they hit, but whenever she managed to get a hand on a shield or a blade or a suit of armor, it became hers. And she’d fire up Corps a Corps with an animus blade, then hammer her friends down with an animus shield while they were locked. Or she’d slap their armor and hinder them. Her sanity went fast, but oh, it was glorious.

  Glorious, but painful. They were all trained knights, and the Dolorous Strikes that got through had her reeling.

  Midway through, four knights down, she heard Mordecai yelp. She bought some breathing room by running back to see Mordecai leaping over the outbuildings, pursued by a black-clad form. She caught her breath.

  That was one of the Four that made up the elites called the King’s Hand! It was the Ninja!

  “What?” She yelled up at her Father, almost getting clocked in the head by a training sword for her trouble. “You’re seriously throwing HER into this test?”

  “No rules!” He shrugged. “This is more fair, anyway.”

  “Fair!” Cecelia shrieked, backing into a corner as Sergeant Tane hammered down her last shield, and Renick closed from the other side. Kayin came down the middle.

  They stopped, ten feet from her, as she stretched a hand out. “I’m a good animator. You know what I can do.”

  “Aye. And I know it’ll take you six words to get one of us,” Tane ground out. “At which point the other two will be on you, Squire Ragandor. So why don’t you surrender and save your face a pounding?”

  Cecelia’s eyes flicked from Tane, to Kayin, to Renick... and back to Kayin. She winked.

  “Distant Animus—” Celia shouted, and they charged...

  “Invite Renick’s Armor stop!” She shouted. He stopped and fell over, and she felt the wind as the other two approached...

  And a feeling of relief surged through her, as Kayin shouted “Backstab! Pommel Strike!” And rang Tane’s helm like a bell so hard that he tumbled, knocking Cecelia to the ground.

  The girl stared up, dazed... at Kayin’s open gauntlet. She took it, accepted the hand to her feet, and smiled at Kayin. “Do you surrender?”

  “Absolutely.” Kayin knelt.

  For a long second, there was silence on the battlements. “What.” Melos finally managed.

  “I thought you might try something like this, father. So I went and found allies. It was a cruel test to begin with!” She stepped forward, leveling her hand at him. “Trying to make me kill on an old friend!”

  The king removed his helm, and stared down at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Trying to get me to kill Mister Mordecai like... that...” She blinked. “Wait. Anise said...”

  “Anise?” The King frowned. “What’s she done this time?”

  Realization crashed in.

  Anise had never SAID that killing Mordecai was the King’s test, or that she’d lead Cecelia to the test. She’d let Cecelia form her own conclusions. Shaking, the girl leaned against the wall.

  “It’s to do with that senile old scout, isn’t it?” The King said, hopping off the wall and floating down, as the demons he wore carried him gently through the air. “Of course he’d seek you out, and try to get you to escape with him.”

  “Something like that,” Cecelia said. “I... couldn’t stop him even if I wanted to.” Which was the truth. She didn’t want to stop him. She’d unlocked his cell and offered to run interference while he escaped.

  “Mm. Well, no matter. You were wise to use him to your advantage while he was here. In any case, it’s a moot point. Janus tells me he’s in the woods outside the walls now, and it’s only a matter of time before he’s back in his cell. He can’t evade for long. The crazy old bastard may be a scout, but he’s no ranger.” Melos dispelled the demons in his armor and let his blades fall, then folded her into a hug, ignoring the scattered and groaning knights around her. “You passed. You’ll get your wish.”

  Freedom. Cecelia sagged into her father’s arms. “Thank you,” She whispered.

  It had been a hard life, in the castle. A hard life, hearing about the foes that bedeviled her father and tried to bring chaos to his kingdom.

  But now she could sally forth, and meet them with steam and steel. Like her father, she would do what she must, and bring peace to Cylvania.

  CHAPTER 6: BORN AGAIN

  Threadbare looked at the heaps and piles of moldy toys, then up to the hole in the roof. There were bits and scraps of cloth up there, and up until a minute ago, there had been some rather irate birds that had vanished from their nests the second that Pulsivar and Mopsy entered the toy store.

  “What’s this white stuff?” Missus Fluffbear wondered, as she poked at the bird shit on her head and stared at her paw.

  Garon cleared his throat. “Ah, I’ll tell ya later—”

  “It bird shit,” Zuula interrupted.

  “Oh. Ew!” Missus Fluffbear tried to get it off, with no real luck. “Fine. Clean and Press.”

  “You can do that?” Threadbare asked.

  “Yes. My raccants taught me tailoring so they didn’t have to keep fixing me and I could do it myself. But why was the bird shit white?” Missus Fluffbear wondered. “Raccant shit was brown. I certainly helped them bury enough of it, I should know.”

  “You buried things for them?” Threadbare turned his head to look her over.

  “Yes. They gave me to their children to play with, at first. They p
layed rough! It was very dangerous. But when they saw I could move things and carry things they took me from the children and made me work for them. Then I got attacked by those big hatted cloud things one time and beat them up with my spade. That’s when their Chief, the great Hoomin decided I should be in his dungeon. Then you saved me from that. And then some of them were dead out front and I don’t know why.”

  Threadbare twitched. Zuula’s words rang through his mind. Friends don’t lie to friends, mostly. He pondered it for a second, and decided that it would be bad to lie, here. “They were dead because I killed them. Me and Pulsivar. We wanted to come and look for you and they wouldn’t let us.”

  Missus Fluffbear stared at him.

  Threadbare continued. “I tried to ask nicely, but one of them tried to take my tools and hurt me. When I pushed him back they all attacked me.”

  “Was it the one with stars on his shoulder? That was mean to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was mean to me too. I wasn’t sorry to see him dead. But you killed Bujy and Hamste and small missing ear Kity, and they were my friends. Sort of.” She kept staring at Threadbare. “I don’t know how I feel about this.”

  “I don’t know how you should feel, either,” Threadbare said. He took off his top hat and rubbed his head. “I’m not sorry because they were trying to hurt me, and they could have if I didn’t stop them. But I’m sorry because you liked them and I didn’t know, if that makes any sense.”

  “Hey,” Mads spoke up. “Take it frahm me, kid, it’s okay ta feel bad. I feel bad Darla and Barret and Grimble ah gone. But theah ain’t no point in blaming Threadbeah. If it wasn’t him, it’d be somewan else. Bein’ a monstah means soonah or latah someone kills ya. And raccants is monstahs, they all knew the score. They wouldn’t hold no grudge, or ask you ta hold one.”

  “For once stupid vampire actually say somet’ting Zuula agree wit’.” The shaman spoke up from her soulstone. “Dat proper orc t’inking. Don’t hate strong for winning. Be stronger!”

  “Gee, thanks,” Mads said, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Because ya vote of cahnfidence is totally something I wanted and cared about.”