The Clockwork Dagger

by Beth Cato

Octavia bit her lip. Perhaps Taney hadn’t been left certain of her choice after all. Another man entered and drove a tall spike into the ground. She heard the metallic rustle of other guards hovering just outside. Trapped. Fighting back would be futile. Despair clogged her throat as Viola was motioned to sit and her wrists were chained to the spike, a key clicking in the lock. Then it was Octavia’s turn. She sat, her back against Viola’s back, and glared at the guard. His expression was apologetic, his touch on her skin brief.

  “Can you set the branch on my lap?” she asked.

  “Certainly, m’lady.” He obliged and backed out of the tent.

  Octavia jostled the chain. “Viola, I don’t suppose your literary research has taught you how to pick locks while your hands are behind your back?”

  “I write about characters who do such, but that hardly means I’m capable of such brilliant escapes.”

  Octavia stared at the leafless branch resting against her thighs. Even through layers of cloth, she could sense its thrum and warmth, hear the relentless song of its ache to grow again.“Our escape would need to be especially brilliant, considering the number of armed men and the five infernals.”

  “Five?” She felt Viola wrest away as she tried to turn and look at her. “Five infernals together? My God. That must be all the living infernals in their army. I think Caskentia only numbers a dozen since the last war.”

  “Ten, last I heard.” Octavia took a deep breath. “Escape seems impossible, but we have to try. Death is a kinder choice than what these Wasters are offering even if . . . even if it means I never see the Tree with my own eyes.”

  “Then you are not truly considering . . . ?”

  “You know me, Viola.”

  “I thought I knew Nelly.” Her voice was small. “You notice, they didn’t even mention the vault? All these years, I’ve been so dreadfully afraid . . .”

  “They have the Tree.”

  “Yes. Yes. Such things should not be trusted to any man’s hands.”

  Octavia agreed with the sentiment, but at the same time she basked in the weight of the branch upon her lap. She closed her eyes and took in a long, slow breath. She yearned for the Lady, for the sight familiar in her mind. Likely all she would ever have.

  The massive form of the Tree filled her thoughts. The canopy of ordinary trees lay a mile below the topmost branches, like a carpet of grass beneath an oak. She breathed in, tasting the mustiness of the true branch on her lap. A tear traced a meandering path down her cheek.

  “Lady,” she whispered. “Be with us. We need you. These men . . . they commit acts against you and believe they are justified by their cause. All seems so hopeless. Alonzo . . .” Her throat tightened. “Please let him be alive. Please let him help us and not suffer in his efforts. Be with the rest of the airship’s crew and aid them, even without me physically present as your agent. As your roots delve through the earth for a drink of water, guide us to an outlet of escape, to a life free of the terrible choices they have presented us today. Show us a way that means life for both the Waste—the Dallows—and Caskentia. Peace. Please, let there be a way of peace.”

  Octavia bowed her head, chin almost resting on her chest. The Tree in her mind swayed as if considering and she felt the chill of a breeze against her cheeks. She lifted her head, basking. The trail of her tear dried on her skin. A strange chirping sound caused her eyes to open.

  At the back of the tent, just feet away, a gremlin had crawled between the fabric and the ground. It wriggled to stand erect and shook out its wings. Something metallic rattled and drew her eye to a bent fork that adorned the base of its wing.

  “Leaf,” Octavia whispered.

  CHAPTER 21

  This was impossible. Absolutely impossible. But as the gremlin leaped into the air and flapped over to her feet, the grin on the creature’s strange little face left no doubt that what she saw was quite real.

  “What was that?” asked Viola, trying to crane around again.

  “Leaf. Our gremlin. Oh, little one, you’re in so much danger here!” At her scolding tone, Leaf’s ears wobbled.

  Viola forced her body to pivot to one side, her hands still firmly restrained against Octavia’s. “Is it . . . ? Oh, goodness! Can it possibly be our gremlin? What’s on his arm?”

  “Keep your voice low, Viola. Please. It’s a gift I gave him before freeing him. This is our Leaf, no doubt.”

  “You named him.” Viola’s chuckle was dry. “I shouldn’t be surprised! But however did he get here? You released him before we reached Leffen, did you not?”

  “Yes.” Leaf gracefully sprang into her lap and landed on her thighs, right before the branch. His black eyes widened and his head tilted to each side, a mechanical movement like that of a curious owl, but he did not reach forward to touch the artifact. Instead, his attitude seemed . . . reverential. His small hands clasped at his chest, wings extending past his little hips as he looked between the branch and Octavia.

  His timing cannot be an accident.

  “Leaf, look at our chains. Can you set us free?”

  Leaf’s ears swiveled to attention as she rattled the chain, and he hopped from her lap. His touch was feathery soft against Octavia’s bared wrist, and then he grabbed the chain. With him so close, she flinched at the split-second flash of magic as he touched the metal. There was the distinct clink of a lock and the weight on her arms lightened.

  Oh, bless him. She caught the chain with her fingers before it struck the dirt with any noise. Upon setting down the chain, her hands immediately went to the branch. Its song had been incessant but now it seemed to flare.

  “Growmegrowmegrowme.”

  Gunshots punctured the air along with yells and the roar of surging fire. For a half second Octavia stood there, paralyzed in horror.

  “Alonzo.” Octavia said his name as a breath. Here. Now. This is our chance. She turned, branch gripped in her hand, her arm throbbing with the intense need to bloodlet. Leaf pried apart Viola’s lock. Octavia grabbed the scissors from her pocket. Small as they were, they were the best weapon at hand.

  “Grab the woman!” yelled one of the Wasters.

  No. Lady, no. She forced her legs to work, heading to the front of the tent as if to fend off their attackers as Viola was freed. Fear lay against her chest like a leaden vest. If we’re trapped by the men with their guns and fire, Alonzo will not give up. He’ll suffer the same fate as the boy. Limp. Bleeding. Dead.

  The branch screamed and writhed in her grip. “Growme!Growme!Growme! Waterme!Waterme!Waterme!”

  The dead child and his message from the Lady. The pampria Octavia grew in the swamp. Pieces slipped together in her mind.

  “I can water you,” she whispered to the branch. Sparing no time to unwrap the bandage on her forearm, she slashed the open scissor blade across her thumb and pressed flesh to the branch.

  It screamed in a tone that could only be described as ecstasy.

  Octavia stabbed the branch into the ground before the tent flap. “Now grow.”

  The bare twigs quivered, and then buds began to form. Tight green ovals emerged along the limb. It grew, shooting five feet upward in a single breath. Cracks in the earth radiated outward as the ground trembled. Viola’s chains clattered to the ground.

  The roof of the tent was ripped open. Octavia staggered backward, catching Viola’s arm and dragging her away. The branch expanded in height, zooming past Octavia’s head, out of the roof and ever upward. Thick branches sprouted all around and grew as they traveled toward the heavens.

  This isn’t the tranquillity of the Lady I know. This is . . . something more. Something incomprehensible.

  Mrs. Stout had mentioned the powerful miasma that surrounded the artifacts in the vault, and now Octavia could taste that heady, electric power against her tongue.

  She hopped back as another branch nearly snared her. The twigs at its end extended like a hand and waved as it passed her face. The tent shuddered and fell apart, revealing the chaos of battle bey
ond. Several men stood on the other side of the tree, guns in hand as they stared upward with slack jaws.

  “Growgrowgrowgrow,” The tree hummed, its rhythm content.

  “Oh my God,” said Viola with a gasp.

  Despite Octavia’s terror, she understood that this was the Lady. She could . . . trust the Lady. She had to trust her.

  “Viola, sit on a branch and rise with it. The tree will protect you.”

  Viola’s jaw dropped. “Go up? I can’t! The tree, this power. This is even more than—”

  “Don’t question me, just go!” Octavia grabbed Viola’s hand and thrust her forward. The sight of the women seemed to encourage the men to approach, even with the massive tree in their way. Something welled and pulsed beneath the lichen on the bark, and a vine emerged. It whipped out, past the flattened front of the tent, and slapped the two nearest men across the face. They flew backward, toppling the others like ninepins. Octavia shoved Viola to sit astride on a branch. Her thick knees jutted out, wiggling for a secure hold. Leaf leaped onto the visible bloomer ruffles at Viola’s thigh and chirped encouragement to Octavia. As Viola rose past Octavia, more vines emerged, but these slinked like snakes to wrap around Viola and hold her in place. Octavia had one final glance of Viola’s face, pale and wide-eyed, and then the woman vanished into the thickness of the canopy above.

  And it was indeed a thickness.

  The tree must have extended at least several hundred feet in the air, far surpassing the nearby heaps of black slag. The air was ripe with the smell of spring growth and freshly turned earth. The shadow of its canopy was deep and black, and Octavia shivered at the sudden drop in temperature. The trunk itself grew in roundness, its circumference well over twenty feet. More of the approaching men were whipped back by vines, while others inched toward Octavia. One of the vines drifted to her eye level and beckoned like a hand.

  Nervous terror filled her stomach again. This is the Lady. There is nothing to fear. “I know it’ll be safe up there,” Octavia said to the vine, her voice quivering. “But I can’t retreat. I must find Alonzo.”

  The vine gripped her by a wrist and tugged her forward, almost jerking her off her feet.

  “No!” She slapped the vine away. It shuddered and lashed at her again, coiling around her arm to the elbow. She jerked back. The vine whined like a spoiled child. Branches emerged from the still-expanding trunk, twigs stroking her as if to grab hold as well.

  “I can’t go up there, I can’t! Alonzo needs me! I’ve had to walk away from too many people. I will not retreat now!”

  Octavia switched the scissors to her left and slashed at the vine. The open blades parted the green tendril from a growing twig. Free, Octavia flailed backward, striking the ground. The breath gushed from her lungs. Leaves fluttered around her. The vine around her arm shriveled and fell to dust.

  Horror froze her for a second. She looked at the tree, terrified that the entire thing would disintegrate in the same way, but still it grew.

  “Lady, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She scrambled to her feet. Leaves scattered across the ground—full, green leaves. Taney had described them as profound poison, but everything she had ever read described them as possessing a power to bring back those on the boundary between life and death. Octavia didn’t have gloves, or possess the time to dawdle. She grabbed a handful of leaves just as another vine began to wave her way.

  “Lady, no. No.” She motioned it back. “I’ll keep fighting if I must, but I will not hide.”

  The vine stopped, as if considering, and slinked back toward the trunk, dejected.

  The nearby crack of a gunshot forced Octavia to the ground. More men attempted to approach; more vines unfurled. Leery of the violent greenery, she took advantage of the deep shade and crawled on her belly away from the camp, going toward the shelter of other—more normal—trees.

  Once there, she scrambled behind a trunk and crouched down to get her bearings. The growing tree dominated the camp, the hills, even dwarfing the haze-enshrouded Giant in the background. Most of the fighting seemed to be clustered around the main tent, where the men had formed a protective ring. Several Wasters sprawled on the ground. Those who were shooting aimed north, toward the path Octavia and Viola had taken the night before.

  How did Alonzo catch up so quickly? She rubbed her arm where the vine had grabbed her, terrified at her active defiance of the Lady, yet resolute. Where is he?

  Her eyes searched the tree line and the ridge of a black hill. Several of the Wasters’ horses were tethered there; one thrashed on the ground. Sympathy welled in her chest and she uttered a prayer to the Lady to ease its pain. Thinking of the Lady, she remembered the leaves in her hand.

  She counted five of them, each the length of her palm and an inch in width. The color was the vibrant green of spring grass. A deep depression extended upward from the stem. The line and the size reminded her of a human tongue. “Look to the leaves.” She sucked in a breath. She had no idea that the Lady’s attributes included precognition.

  Octavia glanced at the massive tree. I could be up there, harvesting enough leaves to revive an army.

  Instead, she shoved what she had into an apron pocket and looked to where Alonzo must be sheltering.

  The space between trees was fully exposed to the Wasters. The glistening white of her garment, already shedding its layer of dust, would leave no doubt as to who she was.

  She lay flat on the ground and crawled forward, her focus on another cluster of trees not far from the horses. A shot whistled overhead, another thudding into the dirt not far from her legs. Aiming to disable me, not kill. Their heartfelt apologies would follow, I’m sure.

  She tried to press herself impossibly lower into the hardness of the ground. Dust stung her nostrils and she swallowed down the urge to cough. A dark figure was behind the trees ahead. Octavia crawled faster, the wail of blood beckoning. A cold sensation crept down her spine. Alonzo was hurt—no, not Alonzo. The song wasn’t his, but—

  “Eh, the medician! Good to see you, miss.”

  She proceeded into the shelter of the trees. Vincan sat, massive legs sprawled out, a rifle across his lap, a Gadsden holstered at the waist. In an instant she took in his two bullet wounds, one to the shoulder and one to the thigh. The thigh wound was close to the femoral artery and wept blood into a screaming puddle.

  “Vincan! Lie down so I can form a circle.”

  He glowered. His pale skin showed deep bruises on his face, complete with a purple halo around an eye. “Bandage it ’n I’ll be fine. Gots to keep up fire. Alonzo was circling round, trying to get into that tent. Not sure if he saw you and the Stout woman. By Allendia’s ghost, how’d you make a tree like that?”

  “You’re losing too much blood. Lie down!”

  “Medicians. Always bossy,” he muttered. The Wasters opened fire again, some shots aimed toward them, others pinging elsewhere. A man screamed. Vincan turned and raised the rifle to his shoulder.

  “There are five infernals,” she said.

  “Three. Took out t’ first two who showed flame. Infernals.” He spat a viscous wad of spittle into the dirt, then fired. One bullet struck, a man groaning in the distance. Vincan turned and set the gun on the ground. “Getting cold, miss.”

  “It’s the blood loss. Stretch out here, behind the bushes. Is there anyone else here on our side?”

  “Just us. We’s all that could squeeze into that courier buzzer. Some woman in Leffen, Alonzo said, she paid the buzzer to play guard all the way to Mercia. Came round, and we asked to borrow it.”

  “Asked to borrow it. I can imagine how that went. Pardon me.” She reached into her dress and used her grimy fingernails to rip the hastily done threads of her brassiere. The scent of the mingled herbs welled in her nostrils and renewed her resolve. She pulled out a conservative scoop of honeyflower, wincing at the contamination of pampria leaves and unsure how it would impact the circle.

  Well, the Lady has provided thus far, so she must certainly under
stand.

  Unless I have upset her plans by defying that vine.

  Vincan was a massive man, and Octavia did her best to encompass him with the thinnest possible of lines, keenly aware that the Wasters would approach if it took too long for him to return fire. “What happened on the ship?”

  Vincan’s face was pale even by his standards, his clothing drenched by sweat and blood. “They drove us back into the crew berths ’n blockaded the door with tables and chairs. Two of the crew shot, the captain banged about a bit, ’nother man stabbed, boy slit ’cross the neck but well’s can be expected.”

  She completed the circle. Heat immediately flared below her hand; the circle had been activated, even without her touching the honeyflower on the ground. The Lady is here. Tears of relief warmed her eyes. Vincan’s readiness to be healed lapped against her skin like warm water.

  Another song burbled close by, the notes erratic with injury, but more than that, there was heat.

  “Vincan, is the Gadsden loaded?” she whispered, already reaching for his waist.

  “Aye. Five bullets.”

  She brought up the pistol and pivoted on her heel just in time to see a shadow just on the other side of the bushes.

  Octavia fired.

  The jolt almost caused her to commit the ultimate beginner’s error and drop the gun, but she was no beginner—though it had been years since she’d practiced. I shot someone. Oh Lady, I shot someone.

  Close as she was, she hadn’t missed. The infernal had been knocked far enough away that she could scarcely tell he was there.

  “Percival!” The voice was bold and commanding. Taney. “We have your servant.”

  Octavia dove forward and peered through the bushes, anxiety driving her heart. Mr. Drury had Alonzo on the ground, a gun to his head. He still wore the leather jacket, but now the woolly collar was stained with red.

  “Vincan, get her out of here!” yelled Alonzo, his words slurred. The shade of his skin almost hid the puffiness of his cheek at this distance.

  “Miss Leander! I require your help,” called Mr. Drury. “Lanskay is injured, just feet away from your location. He’s my blood brother. Save him.”