Clockwork Alchemist (The Thief's Apprentice Book 1)

by Sara C. Roethle

  She was about to step forward, then there was another meaty thunk just to her left. A man rolled into view on the ground at her feet, clutching at a knife in his gut as his gray shirt darkened with blood. Alarmed by the man’s dying presence, she squinted her eyes through the smoke and forced herself to step forward. Someone grabbed her arm and she screamed, then reflexively lashed out. Her fist slammed into her attacker’s throat. Gasping for air, he reared away in surprise, loosing his grip on her arm.

  She had no time to be relieved. Another man appeared in the rapidly dissipating smoke and made a grab for her. She flung her arm out and backhanded him in the face. She was stronger than a normal girl of her size, and it seemed to be catching the men off guard. Her new attacker reeled backward, but another one was there to instantly take his place. Still, she managed to elude any who tried to grab her, and soon found her back against the wall as three of the men approached. She could not see Arhyen, but more smoke had fogged the street to her left, and sounds of struggle emanated from within. She tore her attention away from the smoke and prepared to fight her new attackers. They were all large men. If they managed to grab her together, it would all be over.

  She lifted her fists, wishing she actually knew how to throw a proper punch, then Viola's voice cut through the madness.

  “Your partner,” she stated, “is about to die. Come with us willingly, and we will spare him.”

  Liliana looked past the approaching men to see that what Viola had said was true. The smoke had cleared away enough to reveal Arhyen, held immobile with a knife to his throat. The man behind him holding the knife, a lanky character with a large scar running across his cheek, looked to Viola for further orders. Two extra men held either of Arhyen’s arms. They glanced around the street, as if worried someone else might approach. Even if someone did, it wouldn’t matter. More men had crept forth from the shadows of the intersections. Arhyen had no chance of escape. Liliana held back tears, noticing his left sleeve was soaked in blood. The crimson liquid ran down his hand to drip onto the cobblestones.

  Making her decision instantly, Liliana tore her gaze from Arhyen and nodded to Viola.

  “No,” Arhyen gasped, despite the blade at his throat. “Even if you go with her, they’ll kill me anyways. Run while you can.”

  Liliana glanced back to Viola.

  “I give you my word that he will not be harmed," Viola ensured. “His death is useless to me. You're the one I want.”

  “Don’t-“ Arhyen began. The lanky man with the blade flexed his arm, adding pressure to cut off his words.

  Liliana scowled at him.

  “I'll go with you," she agreed, feeling ill at the sight of the blade against Arhyen’s throat. "Just don't hurt him. If I find out that you've harmed him, I will do everything it takes to destroy your plans. But,” she paused, knowing she shouldn't make the deal she was about to offer, yet knowing she had no choice, “as long as you provide me with proof that he's alive, I will cooperate with you in any way that you ask.”

  Viola chuckled. “Well that was easy.”

  “No!” Arhyen shouted, but was once again cut off by the knife.

  Ignoring Arhyen, Viola approached. She flicked her hand absentmindedly at the three men who still cornered Liliana, and as one they backed away. Viola moved to stand directly in front of her, putting her back to Arhyen and everyone else. Liliana had to crane her neck upward to meet her cool gaze.

  Viola smiled. “My men will release him as soon as you and I have moved to a secure location.”

  Liliana nodded and took a step forward, just as Viola turned to lead the way. Hesitating, she glanced back at Arhyen, still held captive by the thugs.

  “Liliana," he whispered, but could say no more. Blood welled at his throat to trickle down onto his collar.

  Feeling sick to her stomach, Liliana turned away and followed Viola. The men who had cornered her followed closely behind. Please let him be okay, she thought. All of her life, her father had instructed her that automatons were never supposed to harm humans. Automatons were not real people, and therefore were not allowed to defend themselves. Though she still found the idea of harming others troubling, for Arhyen, she would fight. If Viola went back on her word, Liliana would tear the woman limb from limb, and would then lay waste to any who had harmed him.

  Arhyen watched helplessly as Liliana was led away. Viola had tricked her. There was no way he was getting out of the situation alive. The blade at his throat remained as the women and their escorts disappeared down the street. He needed to save her, but first he had to survive.

  Blood continued to trickle forth from the blade’s pressure at his throat, but the pain was a dull echo to what he was feeling in his arm. One of the men had stabbed him in the shoulder, though he’d been aiming for Arhyen’s heart. It was only because he’d moved to throw a dagger into someone about to attack Liliana that he’d evaded the killing blow.

  “Do you really plan to murder me in broad daylight?" he questioned around the pain.

  “No,” the man holding the blade to his throat answered. “We have other plans for you. It's time to go meet your friend.”

  The blade fell away and Arhyen struggled, but the two extra men still held his arms, and more were waiting should he break free. One of the men holding him removed the satchel from his shoulders, handing it to one of the other thugs before thoroughly searching Arhyen for weapons. Arhyen did his best to keep his eyes off the satchel, where the recreated journal rested. He didn’t want anyone thinking anything of import could be found within the bag. He must have succeeded, because no one bothered to search through it, though they could always do so later. Having removed all but one of his daggers, they forced him down the street, in the opposite direction of where Liliana had gone. A few men stayed behind to dispose of the bodies. The Watch was really failing when bodies could be disposed of in daylight, but they were in an area rarely patrolled. Viola had chosen the location for her ambush wisely, and Arhyen had led Liliana right into her trap. The jab of a fist into his back signaled he should move faster.

  The man who’d held the blade to his throat caught his eye. “Don’t worry,” he comforted in a not at all comforting way. "We don't have to go far.”

  Glaring at the man, he briefly considered his remaining dagger, concealed within a special pocket in his boot. Unfortunately, now was not the time to use it. One weapon would not help him much against so many opponents. He walked slowly, hoping an opportunity to escape would present itself. He quietly observed the buildings around their route, searching for anything that might be of use. Though no escape plans came to him, he did become quite sure of where they were going. He recognized the nearby buildings and alleyways. This was the same route he had taken the night he was supposed to meet Viola. They were heading right for one of her steel manufacturing plants.

  Knowing he was running out of time, he began to struggle anew, but it was no use. There was no way he was getting himself out of this predicament, unless someone came along to rescue him. Not likely, since new, larger plants were being used for most of London’s manufacturing these days. As the industry grew, there was always need for bigger and better things. Eventually he found himself in front of the large warehouse doors of the steel plant.

  Arhyen stared up at the double doors, hoping his captors had perhaps forgotten their keys, then the doors seemed to open of their own volition. The men holding him shoved him forward into the building. Once they were all inside, the doors swung shut behind them, revealing an extra thug who’d been waiting inside the building to let them in.

  The men fanned out, then finally let go of him, but only to shove him hard enough that he fell to his knees. He glanced around the dark building. Twenty paces ahead of him stood a large, metal cylinder, backed by several other vessels. A steel staircase led up to the cylinder, rimmed with storage barrels. The floor was littered with various discarded gears and chunks of iron ore. Apparently the plant had been out of commission for some time, just like
the other manufacturers surrounding it. Gaining nothing from his surroundings, he pushed himself to standing and glared at the waiting men, attempting to calculate his odds with his single dagger, though realistically he knew he stood no chance. Viola could be doing terrible things to Liliana right that moment, and it was all his fault. He’d failed her.

  His shoulders hunched against his will, his body giving in to the pain of his wound and the humiliation of losing. Feeling utterly defeated, he barely fought as more of the men grabbed him, then dragged him across the floor. He half walked as they carried him up the set of steel stairs, toward the nearest metal cylinder. His mind blankly registered a panel of electrical switches near the stairs, and two rows of windows high up in the walls, letting in a small amount of light. Reaching the top of the steps, then men lifted him into the air and tossed him like a rag doll into the cylinder. He landed hard on his side at the bottom of the container, roughly five yards deep. Pain seared through his hip and arm. Even the puncture wound on his shoulder stung like hell. He sucked in a breath to recover, then rolled onto his back just in time to see the men who had thrown him in disappear into the shadows above the cylinder. Their footsteps clanged down the metal stairs, obscuring their hushed conversation. Next he heard the warehouse doors as they screeched open, then shut with a loud bang. Then there was only silence.

  “It's about time you got here,” a voice said.

  Still wracked with pain, he forced himself to sit up. Ephraim sat to his left with his back against the wall of the cylinder. He was barely visible in the shadows of the large container, but Arhyen would recognize his dry sarcasm anywhere.

  Pushing himself up on his feet, Arhyen glanced around at their enclosure, seeing no footholds or other way out. Even if one of the men boosted the other one up, they would not be able to reach the lip of the container.

  “How long have you been here?” Arhyen questioned. He began to pace around the space, counting his steps out of habit. He held a hand over his shoulder wound, though the bleeding had fortunately slowed. No major arteries had been severed.

  Ephraim sighed tiredly. “I was abducted before I even made it back to the station. They took me by surprise, as I surely would have thwarted them otherwise.”

  “Surely,” Arhyen muttered caustically.

  He halted his pacing. The container was fifteen paces across in any direction, not that the information helped him. He looked up, wracking his brain for some other way to escape. Perhaps they could take off all their clothes to form a rope . . . of course, how they’d attach it somewhere outside of the cylinder was beyond him.

  “Where's Liliana?” Ephraim inquired calmly

  Arhyen simply shook his head, staring up at the rim of the container, unable to speak it out loud. It was all his fault. He had to get out of there.

  He turned in time to see Ephraim frown. “I’ve deduced that this container is a crucible,” he explained, glancing at the surrounding wall, “which means that at some point we are probably going to be melted along with a bunch of metal ore.”

  “Well that's comforting,” Arhyen quipped, starting his pacing anew.

  “At least you know you'll probably die before her.”

  He tried to find comfort in that fact, but found himself unable to give up so easily. He continued to pace.

  “Perhaps some vagrants will arrive to rest for the evening before Viola's men return,” Ephraim offered. When Arhyen didn’t respond, Ephraim sighed. “At least come here and let me have a look at that wound.” He stood with a huff.

  Arhyen stopped his pacing and nodded, then approached Ephraim. Quickly deducing the source of the blood without removing Arhyen’s shirt, Ephraim unwound the ascot tie from his neck and deftly secured it around Arhyen’s shoulder, anchoring it beneath his armpit.

  Finished, he nodded. “If we manage to survive, you’ll want to have that looked at by a professional.”

  Arhyen prepared a snide remark, but froze at the sound of the warehouse door opening with a screech and then shutting. He and Ephraim kept silent, listening to several pairs of footsteps creeping across the warehouse. One set seemed to ascend the steel stairway. Apparently, whoever else was there remained waiting at the base. Arhyen could barely breathe in anticipation. His heart pounded hard as he held his eyes fast at the top of the cylinder. A man’s face appeared, peeking over the cylinder’s top edge, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim light behind gold-rimmed glasses.

  “What are you doing here?” Arhyen asked tiredly.

  “I've been itching to make you pay for the deaths of my men,” Clayton said, his eyes intent on Arhyen. “Now that we have the girl, I'm sure that I’ll be able to obtain the journal without your help.”

  Arhyen glared up into Clayton's smiling face. Viola’s men had taken his satchel, so they already had the recreated journal, but he wasn’t going to point that out now. “Has Viola told you she's the one that killed your men and left them on your doorstep?” he asked instead.

  Clayton snorted. "You won't fool me that easily.” Though he outwardly projected confidence, his hand shook as he smoothed it over his blond hair. Had he already suspected Viola’s duplicity?

  Arhyen laughed bitterly. Any man who would trust a woman like Viola was a fool. “You really think I'm capable of killing that many men?” he countered. “What about how their mutilated bodies appeared outside your gate with no one noticing their arrival? I'm only one man.”

  “You had the help of your detective friend,” Clayton sneered.

  “Oh yes, blame the detective,” Ephraim muttered. He’d resumed his seat against the cylinder’s wall, showing little interest in Clayton’s arrival.

  “Say Viola did kill my men,” Clayton mused, “what would you hope to gain by sharing that information with me? You're still about to die.”

  “I'm assuming you know what she intends to do with Liliana?” Arhyen pressed, fishing for information. What he would do with that information from within the cylinder he did not know, but it couldn’t hurt.

  Clayton snorted. “The automaton? Of course I know. Viola and I have been working together a long time. As two of the top business owners in the city, we have worked together to build an empire. Now that we have the automaton, and will soon have the journal, no one, not even the LN, will stand in our way.”

  So they weren’t really part of the mysterious London Network, Arhyen mused. Not that the information would do him any good now. He’d probably die without ever truly knowing what the LN was.

  Clayton smiled down at Arhyen's thoughtful expression. “That's enough talk. Time to die.”

  “Clayton wait," Arhyen begged. “Liliana doesn't know where the journal is. I hid it, and I'm the only one who knows how to find it. If I die, any hope of getting those formulae dies with me.”

  “You’re lying," Clayton accused, then seemed to actually think about what Arhyen had said. “But just in case, I will verify this information with the lovely little automaton before I kill you. I'll be sure to give her your regards.”

  “Clayton!” Arhyen shouted as the man turned to go. Curse it all, he’d only made things worse. Now the psychopath would be questioning Liliana in addition to whatever Viola had planned.

  Unbearably frustrated with himself, Arhyen listened for Clayton’s descending footfalls, but instead heard several sets coming up the stairs. Clayton’s waiting men?

  “What are you-” Clayton began, but his words were cut off. A moment later, he came sailing over the edge of the cylinder, landing in a heap right next to Arhyen. Two thugs peered over the rim.

  Arhyen sneered at the men, then stared down at Clayton cooly. “I tried to tell you. Viola has been planning to cross you from the start.”

  Arhyen glanced upward to see the two nameless thugs retreat.

  Clayton groaned again, but seemed unable to stand.

  Footsteps thundered down the steel staircase, then the screech of metal components being moved echoed through the warehouse. Next, a long metal chute appeared at th
e top edge of the cylinder. The machinery groaned, and chunks of iron ore began to rain down upon them. Arhyen hurried to the opposite side of the cylinder next to where Ephraim still sat to avoid being pelleted. The next logical step in the process was for the blast furnace to be activated, and at that point, they would all be toast.

  Clayton slowly struggled to sit up beneath the deluge of ore. He scooted across the floor of the cylinder, searching for something. Catching on, Ephraim rose to his feet to avoid the encroaching sea of ore, then retrieved Clayton’s gold-rimmed glasses just before they would have been buried. Ephraim handed them to Clayton as he finally stumbled to his feet. Clayton put them on, though they were badly bent, and one lens was cracked.

  “We have to get out of here,” he stated, his eyes shifting back and forth between Arhyen and Ephraim as the mountain of ore grew.

  “There are three of us now,” Ephraim observed calmly. How was the man always so damn calm? “Someone will need to get down on their hands and knees, then the next man can stand atop him. With the added height, we should be able to boost the third man out. If we can’t quite reach, we’ll try piling up the ore for extra height.”

  “Then the first man out can fight the ruffians, then quickly save the other two,” Arhyen finished, sarcasm clear in his voice. “But as far as plans go, it’s the only one.” He turned to Clayton. “I think you know who’s going to be on the bottom.”

  Clayton glared. The ore was piling up around their ankles. If they waited long enough, perhaps they could simply stand on top of the ore and climb out together, but Arhyen had a feeling the blast furnace would fire long before that became a possibility.

  He looked back to Clayton. “Down you go,” he ordered.

  The men manning the smelter were oddly quiet up above, but Arhyen had no time to dwell upon it.

  Grumbling to himself, Clayton got down on his knees in the loose rocks of ore. Ephraim seemed almost gleeful as he stood on the well-known criminal’s back. He leaned against the wall of the cylinder to stabilize himself, then laced his hands together to provide a foothold for Arhyen. Not taking time to consider what might await him above, Arhyen stepped onto Ephraim’s waiting hands and pushed upward with all his might. His fingers found the edge of the cylinder, but they still didn’t have enough height. Arhyen had sorely underestimated the depth of the container, as he was barely able to curve his fingertips around the lip. As it stood, he’d never be able to pull himself up.