by I H Laking
It couldn’t be…
“Amby?”
Ambrose jumped at the touch of Felicity’s hand. He looked back at the worry on her face, and the heat that had consumed him disappeared. When he looked back to the window, the torrent was gone, replaced instead by a trickle of water, and the sight of the Empire’s northern plains.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, fine thank you. I just… what happened to the waterfall?”
“What waterfall? Amby, we need to find a way out of here.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” After a final glance at the window, Ambrose scanned the room once more. It was bare, aside from a seat that ran along the far edge. Having seen his partner brought back from his momentary distraction, Percy made his way to the seat and sat down as Ambrose and Felicity proceeded to run their hands along the walls. As he rested on the seat, Percy let out a cry.
“What is it, Percy?” Ambrose spun around.
“This isn’t a seat!” Percy was rubbing his behind furiously. “It’s covered in small spikes!”
Ambrose ducked back into the clockwork dungeon. Grabbing a torch from the wall, he made his way to where Percy was squinting in the dark, examining what he had sat on.
Closer inspection revealed a chest with multiple locks on it. The wood was a dark grain that reeked of sap and had been intricately carved to feature more foreign scenes that Ambrose couldn’t recognise. On the far right of the chest, hundreds of men in strange uniforms held halberds and swords aloft, watching over a huge chasm. On the left side of the chasm, a road of bones was carved along the bottom of the chest, leading to a huge tower that appeared to rise in spirals from the ground, like an unwound pastry scroll. Under the tower, an intricate ‘B’ had been carved, with a message below it:
Who can survive it?
“What is it, Amby?” Felicity was peering over Ambrose’s shoulder, but he could see no logic to the puzzle, or the design. It was another unknown artefact to add to the series of oddities they had witnessed that night. Ambrose tried to piece together an explanation, but as he started to speak, Felicity’s hand shot past him, and she pressed the dot at the bottom of the question mark.
Sure enough, the dot moved inwards, a click sounded, and the cliff wall swung open, revealing a rope ladder waiting to be unfurled.
Ambrose knew the urgency of their situation, but the room had captivated him. He hesitated, then steeled himself.
I’ll be back.
“Come on,” Felicity interrupted Ambrose’s hesitation. “Our host has a lot of explaining to do.”
To Ambrose’s surprise, it was Percy who led the way out, leaping towards the door as quickly as his leg would allow, and throwing the ladder dramatically over the edge.
“Hurry!” Percy shouted. “There’s still a chance to stop him!”
“Stop who?”
“Ethan!” Percy started his descent.
“Stop him from what?” Ambrose looked to Felicity.
Percy’s head popped up from beyond the cliff edge. “Have you really not realised yet, Inspector?”
“Realised what? I’ve had enough of cryptic clues for one night!” Ambrose rolled his eyes. Not you too, Percy.
“Oh, never mind!” Percy headed down the ladder at pace, and Ambrose followed Felicity as they clambered down.
By the time his feet hit the ground, Ambrose was thinking about how fresh the air was after the dungeon’s claustrophobic conditions. Percy had disappeared along the narrow cliffside path they now stood on, which ambled down to the street below.
“Get a move on, Amby!” Felicity was halfway down the path as Ambrose scrambled after her. Together, they burst through a series of thickets and onto the road. The stillness of deep midnight covered the opulent street, but Ambrose had the nagging sense that something was missing…
The carriages!
They were gone. In their place stood two drivers, Ambrose’s man smoking his pipe as he talked to the Mech driver in low mutters.
“Where’ve you two been?” the smoking driver rasped, his mood not lifted by Ambrose and Felicity’s arrival.
“Never mind that,” Ambrose jogged over, wondering what had happened to Percy, “where are the carriages?”
“Stolen!” the Mech driver said, throwing his arms up in the air. “Those men from the mansion came, said they were taking them. I offered to drive them instead, but when I asked what had happened to you, the grumpy little fellow kicked me square in the torso!”
“And he gave me this, said to give it to you if you showed.”
The Mech produced a piece of paper, neatly folded in half. Ambrose walked towards one of the street lamps that flickered nearby. With Felicity peering over his shoulder, he opened it wide. A solitary line graced the paper, written in a looping hand.
Your precious sword stolen.
Your reputation in tatters.
All hail the great Inspector Ambrose, humbled by the Unseen Hand.
As Ambrose stood looking down the empty street, the realisation finally dawned on him. The dinner outside Traville, his sister in danger, the mysterious mansion to draw their attention…
I took all of it at face value.
Before Ambrose could convert his thoughts to words, the bushes burst to life. Ambrose sprang aside as a Mech nearly bowled him over and sprinted down the road; it was Percy’s Messenger Mech, running as though all of Traville depended on it, bellowing out words that Ambrose couldn’t quite catch.
“I’m so sorry, Inspector!” Percy limped up behind him. “The Mech will get the message through.”
“I fear it’s too late, Percy.” Ambrose felt his heart falling further and further.
“Not too late, Inspector.” Percy was bent over, puffing and clutching his leg.
“How can you possibly say that?” Ambrose looked at the note. This whole time, they had been in the company of the Unseen Hand, who had done just enough to keep them distracted.
“I never even saw it coming.” Ambrose whispered into the air.
Ambrose careened into despair as everything crashed around him. With the Sword of Barnabas gone, he would never advance beyond his present post. He would be lucky to even be in the Citizens Protection Force for long.
Percy stepped up beside his senior partner. “Don’t worry. We’ll stop him.”
“Why do you still think we can stop him?” Ambrose asked.
“Because this is our town, Inspector,” said Percy with a steely resolve. “Now let’s see if these fellows left any clues in the mansion. We need to discover who was screaming, too.”
I had forgotten.
Blocking off his emotions as best he could, Ambrose joined Percy and Felicity in traipsing up the stairs to the mansion. In his now-pessimistic appraisal, the best Ambrose could bring himself to hope for was not to find a body inside.
But knowing my fortune today…
VII
The doors to the mansion were hanging half open, left ajar by the fleeing thieves. Inside, the rich tapestry of oddities was still intact, which was no surprise; the Unseen Hand had no interest in this place.
“Now to find the source of the screams,” Ambrose folded his arms as he looked towards the dozens of doors that bordered the main foyer.
“We won’t have much time until the carriage arrives,” said Percy with a glance outside.
“How about we split up?” Felicity suggested. Ambrose was about to object, but his sister’s determined look intimated that the topic wasn’t up for debate.
“I’ll go to the upper floors,” Felicity continued. “You two should check the chamber of Mechs; see if Ethan left anything behind.”
Ambrose and Percy hurriedly agreed, and headed down the tunnel to the right of the stairs. Meanwhile, Felicity had removed her heels and was bounding up the stairs two at a time.
The chamber of Mechs was as still as it had been before, save the distant sounds of Felicity shouting for any signs of life. By the time Percy joined him on the far side of the chamber, Ambrose had alrea
dy pulled the lever to reveal the hidden study once more. As the wall parted, Percy drew a sharp breath.
As soon as Ambrose stepped into the office, he understood. The plinth stood empty, devoid of the Mech that had taunted them earlier. In its place was another envelope with Ambrose’s name on it.
“Would you like me to do the honours, Inspector?” Percy gently pulled the letter from the plinth as Ambrose stood rooted to the spot.
“Why not?” Ambrose said in a quiet voice.
Paper crunched as Percy tore the envelope open and let it fall to the floor. He cleared his throat and read the letter’s contents aloud.
Dear Inspector,
If you've made it this far, you're more persistent than I thoughts. Don't worry, The Sword of Barnabas will rest well in my possession. Thank you for putting it on display so prominently - it shall make taking it a great deal easier.
Sincerely,
The Unseen Hand
P.S. Give my regards to Felicity.
Percy handed the letter to Ambrose, who read it over as he walked the room. When he reached the desk, he placed the note down on a pile of books, feeling the sting of defeat; total and utter defeat of the most intolerable kind. Ambrose didn’t even bother to look at his partner as he made his was back towards the chamber of Mechs.
“Inspector, it’s not that bad.” Percy placed a hand on Ambrose's shoulder.
“No.” Ambrose opened the door back into the chamber.
“It’s worse.”
At the far end of the chamber, the hulking Mech stood, blocking the way as it ground its fists against the floor. The room seemed to hum with expectation.
Pemberton.
Ambrose's eyes darted around the chamber and the study. With the Plinth Mech gone, there was no way out.
They really thought of everything.
Pemberton roared with rage, charging down the length of the chamber.
The battle for survival was on.
As Pemberton reached them, Ambrose and Percy rolled to either side. The Mech’s arms barely missed them as it cut through the air in a violent series of swings. Pemberton’s head oscillated quickly, trying to catch up with its scrambling prey.
With Percy barely able to get up due to his leg, Ambrose waved his arms furiously, moving down the chamber.
“Hi, over here! Come on, you horrible excuse for a Mech!”
With an appropriately enraged howl, Pemberton took the bait. The Mech thundered forward, dropping its shoulder. Waiting as long as he dared, Ambrose stared the monster down. Pemberton gave a cry as Ambrose stepped at the last second, ducking beneath the Mech’s arm once more. Despite efforts to slow its considerable momentum, the giant Mech collided with the far wall, shaking the entire house. Glass from the Mech cabinets shattered, and Ambrose edged to his left, looking back at Percy, who was on his feet and hobbling again.
“Hurry, Percy! Not much time!” Ambrose sensed the desperate frustration of his partner’s injury. As Pemberton shook off the effects of the collision, Ambrose searched for some way to defend himself. All this time, he was backing away - but now he felt the cool touch of glass behind him.
He had backed into a corner.
Swinging around, Ambrose noticed the tri-metal Mech looking back at him, still holding its plaque.
You need help.
Shout aloud and I’ll be there.
Before he gave it a second thought, Ambrose shouted out.
“Help!”
Nothing. Not even a shudder from the Mech. Pemberton was advancing, a low rumble rising from its mouth. And in that moment, Pemberton was revealed as a Shade of the most evil kind; twisted and set on destruction. Though Ambrose might have found his final threads of hope unravelling, he was instead surprised to feel his heart soaring.
The mansion’s final trick was so simple.
As Pemberton raised a fist for the final blow, Ambrose stood perfectly still and shouted the word.
“ALOUD!”
The glass behind Ambrose shattered into a thousand shards as the tri-coloured Mech somersaulted past him, catching Pemberton’s fist and turning it aside. The lumbering Mech seemed to be struggling with the blur of motion that now bounced around it. In and out the tri-coloured Mech flipped, as Pemberton tried to flick it away with a leaden fist.
Percy had arrived by Ambrose’s side. The fight before them was a mystifying mix of fast attacks and slow counters. The tri-coloured Mech spun its way up and down the room, each time landing kicks and punches that further disorientated Pemberton. The big Shade had worked itself into a rage and was swinging wildly, yet there was a sense that any moment one of Pemberton’s punches would land and break the far smaller tri-colour Mech in two.
Back and forth the two Mechs danced, a roar and a wisp of wind all that separated the tri-colour Mech from disaster. Ambrose was mesmerised by the horror and intensity of it all.
“Percy, where do you think you’re going?”
To Ambrose’s amazement, Percy was creeping towards Pemberton, whose back was turned as it battled the leaping threat in front of it.
“It’s time to end this,” Percy clutched his leg and shambled into the middle of the room.
“But you can’t…”
Ambrose stopped mid-sentence. Pemberton finally connected with the tri-colour Mech, sending it flying backwards with a massive dent in its torso. Percy had arrived behind Pemberton, and time slowed to a crawl as the Shade swung back to look at Percy, whose actions changed everything.
“YEAAAAAAARRRRRRGHHHHHH!”
The right side of Percy’s pants split apart, and from inside he produced a sword as long as his leg. The curved scimitar was as wicked as Ambrose had ever seen it, and the blade sliced Pemberton’s torso apart up the centre. The Mech’s arm’s flailed about, and as the Shade leaned forward, Percy brought a blow down across the its arm, slicing it clean off. With three more strikes, Pemberton was a mutilated torso rolling helplessly on the ground.
Now Ambrose understood why Percy had remained so calm. As the detective dropped his sword and collapsed in a heaving mess, Ambrose ran to his partner.
“I must say Percy, you never cease to amaze me.”
Ambrose picked up the sword of Barnabas. It gleamed in the gaslight.
Percy had known all along.
As relief set in, Ambrose found himself battling with new concerns. “What are we to do, Percy?” he asked. “Once Ethan realises the sword isn’t there, he’ll be on the run again. Or worse, back here to face us.” Ambrose threw a glance towards the blade and considered that Ethan's return might not go so well for him, regardless.
“Not a worry, Inspector,” said Percy, moving freely for the first time that night. “It just so happens I’ve thought of that as well. But first, we mustn’t forget the-”
As if on cue, a scream came from deeper in the mansion. As Percy and Ambrose exchanged a look, Felicity appeared in the doorway. She slid to a halt, staring at the carnage before her, and as another scream sounded, she motioned for the detectives to follow her.
“It’s coming from the third floor!”
The party pounded their way up the internal staircase, heading for the top of the north wing.
“The door!” Felicity shouted as she ran ahead.
“We’ll take care of it!” Ambrose tried to grab his sister’s hand, but it was too late. In a most unladylike moment, she dropped her shoulder and flew full-tilt into the timber. The doorframe gave way with a crack and through Felicity tumbled, taking the door with her.
Ambrose could scarcely believe what had just happened - he had majorly underestimated Felicity’s capacity to perform when the pressure was on. As he and Percy came to a skidding halt in the room, Felicity was already on her feet.
The room before them was a hoarder's paradise, piled high with crates and trinkets. The only visible piece of furniture was a bed, upon which a stout woman in a black dress stood. The woman's hands were tied behind her back and blood lay crusted around her face. A gag had been f
astened across the woman's mouth, and despite the arrival of a rescue party, she continued screaming.
“Easy, ma’am - we’re here to help.” Ambrose held out his hands and made a move to towards the bed.
Much to his surprise, Ambrose found himself dodging a kick from the lady.
“Careful!” Percy brandished the sword towards the lady, and her muffled cries grew louder.
“Put that away!” Felicity slapped the sword down. “Both of you, step back!”
Ambrose and Percy, taken aback by Felicity’s forthrightness, did as she said. Still glaring at the intruders, the lady on the bed turned her attention to Felicity.
“It’s going to be alright,” said Felicity. “Now, you know I can’t hurt you - I mean, not in this dress, at least - far too restrictive. If you’ll let me take off your gag, at least you can tell us what you know.”
The lady’s scowl remained, but after a moment, she bent down slightly, and Felicity was able to reach up and loosen the gag. It fell away from the lady’s mouth, and she proceeded to stretch her jaw before setting her face in steely resolve.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, in a thick accent that elongated her vowels and rolled her r’s.
“What do you mean?”
“Here. In this house.” The lady flicked her head toward the entrance hall. “I’ll assume from your dress that you came with him.”
“You mean Ethan?”
“Ethan? Is that what he’s calling himself now?”
Felicity gave Ambrose an unreadable look as the lady continued.
“Well, we’ll call the young one Ethan, then. He took over this house a few days ago, and I’ve been up here ever since.”
“Was that after his uncle died?” Percy asked, clearly resisting the urge to replace the sword he was carrying with his notebook.
“Uncle? Ha!” the lady snorted. “That young man has no uncle here.”
“Then how did he come to be in this house?”
The lady looked sullenly at the three people standing before her. “Help me out of these bindings and I’ll tell you what I can,” she said.