Clockwork Alchemist (The Thief's Apprentice Book 1)

by Sara C. Roethle

  “You won’t study her,” Arhyen stated defensively, moving to stand in front of Liliana. “She’s a person, not an experiment.”

  “It’s fine,” Liliana muttered from behind him. She stepped forward. “I am an experiment. I was grown in a laboratory. My emotions are synthetic. I have no soul.”

  Her attitude suddenly making sense to him, Arhyen frowned. He was an idiot for not realizing it before. She’d just received confirmation that her father really hadn’t given her a soul. He’d given her emotions so that she might feel like any other human, but they were emotions created by alchemy.

  “There is one thing that I still don’t understand,” Ephraim interjected, stroking his chin in thought. How he was managing to stay so calm was completely beyond Arhyen’s comprehension. “Why did you steal those items? I’m assuming the stolen gemstone was actually created by Victor Ashdown. The alchemical tomes also make sense in regards of eliminating information, but what of the burial urn and the antique dagger?”

  “The urn contained the ashes of one of the greatest minds of this century,” Hamlet replied, “though I am not at liberty to say any more than that. The gemstones generate electricity, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. Their power can be used to fuel various experiments, just as they have fueled this makeshift laboratory,” he gestured at the room with a gloved hand. “The dagger, I thought was pretty, and exceedingly well made.”

  Ephraim balked. “You stole it because it was pretty?”

  Hamlet reached into his coat, then produced an ornate dagger. The hilt was gold and jewel encrusted. He withdrew it from the gold sheath to reveal a thin, silver blade. After observing the dagger for a moment, he resheathed it and returned it to his coat.

  “The three of you must leave now,” Hamlet stated. “I must destroy all evidence of what took place this night before any of the authorities happen upon us.” He turned to Ephraim. “Should any of this come to light, you will be expected to cover it up.”

  Ephraim glared at him. “That’s a contradiction of the oath I took to the Queen. My loyalty is to the Watch.”

  “Your loyalty is to yourself,” Hamlet countered, “and to the Network. Your two priorities are to stay alive, and to protect classified information. Now please leave. I’ll be in touch.”

  Ephraim turned and stormed out of the doorway, hopping effortlessly over the dead man still lying there, without another word.

  Arhyen turned to Liliana, who stared down at her feet. “Liliana,” he began, but she didn’t look up. “Liliana,” he said more forcefully.

  She seemed to snap back into reality at that.

  He wanted to just pick her up and carry her out of the room right that moment, but Hamlet had given her a choice. It wasn’t right for him to make it for her. She could either work as an alchemist for the London Network, or she could stay with him.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked, doing his best to be patient.

  She glanced back at Viola’s corpse, then to the dead man near the doorway, then to Hamlet. “I want to go with you,” she stated evenly.

  Arhyen’s heart nearly stopped. She was staring at Hamlet when she said it. Did she really want to go be an alchemist for the LN? He supposed he couldn’t really blame her, it wasn’t like the life he could offer her was overly grand.

  “If that’s what you choose . . . ” he trailed off, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice and failing.

  Liliana startled, then turned toward him. “No,” she corrected. “I mean I want to go with you, if you’ll still have me now that we know . . . ” she ended, her voice snagging on what was left unsaid. Now that we know I don’t have a soul.

  He grabbed her and pulled her close, sliding his good arm back around her waist. “It doesn’t change a thing,” he assured. He looked back to Hamlet, then breathed a sigh of relief as Hamlet stepped aside and gestured for them to leave.

  Arhyen started forward, taking Liliana with him, but she paused as they reached the other automaton. Hamlet’s eyes met hers through the mask, and something seemed to pass between them. Something that Arhyen would never truly comprehend.

  “There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” she said softly, her eyes still on Hamlet.

  He nodded for her to continue.

  “Viola claimed that my father created sadness, happiness, rage, and,” she hesitated, “love. Yet, those are not the only emotions I feel. I became quite acquainted with fear while I was strapped to that table.” She glanced back at the table in question.

  Though they could not see Hamlet’s face, Arhyen sensed the automaton was smiling. “You and I may be artificial creations,” he replied, “but that does not mean we are incapable of learning and adapting. Whether we simply mimic humanity, or have developed instincts of our own, will forever remain unclear. As you acquire further experiences, it is likely you will continue to change and adapt.”

  She seemed about ready to leave, then shook her head. “I have one more question, actually.”

  Hamlet nodded again for her to go on, even though he had evidence disposal to see to.

  “It’s been years since the formulae were administered to me with the Advector Serum,” she explained, “yet my emotions have not faded. They come and go as I react to external stimuli.”

  Arhyen flinched as Hamlet lifted a gloved hand, but he simply tapped it gently on the top of Liliana’s head. “Your brain is very similar to a true human brain. It only needed to experience the chemical reactions of emotions once for them to become habitual behaviors. The emotions you feel now are a result of your mind’s abilities to learn instincts.”

  She nodded somberly, as if that was the answer she’d expected, then turned her gaze to Arhyen. Interpreting her wordless request, he guided her toward the door. They walked toward the scarred man’s dead body, then he swept her off her feet, cradling her in his arms so she wouldn’t have to struggle over the gargantuan corpse with her shorter legs.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Hamlet stated as they left the room, and Hamlet, behind.

  “Of course you will,” Arhyen muttered bitterly.

  He continued to carry Liliana, and she did not protest, as they made their way toward the back entrance unmolested. Once outside, they found Ephraim waiting for them. Arhyen continued to walk across the rubble strewn lawn of the mansion toward the street. Ephraim fell into step at his side.

  Once they’d put some distance between themselves and the mansion, Arhyen’s gaze flicked to Ephraim. “What are we going to do about all of this?” he asked quietly. Liliana remained silent in his arms, though he could sense her eyes peering up at him.

  Ephraim glanced over and met his gaze. “What do you think?” The ire Ephraim felt about being ordered to betray his oaths was clear in his pale eyes.

  The question didn’t need an answer. There was a certain knowing in both men’s expressions. They were going to join the London Network, then they were going to take the organization down from the inside.

  As they continued to walk, the building behind them went up in flames, erasing all evidence of the strangest night in Arhyen’s life.

  Chapter 18

  The next morning the sun rose, just like it did every day, but the light seemed somehow different to Arhyen. The city he’d always called home seemed somehow different too. It was hard to relax when you knew a secret network was out there, running things behind the scenes while creating unstoppable killing machines like Hamlet. Not only that, but they had the knowledge to create synthetic emotions. Though they’d wanted to keep said knowledge out of Viola’s hands, there was no saying how the LN might employ such power. They’d already condoned a slew of killings, so Arhyen could not trust that whatever they had planned was good.

  He leaned against the couch where he’d slept, sipping a cooling cup of black tea. He still couldn’t quite believe he was alive and back in his apartment, after all that had happened. He’d cleaned up his shoulder wound, and other than that, he didn’t even have any major injuries. He
still expected a questioning from the Watch in regards to Clayton’s claims, but as Mr. Blackwood was now missing himself, there was little evidence against Arhyen. He glanced at the bed where Liliana still slept. There was little evidence of anything, since Hamlet had burned it all. He briefly wondered if Clayton’s body would still be in the smelter building, but dismissed the idea. Clayton’s death would have been covered up like all the rest.

  His gaze remained on Liliana. They’d arrived home in the wee hours of the morning and he’d put her to bed. She hadn’t spoken a single word since they’d left Hamlet and the mansion of horrors behind. She’d lost a lot of blood, and was understandably weakened, but he did not think that was the reason she refrained from speaking, nor was it the reason she was still in bed now.

  He looked down at the journal in his lap. It was the one Liliana had written, filled with the formulae that so many had recently died for. The LN didn’t know that he had it, as far as he knew, but he’d have to keep it well hidden if he hoped to keep his secret. It wasn’t that he wanted to keep the formulae away from them, they already had the real journal, after all, but it was always best to have just as much information as your enemies. If not more.

  He rose from the sofa and walked into the nearby bathroom, stopping along the way to reach into his satchel. Sealing himself in the small room, he set his teacup on the edge of the sink. He then crouched with the journal under one arm, pulling a slender lock picking tool out of the front pocket of his charcoal waistcoat. He ran the fingers of his free hand around the edges of a single tile in the middle of the floor, then inserted the tool under one corner, lifting the edge of the tile enough to get a hold on it. He lifted the tile and set it aside, then retrieved the tiny key he always kept on his person from the same pocket that had held the lockpick. He used the key to unlock the small safe that resided in a cavern carved into the apartment’s foundation. He opened the lid of the safe and inserted the journal next to the original note from Liliana’s father, and a few small purses of coin. Next he removed Victor Ashdown’s electricity stone, previously retrieved from his satchel, from his pants pocket and placed it beside the journal. The stone gave him hope that Hamlet had not rifled through his satchel, since it had remained within upon the satchel’s return. Either that, or Hamlet was testing him in some way, waiting to see what he would do with the stone and the journal. He would keep them both hidden regardless.

  Chirani Ashdown had claimed that she had several more of the stones hidden away, but Arhyen thought it likely she would not have those stones for long, since Hamlet had gone to the trouble of stealing others. He only hoped Hamlet would not harm the girl in the process.

  He sat back and leaned against the wall of the bathtub, thinking about Hamlet. He was an automaton, like Liliana, yet he was nothing like her. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if Hamlet had been given emotions too. He didn’t act like a normal automaton. He seemed to think for himself, and had a sense of humor, albeit a horrible one. He had even coveted a pretty dagger. Arhyen recalled the answers Hamlet had given Liliana, about how she could learn and evolve just like anyone else. He knew it to be true. He’d seen her evolve over the course of their adventure, as if she were acquiring new emotions right before his very eyes. He’d enjoyed seeing most of them on her, save the sadness and despair.

  Arhyen shook away his thoughts. He locked the safe and returned the tile, then stood and retrieved his tea, which had grown cold. He went back into the living room and sat back on the sofa, prepared to wait as long as Liliana needed.

  Liliana turned over in bed, then finally opened her eyes to stare up at the ceiling. She’d been fully aware when the sun rose, then crept across the sky to eventually fall once more. Arhyen had made some noise at a few different points, and she vaguely recalled Ephraim visiting, but mostly things were silent. She didn’t want to get up. There was no reason. She’d suspected all along that she might not really have a soul, but hearing such a thing for certain was another matter entirely. Even if she had managed to further develop her emotions on her own, how could she live without a soul? How could she feel without one? Did she even deserve to do either? Her eyes closed in despair.

  After a few moments, she turned her head to the side and opened her eyes a sliver, then jumped. Arhyen was standing right beside the bed, fully dressed in black trousers, and a black, high collared shirt, topped by a charcoal waistcoat and short black jacket. On his head rested his bowler cap. Was he leaving? She stared at him blankly.

  “It’s about time,” he commented, straightening the black ascot at his neck.

  “Time for what?” she mumbled.

  “Time for you to get out of bed and start your lessons.”

  She opened her eyes fully to stare at him. “Lessons?”

  He raised his eyebrows toward the brim of his hat like she was being incredibly daft. “Don’t tell me you’ve given up on your dream of thieving already.”

  She turned onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. “That was more me just wanting to be useful,” she replied, the fabric muffling her voice. “I don’t really want to be a thief. I don’t really want to be anything.”

  In one smooth movement, he whipped the covers off her. She curled into a ball, pressing the pillow over her face with both hands. He sighed loudly, then wrestled the pillow from her grip. She sat up with a huff and glared at him, blowing her wayward hair out of her face.

  He crossed his arms and stared down at her. “We had a deal, and I’m not about to let you rob me of my half of the bargain. I need an apprentice now more than ever if we’re to face what is to come.” He sat down on the bed beside her.

  She turned toward him, unable to help her curiosity. “What’s to come?” she questioned.

  “Rule number one of being a thief,” he stated, holding a finger in the air. “Never admit defeat. If there’s a fight to be had, you must always fight it.”

  “I thought rule number one was to only steal from the wealthy,” she countered.

  He rolled his eyes. “Rule number four then.”

  She crossed her legs beneath her, then realized she was still wearing the flimsy night dress Viola had put her in. She tugged the fabric down to cover her knees, feeling suddenly exposed.

  Not seeming to notice, Arhyen continued, “Now are you going to take away my number three, or what?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Number three?”

  “Having a trusted partner,” he reminded her. “I thought I’d found one, but it seems she might make me do all of the work myself.”

  She bristled at that. “I’m still trustworthy!” she argued.

  “Good.” He removed his cap to reveal his shaggy brown hair, then placed it on her head. “We have a meeting to attend within the hour, so you better get dressed.”

  “Meeting?” she questioned, lightly touching the hat on her head.

  He winked at her, then stood. “All shall reveal itself in time. Get dressed and I’ll make you a sandwich.”

  She looked down at her lap for a few seconds, then made up her mind. She might not have much to live for, but if Arhyen needed her help, the least she could do was give it to him. She stood, then glanced around the apartment for her dress. She groaned when she realized it had likely met its demise in Hamlet’s fire.

  Noting her distress from his post in the kitchen, Arhyen turned and pointed the knife he was using to slice bread at the couch. “I believe you’ll find those well suited to tonight’s activities.”

  She looked where the knife pointed to find a pile of neatly folded black clothing on one of the sofa cushions. She walked toward it curiously. There didn’t seem to be enough fabric to compose a proper dress like her lost one.

  Knife still in hand, Arhyen made a shooing gesture. “Go on now, we haven’t got all night.”

  She nodded, quickly snatched the clothing, then hurried into the bathroom to change.

  After gently shutting the door behind her, she took a moment to peer into the small, cir
cular mirror. She was a mess. There were bloodstains on her nightgown and skin, and grime beneath her fingernails. Her hair was snarled and dull with dirt. She glanced at the bathtub, wondering if she had time to clean herself. She took a final glance in the mirror, then decided there was no choice. She’d just need to be quick.

  She set down her pile of clothing on the sink, then hurried over to the tub, quickly removing Arhyen’s hat and her dirty shift. Glancing back at the door to ensure she’d locked it, she plugged the drain, turned on the water full blast, and quickly hopped in, not checking to see if it was a bearable temperature. The icy water nearly took her breath away, but soon became bearable as more hot was added to the cold. Once the water reached an acceptable temperature, she shut it off. Procuring a yellow bar of soap from the rim of the tub, she began to scrub herself, imagining that she was scrubbing away the memories of the past day and evening. Not all of the memories though. She didn’t mind the memory of Arhyen rescuing her, and of his expression when he’d realized she was still alive. Those memories she would keep, even if they only meant something to her.

  She washed her hair quickly, beginning to feel oddly giddy. Though she was overwhelmed with the revelations Viola had provided, she couldn’t help but be a little excited about the night ahead. Perhaps that excitement was artificially constructed, but she felt it all the same.

  Thoroughly cleansed, she unplugged the drain and stood, then tugged a towel off a nearby hook on the wall. She frowned at it, then the empty space of wall where no more towels hung. The single towel had to be Arhyen’s . . . but there was nothing else to dry herself with. Figuring she’d apologize for the intrusion later, she dried herself off, then wrapped the towel around her hair. She stepped out of the tub onto the bare tile floor, then reached for the new clothing.