Chirani’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion, but she nodded. “Well, I hope to see you again. I will search through my father’s books to see if I can find anything out about your mysterious blue liquid.”
Liliana smiled in relief. “I would appreciate that.”
With a final wave, she hurried out of the shop to meet Wilfred.
He waited just long enough for the door to shut behind her, then started walking along the streetside.
She hurried to catch up to him. “Did you follow me here?” she whispered, wondering at his sudden appearance. He hadn’t seemed a particularly bad man when she met him, but he was also a criminal. She’d put nothing past him.
He raked his meaty palm through his short, roughly-cut brown hair. “Nah. I was attending other business when I caught sight of your hair. Did the information I gave you ever pan out to anything?”
Liliana took a moment to observe him. His brow was covered in a sickly sweat, and his blue eyes darted from side to side. “Why are you so nervous?” she questioned softly, debating running off the other way.
He stopped walking and pulled her into a nearby alleyway. Reacting instantly, her fingers darted into her handbag for a dagger, but as soon as they were in the alley, he released her and stepped back.
“Sorry for that,” he muttered, glancing warily at her hand in her bag. “You never know who might be listenin’.” He walked further into the alley.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, Liliana followed.
He stopped a few paces away and waited for her to catch up. “Truth be told, I’ve been on the look out for you, or for one of the chaps you’re usually with. Something bad is brewin’, and I’m starting to worry that it might have been unwise for me to give you information.”
She frowned. “The-” she stopped herself before she could say London Network out loud. “Those people tried to kill you,” she said out loud. “You cannot be blamed for desiring retribution.”
He glanced nervously at the nearby street and its carefree people. “Retribution won’t mean nothin’ if I’m dead. Word is there’s a masked man going around the underworld, killing anyone who’s ever been involved with the LN. I should have never opened my mouth.”
Liliana’s eyes widened. Did he mean Hamlet? She quickly tried to conceal her expression, but it was too late.
Wilfred’s mouth hung open in realization. “You know something, don’t you? Something about this masked killer?”
She blinked at him, unsure what to say. She wanted to tell him he would be fine, but she couldn’t guarantee that she could find Hamlet and ask him not to kill Wilfred, and even if she could, she couldn’t guarantee that he would listen.
“I have repeated what you told me to no one,” she said instead. “As long as you told no one else, you should be fine.”
“I told plenty of people!” he hissed. “That was how your detective friend found me to begin with,” he continued in hushed tones. “I filed a report with the Watch. It’s on record!”
She took a deep breath. “Try to calm down,” she instructed. “You don’t even know if these rumors are true.”
He shook his head. “They’re true, and I’m going to be next. Your detective friend has to help me. Lock me in a jail cell for all I care.”
“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I don’t know what I can do to help you.”
Clearly in a panic, he took a step toward her.
She didn’t think he would attack, but given his size and frenzied state, she felt nervous. She had her automaton speed and strength, daggers, and smoke bombs, but she didn’t want to hurt the poor man.
“You have to help me,” he pleaded, taking another step toward her in the narrow alley.
She stepped back again and her shoulders hit the wall. She tensed, ready to run.
Wilfred took another step toward her, one massive hand outstretched, while the other reached into his coat pocket. His movements halted as something hit the side of his neck with a thwack. He blinked in confusion, lowered his arms, then slumped to the ground, a dagger protruding from the side of his throat, piercing the large artery.
Liliana raised a hand to her lips to stifle her scream. A hand touched her shoulder, causing her to jump. She peeled her gaze away from the puddle of blood slowly growing beneath Wilfred to find Hamlet had silently appeared at her side. He withdrew his hand from her shoulder at her horrified look.
“Why did you kill him?” she hissed, the first tears escaping her eyes. The poor man had been terrified. He’d only wanted help.
“He was about to attack you,” Hamlet replied simply, “and I was too far down the alley to prevent him by force.”
She glared at him through her tears. “Your hearing is just as good as mine. You heard him asking for my help.”
“Indeed,” Hamlet agreed, then looked down at Wilfred. “I also saw him reaching for the knife in his pocket.”
Liliana turned her gaze back to Wilfred in surprise. The hand he’d reached into his pocket still remained. Hamlet kicked Wilfred’s limp arm with the toe of his boot. The hand came free, and a shiny silver knife clattered from his pocket to the cobblestones.
“B-but why?” she stammered, turning her gaze back to Hamlet. “He said he was afraid the LN was after him and wanted my help. Why would he draw a knife?”
His eyes remained on Wilfred. “I’m not entirely sure. I heard him mention a masked man. Perhaps he was fishing for information on my whereabouts.”
Liliana shook her head, still not understanding. “But why?”
“Because the London Network is looking for me,” he explained. “They seem quite desperate for information at this point. They seem to think I’m planning something.”
She turned her gaze up to him. “But you are planning something.”
He inclined his head. “Yes, I am. Would you allow me to escort you home?”
Liliana looked back down at the dead body, feeling sorry for him, even though he’d been preparing to attack her, perhaps to torture her for information. Instead, he’d facilitated drawing out Hamlet who now could walk her home. She could finally ask all of her questions . . . not that he’d necessarily answer them, but it was worth a try.
Her mind made up, she nodded. “I actually have something to show you,” she admitted. “I’m hoping you might know what it is.”
Curiosity glittered in the blue eyes behind his mask, just one of many emotions an automaton like Hamlet should not feel. She wished she could ask him every burning question stored within her clockwork heart, but some, perhaps, even he could not answer.
Though she had countless questions to ask, the long silence drew out as Liliana walked by Hamlet’s side, keeping to the back streets and alleyways leading back to Arhyen’s apartment. She knew he’d been involved in the Watch Captain’s confession, so what if he didn’t want her looking into the blue liquid? Though she’d come to trust Hamlet to a degree, she still found him frightening. He was not like the humans she’d grown accustomed to. She couldn’t depend on the driving forces of compassion and conscience in his decision making.
They weren’t far off from the apartment now, which was fortunate. The sky seemed about ready to burst with either rain or snow. She could taste it on the air. Perhaps she’d just get Hamlet inside, allowing him to witness the blue stained articles strewn across the tabletop himself. Then, even if he said nothing, she could at least judge his reaction.
“You said you had something to show me?” he questioned, startling her out of her thoughts.
Their footfalls echoed lightly on the cobblestones, the sound bouncing off the nearby buildings lining either side of the narrow walkway. They seemed deafeningly loud to her as she strained her hearing to pick up any possible eavesdroppers.
“Yes,” she said finally. She could have pulled the stained piece of paper out of her handbag right then, but something compelled her not to. Perhaps she wanted to trap him in the apartment so he couldn’t just run off without answering.
&n
bsp; He didn’t comment further, and instead remained silently at her side until they reached the apartment door. She fished one of the keys out of her handbag, unlocking one set of locks, then retrieved a second key for the others. Hamlet watched on curiously like a tall, dark shadow at her side.
Soon enough she opened the door and stepped inside, instructing Hamlet to step over the tripwire as he entered. She shut the door behind him, then leaned against it, exhaling in an odd mixture of relief and apprehension.
Though it could only be around four or five in the evening, the apartment was dark. The building clouds outside provided only the barest hint of light through the curtained window.
Not seeming to notice, Hamlet stepped around the sofa to peer down at the low table. “Ah,” he began, his tone unreadable. “Now I understand.”
“S-so you recognize it?” she questioned, stepping away from the closed door.
He shrugged, the gesture minimized by his heavy black coat. “Perhaps.”
She took a shaky breath, then moved around the sofa to the opposite end of the table. She looked up to meet his shadowed gaze. “Perhaps?”
He snorted, and she imagined him smirking beneath his mask. “You are well aware that the more information you know, the more danger you are in.”
“A man just tried to stab me in an alleyway,” she joked half-heartedly. “I’m already in danger.”
He gave a slight nod, then began to pace around the table.
She quickly hopped back out of the way.
He trailed his gloved fingers across the top end of the microscope, then leaned down to riffle through a few of the stained papers. “What have you learned thus far?” he questioned, straightening as he turned to face her.
She bit her lip, unsure of how much she should say. She had a feeling he was testing her, as Ephraim often did.
“It contains human biological material,” she replied softly. “That is all I have deduced.”
“Hmph,” he replied, then turned away, pacing further around the table.
She was beginning to regret inviting him in. He obviously wasn’t going to give her any answers, and now he was just making her nervous.
He suddenly stopped and turned toward her again. “If I tell you, I cannot allow you to relay the information to Mr. Godwin.”
She frowned, caught off guard by the request. “Why ever not?”
“You are already aware of the need to prevent certain information from spreading,” he explained. “The research of Fairfax Breckinridge, for example.”
“Is this my father’s work?” she asked in surprise, gesturing down at the table.
He shook his head. “It is the London Network’s creation, actually. Part of the reason for my plan. Men need to learn that certain things should be left up to fate alone.”
She stared at him, but he didn’t seem to notice her. He seemed lost somewhere deep within his mind.
Suddenly, he seemed to snap back into awareness. “I would not research this further, if I were you.”
“Why?” she blurted without thinking. “What is your plan?”
He finished his path around the table, walking past her as if he would head toward the door. Instead, he paused and landed a hand on her shoulder. “Anyone who associates with me is currently in danger. I recommend you stay in hiding until my time is up. Just two more days.”
“But-” she began, confused by his cryptic statement.
“No buts,” he interrupted, his hand still on her shoulder. “I will return Mr. Croft to you, for what it’s worth.”
“For what it’s worth?” she asked weakly.
He sighed. “You’ll learn in time that we simply cannot be human, no matter how much we feel.”
She turned her head slightly to peer up at him. “I thought you didn’t feel,” she stated bluntly.
“I don’t,” he replied, confusion in his blue eyes. “I think, perhaps, I’ve been around too long, and I’m simply going mad.”
She inhaled sharply. She’d thought from time to time that perhaps Hamlet was entirely mad, but to hear him say so was still shocking. Wasn’t part of being mad not knowing it?
He dropped his hand from her shoulder. “Please, stay inside, Liliana.” He left her and headed toward the door.
Recovering from her surprise, she hurried to follow him. He still hadn’t answered what the blue liquid was, nor had he explained the nature of his plan. She’d learned nothing.
She reached the door just as he opened it and stepped outside. She opened her mouth to ask all her questions, but then he turned, stopping her with the pained look in his eyes. Pain he wasn’t supposed to feel.
He looked up as the first white, fluffy flakes began to fall in the dimming daylight. “I always liked the snow,” he commented softly, then turned and walked away.
Liliana stared out the open door for a long while after he left. The snow continued to fall, blanketing the outside world in white. She eyed the serene scene, Hamlet’s words lingering in her mind, reiterating nearly the same thing her father had said to her in a letter. She could never be human, no matter how much she felt.
It brought to her mind a question she didn’t want to consider, but it came forward none-the-less. If being an automaton for so long had driven Hamlet mad, was she next?
Chapter 4
Arhyen waited patiently while an older woman in a white medical coat checked over his healing incisions. Her graying hair, pulled back into a tight bun, accentuated her stern features, inviting no conversation.
A full day had passed since he had spoken to Wakefield, or anyone else for that matter. At least, he thought it had been a full day. The electric lights in his room had customarily dimmed, signaling that night had fallen, and he’d awoken as soon as they brightened, but for all he knew, they were shortening his days as a psychological tactic, breaking him down by making him think he’d been there for more days than he actually had. After all he’d learned about the LN thus far, he wouldn’t be surprised.
Returning to her wheeled metal cart, the woman lifted a small pointed mallet and began testing his reflexes. She was utterly silent throughout the checkup, just as she had been on previous visits.
He eyed the cart while she tapped the mallet against each of his knees. There didn’t appear to be much he could use upon it, and the armed guards near the door let him know with their cold gazes that thievery would not be tolerated.
He flinched as the woman suddenly jabbed him with a needle, withdrawing yet more blood.
“You know,” he groaned, “I don’t believe this vial of blood will be any different from all the others.”
“Then you apparently know nothing,” she replied, surprising him. Her gaze remained on the vial, slowly filling with crimson.
“Do go on,” he pressed.
She withdrew the needle and capped it before setting it on her little table, then she crouched to a bottom shelf on the wheeled cart and retrieved a stack of bound papers. She tossed them to him as she stood.
He was so surprised he almost didn’t manage to catch them. He looked down at the neatly printed pages, then back up at the woman.
“I’m told that we are now sharing information with you, though I do not know why,” she explained. “Acquaint yourself with the materials. Captain Wakefield will visit you tomorrow morning.”
With that, she pushed her little cart out of the room, followed by the two guards.
He stared at the door as it shut behind them. Had his plan actually worked? He’d only been throwing out ideas to keep Wakefield talking, but apparently something had stuck. He wasn’t free yet, but if they were sharing information with him, it was a start.
He looked down at the bound packet of papers in his hand, his eye immediately drawn to his name printed in bold letters across the top.
He sighed. Perhaps he’d gotten his hopes up too soon, and they were simply showing him all the information they’d gathered on him.
Not expecting much, he turned to the next page. He
skimmed down through the text, not understanding half of what he was reading, but it soon became clear that he was holding not his criminal case file, but his medical file. Listed within were all of the operations he’d undergone, and all the LN had done to stabilize him.
He felt ill as he scanned through to the next page. Were any of his organs truly his anymore? Hazel hadn’t been careful about what she did to him.
Unable to read the gory details, he flipped to the next page, finding the notes covering his ongoing status: blood and reflex tests, physical observations, everything. Intrigued by what his examiner had alluded to about his blood not being the same blood every time it was drawn, he honed in on those results, but they were not written in terminology he understood. He could, however, see that the results had changed over time. What could it mean? Was his body still changing as a result of Hazel’s experimentations?
He continued to flip through the pages, but half of it was gibberish to him, and the other half he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He placed the packet on his bedside table, then slumped back onto his pillow to stare at the ceiling. His blood was changing, but why? Would there be other physical changes soon to come?
His arms erupted in goosebumps as he thought back to Hazel’s madness. Did the same fate await him? If she’d done similar things to him as what had been done to her, it stood to reason that he’d end up in the same place.
He rolled onto his side, then snatched the packet of papers from the small table, determined to make sense of them. He hated to admit it, but perhaps he shouldn’t escape the LN right away, as much as he wanted to. They might very well be the only ones who could save him, and should things go awry, he knew they would not hesitate to put an end to him.
A grim thought, but sometimes grim thoughts were necessary, especially when one had potentially been made into a monster.
Under Clock and Key (The Thief's Apprentice Book 3) Page 4