A Student's Dream (Twisted Cogs Book 1)

by Hemmings, Malcolm

  Ungrateful. But I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway, she’s going to die for her idiocy within a day.

  The courtyard was rather well-lit for Domenico’s tastes, but besides Rolf and Emerald, chances were no one else was awake, as long as he hugged the wall he was probably safe.

  “Help! Someone help, they’re killing-” the sudden voice came from the kitchens just as he passed the door, and Domenico froze and pressed against the wall. So everyone wasn’t asleep then, and it sounded as if someone was in trouble. The Rhetor paused for a few moments, curiosity warring with caution. The voice had sounded like Ele, the Echo of the naive garzona Elena. Had it been anyone else he would’ve played it safe, left and not given it a second thought...but of everyone in the studio, Elena was the one person who treated the Rhetors like actual people. She was the only other in the studio who had netted positive in his little book of iniquities.

  He opened the door quietly, but the sudden moonlight that lit the room was enough to alert those within. Domenico took in the little scene before him. A muscular girl held Ele, which meant she was an Echo. That would indicate that the unknown squat fellow was a Stormtouched. Elena sat stiff and unnaturally, so whatever the squat man’s Storm was, he could petrify people.

  “Francis,” the strong girl warned, and the man who must be Francis whirled to face the door, drawing a knife and pressing it against Elena’s throat as he spoke.

  “This situation may look a mite bad to you, stranger,” Francis said, “but I guaran-bloody-tee you this goes worse for her if you don’t turn ‘round and leave.”

  When he heard Ele cry for help, Domenico only had a passing interest in helping the pair, but now...

  You’re a part of the problem, little man. The type who thinks that because you’ve got the knife you’re in charge. Domenico’s eyes were locked on the knife at Elena’s throat, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of his mealtimes, every single day, cold metal on his skin. Why does everyone assume that having a knife puts you in charge?

  He let the door close, his storm buzzing in his throat and mind as he did so. Threats or warnings wouldn’t help against a man who thought he was in charge, so instead Domenico adopted a casual stance, leaning back against the wall.

  “Did you not hear me, tall dark and handsome? Walk away or Cog here gets her throat slit open.”

  “Can I watch?” Domenico asked, tasting the accent as the Storm rolled it across his tongue and mind. Englissia, suburbs of Premblestin, a tiny little southern town so small it wouldn’t be on a map. A Stormtouched from such an insignificant little speck of a town would have a chip on his shoulder, no wonder he liked feeling in charge.

  “You...you wot mate?” Francis blinked.

  “Wot, got somethin’ in your ears?” Domenico said. “Only asked if’n I could watch didn’t I?”

  “Why would you want to watch this?” Francis’ expression was somewhere between suspicion and confusion, and Domenico struggled to stay patient.

  “Well you’re the one’s got the knife, but so long as you’s gonna carve her up a bit, thought I might enjoy the sight at least.”

  “Garnet...please...” Elena whimpered.

  “Shut up,” Domenico growled, and at the same time Francis snapped “shut your bloody mouth.”

  “Lady Cog’s got a way of makin’ enemies wherever she goes then, don’t she?” Francis still looked suspicious, “what exactly did she do to you, that you’s so okay with seein’ her cut up?”

  “Wot has she done to me? Ain’t that obvious? She’s a nasty piece o’ work, wot more reason is there to need?” Domenico stalled for time to think, but he could see in Francis’ eyes that he needed to come up with something fast. “Every day I’m ‘ere, she acts like she don’t even see me. Same as all o’ them garzoni, walkin’ ‘round as if I’m beneath their notice.”

  “Like they’s better than you,” Francis said, nodding. Domenico gave a mental sigh of relief. His guess had been spot-on.

  “Exactly. Half of ‘em don’t even speak two words to me, ‘cause I’m just a cook. The other half just take notice o’ me to order me around, or make fun of me accent.”

  “You got to teach them to respect you,” Francis advised, “that’s wot I do.”

  “Yeah well, you’s a lot more valuable than me. I don’t have the luxury of teachin’ them respect. But if you’re here to sharpen your knife on her, I repeat that all I want is to watch.”

  “Well...only I hadn’t intended to kill her, you see,” Francis said. Domenico’s heartfelt speech and subtle flattery had apparently won the squat man over, and he slipped a handful of vials back into his belt, “you can bet that as soon as she’s free she’s gonna tell tales about you to Master De Luca. You’d best make yourself scarce after tonight.”

  “Not going to kill ‘er? You an idiot?” Domenico asked. “You think she’s gonna take her lesson lyin’ down and not come after you? She’s a bloody Stormtouched, mate, they go for revenge.”

  “Hadn’t thought of it like that,” Francis said, turning to look at Elena thoughtfully. “Normally when I teach someone a lesson, they don’t come after me.”

  “You don’t know this one. Tenacious, she is. Tell you wot, I feel like I put you in a bind on account of she saw me face,” Domenico hated this accent, it was all missed letters and broken vowels and was beginning to give him a headache, “how about you have your fun, I watch your handiwork, then I kill her myself. You can bug off and no one’ll be the wiser.” Elena whimpered, and Domenico rolled his eyes.

  “Do I detect a hint of Sluggasworth accent ‘bout you?” Francis asked. Domenico had to hand it to the lad, if it weren’t for his Storm supplying information about the accent he used, Domenico might’ve fallen for the smooth question.

  “Nah, never heard of Sluggasworth. I’m from a little town called Premblestin, but you probably haven’t heard of it.”

  “You haven’t heard of Sluggasworth on account oh I just made it up,” Francis grinned, “Premblestin myself, born and bred.”

  “Well ain’t you a sneaky one!” Domenico was pleasantly surprised that his Storm was coming in so handily for him so quickly, “I should’a recognized the lingo, only I’m horrible with accents.” Sadly his joke was lost on everyone gathered in the room, but Domenico wasn’t bothered. He sauntered forward until he was only a few feet away from the stool, peering at Elena. “Why’s she not movin’?”

  “It’s me Storm,” Francis said, “got her pumped full of venom, custom made, it’ll keep her stiff for a few hours.”

  “Ah,” Domenico said with disappointment, “I was hopin’ to see her wiggle a bit. Takes the fun out o’ it when you can’t make ‘em squirm.”

  “Hm...you know, now that I have someone to hold her down, maybe the paralytic ain’t necessary anymore. Fran can even hold the Echo so he can watch us have fun. Here, this’ll let her move a bit,” he held up a small vial of purple fluid, “and then we can play with a live and kickin’ specimen.”

  “Well, live and kickin’ for now,” Domenico grinned. Elena gave a shuddering whimper again, weakly, and Francis turned back to flash her a quick smile.

  Domenico slammed his knife through the back of Francis’ neck with one smooth motion.

  The look on Francis’ face as he turned, full of hurt and bewilderment and shock, was too amusing for words, and Domenico had to chuckle a bit, stepping back to avoid the small spurts of blood from his throat.

  “Francis!” The Echo girl, Fran, barreled forward and skidded on her knees to where Francis slumped. “Francis! Talk to me, say somethin’!” Her hands did nothing to slow Francis’ decent, and he wound up on his side. The squat man tried to speak, but all that came out was a wet gurgle. “Francis don’t go, not like this, it weren’t supposed to be like this.” The wound bled fast. It took less than a minute for Francis to die.

  “No...don’t leave me you arsehole,” the Echo whispered. “Francis don’t leave me.” She looked up at Domenico, helplessly. He didn’t really
care about Francis or Fran now that he’d repaid Elena for her kindness, but the look on the Echo’s face caught him in a wave of nostalgia. How long had it been since he’d got that rush, seen that mixture of fear and helplessness on the face of someone who knew they were going to die?

  Not enough fear though, he thought, mildly disappointed, that makes it a little less fun.

  “He’s gone,” the Echo whispered. She was beginning to unravel at the edges, little wisps of her melting away as if her skin was letting off steam. It was the worst around her throat, vanishing so fast that her neck was starting to go transparent. “He’s gone and soon I’ll be gone too.”

  Still too much shock, not enough fear there, she’s ruining this. Domenico cast his mind back, trying to think of what he knew about Echoes and fears. He suddenly leaned in closer to Fran and smiled.

  “When you get where you’re goin’, say hello to the gale-devils for me luv,” he whispered.

  “No...no don’t make me go back, I can’t go back there...please!”

  Aaah, there’s the fear.

  Domenico turned his attention to Elena as Francis’ Echo waned and dwindled, tears streaming down her face as she melted away in mist-like strands.

  “Everything is alright now, Elena, you’re safe,” he said, Storm swirling in his mouth. An accent from Carpi, straightforward and plain like its people, was a relief after the rasps of the Premblestin accent. “You’re lucky I happened to be passing by.”

  “P...please,” there were tears on Elena’s cheeks, and her teeth were chattering, the effect of her whole body wanting to shake but too paralyzed to do so, “please don’t talk to me.”

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone who just saved you from being tortured, or worse.”

  “I’m s..sorry, I am grateful, Garnet, but please-”

  “Shh, it’s alright, I understand,” Domenico put a finger on her lips, quieting her before she said something stupid that would upset him. “You’ve been taught to distrust and hate Rhetors all your life.” He bent down and unhooked Francis’ belt, heavy with vials. Stormtouched-made poisons could only help him on his journey. “I’d stay and take you to your bed, Elena, but I see that Ele has run off and is probably waking someone as we speak, so I really must leave.” He picked up the purple vial from the puddle of Francis’ blood where it had rolled, and on his way out of the kitchen he placed it on the table where it would be seen.

  ***

  The Street of Yellow Artisans seemed so much more pleasant when he could actually smell the scents of the city, when he could look late-night passersby in the eye without them nervously averting their gaze. With a belt of venoms around his waist and a light jaunt to his step, Domenico began whistling as he strolled off into the night.

  Chapter XXXII

  Frightened Animal

  Elena stared at the ceiling of her room, waiting for the sun to rise. In the corner Ele was probably awake as well, but it seemed like too much effort to turn her head and look. The bell that warned of people entering and leaving the kitchen had been taken down, and was coiled up neatly in a pile on her bedside table, but the gentle clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen told her that people were there. She shivered at the thought of the kitchens, even though the bite of late-autumn’s chill was muffled by her blankets.

  “Elena,” Ele said from the corner.

  “I can tell what you’re going to say by the sound of your voice, so don’t bother saying it,” Elena would’ve snapped, but her voice was hoarse from crying and it instead came out in a rasp.

  “You couldn’t possibly know what I was going to say,” Ele said from the chair.

  “You’re talking in a gentle voice, like you’d talk to a hurt horse, and you’re going to say it was horrible but I’ve had a whole two days and I need to get up and go about my life like normal.”

  “Mihi supra serpentes, your Storm has given you the gift of mind-reading!” Ele gasped, trying to joke, “truly you have more power than we realized, we should try to capitalize on this by learning what we can of your Storm!”

  Elena rolled over so her back was to Ele, curling into a ball beneath the covers.

  “I’m not really in the mood for jokes right now, Ele.”

  “Alright, no jokes, I’m sorry.” Ele’s voice grew serious, “Elena I’m sorry that I’m doing this, I really am, if it were up to me I’d let you take just as long as you needed to recover, but De Luca’s schedule isn’t up to me, and you were already behind before. You can’t afford to spend your time like this, curled in your room hiding from humans and the light like a cockroach.”

  You didn’t see. Elena didn’t want to argue with Ele, so she responded only in her head. You ran for help and didn’t see any of it.

  “Elena, please just talk to me,” Ele’s voice came from right next to her bed, and she winced in spite of herself, “just tell me what’s going on in your head and maybe I can help you with it.”

  You weren’t there.

  “Nothing’s going on in my head Ele, it’s blank. There’s nothing to help with. I’m just really tired, that’s all.” Elena didn’t expect Ele to believe her, but she also didn’t care.

  “Ah, well at least you finally admit that your mind is blank,” Ele joked, despite his promise, “maybe you’ll finally admit that I know what I’m talking about then. You’ll feel better after a shower and something to eat, you must be famished-”

  “Can you please just go away Ele?” Elena interrupted quietly. “I want to be alone right now.” Ele’s footsteps were silent, but she somehow knew that he had left, slipping out of a door or wall to leave her in peace. Sunbeams slipped through her window, and Elena watched the motes of dust floating through them, staring without seeing.

  In her mind’s eye the scenes replayed themselves with perfect clarity, mixed with the sensations that flashed across her just as strong as when they’d first happened. Her stomach fluttered with the panic of anticipating a night of being tortured or worse. Her heart wrenched with the feeling of nauseating horror and shameful relief of seeing the bloom of blood spurt from Slug’s throat. Her ears tingled with Fran’s broken pleading as she was ripped away from reality. Elena hadn’t seen Erik’s death, so she didn’t think it was fair that it played through her head as well, the image of Garnet’s unconcerned smile as he stabbed the Rhetorguard over and over and over again.

  And all of it is your fault, a voice whispered in her head, a voice that for some reason sounded like her mothers’. If you had reported Erik to the Guardhouse he would’ve lost his job, but at least he would’ve still been alive. Slug and Fran wouldn’t be dead right now if it weren’t for you. If you had been a little smarter about Cross’ bolts, none of this would’ve happened in the first place.

  The door to her room opened behind her, but she didn’t care enough to turn. Strong arms grabbed her shoulders, gently but firmly turning her over. Elena screamed, flailing and kicking, trying to find purchase on her attacker with her nails, but they held her firm, and the panic rose in her stomach and threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Elena, calm down, sub astra it’s just me, calm down little Fabera,” Niccolo said in soothing tones, but Elena couldn’t calm down, not when he was grabbing her like that, and her breath came out in short gasps. He let go of her arm, and she scrambled away. Behind Niccolo, Ele and Nicci stood at the doorway with twin expressions of concern as she slowly began to calm, focusing on breathing deeply.

  “I said I wanted to be left alone,” Elena tried for ‘indignant’, but could only manage ‘annoyed’.

  “I know you do, Elena, and I wish I could leave you to your space,” Niccolo said with concern, “but we can’t let you. I’m sorry. Go in and shower, and then we’ll go get some food in your belly.”

  Elena glared at Niccolo, for once able to ignore the scent of leather and violets. When he didn’t seem to be affected she shot another glare over his shoulder at Ele. If they were really her friends they would leave her alone when she as
ked them to.

  “I mean it, Elena, either you go in there and wash or I’ll drag you in there and wash you myself.”

  At one point the idea of Niccolo washing her would’ve made her blush from head to toe, but now it just created a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach. Elena curled her hands into fists, but stood and made her way into the water closet.

  ***

  The shower didn’t make her feel any better, but it did make her feel cleaner. Niccolo and Ele led the way into the kitchens, and she followed with a glower. She hesitated at the doorway. It was stupid, she knew, but a part of her expected to still see Slug’s body splayed out on the ground, the blood-spatters and crying Echo that had in her mind irrevocably tainted the room. The cleanliness and brightness of the kitchen seemed wrong somehow, as if it was trying to pretend the ugliness never happened.

  Niccolo, Nicci, and Ele waited patiently in the kitchen for her to take a few faltering steps inside. Even beyond the oddness of the bright and clean lie, it felt strange with so few people inside it.

  “Where is Emerald?” Elena asked.

  “Rolf, he take Emerald to Guardhouse,” Cook was at the stove, mixing something in a huge pot, “he would no say why.”

  “I hope the two of them aren’t being punished for Erik and Garnet’s...” Ele trailed off, clearly unsure of what to call it.

  “Cook, we’re going to steal some food and your helper today, I hope that’s alright,” Niccolo was already grabbing some rolls from the platter on the table and transferring them to a plate.

  “Is fine. We miss having kitchen helper, but Jakob and I we handle kitchen just fine.” Cook seemed far more subdued than normal, and the effect was oddly calming on Elena’s nerves. It was right that he be subdued. Everyone should be subdued. The horror that had happened under the roof of the studio shouldn’t be so ignored and blase by everyone but her.