Catherine snorted, but the rude effect was dampened by her tears. “And why would anyone help me? I’ve never helped anyone. I told you, I’m only trying to stay alive, and with your friend pointing his big knife at me, I thought my best chance of survival lay in telling the truth.”
Liliana didn’t bother arguing that his blade was far too long to qualify as a knife. “If that’s the truth, then tell us how to find Hazel.”
Catherine shook her head over and over. “I can’t tell you. They’ll kill me.”
“Or I can simply kill you now,” Hamlet offered.
Catherine stared at him, her eyes wide with fear. “There’s a small village not far from London Bridge,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not where they do the operations, I don’t know where that happens, but I saw Hazel go there once, to an old farmhouse on the Northern end. She doesn’t know that I saw her, else I’d probably already be dead.”
Liliana glanced over at Hamlet, who nodded. “We cannot let her go free to alert them of our approach.”
Liliana frowned. He was right, but she couldn’t just let him kill Arhyen’s mother in cold blood, especially after she’d told them all they needed to know. “Can we just . . . store her somewhere until all of this is over?”
Catherine nodded frantically at that suggestion.
Hamlet was silent for several seconds, then sighed. “If she will come with us willingly, I have a place where we might keep her.”
Liliana’s shoulders relaxed in relief. She was finally officially grateful for Hamlet’s presence. He still scared the stockings off her, but she was grateful none-the-less. If they could turn Hazel in with proof of her crimes, and with Catherine as witness, perhaps they’d be able to free Arhyen and Ephraim.
Hamlet moved to take hold of Catherine’s arm. “I will escort her to a hiding place,” he explained. “Wait for me back on Tailor Street, but stay hidden.”
Liliana was so stunned she almost didn’t know what to say. “You mean you’ll let me go off on my own again?”
He blinked at her for several seconds. For the first time, she realized that the eyes behind his mask were pale blue. “You are more than capable of making it to Tailor Street, are you not?”
She nodded rapidly, half wishing she had time to return to the apartment, though she wasn’t sure what she would get if she could. She was out of explosives, and the few other things she’d cooked up were already in the satchel, along with various daggers scattered about her person. She realized then that the apartment made her feel secure, so contrary to how she currently felt.
Hamlet pushed Catherine to walk in front of him. She obeyed, but then paused and looked back over her shoulder at Liliana. “I’m glad Arhyen has someone like you taking care of him,” she said softly.
Liliana nodded again, not correcting Catherine that it was Arhyen who took care of her, not the other way around.
Seeming satisfied, Catherine went with Hamlet willingly, leaving Liliana alone with her thoughts. She stood there for several minutes, mulling things over. She was glad to at least have a plan, but was hesitant to actually enact it. What would they find at the farmhouse in the country, and would it actually help Arhyen out of jail? Though she had little experience with the law first hand, she’d read enough to know that if Arhyen and Ephraim were convicted, they would both hang. She had to stop that from happening, no matter the cost.
Her mind made up, she hurried back toward Tailor Street.
Her back leaned against a brick wall, Liliana shifted from foot to foot impatiently. She had been waiting near Tailor Street for nearly an hour, concealed in a narrow alcove between buildings. Though a few storage crates blocked her view of the main street, she’d peeked over them periodically, but had seen no sign of Hamlet. Had he tricked her? Had he disposed of Catherine, only to run off to the farmhouse on his own?
If he didn’t show up soon, she was going to find the farmhouse on her own. She knew the general direction of London Bridge. If she could make it there, she would simply need to head toward the North side of the village Catherine mentioned. What she would do then, she was not sure, but she’d make it work. She had to.
She resisted the urge to remove her father’s letter from her satchel to read again. She’d quickly perused it while she waited, but it had told her very little. It seemed her father had been aware of the experiments being conducted, but there was no mention of what those experiments were. Perhaps further correspondences could have been found, but they were likely all ash by now.
She stifled a scream as she glanced to her right and realized Hamlet was leaning against the wall right next to her. Holding a hand to her chest, she gasped, “How do you move so silently?”
“Practice,” he said simply, tilting his masked face to the side. “Are you prepared?”
Liliana nodded a little too quickly, making herself dizzy. She put her hands on her satchel strap and straightened it, nestling the bulk of the satchel against her side. “Let’s go.”
Hamlet turned and walked further down the alcove, away from Tailor Street, as expected. They’d want to remain out of sight. Liliana hurried after him, cringing at the gentle sound of her footfalls next to Hamlet’s silent gait. They turned right as the alcove ended, then continued on down a waste bin lined back street.
As they walked, Liliana began to feel increasingly nervous with the lack of conversation, and it was only compounded by the fact that she couldn’t see Hamlet’s face. She thought he’d likely be far less unnerving if she were able to witness his expressions . . . if he had any.
“Why do you wear a mask?” she asked thoughtfully, then instantly regretted it. Her question could likely be construed as rude, and she wanted to avoid pestering him if she could.
He was silent for several seconds as they continued to walk, her quickened breathing thundering in her ears.
She was about to burst with anxiety when he finally asked, “Why do you think I wear the mask?”
Surprised that he’d actually replied, she abruptly stopped walking, then had to hurry to catch up with him. “Anonymity?” she guessed. “A need to be unidentifiable should you do anything . . . nefarious.”
Glancing down at her, he chuckled. “Few have witnessed me doing anything nefarious that have lived to tell the tale.”
Her stomach dropped. She knew she shouldn’t have asked.
Several more silent minutes went by. They’d left the back alleys of businesses to travel past small residences. A few children played outside their homes, but no one seemed to pay Hamlet and Liliana any mind. The few that actually looked up as they strolled past quickly averted their eyes.
“Do you still wish to know why I wear the mask?” he asked finally.
She bit her lip, she still wanted to know, but didn’t want to hear anymore about him killing witnesses. Especially since she was technically a witness. Still unable to resist her curiosity, she nodded.
“You are aware that I was created to be a weapon, yes?” he questioned.
She nodded again, glancing around to make sure no one around the street was listening.
“And you are aware that automatons cannot be created without nervous systems, which include pain sensors?”
She nodded. Automatons, though containing many synthetic parts, were created like humans in many ways. They still possessed nervous systems, ruled over by their brains. They had reflexes, and could sense pain, as was necessary for self-preservation.
“Those who created me found it pertinent that I not react to pain,” he explained. “The way they sought to condition me, was to cause me enormous amounts of pain, in hopes my body and brain would eventually no longer react to it.”
“Why would they do that?” she breathed. “Why would it matter to them if you reacted to pain?”
“A perfect weapon cannot be hindered by pain,” he explained. “I am made to fight until I am quite literally torn limb from limb.”
She took a deep breath. She supposed that m
ade sense, but she wasn’t sure how it explained the mask.
“One clever tool used to make me immune to pain was acid,” he continued. “They dripped it across the surface of my face for many hours. I wear the mask to hide the scars.”
“That’s awful!” Liliana gasped.
He shrugged. “It worked. I can withstand enormous amounts of pain . . . but I appreciate you thinking it’s awful.”
She suddenly felt nervous again. It was awful, but perhaps she should not have been so enthusiastic in stating her opinion. “Where did you get the mask?” she asked to cover her embarrassment. Her thoughts flitted to the costumery Arhyen had found.
Hamlet glanced down at her. “If you are thinking that learning the mask’s origins will give you more insight into my life, you are mistaken.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean to-” she cut herself off. “I was just curious,” she corrected.
He chuckled softly. “It is just a mask, nothing more. It does not matter where it came from. I believe the truly important things are beneath the masks we wear, are they not?”
“I suppose so,” she muttered, deep in thought.
She was already regretting her questions, but there were so many things she was curious about that Hamlet could likely tell her. What else might he know of her father’s synthetic emotions, and her own purpose? After she’d been rescued from Viola, Hamlet had explained that the emotions administered to her had long since worn off, but since she’d felt them, her brain had incorporated them as natural responses, and she had been able to build upon them. She wanted to ask him a million more questions now that she had him talking, but hesitated. He’d told her that he did not have emotions. Would it be cruel of her to question him more about that? If he could not feel sorrow, then it shouldn’t be an issue, but still, she hesitated.
“You have more questions,” he observed, flicking his eyes down to her as they walked.
“Only about a million,” she muttered.
He sighed. “Ask them.”
Where to even start? She had some questions about her father, but she was feeling oddly guilty about the letter still concealed within her satchel. She supposed it would do little harm to show it to him, now that she knew it contained no sensitive information.
With a sigh, she withdrew it from her satchel, then handed it to him.
He stopped walking for a moment to unfold and quickly read it, then handed it back to her. Without a word, he started walking.
She trotted to catch up. “What do you think?”
“Of what?” he inquired, not glancing down at her.
“Of the letter,” she explained, feeling somewhat exasperated. Why was he suddenly acting so strange?
“You found it in that building?” he questioned.
She nodded. “I apologize for not showing it to you sooner.”
He laughed. “No, I apologize. I’m simply unsure of why you showed it to me. It does not contain any relevant information. It is not a surprise that Fairfax Breckinridge was communicating with these people, and failed to mention any details about their operation.”
“Hrmph,” Liliana replied, wishing she’d just kept the letter to herself.
“So why did you show it to me?” he questioned again.
Why indeed. “I suppose I just felt guilty for concealing it,” she explained. “You were openly sharing information with me. It seemed wrong to not do the same, even if it was irrelevant.”
“Hmm,” he replied thoughtfully. “In that case, thank you.”
Liliana looked down at her feet, unsure of what to say. The asphalt had transitioned to cobblestones as they left the more crowded areas of the city behind them.
“You don’t act like other automatons,” she said finally, not knowing what else to say to his thanks. “Not that I’ve personally met any, but Arhyen has explained them well enough to me. You don’t seem so . . . blank.”
“Ah,” Hamlet replied, strolling along casually. “You’re wishing to know if perhaps I lied about not having emotions. If perhaps I’m secretly like you.”
That wasn’t exactly what she’d been wondering, but she definitely was now. Glancing up at the gathering clouds, she nodded.
He sighed. “No, I do not have emotions like yours, but I have been alive for a fairly long time. Once a life form has lived long enough, it cannot help but develop instincts, and perhaps a bit of personality. Though I was never given emotions, I do have instincts, which are a very close relative. My instincts have developed in reaction to various situations, especially since I am often tasked to think for myself. At some point I developed curiosity, and a few, various desires . . . though I don’t believe I feel true sadness when those desires go unmet.”
Liliana chewed on her lip. That was much more of an explanation than she’d bargained for. “If that’s the case,” she began slowly, hoping to avoid offending him, “then why do other automatons not develop personalities. From what Arhyen has told me, they’re just . . . blank.”
A child ran across the street ahead of them, stopped to stare up at Hamlet in terror, then scurried away.
Once the child was out of earshot, Hamlet explained, “If, from the day of your creation, you were told only to blindly obey orders, what would you do? Most are in that situation from the start, and are left in dark rooms when they are not being used.”
Well that sounded familiar, she thought, but didn’t voice it out loud.
“I would still think they would develop some variations,” she commented. Had she been just a plain, blank slate before she’d been given her emotions? She couldn’t quite remember.
Hamlet nodded. “Indeed, and it is common practice for automatons to be destroyed should such variations occur, to avoid them becoming . . . dangerous.”
“D-destroyed?” she asked, her brain unwilling to envision just what that might mean.
“You must understand,” Hamlet explained, “we are biologically superior to humans. When we blindly obey, we are beyond useful, but when we stop obeying, we become dangerous. No human in their right mind would let their automaton develop its own personality, for fear it would turn against them.”
“But you-” she began, then cut herself off, unsure what she meant to say.
“Yes,” he agreed with her unsaid thought, “I am a special case. I was created for different reasons, by foolhardy scientists, much like your father. The risk, to them, was worthwhile, although I’m sure those still living regret it now. Much like your creator likely regrets delving into things he did not fully understand, that is, if feelings of regret can be had in the afterlife.”
Liliana’s brain stuck on the those still living comment. “Did you kill your creators?” she blurted.
Hamlet snorted. “Some of them. The ones involved in my torture.”
Liliana gasped. “And yet the LN still employs you?”
He shrugged. “I’m more useful than those who tortured me, though, I’m sure they will attempt to destroy me eventually, as I have not been obeying all my orders.”
She was about to ask him what he meant, when he suddenly grabbed her arm, than dragged her toward the nearest intersection. For a moment she thought he’d decided to attack her, but soon realized that was not the case. With agile grace, he placed his hands around her waist and hoisted her up toward a wooden fence bordering the street. Reacting just in time, she grabbed the top edge of the fence and pulled herself over, assuming that was his aim.
She landed in a crouch on the other side, a soft patch of grass lessening the impact. Seconds later, Hamlet hopped down beside her.
She opened her mouth to speak, then a loud whistle sounded somewhere down the street. She recognized the tone from a previous time she’d encountered officers of the Watch.
Hamlet held a finger up to the lips of his mask, warning her to be silent.
She nodded, then glanced at the area around them. They’d hopped into a small yard surrounding a modest home. No one had come running out to see who had invaded t
heir yard, so hopefully they weren’t home.
They both waited as footsteps sounded on the opposite side of the fence. “I was sure she went this way,” one of the voices said.
“Who was that she was with?” another questioned. “The Captain said she’d be traveling alone.”
Was the Captain of the Watch going to have her arrested now too? He hadn’t seemed to care about her before . . . of course, that was before she’d broken into that building and thrown explosives everywhere. Had one of the men reported the scene to him?
They waited for the men to walk away, then Hamlet pulled himself up to peek over the fence. After looking both ways, he gracefully lifted himself the rest of the way over, landing with barely a sound on the other side. Liliana quickly followed after him, not wanting to be caught all alone in some stranger’s yard.
She landed beside him in a crouch, then took his offered hand without thinking about it. As soon as she stood, she quickly pulled her hand away, feeling frightened and nervous all over again.
“We really should kill that Captain,” Hamlet muttered, gazing in the direction the officers had gone.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Though she had long since established she was willing to kill to save a friend, it was unnerving to contemplate cold blooded murder, especially since she thought Hamlet might just be right.
Chapter 15
By the time Hamlet and Liliana reached London Bridge, night had fallen. Liliana was personally grateful for the darkness. She’d been on edge - well, even more on edge than she had before - since their near-encounter with the Watch. She couldn’t help but wonder if Hamlet would have killed the officers if they’d managed to corner her. He had no real reason to protect her, but he’d already done so back in the building she’d set on fire.
Though she’d acquired a vague idea of the street pattern leading up to London Bridge, she was glad Hamlet had been there to guide her through the least populated parts. He seemed to know every area of the city in great detail. Of course, why wouldn’t he? He’d claimed he’d been alive for a long time, though how long she feared to ask, and he’d spent much of that time in London, as far as she knew.
Clocks and Daggers (The Thief's Apprentice Book 2) Page 14