The Traitor and the Thief

by Gareth Ward

  “I figured you knew more than you were letting on. What’s that got to do with a garter full of secret syringes?”

  “Standard field kit.” Zonda jumped from the beam. “You don’t want to know what I had strapped to the other thigh.”

  “Maybe not. That still doesn’t explain why Eldritch can’t know about the injection.”

  Zonda reached up to the monkey bars. “There’s a spy in COG sabotaging operations. No one would suspect a candidate of snooping so I’m undercover investigating. That’s what I was doing at the arena and in the gardens the other night.”

  “Eldritch is a suspect?”

  “Everybody’s a suspect, except Major C, which is why I report directly to him.”

  Sin swung adjacent to Zonda as she steadfastly manoeuvred from bar to bar, a look of determination on her face. Noir had sworn him to secrecy, but this couldn’t be a coincidence. They were hunting for a traitor and he knew Noir was up to no good. After their shared ordeal of that evening, Sin felt something for Zonda he’d never experienced before. Perhaps this was what real friendship was, knowing you can tell someone anything, knowing you can trust them with your secrets. Zonda had levelled with him and now he must do the same. “I’ve not been honest either,” he said.

  Sin unburdened himself of the events of the last few days: the overheard conversation in the Conserva-Observatory, spying Lilith through the telescope and the reclamation of the note by Noir. He didn’t understand how it could be connected but now he’d started talking, the truth spilled out and he told Zonda about the photograph in his keeper, the note with the broken cane and how his recruitment to COG had been no accident. He nearly told her about how he could slow time, but the Fixer always said trust your gut, and something told him this wasn’t the right moment.

  It felt good to be free of the secrets. It felt good to be doing the right thing. Earlier that evening, when he’d charged the assassin, he’d known with the absolute clarity of someone about to die that he belonged in COG, and now he wanted to do whatever he could to help unmask the spy.

  Zonda rested with her back against the wall. “Well golly-ghosharooney. Aren’t you a dark horse?”

  “No blacker than you, and I’m supposed to be a wrong ’un.”

  “Fair pointlington. And you’ve no idea why Nimrod wanted you recruited?”

  “Not a clue. Somehow I’m going to find the truth of it, only …”

  “Only what?”

  “Can we keep it our secret until I figure out what’s going on?”

  “I should really tell the Major,” said Zonda, twiddling a pigtail.

  “Promise me you won’t, or I might never discover what happened,” said Sin. He took Zonda’s hand. If she told Major C, who knew how he might react? It didn’t matter that Sin was innocent of any wrongdoing. He’d seen enough kids sent down for a stretch to know that guilty or innocent, sometimes only the look of the thing counted. “I’m keeping your secret about the spy. Keep mine for me, please.”

  Zonda twined her fingers between his. “I promise.”

  “Thanks, Zon,” said Sin, squeezing her hand.

  “In the morning we need to tell the Major everything else, agreed?”

  “We can tell him now.”

  “No. He’s going to be focused on Nimrod tonight.”

  “Will Nimrod be all right? If there’s a traitor at the palace, they could strike again.”

  “The Major will ensure he’s protected, but the damage may already be done.” Zonda pushed herself to her feet. “Come on, let’s have another go at the slanted steam-pit.”

  “Don’t you think we’ve done enough for one evening?”

  “Posituitively not. Tonight’s changed me, Sin. Until this evening it was all a game, and now it’s suddenly real. It’s life and death and nails and blades and next time I need to be ready. You ran straight at the assassins and saved Nimrod’s life. I could barely get him to his feet.”

  Sin shrugged. “I didn’t really save him, that was Dimitrov.”

  “And while it would be fantabulous, and sort of creepy, to have a homicidal Ruskovian always watching over us, I doubt that will be the case. So I need to get fitter and stronger.”

  “So no more sweet, happy, innocent Zonda? ’Cos I kind of liked her.”

  Zonda looked into his eyes. “I think I can still be sweet and happy; that’s who I am. But I’m afraid my innocence is gone.”

  * * *

  The early morning sun cast its warming rays over the cluttered bookcases, filing cabinets and trophies from far-off lands that adorned Major C’s study. Sin and Zonda stood to attention and recounted the events of the previous few days. The Major listened intently from behind his desk. His eyes were bloodshot and even his mekaniks seemed weary, adopting a hangdog slump.

  “Noir’s as slippery as a bucket of eels, always secretive, always up to something, but he’s the best agent COG has. I’ll need more than this to convince me he’s the spy,” said the Major.

  Zonda straightened. “What about his suspicious behaviour in the gardens?”

  Steam shot from the Major’s neck. “Goddamn it! Noir just breathing is suspicious behaviour. The man’s a devil who plays his cards close to his chest but he’s always come through for COG.” He drummed his metallic fingers on the desk, the metal tips pockmarking the woodwork. “Sin, carry on working with Noir, and keep Zonda updated so she can report back to me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Zonda, this camera-nocturna, can you still build it without Nimrod’s help?”

  “Absolutamon, sir.”

  “Get it made, and do it so a watchmek can operate it.” He held up his mekanika hand and wiggled his fingers. “They’re more clunky than me so make it simple and robust.”

  “How is Nimrod, sir?” Zonda asked.

  “He’s not good. He’s in some sort of coma. It’s a miracle he made it through the night. You’ve given him a fighting chance but he’s a scientist, not a soldier, so we can only hope he’s got the strength to battle through.”

  Sin raised his hand. “Sir, do we know who did it?”

  From a desk drawer the Major retrieved a small metal shield the size of a large coin. “The King’s Knights are a group of fervent royalists hell-bent on starting a war. They’re expansionists who believe war in Europe will weaken the nations that threaten Britannia’s global dominance.” He tossed the shield to Sin. “This is their insignia. We recovered it from one of the bodies. What we don’t know is who sent them and why now.”

  The shiny brass shield was cool in Sin’s palm. “What do you mean who sent them, sir?”

  “We’ve long suspected that certain elements of the government and military are unofficially pulling the King’s Knights’ strings, although we’ve never been able to prove anything.”

  Sin ran his fingertips over the shield’s embossed emblem, two crossed swords below a crown. A feeling of familiarity overcame him. He’d encountered this before, but where?

  The Major picked up a report from his desk. “The Teutonians have entered Montenegro claiming that they’re harbouring Serbian terrorists. Political analysts believe the real reason is that the Teutonians are helping the Ottoman Empire in their war with Serbia but COG knows the real real reason is Serbia and Montenegro are allied with the Ruskovians.”

  At least Sin now knew on a map roughly where the Ruskovians and the Teutonians were from. And the events of the previous evening had made him realise that he had the power to make a difference. The assassination of one man could change everything.

  Steam seeped from the Major’s neck. “Europe is a powder keg surrounded by zealots waving matches. If COG can’t put out the flames, we’re all going to get caught in the explosion. And without Nimrod …” The Major sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, his mekaniks clanking as he pulled himself to attention. “Without Nimrod we’re all going to have to try a hell of a lot harder.”

  CHAPTER 20

  HUMOURS OF THE BLOOD

  “Try har
der or there will be consequences,” threatened Lilith.

  Sin pored over an account of the 1704 Battle of Lenheim, the very battle that the palace had been named after. A week had passed since Nimrod had been poisoned and he showed no signs of improvement. Lilith had made it her mission to take over Sin’s “detentions”, forcing him to have extra lessons during lunchtime and after the normal day’s activities had finished. However, unlike the great inventor, who managed to make learning fun, Lilith was a hard taskmistress. Sin had even begun to feel sorry for Velvet. If her mother had been this tough on her all her life, no wonder she was a bully.

  He traced his finger over a map showing the troop dispositions. “So a saboteur introduced a virulent disease called glanders to Tallard’s army, decimating the Cavalry and making them ineffective on the right flank.”

  “And what can we learn from this?”

  “Marshal Tallard wasn’t very good?”

  Lilith slapped a ruler on the map. “Chemical and biological weapons can reshape the battlefield.”

  If something as small as bacteria could change the course of a war, then maybe the young candidates of COG could do so too. Sin raised his hand, and then felt slightly silly because it was only him and Lilith in the room. “And the actions of one agent can make a difference,” he said.

  For a moment Lilith’s face softened and Sin saw the woman beneath the cold exterior.

  “You think I am hard on you?” said Lilith.

  Sin shrugged. It was one of those questions there was no good way to answer.

  Lilith took a deep breath, the bone supports in her bodice creaking. “Today we hear that the Teutonians have sent a brigade of steam cavalry into the Carpathian Mountains.” She raised a hand to her chest, her fingers splayed over her heart, the sharply pointed nails digging into her skin. “That is my home. Or it was. There could be nothing left of it now. My castle, my people, my history, they could be all gone, destroyed, and for what?” Her hand dropped to her side. “I am lucky. I have money so I have a choice. My people, they have no choice. They will fight and they will die. This is why you must study hard. COG needs you; my people need you.”

  Selecting a heavy textbook from a shelf, Lilith dropped it on the desk in front of Sin. “Your homework for today. Humours of the blood.”

  * * *

  Sin curled in the crook of a willow tree overhanging the lake and thumbed through the book Lilith had given him. Below, Zonda did push-ups.

  Sweat poured from Zonda’s brow, trickling down her flushed cheeks. “I’m spent. You have driven me past my physical limits. It is an absolute impossibility for me to continue.” She collapsed to the ground, the push-up incomplete.

  “You’ve only done five, and one of those wasn’t a proper one.”

  “I require sustenance. Maybe some cake.”

  Sin dropped from the tree, careful not to lose his place in the book. “We discussed this. The only way to get over that wall is for you to get lighter and stronger.”

  Zonda raised her head. “It doesn’t have to be a very big cake.”

  “Think of it as an equation. Wall equals strength divided by weight.”

  “I do believe I preferred it when you were a moron.”

  Sin slammed the book closed. “You think I’m a moron?”

  “Not any more.” Zonda pushed herself to her knees. “You’ve definitely progressed to village idiot.”

  He knew Zonda didn’t mean it but it still irked him. She took her intelligence and schooling for granted whereas everyday he struggled through his remedial studies and detentions, trying to catch up on fourteen wasted years. He supposed she must feel the same about exercise.

  Sin removed a rectangular tin from a pocket and flicked the hinged lid open. Inside nestled a succulent slice of treacle tart. “Mmm, this looks really good. I can feel my mouth watering already. I’m not sure I’ll be able to manage it all.”

  Zonda jumped to her feet, instantly energised. Sin snapped the tin shut. “Stick with me to the bridge and you get a bite.” He jogged away, Zonda huffing and puffing behind him.

  * * *

  Elaborate carvings of mythical creatures decorated the bridge’s parapet. Sin sat next to a three-headed chimera, running his hands over the smooth stone. “Why’d you want a lion, a goat and a snake all joined together?” he said.

  Zonda rolled a large chunk of treacle tart around her mouth in a state of rapture. “The Greeks often made hybrids. I guess they were combining the animal’s best qualities.”

  “I get the lion and the snake – fearsome and deadly – but why a goat?”

  Zonda ran her tongue over her lips savouring the last few morsels of errant sugar. “The goat separates the snake and the lion. Perhaps it stops them fighting. If you only had the dangerous parts of animals, maybe it would be too much of a monster.”

  Sin returned the tin to his pocket. “Do you think we’ll finish the camera-nocturna this evening?” Without Nimrod’s expert guidance, converting the camera had proven trickier than expected. The Major had given them clearance to use Nimrod’s lab and so every night after supper they’d worked on converting the camera Fox Talbot had given them. The mekanikal and optical alterations were now complete but each time they developed the photographs all that emerged were sheets covered in dark splodges.

  Zonda licked her fingers. “Jasper’s been helping me with the chemical formulas. He thinks if I tweak the composition of the silver nitrate it should work.”

  Sin bristled, imagining Jasper and Zonda having cosy chemical discussions that he was nowhere near smart enough to understand. The science behind how light, or indeed dark, made pictures, might as well be magic as far as he was concerned.

  A malignant ball knotted in his chest. He slid off the parapet and began jogging over the bridge. “Once around the lake and we’re done.”

  Zonda stamped her foot. “I thought we were done now.”

  Sin carried on jogging. He’d got used to Zonda’s tantrums and found ignoring them to be the best policy.

  “I hate you,” she shouted but Sin could hear her thudding footsteps and heavy breathing as she jogged after him.

  “And I hate Jasper Jenkins,” he whispered under his breath.

  * * *

  Their exercise finished, Sin showered and returned to his room. He slumped onto the bed and took out his homework book. A constant faint hiss, almost inaudible, vexed his ears. He sat up and turned his head seeking the source. On his desk a carved ivory hourglass trickled away time, the sand slipping not quite silently downward. Propped against the timepiece was a playing card, the two of spades. The fountain before the sand runs out was inscribed between the pips in spider-like handwriting. Sin flipped the card over. Adorning the back was a sinister skeleton in a top hat juggling more playing cards. There was no doubt who the message was from. Why couldn’t Noir just write a note like any normal person? Because he wasn’t a normal person, he was about as abnormal as they came. Sin tried to keep a lid on his fear as the last few grains slid from the upper bulb. Cursing, he snatched the hourglass and ran.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE LOST EXPERIMENT

  Noir stood with his back to Sin, one hand extended, letting the fountain’s water splash onto his palm. Other than the exaggerated thump of his own heart, Sin was certain he made no sound as he approached, but the magician seemed to sense his presence and turned. He held out his hand expectantly, the fingers bent claw-like.

  His arm trembling, Sin gave Noir the hourglass, the top bulb conspicuously empty.

  “You’re late,” said Noir.

  Sin bowed his head, unwilling to meet the magician’s gaze. “I came as soon as I got the message.”

  Noir clicked his fingers and sand flowed upwards into the top bulb. “No matter. We still have time.” He clapped his hands together and the hourglass vanished, replaced with a key. “You will go to the Waterloo Room in the instructors’ wing. Hidden beneath the desk is a file that you will steal and destroy. Under no circums
tances will you look in the file.”

  Sin swallowed. Fear constricted his throat. “The instructors’ wing is out of bounds. It’s a Cast-Iron Rule,” he said, pocketing the key.

  “Better ensure you don’t get caught then,” rasped Noir. From beneath his jacket he produced a clockwork pistol.

  “What’s that for?” asked Sin, his mouth uncomfortably dry.

  “There’s a watch-dog. Shoot it between the eyes and you’ll be fine.”

  The knot in his stomach tightened. Sin took the pistol and stuck it in his belt.

  A silver coin appeared between Noir’s fingers. He kissed it and threw it into the fountain. “For luck. Go now. The Committee has a meeting, which gives you the perfect opportunity and gives me the perfect alibi.”

  * * *

  The instructor’s wing occupied the central portion of the palace behind the gymnasium. Sin pushed the carved wood door, half hoping to find it locked, but it swung silently inwards. His pulse raced as he stole into the corridor expecting all manner of alarms to sound. He waited, breath held, body tense, but his crossing of the invisible boundary to where discovery meant expulsion proved uneventful. Ahead, a black and white chequered floor ran the length of the wing. On raised plinths, as if guarding the doors on either side, stood knights in armour holding sturdy double-bladed axes. The passageway looked like a giant medieval chessboard. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a pawn, that’s what Zonda had said during her match against Jasper. Was Sin to be the sacrificial pawn in a game where he didn’t understand the rules, or even know who the players were?

  He crept past rooms named after famous battles: Rorkes Drift, Balaklava, Lapsang Ridge. The knights gave him an unnerving sensation of being watched. Reaching the door marked Waterloo, he drew the pistol and let himself in, locking the door behind him. The room was an instructor’s living quarters. The scarlet leather coat hanging on the coat stand identified whose.

  Expensive period furniture decorated the room, which combined private dining, lounge and study areas. A corridor led to further rooms but Sin had already spied the desk set between two full-length windows.