The Traitor and the Thief

by Gareth Ward

  Sin’s fingers bunched into fists. Oh what he would give for Zonda to be gone and to have two minutes alone with Jasper. “He weren’t that either. He was hard and cruel and quick to temper but if you were his crew, he had your back.”

  Zonda tugged Sin’s arm, dragging him away. “Come on. I’ll show you how we get to the roof.”

  Sin turned, pulling free from Zonda. It was easy for Jasper to mock. He’d never foraged in bins for mouldy bread or been beaten to the ground over a half-eaten apple. He’d never stood shoulder to shoulder with a crew, facing down the enemy, pretending not to be terrified. He pointed at Jasper. “You don’t know nothing of survival. The Fixer was mean but I never once saw him back down. Thick and thin, he’d be there for you when you needed him.”

  Sin took a step towards Jasper, who scurried behind Mercy.

  “Yeah, go with Mercy, ’cos you won’t get none from me.” He watched them leave, his body trembling with anger.

  * * *

  With a scowl set on her face, Zonda led Sin to where a ladder climbed upwards from the top floor landing to a small trapdoor in the ceiling. Sin scaled the ladder and pushed the wooden flap open, revealing the clear sky above. He heaved himself through and into a world of chimneys, walkways and lethal drops. Zonda’s head and shoulders popped through the trapdoor. Sin offered his hand to help. Zonda refused to take it.

  “What is it with you and Jasper?” said Zonda, slamming the trapdoor shut.

  “He’s a coward. You can’t trust someone like that.”

  “He’s been kind to me and his chemical expertise has been invaluable getting the camera-nocturna working. Just because he hasn’t had to be tough like you, it doesn’t make it wrong.”

  “It’s nothing to do with being tough.” Sin clenched a fist over his chest. “It’s here in your heart and Jenkins’s heart pumps yellow as custard.”

  “Well, I like him and you should give him a chance.”

  Sin walked away from the trapdoor. Maybe that was the problem. Zonda liked him and Jenkins obviously liked her. He cast his mind back to the incident in the pipe-way when Jenkins had panicked. “Don’t matter whether I like him or hate him, he’s going to get someone killed. At best it’ll be himself, more likely it’ll be the poor sod he’s teamed up with.”

  Sin stood at the roof edge and stared out over the grounds. The view from the palace roof was magnificent, formal gardens melting into wildflower meadows and lush woods. It was hard to imagine the countryside ravaged by war. The palace a burning wreck, destroyed by Teutonian zeppelins or Ruskovian cannon. He pulled a tin from his pocket and flipped it open revealing a finger of iced angel cake. “Peace offering.”

  Zonda shuffled over to join him.

  “Let me tell you about Noir,” said Sin.

  They sat, Sin enjoying the sunshine, Zonda enjoying the cake.

  “Noir had me break into Eldritch’s room and steal a file of stuff,” said Sin.

  “Are you madakins? You could have been thrown out.”

  “It weren’t like I had a choice. Anyways, Noir said I was supposed to destroy the file without looking inside but it was all about me so I kept it. Do you want to see?”

  “Absolutamon.”

  Sin unlocked his keeper and handed Zonda the notes and photographs.

  “So this is your mother?” said Zonda.

  “I reckon, and she was involved in some kind of experiment with Nimrod but I didn’t understand it. Can you have a read?”

  For several minutes Zonda pored over the papers, a host of expressions traversing her face.

  “This is mind-boggerlington,” she said, lowering the papers to her lap and shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “It’s not fully documented but they describe something called Super-Pangenes, which are responsible for creating abnormally gifted people. So someone may have a Super-Pangene for beauty or strength or intelligence or pretty much anything really. The scientists extracted these Super-Pangenes from a host of talented people, and then added them to the genetic material of a developing fetus hoping to create a superhuman.”

  Sin rubbed his hand over his head. If the pregnant lady in the picture was his mother could that mean he was the result of that experiment? Was that why time slowed for him? Was he a superhuman?

  “It’s scientastical,” said Zonda. “Like something from a Mary Shelley novel, like from Frankenstein.”

  Or was he a monster, constructed from many parts? Sin knew he had a dark side when his anger flared. Why assume the scientists had given him the good bits? Nimrod himself had said he’d designed more and more lethal weapons for the military, better ways to kill. Sin had always been a fighter, and a good one at that. Perhaps he’d been created that way.

  Zonda sighed. “It’s a shame Nimrod’s still unconscious or we could just ask him about the experiment.”

  “You think he’d tell us the truth?”

  “I think it would be worth asking.”

  Sin had once overheard the Fixer talking to the Crabb twins, a couple of hardened enforcers who were known for making problems go away. Dead men tell no tales, he’d said as he patted them conspiratorially on the back. Dead men tell no tales. Maybe there was another reason for the attempt on Nimrod’s life. To stop him confiding in Sin.

  Zonda returned the photographs and notes. “I wonder why Noir wanted you to find them?”

  Sin eased the documents back into his keeper and locked it. “He didn’t. He made it crystal clear I was to destroy the file without opening it.”

  “Sillies. He only said that to make sure you’d take a peek.”

  “Oh. So just because I’m a thief, I can’t be trusted?”

  Zonda twiddled her fingers. “You did look inside.”

  “That’s not the point. It’s the principle of the matter, ain’t it?” Sin clambered to his feet. “Come on, we’ve got a job to do.” He pulled Zonda up and they shuffled along a narrow walkway running the length of the palace’s central wing. Across a courtyard to their right was the palace’s East Wing and to the left lay their target, the West Wing.

  “This seems like a grand spoteroo,” said Zonda, clinging to a chimneybreast. “By my calculations the fifth window along is their common room.”

  Sin pulled out a shiny brass telescope from his jacket and extended it.

  “Where did you get that?” asked Zonda.

  “I nicked it from the science lab,” said Sin, shrugging. “Guess Noir’s right, I can’t be trusted.” He held the telescope to his eye and trained it on the window. Inside he could make out the blonde bob of Trixie Asp. She appeared to be talking to someone just out of view. She toyed with her hair, twirling it around her finger then held out her hands and the unseen figure stepped in front of the window.

  “No way,” said Sin and handed the telescope to Zonda. “You need to see this.”

  CHAPTER 24

  A MAJOR DISCOVERY

  “It’s Esra Trimble,” said Zonda in disbelief, lowering the telescope from her eye. “What’s he doing there?”

  “Sold us out for the price of a kiss, that’s what,” said Sin. “We need to get back and tell the others.”

  Zonda dropped to her knees. “Wait a mo-mo. I’ve still got to check whether I can get a shot at the clock.” She lay on her belly and peered through the telescope like she would a rifle sight. “I’ve got a good view of the room but I can’t see the clock. It must be further back.”

  “What’s Trimble doing now?”

  “Ew! I’m not sure it would be polite to say. I …”

  Voices drifted over the rooftops. Sin dropped to his stomach and clasped a hand over Zonda’s mouth. “Velvet and Beuford coming through the trapdoor,” he whispered. “They must have had the same idea.” He released his grip and slithered to a slight rise in the roof that hid them from view. He eased closer to the ridge and peeped over. Velvet crouched next to the big Americanian who held a set of binoculars to his eyes.

  “Shoot, she’s just sitting pretty waitin
g for the taking. If I had my buffalo rifle, I could end this now,” said Beuford.

  “The windows are ironglass. You couldn’t shoot through them even with your rifle,” said Velvet.

  “So what’s the point of this little excursion?”

  “I wanted to know if you can make the shot.”

  “Yes ma’am, but if it’s going to bounce right off the glass it don’t help us some.”

  “That’s why we need to coerce one of the East Wingers. Get them to open the window. We work through the problems one at a time until we have a viable plan.”

  “Y’all think Trixie will turn someone? Esra maybe?”

  “If she doesn’t, there are other options. I’ll do it myself if needs be.”

  Beuford walked back towards the trapdoor. “I just bet you would. I seen y’all staring with your big blue eyes.”

  Velvet stalked after him. “Esra? Seriously?”

  “Not Esra. Sin.”

  Velvet blushed. “Well, why shouldn’t I want to be friends with him? He’s the only one in the East Wing who isn’t a total buffoon.”

  Beuford disappeared through the trapdoor, followed by Velvet.

  “The blinking cheek of it,” said Zonda. “Who does she think she’s calling a buffoon?”

  Sin pushed himself to his feet. “I thought she was pretty clear. I’m not a buffoon, everyone else …”

  Zonda whacked him with the telescope. “It was a rhetorical question.”

  They headed to the trapdoor. Zonda pulled the iron ring screwed into the wood. The panel didn’t budge. “We may have a problemoso.”

  Sin straddled the trapdoor and, muscles straining, heaved on the ring. The wood groaned but refused to move. “Velvet must have bolted the door.” Sin let the ring drop and pumped his hands open and closed, encouraging the blood to flow back. “One of us has to climb down the palace and unlock it. You want to flip a coin?”

  A look of incredulity seized Zonda’s face. Sin chuckled and punched her lightly on the arm. “Just kidding. I’ll be back in five. Don’t go anywhere,” he said and lowered himself over the roof parapet.

  The bright sunshine made the climb down easier than his previous nocturnal foray. He traversed a second storey window to the slanted roof of a porch and something inside caught his eye. A film of dust covered the ironglass but he got as close as he dared without smudging it and peered into the gloom. A nearly empty scotch bottle stood on a desk next to which rested a shield-shaped plaque bearing the insignia of two crossed swords below a crown. The door to the room opened and with a hiss and a clank in stomped Major C. Sin ducked below the windowsill, his mind awash. Surely he must be mistaken. The Major couldn’t be connected to the King’s Knights. He peeked over the sill. The Major poured himself two fingers of whisky, sculled it down and slammed the glass onto the desk. His mekaniks hissed as he stood to attention and saluted the plaque. From a drawer he removed a swatch of velvet and carefully wrapped the plaque. Then he returned the bundle to the drawer and locked it.

  Sin attempted to make sense of what he’d seen. Why would the Major salute the banner of the enemy? He tried to think of a reason that didn’t involve Major C being a traitor, but there wasn’t one. If the head of COG training was corrupt, who else in the organisation was a traitor? Sin could trust no one. He couldn’t believe Zonda knew, although she’d lied to him before, so how could he be sure? Careful not to make a noise, he continued his descent feeling more alone and confused than ever.

  Sin retrieved Zonda from the roof, his normal easy rapport replaced with an uncharacteristic awkwardness. Deception had been a part of his life for so long it should have been easy to lie to Zonda. Easy to keep his new-found knowledge from bubbling to the fore but the sense of betrayal he felt was overwhelming. She had fooled him once and he was okay with that, because he’d thought she’d done it to protect Nimrod and to protect COG. Now it seemed that none of that might be true. Could Zonda really be working with the Major to destroy COG from the inside?

  “Cat got your tonguearooney?” said Zonda, as they headed along the East Wing corridor.

  “You what? I ain’t seen no cat,” said Sin.

  “I meant you’re not your usual epigrammatic self.”

  “Still not getting your puff.”

  “You’re abnormally quiet,” said Zonda, knocking on the door to Jasper’s room.

  “Out of breath from the climb, ain’t I,” lied Sin. He followed her inside and took a position by the window. Zonda joined Jasper who sat with Mercy at a low table on which rested a half-played chess game. Despite his shaken trust in Zonda, it still irked him that she seemed completely at home in Jasper’s room. Maybe Jasper was a traitor too. Maybe that was why Zonda was always so keen to defend him.

  Mercy toyed with a gold locket she wore on a necklace. “We found a linen cupboard with a view straight to the clock.”

  “And you’ll never guess what else we saw,” said Jasper, smiling at Zonda.

  “Esra and Trixie,” said Sin, a flicker of delight on his face as he stole Jasper’s thunder.

  Mercy looked to Sin. “What do you think we should do?”

  “We should front him up. See what he says.”

  “How very you. May I suggest going in fists swinging is not the best approach,” said Jasper.

  “Not for you maybe, but me and Stanley know how to get answers.”

  “Jasper’s right,” said Zonda.

  Sin’s jaw tightened, a sudden weight in his stomach. Zonda should have backed him, not that cowardly know-all. Just because he could play chess and knew chemistry and stuff didn’t make him right, didn’t mean he knew how to deal with a turncoat. Then again maybe they were both traitors together.

  Zonda smoothed the lace frills on her dress. “We don’t know that Esra betrayed us. He could be trying to win Trixie over to help.”

  “He should have told us first. Going behind our backs creates suspicion, don’t it?” said Sin.

  “We didn’t tell the others about our plan,” said Jasper.

  “Yeah, but we know we ain’t traitors, don’t we?” said Sin. He fixed his gaze on Zonda, expecting her to flush.

  “No, we’re not traitors,” she said, and held his stare, her cheeks no more pink than usual.

  The moment seemed to drag on forever, like when time slowed, except he could see her breathing as normal. He broke eye contact. Perhaps he was wrong. Was he really sure of what he’d glimpsed through the window? Maybe the hunt for the spy in COG had him jumping at shadows, seeing conspiracies where there were none. Could he be wrong about the Major and Zonda? Perhaps that was the real danger of a spy. It broke the machine apart so that it became nothing more than individual cogs, all operating on their own.

  Sin straightened. “We should tell the others about our shooting plan, but don’t say we’ve checked it out already. That’ll give Esra a chance to be truthful. Agreed?”

  The others nodded. They headed back to the common room. Sin pushed the door open and was greeted with a wave of merriment. Stanley paraded the room holding the clock over his head.

  “What’s going on?” asked Sin.

  “Stanley’s only gone and done it,” said Jimmy.

  “Done what?” said Sin, but even as he asked he knew the answer. Their clock was still on the dresser.

  “It was beautiful,” said Esra. “I’d gone over to talk to Trixie, to see if she might help us. Anyway, I’m chatting to her wondering how to broach the subject and I see Stanley bob his head around the door.”

  Stanley placed the clock alongside its duplicate. “I’d snuck over to get the lay of the land and thought I might just chance me arm. I mean it ain’t like anything bad was going to happen if I got caught. There’s no Sheriffs or nothing.”

  “There’s no one else about, just me, Trixie and Stanley,” said Esra. “Well, monkey-man here puckers up and makes this idiotic face.”

  “And Esra gets me drift and plants one right on Trixie’s kisser. Her attention ain’t on the clock no
more so I’m in and out like a breath of wind. Course that’s when the real problem starts ’cos I’ve got to leg it without being caught and suddenly there’s West Wingers left, right and Chelsea. In the end, I bail out a window and climb down. Like I said, I’m the best monkey-man in the business.”

  Sin fist bumped Stanley. “Much respect to the Nobbs, much respect.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without Esra,” said Stanley. “He’s the one who really put it on the line. I mean Trixie ain’t going to be too happy is she?”

  Esra shrugged. “The mission comes first. You can’t put your personal interests ahead of the team.”

  An uncomfortable hotness itched Sin’s neck and he fiddled with his collar. Zonda was staring at him in an almost predatory fashion.

  The door burst open and the moment was lost. Ethel hurried into the room. “Eldritch wants us all downstairs right now and he seems mighty peeved.”

  * * *

  The students reassembled in the green room, two distinct auras hanging over the candidates. The East Wing, in possession of both clocks, chatted and joked, while the West Wingers waited in sullen silence. Trixie glared at Esra, dark smudges below her eyes. Velvet glowered, her jaw tight and her forehead creased.

  “You’re gawping at her,” said Zonda.

  Sin kept his focus on Velvet. “Wait.”

  Velvet shifted in her seat and glanced in their direction. Sin held up his hand, the fingers forming a circle. “Zero,” he mouthed. Velvet scowled and turned away with a flick of her head.

  “That was posituitively karmarific.”

  “Thanks,” said Sin. “I think.”

  Eldritch paced to the front of the room. “We seem to have a dilemma. Beat the Clock normally takes several weeks; sometimes it goes the entire length of basic training without a winner. Never before has it been done in the same week, let alone the same morning.”

  Stanley raised his chin and puffed out his meagre chest. Eldritch acknowledged him with a wave of his hand. “COG Nobbs, excellent work. Now please return the West Wing’s clock.”

  The instructor frowned as Stanley offered him the clock. “Not to me, give it back to the West Wing.”