by Gareth Ward
The patter of paws sounded from the corridor. Sin clasped the pistol in both hands, took aim and waited. The original watch-dogs were small mekanikal beasts made from scavenged watch parts, but as technology had improved they had become larger and more advanced. However, what emerged from the corridor was no watch-dog, it was a clock-weiler. Its solidly built iron body stood three feet tall, with a row of brassanium hackles running along its spine. The beast’s jagged jaws opened and it issued a low mekanikal growl. Gears whirred as it sank back on its spring-powered haunches, preparing to pounce.
Sin squinted down the pistol, aligning the front and rear sights just like MacKigh had taught them, and squeezed the trigger. With a twang, the neodymium magnet projectile shot from the wooden barrel. Striking the dog’s head, it clung to the iron, the intense magnetic field locking the beast’s clockwork brain solid.
Tentatively, Sin took a step towards the dog, unsure of whether the immobilisation was permanent. The beast remained inert so he edged closer and curled his fingers around the dog’s tail. He twisted and pulled backwards opening a hatch to the mekanika’s workings. Inside were a confusion of cogs, gears and ratchets. He depressed the spring release and the clockwork engine unwound. Sin lifted the beast back to its “bed” along the corridor and arranged it into a sleeping position before prising the magnet from its head.
Returning to the main room, he skirted a Persian rug and headed to the polished walnut desk. The inlaid leather top was littered with paperwork, but if Noir was correct, what he wanted was underneath. As he bent down, he heard voices outside in the passageway and a key rattled in the door’s lock. He dived under the desk. It was not the best of hiding places but he was out of options.
Major C clanked into the room and with an elongated hiss lowered onto a sofa. “I wish all Committee meetings were that quick.”
“Indeed. I expected far more resistance from Noir. Getting COG Brazil undercover should be routine but the rest of the mission is nigh on suicidal,” said Eldritch.
“For anyone else maybe. Noir’s special. If he catches the zeppelin for Bucharest tonight, he might just pull it off.”
Sin frowned. So Noir had been sent on a secret mission and he’d taken Lottie with him. It didn’t seem right. Sin knew they were training to be sent on undercover missions, but surely they weren’t ready?
Eldritch joined the Major, taking a seat opposite. “So what did you want to discuss?”
“The boy. You were supposed to keep him away from Zonda.”
“I tried. At the Aquarinomic Hotel. I thought I’d encouraged him to befriend Velvet, only–”
Steam vented from the Major’s half-helmet. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Only Velvet swapped rooms with Zonda so I may have inadvertently brought Sin and Zonda together.”
“Good God, man. I should have you flogged and drummed from the ranks.”
Eldritch held a hand to his chest. “It wasn’t my fault. Apparently, Velvet objected to being housed near the ‘urchins’ as she called them.”
Sin tried to process this new information. His whole standing at COG was based on misinformation. He’d only sided with Zonda and the East Wing because of Eldritch’s encouragement, so where did that leave him now? And why had the Major not wanted him to associate with Zonda? Was it because he was from the streets or was it something else?
Sin pushed further back into the shadows as Eldritch approached his hiding place and threw something roughly onto the desktop overhead. Sin looked up, his eyes drawn by the noise. Pinned to the underside of the desk was a thin document file – the one Noir wanted him to steal. Written in capital letters at the top of the folder was THE LOST EXPERIMENT. Below it were a list of names, all except the last one struck through. Sin read the last name and shivered.
CHAPTER 22
LETTERS AND LIES
SIN. The last name on the list. He wanted to rip the folder free and riffle through the contents but he had to remain cautious. There was no need to rush, he wasn’t going anywhere, so he peered from beneath the desk and waited for the right moment. Eldritch and Major C were hunched over a map resting on a low tea table. Sporadically, a bout of steam would issue from the Major’s mekaniks. Sin eased back into the shadows. Noir had ordered him to destroy the folder without looking at the contents. There was no way that was going to happen. He reached up and using the noise of the Major’s movements as cover he prised the pins free. Clipped inside the folder were several pages of notes and three photographs.
The top photograph was ripped and faded, the edges tinged with age. The once crisp blacks were now muddy browns but the picture of a group of men posing in a laboratory was clear enough. They all wore pristine lab coats except for a central figure who sported a tweed jacket. He was much younger in the picture, yet there was no mistaking the scientist’s identity. It was Nimrod Barm. To the right of Nimrod stood a young woman in a white coat, her belly gently rounded, her eyes tinged with sadness. Sin’s hand went to his keeper, the torn fragment inside a perfect copy of the woman in the photograph. If the lady was indeed his mother, that meant Nimrod knew her. Was that why he’d been so insistent Eldritch recruit Sin? He could question Nimrod and finally, after fourteen years, get some answers about who he was. Elation gripped Sin and he struggled to contain himself. Then the reality of Nimrod’s plight hit home. His stomach lurched. It didn’t matter what the scientist knew. He was in a coma and may never recover. Sin flipped the photo over. Written on the back in a neat cursive script was The Eugenesis Project 1876. It was a lead of sorts. Perhaps he could ask around at the Society of Inventors, see if it meant anything to anyone.
He flicked to the next photograph, which lay facedown. Inscribed by the same hand was written Escape – September 12th 1876. Sin turned the photo over. It showed a small wooden crate of Sinclair’s Medicinal Spirits, except the crate’s contents were not twelve bottles of gin but a baby swaddled in newspaper, resting in a bed of straw. The baby smiled at a teddy bear held above its head. His teddy bear. The one that had been left with him at the orphanage. A sovereign ring made from three intermeshing cogs graced the index finger of the hand holding the teddy. He stared at the photo, at himself as a baby, helpless, innocent. Anger simmered. Why had he been abandoned? He turned to the final photo. It was a different size and shape to the others and was stamped on the back with the crest of the City of Coxford Police. The picture showed a nun holding the same crate although now it was empty, with several of the slats broken. A dark substance splattered the outside obscuring all except the first three letters of the writing, so it appeared to say only one word. Sin. So this was how he had been named. Not because his mother was a shameful harlot as the Sisters had always led him to believe but because of his makeshift cot.
The anger surged in Sin’s chest. He’d been lied to all his life and even here at COG, where he’d decided to make his new home, they were keeping secrets from him. Eldritch must know something of Sin’s past; he must have some of the answers. Sin fought the urge to leap from hiding and confront Eldritch. He couldn’t afford to get thrown out of COG, not now. Taking a deep but quiet breath, he settled under the desk and picked up the notes. The first two pages made little sense to him. He guessed they detailed some of the science behind the Eugenesis Project but it was mostly too complex for him to understand. The final page, however, was written in a spider-like handwriting he immediately recognised. Noir’s.
Dear Sister Alldread,
I am pleased to hear that my hypnosis has relieved Sin’s night terrors. The events he witnessed as a baby have left deep scars that may never heal. I can suppress the memories for now, however at some point they will break free with unknown consequences. Each session is becoming more difficult and I worry that Sin may be projecting his fear onto me. I have used mesmeric-amnesia to make him forget my part in the sessions, but the underlying emotions may be harder to quell. Please advise me if his condition deteriorates.
Yours sincerely,
Magus Noir.
Sin re-read the letter. At least he now knew why the magician petrified him, and perhaps how Noir had come into possession of the letter and the broken cane. From under his shirt, he withdrew his keeper and unlocked it. The folder’s contents were a clue to his past; he couldn’t destroy them as Noir had instructed. He rolled the photographs and notes into a tube, and slid them into his keeper before sealing it closed and scrambling the combination. Under the cover of the boisterous conversation that now drifted from the table he pinned the empty folder back into place. He crossed his arms over his knees and hunkered down, waiting for an opportunity to escape.
* * *
Sin awoke in darkness.
He recalled Eldritch and Major C breaking out a bottle of scotch, which they had steadily worked through as they reminisced about past glories and toasted fallen colleagues. Sin peeked from beneath the desk. The room was now silent. His cramped muscles complaining, he crept from his hiding place. Anger still smouldered in his chest but the fear of being caught overwhelmed it. Fingers of moonlight reached through the long windows, painting the room grey. Sin navigated to the door and edged into the passage, thankful for the chemcandles casting a bluish light along its length.
In the midnight silence the metal hobnails in his shoes made a horrible tapping against the marble floor. He slipped the shoes from his feet and padded along the corridor. His thief’s senses nagged him. He checked over his shoulder. There was nothing, just the armoured knights and a very faint ticking of clockwork. A knight’s head twisted towards him, the eyes glowing red. Adrenalin surged in his veins, prickling his skin. Not armoured knights – watchmek. He sprinted for the exit, his stockinged feet slipping on the shiny marble. The mekanika clanked from their platforms, weapons raised. Ahead two more knights blocked the way, battleaxes swinging towards him. Sin dived between them, sliding on his belly. An axe cleaved through the air, and he felt the swish of the blade as it sliced past, a whisker’s breadth from his face. He regained his feet and bolted through the door to the main palace. His pace slowed. The mekanika weren’t following but he heard raised voices. He hurried past the green room and ducked into a servant’s stairwell. Silently, he replaced his shoes then scurried up the back stairs and headed to his room.
He pushed the door open, his heart hammering, half expecting to find Noir waiting for him before remembering the magician had been sent on a mission. The grandfather clock next to his desk showed it was nearly one in the morning. Remedial lessons started in five hours. Not bothering to undress, he slumped onto his bed and drifted into a dream-ravaged world of magicians, mekanika and mad scientists.
* * *
Sister Alldread towered over Sin, cane in hand. She brought it down on his back with a loud knock. Sin jolted awake as another knock sounded on his door. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and tried to bring the clock into focus. Ten past eight. Damn. He’d missed remedial lessons and breakfast. He unlocked the door and Zonda barged in.
“Are you all right?” she asked. Then without stopping for breath continued, “Where were you last night? I couldn’t find you anywhere. I was completely hystericalified. I thought something badiferous had happened. I thought they’d sent you on a mission with Lottie. Has something badiferous happened? Are you going on a mission?”
Sin struggled to find an answer, or even to work out which question he was supposed to be answering first.
Zonda hugged him. “We’ve not fallen out have we? I don’t really hate you. It was a sugar rush making me say it.”
“It was Noir,” said Sin.
“I know. Noir and Lottie off on a secret mission. Everyone’s chit-jabbering about it.”
“No. I mean Noir had me doing his dirty work. I’ll explain later. I need to get ready for lessons, but we’re good.”
From her pocket Zonda pulled out a rolled up tube of paper. She handed it to Sin, a huge smile on her face. Sin uncurled the paper. It was a photograph of the lab but instead of being black and white it was captured in hues of violet. No, it wasn’t a photograph, it was a nocturnagraph. “You did it?” he asked, checking he’d understood.
“Correcterlington. We did it.”
Now it was Sin’s turn to hug her. “Nimrod would be so proud.”
CHAPTER 23
ROOFTOP REVELATIONS
Eldritch stood at the front of the green room. His eyes were puffy and a thin sheen of hangover-induced perspiration covered his forehead. Sin struggled not to glare and so focused on the two identical carriage clocks that rested atop the table next to the instructor. The daily plan listed the lesson as Beat the Clock: an inter-wing competition and there was a certain tense expectation in the air as the candidates chatted noisily.
Stanley tapped Sin on the shoulder. “How come you weren’t in remedials?”
“Overslept.”
“Thought maybe you’d been sent on a mission like Lottie.”
“No danger. They ain’t going to send me overseas. I can hardly manage English let alone Teutonian or Fromagian, or whatever they speak in Bucharest.”
“What makes you think she’s gone to Bucharest?” said Velvet, leaning closer.
Sin’s heart leaped. He could hardly admit to eavesdropping on Eldritch and the Major. He stretched and gave an over-exaggerated yawn to buy some time. “Dunno. Didn’t she say she used to live there or something?”
“Class,” shouted Eldritch and a hush fell over the room. “We can teach you techniques and skills but a COG agent must be able to think for themselves and improvise. That is the aim of Beat the Clock.” He picked up the two clocks, handing one to Isla Shank and the other to Jimmy Ace. “Each clock is to be placed in full view in your common room and must stay there. It is the objective of each wing to steal or disable the other wing’s clock. You must do so without confrontation or discovery. The clocks are out of bounds during lessons or in the ten minutes before or after a lesson. Any questions?”
Mercy raised a hand. “How long do we have to complete the mission?”
“You have the morning to plan and if you’ll excuse the pun, the test has no time limit.” Eldritch waited to see if there were any more questions. None coming he said, “The test starts now. Take your clocks and go.”
The East Wingers huddled around Jimmy, escorting him in a mob of bodies back to the common room. He put the clock on a solid oak dresser while the candidates pulled the room’s chairs into an impromptu circle. Sin sat next to Zonda, but his mind was elsewhere.
Esra Trimble began scribbling on a pad of paper. “We need a roster to guard the clock. I’ll draw one up, so let me know if you can’t do your slots.”
Jimmy punched a fist into his palm. “The best form of defence is attack. So how do we get to the West Wing clock first?”
Ethel Hope held up her hand, a serious expression gracing her face. “I don’t want to be indelicate but Sin and Stanley were both thieves. Perhaps they could enlighten us as to how they would do it?”
“Best monkey-man in the business, I was,” said Stanley proudly. “It would be a pleasure to let you la-de-das in on our villainous ways, wouldn’t it, Sin?”
“What?” said Sin, dragged from his thoughts of Eldritch and his secret file.
“They want to know how to steal the clock,” repeated Stanley.
“They’ll be guarding it, same as us. We’ve got to take out the guard and then the clock’s up for grabs. It’s not steamrocket science.”
Jasper Jenkins tutted. “As this test proves, violence is rarely the answer. There’s to be no confrontation so we can’t take out the guard.”
“We’ve just got to take the guard out of play,” Stanley said. “It doesn’t have to be physical.”
“Plenty of ways to deal with a guard,” said Sin, “distraction, chloroform, bribery, blackmail, take your pick.”
Esra held up a gridded timetable. “Here’s our guard duty for today. And if I may make another suggestion, we don’t need to stick to just one plan. Stanley, Ethel, Jimmy and I
can explore the guard option. Zonda, Mercy, Sin and Jasper can investigate alternative methods.”
Sin stood and forced his shoulders back, flexing his muscles. “Just so we’re clear. They’ll be trying to bribe, threaten or blackmail our guards to get a run at our clock. When that happens you let me know so we can take measures.” Sin lowered his voice to a whisper and gestured at Ethel. “Because not wanting to be indelicate, if anyone were to betray us, I will enlighten you as to how thieves like me and Stanley deal with disloyalty.”
Ethel’s face paled and she clutched at the lace frills on the front of her dress.
“I’m sure no one here would turn traitor,” blustered Esra.
“Everyone has their price,” said Sin flatly.
* * *
Mercy and Jasper followed Sin and Zonda from the common room. Mercy took Zonda’s hand. “I had an idea but didn’t want to say in front of everyone else. If we can get a line of sight into the West Wing, could you shoot the clock?”
“Absolutamon. From where do you think we’ll get a shot?”
“The servant’s quarters are directly opposite, or you might get a bead from the roof,” said Mercy.
“We can check out the roof,” said Sin. “Like Stanley said, we have a certain expertise in that area.”
“I would have thought you’d feel equally at home in the servant’s quarters,” said Jasper.
Sin straightened. The comment, like so many others, could have been innocent enough, however the smarmy smile on Jasper’s face that disappeared before Zonda saw it made the intent clear enough. “I may have been poor but I was nobody’s servant.”
“Sounds to me like you were a slave for this mythical Fixer you so often tell of,” said Jasper.
“It weren’t like that. We were family and family look out for each other.”
Jasper raised his eyebrows. “My apologies. The man was clearly a saint.”