The Traitor and the Thief

by Gareth Ward

  “Don’t get too attached,” said Stanley, handing it to Velvet.

  Eldritch clapped his hands together. “The competition begins anew at midnight tonight. East Wing, as victors, you get the afternoon off. West Wing, it appears you need some additional motivation, so this afternoon you will be mucking out the stables as punishment.”

  The students began filing out, an air of gloom hanging over the West Wingers. Sin jostled alongside Zonda. Having the afternoon off would give him an ideal opportunity to search her room and discover if she was a willing conspirator with the Major, but he needed to ensure her absence. “You want to go for a run around the lake this afternoon?” he asked.

  Zonda stopped, an incredulous look on her face. “Are you completely mentalafied? Of course I don’t.”

  “Let me rephrase that: shall we go for a run around the lake this afternoon so that you will be in spifferooney shape to get over that wall on the assault course tomorrow?”

  Zonda ground her toes into the floor. “Do we have to?”

  A hand with a grip like a steampress took hold of Sin’s shoulder. “COG Sin, a word,” said Eldritch. “COG Chubb, you may leave.”

  “I’ll see you at the lake,” Sin shouted after Zonda as she hastened from the room. He turned to face Eldritch, his heart thumping. Had his incursion into the instructor’s quarters been discovered? Obviously the watchmek had triggered an alarm but he’d made good his escape unseen. Or at least he thought he had. He adopted a look of innocent surprise and said, “Yes, Staff?”

  Eldritch held his hand like a pistol and pointed it at Sin. “I let you steal from me once.” He dropped his thumb sharply, like the hammer falling on a duelling steampistol. “It would be a heinous error of judgement to believe you can do it again.”

  Sin’s brow crinkled. Eldritch had to be bluffing. There was no way he could know who took the contents of the folder. No way he could know they were in touching distance, concealed in his keeper beneath Sin’s shirt. He had to out-bluff Eldritch. Keep up the pretence of ignorance and ride it out. He intensified his expression of confusion. “I don’t understand, Staff?”

  “I promised Nimrod I’d watch over you but my goodwill only stretches so far.” Eldritch massaged the scar-tissue bisecting his eye. “In the regiment the penalty for theft was trial by combat. Believe me when I say nobody stole from me twice.”

  “I do believe you,” said Sin. Eldritch presented himself as a swaggering Britannia Army officer but Sin recognised the hardness in him. Tempered in combat, Sin had no doubt Eldritch could switch in an instant from an Earl Grey-sipping dandy to a ruthless killer.

  “Do you mind me asking what’s been stolen, Staff?” said Sin, holding his palms outwards in a gesture of openness.

  With a tiny shake of his head, Eldritch said, “War’s coming. Think about who you want as your friends and who you want as your enemies. And more importantly, make sure you can tell the difference. I want what’s mine back by tomorrow, COG Sin.”

  CHAPTER 25

  PHOTOGRAPHIC PROOF

  Sin palmed his lock picks and prowled to Zonda’s door. He’d already heard her leave for the lake so the coast was clear. The lock was simple, designed to ensure privacy rather than deter thieves and in a matter of seconds Sin was inside. He appraised the room: it was similar to his, only the bookshelves were better stocked. An unusual feeling twisted his stomach. He was used to rummaging through other people’s possessions but never before had that person been a friend. He pushed the feeling away.

  Her desk was littered with papers containing draughtsman-like drawings for various inventions. On a large roll of paper weighted down at the corners with empty teacups, Zonda’s curvaceous handwriting detailed a spring-powered boot that would enable the wearer to leap over walls with ease. Behind the paper another design poked out; a pocket watch capable of concealing a mini Bakewell tart.

  Fingers trembling, Sin rummaged through the desk drawers but he found nothing. His gaze drifted to the bookshelves above the desk. They were mostly weighty leather-bound tomes with scientific titles such as Newtonian Physics in the Modern World. He homed in on one book with a faded red cover: The Diabolical Miss Hyde. He pulled the book from the shelf and knew his thievery instincts had been right. It wasn’t a book at all but a wooden lock box. “Let’s see what Miss Hyde has hidden,” he whispered to himself.

  The keyhole was too small for his lock picks so Sin took a brass paperclip from the desk and unfurled it. He slid the metal into the lock and worked it around until the mekanism sprung free. Inside was a collection of keepsakes. There was a medal and ribbon, a bundle of letters tied together with string, a spiralled shell and a faded photograph. It showed Zonda, maybe six years previous, standing at the front of a group of smartly dressed soldiers. One of the soldiers rested his hands on her shoulders in a way that somehow radiated affection. Indeed, the whole picture could have been one that captured a moment of family pride were it not for the fact that all the soldiers wore black metal masks. The same masks as worn by Nimrod’s would-be assassins, the masks of the King’s Knights.

  * * *

  Sin and Zonda jogged around the lake. In each hand, Zonda held a small dumbbell made from old traction gears welded to the ends of a steel bar. Sin watched her closely, trying to get some inkling of what was going on inside her head. He still found it hard to believe she was a traitor. There was no doubting what he’d seen in the photo but he’d been wrong about Esra – could he be wrong about Zonda too?

  “I think I’d rather be mucking out the stables,” puffed Zonda.

  “I’m sure Velvet would be delighted to have the help. We can always run back that way if you want.”

  “Wouldn’t be fair. I’d feel I was somehow depriving her of a valuable learning experience.”

  Sin pulled to a halt at a large tree stump, the light and dark concentric rings showing hundreds of years of growth. He placed his hands on the top and started pumping out push-ups. “Just do five. You don’t want to tire yourself for the assault course.”

  Zonda dropped the dumbbells. “You say ‘just five’ like that doesn’t require some sort of superhuman effort on my part.”

  Sin stopped. “Do you think I’m superhuman?”

  “Superhuman! The boy’s got an ego.”

  “I’m serious, Zon. Those photographs, the Eugenesis Project. It’s got to make you wonder.”

  “You can’t leap to conclusions. We don’t know what the photographs or those papers mean. You’re posituitively super, but superhuman would be something else.”

  Something else, like being able to slow time. He’d never told anybody about that and despite the urge he had to confess, he couldn’t. Not after what he’d found in her room. Besides, the ability wasn’t something he could control. It just happened when he needed it, most of the time anyway.

  “What is it you want, Sin?” asked Zonda.

  What did he want? When he was on the streets, living in a palace seemed like an impossible dream, but now he needed more. The photographs and notes had made him reassess his ideas of his past. As an orphan, he’d made up stories of how his parents hadn’t really wanted to dump him at the church and would one day return. It was a common story all the kids clung to, imagining they were really loved and only unfortunate circumstances had led to their abandonment. Seeing the photographs had made him realise that in his case it might be more than just fantasy and Nimrod was somehow bound up in the story. He hadn’t been recruited at random. Eldritch had targeted him and somehow Noir was involved too.

  “I want the truth,” he said.

  “Do you really? Because the truth’s never simple. It’s all relative depending on where you’re viewing it from.” Zonda began doing press-ups on the tree stump. “And the truth you want to hear is not necessarily the truth you’ll get.”

  “Truth’s never been that complicated to me. Did you nick that thing or didn’t you? Did you give him a smacking or not?”

  Straining, Zonda pushed out her
fifth press-up then straightened to face him.

  Her emerald eyes pierced his soul. “Sometimes we lie for a reason. It can be kinder than the truth.”

  She turned away from Sin and began a slow jog back to the palace.

  * * *

  Sin knocked on the darkroom door, which had been hastily repurposed from a storage cupboard in Nimrod’s lab and was now equipped with developing chemicals and photographic paraphernalia.

  “Wait a mo-mo,” shouted Zonda, her voice muffled.

  Sin heard a curtain being drawn back, a clatter of pots and an unlady-like curse. Zonda appeared through a black velvet curtain, the large magnifying glasses on her head giving her a bug-eyed appearance.

  “Quick,” she said and ushered Sin inside.

  She whisked the curtains shut and the room was plunged into a greenish gloom.

  “I’ve removed the first set of plates from the watchmek’s camera. They seem to have managed to take several nocturnagraphs last night.”

  “So what do you need me to do?”

  “Put them in the developing fluid then pass them to me.”

  Sin peeled the photographic paper from the plate and using a set of wooden tongs lowered it into an ironglass tray full of an almond-smelling solution. Zonda hovered at his shoulder as the paper turned shades of violet. The arbour seat set back in the hedge materialised. Lilith sat in the centre.

  Sin passed the paper to Zonda and she lowered it into the fixing solution as he removed the next sheet. The developer did its magic and MacKigh appeared, chatting with Sergeant Stoneheart at the fountain.

  “It’s working great,” said Sin. “They’re so clear.”

  “But it’s not revealed anything suspect. We’re still no closer to finding the spy.”

  Sin stripped the paper from the last plate and dropped it into the ironglass tray. He gently agitated the solution and the violet hues emerged. It showed a figure crouching down, reaching under the arbour seat but it was neither Lilith nor Noir. The figure’s face was obscured yet there was no mistaking the distinctive outfit he wore.

  “The King’s Knights,” said Sin. The man in the nocturnagraph wore the very same outfit as the assassins that attacked Nimrod.

  “This is what we’re after. A genuine lead. I’ll let the Major know first thing in the morning,” said Zonda.

  Sin didn’t want to wait and he didn’t want to leave it to Zonda. He wanted to confront the Major with the nocturnagraph and see how he reacted. See if he’d try to brush it under the rug.

  “Let’s take it now.” Sin reached for the photo but Zonda slapped his hand away. It collided with the ironglass tray sending it skidding from the bench. With a loud crash, the tray shattered on the floor. Sin jumped backwards avoiding the developer solution’s splatter.

  “Whoopserooney,” said Zonda. “I had to stop you putting your hand in the chemicals. Sorry.”

  Sin stared at the ruined nocturnagraph lying amid the shards of broken glass, the unfixed paper now an inky black colour. Of course it could have been an accident. Zonda may genuinely have been trying to protect him, but the only proof they had of the King’s Knights’ involvement was now conveniently destroyed.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” said Zonda.

  “I doubt it,” said Sin.

  Zonda prodded a glass shard with her toe. “That tray was ironglass. It should have left a dent in the floor, not shattered.”

  “So?”

  “So the developer weakened the ironglass. Which means if we spray it on something like, let’s say, the West Wing common room window, it becomes similar to normal glass and no longer nail-proof.”

  An idea began to formulate in Sin’s mind. A way of killing two birds with one stone.

  “Fancy a midnight hunt?” he said.

  CHAPTER 26

  A SHOT IN THE DARK

  Sin waited with Stanley on the roof above the West Wing common room. Brass pressure sprays filled with developer solution were attached to their belts and large hammers were slung over their shoulders on pieces of rope. Somewhere in the servants’ quarters, Zonda and Mercy were making their way to an impromptu sniper’s nest in the linen cupboard. The boys were to wait until five to midnight and then climb down and spray the windows.

  A cool breeze wafted across the rooftop. Stanley seemed completely at home, legs dangling over the parapet.

  “Come on. Time for some window cleaning,” said Sin, glancing up at the palace’s clock tower.

  Stanley grinned and disappeared over the edge. Sin followed more cautiously. It was an easy climb and there was plenty of moonlight but the hammer and pressure spray were cumbersome. Drawing adjacent to the window, he gripped the rough stone carving and eased a foot into a gap between two blocks. The window was in four parts, each divided by a carved stone column. He unhooked his sprayer and sent a fine mist of chemicals floating over the section of glass closest to him. Opposite, Stanley did the same, his white teeth shining in the moonlight, a huge grin on his face as he casually swung from one hand.

  Sin risked a peek into the common room. Isla Shank sat in a chair by the door; a novel lay open in her lap. Her fringe hung over her eyes and it was impossible to tell if she was reading or had dozed off. Across the room, the clock rested on a bookcase. When planning the shoot, the boys had elected to stay by the window until the shots were taken. Mercy was to fire first. Her nail should destroy the ironglass and, if they were lucky, hit the clock. If the ironglass was only damaged, the nearest boy would finish the job with the hammer before Zonda took her shot. They’d all agreed that if there was any risk of hitting the West Winger on guard the mission would be aborted.

  The clock’s minute hand clicked to midnight. Sin swung his hammer back, ready. Although expecting it, he still started as the shot screamed out from across the courtyard. The pane closest to him fractured in a starburst, a nail caught halfway through the ironglass. Sin slammed the hammer against the window and the ironglass shattered. A second shot screamed and the West Wing clock exploded in a shower of springs and cogs.

  From across the grounds, alarms sounded. Chemlights burst into life, bathing the palace and surrounds in a brilliant white glare. Sin hurried upwards, feeling exposed in the dazzle of the lights. The sounds of shouting and rushing footsteps echoed from inside the wing. As he’d expected, shooting a window in the middle of the night had thrown the palace into chaos, hopefully providing him with the distraction he needed. He pushed up with his legs and reached for the parapet. A hand grasped his arm. Stanley leaned over and heaved him upwards.

  “We good?” asked Sin.

  “Golden. You go do what you need to, brother,” said Stanley, taking Sin’s hammer and sprayer.

  Sin pelted along the roof heading to where he and Zonda had been trapped earlier in the day. He hadn’t banked on the whole palace being illuminated, but this was his one chance so he’d have to make do. Braving the glare, he scrambled over the edge and began his descent. He drew level with the window outside Major C’s room and the floodlights dimmed then died. The darkness was a comfort but the killing of the lights signalled the end of the emergency. Time was running out.

  There was the narrowest of gaps in the window’s iron frame. Sin forced a lock pick into the space, jemmying the catch free. The window swung easily open and he stole inside. From his pocket he fetched a chemlamp and twisted the brass shutters, allowing a glimmer of light to leak out. The desk drawer’s lock was a matter of seconds work with the pick. He removed the velvet-clad package and unwrapped it. Up close, he could now read the inscription underneath the crown and crossed swords: To a loyal servant of the King, Captain Chubb, Second Battalion, King’s Steam Cavalry.

  Major C and Zonda’s father had served in the army together and were both King’s Knights. No wonder Zonda was the only person the Major trusted. The Fixer had a saying: “Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer.” Sin had stumbled upon the Major’s plan and so they had drawn him in, pretending to hunt for the sp
y to ensure his silence.

  The distinctive clank of Major C approaching roused Sin from his thoughts. He rewrapped the plaque and placed it back in the drawer. Killing the chemlamp he hurried through the window, pushing it closed behind him. He hadn’t had time to lock the drawer and would have to hope to luck that it didn’t raise any suspicions. Sin climbed back to the roof, hauling himself over the parapet as the office light flicked on below. He stared up at the half-moon, catching his breath, and imagined some of the Fixer’s crew on Coxford’s rooftops taking in the same view. Life was simple for them. Hard, but simple. You had your crew and no one else. You could make alliances and deals with the other gangs but not for one moment did you trust them. If you had a problem, you sorted it or you went to the Fixer. Here there was no Fixer so Sin’s only option was to sort it himself. He walked to the trapdoor and heaved it open.

  * * *

  Once it had been established that the palace wasn’t under attack and the shots were candidate-initiated, the commotion had died down. Summoned to the green room, the candidates from both wings stood to attention. With the exception of the hunting party, they were all dressed in their nightwear, having been dragged half asleep from their beds.

  Sin had hoped that the shots would provide the diversion he needed, although he hadn’t anticipated the level of panic they’d cause. Now his stomach churned and prickles crept up the back of his neck. He knew they were in a whole heap of trouble but he didn’t care about that. So long as they didn’t chuck him out of COG, he could hack whatever punishment they threw at him. Heck, if it wasn’t for Nimrod he probably wouldn’t care if they did chuck him out. The whole organisation now seemed toxic to him but Nimrod knew the truth about his parents and why he’d been abandoned, he was sure of it. He glanced at Velvet. And if he couldn’t get the answers from Nimrod, there were others in COG who had information about his past.

  A bleary-eyed Eldritch entered the room, lacking his normal flamboyant swagger. He glared at the candidates and upended a leather bag. The remains of the clock jangled onto the ground in a cascade of cogs. He motioned to Sin, Zonda, Stanley and Mercy who stood separated from the other candidates. “Congratulations. You have again humiliated the West Wing who will be mucking out the stables for the next two weeks.”