Clockwork Lies: Iron Wind (Clockwork Heart trilogy)

by Pagliassotti Dru

  Taya forced a nod. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was acceptable.

  After her examination, she washed and changed into a clean flight suit sent over from the small eyrie that served the mining community. She’d suffered nothing more than bruises, cuts, and strained muscles. As soon as she was dressed, she hurried back into Cristof’s room, taking a seat by the window. Not long afterward, Lieutenant Amcathra joined her, washed, shaved, re-bandaged, and leaning on a proper cane.

  “How are you?” Taya asked in a hushed voice as the lictor lowered himself into the chair next to hers.

  “A sprain.”

  “Will that need stitches?” She gestured to the bandage on his forehead.

  “It will heal on its own.”

  Taya remembered the blood that had poured down his face after the wreck. “But won’t it scar?”

  “Scars do not concern me.”

  “What about your—” Taya had no idea if Lieutenant Amcathra was married or seeing anyone. “—your family? Won’t they care?”

  “No.”

  Frustrated, Taya let the subject drop and turned her worried gaze back to the doctors working on Cristof.

  “No permanent damage,” Dr. Placius confirmed once they had finished. “The exalted simply needs time to rest and heal.”

  “When can he travel?”

  “It would be best if he stayed here for a week or two, under our supervision.”

  “Impossible.” Amcathra’s voice was flat. “The Council awaits him, and you said he was not seriously injured.”

  “He was seriously injured; I simply said that he hasn’t suffered any permanent damage.” The doctor looked stern. “We’ll keep him under observation for a day or two to make certain there’s nothing we missed.”

  “Thank you.” Taya crossed the room and looked down at her husband, who was sleeping again. She brushed the hair off his face. “He’ll stay here as long as you say he should.”

  After the doctors left, nurses moved two military-style cots into the room, one for Taya and one for Lieutenant Amcathra. Taya set hers close to Cristof’s bed. The lictor put his near the door.

  “The storm is clearing,” he said, walking to the window and gazing out.

  She stood next to him and saw streaks of blue on the horizon over the mountains.

  “That’s good.”

  “Why would someone derail a train to kill Exalted Forlore?”

  Taya let out a slow breath. Nobody had said it aloud at the station, but she was certain that everybody had wondered, deep inside, if the derailment had been sabotage.

  “Are you sure it was another assassination attempt?”

  “Yes. What has the exalted done?”

  “Nothing! Nothing except what we told you. He was given some information about illegal trade between one of the Big Three and the Alzanans. We assumed the assassin was one of the mercates. I never imagined it would be a lictor.”

  Amcathra’s face hardened as he stared out the window.

  “Perhaps he was paid by a mercate. Or an Alzanan.”

  “That would mean that Cristof’s information is pretty important.”

  “You must return to the capital and begin the investigation.”

  She was shaking her head before she even realized what she was doing.

  “No. I can’t. Not yet.”

  “Then tell me what you know, and I will go.”

  “…I can’t do that, either.” She bit her lip, feeling awful, but she couldn’t give Amcathra the punch cards. The lictor was no fool. He’d guess at once that the cards came from Alister, and then he’d be duty-bound to report Alister to the Council. Cristof wouldn’t want that. “Let me— let me wait. As soon as I’m sure Cris is all right, I’ll go. I promise.”

  Amcathra leaned on his cane, studying her. Some indefinable emotion shadowed his normally clear, pale blue gaze, and the light from the window emphasized the cuts and bruises on his face.

  “Do you think I am a traitor, too?”

  Taya drew in a sharp breath, appalled.

  “No! It’s nothing like that. It’s….” she faltered as she searched for words that wouldn’t hurt the feelings she knew he must keep hidden under his stoic mask. “It’s that you have too much integrity. If you were any less honest, I would give you the information at once. But… Cris doesn’t want you investigating his sources. We know the Council’s interested in them.”

  “That does not mean I would compromise the ambassador’s contacts without good reason.”

  Taya bit her lip. This would be so much easier if she knew him as well as Cristof did. “What if we were pretty sure you’d decide you had a good reason?”

  He was silent for a long time, long enough for Taya to be aware of her heart pounding. Then he turned and looked out the window.

  “Does your reluctance have anything to do with… my nephew?”

  “I—” Taya stared at his back, wondering if he was finally going to talk about the shooting. “No.” She braced herself. “Why?”

  Lieutenant Amcathra didn’t turn.

  “According to Council guidelines, if the ambassador is absent or incapacitated, I am in charge of the delegation, not you. However….” His voice trailed off a moment. “I will understand if you consider me unfit. I admit that my judgment may be compromised.”

  Scrap! She knew it— he was upset about the shooting.

  “I know about Rikard,” she said, hoping that if she said it first, somehow it would make his admission easier.

  His head lifted.

  “I thought you were unconscious.”

  “I saw the wound, later. Doctor Marchand said he’d been shot with a rifle, not a pistol.” She clenched her fists, hating this conversation but knowing that it had to be finished. “It wasn’t your fault. It was dark and snowy, and you were hurt. Anyone could have missed.”

  “I did not miss. I know it would have been more useful to incapacitate him, but… as you said, the conditions were poor, and I was injured. I had to aim for his chest to be sure I’d stop him in time.”

  “You— you aimed for his chest?”

  “It was the safest choice, under the circumstances.”

  “Rikard’s chest?”

  “He shot Petre. I heard it as I stepped into the clearing. Then he turned and pointed his rifle at you.”

  Taya couldn’t speak, aghast.

  “I had to make a split-second decision. I shot to kill. I apologize. We would have learned more if we could have questioned him.”

  “Oh, Lady….”

  “I assume Petre confronted my nephew about his actions in the clearing.”

  “But….”

  “In the last few hours I have examined my memory of the accident very carefully.” Amcathra’s voice was heavy. “My nephew left the dining room car before the exalted joined us. I did not see him again until I saw him pointing his rifle at you. He was wearing gloves, a hat, a scarf— garments he would not have been wearing had he been inside a passenger car during the crash. But they would have been necessary had he been on top of the car, manipulating the emergency brake to cause the derailment.”

  Taya remembered the sound of footsteps pounding on the roof of the car, and snowflakes on Rikard’s coat.

  “W… when he came in, he was shouting, ‘where is the exalted?’” she said, dully. “He grabbed me and pushed me against the side of the car. I thought— I don’t know what he was doing. He might have been threatening me. Or he might have been trying to protect me.”

  “I searched him while you were flying to the station.” Amcathra reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a battered, leather-bound notebook with his free hand. “Among other things, this contains notes on the aerostat’s security rotation and an address for the bookseller’s hotel.”

  “Then he….”

&nb
sp; “I still do not understand why he sought to kill the exalted, or why he failed to do so. Perhaps he was hoping to be stopped. This last-ditch effort strikes me as a final act of desperation.”

  Taya sank into the nearest chair, her hands pressed against her stomach. Amcathra offered her the notebook. She ignored it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at last, as he lowered his hand. “This must be terrible for you.”

  “The apology is mine, Icarus. You and the exalted have the right to hold my family in blood-guilt for my nephew’s attacks.” He spoke as calmly as though he were discussing the weather. “By Demican tradition, the matter would be settled during the cremation. However, we do not know when that will occur, so you may wish to demand recompense now.”

  “Blood-guilt?” Taya fought to keep her own voice under control; to emulate Lieutenant Amcathra’s impassive manner. “There’s no blood-guilt. You killed him. You killed your own nephew to protect me. How in the Lady’s name could I consider you guilty of anything?”

  “You are not viewing the situation like a Demican.”

  “That’s because I’m not Demican! And neither are you. Or Rikard. Why should any of us care about Demican customs?”

  “Not everyone who accepts Ondinium’s mark upon his face has accepted Ondinium’s mark upon his spirit. Otherwise, my nephew would never have dared turn his hand against an exalted.”

  “You’re loyal to Ondinium, aren’t you?”

  Amcathra stiffened. “Of course.”

  Of course. She rubbed her face, thinking about Rikard. Their only real conversation had been the one over tea, where he’d both expressed his dislike for Ondinium and his admiration for his uncle.

  “Did you know he got himself tattooed like you?”

  “He was a lictor.”

  “No, I don’t mean the castemark. The bear. He didn’t want me to tell you about it. I think he did it to be like you.”

  Amcathra was silent, his face blank.

  “It was a compliment,” she added, hoping she hadn’t upset him.

  “He was working for the Alzanans,” Amcathra said at last. “If he belonged to the sheytatangri, he must have been working for the Alzanans. I would have been told if he had been working for the Council.”

  Taya knew that tangri referred to a Demican religious or philosophical organization, but…

  “Sheyta’s not the Demican word for bear,” she said, confused. “What does it mean?”

  “Self-governance.” He considered. “Autonomy.”

  “I don’t— doesn’t Demicus already practice self-governance?”

  “The sheytatangri consider their country under occupation by Alzanan and Ondinium colonists. They seek to drive out foreigners and return Demicus to a state of cultural purity.”

  “That sounds like something Rikard might have supported, but why would he work for the Alzanans?”

  “The Alzanans have been known to provide weapons and financial support to extremist groups who oppose Ondinium.” Amcathra’s blue eyes were impassive. “Just as they support terrorist groups within Ondinium itself.”

  “Is that tattoo some kind of sign, then?”

  “Yes.”

  She stared. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging the silent question.

  “I joined the sheytatangri on a special assignment for the Council. My actions were such that the tangri now considers me a sympathizer within the lictor caste. I do what I can to keep the Council apprised of its actions.”

  “Are you a sympathizer? I’m not questioning your loyalty,” she hastened to add, “just your personal beliefs.”

  “I believe it would be in Demicus’ best interest to protect its people and resources against foreign exploitation. However, I do not believe that will be possible unless the clans unite into a cohesive political unit.”

  “That would require an enormous cultural shift, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes. ‘Demicus’ as a nation is a foreign construct, not a native concept.”

  “You know a lot about it.”

  “I had to learn much Demican history to infiltrate the sheytatangri.” He hesitated. “I did not know my nephew was a member. Nobody in the tangri told me.”

  Taya bit her lip, remembering Rikard’s assertion that he would make his uncle proud of him. Had he thought his uncle was a secret nationalist?

  “If he was working for the Alzanans, he was probably taking orders from the Mazzolettis.” She remembered the argument between Gaio Mazzoletti and Rikard. Had they really been arguing about an accidental bump in the hall, or had their argument been about something far more serious? Rikard had warned her about Gaio. Had his warning carried a deeper meaning than she’d realized at the time?

  She felt a weight around her heart, wondering if things might have gone differently if only she’d pushed the young man harder, demanded more answers.

  “Are you going to be all right?” she asked at last, looking up at the lieutenant. Speaking of people who needed to be pushed…. “I mean, really?”

  “I did what had to be done.”

  And that was why she couldn’t give him Alister’s punch cards. Because Amcathra would always do what had to be done, regardless of the consequences.

  “We’ll talk about my returning to Ondinium tomorrow,” she said, standing. As she passed him, she laid a hand on his forearm. “Let’s both get some rest.”

  He didn’t move from the window as she walked over to her cot and laid down.

  Chapter Twelve

  Taya paced back and forth down the narrow aisle of empty seats. The train rocked as it hurtled down the tracks at top speed, making her stumble and catch herself on the back of a seat, but she was possessed by a restlessness that wouldn’t let her sit.

  She fished out her husband’s heavy, well-worn gold watch and opened it. 7:33 p.m. The hands on its pearlescent gray face had barely moved since the last time she’d checked. She held it to her ear to reassure herself that it was still ticking. The steady sound was barely audible over the rattle and creak of the car around her.

  Her own watch, with a wing engraved on its cover and a ruby heart on its face, was sitting next to Cristof’s bed back in Overlook. Lieutenant Amcathra had promised to keep it wound until her husband could wind it himself.

  A bright light flashed in the dark window. Taya peered out. A long string of generator-powered lamps lit the tracks as they entered a zone of illumination that stretched to the horizon, then rose into the sky as far as she could see. The first set of lights demarcated the city of Safira, which housed O-Base-0, the railway terminus. The towering mountain of lights beyond Safira was Ondinium, the capital, glowing with life and industry even at this time of night.

  At last! She checked the watch again. One minute closer. They were on time, scheduled to arrive at eight. She continued pacing, stopping every few seconds to look out the window again.

  She’d been on the train almost fifty hours. The express consisted of one engine, two fuel tenders, and her car, and it had rumbled through the mountains as fast as it could, its path cleared by signals flashing ahead of it. Every water stop had grated on her nerves, and she’d had to restrain herself from strapping on her armature and leaping out to fly ahead— a ridiculous proposition, because the train traveled much faster than she could.

  Still, the sooner she wrapped up her business in Ondinium, the sooner she could rejoin Cristof.

  The train had no sooner stopped in a burst of released steam than Taya wrestled open the doors and jumped out. She dropped her case of counterweights on the platform and began strapping on her armature as engineers and train crew hurried past her, securing the vehicle. Clouds of steam and ash drifted around her, giving the chilly night scene a ghostly air.

  “Taya Icarus?”

  A lictor was jogging toward her. She waved and finished pulling on her wings, locking th
em high.

  “Your identification, please.” The lictor halted in front of her as she slid counterweights into her flight suit pockets. She pulled out her wallet. He checked her papers, studied her, then nodded and handed the wallet back. “I have documents clearing you for a night flight into Ondinium. You’re to report to Decatur Constante’s estate immediately. Do you need directions?”

  “No.” Taya had spent most of her life working as a courier; she’d visited all Ondinium’s exalted houses at one time or another. She took the flight clearance form and tucked it next to her identification papers.

  “I know you’re in a hurry, but we have hot tea and sandwiches in the station office if you need to eat before you leave.”

  “I’d rather go now, thanks.” She snapped the counterweight case shut. “Will you hold this for me? I’ll send for it later or pick it up on my way back.”

  “Not a problem. There’s a flight tower on the east side of the station. Have you flown from O-Base-0 before?”

  “Not at night.”

  “We keep a clear airspace corridor from the flight tower to the Great Gates. After you reach the Gates, it’s business as usual. That form clears you straight up to Primus; we’ll signal the stations and sector gates to expect your flyover. Average flight time to the city is about twenty to thirty minutes. The weather’s cold but clear; snow on the ground but nothing in the air.”

  “Thank you.” Taya bowed, then turned and thanked the engineers and crew for the speedy trip, forcing herself to smile and let them touch her wings for luck even though she was itching to go.

  At last she hurried through the station to climb up the flight tower. She took a moment on the launch dock to stretch her legs and arms, feeling pathetically out of shape. Then she buckled on her leather flight cap, adjusted her goggles, waved to the guard, and hurled herself into the cold night air.

  For a moment she dropped through the winter night, and then she tucked her ankles into the armature’s tailset and snapped out her metal wings. The lighter-than-air feathers caught the air on a downstroke and lifted her over the train station’s bright lights. Warm currents rose from the station’s steam generators and busy junction. She eased herself higher.