“We don’t want attention.” Clark took her hand and she rolled her eyes.
“No one listens to half of what Mrs. Snow says.” Amethyst stepped up to the desk man. “Excuse me, sir. Please ring Albert Treasure to let him know we’ve arrived.”
The man leaned forward. “Miss Treasure? You’re back from Hedlund?”
“I am.” She tipped her head. “Please ring my uncle. I’ve had a mishap and would prefer no one see me like this.”
“Of course, ma’am.” He lifted an object shaped like a crescent moon off the desk. A wire connected it back to the wood, with a plate of number buttons beside it. The man pressed four numbers and the crescent moon beeped. “Albert Treasure, your niece is in the lobby with… two gentlemen.”
Clark bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Given his state of dishevelment, “gentleman” sounded too generous. He could’ve enlightened the man on a few more colorful words to add to his vocabulary.
The crescent moon beeped again and a male’s voice sounded from it. “Send them up.”
“Hi, Uncle Albert,” Amethyst shouted.
The man hung up the device. “Go on up. We’re glad to have you back, Miss Treasure.”
“Pleased to be back.” She bounced past him through a doorway. Her demeanor had switched back to the Amethyst Clark had first met, the one who said outrageous things for attention and seemed to float everywhere.
The new room contained drawers, each labeled with names, and three doors.
“Mailboxes.” She pointed at the drawers as she pranced to the doors. She knocked on the first and the door slip open to reveal a room the size of a closet. Another man in a suit stood inside.
“Which floor?” he intoned.
Amethyst stepped inside and they followed her. Red velvet carpeted the floor and mirrors reflected their images off the walls. The man rested his hand on a lever near a panel of lights, dials, and buttons.
“Sixteenth floor.” Amethyst smoothed her skirt.
“What is this?” Clark began as the door shut. The man turned a dial then pressed a button, making the panel light up mauve. He turned the lever and the closet jerked.
Clark’s stomach churned and he grabbed the brass railing that stretched across the back wall.
“This is a lift,” Zachariah said in a monotone. “It carries you between floors.”
“Eric probably invented it.” Amethyst winked.
“Who’s Eric?” Zachariah asked.
“No one.” She rolled her eyes again as if it was obvious.
Clark gripped the railing so tight it bit into his fingers. His stomach churned and his head spun. “Is this the only way to go between floors?”
“You don’t expect us to walk up sixteen flights, do you?” Once again, another eye roll from Amethyst.
The closet jerked and Clark stumbled. The man pulled the lever again and the door swung open. Clark practically ran into the hallway.
Like the lift, velvet carpeted the floor. A mirror reflected them from above a table set with a vase of lilies.
“Uncle Albert owns the entire floor, so he doesn’t have a door. The only way to get to it is from the lift. Well, there is a door for the stairs, but no one uses it. He allows the servants to use the lift.” Amethyst raised her voice. “Uncle Albert, we’re here!”
The lift shut and a mechanical purr faded as it dropped back to the first floor.
An elderly man turned the corner to the foyer. A gray beard decorated his wrinkled face, matching the thinning, slicked hair. “Amethyst, honey. Welcome home.” Tears shone in his blue eyes; a white cloud floated across his right one, but his left remained clear.
She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “I’ve missed you. Are you healthy?”
Clark stepped back to the wall and folded his arms, leaning back on one leg. Amethyst never smiled at her parents with that warmth. She never touched them, but she slid her arm through her uncle’s and tipped her forehead to his. With his back bent and his height shortened with age, they stood at eyelevel with each other.
She’d never mentioned her uncle, but Clark could see the love she had for the elderly man as though it were palpable.
It had always bothered him how much she fought her parents about staying in the west, but she’d followed Clark eagerly into a life there. She didn’t hate Hedlund, not like how she portrayed to her family. She hated leaving her uncle.
“I wish Uncle Albert could’ve come,” she’d mentioned once during supper at the ranch.
“He’s too old now,” her father had sighed. “He’s happier in his house. He has that wonderful nurse to look after him.”
“You could’ve invited him,” she’d muttered. Clark hadn’t paid attention to it then, but the words fluttered back. She’d yearned for her great-uncle, the parent she’d grown up with, to accompany her. Maybe her uncle had even been hurt that he hadn’t been invited.
“Hello, Uncle Albert.” Zachariah held out his hand, his mouth in a half-smile, even though his gaze remained dull.
The uncle held out his arm as though to hug his great-nephew, but when Zachariah didn’t step forward, Albert shook his hand instead. “How have you been, Zach?”
“Fine.”
Albert chuckled. “That was a silly comment on my part, wasn’t it, honey?”
Amethyst giggled. “It will make a ravishing story though, won’t it? Are my parents here yet?”
“Of course. How else would I be expecting you?” He brushed a curl off her face. “This is Clark?”
Clark bowed. “Good afternoon, sir. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“My gears, you look just like Eric Gri—” Albert choked on the word and coughed, his cheeks flushed. “Never mind, a lapse of an old man’s mind.”
Albert had known Clark’s father. He must’ve seen Eric with Garth. Garth and Georgette must’ve told Albert the truth about his parentage.
“Call me Uncle Albert.”
“Eric who?” Zachariah pressed. Did he remember what Amethyst had said on the lift?
“My dear, you look awful.” Albert leaned against her as though it pained him to stand on his own. “We’ll clean you children up and have dinner.”
Garth rounded the corner. “We’d hoped you’d arrive two days ago, but we know how the stagecoaches are never on time.”
“We were attacked,” Zachariah said.
“You should’ve seen Clark fight back,” Amethyst gushed to her uncle. “It was amazing. I’ll tell you all about it later. Let me take you to the sitting room. I’ll get you some hot tea. It’s afternoon, so will chamomile work?”
“Everyone’s safe,” Clark told Garth before the man worried.
The flighty Amethyst had been replaced by one who cared and tended to her elderly relative. Clark had wondered how distant the uncle could be that he didn’t mind her staying out at parties or visiting clubs. Albert might not have known if, when at home, she put him above all else.
“Uncle Albert has arranged a meeting for us with the president,” Garth said. “We’ll see him after lunch tomorrow.”
methyst linked her arm through her uncle’s and added a skip to her step. He laughed, rapping his cane against the sidewalk.
“Well done, my dear. Someone is perky.”
“Of course.” She tightened her grip on him as they passed a crack in the sidewalk. Clark dogged their heels, ogling the surroundings. Her parents and Zachariah had gone out to buy clothes separately. Amethyst had wanted to go with Clark—he didn’t know his way around New Addison City, after all—and her uncle had wanted to meet him more officially. The family used his account, since they technically had nothing.
“Soon, everything will be back to normal,” Amethyst sang. “We’ll all be free of the army. Mother and Father can go home. Clark, I’m going to show you all around the east.”
“Charming.” He sounded distracted, his voice distant.
“My friends own sailboats,” Uncle Albert offered. “We’ll take you sailing, Eric. I m
ean Clark.” He coughed. “My apologies, you look like an old friend of Garth’s.”
“Everyone says that.” Amethyst giggled.
She halted outside of Subject Case, the largest store in the city. Eight floors offered everything imaginable to buy. Clothes came in a variety of sizes, and they also had seamstresses on staff to make alterations.
“Uncle Albert, you’ll help Clark pick out his clothes? He needs the best fashion.”
“Right away.” Uncle Albert took Clark’s arm to lean on him rather than on Amethyst. “What time should we meet in the main lobby?”
Amethyst glanced at the giant clock outside the tall brick building. “One hour. Father and Mother will want to be on time to meet with the president.”
She refrained herself to a striped dress. Once her parents settled everything with the government and she knew their plans, she could purchase a new wardrobe accordingly.
“Clark!” Amethyst gasped, clutching the box of her old clothes. He’d been stunning before, but her uncle had outdone his fashion sense. Clark’s hair had been tied back in a queue beneath a top hat with a red silk ribbon. His black suit shone, with a red vest and white blouse beneath, along with a blue cravat. White silk gloves decorated his hands and a brass pocket watch twinkled from his front pocket.
She leapt into his arms and kissed his check, laughing. “You’re dashing! I can’t wait to introduce you to my friends.”
Her uncle cleared his throat and she blushed, realizing what it must look like to him.
“Good job, Uncle Albert.”
“Show her the cane, my boy.” Her uncle’s blue eyes twinkled.
Grinning, Clark lifted his polished cane with the silver eagle’s head handle. “It shoots from the bottom and can act as a sword. An old friend of your father’s invented it.” Eric, Clark mouthed.
“Your father, too,” Uncle Albert noted.
That invention had to be mild compared to the others, since they hadn’t been sent to retrieve all of those. She glanced around the lobby at the women mingling around the cosmetic counters. Had Eric followed them to the city?
“Amethyst shouldn’t be here,” Clark whispered. His skin prickled. He’d had the ability, if it could be called that, since drinking the potion. In dangerous situations, his skin prickled. Not always, but sometimes, as it did then.
They sat in the lobby outside the president’s office, spread out across red velvet sofas. Paintings of past kings stared at them from the white-painted walls. Each face frowned, shadowed by a thick crown, the same in each portrait.
“They have her marked as a traitor as well.” Georgette squeezed her daughter’s hand, but Amethyst pulled away to pluck at a loose thread in her skirt. Amethyst’s yellow curls glowed in the light from the windows. They all had to glow, apart from Georgette, who had darker hair.
What would they look like to the president, all of them nervous and decked out as if going to a ball? A pang shot through Clark’s heart. Apart from knowing Amethyst, he would’ve rather been back in Tangled Wire, working the mill and looking after his mother. He might’ve been old enough to make enough money to support them in a little shack on the outskirts of town. He might’ve married Mable to help take care of her. He could’ve protected them all.
Only, he hadn’t.
A secretary in a pastel green dress opened the office door. “President Wilcox will see you.” She curtsied before they stepped into the room.
Clark’s skin prickled more. Why didn’t she meet their gazes as they passed? Instead, she stared at the floor, the tops of her cheeks flushed. Her hands trembled where they clutched her skirt.
Clark took Amethyst’s hand and interlaced their fingers while his heart screamed at him to run.
Eric appeared at his side. “Bad move, son, but I think it would be best if you leave now.”
Clark’s heart thudded harder. He…couldn’t.
The office had the same white walls and portraits as the waiting room, the same sort of furniture. A desk almost as long as the room rested in front of the two floor-to-ceiling windows, a man with gray hair sitting behind the dark mahogany, leaning against his folded hands. He wore a suit and red bowtie with a thin brass chain hanging from the edges.
“Garth Treasure.” The president didn’t rise, didn’t offer his hand for a shake. Clark shifted his stance. If a man didn’t shake, he didn’t want a secret known. You trusted a man whose hand you touched.
“President Wilcox.” Garth strode to the desk and held out his hand, one equal to another.
The president smoothed his hands over his desktop and stood, inclining his head in what might have been a nod, or an appraisal of the situation. “Tell me what’s been happening.”
“This is my son, Clark Treasure.” Garth extended his arm toward Clark. His name seemed to bounce off the walls to echo through Clark’s head. His name, those two words, thrummed, an inclination of danger, accusation, a threat.
“I didn’t know you had a third son.” President Wilcox pushed his spectacles up his hooked nose.
Say you’re someone else. Pretend Clark Treasure hasn’t been found.
“He’s illegitimate,” Garth said. “I can explain those details in greater depth. Do you want a secretary present to record what’s being said?”
Georgette glanced across the office and plucked at her lace choker. She never fidgeted; she had to sense the anxiety in the air.
“That won’t be necessary.” The president flipped a lever on the corner of his desk and a beep sounded in the hallway, loud and drawn out. Beeeep. Beeeep.
“Something seems to be happening.” Georgette rested her hand on Zachariah’s arm.
“I believe I understand everything I need to.” President Wilcox cleared his throat. “Clark Treasure has been exposed to Vejzovic, a serum the army uses to enable its soldiers to revive fallen comrades. By default, Clark belongs to the army.”
Definitely not a positive statement.
“Clark belongs to himself.” Garth raised his voice. “Mike, this serum—”
“President Wilcox,” he corrected, “and I know all about the properties of this serum. My predecessor purchased the rights to Vejzovic. By that contact, Clark Treasure belongs to the government.”
“No,” Garth began, but the president lifted his gloved hand.
“You supported him against the government. That counts as treason. You are all under arrest by my order, as well as Captain Greenwood’s.”
The door to the office opened and two uniformed army men marched inside.
Amethyst’s fingernails dug into Clark’s palm. “How should we do this? Do you want to shoot our way through?”
They’d run out of time for that. His heartbeat sped, but numbness crept over his flesh. At least the fleeing would cease. He would never have to barge ahead without knowing where, if, he would find a place to land and rest.
“Your son, Jeremiah Treasure, has inherited your fortune.” President Wilcox narrowed his eyes. “Until your trial, you will be housed in Kashalkar Prison. Clark, you will be relocated to army headquarters in Hedlund where you will learn proper procedures.”
Kashalkar Prison, the only maximum-security establishment in the west. The worst criminals were sent there because, with the poor conditions, few made it out. The government didn’t have to pay for their board or worry about a trial.
“Why there?” Zachariah’s voice squeaked. “That’s not the right method—”
“You, Mr. Treasure, have been stripped of your duties and titles. You will no longer serve your country.”
One of the army men seized Clark’s arm and jerked him toward the doorway. “Come along, boy.” Boy? The man couldn’t be much older, if older at all, than Clark.
His fingers slid from Amethyst’s.
He had to keep fighting for her.
“I’ll save us,” he whispered, hoping she could read his lips if she couldn’t hear his words.
He saved people. He fought for his friends, his family. He’
d failed his mother, but he wouldn’t fail Amethyst.
methyst’s pale face and parted lips lingered in his memory. She’d trusted him and he’d trusted her father. Clark would prove he deserved her trust.
He rolled over on the cot they’d provided him with at the Hedlund barracks. He’d tried to get away and he’d ended up back where he’d started. The barracks couldn’t be more than fifty miles from Tangled Wire.
The door opened and light from the hallway flooded the closet. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness, absorbing the image of Captain Greenwood.
“Finally gotcha, huh? Getting away this time?”
Clark lifted his hands to show the cuffs that kept him locked to a hook in the wall. “Working on it.”
The captain scowled, just as Clark had hoped. “You’re mine now. You’re not getting off again. How long you been affected by the serum?”
Clark leaned back against the cornhusk mattress. “Two years, going on three.”
“You’ll go through basic training and then a more advanced course. We’ll make a general out of you yet.”
“I don’t want to be part of the army.” Didn’t running away prove that?
“It’s your honor to serve your country.”
“Not through slavery. Did someone force you into this?”
The captain scowled again. “Watch it, boy. It don’t matter how much you like it. You took the serum, that’s all on you. You’ll be leading the troops, those all hyped up on Vejzovic.”
“You want me to lead them? Like, become their captain?” How could he, a mining urchin, know anything about leading people? He hadn’t led the Treasures well.
But if they’d followed his advice…
“You’ll guide them, like. Show them how to handle the ability. Once we got you trained enough, we’ll find our select few and distribute Vejzovic.”
“Wait.” The blood drained from his fingers to leave them tingling. “You’ve never given it to anyone else?” He’d assumed the army didn’t have a lot of the tonic, but they should’ve given it to others. Why would they wait to capture him?
Born of Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 2) Page 13