The first was the vigilant from earlier, the one with the mechanical arm I had to thank for the bruise on my right shoulder. The second I didn’t recognized. He was garbed all in black and white, in a simple suit with coat tails hanging to his knees. Not a flash of color on him. But there were telltale signs he was from the center ring. The way he kept his hair slicked back and plastered to his skull, the porcelain white buttons on his jacket, and the gold chain of a pocket watch clipped to his belt all pointed to his wealth.
“You.” The vigilant guard pointed at me. “You’re the leader.”
“That’s me.” I eyed them both warily.
The guard unlocked the cell. “You’re coming with us.”
Sid and Parker had stirred from sleep when the vigilant started talking and now they both stood.
“Where are you taking her?” Parker demanded.
“It’s not your concern.” The guard moved into the cell, as if he intended to drag me out. Sid stood in his way.
“She’s our leader. Why wouldn’t it be of our concern?” he asked flatly. The look in his eyes was so deadly even the guard must have second guessed his size and strength.
“We only want to question her,” the smaller man said, pushing up his spectacles. “As she is to represent you in trial. If she cooperates, this won’t take long.”
Oh good, because I’m such a natural at cooperation.
Sid looked as if he might fight the guard, and Sylvia and Parker looked ready to join in. I had no intention of letting my team get killed over something so trivial, so I rested a hand on Sid’s shoulder. “Its fine, I’ll go with them,” I said. “I can handle this.”
Slowly, Sid stood to the side and I stepped forward. The guard reached for me and I held up a hand. “But only,” I said. “If you don’t hold my shoulder with that damn hand again. The bruise is bad enough already.”
The vigilant didn’t look happy about that, but he let his hand drop and gestured toward the cell door. “Move.”
They took me to a small, dark room, closed in by thick stone walls instead of bars. But at least I didn’t have to listen to that incessant, dripping sound.
A single electric light, the first I’d seen since I entered this prison, hung from the ceiling. Below the light sat a table and chair. The smaller man gestured for me to sit. I considered saying no, but that might get our interrogation off to a bad start.
A rather elaborate map of Memoria was nailed to the wall next to the door. Though the room was dimly lit, the bulb above my head gave off enough light for me to see the sacred clock and the eight realms within. Being uneducated, I’d only read a few books in my life with Sid’s help. But the first one he ever gave to me contained maps of Memoria. Of each of the four human realms, even the empty realm, and of the great clock that contained them all.
Fortuna was one of the smaller realms, containing only three of the hours: eleven, twelve and one o’clock. Tiyata and Kabila were much larger, about equal in size and each containing four hours. Tiyata housed two through five and Kabila, seven through ten. Cambiare, the empty realm, was the only realm smaller than Fortuna. It contained only one hour: six o’clock. The sign of each of the twelve clockwork gods was engraved beside their respective hour. It was said the placement of the clockwork gods reflected each realm’s highest values. How fitting Fortuna should contain the hours belonging to the Goddess of Festivities, the God of Love and the God of Abundance, the one whose artifact we had been charged with stealing.
But the most important hour of this prison was clear. The black flame of Axira, Goddess of Death, was painted boldly across the pendulum hanging below the sixth hour, larger than any other sign. This place was fond of constant reminders of the Goddess and her domain, as if to warn us we would all one day be suffering there.
“Nice map,” I said flatly, taking a seat. “Guess it’s no secret who this place favors.”
The vigilant sneered. “Death is the only thing prisoners have to look forward to here.”
“Charming.” I twisted my necklace around my finger, nearly crushing it in my grip. If the Clockwork God really did exist, he had just screwed me over. “I’m going to attempt optimism and say I have plenty more to look forward to before death.”
“Only if your trial goes well.” The smaller man stepped forward. “Which if I have my way, it won’t.”
“Ah, so that’s the reason for the black and white get up.” I gestured to him. “I wondered why you weren’t more flamboyant. You’re from the courts.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re trying to get my team sentenced here.”
“Yes.”
“So, why am I talking to you?”
“Because I want to know the extent of your crimes.”
“So that you can use them as evidence against me.”
“Yes.”
“Then . . . why would I tell you any of my crimes?” I sat back in the chair, crossing my arms. “That just seems incredibly stupid.”
The man’s shoulders hitched and his glasses slipped a bit down his nose. “We value honesty in the courts. It is my right to have the truth.”
“Yes, but I’m a thief.” I glanced down at my necklace, pretending to be disinterested. “I think we have slightly conflicting values.”
“If you don’t cooperate.” The vigilant stepped forward. “We can lock you in here in the complete dark for three days. No meals.” His gaze locked on my necklace. “And why do you still have that? All possessions should have been taken you before you entered the prison.”
“It’s a religious token,” I said, unwinding the necklace from my finger. “They let you keep those. I know it’s not the awe-inspiring black flame of death, but it’s still religious.”
“Which one is that?” The lawman squinted at the necklace, leaning close enough I could have punched him in the face. But that move was best used as a last resort. Solitary confinement didn’t seem like my cup of tea.
“Is that Cheveyo’s tree?”
“No.” I sighed. “It’s the Clockmaker’s Key.” I held up the tiny charm to the light. “Really, why would I have the symbol of the God of the Natural World when the only forests in Fortuna are outside the city?”
“Well, why would a thief have a Clockmaker’s Key?” the vigilant asked. “Why not Itazura’s hand? That’s your patron god.”
“Or one of those other lowly gods,” the lawman said. “Like Artifex. You slum dwellers favor him, don’t you?”
My, his face was looking infinitely more punchable with every word he spoke.
“I don’t keep symbols of any clockwork gods. I don’t worship them much,” I said flatly. “I’m not the reverent type. Maybe you noticed when you caught me stealing from the God of Snobbery’s temple.”
“Amontillado is not to be trifled with,” the law man said stiffly.
“He was pretty easily trifled with when I stole from his temples all those other times,” I muttered.
“So you have stolen from him multiple times. I’ll make note of that.” The lawman looked pleased. I scowled.
The vigilant, on the other hand, still seemed stuck on my necklace. “If you’re not reverent, then why keep a religious token at all?”
“Because the Clockmaker hasn’t pissed me off yet.” I shrugged. “He’s mysterious enough to command some reverence. Besides, if the religious wackos are right, the Clockmaker created all of the gods. Saves time just worshiping him, you know?”
“Mysterious and missing,” the vigilant said. “The Clockmaker has never been seen in the human realms. He’s likely just some story. He plays no part here. You’d have been better off wearing the Hand of your God of Mischief around your neck. Then you might not have botched this job.”
“Or the Heart of Meroquio.” The lawman leered. “You’re a Redstone after all. Doesn’t that mean–”
He never finished that sentence because I decided to play my punching card. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground.
“She hit
me . . . she actually hit me. . . .” the lawman whimpered, cupping his jaw. It looked like I’d knocked a few teeth loose.
“That’s it,” The vigilant said. “We gave you the chance to cooperate–”
“I can’t feel my mouth.”
“–but we’ll see what a few days of solitary confinement does to your resistance.”
“I think she broke my jaw.”
The vigilant hauled the lawman to his feet, leading him, still muttering under his breath, out of the room. He glared at me before he slammed the door. The lock clicked from the other side and moments later the lights switched off.
“Damn it,” I muttered. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.” I stood to my feet, but since I couldn’t see, my foot caught on the chair and sent me sprawling. The chair landed on top of my legs and I groaned. “Shouldn’t have punched him. I am stupid.”
“I don’t know. I thought it was entertaining.”
I started at the sound of a new voice–inside of the room.
“Who’s there?” I asked, vaulting to my feet.
A chuckle rolled from the darkness. “Me, of course,” the figure said in a distinctly male voice.
“Okay, vague, mysterious, voice in the darkness.” My eyes narrowed. “Do you expect me to know who you are?”
“Well of course I do.” The light switched on. I whirled around to see a man right beside the door. Funny, because this room was definitely empty a few seconds ago.
He was tall and thin with a head of disheveled brown hair and twinkling green eyes. He wore a pocket-lined, black trench coat reaching all the way down to his boots with a pocket watch for every pocket. The chains gleamed in the dim light of the torches, some of them gold, some of them silver. I didn’t know how he managed to keep them all. The guards confiscated all belongings from prisoners. Unless he was a guard but he sure didn’t look like one. I studied him for a long time before shaking my head.
“Sorry, but your face isn’t ringing a bell. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Ah, details.” The man sighed. “I hate details.” He clapped his hands together. “But why should we talk about me?”
“Because I have no idea who you are, and I’m incredibly suspicious of you?” I suggested.
“Of course you are.” The man pointed a slender finger at me. “But I’d rather talk about you. I hear you botched a supposedly simple heist yesterday.”
I flinched but tried to keep my face steely. “Uh huh? How do you know about that?”
“Oh, I’m something of an expert on thieves. I make it my business to hear about their affairs, successes and failures,” the man said. “Shame you let your team down, huh?”
I let out a hiss and lunged for the man. He laughed and danced out of the way. “Temper, temper! Hitting me won’t get you out of prison.”
I stopped briefly to consider his words and he smirked in satisfaction. Then I decided I didn’t care, and I punched him in the nose.
He stumbled back in surprise, eyes wide. “Great Abyss, what was that?”
“It’s called a metal arm,” I said, pulling off my gloves to reveal the steel appendage. Gadgets whirred and clinked beneath plates of steel as I moved my fingers. “It packs a punch. And so do I.”
Surprisingly enough, the man tipped back his head and started to laugh again. Usually, victims of my physical aggression reacted differently. “Oh, I like you. You have a lot of nerve. A lot of guts. You’re just the kind of girl I need.” He jumped back to his feet in a tick as if I had never punched him at all. In fact, his nose looked way too shapely for something recently smashed by my left fist. Usually there was a lot more blood.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I’m not doing anything for you. Besides, I happen to be in an inescapable underground prison. I can’t do much.”
“On the contrary, you can,” the man said. “Because I can get you out of here.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, yeah? How?”
“I can do that sort of thing.”
“You’re going to want to consider getting more specific really fast, bastard.” I raised my metal fist again. I itched for another good punch, preferably one to knock the smug expression off his face. “How can you expect to get me out of one of the most heavily guarded prisons in the human realms?”
The man’s green eyes twinkled. “Because I am the God of Mischief, little human.”
Now, just to make something clear, I can be accepting of a lot of things and am generally good at keeping my calm in even the most outlandish situation. But in that moment, my jaw dropped, and I blinked dumbly. “You’re. . . .”
“Itazura, at your service.” The man gave a low bow.
I stared, closed my mouth, and then punched him in the face again.
I was playing that punching card a lot today.
“You expect me to believe that?” I snapped.
“Great Abyss, girl! Stop using your left arm.” The supposed God of Mischief rubbed his cheek. “And I’m not lying. I got into this room without opening the door, didn’t I?”
I paused and dropped my fist ever so slightly. He had a point. That was pretty weird.
“And if you need more proof,” Itazura said, reaching into his pocket. “I also nicked the keys.”
I stared at the shiny, beautiful keys dangling from the man’s fingers, and I lowered my fist the rest of the way. Here’s the thing about stealing keys from a vigilant guard: You can’t do it. Believe me; I’ve tried and it almost ended very badly. They get these operations in the center ring of Fortuna to improve their senses. Robotic ears, enhanced vision, and mechanical limbs much fancier than my arm. Plus you couldn’t even become a member of the vigilant squad unless you passed an exam testing your skills of observation. Bottom line: you can’t steal keys from the vigilant squad.
Yet here this man stood, dangling a glimmering set of keys in front of my face. If he had managed to snatch them, he had to be the God of Mischief.
Oh gods. . . .
“I just punched a god,” I muttered, taking a step back from him. “Holy Abyss, I just punched a god.”
“Yes. Twice.” Itazura nodded, an amused expression on his face. “It happens to me more than you’d think. People just don’t appreciate me.”
“Maybe because you’re annoying.” I scowled.
Itazura laughed. “You know I’m a god, yet you still insult me. Oh, I really like you.”
“Glad to hear it.” I crossed my arms. “So, are you getting me out or not?”
“Wait, wait, little human. I have conditions,” Itazura said, holding up a finger.
“Great.”
“Oh don’t look so miserable.” Itazura leaned against the wall. “I just require the assistance of a human for certain matters. No, no.” The god held up his hand, when I opened my mouth to interrupt. “Don’t tell me to be more specific because I won’t. I will explain after you agree.”
“This sounds like a questionable business deal to me,” I muttered. “What’s the catch?”
“Catch? Whatever do you mean?”
“You know, for a god who’s supposed to be good at lying, you are terrible at it.”
Itazura tilted his head to the side. “Not when I don’t want to be.”
“So let me get this straight,” I said. “I agree to help you and then you help my friends and me escape?”
“No, no.” Itazura shook his head. “I’ll help you escape first and I will only help your friends escape when you have done what I ask. I’m not so foolish as to trust someone who calls me their patron god.” He rested a hand on my head and I swatted it away.
“You expect me to abandon my friends here and go around doing all of your dirty work?”
Itazura shrugged. “It’s the only way you can save them, little human. Whether you like it or not, no one else is going to bail you out.” He shook the keys and I bit my lip at the sound of their enticing jingle. “You could make fix this entire botched job. You aren’t going to let your anxious little friend s
tay down here are you? She’ll go insane pretty soon. The others will follow and so will you, as everyone does. I’ve seen many thieves get sent down here. Some of them last longer than others, but they all end up just as crazy as the next. That’s what a lifetime of this dark underground prison does to people. It will do the same to you.”
I glared at the god. “You’re a bastard.”
“I prefer to think of myself as morally ambiguous,” Itazura said. “So, do you wish to make a pact with me?”
I gritted my teeth together. The god was right, though I wanted to punch myself for admitting so. I screwed this heist up. It was my job to fix it. I had promised Sylvia I would get us out of this, but I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. This was a light, a bright, unwelcome light like the kind that wakes you up too early in the morning, but a light all the same. Besides, helping Itazura couldn’t be worse than a prison sentence.
“Fine. I’ll make a pact,” I said, holding out my hand. “But I don’t have anything sharp on me so you’ll have to do it for me.”
“My pleasure.” Itazura held up a single finger. I stared as his nail morphed into a much sharper claw. Then he took my wrist and drew the sharp end swiftly across the palm of my hand before I could go back on my decision. Crimson blood sprang to the surface of the wound but I did not give Itazura the pleasure of seeing me wince. The God then made a similar cut across his own palm. His cut oozed silver instead of red. I’d always heard the blood of a god looked like liquid starlight, but I’d never seen it up close.
“Thinking about backing out?” Itazura asked when I paused. A challenge gleamed in his eyes and I was all too happy to meet it. I clasped his hand in mine.
“Not a chance.”
As our blood mixed, a silver light flashed, briefly lighting up the room and I could feel some of the energy drain from me. Some of my control. I knew I’d placed myself at the God of Mischief’s mercy.
But it didn’t matter. I lead the Pendulum Thieves. I had to dig my team out of the ground I buried us in in the first place.
Hour of Mischief Page 3