Under Clock and Key
The Thief’s Apprentice ~ Book Three
Sara C Roethle
Vulture’s Eye Publications
Copyright © 2017 by Sara C Roethle
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Note from the Author
Chapter 1
Arhyen slammed his fist against the white-painted metal door. “You can’t keep me in here forever!” he yelled, despite knowing his efforts were futile. He should never have allowed Liliana to talk him into this. Accepting aid from the London Network, the very organization he’d sworn to bring down, was just asking for trouble. That Hamlet had arranged the whole set up was only the icing on an exceedingly bitter cake.
He paced around the sterile room, scowling at the white mattress on top of a wheeled cart that served as his bed. The London Network had tended his surgery wounds, ensuring his body would not reject the new synthetic organs placed within him, sure, but it was all for naught if they wouldn’t let him leave.
It had been two weeks since he’d last seen Liliana or Ephraim. Hamlet had escorted him to the facility, though he barely remembered the journey. He’d let the apparent infection in his wounds go for too long, and had only blearily agreed to being looked at by the LN’s surgeons, lest he succumb to his maladies. A few days into his treatment, he regained awareness. At first, he’d been too weak and ill to enquire about his eventual release, but after the first five days, once he’d felt well enough to think straight, he’d begun to worry. He’d received no word from Hamlet, Liliana, or anyone.
He knew Liliana would not leave him trapped there by choice . . . would she? She’d been furious with him for refusing to seek help until he was too ill to decline, but he had finally agreed. Tears filled her eyes when Hamlet led him away to the sterile, underground surgery. Tears that said I’ll miss you and I’ll be here once you’re better. So where was she?
He stroked his stubbly chin as he glared at the door one last time, then stalked across the room, swatting angrily at the white surgical gown he’d been forced to wear, leaving his legs vulnerable to cold drafts, not to mention the hit his pride took anytime someone observed him in the garment . . . and there’d been plenty of someones, all looking him over with the uncaring eyes of surgeons and scientists, as if he were little more than an experiment gone wrong.
He plopped down on his bed, glancing at the stack of books he’d been given to occupy his time, but he’d already read them all. It didn’t matter, he was sure another surgeon, or alchemist, or lowly orderly would be along soon to poke and prod him. He’d lost count of how many vials of blood were taken, how many lights shined into his eyes, how many times he’d been asked to attempt superhuman feats . . .
The latter still eluded him.
Hazel, his long lost sister, now deceased, had kidnapped him with the intent of turning him into something like her, something similar to an automaton, but with human origins. He wasn’t sure of all that had been done to him, and any evidence had been burned along with the old farmhouse where he’d been held, but he knew he’d been given new organs, and perhaps his brain had been altered, though he wasn’t sure. He didn’t currently feel like a single-focused psychopath, and that’s what his sister had turned into after her own alterations. If it was just his organs, perhaps he’d simply function a little more efficiently now that the infection was under control.
Liliana could heal remarkably fast, run for ages without tiring, and leap over fences like a cat. Perhaps he’d get those skills, and they could all move on with their lives . . . if he was ever let out of this bloody room.
He couldn’t help but think that perhaps Codename Hamlet, or just Hamlet for short, was keeping Liliana away. He’d manipulated her in the past by pretending to be something other than a ruthless killing machine. Was he with her now, having a cup of tea and telling her Arhyen would be just fine without her?
He lifted one of the nearby books and hurled it across the room, glaring at it as it thudded against the wall then fell to the concrete floor. He needed to get out of this cursed room before it was too late. Hamlet had to be stopped at all costs.
He rose to his feet and strode across the room to resume his pounding on the door. If he couldn’t escape on his own, he’d simply use his powers of annoyance until someone became fed up enough to let him go.
Liliana took a shaky breath, then lowered her face back to the microscope, though she knew it would reveal nothing new. The scrap of paper she observed contained a vibrant blue stain, just a small sample of the liquid covering nearly every surface in the previous dwelling of the Captain of the Watch. The same Captain who had confessed to murder and conspiracy to conceal evidence roughly two weeks prior.
His confession had cleared Ephraim Godwin, one of the few men in London Liliana could trust, of his alleged crimes. Once he’d been reinstated, Ephraim’s first order of business was investigating the extent of the previous Captain’s crimes, while the Captain himself awaited trial. Ephraim had found little to arouse suspicion, except the presence of the vibrant blue liquid.
Upon first glance, Liliana had deemed it simple ink, but that arose the question, where had all the ink come from? There had been some broken glass amongst the puddles of vibrant blue, but so shattered, they’d been rendered unidentifiable. Ephraim had insisted on testing the liquid, but no longer trusted any members of the Watch, as it likely took more than just the Captain to frame him for murder. So, it had fallen to Liliana to investigate, a task she was more than willing to take on, if only to distract herself from Arhyen’s absence.
Pulling her face away from the view of the now-dry vibrant liquid beneath the microscope lens, she pushed a strand of red hair back into her bun and glanced around Arhyen’s silent apartment. She had attempted once to visit him, but Hamlet had prevented her. According to him, the London Network would gladly apprehend her for questioning, and that was something that would only cause further complications for Arhyen. Hamlet would ensure that Arhyen was released once fully recovered.
Fighting away tears, and perhaps a bit of guilt, she turned her thoughts back to the mystery before her. One of the initial tests she’d run on the liquid was the application of phenolphthalein, a weak acid that could be used to determine various properties within any unknown liquid. This particular test had revealed the presence of human cells, not just in a small sampling, but in numerous samplings of the liquid obtained from different areas of the home. So, either someone had mixed a bit of their blood into all the vibrant ink before use, or the liquid was not ink at all, but some unknown biologic compound.
A knock on the door drew her out of her thoughts. Remaining seated on the sofa, she reached across the low table toward Arhyen’s pocket watch, flipping open the gold face to reveal it was half past noon, thirty minutes before Ephraim was supposed to arrive.
Slowly, she stood, careful not to make any noise, then crept across the room toward the door. Holding up the skirts of
her long sleeved, high-collared, magenta dress, she stepped over the tripwire in the entryway, then onto a small stool to peer through the peephole in the upper portion of the door. Her shoulders slumped as she recognized the woman outside. Catherine.
She climbed down from the stool, debating whether to open the door at all. Another encounter with Arhyen’s estranged mother was the last thing she needed . . . but on the other hand, Catherine had been somewhat involved in Arhyen’s kidnapping and subsequent surgeries. Perhaps she came bearing useful information. Information that would mean Liliana should race across town to Arhyen and demand to see him, if only to deliver the invaluable news.
Shaking her head at her runaway thoughts, she stepped down from the stool, pushed it aside, then unlatched the numerous locks lining the door. She left the security chain in place, opening the door just enough to reveal her face and a sliver of her body.
Catherine waited outside patiently, dressed all in mourner’s black. Liliana could only assume her garb was out of respect for Hazel, her recently departed daughter. Her recently departed, part-automaton, psychopath daughter.
“What do you want?” Liliana demanded, feeling little pity for the woman after the way she’d treated Arhyen.
The lines on Catherine’s face deepened into a frown. Liliana hated that she could see a bit of Arhyen in her expression and in her trim build.
“Honestly,” she began, “I was hoping to ask your automaton friend for a favor, one I think he owes me after leaving me locked in that cellar for two days.”
Liliana raised her hand to her mouth, too late to disguise her gasp. Two days? She knew Hamlet had stored Catherine somewhere safe before they’d moved on to the farmhouse to find Arhyen, but she hadn’t been aware he’d neglected to release her in a timely manner, though she supposed it was likely a result of Hamlet’s grave injuries. He’d been in no shape to re-enter the city right away.
Shoving her sympathy to the back of her mind, Liliana narrowed her eyes. “You know, it is not wise to ask favors of someone who’d sooner kill you than help you.”
Catherine’s frown deepened. “I see you’re becoming more human every day, just as bitter as the rest of us.”
That gave Liliana pause. Was she more bitter now? The past two weeks had been difficult for her, worrying about Arhyen while attempting to help Ephraim with his mystery. Perhaps she’d sunk to wallowing in bitterness and self-pity once or twice.
She sighed, then forced a small smile on her face. “What is the favor you’d like to ask?”
Catherine’s gaze shifted nervously. “May I come in? I’d rather not speak out in the open.”
Liliana glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the apartment, currently hidden from Catherine’s view. Her research was strewn all about, along with a few small explosives she’d been working on, but she supposed Catherine wouldn’t know what any of it was. She’d likely just think her a slob, obsessed with vibrant blue ink and tiny glass vials.
She turned her gaze forward to look Catherine up and down. If worse came to worst, she could at least best Catherine in a physical confrontation, so there should be little to worry about. Nodding, she shut the door to slide the security chain out of its track, then reopened it to admit Catherine, who hurried in without a second glance.
Liliana grabbed her arm before she could activate the tripwire in the threshold, pulling her backward just before her boot could spring the trap.
“Careful where you walk,” Liliana advised, releasing Catherine’s arm to shut the door behind them.
Catherine stood perfectly still until Liliana stepped around her, over the tripwire, then led the way to the sofa. She’d disarmed many of the traps Arhyen had placed around the apartment before his incident, but had felt oddly guilty about disarming them all, so a few still remained.
Reaching the sofa, she gestured for Catherine to sit.
Glancing around warily, Catherine lowered her bony frame to the blue, threadbare cushions. She cast her eye across the scattered papers and microscope on the low table.
Resisting the urge to sweep everything out of sight, Liliana smoothed her skirts and stepped around the table to take a seat next to Catherine. “Now what is this favor?”
“Well,” Catherine began, “as you know, working for Hazel,” her voice cracked at the mention of her deceased daughter, “I was afforded a measure of protection,” she continued bravely. “The moment I told you and your automaton about the farmhouse, I lost everything. Not just my daughter, but my home, my livelihood, everything.”
Liliana pursed her lips before she could say something venomous. “You act as if you made a choice to help us for the greater good when you were merely attempting to save your own skin.”
“Be that as it may,” Catherine continued patiently, “you and your associate took my life from me. Now, I have nothing.”
Liliana sighed, warring with the sympathy threatening to surface. “What do you want?” she muttered.
Catherine’s lip twitched into a brief smirk, quickly disguised with a hopeful smile. “I would like to become connected to the notorious London Network. The real London Network, not the various splinter groups.”
Liliana narrowed her gaze. Various splinter groups? She knew Hazel’s group had branched away from the LN, and was somehow associated with Viola Walmsley, at least according to Hamlet. Of course, Viola and Hazel were both dead now, so there was no way of knowing for sure. How many others could still be out there?
“Why would you want that?” she asked finally.
Catherine rolled her eyes. “Of course you would ask that. You have my son to take care of you, and that detective. I have no one. London is not kind to unmarried women of my age, especially ones without estates or meaningless titles. I’ve survived thus far by making myself useful to organizations capable of providing me with coin and protection. You have left me with nothing.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Seeming suddenly nervous, Catherine flicked her eyes toward the sound. “My son?” she whispered.
Liliana searched Catherine’s face for any hint of deception. Did she truly not know Arhyen hadn’t been home for two weeks? Perhaps she really was on her own now, without any spies or henchmen to do her bidding. Perhaps she always had been.
“It’s Ephraim,” she explained, rising from the sofa.
Catherine scowled as she stood. “Then that is my cue to depart. Please think upon my request.” She withdrew a small piece of parchment from her coat pocket and offered it to Liliana. “You can find me at this address, for now. Though I imagine I’ll need to move soon.” Not waiting for a reply, she breezed past Liliana toward the door, hesitating for a split-second before stepping over the tripwire and letting herself outside.
Standing near the doorway, Ephraim watched her go silently, then quirked a questioning blond brow at Liliana.
She gestured tiredly for him to come in.
He removed his black fedora as he entered, then shut the door behind him. He’d stepped over the tripwire enough times that he didn’t hesitate, and instead strolled confidently across the room to remove his black coat, placing it on the back of the sofa along with his fedora.
Not bothering to ask permission, he circled the sofa then plopped down on a cushion, leaning forward to peer through Liliana’s microscope.
She moved toward the stove to make tea, keeping in line with their usual noontime ritual, established shortly after Arhyen agreed to allow the LN’s surgeons to care for him.
“Do you actually gain anything from observing objects so closely?” Ephraim questioned, still peering through the lens.
Liliana set the filled teapot on the stove, then glanced over her shoulder at his hunched back. “You gain everything from looking at objects so closely,” she explained. “The human eye is comparatively weak, prone to missing evidence of the utmost importance.”
Ephraim snorted, then leaned back against the sofa cushions to eye her speculatively. “One of these days I’m goin
g to read all of your detective novels, then your numerous observations won’t seem quite so smart.”
She rolled her eyes at him, then turned back to the kettle, waiting for it to whistle. Perhaps she’d quoted from one of her novels word for word, but he’d never know for sure if he never found that particular book. What she’d said had been true regardless, though the microscope hadn’t helped her in this case.
Once the water was ready she finished preparing the tea, then placed two cups on a small tray and carried it over to the low table in front of the sofa.
“Any word from Arhyen?” Ephraim inquired, lifting his tea for a sip.
Liliana frowned, then walked around the table to sit on the other end of the sofa. “I think I should go down there,” she admitted. “Hamlet cautioned that I should not draw attention to myself, but I feel I can stay away no longer. It’s been two weeks. Surely he should have been released by now?”
Ephraim nodded. “I’m still not sure at what point we began trusting Hamlet to begin with. If Arhyen hadn’t been knocking at death’s door, I would have voted we stay as far away from Hamlet as possible.”
A feeling of unease clenched Liliana’s gut. At one point, she would have agreed that trusting Hamlet was unwise. Perhaps she still did. After all, she hadn’t heard from him in a week. “He helped me save Arhyen’s life. I don’t see why he would do all that he’s done, simply to turn around and hold him hostage.”
“Perhaps he’s not the one doing the holding?” Ephraim suggested.
She took a sip of her cooling tea. “You mean the LN? Perhaps they want Arhyen for other reasons that have nothing to do with Hamlet?”
Ephraim nodded. “He has information they would like to keep secret. Few know of the synthetic emotions created by your father and Victor Ashdown.”
Under Clock and Key (The Thief's Apprentice Book 3) Page 1