by Tim Akers
"No, Jacob. You've meant too much to me. I intend to preserve you, if only as an example. Call it nostalgia." He flipped a hand, and two limbs wrapped around me, gently squeezing the air out of me. I couldn't move. "You'll just need to stay here. I'll be back for you, once I've added Camilla's pattern to my own, and the Celesteans'. How about that, Jacob? Two gods in one person. Isn't that going to be grand?"
Smiling, he stepped into the swollen forest. Limbs bent to carry him, and he walked across the room like he was on a conveyor belt. The last I saw of him, he was whistling to himself, twirling the hammer like a gentleman's cane. Above, the canopy of trees pressed against the glass shell of the greenhouse. The building creaked, and then the panes splintered and burst.
A murder of crows swarmed in and followed Crane, loud and inky and black.
"WE'RE GOING TO make a deal, Jacob."
I had been daydreaming. Fever dreaming, maybe. There was a lot of my blood on the floor, and Crane's extraction had taken something very deep from me. I was hanging in the grip of his preternatural trees like a rag. When I looked up, it was all I could do to muster even faint surprise at seeing Veronica Bright standing on the platform, hands on hips.
"Veronica," I whispered. "Not sure I have a lot to offer."
"It's Albert, for now. Veronica handed over control shortly after Crane left. She felt it best if I had this conversation with you."
"What?"
Veronica stepped toward me. Something about the way she walked, like she was wearing brand new shoes. Awkward.
"Veronica Bright is the last of our family. But she is also all of our family. It's a very old Artificer trick, only one of many we've managed to uncover these last few years. There was a man, years ago, by the name of David Walking. One of the first Artificers. He was murdered, but he managed to transfer himself to a flock of crows. It was the first time the theory was proven, and led quite directly to the Artificers Guild being banned."
"You're an Artificer?" I asked.
"We are poor figments of Artificers, Jacob. And I say we, because when the men of our family were killed, they were able to transfer to... other hosts."
"To you, you mean."
"To Veronica, yes. And Amelie, the young girl. Mother wouldn't have any of us, so my father chose to pass on. My name's Albert. I was Veronica's brother."
"That is so. Fucking. Weird."
"Perhaps. But it is better than dying. And I'm telling you this to make it clear to you how powerful we are. How useful we could be as allies, and how dangerous as enemies."
"Buddy, I'm pretty much at the end of my rope with threats today. Are you going to cut me down or not?"
Veronica/Albert smiled and paced around the platform. That was definitely someone else in her body. Whoever was doing the walking wasn't used to the way her hips moved, didn't know where her center of gravity was. Definitely wasn't used to those pants.
"As I said. First there must be a deal." She turned on her heel, nearly stumbled, and faced me. "When this is over, the girl Camilla must come to us. Not to the Church, nor the Council. She will be lost in the wreckage of this conflict. And then we will find her. Do you understand?"
"So you can spend another generation torturing her, until the next time she gets out and tears her way through the city?" I shook my head lazily. "I don't think so."
"You're not in a position to negotiate, Jacob."
"I think I am. I think you wouldn't be here if you could do this without me. So, tell me. Why do you need me at all? If you're such a powerful crew of Artificers, why aren't you bringing Crane down on your own? Why do I have to be involved?"
Veronica/Albert thought for a while. She stood in front of me with her arms folded under her breasts, clearly uncomfortable with that. I had to laugh.
"You know what, let me talk to your sister. You're screwing this up, Albert. Besides, I don't know you from any other thug. Can she hear me?"
"No," she said.
"Then turn the body over to her. You're much too comical, trying so hard to not touch yourself. Wondering where your balls went. Let me talk to the bitch. I may not trust her, but at least I know her."
"I don't think... never mind. Fine." She went limp for a second then returned. Veronica looked at me and, once more comfortable in her body, arched an eyebrow at me. "So we have an agreement?"
"Sure thing, sweet cakes. Just get me down from here."
"He explained your role?" she asked.
"Absolutely. I'm the perfect man for the job," I said, smiling.
"You're the only man for the job. Now." she unfolded an enormous knife from her belt and set to my woody bonds. "Let's be about our business."
"That's weird, you know that. Living in your sister's body."
"He won't be there forever. Although I doubt he'll be much happier in his new house, either."
"Yeah," I said, chewing on that. "I suspect not."
IT TOOK US longer to get through the preternatural forest than Crane. By the time we got to the main dome, the show had already started. Veronica had her iron face back on. It kept her from talking, or asking me questions, at least. When we were almost there she produced the purge mask from an inner pouch and handed it to me. Where the hell had she gotten this? And what was I supposed to do with it? I nodded and tucked it away, then pantomimed a pistol and showed her my empty holster. She shook her head and shrugged. Great.
We made it to a balcony overlooking the main hall of the Algorithm. After the chaos I caused two years ago, Camilla's heart had been moved from the chamber upstairs into this larger, more easily protected space. It had meant a lot of retooling of the machinery, but the Wrights were usually eager for that sort of project. Now that Camilla had reclaimed her heart, though, this room hung empty. The balcony where we perched was above a sloping wall of still clockwork. Veronica crawled to the edge of the balcony and looked over, then signaled for me to come up. I crawled up on my belly and looked down.
Crane was already here, along with a lot of dead Wrights and one very angry angel. After his trick in the greenhouse, I wasn't sure the Wrights were dead, but the effect was the same. They weren't doing anything to help their mistress.
"I put you down once, Ezekiel Crane. I'll do it again," Camilla spat. She was larger, manifesting sharper wings and a kind of halo that hung in the air behind her back. Her voice reverberated through the hall. The clouds of crows that had swirled menacingly through her body were still there, more numerous. Beside her, Crane looked like a child.
"You've been taking lessons from Mr. Burn, haven't you? Making empty threats." He raised one hand, like he was conducting an orchestra. "But you're not to blame. You don't really know what forces are aligned against you."
"A bitter old man with some clever tricks. A mortal. An outcast." Camilla sneered. "I've seen a thousand like you, and I'll see a thousand more. You are one man."
"One man," Crane said. "And an army."
He lifted his hand higher, and the Wrights rose up, like puppets on their string. They didn't seem to be all there, like sleep walkers or drunks. Crane twisted his hand and they all turned to face the angel.
"You'll need better than that. I could break the meat of your army with my voice."
"Perhaps. But I don't mean to fight you with them. Just retrieve the crows you've stolen from me." His voice was getting louder, and I realized that it was coming from every mouth in the room. All those Wrights, speaking as one. "Give them back, Camilla."
"Parlor tricks!" Camilla shrieked. She lunged forward. Crane raised his voice in some wordless command.
Camilla burst, the crows fleeing her body like a flock startled from a tree. She howled, and Crane laughed. But they only went so far, still swirling around her in a tight vortex. She was holding them, if incompletely. Pain washed across Crane's face, and he began to sweat.
"Very... interesting," he said, leaning forward. "Very persistent."
Camilla stood perfectly still, her eyes closed in concentration, her mouth open. A
battle of wills, bending themselves to the raw material that rippled through Crane's artificial flock of black birds. They stood close, their arms outstretched, the Wrights all around them swaying with the force of the energies channeling through them.
Veronica tapped me on the shoulder without looking my way. She held out three fingers, then two, then one. Then she pointed at the two in the center of the room. When I didn't move she glanced in my direction, her head cocked curiously to one side. Time to make something up.
"Oh, you meant go. I forgot that was the signal. Albert said... never mind." I hopped down the incline and slid uncomfortably over the tapestry of clockwork to land roughly on the floor. No one looked at me. Probably too absorbed in their little mystic fight to even see me. I cleared my throat and approached the pair.
"This is it!" I yelled, hoping there was someone else in the chamber to hear me. "This is me, killing you, Crane! Right here!" I pulled out the purge mask and held it like a badge. "Yeah, that's right. With this! I think."
There was a loud banging from behind me. I turned and saw Veronica jumping in place. She grabbed her bodice and pulled on it, like she was trying to flash me. Curious. I turned back to the two combatants. They had taken notice of me, watching me from the corners of their eyes. They looked paralyzed, but terrified. By now the patterns of the crows had changed. They weren't so tight to Camilla. Some of them were switching orbits to Crane, passing over him before they returned to Camilla. She was losing them, slowly, inevitably. Her control was imperfect.
It was the mask. They were looking at the mask, not me. I turned it over in my hands. This wasn't the purge mask I had retrieved from Crane's house. He left that as a signal. That one had probably been the original mask, used by whoever came to kill his family. How he had gotten it, how he had even survived that pursuit, was a mystery. Would always be a mystery. But this mask was newly minted. I looked back up at Veronica, now wearing her own iron mask. Just another secret they had uncovered, I suspected. But who was this for? Who was supposed to wear this?
The mask squirmed in my hands. I looked at the back. It had sprouted long, thin tentacles of liquid metal, lashing out hungrily in the air. This was for me. Whatever the Mother had done to me, it was compatible with this ancient technology. What would I become? What could I do, with these joined magics? What had Crane said? Two gods in one man. I looked back up at Veronica. She was watching me. Tense. Ready to pounce.
"This is too much," I spat. "Too many people with too many plans."
I turned to the closest Wright and dragged him around to face me. He was an older man, his loose jowls quivering with Crane's metaphysical voice. I gripped the back of his head with my other hand, and shoved the mask onto his face.
The voices changed.
Not all of them, not even the majority. But the guy I had in my hands, and the couple around him. They fell out of Crane's voice and were silent, then started up on something else. It was familiar, although I hadn't heard it in a while. The voice of the Singer, from the Celestean religion that so many had forgotten. That my family still kept, right up until the end. I stepped back. Behind me, I heard Veronica clambering down the clockwork tapestry.
I had been meant as bait. A third god, something to catch Crane's attention, to draw him away from Camilla. After all, the angel was just a creation of the Celesteans. If their pattern could be introduced to the Algorithm, wouldn't Crane jump at that instead? He would think about it at least. And that moment of distraction was what the Brights had wanted.
So they could snatch Camilla. I looked around and saw them, their operatives, hidden among the Wrights. Moving forward, their mouths closed. And behind me, Veronica, full of rage. And the interference I had introduced into Crane's little chorus had tipped the balance. Camilla was winning, the crows spinning tighter and tighter toward her. She looked at me with a gleam of triumph in her eyes.
"Sorry, love," I said. "Can't let that happen. No one gets what they want today."
I tackled her out from the center of her vortex of crows and rolled. She clattered into pieces as I took her heart away from the support of the crows. Just her arms and chest, and the hollow structure of her head, remained. Much yelling behind me. Crows were flying all over the place.
I picked up the remnants of the girl and ran. I knew a place. The room was in chaos when I left, crows scratching at Wrights, Veronica howling through her iron mask, and above it all the song of the Singer, beautiful and clear.
THE SHOCK WORE off about two minutes later. Camilla started fighting me in earnest. I put her down on a plinth and wiped the blood from my eyes with a cloth.
"What are you doing, Jacob?" she hissed.
"Running away. I thought that was pretty clear."
"With me! What the hell are you thinking? Crane will win, now."
I shook my head. The sounds of battle had died down, but I was pretty sure the Brights were still hunting the old Artificer. Let them tear each other apart.
"The Brights know what they're doing. They know his limits. At the very least, they'll be able to hold him off. And hopefully, he'll be enough of a handful that we can slip away in the struggle."
"I had him, Jacob! I had Crane by the throat."
"No, you didn't." I held up my hand. "Two outcomes back there. One, Crane eventually wears you down, takes the crows and then steals your pattern. You would have spent the rest of your life as a cog in his engine. Two, the Brights interfere and somehow steal you away. And I think steal Crane, too, but I'm less clear on that part."
"They could have done that?" she asked.
"Yeah. But I was integral to the plan, so it really had no hope of succeeding. Listen, I'm going to get you out of here. But only if you help, you understand?"
"Why would I want that?" she asked.
"Because your alternative is an eternity in the basement of the family Bright. It won't be as nice as the eternity you spent in this place. They're certainly not going to worship you."
"An eternity is less time that you think," she said, coldly. "I've already been through two of those, and lived a third before that. Fine. I won't have my revenge in this eternity. Perhaps the next. Where will you take me?"
"I know a place. Now. What did you do with Wilson?" I asked.
"He's safe."
"Define safe."
"Not dead. Not dying. Probably not awake enough to know the difference."
"Let me clarify some things for you." I spat. "You need to stop giving me smartass answers. Smartass answers are going to get you killed. Did. You. Hurt. Wilson."
"I did, Jacob. I hurt him very badly. Probably in a permanent way. For what the two of you did two years ago, the last time I had a chance to escape. And I would do it again, and I would do it to you, if you gave me the chance." She crossed her thin arms over her dissected chest. "Are you sure you don't want to take me back there and give me a chance with the Brights?"
I sat there, staring at her and smoldering. "You little bitch..."
"Careful, Jacob. You're supposed to be saving me, remember?" She smiled prettily. "You don't threaten the girl you're trying to save."
"You've misunderstood the nature of this rescue, Camilla." I stood abruptly and picked her up. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and hugged me with the remnants of her wings. "I can't let the Brights have you. But I can't let you free, either."
"Well, then. Whatever are you going to do with me?"
"Something pretty horrible," I said. "For whatever you've done to Wilson."
"Honestly, I'd almost think you didn't like me. Live my life, Jacob. For one day. And then decide what you would do, given the chance."
I grimaced, but didn't answer. Instead I headed down, down into the Church, down toward the chamber of the heart. I hoped the Mother Fehn had one more trick.
The chamber was as I remembered it. Spherical, cold. The cage of pipes at the center had been torn open, from when Camilla had gained her freedom. There was a thin pool of foetal metal on the floor. It
had gone stiff in the cold, clinging to my boots like tar. Camilla looked down at it wistfully.
"I could rebuild you, Jacob. I could restore your heart," she said. "I could make you fly again."
"Promises, promises," I answered. "Now where's that door?"
Last time I was here, there had been a secret passageway. One of the Fehn, a friend of mine by the name of Morgan, had come through it to lead me out. Camilla had used him to negotiate with the Council, and to lead me to safety, when it was in her interest. I was hoping it was still here.
"The Fehn stopped talking to me," she said. "They controlled the door."
"They've stopped talking to anyone," I said. "On account of Crane killing most of them. It should be right around here. Somewhere."
At no prompt from me, the door opened. Wright Morgan, undead of the river Reine, stood in the entrance.
"Jacob," he said.
"Morgan. Haven't seen you in years. Thought you'd joined the silent chorus."
"I've been away. Looking for your girl, actually."
"Emily?" I asked. Afraid of the answer.
"Emily. And the heart you gave her. The cog."
"And?"
"Still gone, Jacob. You got good and rid of her."
I sighed. Of course I had. Jacob Burn never screwed something up halfway.
"Why are you here now?" I asked.
"You were looking for the way out, weren't you?"
"Sure, but I suspected the Mother wouldn't be interested in helping me anymore. Not after what happened with Crane."
"She isn't," he said, then held out his hand. To Camilla. "I'm here for her. You're just coming along."
THERE WAS DARKNESS, and water. The flat slugs of the Fehn filled my mouth and my lungs, but I struggled not to panic. When we came up, the Mother Fehn was waiting. Wright Morgan had left us behind, long before we got to the current of the waterfall. Said something about never going down there again. I had an anchored rope that would get me back to the calm water, after all this was over.