A Student's Dream (Twisted Cogs Book 1)

by Hemmings, Malcolm

  “I wasn’t actually askin’ where you’re from,” Slug rolled his eyes, “or ‘bout what you fink De Luca’ll do. The chest of coin he sent over, that’s all he’ll do. On that subject, here’s somethin’ interestin’, did you know there’s five hundred florin’s worth of venom flowing through your bloodstream right now?”

  Elena was at a loss. Pleading wasn’t working, nor had explaining the situation. She couldn’t move, and if Ele tried to make a break for it he risked even worse danger than her. Slug kept on talking conversationally, “It‘s funny, you bein’ in this situation on account a thinkin’ you was above me. Ironic, I call that, ‘cause now your blood’s worth five hundred, technically, you is better than me, jus’ like you thought.”

  Elena was trying hard, but his accent was so thick that it was hard to follow what he was saying.

  “Never...said...I was better...than...anyone,” she gasped. Was it becoming harder to breath, or was it her imagination?

  “Didn’t have to say it,” Slug looked down at his nails, “you smashed the bloody bolts, didn’t’cha? Rules don’t apply to Cog do they? Cog’s master’ll pay a fine, an’ who cares about Slug’s effort? No one. No one cares.”

  “Cross cares.”

  “Aye! Exactly!” Slug’s facade broke for just a moment, and he jabbed a finger towards Elena’s face, “Belloza cares. She cares on account of I taught her to care. Taught that whole studio to care ‘bout what happens to me. That’s what you do when someone don’t think about anyone but themselves, you teach ‘em to care. You think you’re better’n me, Cog, you’ll think different after your lesson.”

  “So you’re not going to kill me?” Even she knew it was naive to feel hope at the words, but Elena was grasping at any straw she could.

  “Nah, Cog, I ain’t gonna kill ya,” Slug chuckled, “no matter how much ya beg me to.”

  A sudden rush of heat made Elena’s head feel light, and for a few moments of blind terror her throat closed completely. All of a sudden every sensation was too much; the fabric of her clothes rasped across her skin, the weight of her body crushed painfully against the muscles of her rear where she sat, and the cool tile against her trailing foot seemed like ice. When she could breath again the breaths came raggedly, the air freezing as it scraped into her lungs.

  “You’re blushin’, Miss Cog. Is that on account of the heat rush or have you just been overcome by me rugged good looks?” Slug asked. He reached out and pinched the skin on her shoulder.

  Despite the shallowness of her breathing, the pain was so intense that Elena tried to scream. Her lungs locked up, and nothing came out but a strangled whimper. Across the table from them Ele tried to jerk out of the Echo’s grasp again, yelling something too muffled to be heard, but Fran only grinned and twisted his arm further.

  “Ah, that’s the magic rush we was waitin’ for,” Slug said, “lowers the pain threshold, heightens the senses. Means we can have some fun without gettin’ into too much trouble afterward when the Masters find out. ‘I swear I only pinched her a bit, gave her a few cuts and scrapes!’ Golden.”

  Ele suddenly went limp, using the weight of his body to pull his mouth away from Fran’s arm.

  “Help! Someone help, they’re killing-" he managed to scream before the other Echo clamped her arm back down over his mouth. Slug and Fran froze, looking nervous for the first time as they listened for a reaction. Elena struggled to move, to yell, but she was still panting with what little breath she could manage. Slowly, the pair relaxed.

  “No need for all that, already said I weren’t gonna kill her,” Slug said. “She’s just gonna be a mite more colorful tomorrow is all.” Elena glanced down, and sure enough a large purple bruise was already blooming across her shoulder where he had pinched her. “Oh don’t worry missy,” Slug said, following her glance, “I’ll leave the rest o’ the marks in places that can’t be seen.”

  If there was ever a time for my Storm to help me, it’s now, the random thought floated through Elena’s mind, but no provident buzz or tingle arrived. When Slug leaned in close again, so close she could feel his breath on her skin, her thoughts became even less connected. His breath is too hot. I can’t even scream when he hurts me.

  “Francis,” Fran’s warning was sharp, and Slug whirled. Over his shoulder Elena could see the doorway to the kitchen had opened, but the room was flooded in moonlight, and the silhouetted figure was hard to make out beyond his height and general figure.

  “This situation may look a mite bad to you, stranger,” Slug spoke smoothly, drawing a small knife from his belt, “but I guaran-bloody-tee you this goes worse for her if you don’t turn ‘round and leave.” He pressed the little blade against Elena’s throat, and even that small pressure was enough to hurt, the metal incredibly cold.

  What will it feel like when he has me alone and can actually use that knife?

  The man stepped into the kitchen and let the door close behind him, folded his arms and leaning against the far wall. As her eyes adjusted again to the dark of the room, Elena noticed that Slug had drawn more of the clear fanged tubes, and was holding him behind his back where the man couldn’t see them. When she glanced back at the man she recognized him, though he still looked quite different without his mask on.

  “Did you not hear me, tall dark and handsome?” Slug gripped the clear tubes tighter behind his back, “walk away or Cog here gets her throat slit open.”

  “Can I watch?” Garnet asked.

  Chapter XXXI

  Domenico’s Tale

  Whenever Erik yawned, he made a heavy, rasping, breathless noise that sounded like a snore in reverse. It was the kind of sound that set Domenico’s teeth on edge behind his mask. Having to put up with that reverse snore so many times in a given day was just another of the million little indignities that weighed down on his shoulders at every moment, so many indignities that it felt as if he almost couldn’t be angry about all of them.

  Almost. With great effort of will, Domenico did manage to stay angry about each and every one. He remembered every single slight that anyone offered him, and in his deepest heart of hearts he hoped he could repay all of them. It was that hope that let him stay awake now, when the very bones in his body screamed out for sleep.

  “Please tell me you don’t have work in the kitchens tonight,” Erik groaned, “you’ve been there till three in the morning for the past two weeks, how much work can there be to do?” The answer was of course that there hadn’t been that much work to do. If Erik had been a more observant man he would’ve noticed the signs, vegetables and side-dishes prepared for meals that were days away, too much bread dough being prepared, long hours of cleaning areas that were spotless. “Hey, Rhetorman!” Erik snapped his fingers in front of Domenico’s face, “if I could take up a few seconds of your time here? I asked you a direct question, you may answer. Do you have work in the kitchens tonight?”

  You take up all seconds of my time. The rush of anger felt good, kept him awake. The snapping fingers was just another little indignity, but the phrasing of the question hit him in the gut. You take up every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every—

  Domenico shook his head in response to Erik’s question.

  “Ego moriamet I’m glad to hear that,” Erik yawned again, his rattling rasping snore-like yawn. “If I don’t get a few days of good sleep soon I’ll fall asleep standing up, and I don’t need to get yelled at again. Not that the last time was your fault, but well...if you hadn’t been working so late, it wouldn’t have happened is all I’m saying.” He clapped a heavy hand on Domenico’s shoulder and gave him a little push in the direction of their room, a familiarity that was another little indignity.

  If the book of indignities were written out into neat little columns of acts demanding vengeance, Erik would have his own dedicated volume.

  Their room was dark when they entered it, and even though they would be going to sleep in a few minutes Erik lit all of the lanterns. It was a habit of the m
an’s, and he hadn’t seemed to realize what a waste of time it was. Domenico couldn’t point out the waste of time, couldn’t point out anyone’s wastes of time, so instead he had been forced into learning patience.

  “Go use the restroom,” Erik ordered. Domenico didn’t have to, but he obediently entered the water closet and closed the door behind him. He leaned with his back against the door, closing his eyes and enjoying the few moments of his life where he could be alone. The deep breaths smelled like the leather and metal of his mask, but it was hardly a new smell.

  I shouldn’t close my eyes, I’ll fall asleep, Domenico thought dully. Of all nights to fall asleep early, tonight would be the worst, after months of preparation. A small fraction of my book of indignities finally repaid-

  “Hey, Garnet, you alive in there? I told you I was sleepy didn’t I?” Erik pounded on the door, and Domenico slowly took a final deep breath through his nose. ‘Garnet’ was a red stone, and ‘Garnet’ was a girl’s name, and every time they used it to refer to him he would fantasize about this night. He pulled the lever to flush the empty bowl, washed his hands, and emerged from the water closet.

  “About time,” Erik growled. “Your sleep clothes are on the bed.”

  Undressing in front of Erik was one of the minor indignities, now that the Rhetorguard had matured a little and stopped making jokes, but it was still just as uncomfortable as it had been the first night. Domenico distracted himself by thinking about the night ahead. Strangely enough, now that the moment had finally arrived, he wasn’t even excited, just numb.

  Probably the exhaustion of the last few weeks catching up to me, he reasoned. Keeping Erik awake and tired means keeping myself awake and tired.

  “You’re moving slow as a glacier tonight,” Erik said as Domenico finally settled onto the small cot set up in the corner. The Rhetorguard yanked Domenico’s wrist over the edge of the cot and attached a heavy manacle to it, then snapped the other end to leg of the nearby dresser. “Right, can you get out?”

  Domenico gave the manacle three hard tugs, demonstrating that it held fast. Beneath his Rhetor-mask, he held his breath. Erik was selfish, careless, and above all very, very stupid, but there was always the chance he would notice his mistake tonight, the chance that Domenico’s plan would be cut short at this last possible moment.

  “Alrigh’ then, I’m going to sleep,” Erik made a circuit around the room, blowing out the lanterns one by one. “If you need anything in the middle of the night...well, I’ll probably sleep through it, so make sure not to need anything,” he chuckled.

  Domenico didn’t let himself relax until the room was entirely dark, and he heard the comfortable bed on the other side of the room squeak as Erik eased into it. As usual, his manacle was short enough that Domenico’s arm hung over the side of the cot, it’s hard edge digging into his shoulder. Tonight the discomfort was a good thing. He didn’t want to fall asleep.

  Given that his yawns sounded like snores, it was ironic that Erik didn’t snore in his sleep. The only way Domenico could tell that he was sleeping were the deep breaths in the otherwise quiet room.

  One. Two. Three. Four. He started counting at the first breath, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room without the lanterns. No noise broke his silent count, even the street outside the studio was quiet. He had felt numb before, but as the time slowly approached he could feel the stirrings of excitement. Perhaps he just hadn’t let himself be excited before because he hadn’t believed this moment would ever arrive.

  Two thousand nine hundred ninety nine. Three-thousand.

  Domenico slipped from the cot silently, but jingled the manacles on purpose to see if, beyond all indication, Erik was awake. In theory the Rhetorguard could be feigning sleep, lying in wait for him, but if he was so clever and insightful then he must have been a master actor for the last twenty years that Domenico had known him.

  He slipped his fingers beneath the lip of the dresser and strained. He wasn’t a weak man, but the dressers were hefty and sturdy, and he had to struggle to lift it off the ground. Luckily he only had to raise it a few inches before he could nudge the end of the manacle out from beneath its leg. Holding the chain so that it didn’t rattle, Domenico pulled the pillow from his cot and crossed the distance to Erik’s bed.

  The past several weeks of long nights and early mornings had paid off. Erik didn’t even stir when Domenico pulled the knife from his sheathe. While he didn’t feel any joy in slitting his Rhetorguard’s throat, holding the pillow in his face to silence any sounds, Domenico didn’t feel a hint of guilt either.

  ***

  As he’d suspected, the hallways of De Luca’s studio were dark and abandoned so late at night. If there had been patrols or guards he might not risk this step of his plan, but there was little danger in it now. Of all the people in his mental book of indignities, there were precious few people who had earned a positive, showing him kindness without asking anything in return, and there were only two in this studio.

  The door wasn’t locked, and he slipped inside silently and easily, his mask in one hand, open manacles in the other, closing and locking the door behind him. The first thing he noticed was that Rolf had elected to take the uncomfortable cot, letting Emerald have the studio bed. The second thing he noticed was that, silent and stealthy as he had been, Emerald was awake.

  Her gaze flicked back and forth between his face and the items in his hands, her expression unreadable behind her mask. Domenico grinned and gave her a wink, then crossed to where Rolf slept. He passed the manacles through the cot’s frame, then around Rolf’s wrists.

  This Rhetorguard’s reflexes were much better than Erik’s. Domenico had barely closed the cuffs before the Rhetorguard was awake and alert.

  “Garnet?” he asked before Domenico clamped the mask down on the man’s face, smiling with satisfaction for the first time at the metallic sound of the mask locking.

  “It’s actually ‘Domenico’, if you don’t mind,” he said quietly. The mere act of speaking felt glorious, even without his power buzzing in the words. After more than twenty years of silence he had a feeling that once he was safe, he would be quite the chatty person. He took key from around Rolf’s neck, ignoring the tiny muffled noise of the man trying to yell an alarm. “The mask is designed to keep people silent, do you think it’ll stop working just because it’s on you instead of me?” he asked scornfully.

  Emerald had been watching him intently throughout the interaction, and her gaze didn’t waver when he crossed over to her bed. He unlocked her mask and let it fall away, and without the obstruction it was clear that the expression she wore was one of worry. His Storm had been tingling in the back of his mind, just waiting to be let loose, and for the first time in two decades he indulged it.

  “You don’t have to worry, you’re safe now,” Domenico said. His Storm was smooth and relaxing in his neck, like drinking hot tea after days of a sore throat. It rounded his consonants by the smallest hint and gave his words sharper definition, and as he spoke, the Storm supplied him the meta-information of what it had done. It was an accent from Florenzia, specifically the northern area of Florenzia in which the merchant class and the noble class melded the most seamlessly. An accent of a person with a noble parent who raised her and a merchant parent who only visited, occasionally, enough to affect her words but not enough to shape them.

  Interesting. I wouldn’t have picked Emerald out as a Florenzian.

  “What did you do?” Emerald asked. Her voice was like a song made out of silver bells, even the brief question she had whispered. Domenico smiled appreciatively. That was a Storm he wouldn’t mind in a traveling companion. It was a voice a man could fall in love with no matter who the speaker was.

  “Where does he keep the key to your manacles?” he asked in Emerald’s accent, “I somehow doubt your Rhetorguard restrained you as shoddily as mine did. We’ll get you out of here, kill your Rhetorguard, and be on our way to wherever you want to go by dawn.”


  “I don’t want him killed...Domenico, was it? This is wrong.”

  “Fine, we don’t have to kill him, we can leave him chained and silent like my Rhetorguard is,” he lied. If she was squeamish about killing then there was no point in telling her exactly how silent Erik now was, “but we need to unlock you-”

  “Domenico, you’re misunderstanding...” Emerald interrupted.

  Cunctis deos meos, my name on her lips is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.

  “...I’m not going with you. I’m staying here.”

  “What? Staying, under lock and mask for the rest of your life?”

  “It’s the right thing to do,” Emerald gave a little shrug, “my fate is here. I won’t leave Rolf, not like this.”

  “You realize he’s heard you speak, don’t you?” Domenico couldn’t quite understand his fellow Rhetor’s reluctance, and it was making him angry. “He’s the embodiment of the Guardhouse, he follows the rules to the letter. He’ll kill you the very second he’s able to. It’s you or him, Emerald...or rather, whatever your name is.”

  “‘Emerald’ is fine,” Emerald gave a sad smile, but it was towards the Rhetorguard on the cot. “I’m no stranger to the concept of my life being in his hands. If he truly believes he has to kill me...” She trailed off, turning her gaze back to Domenico. “Thank you for coming here to rescue me. I know it was a risk.”

  “But you’re not coming with me?”

  “But I’m not coming with you.”

  Domenico swore and stood from her bed. So much for there being two at the studio who treated him with kindness. He considered killing them both, but he knew he was overreacting. Even now Emerald was still better than all but one of the others in this place, and he didn’t plan on killing any of them. Besides, he hadn’t told her where he planned on going. He left the room in a much worse mood than he had entered.

  Stopping by Emerald’s room had been a mistake. He’d assumed that behind their masks, all Rhetor were just as hurt and angry about the way the system treated them as he was, longing for a chance to repay them a fraction of the hurt they’d dealt. It appeared that some of his brothers and sisters behind their masks had somehow learned to love their captivity.