Clock City

by Rebekah Dodson

  The lock blessedly opened, revealing another elevator similar to the one in the mines, but without the mirrored walls. There were two buttons as I stepped inside, one a wheel, and one a cog. I didn’t know which one to press, so I closed my eyes and leaned against it. With a rumble, the elevator started moving up.

  “Mistress, I did good?” Dinga murmured, his eyes barely open. “Where is Master Sebastian?”

  “Long story, Dinga.” I braced as the elevator came to the stop. “But he’s betrayed us.”

  “Find him...” his eyes were shutting again.

  “Oh, believe me, I will.”

  The elevator doors slid open, revealing another hallway, this one trimmed in creamy ivory walls and brightly lit. For the amount of guards and paranoia of the Keeper, I was shocked we hadn’t run into anyone.

  There were doors along this hallway, but I was too nervous to try any of them, leery there would likely be guards behind them. I realized I had no idea if it was day or night, or how long we had been gone from the mines. What had happened to the children? I was a failure. We tried to save them, but it had all gone wrong. I could only hope they were still alive. Sealed in the mine, I imagined, but awaiting a rescue.

  The third door I passed had a name scrawled in curved, bronze writing. “Sir Elias,” the next marked with “Sir York.” I didn’t know if these were royal barons, or guards. I hadn’t thought to ask how the title was applied. The very last door was “Sir Edwin.”

  I stopped, and Dinga turned to look at me. “Surely not, mistress, not like this.”

  “It won’t take long to kill him,” I whispered.

  “No, mistress, it is not—”

  I opened the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Traitors

  AT FIRST, THE ROOM was as silent as death, empty, sparsely furnished. A lavish bed sat in the center, surrounded by heavy black curtains, a small wardrobe pushed against one wall, a door hanging slightly open. Beside the canopied bed was a small night stand with a stack of papers rising from the top.

  Soft snoring came from inside the covered bed.

  I tiptoed to the closet, which was bare of any clothes, and gently lay Dinga down inside, motioning him to be quiet. I approached the bed, and the snoring grew louder. I felt my hands shaking. What would I do, who would I find? If it was Edwin, did I really have the strength to kill him?

  He betrayed his kingdom, gave his allegiance to the Keeper. He shot Sebastian, even if he turned out to be a traitor. The man in the dungeon had deserved it. How many others besides me had he tortured? Edwin deserved it. He had tried to kill and hurt Dinga. Yes, he deserved it.

  Furious, with anger rising to my cheeks, I whipped back the bed curtains.

  There he was, lying curled on his side, in only a pair of short pants. He was cradling something in his arms, a long leather sheath.

  The hilt of my dagger rose near Edwin’s chin.

  I stood frozen in place. I remembered the key, and how I couldn’t feel the weight of it. My braid was destroyed, tendrils of wet hair hanging around my face. I reached up to feel for it, and it was gone. Without the key, all was lost.

  Could I risk waking him just to gain the dagger? I almost gave up right there. What was stopping me from getting Dinga and walking out of this palace? Screw Sebastian, screw Edwin, screw the Keeper and all his horrifying minions. I could go live with the Zespar and be happy. And you’d never forgive yourself, my inner voice said. You’d never be happy, knowing you left those children to starve.

  I had to get the dagger and go find the key. Victor had insisted on it. And they were all depending on me. Sebastian was gone; it was up to me to save them.

  Don’t let him wake up, then.

  I gasped. The thought shocked me. I had enough evil done to me in my life, I couldn’t exert it on others.

  But then again, I was already doomed, right? I stole, I lied, and I had even run away. What was one more sin when they were already stacked against me in droves?

  But Edwin, oh Edwin. Edwin kept the children down there, he kept them prisoners. He helped the Keeper keep them in those horrible mines. He was worse than a thief of a liar or a coward.

  He had to die.

  I can’t kill my own brother! Another voice inside me screamed. My own kin, I can’t let him die, even if he has turned against me!

  Edwin snored loudly, gripping the dagger tighter than before. I was running out of time, before he woke, or I would be interrupted by a wandering knight.

  I had to act now.

  Sebastian, where are you when I need you? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought about crying. Briefly. But then I realized if Sebastian was here, he could have just zapped him and been done with it. He wouldn’t have stood here and cried like, well, me. What was stopping me from grabbing my dagger and being on my way to saving the kingdom?

  For all his courage, though, Sebastian was gone, no doubt enjoying a bountiful feast as the Keeper’s lap dog. He had lied to me all along, tricked me into thinking he had feelings for me, and I had fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

  Despite all that, I couldn’t figure out why he had saved me. Why the grand ceremony at the Zespar village? Why didn’t he just let me burn with the rest of the village, or leave me in the dungeon to die, if he wanted me dead all along?

  I pushed away the thoughts of Sebastian and looked around. I had more important things to think about just now. On top of the stack of papers was a round paperweight in the shape of the tightly wound spring. I picked it up, expecting it to be as light as aluminum but surprised it must have weighed at least five pounds. I guessed it was probably solid iron. With all my strength, I lifted it over my head, telling myself I wouldn’t bring it down very hard, just enough so I could grab the dagger, scoop up Dinga, and make a break for it.

  Like some twisted fantasy of Cain, I closed my eyes as I brought it down against my brother, waiting to hear the crack. I really hoped he wouldn’t, and hopefully, would pass out and I could escape with my treasure.

  The paperweight stopped short, caught by some force. I opened my eyes.

  “I knew I’d find you here,” Victor whispered, his hand gripping the end of my weapon, just inches above Edwin’s temple.

  He wrenched the spring from my hand and tossed it away, where it rolled under the bed. With his other hand, he drew a long wavy dagger tied at his waist, a quiet whoosh the only announcement of its release.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed the gauntlet strapped to Victor’s arm. “He’s your son. My brother!” I hissed at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see he’d left the door to Edwin’s room cracked open slightly. It wouldn’t be long before the guards found us, especially if he raised his voice.

  Victor was much smarter than that, I saw. With an even, measured voice, he said, “He’s a traitor to the crown. He shot Sebastian and trapped you both in the mines. I can see it in your eyes you know he deserves to die.”

  “How do you know all that?” If I could just bide my time, then what? No one was coming.

  “My spies are everywhere, princess.” He shook my hand off.

  “You can’t kill him!”

  “This is how we deal with traitors in Clock City.” He moved over the boy, the short sword at his waist, even shorter than the dagger, drawn and held sideways.

  Edwin awoke then, gasping. His mouth opened in a silent scream, and he struggled to sit up. My dagger fell to the floor with a clatter, where I scooped it up, and hastily backed away from the edge of the bed.

  Edwin waved his arms frantically in front of his face, but no sound was escaping his lips. I didn’t know why.

  Victor, a man with gray at his temples, moved quicker than I could have ever imagined. I was frozen in horror as he sunk the tip of his blade into the side of Edwin’s neck. Dark crimson blood spilled over the steel, soaking Edwin’s bare chest with scarlet. Blood gushed from Edwin’s mouth, staining his white teeth as dark as the burgundy sun outside.

  His hands came up
in a feeble attempt to grab at the blade but limply fell to his side. His eyes rolled back in his skull and he fell limp onto the bed. His lifeless face fell toward me, his jaw gaping open, and I saw why his death was silent: he had no tongue.

  It wasn’t cut; it looked blackened, as if someone had burned it out.

  Horrified, I began to scream.

  “Belay your noise, woman!” Victor’s voice was still low but harsh. Without looking at me, he ripped the blade out and blood sprayed away from us in a gory display. Victor wiped his weapon on the formerly white sheets and took a step back to sheath it.

  On the other side of the wide bed, two beady eyes blinked once with sideway lids, then with horizontal ones. Dinga gripped the edge of the bed, three claws on each arm wrapped tightly in the sheets. He let out a squeal I had never heard before, that I could only imagine was of fear, and ducked out of sight.

  I stepped back from the bed my dagger held tight to my chest. “How could you?” I screamed at Victor. “He was your son!”

  “Bloodline matters little when they are intent upon destroying the kingdom. My kingdom,” Victor announced, taking a step towards me. “And just a sparse time ago, he would have died by your hand? At least I made it swifter than a heavy trinket!”

  I couldn’t do this anymore. If Victor could so casually turn his blade on his own son, what would he do with me? I turned and ran toward the door, but holding the dagger made it difficult to open at the speed I wanted. My hip was still in agony, and my legs wavered under me, further hindering my escape. I could hear Victor’s boots following me.

  “He was a traitor to this kingdom,” he was growling behind me. “If you don’t hush your words, princess, all will be lost! And what of your mother? We are in this together, you and I. We must yet find her.”

  His hand suddenly clamped around my mouth before I could scream again, and I dropped the dagger as I struggled to break out of his grasp. I beat at his hand with my fists; I couldn’t breathe. His hold was a vice grip.

  “I sent you three to the palace to take care of the Keeper,” he lowered his mouth to my ear and hissed, “Edwin’s treachery only served to delay that course of action, and now I’m cleaning up the mess.”

  “But there was four.”

  Victor’s hand fell from my face and I fell to my hands and knees, gasping for air. From behind me, I heard a thud and a clank, and a few tiny grunts. I spun, but Victor, wearing only his gauntlets and breastplate, was spread eagle on the floor, unconscious. A pool of blood spread slowly under him.

  Dinga stood on his chest, one claw pressed to his side with his elbows out like a hero. Victor’s blade looked like a huge sword in his tiny claws. He was bent at the waist, panting. “Mistress why does no one ever remember Dinga?”

  “This time, I’m glad no one remembered!” I stood, grabbing the jeweled dagger.

  “His blade was easy to reach,” Dinga announced, obviously still weak from his time in the dungeon, “and the rest was easy for a mighty Zespar like me.”

  “You are mighty indeed, Dinga,” I said, “And when I’m queen, you’ll have all the rewards I can possibly think of.”

  His eyes brightened, and he stood as straight as he could, hopping off Victor’s chest. A quick glance told me his chest was slowly moving, so he wasn’t dead yet. No matter, he soon would be.

  I turned back to the door, ready to escape, but felt one of Dinga’s claws scrape my wrist. “Mistress,” he turned and gazed over the bodies in the room, “I know time is short, but there are clothes in the wooden box over there.”

  I looked down at the skimpy linen wrap that barely passed for clothes. Nodding, I handed the dagger to Dinga to hold while I stepped over Victor’s body, my eyes closed, and threw open the doors to the wardrobe. There were scores of dresses, men’s slacks, a few vests, and shirts of every color. I threw on the smallest pair of pants I could find, and then threw a dark blue shirt over my head. It was baggy, with a tie at the neck that I pulled tight as much as I could and looped into a bow. The sleeves hung past my fingertips, but I rolled them up past my elbows. Boots, blessed boots. I passed the men’s boots that looked longer than my entire leg and reached for the smaller pair of women’s boots with a slight heel. I buttoned each one up the side as fast as I could.

  “Mistress, you have the key?”

  I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “It’s gone, Dinga.”

  “The dragon key? Where could it have disappeared to, mistress?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t have the strength to discuss it.

  Dinga threw a look over his skinny shoulder at the two bodies. “We should not remain in this room any longer.”

  I nodded and stood. “Come on, we have to get out of here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Encounters

  I COULDN’T EVEN SPARE a look behind me. One, maybe two, lives wasted, and it tugged at my conscience. Could I have prevented it? I told myself Edwin made his own bed by betraying the Order, but my1 soul cried for the brother I never knew, even if he was evil. I couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. Who had burned out his tongue? The Keeper? Or Sebastian? And Victor? I might never know what spurred him to turn on his own son. Was his cause so important he was willing to die for it?

  Without a second glance, Dinga and I raced from the room and down the hallway. Another elevator greeted us.

  “How many floors does this place have?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never been in this part before, mistress.”

  There was a commotion from the end of the hall, the clanking of metal boots and the sway of breastplates. I dared to glance down the long hallway and saw the glint of metal rounding the corner.

  The button with a wheel, it had taken us up before, was still blinking red, but the doors didn’t open. We were running out of time.

  I grabbed Dinga and backed up against the nearest door, not bothering to check the nameplate. I pulled the dagger out of the leather sheathe, hoping the person behind the door would be easier to take on than the troupe of armed and experienced knights heading toward us. I felt behind me for the long arm of the knob, and it slid open under my fingers. Did anyone lock their doors in this kingdom?

  Dinga and I tumbled to the ground, and I shut the door as quietly as I could with the heel of my boot. I hadn’t seen the knights, so I prayed that meant they hadn’t seen me. Maybe they would continue their patrol and would be none the wiser.

  I scrambled to my feet and pressed my ear to the door. I could hear the clanking growing louder. I had never wished for a peephole more than right this second, but the solid wood door lacked one. The din abruptly ended, but I could almost hear them breathing. It was loud enough they sounded right on the other side of the door.

  Instinctively, I held my breath, hoping that noise wouldn’t give me away. Dinga stood next to me, his ear pressed to the door as well, as silent and still as a rock for once. “That’s his room,” one of them muttered.

  Whose? I wondered.

  “Aye it is, but the Keeper had strict orders not to disturb him.”

  “He also said that’s where she might go first,” another voice, this one gruff and low.

  “You say true, Mariden,” the first voice spoke. “Stay here and watch the hall. And remember, the Keeper wants her taken alive.”

  There was a groan of metal, in what I assumed was a salute.

  The first speaker sounded again, “You can take a little girl, right Mariden?”

  “Of course!” Mariden answered.

  The three voices all laughed, as if I was some kind of joke.

  The clanking noise of the two knights ended, with the faint whoosh of the elevator doors sealing their departure. I could hear the shift of the knight just outside the door.

  We were trapped.

  I snuck a glance at Dinga, his eyes wide.

  “Mistress?” he whispered. “How will we escape now?”

  I pushed a finger to my lips to shush him, and limped back from the door, dragging m
y left leg to avoid anymore more pain. “First we have to figure out whose room this is,” I suggested.

  The room was sparse like Edwin’s, with almost identical furniture. A wardrobe on one corner, a desk on another, and a bed in the center. Only this time, the heavy curtains were crimson red, not black. They reflected the needless deaths in the room down the hall. What would I find behind them this time?

  Before I could draw the curtains, Dinga did it for me. He struggled to grasp the lower corner and pulled them back hastily.

  Sebastian lay on the bed, curled on one side, his front toward me, his arms tucked around his knees. He was only partially dressed, in short canvas pants that ended at the knee. Down the sides of his pants were swirls of gold embroidery. His lower legs and feet were bare and his shirt absent. It reminded me of that night in my apartment when he’d arrived to convince me to come back here. I could see his chest rising slowly, but his eyes were squeezed shut. Oddly, his cheeks were damp, tears, I realized with no small amount of shock, partially hidden with the brown curls falling over his forehead.

  I gasped, but quickly I jammed a fist in my mouth.

  Dinga grabbed my free hand, his wide eyes searching mine in a silent plea not to wake him.

  He didn’t stir, his eyes didn’t open. I wondered if he was unconscious.

  We should go, Dinga mouthed.

  I stared at the door, with the deadly armed knight just outside. We can’t, I mouthed back. I almost added, leave him, but I bit my tongue.

  You changed my world, Sebastian had said to me, I couldn’t resist you the first day I saw you.

  He lied.

  That liar.

  The ring of my dagger as I drew it into my hand echoed in the quiet room. He sided with the Keeper. Like Edwin, he had to pay.

  I brought the dagger down to his neck.

  Dinga stopped me.

  His arms held out in front of him, he stepped between that traitor and my deadly blade.

  Too late, my dagger skidded off his arm, slicing it. Shocked I’d cut my faithful friend, the dagger fell from my fingers, clattering on the floor.