The Clockill and the Thief

by Gareth Ward

  Bile rose in Sin’s throat and his stomach tightened. He grabbed onto a pipe for support, his legs suddenly like jelly. They’d captured Velvet. Did they have Zonda too?

  “Eldritch says you are the heroic type. You have one bell to take her place. Otherwise, Miss Von Darque will be very different indeed.”

  There was no way Yan Shi would release Velvet even if Sin did surrender. He had to get to the boiler room: destroying the Deadnaught was his only hope. He pushed up from the pipe, his legs recovering from the adrenaline-spiked shock of Yan Shi’s announcement. Finding a service ladder, he hurried upwards.

  The expanse of brilliant blue sky atop the Deadnaught was invigorating after the airship’s gloomy interior. Sin stepped from the narrow walkway surrounding the top hatch onto the ratlines. The boots Eldritch had given him had seen better days, the clamps gripping the cables with an unhealthy grating of clockwork.

  Sin paced towards the stern, enjoying the sensation of his rejuvenated muscles. They felt strong and energised without a hint of pins and needles. His plan required him to return to the claustrophobic confines of the airship’s depths, and there was a good chance he wouldn’t make it out again. Just for a moment he wanted to savour the sunshine, fresh air and view. On the horizon, if he squinted, he could make out the faint green outline of land. He’d never been outside of Coxford before he crewed the Swordfish, and now here he was, on top of the world, looking at a foreign country. He wasn’t sure which country, but it was definitely foreign.

  He shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted again. Barely visible, a long shadow trailed the Deadnaught beneath the waves. The Aether-Mare hadn’t fled – it was following them. Maybe there was still a chance of escape?

  Sin unbuckled his flight suit and, letting the top hang around his waist, he removed his sweat-soaked undershirt. He ripped the material in two, and with half held in each hand he jerked his arms in a series of sharp, precise movements, spelling out a message in semaphore.

  There was no way of telling whether anyone had seen him, or even if the Aether-Mare was in a position to effect a rescue. He was going to have to carry out his plan regardless. Sin shrugged back into the flight suit, the old leather rough against his bare skin, then checked the winding dials on his boots. Both were in the red. Fifty steps along, then down the side of the envelope to the coal hatch – that was all he needed. On a new set of boots there was a comfortable safety margin when the needles hit the red. These boots were old and uncared for; the mainsprings would be tired, the fatigued metal exerting less power. He unclamped his foot and began walking. Would this clockwork, rather than that of the Clockill, be what killed him?

  Steam-powered pistons held the massive brassanium coal hatch in place. Sin rotated the poppet-handle, and with a hiss the heavy shutters pivoted sideways. A wave of heat washed over his face. The large pipe ran all the way down to the coal bunkers. From the depths pulsed the drone of thrumming machinery. Like on the Swordfish, the boiler room would be close to the bunkers.

  Suddenly, with an ominous twang, one of his boots detached from the ratlines and Sin flailed backwards into nothingness. His other boot shuddered, emitting a series of rasping clicks.

  Fuelled by his reinvigorated blood, his body strained, bending upwards, fighting gravity. With a pwang of finality, the jaws attaching Sin to the Deadnaught gave up. He lunged and grabbed the hatch’s coal-dust covered lip, then hauled himself up onto one of the shutters and stared down into the tunnel’s void. Just like when he and Velvet had jumped from the Swordfish, his plan now seemed ridiculous. But foolhardy as it was, he had to try. He had to distract Yan Shi from operating.

  Angling the dented chemlamp on the front of his flight suit so it pointed downwards, he adjusted the focus. With his feet wedged against the tube’s dirty sides, he lowered himself into the chute. Spiderlike, with all four limbs pressed against the metal, he descended.

  The daylight from overhead dwindled and Sin became more reliant on his chemlamp’s weak beam. Coal dust grated beneath his right boot, the fine particles acting like a lubricant. They trickled from below the sole and he lost traction. His foot slipped, his body twisted and his hands juddered free. Suddenly he was sliding downwards, picking up speed. There was no way he could stop himself. All he could do was try to slow his descent, so that landing in the bunker wouldn’t kill him. Arms and legs jammed outwards, he stared into the gloom, hoping to see the circle of light that would mark the end of the tunnel. Instead, the chemlamp’s beam flashed across a jagged blade jutting from the centre of the pipe.

  Time slowed. The blade drifted between his boots. The metal shimmered in glorious detail. Chipped and blunted from cascading coal, it would still cleave him in two like a pig in a slaughterhouse.

  With all his new-found strength, he slammed an arm into the tube and jerked his body sideways. The blade slipped under his left thigh and skimmed his buttock. Pain ripped through his body, prolonged in intensity in this time-slowed place.

  Ahead, a circle of light expanded. Time snapped back. Sin shot from the chute and spilled down a pile of jagged coal, tumbling over and over. Clattering to a halt on the rusted deck plates, he curled into a ball and puked, his body racked in agony.

  The pain subsided to an intense ache, emanating from every part of Sin’s being. He almost daren’t look to find out how badly he’d been hurt. Tentatively, he eased himself into a sitting position. Running his fingers under his thigh, he found not blood and torn muscle, but only ripped leather. The blade had snagged the rear of his suit, giving him the mother of all wedgies. Other than that, he seemed unscathed. He pushed himself to his feet and readjusted his flight suit. Gingerly testing his legs, he limped past the bunkered mounds of coal. A nauseous ache still gripped his body. The Fixer was a great believer in walking off the pain, and sometimes, when things had gone badly wrong, running off the pain. Sin grimaced and pushed onwards, into the boiler room proper.

  The heat was intense, the fires casting a hellish glow over the cavernous hall. Hiding behind a bundle of pipes that dived through the floor, Sin got his bearings. At the centre of the room, arranged in a triangle, were the three furnaces that heated the overhead boilers. Clusters of pipes curved away from the massive riveted pressure cylinders to join banks of steam regulators. Sin identified the door they had used earlier, and also the point where they’d been ambushed. His heart leaped. High overhead, the bandolier of bombs still nestled among the pipes where it had been discarded by the Clockill.

  Sin stealthed his way towards the pipe-trapped bandolier. His years of thieving on the streets of Coxford had served as an excellent apprenticeship. The secret was not to dart from shadow to shadow, but to take it slow and steady, with no sudden movements to catch the eye.

  After an easy and equally slow climb, the bandolier was his. Five pipe bombs remained. It was a start, but Sin no longer wanted to disable the Deadnaught; he wanted to destroy it. And that was going to take an extra ingredient.

  Sin slunk to the storage locker where he, Zonda and Velvet had previously hidden. From beneath a shelf containing spare gaskets, he pulled a couple of five-gallon drums of engine degreaser. The mineral spirits were excellent for removing stubborn grease, and were also highly combustible. That engine degreaser is jolly flammable stuff. Zonda’s words replayed in his mind and his stomach twisted. Where was she now? Was she safe? And if so, was he about to place her in mortal danger? He had no answers to his questions. Even if he did, he had no alternative plan.

  Rummaging through a wooden toolbox, he found a sturdy screwdriver. He tucked it into his belt. The tool’s chipped blade would be ideal for his purpose.

  Each drum of degreaser weighed forty pounds, and the drums’ handles cut into Sin’s palms. The oppressive heat of the boiler room added to his purgatory. He trudged onwards. There wasn’t a choice; he had to get it done before Velvet was turned into a Clockill. Drawing alongside a bank of oil pumps, he lowered the drums.

  From the bandolier, he removed a pipe bomb
. Attaching the explosive to the bottom-most oil pump, he curled the fuse onto the floor. Placing the tip of the screwdriver against the first drum’s base, he hammered his fist into the handle. The point pierced the metal skin and mineral spirits dribbled out, forming a pool around the fuse.

  Sin again lifted the drums and, trailing engine degreaser behind him, hobbled to another piece of equipment, where he repeated the process. He wished Zonda was with him; she’d have been able to select the most important machinery, where the damage would cause the maximum chaos. As it was, he had to hope the trail of pipe bombs and engine degreaser would create enough havoc to scuttle the airship. He attached the final bomb to the rear of the cluster of pipes where he’d retrieved the bandolier. Sloshing more degreaser onto the deck, he positioned the still-leaking drum next to the explosive.

  Near the door something moved. Between two pipes he caught a glimpse of curly white hair. It couldn’t be. Velvet said Jasper was dead. What would he be doing on board the Deadnaught? Unless, like Eldritch and Clark, he was a spy. Sin pressed himself against the machine, not daring to move, not daring to believe what he’d seen. He’d only caught a glimpse. Perhaps he was wrong, exhaustion and fear making him hallucinate? Footsteps came nearer. Whoever it was, they were now on the other side of the regulator.

  Hardly breathing, Sin crouched and peered through a narrow gap in the machinery. All he could see was the figure’s chest. He bent lower, squinting up, and a fraction of Jasper’s face came into view. It was gaunt and oil-streaked, yet there was no mistaking him. Why was Jasper on the Deadnaught, checking gauges and making notes on a clipboard?

  Jasper tilted his head down, examining the pool of engine degreaser forming at his feet. Clockwork spun beneath his ironglass half-skull, needles spiking the exposed brain. Sin swallowed, fighting the urge to puke. He’d never liked Jasper, but he wouldn’t wish being turned into a Clockill on his worst enemy. Well, maybe on Eldritch.

  With a mekanikal gait, Jasper marched away from the regulator. Sin slid from his hiding position to watch him go. Was this his fault? If he’d not been so mean, Jasper wouldn’t have stolen his injections and fallen from the ship. Had it really mattered so much that the boy was a coward? Perhaps it had. Jasper let Velvet fall.

  Sin pushed down the compulsion he felt to follow Jasper. He didn’t have time. Or, to be more precise, Velvet didn’t have time. He couldn’t bear to think of her turned into a lifeless automaton. Now having only one drum of degreaser to carry, he removed the cap from the full drum and upended the container, splashing the contents around the regulator. Retracing his steps, he doused mineral spirits over anything that looked important.

  The boiler room door opened and another Clockill stepped through. Sin darted into the shadow of a condenser tower. He couldn’t fail now, he was so close. His throat itched, a combination of fear and the boiler room’s heat. He held his hand to his mouth, fighting the tickling cough that threatened to betray him.

  More footsteps clattered all around, the tick-tock of clockwork filling the boiler room.

  “There’s no point in hiding,” said Yan Shi. “You won’t escape this time.”

  Sin palmed the ZAPO from the bandolier and stepped into the open. Yan Shi stood next to the steam regulator with a squad of Clockill. The Shield stood guard to his right, while to his left waited Jasper, his expression blank below the half-head of curly white hair. Bally Jasper. Once again, he’d dropped Sin in it.

  Yan Shi’s mouth twitched. “Eldritch was right, you are special. I’m going to enjoy re-making you.”

  “That ain’t going to happen. I’d rather die.”

  “Death is no escape.” Yan Shi gestured to Jasper. “Your friend would testify to that if he could still talk. He was practically dead when he blew into our path. A fortuitous warning of the Aether-Mare.”

  So that’s how they’d known. After falling from the ship, Jasper must have activated his buoyancy aid and drifted right into Yan Shi’s clutches. What a terrible realisation that would have been, thinking he was saved only to find he’d been rescued by the wicked scientist. Well, Sin wasn’t going to succumb to the same fate. “I won’t be turned into one of your monsters.”

  “Your girlfriend is prepped and ready to be upgraded. Unless you choose to take her place.”

  Something flickered on Jasper’s face. The blank stare was momentarily replaced.

  A cold sweat prickled Sin’s palms. Did Yan Shi mean Velvet, or had he captured Zonda too? Sin guessed it didn’t matter either way. The scientist wouldn’t spare them even if Sin did surrender. He had to somehow escape the boiler room.

  Jasper stared at Sin, and then his eyes flicked downwards. When Sin didn’t react, annoyance flashed on Jasper’s face and his eyes flicked downwards again.

  Sin followed the direction of his gaze. They were all now standing in a spreading pool of mineral spirits.

  With a snap of his thumb, Sin operated the clockwork on the ZAPO and a small blue flame danced to life. “I let this go and everybody dies,” he warned.

  Transfixed by the flame, Yan Shi said, “You and the girl will die too.”

  “Like I said before, I’d rather die. Better dead than half alive.”

  “No, you won’t do it. You need to be the hero and rescue your friend.” Yan Shi nodded to Jasper. “Take the igniter.”

  Clockwork whirred, and Jasper paced across the deck. Sin’s grip on the lighter loosened. If he dropped it, Velvet and Zonda would be doomed, but how many other lives would the destruction of the Deadnaught save? That’s what they did at COG – make sacrifices so many more could live. He had no choice. His fingers uncurled. Jasper gave a minuscule shake of his head.

  Sin paused. Could he trust the coward or was this another betrayal? Jasper’s lips moved like he was trying to speak. No sound came out, yet his eyes told Sin all he needed to know. Perhaps there was a way out.

  Jasper wrapped his fingers over Sin’s, his skin cold and clammy like a dead fish. He pried the igniter free, keeping the flame lit.

  “Bring it to me,” commanded Yan Shi.

  Jasper’s leg teetered, taking a single step, then he stopped.

  “You will bring me the igniter. Now,” repeated Yan Shi.

  “N . . . no,” stammered Jasper. His leg quivered, fighting the command.

  It was the first time Sin had heard one of the Clockill talk.

  Beads of sweat formed on Jasper’s brow. Beneath the ironglass skull, clockwork needled his brain. “T . . . tell Velvet it wasn’t her fault.”

  “Thanks.” Sin gave Jasper’s cold, dead hand a squeeze.

  “N . . . no. Thank you. For once I get to be a hero.” Jasper held the lighter out in front of him, his voice suddenly strong. “Try to stop him and we all burn.”

  A tremendous whoomph! issued from the boiler room. Sin sprinted along the passageway, a wall of flame surging behind him. He pumped his legs harder, fiery fingers clutching at his back. Diving through the bulkhead doorway, he turned and slammed the door closed behind him. A dull crump reverberated through the ship and the deck plates shuddered. The inferno had detonated the first of the pipe bombs. The airship was doomed.

  Securing the door closed, Sin visualised the diagram of the Deadnaught he’d seen on the bridge. The image floated perfectly in his mind’s eye. He searched for the cross symbol, signifying the medical bay. It wasn’t too far – he still had time to rescue Velvet and make good his escape.

  Surgical tools and smashed pharmaceutical bottles littered the medical bay’s floor. The fridge and cupboard doors hung open, their contents scattered. The Deadnaught now listed badly to port – a result of Sin’s sabotage – and the deck and bulkheads canted sharply to the right.

  Through the operating theatre’s translucent ironglass door, Sin discerned the outline of Velvet strapped to the surgeon’s table. Was he too late? Had Yan Shi turned her into a half-human mekanika, like he had with Jasper? Sin unlatched the door and it slammed sideways under gravity’s pull. Velvet strained
against the metal bands securing her. She looked up and the fear in her eyes changed to relief. “Yan Shi said you were dead.”

  “Not yet. Things ain’t too flash, mind.”

  Velvet rattled the bands clamping her wrists. “Get me out of here before they come back and finish what they started.”

  What they’d started? What did she mean? Sin scanned Velvet’s head. She looked tired and scared, but her skull was untouched. Something niggled at his brain. When she’d rattled her restraints, the sound had been the metallic clank of metal on metal. His gaze drifted to her wrist. Sin’s stomach lurched. “Your hand –”

  “– has been replaced, yes. It was ruined anyway, so Yan Shi has done me a favour. You need to let me out now. I really don’t want any further modifications.”

  Sin pressed the ratchet release on the shackles, his arms seeming to act without his conscious control. He stared at the polished brassanium sparkling beneath the chemlight’s glare. They’d taken her hand.

  With the whirr of clockwork, the cuffs lifted open. Velvet pulled her arms free and released the clamps on her legs. “What’s happening?”

  “The ship’s on fire. We need to gap it.”

  Velvet swung her legs from the table. “What have you done?”

  “It wasn’t me. It was Jasper. You didn’t kill him.” Sin didn’t mention that Jasper had suffered a cruelness worse than death at the hands of Yan Shi. It was a secret Velvet didn’t need to know.

  “So where is he?” Velvet clutched Sin’s arm, her metal fingers painfully tight.

  “He sacrificed himself so we could escape.” Sin’s gaze fell to the deck.

  “He’s dead?”

  Sin nodded. He hadn’t seen Jasper die, but no one, not even a Clockill, could survive such an inferno.

  A hard edge to her voice, Velvet said, “Well, let’s make sure he didn’t die in vain.” She grabbed two cutlasses from a rack and gave one to Sin. He weighed the weapon in his hand; presumably it had been destined for attachment to Clockill arms. He shuddered. Perhaps Velvet had been its intended recipient.