Swords and Scoundrels

by Julia Knight

The docker shifted his weight, and Eneko’s grip tightened on his sword. Petri wouldn’t have liked to bet which way it would go, if it came to it. The docker was a big man, and for all his flesh was melted away, under his skin snaked a thin whipcord of muscle, the muscle of someone using it whether he’s fed or not. The billhook was a good weapon too for anyone used to it, but Eneko hadn’t become guild leader by failing at his swordplay.

  “Seems to me you work more for the king and his nobles than anyone else,” Bakar said.

  “Seems to me they’ve got more money than anyone else. You know, well as I do, most master duellists aren’t nobles or rich, and we’ll even work for free if the cause seems good to us. You’ve got no quarrel with that, have you?”

  Bakar snorted in disgust. “Mercenaries, and in the king’s pocket too, his little favourites, and you think that gives you power. It gives you nothing, as I intend to show you. Just money-grubbing mercenaries.”

  The sword point came up out of the dirt and was a blink away from Bakar’s stomach before Petri realised what was going on. “Don’t use that word in my hearing. Duellists is what we are. We got our own codes we stick to, and you know it. If you want a fight you’ll have one, but this is my guild and you’re not coming in. Tell you what: if you win, I’ll work for you all you like, because you’ll have the money then. Even throw in a free job. But this guild is mine, is all of ours, and we go our own way. Always have, all these centuries since the empire fell, all these years of false gods and dead gods and preening kings. Always our own way. Right?”

  Bakar eyed the sudden forest of swords pointing his way, smiled and held up his hands. “A free job? I may take you up on it earlier than you think. This is no bloody revolution, Eneko.” He looked up at the billhook dripping blood down his arm. “Or no more than it needs to be. They attack us, we’ll defend, but I want no more heads on the block than I must for change to happen. Maybe the nobles’ or king’s. Not yours, if you don’t hinder us, but if you do you can join your paymasters. What we want is fairness. For everyone. An orderly place in an orderly universe, everything happening as it should. Like clockwork.”

  Eneko chuckled. “Hah, you listened to that Novatonas too much. I heard about him and his clockwork universe, and it’s a crock of shit. Didn’t he teach you too that life ain’t fair, or that clockwork breaks, or that people make choices all the time that make that movement jump its rails? Well, you go on and give it a go, fight the king and all his men for what you want. We’ll be here waiting when it’s all done.”

  A thought seemed to strike him then, and he turned to the duellists ranged behind him. “Unless any of you want to take on a very low-paying job and help these people out? I won’t stop you. Nor if you want to work on the side of the king. You’re your own men and women, and you know your hearts best; you make your own choices, you all know that. I’ll be here waiting for you too, when you come back.”

  Lots of shuffling of feet and staring at the dirt before one or two made their way through the gates. Eneko nodded each one past, seeming to bear them no ill will. A duellist took whatever job he saw fit, what seemed good to him, as long as he acted within the honour set out by the guild. Once a job was taken on, it was an oath to see it through, but those who paid didn’t always get exactly what they asked for, if the duellist decided there was another, more honourable way.

  Bakar turned to the assembled workers, dockers, thieves and shirkers and spread his arms wide.

  “I have a gift for all of you, for all of us. They put me in the Shrive for heresy, for talking against the gods that men made after this, our Clockwork God, epitome of our city, died. They put me in the Shrive for saying those false gods couldn’t grant the gift of kingship, couldn’t answer prayers. That, despite what the king and his nobles say, there is no shame in clockwork, no sin in it, as some of the priests preach. Clockwork is not blasphemy, it is prayer. Because I said the Clockwork God died not for arrogance, for ignorance. Because we did not see his true message and the true beauty of him. Some of you kept that faith even when I was in the Shrive, after Novotonas was executed for his beliefs, and I thank you for that. But I was wrong.”

  A gasp from the crowd. They were giving him all their attention now. Petri couldn’t blame them – the way Bakar’s voice rolled around the space was mesmerising, forcing you to listen to his words. Even Eneko was rapt.

  Bakar’s voice dropped, but was still enough to be heard in every corner. “I was wrong, because the Clockwork God is not dead, merely sleeping, waiting for us to understand his true purpose. I found my way out of my cell in the Shrive and down under the city where no man dares to go if he wants to live. There are cogs down there the size of houses that will chew a man to pieces at the change. Axles the size of trees, movements the size of this guild. It is truly a thing of beauty and a sight to inspire the lowliest of men. The priests tell us it was their arrogance that made him strike them – us – down, his sorrow for doing so that killed him, that no man should look upon it in case he is tempted to follow that pride, that arrogance. The priests lie. They tell us one thing from one side of their mouths, and yet they aren’t just priests. They go into the bowels of the movement to tempt themselves against wanting it, to test themselves, oil the gears and clear the debris and prove that even though the city moves, the old god is dead. So they say. But I know the truth. A hundred days and nights I spent in the workings of the city, feeding on the scraps that fell through at the change. A hundred days and nights contemplating the truth of the cogs and the beauty of that truth. I know, because I found the secret. The Clockwork God gave it to me in my hour of need because it was written in the movement.”

  He beckoned to a youth at the front of the mob, who looked up at him with adoration and handed him a bag. Bakar spread his arms again, the billhook in one hand, and the crowd roared like a lion, deafened Petri with its intensity.

  “This is how I know that the king is not gods blessed. This is how I know the Clockwork God is not dead.”

  He stepped forward, and all the crowd fell back before him, some bending to one knee. Petri found he was holding his breath, found also that he wanted to believe this, needed to. Needed something more to believe in.

  Bakar opened the bag with a flourish and brought out something complicated made of what looked like gold and silver and rubies. A pretty thing to be sure, but not something to make a revolution over. Then Bakar stepped up to the dead Clockwork God and opened – to a scandalised gasp – the plate on his chest with a little silver key.

  Where? How? Petri could feel the questions flow around him. No one could get into the dead god. Many had tried and all had failed. Except the golden-haired Bakar. He turned an eye Petri’s way and smiled, a smile that would burn in Petri’s memory for years. No matter how he turned it over in his mind, that smile always came back to utter belief and serenity. And serenity, that was what Petri had never had, what he craved.

  The gold and silver contraption went into the god, the door closed, the key turned. For long minutes nothing happened, and murmurs grew in the crowd and in Petri’s heart. His father had forbidden him the new gods and the old dead god, everything that might have given him some semblance of belief. But now the Clockwork God moved. Its head came up, its arm came around, fingers pinching as though trying to grab something.

  There was silence broken only by the clicks and clanks of the god as he moved. Bakar stepped forward and laid something on his plinth. The god bent down to pick it up, seemed to read the scrap of paper before solemnly opening the compartment in his chest and putting it inside.

  Bakar turned back to the crowd, his face alight, arms raised. “The only comfort is truth! And only the clockwork can show us the truth, if we learn to read it right. That’s what the Clockwork God means, that’s what the Castans lost, why their empire fell. They forgot about the truth behind the world, the clockwork that runs us all, and sought only fancies and lies, sought only to imitate. All our futures are written in the movement, and he has given i
t to me to see it. The king will fall, and we will rise, all according to our gifts, according to what the god has planned for us in his workings.”

  The crowd came to life slowly, men and women creeping forward to touch the god, to look at Bakar with wonder.

  “Clever trick,” Eneko growled, his voice sounding harsh after Bakar’s smooth tones.

  “No trick, Eneko. No trick. Now where do you stand?”

  “Same place as always, Bakar. Right here. Perhaps now you’ll go?”

  “Perhaps,” Bakar replied. “There’s just a small matter. While the god tells me all, no harm in making sure we have the advantage in the coming hours and days. Besides, I’ve seen it in the movement.”

  Petri’s stomach coiled in on itself as Eneko turned to stare straight at him. Later, he’d wonder why, whether this was something cooked up between Bakar and Eneko, that his guild leader had sacrificed him days ago and was only now telling him.

  “Just a small matter of leverage, of making sure the movement doesn’t break, as you say, Eneko.” Bakar smiled, serene like a priest who knows he basks in the glow of the god’s good regard. “There are no choices. There is only what must happen. And right now what will happen is you, Eneko, will give me a hostage for your good behaviour. For your guild’s good behaviour, and with that I will leave you the goodwill of the people of Reyes, because know this: if you go against me you will see how fleeting that love is. Pick one. Whoever you like. It will be the right one because that is how things are meant to be. The clockwork moves along its rails and you can’t stop it because you too are just one of the cogs that make up the universe. One hostage out of these here. Choose, and the guild may yet stand a while. You are merely turning like the cog you are because today we rule this city, and you.”

  Eneko couldn’t hide the sneer or the twitch of his hand. Wanting to use his blade or fear? Or both? Petri couldn’t decide.

  More men and women were congregating around the reanimated god, offering it their truths. Eneko seemed as made of brass as the god, but he took in the crowds, the surge of people cheering, the tide of them welling up behind Bakar and muttering, more than muttering some of them.

  The guild was something apart in Reyes, and that was its strength and right now maybe a weakness. Because it wasn’t just apart, it was above, or at least above the crowd of people that glared at it now. It took in dock rats and smiths’ children sure enough, but it then kept them for itself. It had what these people didn’t – food and money enough. Petri hadn’t seen much of what life was like down in the docks or Soot Town, but he’d seen some of the new recruits come in on Apprentice Day. Thinner than whips, all sharp knees and elbows and eyes too big in their faces as they were herded down to the mess and promptly fell on the food like the half-starved waifs they were. Later he’d shared dorms with some of them, and his eyes had begun to open.

  Add to that the certainty of being fed, a certain position and, most importantly, those who passed the initial weeding-out process had a near immunity to being arrested and having their heads chopped off. Even the king wasn’t stupid enough to antagonise the guild. The guild was revered for the link to the past it was, but it was something else too, a reminder of what all the rest of Reyes didn’t have. It was a force to be reckoned with because of the people’s goodwill, but it also existed only because of their goodwill. Now Bakar was telling the people they could have everything because it was all going to be fair, because he’d woken the old god, and that god had told him so. Even Petri could see how that had fired them up. It stirred something in him too, if he was honest, because being noble or having money didn’t mean you had a good life. Just made it easier to cope with.

  He thought he understood this, and he wanted to understand more, but that wasn’t enough to prepare him.

  Eneko eyed the glowering crowds and their makeshift weapons. Bakar gave his serene smile again, a smile that held secrets behind it, and pulled out an odd-looking contraption. Petri couldn’t make it out – it looked like a pipe with a winding mechanism attached – but it meant something to Eneko, that was plain. He looked back at the duellists behind him and licked his lips. Maybe the guild could survive an attack and maybe not, but Petri was sure that Eneko would fight. The guild was everything to him, as it had become to Petri. A family, his family, who’d loved him more than his real family had ever done.

  Which is why Eneko’s next words came like knives in the dark.

  “Petri, come here.”

  Bakar nodded as though this was the only outcome that could ever have been, and waved Petri over using the pipe contraption.

  Petri didn’t move. He couldn’t move. All around him duellists muttered under their breath, but the sergeant-at-arms shut them up, though she didn’t look as though she liked it any better than they did.

  “Petri!” Eneko’s voice sounded odd, stretched, but it got Petri moving, along with a prod in the back from someone – the sergeant, he thought.

  He stood between Bakar and Eneko, his head whirling. What was Eneko doing? Wasn’t he going to fight for the guild?

  “Do I have your assurance that the guild will stand?” Eneko said to Bakar.

  Bakar shrugged. “I suppose we can make use of you. There’ll be changes, of course. More taxes and more control. None of your more, ahem, irregular activities, which we will discuss at great length at a later date. But the guild will stay. We can haggle on the details later, but rest assured you will be brought to heel. Maybe we can give you a looser leash once I’m sure you’ll behave.”

  “But—” Petri began.

  “Your sword,” Eneko snapped, “and your tabard.”

  He didn’t give them up; they had to take them, rip the sword from his hand, the tabard from his back. With them went every fragile certainty in Petri’s life. He felt awkward without the weight of the sword at his side, naked without the guild colours covering him. Bakar planted a hand on his shoulder and turned him. Petri looked back at Eneko, saw him blank and implacable.

  “Why?” was all Petri could think to say.

  Eneko shifted as though guilt was stirring in him, but his voice was hard and cold. “You’re the price.”

  A master surged forward from behind Eneko, sword out, driving for them. Petri never did work out what he was trying to do, whether to attack Bakar, pull Petri back into the guild or somehow try to take on the whole crowd. Bakar didn’t hesitate a second but raised the pipe contraption and pulled a lever. The noise was tremendous, deafening Petri. When he could hear again, the master was on the floor with blood leaking from him, and the contraption was pointed at Eneko.

  “I will shoot you, if I have to,” Bakar said. “And if I do, your guild will be the first thing I take down, piece by piece, stone by stone. Your masters will work for me or die.”

  Eneko ground his teeth, twitched his hand on his sword and cast a glance over his shoulder at the masters waiting for his command, for the chance to draw their swords. Do what seems good to you, that’s what he always said, the motto of the guild, but here on their land he was the voice of the guild. He chose, for good or ill, how the guild would respond.

  One last glare at Petri as though this was all his fault, another look at his masters, and he turned on his heel, put up his sword and bellowed, “You heard the man!”

  Things grew dim after that. Men and women swirled around him; the guild gates were shut for the first time Petri could ever recall, and Bakar pulled him across the bridge to the reborn god.

  “How does it feel,” Bakar said softly in his ear, “to be betrayed by a person you looked to as a father? To be used to buy the guild’s safety? Is it a consolation that this is the only way your life could turn out? That you were destined to come with me?”

  The words seemed to swim in front of Petri’s eyes. “Destined? That’s—”

  “Predetermined then. Everything is clear to one who can see the clockwork behind the world. The world is as it is, and can be no other way, and neither can we be other than the clockwor
k makes us. Past, future, present: all run like clockwork and our paths are decided for us. It is written in that clockwork for you to come with me, and to become mine not Eneko’s. Do you want to stay with a man who’d sell you out so easily? It was written that I would start this.” He raised his voice so that the whole crowd could hear. “Written that we will all overthrow the king. The clockwork behind the world is clear.”

  He looked up at the solid incarnation of the god, his representative here in the world, gleaming in a sudden burst of sunshine as though the god had arranged the clouds just so. “It’s time it was clear to everyone. I think after today, after the king is gone, that we’ll show the whole world the clockwork that runs it. Only I know, but I’m not greedy. I’ll share. They threw me in the Shrive to try to find out what I knew. Kept me there in the dark, worse than dark, but I never told them. Never told them how I found the great clockwork under the river, the waterwheels that power all the clocks, your mechanical duellist, power the change o’ the clock. Found all its gears and levers and cogs, found out how it works. How everything works.”

  “But, my father and the king, they’ll kill you. Men tried before, my father said, and they were no match for the gods-blessed king.” Petri didn’t know who he was trying to convince.

  “Pfft to the king. He says he’s gods-blessed, gods-chosen, but we know the truth, that there is only one god and he doesn’t choose the king. Wheels turn, that is all, and now they’re turning for us. We have these guns – not many, but enough. All your training, Petri, all your mastery, and I can snuff it out just like that, like I did with that master, like Eneko knew I could do to him. This –” he waved the pipe thing around, causing more than one man to duck, “– this is revolt. This is revolution. This is ours. We made it, and we’re going to use it.

  “Listen, Petri, we aren’t the king, killing good men with bad, or the nobles, bleeding the poor for every drop of blood and sweat. Today this city, this country, starts afresh. We will all be one, both great and free. Free of a demented king and his magicians.”