The Machine (Blood and Destiny Book 1)

by E. C. Jarvis

  In one move he grabbed her, flipped her onto her back, and pinned her down with the weight of his body. He brought the knife up under her chin, poking the tip of it into her neck. His face was calm and passively expressionless. Hers was filled with shock and concern as she had to physically squeeze her legs together to maintain bladder control.

  “As expected, you were not successful, and you allowed yourself to become vulnerable.”

  “And you have taken full advantage of that.”

  “Not completely. But I could...” He leaned forward. The blade remained in place against her neck, her breathing shortened and skin erupted in goosebumps as his lips hovered inches above her own.

  “Let her go or I swear to all nineteen fucking Gods I will blow a hole in the back of your skull.” Cid’s voice cut through the moment. Larissa watched Holt’s jaw tighten in what she could only assume was some kind of emotion. Anger? Holt rose up, pulling her with him and lowering the knife as they stood.

  “It’s all right Cid. We were just, um, training.” She walked up to Cid, who had his pistol aimed at Holt and didn’t lower it.

  “Is that what he called it?” Cid spat.

  Larissa stepped to the side and looked at the two men, Cid with his pistol, Holt with the knife in his hand. His stance told her enough to know he was at the ready, and this was not a game she wanted to watch to the end.

  The ship lurched as it caught a thermal lift and swayed off course. A flash of light on the horizon dragged Larissa’s focus away from the two men.

  “Umm, gentlemen? I think we have a more pressing matter to deal with right now.”

  “What?” Cid barked, refusing to have his attention drawn.

  “I think we’re being followed,” Larissa stated as the blob on the horizon grew into the unmistakable shape of an airship. This time both Cid and Holt turned to look. Cid raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight and squinted at the ship.

  “Is that...?” Cid muttered.

  “Pirates,” Holt stated flatly. He grabbed the wheel and steered the ship back on course.

  “Dear Gods,” muttered Cid.

  “Pirates?” Larissa half-sobbed. “What do we...how can we...will they…?”

  “Catch us?” Holt interrupted. “Most likely. They’ll have a gang of men to stoke the fire.”

  “What should we do?”

  “We should prepare.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Larissa stood at the ship stern, a thin spyglass pressed to her eye as she watched the impending pirate ship gaining upon them. The ship looked old and battered, a poor comparison to The Larissa. The wood panelling of its keel was rough and silvery grey, and the balloon canopy above was made up of various patches of dark material. Two great masts stuck out either side of the deck, holding propellers, and another two protruded from the back end of the ship, giving speed to their advance. Two cannons reared on either side of the ship and one at either end; it was a ship prepared for a fight.

  She could make out at least fifteen men on deck and didn’t like to guess at how many more the hull may be hiding. Those in view were all armed with various weapons, and she had spotted one man stalking about the deck with a grappling hook, which he now loaded into a launcher. At the bow of the enemy ship stood a tall man who used a spyglass of his own to stare at Larissa, occasionally turning back to shout to the others.

  She watched him closely. The crew seemed to look to him for instructions, so she mused he must be the Captain. He was dressed in a large, thick, fur-lined coat and had long grey-brown hair that mixed with an equally long grey-brown beard. Instead of a wearing Captain’s hat worn by military ship Captains, a pair of goggles much like the ones Cid wore perched on his forehead.

  Larissa turned around to look at Cid and Holt. They both faced her and waited patiently for her to speak. Cid had paused from shovelling coal, his sleeves pushed back to the elbows and the exposed skin on his arms and face black with soot. Holt’s clothes were as clean as the moment he had joined them, despite all the times he’d spent shovelling coal as well. Both men appeared to be awaiting instructions.

  Does that make me the Captain of this ship?

  “There’s at least fifteen of them. They’re all armed and they have a grappling hook,” she called to her crew of two.

  Cid shook his head silently and disappeared back into the furnace room to resume shovelling. Holt turned back around and resumed steering. Larissa approached him, hooking the spyglass into a makeshift belt around her waist which also held one of Cid’s pistols and a pair of throwing knifes donated by Holt.

  “What should we do?”

  “The mountains.” Holt pointed ahead to the horizon. The beginning of a rocky, snow-capped mountain range seemed within reach.

  “The mountains what? It’s not like we can hide from them in there. You need to tell me what your plan is so I can—”

  “So you can what? Get in the way? Get yourself killed or captured?”

  “Help. So I can help. We can’t expect to survive unless we work together.”

  “I don’t expect you to survive.”

  “Charming.” She stomped back to the stern and looked through the spyglass again, trying to ignore the thumping of her heart against her chest.

  It was inevitable, she supposed. Holt had said right from the beginning that she needed him more than he needed her. Now she had become nothing more than a liability in his eyes. She had hoped to grind him down, work her way into his subconscious—to make herself count—but their short moments of banter had been far too brief for him to build any emotional attachment.

  At the bow of the pirate ship, the Captain waved his hands. Larissa thought he signalled to his crew at first, but eventually she realized his signals were directed at her.

  “Holt!” she yelled. “They’re sending us a message.”

  Before she’d even finished the sentence he was at her side and slipped the spyglass from her hand. At first he just watched. When the message stopped he sent a simple response back with exaggerated hand motions. She watched the exchange in silence, chewing on her bottom lip until it ached. Holt handed the spyglass back to her and headed toward the wheel in silence.

  Larissa rolled her eyes. Any grandiose notions she’d had of being the Captain dissolved. She walked over to Holt again, unwilling to give up just yet.

  “Look, I know you don’t need me, I know I’m a burden, and I know you don’t care if I live or die, but that doesn’t mean you can’t give me something. Just share some small amount of information. I promise I won’t get in your way if you have a plan to escape or survive by yourself, just tell me what they said, or what’s going to happen. Please.”

  “They want us to surrender.”

  “I suppose I could have guessed that. What will happen if we do?”

  “They will take what they want,” he paused to give her a long stare, “anything of value.”

  “And what will happen if we do not?”

  “They will take us by force, and take what they want.”

  She huffed a laugh. It was inane, and he hadn’t told her anything she didn’t already know. Nevertheless, he was at least talking and that was some progress—just a little too slow for her liking.

  “What did you say to the Captain?”

  “I told him I understood his message.”

  “Just that? It seemed like a lot of signals for just that.”

  “Irritating.”

  “What’s irritating? Me?”

  “Yes, you. You’re damned incessant.”

  “You mean I’m irritating because I figured out you’re holding something back? Please, Holt, just tell me.”

  “They said they’ll let us go if we hand them what they want. Who they want.”

  “Who do they want? You?”

  “No.”

  “Me?”

  “No.”

  Larissa’s brow furrowed and she looked over at Imago, who was lying on his favorite barrel. She shook her head and dis
missed the thought, and after eliminating everyone else she realized the answer just as Cid stepped out from the furnace room.

  “Well, what the fucking hell is going on?” Cid barked.

  “Cid,” Larissa said softly. “So, if we give them what they want they will let us go?”

  “I’ve never known a pirate to keep to his word.”

  “And what did you tell the Captain?”

  Before Holt could answer the sound of gunfire pierced the air. Larissa and Cid ducked while Holt did not flinch.

  “Are they trying to crash us?” Larissa asked.

  “That was a warning shot. They won’t want to destroy something as valuable as this ship unless they really have to.” Holt turned the wheel and steered the ship around a jutting rock face as they drew alongside the rising base of a mountain. Without warning, he released the wheel and grabbed his pack and a length of rope.

  “You’re running away? That’s your big plan?”

  “I don’t know what they want with your friend. You can come with me if you wish. He cannot. They are unlikely to chase after the two of us across the mountains.”

  “I’m not just going to leave Cid to his fate,” Larissa said.

  “Wait, what do you mean, they want me?” Cid asked, clearly affronted. Holt ignored him and tied the rope to the ship rail.

  “I had a feeling you wouldn’t leave him. Don’t shoot them or fight, there are too many. They’ll just kill you. If you’re lucky, they’ll only spend a day or two raping you, then sell you to the nearest merchant as a slave.”

  “If...I’m lucky? So that’s it, you’re just leaving, like some coward?”

  “This isn’t my fight. Goodbye, Miss Markus.”

  With that he slipped over the edge and descended to an alcove in the rock just below the ship. As Larissa turned to Cid, a large shadow came over the deck, blocking the sun; the pirate ship drew alongside them and the weathered faces of the men on board came into view. The pirates stood with weapons at the ready, trained upon Cid and Larissa. The man with the launcher fired the grappling hook, which slapped onto the deck beside Larissa’s feet. The hook retracted and caught against the side rail, and within moments the two ships had pulled together. A handful of men jumped aboard, accompanied by their Captain.

  “Take the wheel, Jameson,” he commanded, his husky voice peppered with a more musical accent than Larissa had expected. He pointed to the furnace room and two other men followed his wordless command to take over stoking the fire. The remaining men who had jumped aboard searched the ship.

  Another man boarded; he was distinctly different from the others, who all wore rugged old clothes, with dry, cracked skin on faces full of scars and facial hair. This new man was tall and strong, his clothing clean and neat, with short-cropped hair. He stood beside the Captain, who scratched at his beard and addressed Cid and Larissa.

  “Well, all good so far. Cid Mendle?”

  “Who the fucking hell are you, and how do you know my bloody name?” Cid yelled in the Captain’s face. The man with short hair nodded once.

  Crack

  The sound echoed in Larissa’s ear before she even registered what happened. Cid collapsed to the floor in a heap, and the Captain holstered the heavy pistol that he’d just used to knock Cid out cold.

  “Take him below deck and secure him.”

  Two men scooped Cid up and dragged him to the other ship. The man with short hair followed with a sickening smile on his face. Larissa stood on wobbly legs. She didn’t try to hide the tears in her eyes; there was no point.

  “And what to do with this one?” The Captain rocked back and forth on his toes. “You got a name, girl?”

  Larissa didn’t answer.

  “Never mind. Not like we need a name. Not for what I’m going to do to you.” He reached out and grabbed her by the arm.

  Her reaction came as naturally as a peaceful slumber. She grabbed a knife from her belt and in one swift movement rammed it forwards with all her might, plunging the blade through his coat and deep into the flesh beneath. As the blade cut through him it squelched, like slicing raw meat, she pushed it in as far as it would go. The Captain lurched, grunting heavily and stumbling onto her. His grip on her arm grew tighter and he reached up with the other hand to grip her other shoulder.

  Time slowed, tears flowed down her face in fear, and she watched the Captain’s eyes as they glistened with painful realization. Her aim was good, too good. The Captain’s eyes lolled to one side and his body followed. He pulled her down with his weight and they crashed to the deck together.

  “Captain?” a man on deck asked as, one by one, the others realized what had happened. Larissa pulled the blade out of his chest and scuttled backward on her backside, her arm coated in bright, fresh blood.

  “Fuck...Captain!” One man rushed to the body. The sound of feet pounding on the deck echoed around her and Larissa’s vision blurred around the edges.

  “The girl!”

  More voices called to each other with obscenities, threats, and prayers to the Gods. She couldn’t focus on any of them as she felt her limbs go limp. A strange tingling sensation tickled the back of her head and everything faded to black.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The light burned. The pain burned. The memories came in fits and starts, oddly disjointed and rarely useful. The Professor had lost track of time; he could have been there for months or just hours, it was impossible to tell. Between lengthy replays of his past he found moments where he was aware of the present, the cave, Doctor Orother, and the device attached to his brain.

  Those fleeting moments were cruelly shattered by shocking pain, sent like a bolt from his head down to his toes. He screamed often, and when his screams subsided he listened to them echoing inside both the cave and his own skull. It was agony, pure hell. The only release came when he found a memory that Orother liked—and the Doctor only liked memories that were recent, or that involved the Machine. Those short moments of release from the pain felt euphoric, and it became harder to fight against it.

  He thought of Larissa often, her shy smile and pretty laugh. Every time she flashed through his mind, a deep sense of shame and regret followed—how callously he had manipulated her. He had exploited his wealth and position to charm such a sweet girl, and that selfish charm had now destroyed her. He dared to imagine she’d played dead as he instructed, and escaped the fire at the Hub.

  Perhaps she’d returned home and resumed her life as before. Yet deep down he knew that wasn’t the case. She was most likely dead, or blamed for the fire. He tried not to think of her as destitute, alone, and cold, living like a beggar or locked away in some darkened jail. Still, the bleak thoughts plagued his mind, along with the ultimate realization that he could do nothing about it. Another shock of pain coursed through his body and he let out a pitiful yell, sounding like an abused dog.

  “The machine, Professor,” Doctor Orother said for the hundredth time, his voice calm and measured.

  Larissa.

  Her name hung in his mind; he repeated it over and over, desperate to remain focused. He felt the familiar sensation of regressing inwards, slipping into a distorted memory, powerless to stop it.

  . . .

  “It’s not a problem,” Larissa spoke, looking at her feet and clutching her cloak around her body.

  “I could still take you out.” He reached up to gently brush his knuckles across her cheek. She looked up at him, her eyes full of desire.

  “Or you could stay here with me...”

  He watched as she allowed her cloak to fall open and slip from her shoulders. The thin straps on her silk shirt cascaded down next. His mind raced as he imagined the vision that was to follow. Oh, how he desired to let it continue, to let her bare herself to him. Better still, to grab that shirt and rip it down. To take control, to push her to the ground and bury his face in her cool, pale flesh, to run his tongue up and down every inch of her body. Instead, he stepped inward, clasping her shoulders to prevent the shir
t from falling completely, cursing inwardly for the choice.

  He ran the tips of his fingers along the chain of her necklace, tracing his nails across the skin behind the silvery-white stone at the end of the chain. His fingers roved down the front of her chest until he realized she held her breath. He bent forward, bringing his mouth close to her lips.

  Control yourself, Max.

  “Miss Markus, I cannot recall a time when I have been so easily seduced.”

  He felt an unpleasant twitching of his erection as his body physically protested this decision to take the moment no further. The Gods were cruel, he mused, that they would give him such a malicious choice—the chance to make love to a beautiful young woman who clearly wanted him, or the chance to finish the Machine and finally see all his effort and work over the years come to fruition.

  Perhaps I can still have both. The night is young.

  He reached down and collected her cloak from where it had pooled around her feet, then brought it back up around her shoulders as he focused on the monumental task of trying to draw the blood back up into his brain.

  “I’m afraid I do need to stay close to the Hub this evening. It is a critical time...perhaps you’d like a personal control-room tour?”

  The cloak slipped from his hands and fell to the ground. Larissa said something in response, though the words were jumbled. He felt an odd pain shoot across his face and the scene before him dissolved into pure bright light.

  . . .

  “Not this again,” Doctor Orother screamed manically through gritted teeth. The pain shot across the Professor’s face again as he realized he was being punched, though the light kept him from actually seeing anything. He grunted and tried to move away, but to no avail; he was still pinned tightly. The light disappeared as Orother pushed the mirror away but the Professor’s vision remained blank.

  “I am sick of seeing that stupid girl. I don’t know what you ever saw in her. You should have ripped that stone from her neck the day you found her and left her in the street. The machine, Professor. Maximillian. I implore you. The pain and suffering will only increase until you submit and give me what I want.”