Under Clock and Key (The Thief's Apprentice Book 3)

by Sara C. Roethle

  Panting heavily, she looked up at him. Was he actually being facetious at a time like this? The warmth that she’d built up during the climb was beginning to wear off as the chill wind hit her clothes, making her tired.

  She struggled to her feet and removed her cap, cringing as her wet hair slithered down her neck. “No poison,” she breathed. “Just a final plea to not finish whatever you’re doing. If you do, the London Network will come after Arhyen and everyone he knows.”

  Hamlet’s shoulders slumped as he sighed. “I really wish he would have just stayed put. He could have escaped when my associates attacked the facility where he was being held earlier today. Instead, he had to go and make a deal with the devil.”

  Liliana’s stomach turned. Would it have really been that simple? No. Nothing about this could have ever been simple. Even if Arhyen had escaped during that time, she’d likely still be up on this roof with Hamlet, begging him not to go through with his plan.

  “Haven’t you proven your point enough?” she began anew. “Surely the London Network has paid for their crimes against you.”

  “And what of their crimes against you, my dear?” he countered, beginning to pace along the rooftop. He paused and turned his gaze back to her. “Do you feel they have paid for those?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “The LN never did anything to me. You were the one who killed my father, and it was Arhyen’s sister who abducted him and cut him open, not the London Network.”

  “Do you still not understand?” he questioned, whirling on her with sudden intensity. “All of these things began with the London Network, and it will all end with them too. I never should have been created.”

  “Then I suppose you feel the same about me?” she questioned, trying to remain calm. “Will you kill me too?”

  He chuckled, seeming to slip back into his normally relaxed demeanor. “No, my dear. I have grown . . . attached to your existence, just as I’ve grown attached to mine. It never should have happened. I was never supposed to care if I lived or died.” He tilted his head again as he observed her. “I was never supposed to care if you lived or died.”

  She took a step toward him. “Then let us both live. Let us leave this place before something horrible happens.”

  “Horrible things have already happened,” he muttered, turning his gaze toward the distant sound of shouting. He turned back to her. “London will not be quiet after this. The balance of power has shifted. I’m here to ensure that those in power previously never rise to the top again.”

  Liliana glanced about nervously, wondering just how Hamlet intended to prevent that rise.

  Observing her, he laughed. “Alright, alright. The very least I can do is sate your curiosity.” Signaling for her to follow, he turned away and began walking across the roof.

  She stared at his back in shock. Was he really going to divulge his final plan when she was there to stop it? Perhaps he really had gone mad, but she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity.

  She carefully watched her steps as Hamlet led her across the roof. She briefly wondered if she could just push him off the edge, but knew, just like with the poison, she wouldn’t be able to go through with it. He was leading her toward what appeared to be a large metal box mounted in the center of the roof, though it was too dark for her to make out any details. He stopped in front of it, then waited for her to join him.

  “This is my grand finale,” he explained, gesturing toward the box with a black gloved hand as she approached him.

  She gazed at the contraption. It was about her height, and twice as wide. She had no idea how he’d gotten it onto the roof, but she supposed it didn’t matter. It was here now.

  “What does it do?” she asked.

  Hamlet patted the top of the contraption lovingly. “The center of the cube contains a large amount of one of your father’s synthetic emotions. Below the vestibule are several sets of pipes leading down into different rooms of the palace.”

  “So it’s the same thing you did earlier?” she asked, confused. “I saw the people in the streets affected by the emotions. It was frightening, but the effects wore off.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, their emotions wore off because the Advector Serum was used. This contraption contains a far different serum.”

  She glanced at the cube again. “Wh-what does it do?” she stammered.

  “This serum is permanent,” he explained. “It will fill all within and surrounding the palace with sadness and despair. They will be forced to feel the suffering they have caused for others, and there will be no escape.”

  Liliana took a step back. Could it be possible? Could inhaling a chemical cause someone to sink into despair forever?

  “They’ll go mad,” she gasped. “They’ll kill themselves.”

  Her attention was drawn toward the front of the palace as those wielding torches began to attack the guards. Screams of rage and grunts of pain rang out across the cool night air.

  She sensed Hamlet’s presence at her back. “Yes they will,” he replied coldly. “They all will.”

  Something dangled beside her shoulder. She looked away from the fighting men to see a cylindrical, black mask-like object hanging from multiple black straps. Hamlet extended his gloved hand, offering her the object.

  “Only you and I will be safe,” he explained.

  She stared at the contraption, then glanced back at Hamlet and gasped. He had removed his mask to reveal his scarred face. Rivulets of skin ran down his cheeks and chin, narrowly missing his nose and mouth. His eyes were also whole, though scars dripped down either side of his brows.

  He lifted another object like the one he offered her, and demonstrated by placing the cylinder over his mouth and nose before pulling the straps back over his head.

  He once again offered her the other mask. “You’ll want to put that on, unless you’d like to kill yourself with all the others.”

  She stared up at him in disbelief. “You knew I’d come,” she accused, her voice barely above a whisper. “You knew I’d come here to stop you, perhaps to kill you. I don’t understand why you would bring me a mask.”

  He leaned his tall frame forward until they were face-to-face. She gulped at the close view of his scars, and couldn’t help her sympathy. Tears threatened her eyes.

  “You are a victim of their actions,” he explained, ignoring her tears as they began to spill over. “I do not wish to harm the victims.”

  “Well you’re about to!” she pointed down to the men fighting below, unable to hear her over their own shouts.

  She stepped back out of reach, then swatted at something in front of her face. She continued trying to clear her vision, then realized in her panic that it was snowing. As a sudden thought dawned, she glanced at the synthetic emotion contraption over her shoulder, wondering if the snow would eventually freeze the liquids within.

  “Do you think I’ve not prepared for all circumstances?” Hamlet asked, as if reading her mind. He once again extended the mask to her.

  She took another step back. “What if I refuse to wear the mask? What then? Will you sacrifice me along with all the others?”

  “I could force the mask upon you,” he suggested.

  She took another step back, searching her mind for another option. She took one more step, and the heel of her boot hit the edge of the roof, slick with falling snow. She nearly stumbled, but managed to right herself.

  Hamlet tilted his scarred face in thought, looking frightening and foreign in his odd mask.

  She glanced behind her at the three-story fall. She could survive a lot of damage, but could she survive that?

  “If you jump,” he began calmly, “then I most surely will follow through with my plan.”

  She glanced down again, then back to him. “Not if you promise not to.” She raised a brow at him. “You are a man of your word, are you not?”

  “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  She shifted her other foot back so that both heels were
balancing on the edge of the roof. “I mean that if I jump, I don’t think you’re fast enough to save me. So either promise me right now that you won’t use that contraption, or we’ll see if I can survive a three-story fall.”

  He began to move forward, but she stopped him by moving one heel further off the edge of the roof.

  “One more step, and I’ll jump,” she threatened.

  The snow was beginning to pick up, blurring him slightly in her vision.

  “Liliana,” he began. “Though I do not want to see you die, you will not stop me. If you must go down with the others, then so be it. I’d rather see you broken on the ground, than mad with despair.”

  Her breath hitched. It wasn’t going to work. If she fell, it wouldn’t stop him.

  “Liliana!” a voice called from below.

  Her heart fell in her chest. She’d know that voice anywhere. She turned to pick him out of the crowd below, but her heel caught and she stumbled. Suddenly she was airborne, falling away from the roof into the cool night.

  “No!” Arhyen screamed. He’d been such a fool to call out to her. He’d just been caught off guard when he recognized her shape on the rooftop. He’d reacted without thinking.

  He watched in horror as she stumbled, then fell. His heart stopped for several seconds, then a dark shape darted from above and caught her. They hung in mid-motion for a brief moment before dropping to the ground.

  Arhyen’s hands flexed around the bars of the gates as he glanced toward the guards. The angry mob had caught up with him as he’d been circling the perimeter, attempting to find an unguarded way into the palace. He was glad for them now, as they created the distraction he needed to scale the tall gates unhindered. He quickly scurried over, then dropped to the grassy ground on the other side, nearly slipping on the ice forming there. He peered toward the palace, barely able to see through the ever-thickening falling snow, but he thought he saw a lump on the ground near the palace wall.

  “There was someone on the roof!” one of the guards shouted from behind him.

  Arhyen raced forward on the slippery grass. They must have seen Liliana fall. He had to reach her first.

  He skidded to a halt near the shape on the ground. Sweat dripped down his temples and he was barely able to breathe. He crouched beside Liliana’s still form. Whoever had fallen with her was nowhere to be seen.

  Unsure if she was alive or dead, he gathered her into his arms. He chose to believe she was alive, for it was the only way he could go on. Her body was frighteningly limp, and her clothes damp. He wondered for a moment why she was wet, then it clicked. She must have swam up to the palace, then snuck in through the back, though he had no idea how she’d made it up on the roof. There was no time to think about it now, she’d at least given him a way to escape.

  With her secured in his arms, he raced the best he could across the palace grounds toward the lake. Several of the guards fighting off the angry mob branched away from the group, shouting about getting up on the roof.

  He glanced over his shoulder to see if they pursued him, but the heavy snowfall obscured them from his sight. Hopefully it would hide his escape.

  Reaching the back of the grounds, he groaned, looking up at another tall fence barring him from the waterway. As a normal man, he would never make it over the fence carrying her, and was unsure if he could now, but he had to try.

  He hoisted her up, draping her over his shoulder. He clamped one arm around her thighs, securing them against his chest, then he began to climb.

  The climb seemed to take forever, and the snow made the bars slick beneath his bare hands. He feared the guards would be upon them any moment, and there would be no way to explain why Liliana had fallen from the roof, nor how he’d so quickly scaled the gates to rescue her.

  By the time he reached the top, he was shaking from the cold and exertion. It was all he could do to lower himself on the other side, clinging tightly to Liliana as he loosened his grip on the fence and tumbled to the snowy bank below. He wrapped his body around Liliana to absorb the impact of the fall, losing his breath as they hit.

  “Get up,” a familiar voice hissed.

  Still holding on tight to Liliana’s limp body, Arhyen opened his eyes, thinking perhaps he had died climbing the gates, and now was stuck in an odd dream as his soul left his body.

  “Get up,” Ephraim hissed again, crouching down to grab hold of Arhyen’s free arm. He helped him to his feet, then took Liliana from him as she began to slip from his shoulder.

  “How did you find us?” Arhyen asked blearily as he stumbled after Ephraim.

  “I arrived just as the mob approached the palace,” he explained. He bumped Liliana more securely over his shoulder, hurrying toward a nearby boat. “I didn’t see you, nor did I see Liliana, so I figured I may as well use the distraction to get into the palace and stop Hamlet. I paddled across the lake, and had just reached the shore when I saw you drop from the gate.”

  They reached the small rowboat Ephraim had pulled up onto the sandy bank. At Ephraim’s instruction, Arhyen pushed the boat into the water, then held it steady as Ephraim gently lowered Liliana into the vessel. Ephraim climbed in next, taking up an oar as Arhyen pushed the boat further into the water and hopped in. He took up the second oar and began to paddle in rhythm with Ephraim. The long lake spanned far away from the palace. If they could reach the far side unseen, they could easily disappear into the night. Hopefully the guards would be too busy inspecting the roof and fending off the mob to notice their departure.

  Paddling furiously, Arhyen shivered, unable to look down at Liliana lying motionlessly beside him. Part of him knew she must be dead after such a fall, but he simply could not accept it. He’d seen someone else fall with her, presumably Hamlet, yet he’d disappeared. If he could survive the fall, then so could Liliana.

  They paddled onward as the snow continued to drift around them, and began to stick on the damp surfaces of the boat, twinkling in the moonlight. The mixture of snow and soft light made everything glisten, once again causing Arhyen to feel as if he was in some sort of dream.

  When it was clear they were not followed, he put down his oar and moved forward to kneel beside Liliana. He gathered her limp body in his arms.

  “Is she . . . ” Ephraim trailed off, remaining seated.

  “No,” Arhyen snapped, though he knew it was a lie.

  He held Liliana close, listening for her breath, her heartbeat, or any other sign that she still lived. Nothing presented itself.

  Tears streamed down his face. This was all his fault. He’d tried to make her leave the city. He’d tried to make her go home. He should have known all along to keep her by his side where she belonged.

  He kissed her cold, still face over and over, dripping tears onto her pale skin. Snow began to gather in her red hair, and he wiped it away. His thoughts distantly echoed that she’d lost her black cap somewhere, though the thought was irrelevant. He held her tight as the world seemed to crumble around him.

  His mind flitted to vengeance, then to Hamlet’s plan, but none of it seemed to matter. It didn’t matter what he did if Liliana would no longer be by his side. London could burn to the ground for all he cared. He’d gladly burn it himself.

  Suddenly her body convulsed in his arms. At first he thought it must be some sort of trick, or that the boat had lurched in the water, then her body convulsed again.

  Unsure what was happening, he lowered her back to the floor of the boat. She lurched again, then her chest rose as she sucked in a gasping breath.

  Ephraim cursed behind him in shock, though Arhyen barely heard. With another ragged breath, Liliana’s eyes fluttered open.

  He wasn’t sure if he was crying or laughing as he leaned forward and pushed her damp, icy hair out of her face. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, but feared moving her. Her eyes seemed out of focus as she blinked up at the falling snow.

  She scooted back until she could get her arms beneath her, then slowly sat up. She glanced aro
und in confusion, her eyes finally settling on Arhyen’s tear streaked face.

  “What happened?” she murmured. “Where’s Hamlet?”

  He was briefly overcome with rage at the mention of Hamlet, but managed to stuff it back down. “I saw him fall with you.” Fresh tears began to stream down his face. “You were dead, Liliana. Your heart was not beating.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not possible. I remember him falling with me. I remember . . . ” she trailed off. “He hit the ground first and shielded me as we rolled across the grass. Then everything went black, and now I’m here. Did he set off the device?”

  “What device?” Ephraim asked while Arhyen attempted to compose himself.

  She shook her head and gazed off into the distance. After a few silent seconds she explained, “He claimed to have discovered a way to make my father’s synthetic emotions permanent. Honestly, I think he might have been infected by them at some point too, though I don’t know if it was intentional. He wanted to fill everyone in and around the palace with despair to make them pay for their crimes. It didn’t seem to matter to Hamlet that many innocents would be sacrificed.”

  The lost tone in Liliana’s voice broke Arhyen’s heart. It was as if she’d just learned that her entire worldview was wrong. She had hoped to find good within Hamlet, and he had let her down . . . but then, why had he saved her?

  “The guards were all rushing to check the roof when I picked you up and ran,” he explained. “Hamlet’s device may very well be in their hands now, if he hasn’t killed them all.”

  Liliana startled back into seeming awareness. “Do you think they’ll understand what it is? What will they do with it?”

  He didn’t know how to answer her. If the Queen and her Guard really were in control of the London Network, they’d either lock the technology away, or use it for their own purposes. Either way, they weren’t likely to move forward with any plans until Hamlet had been caught.

  Finally, he shook his head. “Unfortunately that cannot be our primary concern. If Hamlet’s plan has indeed been thwarted, at least for tonight, the LN might not come after us right away, but I wouldn’t count on it. The deal was that my efforts would lead to his capture, or his death. I do not believe either will happen tonight.”